Bound to my High School obsession

Chapter 6: A Fragile Truce

The transition back to the main floor offered no comfort. Every wide windowpane in the living room and kitchen remained wide open to the morning, letting the bleak Wyoming sun stream inside. To anyone watching from the valley ridge, we looked entirely normal. We looked like a family going about their morning.

But the normal look was a dangerous illusion.

Anthony dropped his hand from my arm as we reached the kitchen island, pulling a laptop from a black tactical bag and setting it on the counter. Minutes ticked by in a heavy, suffocating silence. The only sounds were the low hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic click of Anthony’s fingers against the keyboard as he monitored whatever security feeds or data lines he had hooked into William’s network.

I sat on a barstool, my knees pulled up to my chest, staring at the keys to William's truck resting between us. "How long do I have to keep this up? Running his errands, driving that massive truck around town like nothing happened?"

Anthony didn't look up from the screen, his crystal clear blue eyes reflecting the harsh blue light of the monitor. "Until we know exactly who is tracking his movements. If the truck stays parked, they know he’s run. If you drive it, they stay confused. Right now, confusion is our only advantage."

"That’s not a timeline, Anthony." My voice was sharper than I intended, a defense mechanism against the raw panic bubbling back up. "I can't just play decoy forever."

"Your stepfather's choices dictated this timeline," Anthony said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion as he shut the laptop with a soft snap and turned to face me. "Right now, you don't have a choice. I’m handling the safety protocols. You just follow the routine."

"And what exactly is your part in this?" I pushed, dropping my legs down and leaning forward. "Why are you risking your life for a decoy?"

Anthony took two slow steps forward, closing the distance between us until he was towering over my stool, blocking the direct line of sight from the rear window. The disciplined, stoic mask he had put on after we came downstairs cracked just enough for me to see the dangerous, needy intensity swirling in his gaze again.

"I’m not risking my life for a decoy, Annabel," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "I’m risking it for you."

My breath hitched. Before I could process the sheer weight of his words, my stomach betrayed me, letting out a loud, hollow growl that shattered the heavy romantic tension instantly.

I felt my cheeks flush a brilliant, mortifying red. I hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

A faint, incredibly rare trace of a smirk touched Anthony’s lips. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday," I muttered, looking down at my boots.

Without a word, Anthony turned to the pantry, pulling out bread and peanut butter. He moved with an effortless efficiency, but as he started to assemble a simple sandwich, his large hands looked entirely too massive for the delicate task. Unable to just sit there, I slid off the stool and stepped up to the counter next to him, reaching for the loaf of bread. "I can do it."

"I told you to sit," he murmured, not letting go of the bag.

"And I told you I'm not helpless," I countered, my fingers brushing against his as I pulled the bread toward me.

The physical contact was electric. Anthony froze. He didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he turned his head slowly, his stark blue eyes locking onto mine from mere inches away. "You're stubborn," he whispered, his breath brushing over my lips.

"I'm hungry," I corrected, though my appetite was rapidly being replaced by a terrifying, intoxicating hunger of a completely different kind. I swallowed hard, before the question that had been tormenting me finally spilled out. "What you said earlier... about high school. You really knew I was looking at you?"

Anthony’s eyes cracked open wider, darkening as they dropped to my mouth for a fraction of a second before lifting back to my eyes. "Every single day, Annabel."

My mind spun backward, suddenly flooded with memories I had buried deep in my chest. "There's no way. I was so careful, Anthony. Senior year, during third-period AP Lit—you sat three rows ahead of me, right by the window. I used to stare at the back of your neck. You never turned around. Not once."

Anthony let out a low, rough sound from the back of his throat, stepping so close his chest brushed against mine. The physical dominance in his posture was suffocating, thick with a sudden, heavy desire.

"I didn't need to turn around," he whispered, his gaze locked onto mine with a terrifyingly needy intensity. "The window glass acted like a mirror, Annabel. Every time the sun hit it, I could see your reflection. I watched you trace the edge of your notebook. I knew exactly when you were sketching, and I knew when your eyes drifted up to meet mine in the glass. I stayed perfectly still because I was terrified if I moved, you'd look away."

My jaw went slack. The universe felt like it was tilting on its axis.

"And track practice," I breathed, the words tumbling out before I could stop them, desperate to prove him wrong, yet desperate for him to be right. "In the spring. I used to sit on the bottom bleachers pretending to do chemistry homework. You were always doing lap sprints on the far side of the field. You never looked up."

"Because if I looked up, the coach would have benched me for being distracted," Anthony growled softly, his large hand coming up to rest on the counter right beside my hip, effectively trapping me against the wood. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his breath hot against my skin. "I knew the exact color of the sweater you wore every Tuesday. I knew you only sat on the bottom row because you hated heights. And when I finished my sprints, I’d intentionally walk the long way around the track, right past the bleachers, just to see if your breath would catch when I got close."

He leaned in even closer, his eyes scanning my face with a hunger that made my knees weak. "It did. Just like it's doing right now."

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The boy who had seemed entirely untouchable, the one who had ignored every popular girl in school, had been hyper-aware of me. He hadn't just noticed me; he had been counting the seconds.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" I whispered, my voice trembling as the sheer charge of his desire wrapped tightly around us.

"Because back then, I was a kid trying to survive a clean slate, and you looked like something entirely too good for a guy like me to ruin," Anthony said softly. He reached out, his thumb gently catching a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch sending a wave of fire down my neck. "But we aren't in high school anymore, Annabel. And I'm not letting anyone take you away before I get the chance."