Chapter 7: The Broken Note: Chapter 7

Living with my mother is a nightmare. One that I want desperately to wake up from.

Early this morning, she was dancing naked in the living room and playing music so loudly, someone from the apartment below us had to bang on the ceiling with a broom.

She stank up the bathroom with cheap weed—where she got the money to buy it, I don’t even know.

When the hunger pangs hit her, mom made a mess of the kitchen. Sticky egg shells. Flour-spattered footprints. Dirty pots and pans. It would have been slightly acceptable if breakfast had been edible, but it wasn’t.

This is the second time I’ve had to throw away a meal.

Which means I had to throw away damn good groceries.

Which means I basically threw away money.

And guess who had to clean up the kitchen after all that?

Not only did mom manage to spoil my entire morning the day she came back, but she turned my bedroom upside down too.

I tiptoed in to get my uniforms and found all my clothes on the floor, dirty and wrinkled. My sheets were ripped from the mattress. Everything under my bed was dug out. Mom claimed she was looking for her wedding ring—as if I didn’t know she’d pawned dad’s ring ages ago.

Because all my clothes had been tossed, the only clean uniform I could find was the old one I’d folded up in the back of my drawer.

I squeeze the strap of my book bag tighter and grit my teeth.

“Careful,” a deep voice says.

Moments later, I smack into someone’s palm.

I wake up from my stupor, tapping back into my surroundings. The crowded hallway. The students whispering and watching us. The posters on the wall. The open locker two inches from my face.

I blink, but the locker’s still there. Open. Razor sharp. It’s only Dutch’s hand cupping my forehead that kept me from smashing into the metal and cracking my head open.

Stunned, I turn around.

Dutch is behind me, face stony. He crosses inked arms over his Redwood Prep sweater vest and stares at me with his predator eyes. Amber honey. Like a lion’s. Not quite golden but close enough. Especially when he stands in the sunlight like he’s doing now.

These prep school uniforms don’t suit him. He’s a freaking beast. A monster, several inches over six feet with two dark slashes of eyebrows and a mouth of pure menace on the bottom of his frighteningly attractive face. With a bone structure so chiseled, and an aura so dark, his bright, blond hair like spun wheat doesn’t belong. And yet it makes him even more arresting.

Light and shadows.

Beast and man.

Both at once.

“What the hell are you thinking about that you can’t even walk straight?” Dutch growls, leaning in close so his minty breath washes over my face.

My body shudders, aching with need for him.

And that makes me angry.

My life is such a freaking crapshow right now, dealing with mom on top of everything else. I don’t have space in my head for another complication.

And Dutch Cross, with his violent presence and his hands that can make me see stars, is the of complicated.

I look up at him, falling into eyes so golden, they may as well be endless pools of honey. “Why are you following me around?”

“Following you?” He laughs darkly. “Does it look like I have nothing better to do, Brahms?”

“It like you’re stalking me.”

His eyebrows twitch. Suddenly, he slams his fist into the open locker and it bangs in my ear. I jump but, before I scold him, his fingers close around my wrist and he pushes me back, slamming me into the locker. He doesn’t use much force, but I still feel the breath knock out of my lungs when he steps into me.

I expect him to yell or punch the locker near my ear.

Something.

But he doesn’t.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is low, coaxing. Unexpectedly gentle. “You look like you didn’t sleep well last night and you’re totally out of it this morning.”

I blink in shock.

“Did you and Vi fight again?”

I watch his ripe mouth turn down into a frown and my mind goes blank.

“Cadey.” There’s something in the way he says that name that’s different than when he calls me ‘Brahms’. Something softer. Something more urgent.

My heart picks up speed despite my instruction.

I want to wrap my arms around his neck, curl into his chest and tell him everything. Not necessarily because I want him to fix it but because I want someone to assure me that I’m not alone. That everything will get better. That mom won’t make my life hell all over again.

But I won’t.

I’ve given Dutch the one thing that no one else has ever had—my virginity.

And it’s made me feel closer to him.

But he also feels further away.

My world is so removed from his.

My crazy mom. A midnight murder. A killer who knows her face, who knows our family.

I have so much to figure out and I can’t do it if Dutch shatters me to pieces and takes over everything.

