Deceit (Gallows Hill #1)

7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Skyla

“ D o you want to go somewhere? We can go anywhere you want,” Maggie offers, as we make it away from the pack of assholes and closer to the dorms.

I shake my head as I continue walking past my dorm, heading for the end of campus.

“I just want to be alone. Thanks, Mags,” I say with a miserable smile.

She frowns at me, but nods as she stops walking with me. I can feel her eyes watching as I walk through the large black gates and past the parking lot. Honestly though, I don’t know where I’m going.

Technically, I don’t have my license. I learned how to drive in London, but I haven’t even been here long enough to attempt to get one. There is no way I’m calling my father. If he finds out about this it’ll be my head, I’m sure of it.

I guess I could call a rideshare or something, but walking is the best way to clear my mind. I don’t really know where I’m going, but my feet just keep carrying me further and further away from campus, which is really all I need right now.

Three or four miles in, my feet begin to ache and I end up stopping outside a bar and grill. Hopefully, I won’t run into anyone that knows me or my face here. Maggie showed me the picture, that’s actually what woke me up. Her hurried knocks at my door, followed by the humiliating photo of me asleep, drool coming out of my mouth beside my cum stained pillow and Asher’s lovely note.

To say it’s been a terrible start to the day would be an understatement.

When I step inside, I notice the restaurant is significantly darker than I expect it to be. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust when a familiar figure comes from what looks like the bathrooms, nearly knocking me over in the process. His hands quickly stabilize me, his bright blue eyes pinning me in place as he looks at me.

At first, surprise is written all over his face. Then, concern covers his features as his eyes flick over me.

“What’s wrong?” Ronan asks.

I do my best to smile, shaking my head as if everything was right as rain, but he isn’t buying it.

“Your mascara is all over your face, Skyla.”

Panicked, I reach my hand up touching my wet cheek and internally curse. Well, this is just wonderful. I’ve been parading myself all over Salem looking as broken as I feel right now.

Ronan’s hand slips to my lower back as he gestures to a corner booth in the back. Wordlessly, I follow him as he stops by the bar top, grabbing a glass of water and a few napkins. He dunks the napkins in water before handing them to me. I hesitate to take them for a moment.

“I don’t have any makeup with me to re-do it.”

He frowns. “So?”

“So, everyone will see my bare face. They’ll think I’m some hot-mess girl who doesn’t care about her appearance.”

“And black tear-streaks don’t say that?”

My lips smash against each other, his point more than taken as I grab the napkins from him. I pull out my phone, turn on the selfie camera and cringe when I see myself. God, this is humiliating.

Slowly, I scrub away every scrap of makeup left on my skin. When I’m done, I set the makeup coated napkins on the counter before I lower my face. Maybe, if no one sees me, it won’t be that bad. They won’t notice my dark circles or how my cheeks are always a little more red than the rest of my face, and hopefully they’ll miss the scar here and there from good old hormonal acne.

“Why are you so worried about not wearing any makeup? You weren’t in the pool?” Ronan asks.

“It’s different. I wasn’t supposed to see anyone in the pool, this is public. Anyone could see me and—”

“And?” he interrupts.

I shrug. “Judge. Talk.”

“So, if you would have known I was going to be in the pool, you would have put on makeup? Despite having your face submerged for a significant amount of time?”

I think about that for half a second before I have my answer. Would I have much rather preferred having my metaphorical war paint on when dealing with the grumpy tattooed swimmer and the unfairly hot swim coach? Absolutely.

I nod. “They make waterproof makeup for a reason.”

Ronan doesn’t seem impressed by my answer though, instead just shaking his head as he reaches for the beer sitting on the table, lifting it to his lips and taking a healthy sip before setting it down.

“You don’t need that shit anyways,” he grumbles, almost to himself more than anything.

“Makeup?” I laugh. “I definitely do.”

“No,” he says seriously, his eyes ensnaring me as he speaks. “You don’t.”

Something inside of me twists at his words, and I find it difficult to swallow for a moment before I nod.

“So, what’s wrong?”

“Hm?” I ask.

“You were crying, obviously. Why?”

The reminder of this morning hits me in full effect, and just like that, I’m furious all over again.

“My lovely fiancé just decided my Saturday needed to start off with a heavy dose of public humiliation.”

His brows knit together at that.

“What do you mean?”

I bite my lip and turn my head away, refusing to go into detail. It’s bad enough that without a doubt, the whole school is literally laughing in my face right now. I don’t need it from the staff as well. I feel a thumb press against the side of my chin, gently turning my face back to him, as he leans across the table a little more and watches me intently.

