Chapter 4
1179 Words
Luke materialized between us, breathing hard, his face a mask of feral rage.
He must have sprinted here—his letterman jacket was askew, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
"Touch her again," he snarled, shoving Tiffany back with enough force to make her stumble. "I'll break every finger."
Scarlet shrieked, scrambling backward as Tiffany caught herself against Bradley's car, her face contorted with shock and fury.
"You psycho!" she spat, rubbing her wrist where Luke had struck it away. "She's nothing! Why are you—"
Luke didn't let her finish.
He stepped forward, crowding Tiffany against the car door, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"Because I know what you tried last time." The words hung in the air, sharp and inexplicable.
Tiffany froze, her sneer faltering into genuine confusion. Scarlet stopped giggling, her mouth hanging open.
I stood rooted to the concrete steps, heart pounding against my ribs.
Luke's broad shoulders blocked my view of Tiffany, but I saw Scarlet frantically digging in her purse again—not for makeup this time.
Her hand emerged clutching a small spray bottle, the kind teachers kept for unruly students.
She aimed it at Luke's back.
"Luke!" My warning ripped out, sharp and panicked.
He spun, reflexes honed by years on the gridiron, just as Scarlet unleashed the spray.
The acrid stench of pepper fog hit the air—but Luke ducked low, the mist clouding harmlessly past his shoulder.
His hand shot out, clamping around Scarlet's wrist with brutal speed.
The bottle clattered onto the asphalt.
"Stupid move," Luke growled, twisting her arm until she whimpered, tears welling in her widened eyes.
He shoved her backward, sending her stumbling into Tiffany.
Both girls stared at him, pale-faced and speechless for the first time I'd ever seen.
Tiffany recovered first, shoving Scarlet aside.
Her green eyes narrowed, raking over Luke’s sweat-streaked face, his heaving chest, the raw fury still burning in his gaze.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she hissed, voice trembling with a mix of fear and outrage. "You've been acting like a total psycho all week! Following her, threatening people... What, did you suddenly decide you like Emilia Thompson or something?"
Her lip curled in disgust. "Are you dating the library ghost now? Is that it?"
Luke didn't flinch.
He stepped back, positioning himself squarely between me and them again.
His voice was low, controlled ice. "Stay away from her. Both of you. Today. Tomorrow. Forever."
He jerked his chin toward Scarlet, still cradling her wrist. "That goes double for your little tricks."
Tiffany's face flushed crimson.
She opened her mouth, but Luke cut her off, his gaze slicing to me without turning his head. "Emily. Let's go."
His command was rough, urgent.
Before I could react, Luke’s hand closed around mine—calloused, warm, and startlingly firm.
He pulled me forward, past Tiffany’s stunned silence and Scarlet’s whimper, his stride eating up the asphalt as we crossed the deserted lot.
His grip didn’t loosen—rough, urgent, anchoring me to his side like driftwood in a storm.
Behind us, Tiffany’s shrill voice cut through the air: "You’re insane, Palmer! Everyone’s going to hear about this!"
Luke didn’t flinch, didn’t slow.
His fingers stayed locked around mine as he hauled me across the cracked asphalt, past the silent rows of teachers’ cars, his breathing ragged but his gaze fixed straight ahead.
We rounded the corner of the brick building, leaving Tiffany’s furious shrieks behind, and Luke finally slowed, dropping my hand like it burned him.
He scrubbed his face with both palms, shoulders slumping for just a second before he straightened, scanning the empty stretch of sidewalk leading toward the neighborhood streets.
"My car’s parked off-campus," Luke muttered, avoiding my eyes as he fished keys from his pocket.
His knuckles were scraped raw—probably from shoving Tiffany. "I’ll drive you home. Safer."
I stared at his trembling hand. "Don’t you have practice?" The question slipped out, automatic.
Sheldon would skin him for skipping.
Luke’s jaw tightened. "Screw practice." He finally met my eyes, blue and startlingly vulnerable. "I need to know you’re safe inside your house. With the door locked."
We walked in tense silence, the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot the only sound.
Tiffany’s accusation echoed in my head—you’ve been acting like a total psycho all week.
She wasn’t wrong.
The Luke I knew would’ve laughed at the idea of protecting me.
This Luke? He scanned every parked car we passed, his shoulders tense as coiled springs.
He’d known about the pepper spray before it happened.
He’d known Tiffany would be at the north exit, not the east stairwell. How?
Luke’s mustang idled at the curb, a low rumble in the quiet suburban street.
He opened the passenger door for me, same as every morning this week—a stiff, automatic gesture, like muscle memory carved from repetition.
His knuckles brushed the chrome handle, still scraped from shoving Tiffany, and he didn't meet my eyes as I slid into the worn leather seat.
The familiar scent of his car—lemon air freshener, axe body spray, and the sharp tang of his sweat—wrapped around me, thick with unspoken tension.
Luke slammed the driver’s door, the sound jarring in the stillness, and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned bone-white.
He didn’t start the engine immediately, just sat there breathing hard, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror as if expecting Tiffany’s blonde head to appear any second.
“She wasn’t supposed to be there,” he muttered, more to himself than me. “The north exit… I changed it. How did she know?”
His voice cracked, raw with frustration and something deeper—dread.
He slammed his palm against the steering wheel, making the whole car shudder. “Unless she had backup plans. Or someone talked.”
The engine roared to life, too loud in the quiet street.
Luke peeled away from the curb, tires screeching faintly on the asphalt.
He drove with aggressive precision, cutting through side streets instead of the main road, his eyes constantly flicking to the mirrors.
We didn’t speak.
The familiar route felt alien, charged with the aftershocks of the parking lot confrontation.
Luke’s jaw was clenched, a muscle ticking near his temple.
He took a sharp turn onto my street, braking hard in front of my small, blue-trimmed house.
His gaze swept the quiet yard, the empty porch, the drawn curtains. “Go straight in. Lock it. Don’t open for anyone.”
His voice was low, urgent, eyes scanning the neighboring houses.
I hesitated, my hand on the door handle.
The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid—Tiffany’s venom, Luke’s impossible knowledge, the way he’d moved like a shield.
“Luke…” My voice was barely a whisper.
He finally looked at me, the intensity in his blue eyes softening just a fraction.
“Thank you,” I managed. “For the ride. And… before.” The words felt inadequate, but they hung in the air, raw and real.
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