Who Falls Hardest (Clearwater University Book 3) Read online

  I promise her I’ll fill her in on everything later and reassure her that I’m okay. I can tell she doesn’t believe it, but I can also feel Officer Lambert staring at me, and I want to deal with this shit and figure out how the hell to stop Leslie.

  “Mom, I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Trent,” she says, confusion still lingering in her voice.

  I press the END CALL button with more force than necessary, then turn to Officer Lambert, fixing him with a hard stare. He and the other cop who was hanging out by the door are now standing together, watching us like two useless fucking lumps of flesh.

  “All right. I’m only gonna go over this one more time,” I say, pressing my lips together. “The car is mine. I didn’t steal it. But someone did commit a crime.” I gesture to myself, then to Emma and my friends. “All four of us were hacked. Why the hell don’t you do something about that?”

  3

  Emma

  “Well, that was a waste of several fucking hours,” Reese grumbles under his breath as we head down a hallway in the police station toward the exit.

  My knees still feel a little shaky, and I feel a little queasy. After I got that fake text from my dad, Trent stopped taking anyone’s shit. He finally got the cops to listen and believe that he didn’t steal his own car—and then the real fun began.

  I had wondered what local police might be able to do to stop Leslie even if they believed that she had hacked into our lives.

  And the unfortunate truth is, not much.

  They took statements from all of us, including information about how the guys’ credit cards stopped working, about how Trent’s car was listed as stolen, and about the text from a number that looked like my father’s. Then they gave us some outdated and generic pamphlets about “securing our online presence” and told us they’d look into Leslie’s whereabouts and verify whether she’s really been at that rehab facility.

  And then they let us go.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, you can say that again.” Trent shakes his head angrily as we pass by the front desk.

  I can’t help but agree with all of them. I’m glad none of us are spending the night behind bars, but given the skill Leslie has shown in invading all of our lives, I wonder if the police will be any help at all in our fight against her.

  Somehow, I doubt it.

  “Let’s just go home,” I say, then do a small double-take. The words just slipped off my tongue, but I forgot that my “home” for the moment is the house all three men rent off-campus.

  None of them miss it, and Reese’s bright emerald eyes gleam in the light from the streetlamps as he glances at me, a smile curving his lips.

  My heart thuds a little harder in my chest, and I tug my gaze away from his when West reaches the exit and holds the door open for me. We step outside into the cool night air of California, but before we can walk down the front steps, a voice calls out across the mostly empty parking lot.

  “Emma!”

  Oh, shit. It’s my dad.

  I texted him after I got the false message from Leslie, wanting to make sure he was okay and verify that he hadn’t texted me about any accident. I didn’t tell him everything that’s going on, but I should’ve known he would be worried enough to come down to the station.

  He doesn’t know the full story—doesn’t know about the bullying I endured in high school or all the shit that went down last semester that led to this moment—but now he knows about Leslie’s part in it, at least.

  A car door slams, pulling my attention away from him, and a second later, I catch sight of Claire Cooper walking toward us from the other side of the parking lot.

  “Mom,” Trent murmurs under his voice. He sounds slightly pained, but not surprised, just like I’m not all that surprised to see my father.

  Claire’s gaze catches on my dad, and her footsteps stutter slightly. He hesitates when he sees her too, and something I can’t quite read passes over his face. Then they both turn to face the four of us.

  “Are you all right?” Dad asks, walking up the stairs to meet us halfway as we begin to descend the front steps of the building.

  “Yeah.” I nod, trying to force my expression into a smile. “It’s okay. We’re getting it sorted out.”

  “This Leslie—she’s your roommate at Clearwater? Or, was your roommate?”

  Dad shakes his head as he speaks, his brows pulling together. He sounds like he’s having about as much trouble believing it as I did at first. When I first met her, Leslie seemed chipper and vivacious. A little quirky, maybe, but definitely not sociopathic. Then again, I guess that’s what makes her such a sociopath.

  “Yeah. Her.” I shrug.

  “Why is she doing this? What happened between you two? I thought you were friends.”

  It’s a more loaded question than he realizes, and my stomach seems to turn in on itself at the thought.

  There’s so much our parents don’t know.

  A muscle in Trent’s jaw twitches, and he squares his shoulders. He glances at me, his blue eyes burning, then turns to my father.

  “Sir, we—”

  Oh God. He’s going to tell him. Everything.

  And when he does, my dad is going to hate him. My dad will be angry at me for a while for keeping secrets from him, but I don’t think he’ll ever forgive the Icons for what they did to me in high school.

  I’m not ready for that to happen, I suddenly realize. I’m not ready for the fragile truce the men and I have developed to be broken by hatred from an outside observer. So much has changed since high school, and even since last semester, but my dad wouldn’t understand that now. He would experience only the fresh anger of learning that these three men who were once my friends had turned on me and tormented me.

  “Leslie sabotaged one of my class projects last semester,” I say quickly, stepping forward and putting myself between Trent and my dad on the stairs. “When I found out about it and confronted her, she reacted badly. She went after me, and when the guys stood up for me, she went after them too.”