“What did he do?”

Something about the way he is looking at me, the way he is touching me, is forcing all of my walls to drop simultaneously. So, with a shaky hand, I pass my phone to him. It’s open to the personalized message I got from Asher this morning, along with the photo.

Ronan removes his hand from my chin, before looking down at the phone. His jaw ticks, as he stares at it for longer than I’d care before he looks back up at me.

“I’ll take care of this.”

I shake my head. “Please don’t, it will only egg him on. For whatever reason, he’s trying to make my life miserable, despite me wanting nothing more to do with this situation than him. Feeding into it only gives him the attention and control he’s clearly so desperate for.”

He stares at me, seemingly speechless for several seconds before he speaks.

“You’re a hell of a lot more intuitive than your meek demeanor portrays.”

I shrug. “You notice a lot when you stay quiet.”

Ronan nods and is about to say something when the waitress comes up beside him and smiles.

“Anything else I can get for you, Mr. Putnam?”

Any pleasantries on my face die in a fiery burn as my eyes swing to his face. He gives her a scathing look like she outed him, which she did, before brushing her off.

“Putnam? Please don’t tell me you’re Asher’s father,” I balk.

Oh my god. If I’ve been, not so secretly, flirting with my fiancé’s dad and having him flirt back with me, I will die. I swear.

He shakes his head. “Of course not. I’d have been ten when I had him.”

“So, what? You’re his brother?” I guess.

“Uncle,” he corrects.

Awesome.

I move to slide out of the booth while grabbing my phone, when his hand reaches for my wrist, holding me back half a step.

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

I let out a hollow laugh as I peer down at him.

“Really? It seems as though you were being kind to me to gain my trust. Worming your way past my defenses, to do god knows what, either at the bidding of my fiancé or maybe even his father. Hell, maybe for your own vendetta. Either way, I would very much appreciate it if you would take your hand off of me.”

He lets me go instantly, and I take a step away from him when he speaks.

“I didn’t know who you were at first.”

I pause, casting a disbelieving eyebrow towards him.

“How? Everyone on this bloody campus seems to have known who I am, from the moment I arrived.”

Ronan shrugs, his eyes on mine as he continues.

“Do I seem like the type of man to keep up with the latest gossip?”

No, but still.

“You do seem to know enough.”

“Just enough,” he agrees.

Something in his words rings true, as ignorant as it might be of me to believe, I decide having an ally through this mess might not be such a bad thing. Flirting is most definitely off the table now. Damnit. He was the only blip of light apart from Maggie, in this school and this town.

“Okay,” I say, taking a seat in front of him. “If you really don’t mean any harm, then tell me what I can do to handle Asher. What can I do to make sure he never humiliates me like this again?”

He’s silent for a moment, his body language unwavering and I go to stand yet again. Of course he’s not going to turn on his own nephew. Not even if he thinks it’ll buy him brownie points with the young college student he was most definitely interested in, at least at first.

“Ignore him,” Ronan says. “I know it’s probably not the revenge you want, but Asher is just like his dad. He feeds on attention and power, the more you give him, the more insufferable he becomes. He may spiral from lack of attention, but him coming for you and you not reacting is like attacking a dead animal. It becomes boring after a while.”

He’s right, that’s not what I wanted to hear, but it is what I suspected. Asher seems to have every bit the arrogance and controlling nature that my father possesses. So though he’s, in a sense, a new enemy, this is an old game. One I’ve been playing my whole life.

I nod. “I haven’t met him before– your brother. What’s he like?”

Ronan’s jaw tenses and he takes several seconds before speaking.

“Didn’t I just tell you?”

“You told me the downsides of his personality. Are you really telling me that’s all there is to him? To both of them? You’re the only good Putnam man around?”

I say that last part teasingly and he seems to pick up on it, a self-deprecating laugh escaping him before he shakes his head.

“Who said I was any good?”

“Fair. You were trying to coerce a nineteen-year-old student,” I agree.

His jaw drops and he looks outraged.

“I did no such thing,” he defends.

“You would have in a heartbeat,” I challenge with a laugh and a ‘don’t lie to me’ look.

He opens his mouth to argue before he snaps it shut, shaking his head as if he were trying to hide his smile before his blue eyes peek up at me.

“I’m not sure how much coercion you would have taken, Miss Parris.”

True.

I don’t agree, obviously. Instead, I shrug my shoulders as I look across the bar.