His fingers trace my cheek and he pushes my hair behind my ear the way he did that night in the alley. He’s so tender that tears press against the back of my eyes.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Dutch whispers.

I want to.

But I can’t.

The one thing this world has taught me is that trusting anyone but yourself is a mistake. And it wasn’t so long ago Dutch was desperately trying to kick me out of Redwood. Who’s to say he’s changed? Who’s to say he won’t put the target back on me? Who’s to say it’s not there still?

I firm my stance and push at him.

He doesn’t budge.

“I have Lit in ten minutes and I need to use the bathroom,” I mumble.

Not technically a lie.

His eyes scour my face as if he wants to read every one of my thoughts. Eventually, he steps back.

I hurry down the hallway, taking note of the crowd that parts for me. It doesn’t matter that Dutch isn’t behind me anymore. With the way he’s acting, everyone thinks we’re dating. Once they see me, they see Dutch—the ruler of Redwood Prep, a guy who’s insane enough to kick someone out of a chair they were already sitting in.

Desperately, I duck into the nearest bathroom, pool my hand under the cool water from the sink and splash my face.

I’m too hyper-aware of him. Too caught up in his spell.

“Get it together, Cadey.” I smack my cheek. The sound of wet palms slapping against skin is loud in the bathroom. “Get it together.”

The door creaks open.

I mind my own business and grip the edge of the sink, my head tucked to my chin. Water drips down my nose and plops into the sink.

“Well, if it isn’t Dutch Cross’s ,” a high-pitched voice scratches my ears.

In the reflection of the mirror, Paris and her cheerleading minions prance around me. Tan skin. Bouncy hair. Expensive highlights. Caked on makeup. Redwood’s idea of perfection.

The air trips with danger and I straighten, my eyes locked on Paris. She smirks at the mirror, revealing bright white teeth. Veneers. They’re way too perfect to belong to her naturally.

I glare at her.

Paris sashays forward, hips swaying in her tiny skirt. She stops at the sink, pulls out a fancy makeup kit, and rummages inside for a tube of lip gloss.

I don’t want to stand there and watch her, but two of her minions press themselves beside and behind me, locking me in place.

Paris smears the gloss on her lips and smacks obnoxiously. “You know,” she murmurs, admiring herself in the glass, “Jinx wrote a post about you today.”

At the mention of Jinx, my mind snaps to that vague text she sent me last night.

Why would Jinx want to strike a deal with me now?

I brush the curiosity away.

Jinx is the last thing I’m worried about right now.

“She said you were holding Dutch’s leash.” Disbelieving laughter spills out of Paris’s mouth. The sound lacks any warmth or joy. “But we both know the one who’s holding the leash is him, don’t we, ”

She plops her lip gloss in her open makeup kit and turns to me. Her eyes are dark. Frigid. Full of spite as they drag down my secondhand uniform.

“No matter what, you can’t chase the of poverty on your skin and you can’t change the fact that you’re a charity case. You will never be good enough for him.”

I bob my head. “You’re right.”

Shock ricochets through her eyes.

I gesture to her. “Since I’m so beneath him, why don’t you take him from me?”

Her eyes widen.

“Seriously. I’m begging you.” I grab her hand. “Flash some skin. Pledge your undying devotion. Have at it.”

Her eyelashes flutter and she wrenches her arm back. “You think I’m joking?”

“I’ve been trying to get away from Dutch Cross for months. I’d be so grateful if you could do what I couldn’t.” My eyes slide down her outfit. I quirk a brow. “But… word of advice, ease back on the desperation. I may be poor, but you, Christa 2.0,” I step toward her, “you’re just cheap.”

Paris’s eyes narrow. Her mouth twisting cruelly, she raises her hand to slap me.

I grab her wrist before she can and drive her into the wall near the mirror. She screams and tries to grab my hair. I struggle to keep her from scratching me in the eyes.

She’s surprisingly strong, but I’m stronger.

And pissed off.

I wrestle both her arms down, breathing heavily.

“South side trash!” Paris spits in my face.

My patience cracks like a twig and all the frustration that had been lashing in my chest explodes out of me.

“Listen you piece of crap,” my voice snaps, “my life is such a train wreck that this petty high school drama means literally nothing to me. Your brain’s the size of a grape, so I’ll speak slowly. I have things to worry about than whether you got your feelings hurt because Dutch didn’t choose you as his prom queen.”

