I’ll Always Be With You (Lancaster Prep Book 4)

JUST AS ALL good things must come to an end, there came a point where I couldn’t avoid Mercedes and her wrath any longer. I knew a confrontation was brewing. I just didn’t realize it would happen so soon.

It’s in American Government, of course, where everyone who’s anyone in the senior class at Lancaster Prep is in this class period. I’m sitting in the back of the room, trying to mind my own business and stay away from my so-called friends who haven’t spoken to me since Friday at lunch when I realize someone is standing right next to me, her cloying perfume making my nostrils twitch.

“Sitting in the back with the rest of the losers, huh?” Mercedes asks, venom lacing her voice.

I slowly lift my head, glaring at her from narrowed eyes. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.” She grins, casting a knowing glance in Marcy’s direction, who looks away quietly and settles into her desk.

Smart move on Marcy’s part.

“Are you really calling me a loser?” I look her up and down, wrinkling my nose, trying to keep calm.

Deep inside, the storm is starting to rage.

“Yeah, I am. I don’t care what your last name is.” Mercedes grins, and I realize in that moment, she’s a complete imbecile. “You don’t scare me.”

“Why would I, you stupid little piece of trash. You’re too dumb to realize who you’re dealing with.” I sniff. “Your mother named you after her favorite car, for God’s sake.”

There are a few nervous titters from the other people sitting in the classroom, pretending not to notice what’s going on.

Mercedes glares at all of them before returning her attention to me. “Who are you calling a piece of trash, huh? No one gives a shit about you, you know. You’re the loser Lancaster. The invisible one.”

Her words hurt, not that I can ever let her know it.

“And you’re just jealous that West asked me out on a date and not you,” she continues, hitting way too close to home. “That he wants to be with me and not you. I see the way you look at him.”

Alarm races through me. Is it obvious that I look at him? Does she know about our one interlude in Paris?

God, did he tell her?

“Aren’t you the one who essentially goaded him into taking you to dinner?” I remind her, noting the flare of anger in her eyes. Her cheeks turn red and her smile fades into a frown. “I’m pretty sure that’s how it went down, right?”

I glance around the classroom, noting the way Marcy nods, like she can’t help herself. Mercedes catches it too.

“Marcy, fucking support me for once in my life, God.” With that, Mercedes flounces out of the room, Marcy knocking into her desk as she slides out of the chair and runs after her.

The moment they’re gone, everyone starts talking amongst themselves, and I sit there alone and ignored, trying to calm my racing heart.

“You’re right, you know.”

I glance up to find West’s friend Brent turned around in his chair facing me, his expression serious. “I’m right about what?”

“That Mercedes pushed him into asking her out. He doesn’t like her. Not like that.”

“Then why did he go out with her?” I regret the question the moment I ask it, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.

“Because he knew it would bother you.” Brent grins. “We were all there with him last summer, you know.”

Realization dawns and I blink at him, trying to come up with something to say. I remember West saying he was traveling with friends. Meaning Brent was one of his friends? Who else was with him? Who else knows?

“And we know what happened between you two. Don’t worry,” he adds when he must see the panic written all over my face. “I’m not saying anything. Neither is TJ.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “West told you?”

He nods, looking around the room before he leans in closer to me. “We didn’t think anything of it, you know? Yet another hookup in Paris. Lucky West. We sure as hell didn’t expect you to show up on campus and go to school here.”

Another hookup in Paris? How many hookups were there? How many girls has West been with? I’d have to be a stupid little fool to think West hasn’t been with anyone before. He was far too skilled for that to be possible.

It still hurts though. He might’ve left a lasting mark on me, but I didn’t matter to him. Not really.

An ominous feeling settles over me, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end and I watch as Brent’s expression transforms, his gaze on something else.

Someone else.

“Brent.” The familiar voice makes a low buzzing sound start in my ears and I brace myself, not wanting to look at him. “Carolina.”

West.

His clipped tone tells me he’s unhappy for whatever reason and my initial thought is Mercedes ran to him and told on me, when she’s the bitch who started our fight in the first place.

“Hey,” Brent says as he slowly eases away from me, his gaze fixed above my head. “What’s up?”

The air sizzles for a beat, leaving me breathless.

“What are you two talking about?”

His tone is clipped. Full of anger and I can feel West’s gaze on me, hot and foreboding. I finally dare to look up, doing my best not to recoil from the fury blazing in his eyes. “Nothing,” I say at the same exact time Brent does.

We seem guilty, when our conversation was actually pretty innocent.