“Do you want something?” he asks.

“What do they have?” I ask.

“Food, beer, liquor,” he rattles off sarcastically.

I roll my eyes at him, but don’t hide my smile.

“Well, since I’m only of legal age for one of the three, I will stick with food.”

“You’re in Salem now, Skyla. You can have whatever you want,” he says with an easy shrug, as he takes another drink of his beer.

“Surely the drinking laws aren’t different here?” I scoff.

“They are when your last name is Parris, soon to be Putnam.”

I laugh at him, because he must be kidding, but I decide to test his little theory. I catch the waitress’s eye and she walks over to us with a smile.

“Can I get something for you, hun?”

“Could I please get a chicken salad and a glass of pinot grigio?”

Her eyes briefly flick to Ronan, as if she were asking him for permission before he gives her a quick nod. She smiles brightly at me and nods before walking back to the computer to ring up the order. I watch her go, completely bewildered. I won’t lie, that was something I was disappointed about when I was forced to move back to the US. The drinking age in London is eighteen. I had just started being able to order a glass of wine at lunch or dinner with Aunt Steph when I was forced to move back here and now have to wait another two years before being able to do that again. Though apparently, not in Salem.

I’m not sure I understand this city yet. It’s not that small and yet, it’s as if everyone knows everyone or at least everyone is connected to each other in a way. It’s an odd dynamic that I’m still trying to wrap my head around.

My food and wine arrive in the next few minutes and Ronan gets another beer. We spend the next hour or so just talking about anything and everything. I told him about my time in boarding school, my Aunt Steph and my love of swimming. He told me how he went to Gallows Hill University himself and actually went on to join Team USA in the Olympics. He placed Bronze in the freestyle 100 meter two games in a row.

I was floored with that bit of information. I was about to start drilling him with question after question, but a sad look flickered across his face when the topic was brought up so I thought it was best to let it lie.

When we’re done, Ronan hands the waitress his card.

“Let me cover my share,” I say, earning a disapproving look from him as he continues holding his card out for the waitress.

I move my hand away from my wallet, lowering my head softly.

“Thank you,” I say with a small smile.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, causing a flutter to run through me.

There has been absolutely no flirting or sexual tension until this very moment. Obviously, him being a swim coach and over thirteen years older than me was enough of a no-no. Add in that I’m engaged and it’s really inappropriate. Sprinkle in the fact that he is my fiancé’s uncle. Yeah, it's a hard no. Unfortunately.

Neither one of us speaks, our eyes locked on one another before I force myself to look away. My eyes land on his hand, something familiar catching my eye.

“Hey, that looks just like my dad’s ring,” I say, leaning over to take a closer look at it.

He stiffens as soon as my fingers touch the cool metal. A cursive letter B is embossed on the front of the silver ring, with similar Latin script carved around it.

I look up at him expecting him to say something, but I only find Ronan staring at me intently, his jaw tight and eyes focused.

I let his hand go and he seems to relax almost immediately, which I can’t lie, kind of bugs me. Is my touch really that off putting? That repulsive?

Clearing his throat once, he gestures towards the door, and I nod my head. Silently yielding to whatever get out of this moment free card he wants to use.

“Where did you park?” Ronan asks, as we step out into the parking lot.

I cringe softly as I shake my head.

“I walked here.”

“You walked?” he scoffs. He looks down at me, towering over me by nearly a foot before he shakes his head.

“C’mon,” he says as he hits his key fob, unlocking a sleek, black BMW.

I don’t follow him, weighing my options. I probably shouldn’t ride with him. Having lunch with him was bad enough, right? Then again, my feet are practically begging me to say yes because I can’t imagine walking another fifty steps, let alone miles.

“Please,” Ronan adds from the side of the car. “It will make me feel better to know you aren’t wandering the streets alone.”

The soft tone in comparison to his normally rugged voice is enough to sway me, and I nod my agreement as I move towards him. He holds open the passenger door for me and I dip my head in thanks before sliding inside. The plush leather seats are like butter, and I sink into them as Ronan shuts my door and walks around to his side.

When he starts the car, he pauses for a moment staring at me for half a beat longer than I’d expect.

“What?” I ask, suddenly feeling self-conscious as I smooth down my hair with my hands and wipe under my eyes. Did I miss some makeup? Is my hair now also feeling the wrath of the hot-mess express I am on the inside?

“Nothing,” he says with a shake of his head, before firing up the car and backing out of the parking spot.