Paris’s mouth goes slack.

“I suggest you get your insecure, trash-talking face out of my sight before I show you how we fight on the south side.”

Paris shrieks at her minions, “Guys, she just threatened me! What are you doing? Get her!”

“Try it.” I whirl around and pin them both with a sharp look. “I can promise you that I’ve been in more fights than either of you put together and I leave scars.”

The girls hesitate and glance fearfully at each other. They must decide that Paris isn’t worth the permanent damage because they scurry out of the bathroom.

“Nice talk.” I step away, but turn back to say, “Oh, and be sure to let me know when you find a plan to get Dutch away from me. I can give you some pointers.”

Paris stomps her foot, face redder than flames, and lets out a shriek of frustration.

Smiling slightly, I leave the bathroom and hurry around the corner. I’ll be late for Lit, but at least I got to put Paris in her place.

It felt good, even if my arms are stinging.

Damn. She must have paid premium for that fancy manicure because her nails were like claws on my skin.

As the musical chimes ring, I freeze. There’s a tatted lead guitarist leaning against the wall outside Miss Jamieson’s class. Dutch has one foot propped behind him and both arms folded over his chest.

“Thought you were skipping class without me, Brahms.” He straightens.

I stop and hide my arms behind my back. “Dutch.”

He notices and, immediately, his expression darkens. He grabs me by the arm and drags it forward. I hiss in pain as his thumb squeezes one of the scratch lines.

“What the hell is this?” he barks at me, lifting my arm to the sunshine and staring at the scratches that drew blood in some places.

I glance away. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” His voice is low and tight as a guitar string.

I turn away. “I just… got into a fight with a nasty cat. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Where’s the cat?”

“It’s gone now.” I pull my arm back. “I handled it.”

“Dutch, Cadence.” Miss Jamieson calls to us. “Is there a reason you’re not seated and ready for class?”

Dutch stiffens. Out of all the teachers at Redwood Prep, the Cross brothers show the most respect to Miss Jamieson. It could be because she’s the most attractive teacher at Redwood—slim and curvy with brown skin and curly hair. Or it could be for other reasons. Who knows what the Cross brothers are thinking.

“We’ll be right there.”

“No we’re not.” A muscle in Dutch’s jaw clenches. “Cadence got hurt.”

“You did?” Miss Jamieson abandons her classroom and rushes over.

I blush, noticing the way the students inside are looking at us. “It’s really not a big deal.”

Dutch’s amber eyes slam into mine and I swear, lightning snaps out of his gaze. “You’re bleeding.”

“You should have seen the cat,” I joke hoarsely.

Dutch turns my wrist over and examines the skin on the underside of my arm. He does not look amused.

“Dutch, take her to the nurse’s office. And Cadence.” Miss Jamieson stops me with a concerned look. “After class, I need to speak to you for a few minutes.”

I mumble an agreement and allow Dutch to whisk me away.

He paces like an expectant father in the nurse’s office and doesn’t stop even when the medic tells him she needs room.

“He was like this after that time too,” the nurse mumbles, sending him an angry glare. “He brought you in from the pool and he was breathing over my shoulder. Delirious with worry. Making it difficult to work.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

It’s hard to imagine Dutch being worried about me. The day when Christa pushed me in the pool, we were deep in a war against each other.

The nurse throws another scolding glance over her shoulder. “Your girlfriend is fine, young man.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I say.

Both the nurse and Dutch ignore me.

“Hello?” I wave a hand.

“Did you use antiseptic on the cuts? She can’t get infected,” Dutch says.

“Are you telling me how to do my job?”

“I said I’m not his girlfriend,” I repeat myself.

“If you did your job right, you wouldn’t be so defensive right now,” Dutch says.

The nurse narrows her eyes.

Since getting either of them to listen is a lost cause, I stand.

Dutch springs over to me. “Cadey, take it easy.”

“I told you she’s fine,” the nurse insists.

Dutch opens his mouth.

I speak up before he can say something stupid. “I’m going back to class. I don’t want to miss the quiz.”