The silence stretches for so long, I feel like I’m going to snap in two when finally, West speaks.

“Uh huh. Sure.” His drawl is heavy with sarcasm and I keep my head bent, not wanting to antagonize him further.

Why I care, I don’t know, but I’m not in the mood to fight anymore. Standing up to Mercedes took it all out of me.

He breezes by the two of us, settling into his desk, and Brent scrambles out of the one in front of me, going to sit next to his friend and placate him, I’m sure.

For the rest of class, nothing happens. It’s just another Monday and our teacher gives us yet another lecture. Marcy slinks back in just as the bell rings, but Mercedes doesn’t show her face at all. It feels like a win, but I know it’s temporary.

If she’s brave enough to talk to me like that in a classroom full of witnesses, she’ll do it again.

The moment the bell rings, I’m out of there, in the hall and headed to my next class when I feel fingers wrap around my elbow. A yelp escapes me and I jerk out of the hold, turning to glare at whomever dared touch me, to find West standing there, unbearably handsome in his uniform, his tie already loose around his neck, like he can’t be bothered to fix it.

“What do you want?”

His gaze never wavers from mine. “I want to talk to you.”

“If this has anything to do with Mercedes, there’s nothing left to say.”

He frowns, seemingly confused. “Mercedes?”

I roll my eyes and start walking once more, irritated when he keeps pace with me. “She didn’t tell you we got into a fight?”

“A fight? Are you talking about a physical fight?” He sounds surprised.

I come to a stop at the point where two corridors intersect, stepping out of the way so people can pass by us. West does the same, standing directly in front of me, his gaze so intense, I can’t look away. “Of course not.” I hesitate, regretting that I even mentioned it. “She didn’t tell you?”

West shakes his head. “I haven’t talked to her since Saturday night.”

For a fleeting moment, I feel triumphant, knowing that he hasn’t spoken to her since then. But the feeling is brief when I remember they had a date that night.

And after he left her, he found me.

Annoyed, I start walking again, heading in the opposite direction of where my next class is. “Stay away from me,” I tell him from over my shoulder.

The boy flat out doesn’t listen. Instead, he chases after me, trying to grab me again, and I whirl on him like a wild animal, ready to snap.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss between my teeth.

He doesn’t move. In fact, he shifts closer, his body heat radiating, the scent of him wrapping all around me, his voice low, downright menacing, before he murmurs, “Stay away from Brent.”

That was the last thing I expected him to say.

“What do you mean? Why?” I shake my head, confused by his change of subject.

“Don’t fall for his shit. He uses girls.”

“He uses girls,” I repeat, remembering what Brent told me. “Like you do?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he practically snarls.

“All your hookups in Europe?”

West scowls. “What hookups?”

“I don’t know. Brent mentioned them.” I take a step backward, needing distance from his intensity.

The scowl deepens. “He mentioned my European hookups?”

I’m getting in too deep with this conversation and I don’t want to have it anymore. “I’m done with this.”

I walk away, my steps quick, my head held high. He follows me yet again; I can sense him, how he’s keeping close, not saying a word. I pretend he’s not there, and just as I’m about to walk into the classroom, he suddenly is there, right next to me, his hand on my arm, barely touching me.

“You need to stay away from him,” West repeats, his voice practically a growl. “Do you hear me? I mean it, Carolina. Keep away from Brent.”

I smile, rising on my tiptoes, so my mouth is level with his ear as I whisper …

“Make me.”

THE IDEA FLOATS in my brain until lunch, and for once, I don’t head for the library and seek out Sadie. I send her a text, letting her know I won’t be there today because I don’t want her thinking I ditched her or forgot about her.

Sadie: What are you doing for lunch then?

Me: I have a plan. I’ll tell you all about it later.

I enter the dining hall with my head held high, a faint smile curling my lips as I walk past people, nodding a greeting, acting like I’m queen of the fucking court. I spot my victim a few feet away, already in line with an empty tray clutched between his hands, and the situation couldn’t be more perfect if I planned it.

Putting a little pep in my step, I approach him, shimmying my hips like I’m going to knock myself into him, my tone flirtatious. “Hey, Brent.”

His startled expression isn’t surprising. I’ve barely spoken two words to him since our conversation on the first day of school. Oh, and our rather informative conversation earlier. “Hey, Carolina.”

“Mind if I cut in line?” I pull out one of Mercedes’ tricks and bat my eyelashes, knowing it probably won’t have the same effect since I don’t have eyelash extensions.

“Sure.” He gestures ahead of him with his tray and I’m grateful he’s clutching that thing.

