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Outside the Student Union building, I tapped out a quick message to Zayde to say I’d arrived.
He turned up a few moments later, indicating for me to follow him inside. As we descended the stairs, pushing against the crush of students ascending, he grabbed hold of my hand, which was unexpected, but reassuring, his cool grip anchoring me.
As we entered the doors to the bar, someone stumbled into me, and I knocked into Zayde, who used his other arm to steady me, pulling me against him protectively.
“You’ve moved on quickly,” the girl slurred, staring pointedly at our joined hands, taking in the way Zayde was gripping onto my arm. I looked into her eyes and groaned aloud. Portia. Great.
“Get some fresh air, and stop making a fool out of yourself,” Zayde clipped out, steering me around her and into the bar. He leaned closer to me, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “Get him home if you can. He’s been drinking, but I’ve been keeping an eye on him. I don’t want him getting wasted and doing anything he’ll regret later. Last year he ended up getting us kicked out of a pub for trashing the place.”
I glanced up at him and nodded once, letting him lead me in the direction of the pool tables, where he let go of my hand.
The crowds melted away, and I saw Caiden.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be drunk, not at first glance, at least. He was leaning against the wall, his eyes lowered, a beer in hand. My gaze raked over him, taking in his bottle-green T-shirt, ripped jeans, and his raven hair that was all over the place on his head. I came to a standstill, just watching as his tattooed arm brought his beer to his lips, and he tipped it up, his throat working as he swallowed.
I dug my nails into my palms, trying to stay focused on the reason I was here, and not how good he looked. How was he mine? Shaking the thoughts from my head, I moved closer, past Cassius and Weston, who both looked worse for wear, it had to be said. I made a mental note not to get up early in the morning—I did not want to be dealing with their hangovers.
Coming to a stop in front of my boyfriend, I plucked the bottle from his grip, and swallowed his sound of protest with a kiss. He melted into me, sliding his tongue against mine, before he drew back.
“I fucking missed you.” His words were a little slurred, but he wasn’t drunk, as far as I could tell. Maybe a bit tipsy, yeah, but he was aware enough to know what he was doing.
“How was football?” I kept the conversation light to begin with, while I tried to gauge his mood.
The corners of his lips tipped up in a tiny smile
. “Good.”
My eyes met his, and I watched his pupils dilate as he looked down at me. “Are you okay?” Stupid question.
He tugged me into his arms, leaning his head against mine. “I am now. Didn’t realise how all this shit would affect me.”
I held on to him as tightly as I could. “I know.”
Before I could say anything else, he gave a heavy sigh. “Today helped. Kept thinking of what you said to me this morning. I’m not gonna let her win, and I’m gonna try my fucking hardest to get answers for you; for your dad.”
“Cade.” I drew back and looked into his eyes, seeing the fire I loved simmering in them again. “You wanna come home with me?”
“Yeah.”
Breathing out a sigh of relief, thankful that he’d been in agreement, I took his hand and led him out of the bar.
EIGHTEEN
Time to visit Arlo, and maybe get some answers. Ever since Caiden had returned with my shoes, and even before that, when I’d read the note Arlo had left me with my gift, plus the gift itself, I’d been trying to guess how much he actually knew.
As we stood, waiting for the door to open, I mentally prepared myself to face Allan, knowing that he was working with my mother. Caiden and Weston were both on edge, too.
The door swung open, but it wasn’t Allan who was behind it.
“Evening.” Arlo smiled at the surprise on our faces.
“Since when do you open the door?” Weston said what we were all thinking, as we followed him inside.
“I am capable of opening a door, Weston.” His dry tone made me laugh, but I covered it with a fake cough.
“I know that, but you have staff to do that for you,” Weston countered, as we headed down the hallway and stopped outside a door I’d never noticed before.
“I gave the staff the night off.” Arlo took a small, ornate key from his pocket and twisted it in the lock. As he turned the door handle, I heard both Caiden and Weston’s identical shocked intakes of breath, and I frowned. What was behind the door?
