He Shoots, She scores

Chapter Thirty-Four: Gracie | Revenge is the Best Medicine

Even though I do my best not to give two thoughts about Weston, I still care about him and his future. Which is exactly why I can't tell him what happened. If Weston finds out John touched me, he'll no doubt beat the living crap out of him. As much as John deserves that, it'd be a case of He Said vs. She Said, and the only end result would be a black eye and a suspension on Weston's part. With our school coming in dangerously close to the finals, I can't afford for that to happen. Weston and his team need this win. It's his chance at having a future in sports. While I know hockey isn't his long-term goal, I'd be doing him a favor by maintaining this opportunity for him. Having the chance to play in a professional league would be extremely beneficial to place in his back pocket.

I made Nessa swear to keep her mouth shut about this. So far, she's been true to her word. When we were in high school, she'd blab about any secret. It'd go in one ear and out her mouth. She couldn't help it- bottling in emotions was never her forte. But she knows how much is at stake with this secret. So far, this one has stayed with her to the grave.

It would be so much easier to keep this from Weston if he weren't around me all the time. But he is. All. The. Time.

 Weston has invited himself to rehearsals, and while he maintains a respectful distance, I can feel his presence filling the auditorium. When I'm finished rehearsals, he's always there, watching, waiting, those keys swinging around his fingers ready to drive us home. He drives me to campus as well. Walks me to my lectures and seminars just because he "feels like it." Comes to every Starbucks shift of mine because he "suddenly got into caffeine". Waits outside my lectures out of "pure coincidence." It's driving me crazy, but whether it's in a good or bad way, I'm still figuring out.

Back home, I'm in my room running lines when there's a knock. Several of them, to be exact. "Who is it?"

"It's me." Weston. No shock there.

"I'm busy" I say instinctively.

"Are you clothed?"

I freeze. What kind of question is that? "Yes?"

The door opens not even two seconds later. Weston scans my bedroom with his eyes, and I see him battling the urge to pick up my dirty laundry and align my shoes properly against the wall. "You're driving me crazy, Lavergne." This is what he chooses to say to me.

I'm sitting crisscrossed on my bed, hoodie, flannel shorts, messy bun on, my laminated script in hand. "Umm." Because what do I say to that?

Weston remains where he is, his hand still wrapped around the doorknob. Originally, I think he means my messy room, but then he asks, "Are you ever going to tell me why you were crying?"

My shoulders rise and fall when I see the physical fatigue melting from Weston's body and a course of guilt runs through me. There's a chance that keeping him from the truth may be doing more harm than good. Still, I know what I'm doing, and it's his future I'm trying to protect. I rub my eyes, feeling the exhaustion seep all the way to my bones. On top of everything that's happened so far in life, I'm reaching that burnout stage in the semester. I just can't wait for everything to be over. I want to skip to the good part.

"I told you. Nothing happened."

"Gracie" he says softly. I look up until our eyes meet. "It kills me to see you upset. Just tell me what caused it so I can make sure it never happens again." His gaze has a fiery passion to it, and I know he's speaking the truth. Weston would go great lengths to eliminate anything that made me unhappy.

"West-"

"Please." Okay, so Weston begging me is new.

I sigh. "I can't tell you." I watch with heightened senses as he enters my room and sits next to me on my bed. I hold my breath when his knuckles trace my jawline.

"You're stressed" he says.

"Not that much" I lie.

"Your pale." He frowns.

My fingers fly to my face. "I've always been this way."

Weston's knuckles continue that up and down motion, leaving tingling sensations in every part of my body. It doesn't help that he's locking me in place with those mesmerizing eyes of his. "Tell me what I can do."

"What you can do?"

"To cheer you up."

I re-position my body. "You want to cheer me up?"

Weston tugs on a strand of my hair. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

His eyes dart to my lips for a moment. "Anything." A devious idea formulates in my head. I stare at him, this boy who started off as a polar opposite roommate yet managed to escalate to something much, much more, and I wonder just how much he's willing to go to prove his commitment.

I pull a sheepish smile. Shyly, I say, "Well, there is this one thing that could help me out..."