It means he can’t touch me.

I slip into line ahead of him, my smile fading when I look at all of the hot lunch options. We have an excellent kitchen at Lancaster Prep, but all of this food is fat on fat and will go straight to my already spreading hips.

It doesn’t matter how many hours I dance or exercise in my new studio. It’s not the same as the rigorous training I endured while at the London Dance Academy. This is a vacation and my body is already softening.

I hate it.

Brent reaches around me and grabs a plate with a greasy slice of pepperoni pizza on it.

“Is the pizza any good?” I ask weakly, my stomach growling at the scent of garlic and oregano wafting in the air.

“You haven’t tried it yet?” He sounds incredulous. “It’s the best thing in the dining hall, hands down.”

I can’t stomach the idea of greasy pepperoni, so I grab a plate with a slice of cheese pizza, setting it on Brent’s tray. “Will you carry it for me?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

My brain scrambles, trying to come up with something else to say to Brent as we move through the line, drawing closer to the cashier, but I come up empty. I’m not good at this. Flirtatious banter and mindless small talk. I don’t go on dates. I never really talk to boys. Gideon was a close friend, but all we ever talked about was dance, our teachers or our classmates. Gideon is a vicious gossip, and I enjoyed trading stories with him, talking badly about everyone we danced with at the Academy.

Now that I’m gone, I’m sure he’s gossiping about me and why I left, and that realization cuts like a knife.

When we finally reach the cashier, I go ahead and pay for Brent’s meal—his slice of pizza, a Dr. Pepper and a bag of Doritos, disgusting—and mine, smiling at the cashier when I hand over my meal card.

“You want to sit at a different table?” Brent asks me once we leave the cashier. When I give him a questioning look, he rambles on, “I figured you didn’t want to sit near Mercedes, and she’s already at our usual table, holding court with West.”

My gaze immediately goes to that table, where Mercedes is literally sitting on West’s lap, trying to feed him a french fry while he dodges her efforts. She’s giggling, tossing her hair over her shoulder, her gaze finding mine as if she already knew I was watching.

I look away, nodding at Brent. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Let’s go.”

I let him lead the way to an empty table on the other side of the hall, as far away from our usual table as possible. I take my plate from Brent, studying the pizza slice with disappointment.

“Eat it fast before it gets cold,” Brent suggests before he shovels half of his slice of pizza into his mouth.

I take a swallow from my water bottle, picking up the pizza with dainty fingers, trying not to get them too greasy. I nibble from the pointed end, the mixture of dough, sauce and cheese hitting my tongue.

Oh shit. It’s good.

Within seconds, I’m devouring it, Brent watching me with amusement after already finishing his slice and now digging into the bag of chips. When I’m finished, I lean back against my chair, wiping at my mouth with a napkin, surprisingly not full of regret.

“That was delicious,” I declare, making Brent chuckle.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.” I toss my wadded-up napkin on top of my plate, hiding the grease stain left behind. “I can’t remember the last time I ate pizza.”

“Really? I eat it like five times a week.” His gaze finds mine. “I probably need to eat a salad sometime, huh?”

“Definitely.” I smile at him, hating myself for using him. He seems nice enough. Harmless enough. Attractive enough, with warm brown eyes and dark hair that curls a little at the end. His uniform is pressed neatly, not a wrinkle in sight, and he has a nice smile.

But he does nothing for me. Not a single thing.

I watch as he eats a few Doritos, shaking my head when he offers me the bag. I can hear Mercedes’ voice, loud and obnoxious, and I refuse to look in her direction, give in to her baiting me.

“Brent, can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.” He munches on another chip, then washes it down with a sip of Dr. Pepper.

“Why did you agree to sit with me over here instead of sitting with your friends like you always do?”

He shoves another couple of chips into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it down before he says, “You looked like you needed a friend.”

Normally I would take Brent’s comment as an insult, but he isn’t too far off the mark.

“Thank you,” I murmur, trying to ignore the itchy feeling forming between my shoulder blades. I’m not used to thanking people for much and it feels weird to say. “I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.” He grins. “Plus, I hate Mercedes. She’s so fucking annoying.”

I can’t help but laugh, and I make sure it’s extra loud. I hope he can hear.

West.

I hope he sees me and thinks I’m having fun with Brent. I hope even more that he’s pissed off that I didn’t listen to him and chose to hang out with Brent anyway, despite his warning.

I don’t know who Weston Fontaine thinks he is, but I do know one thing.

He can’t tell me what to do.