Page 43 of Burned By Sin
“Rhys?” I supply for her. It’s no wonder that’s where her mind goes. He’s overwhelming and all-consuming, even when he’s not here. Harper nods hesitantly and I withhold my sigh, even if his name does taste bitter on my tongue.
I know she’s conflicted, but if I’m honest, I don’t think I’m built for sharing.
“I do get it.” I say, even though it kills me. Even though I know I’m not built for sharing and our current circumstances won’t last muchlonger. Still, I force myself to be the bigger man for her. “With him, it’s fast and fierce. And although I’m more reserved, I want to make it clear I’m just as invested in winning you. He may be fire, but I’m ice. I’ll soothe away the burns he creates and pull you back from the flames when they grow too wild. I’m your loyal protector after all.”
Harper’s eyes begin to swim with unshed tears, indecision shattering her expression. It breaks me. I never want to be the reason for her sadness, so I cup her jaw and pull her into me. Hovering just close enough for her chest to brush mine with each breath, my gaze seeks permission before I find her lips again.
This time, Harper takes control, kissing me back hungrily, her hands curling around the fabric of my shirt. I let her roll me onto my back, let her take control of her emotions whilst moving to straddle me. I won’t take it any further since there are people in the vicinity, but my hands do land on Harper’s bare thighs and I find myself being tested in ways a lesser man would fail. In a way that Wavershit would fail miserably.
I’m better than that, and him. I just need to hold on long enough for Harper to see that too.
Chapter Twenty Six
The last few weeks have passed in a blur since that perfect day. The ideal landscape, the lovely picnic, and Clay’s kisses. I keep myself in that blissful bubble, being as productive as I can be before it all goes to shit once again.
The science students actually smile as I enter the lab, Millie reaching over the aisle to hand back the textbook she borrowed from Rhys’ place for some late night cramming. I’ve told him this week is the last he can keep the books, no more extensions. They belong back in the library where everyone can assess them, and I’m done hiding. I want to be back amongst the shelves and the civilization. I didn’t trade my aunt’s attic for another gilded cage.
Clay stays close to my side, attentive as ever. Helping to lift the bag from my back, he waits for me to unpack before leaning to place it by the leg of my stool. Rhys drops down on my other side, holding his hand out for a pen with a blank expression on his face. He’s bored. Bored of attending classes, bored of the study groups. Bored of the consideration Clay gives to every aspect of my day without any effort. It doesn’t matter that Rhys convinces me to stay over at his more nights in the week than not, he always wants more.
Peterson decides to grace us with his presence today, if only tooversee an assessment. Handing out the thick booklets to the front row and asking them to be passed back, he eyes Clay with a scowl until he shuffles his stool away from me. We have two hours to complete the stapled worksheets, which means Peterson has two hours to sit and to dutifully grade our recent assignments. I’m rather proud of the work Clay and I came up with. Rhys did not hand one in.
Quiet falls over the room as we are told to begin, and I immediately yank my receivers off. I’m growing more used to wearing them, but they’ll never feel natural. Flipping over the first page, I force myself to ignore the heat pulsing from either side of me and focus.
Clay has stuck by what he said. He’s been giving me the freedom to get Rhys out of my system, if it’s even possible. Every time I have Rhys to myself in the dead of night, I get a new side of him. A new vulnerability or depraved need comes to light. Rhys is more complex that even he realizes, like a Rubik cube that’s only just learnt it has different colors, never mind how they twist and shift into a uniform pattern.
But we’re always separate. It’s me and Rhys, or me and Clay. Whenever I’m with one, the other tries to steer my attention back. The almost threesome we had on Rhys’ kitchen island is a distant memory now, the rift between them starting to splinter once again. I don’t know how to stop it, and I haven’t been actively trying. I never signed up to be their rivalry counsellor.
Currently, Rhys is tapping his pen on the page, much to the annoyance of those nearby. Luckily, I can’t hear it. Clay is racing through his paper, scrawling out lengthy answers in cursive handwriting. For me, the words on the page begin to jumble, my eyes feeling itchy as I rub them. I try to answer as many questions as possible, lying to myself that I’ll go back for the ones I’ve skipped. Come on Harper, focus. It shouldn’t be this difficult to separate my education and personal life, but they seep into each other too often.
Clay nudges me all too soon, signaling that the timer has finished. I reluctantly clip my receivers back on with a huff. There’s nothing like an assessment to prove to yourself that you’ve retained absolutelynothing of relevance. Glancing over to Rhys, I see that he was productive in the last twenty minutes, doodling a tattoo design on the back of his paper. He slides it over to me, the pen sketch of an upside down bat staring out of the page with large eyes. A smile grows across my face.
“Why didn’t you become an art major? You have a skill for it,” I ask. Rhys makes a strangled noise, waving me off as if I didn’t see the slight twinge of pink touching his cheeks.
“Yeah right,” he stands and strides off. I shove the drawing into my backpack, before heading up front to hand in my test paper. Rhys hovers outside the door, leaning against a locker that one of our classmates is trying to gain access to. I link our arms and walk him further down the hallway.
“Are you guys free later? I said we’d help Addy set up the gymnasium for her talent show.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Rhys scrunches up his nose in disgust. I shrug, keeping him close to my side. When I’m asking for help, he’s the biggest flight risk.
“Because it’s nice to help our friends. Her team has been slacking and she’s worried it won’t be ready by the weekend.” The whole college has been buzzing about the talent contest for weeks. Posters have been plastered on every available surface, an air of excitement bringing a pleasant change from the mundane day to day.
“She’s no friend of mine,” Rhys grumbles so I turn to face Clay instead. Running a hand over his beanie, he looks everywhere I’m not.
“I won’t be able to today, I’m afraid. I’ve got...something else on.” Clay shuffles from foot to foot. I raise an eyebrow suspiciously.
“What have you ‘got on’?” I air quote with my free hand, bringing a shy smile to his full lips.
“A counselling session with one of the sophomores. I made him a deal a while back,” he says cryptically. Shrugging, I pat his forearm and withdraw my arm from Rhys’. Counselling would be great for Clay, but I didn’t miss the fondness that shone in his eyes when he spokeabout this mysterious sophomore. Clay has a friend, which is even better.
“No problem. It’s just setting up and Addy will be there. I’ll manage being on my own for an afternoon.”
“Like fuck you will,” Rhys’ gruff voice penetrates the air, severe and sudden. I flinch, as do the students surrounding us. My widened eyes flick to him, assessing the clench of his jaw and the flare of nostrils.
“Jesus, don’t do that,” I chastise. “There’s no need to be in defense mode all the time. It’s one afternoon. I’ll be fine. It’s just some painting and set arranging.” Rhys’ eyes do not waver, his protectiveness radiating in dark, rolling waves. He’s the one who didn’t want to come, now he’s acting like I was trying to get away from him.
“I’ll watch over you until Clayton returns.” He states matter-of-factly. My mouth pops open.
“You’ll watch over me but you won’t help out?” I question and Rhys nods, not a hint of regret in his discussion. Sometimes I forget, just because Rhys has warmed up to me, that he’s still an asshole to everyone else around him. Shaking my head, I adjust the strap of my backpack. “I’d rather just see you later. I don’t need you standing watch at my back, like some kind of guard dog who won’t wear a muzzle.”