  Dad looks horrified that anyone could be so awful. He reaches out to give my shoulder a squeeze, then extends his hand toward Trent. “Thank you for trying to take care of my little girl. I’m sorry you got mixed up in all of this too. Were the police able to help?”

  The look on Trent’s face make my chest ache. He looks like he hates himself in this moment, as if being the object of my father’s gratitude is physically painful for him. As if he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

  He dips his chin once but doesn’t say anything in response.

  “Um, not very much. They said they’ll look into Leslie’s whereabouts and see if they can link any of this to her,” I say, picking up the thread of the conversation to cover for Trent’s silence. “We’ll figure something out though.”

  “Can we do anything to help?” Trent’s mom asks as we head down the stairs and into the parking lot.

  She shoots another strange look at my dad, and it suddenly occurs to me that they didn’t come here together. They didn’t even seem to know the other would be here.

  Are they not together? Have things gone south between them? Dad seemed so in love with her that it’s hard to imagine that happening. But the truth is, I haven’t been in very good touch with him recently. Maybe something happened and I just don’t know about it.

  “Yes. Do you need anything, Ems?” Dad reaches out and catches my elbow, tilting his head as he regards me. “Why don’t you come back home and stay with me for a while? At least until you get this whole mess sorted out?”

  I feel all three of the Icons stiffen around me, and even without looking at them, I can feel them hanging on my answer, waiting to see what I’ll say.

  My dad is probably trying to make amends for his earlier refusal to let me stay with him after I got kicked out of Clearwater. Now that he knows there were other circumstances, maybe he doesn’t see me as a giant fuckup who blew her chance to rebuild her life.
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br />   I should probably say yes. Staying with the guys at their house is a bad idea for several reasons—and the fact that I just referred to it as “home” makes it an even worse idea.

  It would be smarter to get some distance from the three of them. To step back and clear my head.

  But my mouth refuses to form the words I know I should say.

  I’m exhausted and emotionally strung out from the events of the evening. I want to be someplace where I’ll feel safe. Taken care of.

  And as strange as it may be, the place I’ll feel most protected is in the Icons’ house.

  “No, that’s okay. Thanks, Dad.” I give my father a hug, squeezing him tight and trying to imbue the hug with all the gratitude I feel. “I’ll be okay where I am.”

  “If you’re sure,” he says doubtfully, squeezing me back.

  “I am.”

  As we draw apart, the back of my neck prickles. I still don’t let myself look at the three men who surround me in an arc, but I can feel their focus on me. I swear the brush of their gaze heats my skin like fire.

  “Actually, there is one thing,” Trent says suddenly. “We don’t think Leslie is after anyone except us. But since she sent a text from a number that looked like yours, I think it’s probably a good idea to check all of your online accounts just to be sure she hasn’t gotten into any of them.” He looks from Claire to my dad. “Would you mind helping my mom out with that?”

  Dad blinks, and I swear he looks a little bashful. He glances at Claire. “I’d be happy to help, if you’ll accept it.”

  She dips her chin. “Yes. Sure, of course.” A small smile tilts her lips. “You know how bad I am with computers.”

  My dad chuckles. “I wasn’t going to say it, but…”

  Trent gives a satisfied nod, and I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. So much has happened tonight that I’m completely off balance. It makes me feel like I’m two steps behind on everything, but I have a strange feeling that Trent was deliberately trying to create an excuse for our parents to spend time together.

  There was a time when he was violently opposed to them as a couple. He blamed my dad for the fact that his own parents split up in high school. Does he want them to be together now?

  And what does that mean for me and Trent?

  4

  Emma

  We talk in the quiet parking lot outside the police station for a few more minutes, but it’s late and there’s not much else to say. Before too long, we say our goodnights. My dad gives me another hug and kisses my hair, and Claire hugs her son and fusses over the other two men, then pats me gently on the cheek.

  The drive back to the Icons’ house is quiet and tense, nothing like the atmosphere in the car when we left for dinner earlier this evening. That feels like a million years ago, another lifetime entirely.

  Questions swirl around in my head as we drive, and when we reach the house, I step inside after Reese and West. Trent follows behind me, and I turn to face him as he steps through the door.

  “Did our parents split up?”

  My words stop him in his tracks, and he licks his lips. His handsome, chiseled features are tight with stress and exhaustion, but his sky-blue eyes are clear as he meets my gaze.

  “Yes.”

  “When?” I ask.

  “Not long ago. Your dad wanted to take time apart so he could… help you after you got kicked out of Clearwater.”

  He grimaces as he speaks, and I feel a flare of anger light up in my chest. Apparently, our parents’ relationship is just another casualty of the fucked up mess that exists between me and the Icons. At this point, it’s probably not worth keeping a list of who’s responsible for each little part of this clusterfuck, but it’s hard to forget that the very beginning, the inception of all of this, was because of Trent.

  If he just would’ve believed me in high school, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

  Trent must read the expression on my face, because he steps forward, shaking his head. “That wasn’t what I wanted, Ems. I swear. Maybe at one point, yes. But now? I swear, I wasn’t trying to break them up.”