The nurse gives me instructions on keeping the scratches clean. After, Dutch escorts me to Lit. He’s too busy brooding to bother me during class and I take my quiz in peace.

The bells chime and Miss Jamieson gestures for me to meet her at the front.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Dutch says.

“You don’t have to—”

His answering glare is so dark that I just shut my mouth.

Miss Jamieson gives me an amused look when I draw closer to her table. She doesn’t look as tired as she did a few days ago, but there’s still something heavy about her. Something that wasn’t there before.

I wonder if everything’s okay.

“You and Dutch are dating?” She folds her arms over her chest and leans against the desk, her dark lips rising at the corners.

“No, we’re not,” I say vehemently. “I’m not his girlfriend. We’re not together. That’s not happening.”

Her lips tremble but she doesn’t outright laugh at me. “I see.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?” I shift from one leg to the other. My scrapes are starting to burn because of the antiseptic and it’s hard not to scratch.

“It’s about Serena.”

Immediately, my body tightens with guilt and I drop my gaze to the ground. When I suspected that Dutch and his brothers were responsible for the fire that got my friend kicked out of school, I completely destroyed their practice room.

And then Dutch came over to my house to confront me.

And then mom showed up to prove she wasn’t dead.

And I haven’t had time to think about or visit Serena.

Call me the worst friend ever.

“I spoke to a few more security guards. I was trying to find more information on the person who left The Kings’ practice room around the start of the fire.” Miss Jamieson taps a manicured nail on the desk. “It turns out that person was their private cleaner, Martina.”

I frown. “They sent her to clean early in the morning?”

“She chose to go that time. She said it was more convenient.”

As someone who does her work service early in the morning to avoid people too, I can’t argue with that.

“And she didn’t see anything?”

Miss Jamieson shakes her head. “I hit a dead-end.”

“Without evidence, we won’t be able to bring Serena back to school.” I chew on my bottom lip, my stomach swirling. “I told her not to tell her mom about being expelled. I promised her I’d get her back.”

What if I got her hopes up only to disappoint her? How do I face Serena now?

“And we will. Don’t worry.” Miss Jamieson squeezes my shoulder. “I’m still advocating for Principal Harris to give her another chance.”

“He’s not going to do that if we can’t find the real culprit behind the fire.”

“There’s something else.” Miss Jamieson shifts.

I brace myself.

“Serena had a provisional scholarship. Although the school won’t charge her for the damages caused by the fire, the board has decided to sue for the money that they invested in her.”

My heart drops to my toes. “How much?”

Miss Jamieson rattles a figure that makes my head explode.

“They can’t afford that! Serena’s mom is getting treatment for cancer and they can barely keep up with the hospital bills. A law suit will ruin them.”

“It’s happening.”

“When?”

“We have about a week,” Miss Jamieson says. “If we can’t find the culprit…”

“Serena will be ruined.”

“I don’t believe this is the end. I know we’ll find a way out. We just have to look hard enough.”

Her words are meant to give me hope, but all I feel is darkness. I can barely keep my head above water and now Serena is counting on me too.

Between mom, Viola, Serena—it all feels overwhelming.

I shuffle through the hallway, my vision blurry.

Silence falls as I enter another hallway.

Everyone is watching, peering, surveying my every move. I’m a walking exhibit. A show for their own twisted pleasure.

It’s surreal.

Annoying.

Lonely.

I’ve always had a dark respect for Redwood Prep, only because I know what a cut-throat place this is.

But now?

Now, I hate it with a passion.

The pretense. The blind greed. The unspoken competition.

I know why they’re watching. Not because they care about me. It’s because they don’t want to miss the moment that I fail. They want to be there to laugh. To point at me. To tear me apart until there’s nothing left.

For a long moment, I walk alone.

And then, a warm hand closes over mine.

When I lift my head, I see Dutch’s face. Sharp lines. Devastating angles. Pure poetry in the shape and symmetry.

And then the eyes.

When Dutch pins those amber eyes on me, I feel a strange, tingling sensation all over my body. It reminds me of that time I tried the upside down rollercoaster and felt all the blood rushing to the top of my head. Like my world, everything I was and knew, had become something new, different and uncontrollable.

“Hungry?” Dutch asks. His tone is calm. This is normal to him. Being on display. Being poked and prodded by their eyes, even in his most vulnerable moments.

