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The first step of redemption: not surrounding myself with demons from my past.
As we exit her car, Lucy shows me an Instagram picture of a few football players drinking in secret. It’s on some account called blackwood-black-book.
“Who’s awful enough to post those pictures?” I ask. “Won’t that ruin their chances to be drafted into the NFL?”
“Could be.” Lucy raises her shoulders. “Blackwood Black Book is all about scandal, though.”
And it seems to be working based on the thousands of followers it’s gained.
“Who runs it?” I ask.
“No one knows.” She laughs. “It’s like a Gossip Girl of sorts.”
I stop, the thought of another very suspicious account barging into my mind. I hold out my hand to Lucy. “Let me see.”
After she gives me the phone, I click on the account’s followers and type Cloud003. Sure enough, he’s there.
Mot
herfucker.
This should mean he’s a student at Blackwood College—or close enough. Does that mean he was the one who bound me that night? But if he were, why would he warn me afterward?
“What’s wrong?” Lucy leans in to peek.
I quickly wipe the search history then return her phone. “Hey, Luce?”
She grins, her prominent cheeks lifting with the motion.
“What?” I eye her closely.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you calling me Luce.” She walks beside me. “What is it?”
I clear my throat. “We’ve been on the same squad for three years, and you even know me from high school, right?”
“Right.”
“During all that time, did I ever talk about…I don’t know, a love interest or something like that?”
She hums, tapping her chin. “You never talk about your love interests.”
“Not even about Asher?”
“No.” She doesn’t even stop to think about it. “You’re a private person, Reina. None of us actually knows what goes on in your life, except for maybe Bree.”
Well, shit. I had hoped it wouldn’t come down to talking to her, but I probably have to bite the bullet and do it. If she has any idea about this Cloud003 asshole, I need to know.
Still, there’s something else I have to confirm with Lucy.
“Did Asher come back during Halloween parties?” I ask carefully. There’s a slight chance he’s Cloud003.
“Two years ago, yes. Last year, no.”
“He could’ve come over without you seeing him.” From what I understand, I always met this Cloud003 person in disguise.
“He celebrated Halloween with his friends in England last year. Hang on.” She retrieves her phone and scrolls through someone’s Instagram. Then she shows me a picture of Asher wrapping an arm around a guy with intimidating gray eyes. A blonde girl snuggles in his lap. Three other guys and girls stand behind them, some smiling and others in Halloween costumes.
Sure enough, the date of the picture is the night before Halloween. The caption reads, ‘Remember kids, no Halloween is scarier than real people.’