  “Yeah,” I say, taking a step back and dropping my gaze. I believe him, but it doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better.

  “Ems.” His fingers find my chin, and he tilts my head up, moving closer until I can feel the warmth of his body. “I’m serious. I’m gonna fix this, I promise. I know my mom still cares about him. This isn’t over for her, and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure they get the future they deserve. Okay? I fucked things up, and I know that. But I’m trying to make it right.”

  There’s truth in his voice, but it’s the bitter self-recrimination that convinces me more than anything. Trent is angry at himself—at the past version of himself, the one who fucked everything up. I am too, and sharing that anger with him makes it easier to let go of it in the present.

  I tug Trent’s hand away from my chin, and for a brief moment, my hand closes around his, our palms brushing together. He’s still staring at me intently, and the depth of emotion in his eyes makes butterflies flap in my stomach.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”

  He doesn’t let go of my hand or look away, as if he’s trying to see through every layer and barrier I have wrapped around my heart, right down to my very soul. Finally, he kisses my knuckles once and releases my hand.

  “Good,” he murmurs.

  Keeping his grip on my hand, he leads me over to the couch as the two other men settle in around us. I end up sandwiched between Reese and Trent, with West sitting in a chair nearby.

  “Fucking hell.” Reese leans forward, running a hand through his light brown hair. “What a goddamn disaster this is.” He looks up, his gaze moving between the three of us. “I mean, we think this was Leslie, right? All of it?”

  “I’d bet my last damn dollar it is,” West growls.

  “Yeah.” Reese chuckles darkly. “I’m not sure I’d take that bet, considering if she gets into your bank account, you won’t have any dollars left.”

  “We can start making calls first thing in the morning,” Trent says, his tone shifting as he begins to work on solving this problem. “Get banks and credit cards sorted. The bigger question is, how the fuck did she manage to do all that from the rehab facility she was in? Wouldn’t they limit people’s access to internet in that kind of place?”

  “They should. Especially if one of their patients is a known hacker.” West leans back in his chair, spreading his legs. He’s pure masculine grace, his shoulders broad and his thighs thick and muscled. I try not to let my gaze shift downward as he crosses his arms over his chest, but I’m not entirely successful.

  “Maybe she set everything up before she went into that facility,” I offer. “She could’ve done all that in between getting kicked out of Clearwater and being put into rehab by her parents. And she’d have motivation to move fast if she knew her parents were about to put her in lockup. Maybe this was her last bit of revenge.”

  “Yeah.” Reese shrugs. “That makes sense. I sort of hope it’s true, actually. That would mean she can’t pull more shit while we try to unravel the mess she already made.”

  “True,” Trent agrees. “But I think we need to prepare for the possibility that she’s still somehow got access to a computer or something. We can’t afford to let our guard down. We did that once before and got fucking burned. I’m not doing it again.”

  “Fuck, no.” Reese grimaces. “I’m with you on that. We should probably—”

  “Oh, shit.”

  West’s voice is quiet, but it cuts through Reese’s words like a knife. When I look up at him, he’s got his phone out and is staring at the screen with a hard look on his face.

  “What?” My stomach drops. Jesus, what else did Leslie do? Did she hit us again already? “Did Leslie—”

  “No. No, it’s not that.” West jerks his head up, meeting my gaze. “I’ve been doing some digging to try to figure out who told Trent’s dad about your parents
. Who tipped him off to the affair. For so long, Trent was sure it was you, but…” He holds up his phone. “It wasn’t. I knew it.”

  The room goes quiet. It’s a thick silence that hangs over us for several long seconds, seeming to suck up all the oxygen in the place.

  Finally, I force air past my vocal chords, my voice raspy as I speak. “Who was it?”

  “Caitlin Smith. At least, according to this friend of Jack Wyman’s. He put me in touch with some people from high school, and one of them just emailed me back.”

  “Caitlin Smith?” Reese grimaces. “The cheerleader who wanted to get on Trent’s dick so bad?”

  “Yeah.” West huffs out a breath, dropping his phone onto the chair cushion beside him. “Fuckin’ hell. I should’ve guessed. Maybe she thought if she split the four of us up, if she turned Trent against Ems, she’d finally have a chance with him.”

  My stomach dips unpleasantly. I remember Caitlin. She was pretty and curvy and much more popular than me. I barely said two words to her for the entirety of my time at Amundsen—first because I was too absorbed by my friendship with the Icons, and then because I was too busy trying to escape their torture.

  But even though we barely ever spoke, she harbored that much hatred for me?

  She deliberately sabotaged my relationship with the three boys, all in the hopes of attracting the attention of one of them?

  “Well, it worked, I guess.” I laugh softly, although there’s no humor in it. “She got what she wanted.”

  “Fuck.”

  Trent’s voice is a low rumble. A second later, he’s off the couch. I expect him to stalk away or maybe pace the room in frustrated anger. After all, he finally knows the name of the person who betrayed his mom’s secret and ruined his parents’ marriage.

  What I don’t expect is for him to kneel on the floor at my feet. To grab both of my hands and clasp them in his. To hold on so tightly his grip is almost bruising.