I almost feel sorry for him. What hard lessons did he have to learn to become so callous? How much of his heart did he have to bludgeon until it no longer cared?

He leads me to the cafeteria. There’s a long line, but we don’t stand at the back of it. Instead, Dutch leads me right to the front. Everyone makes room, abandoning their trays and skittering back as if there’s an orbit around him they can’t touch.

The cafeteria ladies smile. They place steaming hot bowls on our trays. I glance over the spread of food behind the glass domes, realizing that there is no soup on today’s menu.

I eye Dutch suspiciously. “Did you ask them to make this?”

He says nothing.

But my suspicions are confirmed when the lunch lady grabs my wrist and squeezes. “Hope you feel better, sweetie.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“This way.” Dutch grunts.

I follow without argument.

He leads me to the table where I usually sit with Serena.

My heart pangs painfully.

Dutch pays close attention to my face and says, “We can sit somewhere else.”

“No. I want to stay here.”

I don’t want to forget Serena just because she’s not at school anymore. I want to feel that sting. That guilt. I want the reminder because I don’t ever want to forget her.

Dutch sets both trays on the bench and picks up a spoon.

I expect him to eat, but he pushes a spoonful of soup at me instead.

My eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

“Your hands are injured.”

“It’s just a scratch. It’s not like it’s broken.”

“I saw you flinch.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“When you move your arm back and forth, it rubs against the side of your shirt and irritates the skin. I saw it, Cadey.”

What is he? A CSI?

Dutch stubbornly nudges the spoon at me. I squirm, noticing the cell phones that are being whipped out to spy on us. From what Paris said in the bathroom, Dutch and I are still hot topics on Jinx’s app. Him acting like this won’t help the rumors that we’re together.

“Open your mouth, Cadence,” he barks.

I open.

Dutch feeds me the soup and though I’d intended on spitting it back out just to teach him a lesson, I don’t.

An explosion of flavor dances on my tongue.

I cup my mouth and swallow. “This soup is amazing. Oh my go—how is this so delicious?”

Dutch doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even blink.

Awkwardly, I grab my bottle of orange juice. “What?”

“When are you going to trust me?” he whispers thoughtfully.

“Trust you?” My back muscles coil.

He drops the spoon and it plops back into the soup. “Did you really get mauled by a cat today?”

“Of course I did. Why would I lie about that?” My eyes slide away from his.

He leans back and stares at me with his cool dark gaze. He’s simply terrifying. Without effort. Without any strain on his part.

I flick my attention to the soup to ease the tension in the air.

“You’re mine. I’ve made that clear. If someone hurts you, they hurt me.”

“I belong to myself. Not you. I can handle my own business.”

He gives me a long, studying look. The picture of royalty with his Disney prince blonde hair, amber eyes and inked body. Paris was right, even if she is annoying. Dutch Cross definitely doesn’t look like he belongs with someone like me and I can’t take him seriously. I can’t let myself believe any of this is real.

“Cadence—”

“Who the hell are you?” I hiss.

He watches me, expression going blank again.

I dig my fingers into the tray. “You spent weeks making me miserable. You did everything in your power to drive me out of school. You ruined my teacher’s life. You pushed me and goaded me and made fun of me. And now you want me to trust you? Do you think I’m ” The word snaps with the vehemence of a rubber band flying from a slingshot. “You can’t decide one day you’re going to hate me and randomly switch to liking me. That’s not how this works.”

“You think I wanted this?” He hisses. “You think I woke up one day and thought I want some girl to have my heart by the freaking throat?”

My breath hitches.

“I didn’t have a freaking choice in this either, Cadence. The minute you walked into my life, my whole universe shrank down to the size of a single point and I haven’t been able to see anything else.” He rises and glares down at me. “So yeah, continue to be freaking uncomfortable. Because so the hell am I.”

“Dutch!” I shriek. Anger makes me shake and if I had the spoon in my hands, I’d probably fling it at his obnoxious head.

He climbs out of the bench with his tray, eyes an angry storm. “Whether you trust me or not, it won’t change the fact that you belong to me.” He tilts his chin up. “And I always take care of my property.”

Enraged, I pick up the spoon and throw it at him, but Dutch is already walking away.