Pepped Up and Ready (Pepper Jones #3) (20 page)

“Let’s talk about it all tomorrow. Tonight, we’re going to Shadow Lane.”

I don’t realize how tense I am about returning to campus until he says this, and I’m filled with relief.

He takes my hand and leads me to the parking lot. “You’re having a bubble bath and a glass of wine.”

Something about the way Jace says bubble makes me giggle. “Does the Wilder household even have bubbles for a bath?” I ask skeptically.

He scoffs. “We’ve got what we need.”

“And after the bath?” I wonder out loud. A different kind of tingle takes ahold of me now. A delicious one.

He shoots me a dark glare before opening my door and helping me in. “Bed. Lots of sleep. You aren’t going to classes in the morning. And neither am I.”

“But Jace, you can’t skip class,” I protest, ignoring the other part of his statement for the moment. It’s important that he remain in good standing with his courses.

“This incident is enough to warrant a valid absence. And if it’s not, fuck it. We’re staying in bed tomorrow morning.”

When he tucks me in later that night and I’m snuggled close to his warm, firm body, I feel safe and protected. But as I drift off, it dawns on me that in all likelihood, the person driving that car tonight was after me because of what I mean to Jace. How can Jace make me feel safe if he is the reason I’m being attacked? I don’t know that for certain, but the irony of the situation presses on me as I burrow into Jace’s body. He can’t help who he is, what he means to people. But I can help what he means to me, if I want. My aching body distracts me from resolving the troublesome thought and I drift into a deep sleep.

The possibility that I might not get to compete at State for a different reason – one entirely out of my control – doesn’t really hit me until Friday evening. Rollie’s parents hosted a pre-race pasta dinner the night before the District Championships. The girls’ team has to place first or second overall to qualify as a team. Only ten teams in Colorado qualify for State as a team; everyone else has to qualify individually. In the past, I’ve qualified individually and last year we also qualified as a team. Since I’m not racing and can’t qualify individually, the only way for me to get to State is if the whole team qualifies. I’d been so concerned with my own recovery, I hadn’t even thought that the team might not place first or second.

I barely sleep the night before Districts and I’ve never been so nervous for a race in my life. One I’m not even competing in. I’ve been running a couple of miles each day all week, even with the cast on my wrist. My body certainly felt off the first couple of days after the accident, but my shins didn’t hurt, and my wrist didn’t really hold me back. It made me feel a little less streamlined and slightly off-balance, but I could still run. And so I did.

I’ve warmed up with the team, and today I get to cool down with them too, but I’m relegated to the sideline for the race. Though there are plenty of parents, siblings, friends, and even some of my teammates who aren’t racing today either (each school can only race twelve people at this meet), I prefer to be alone for this. I’m wound tight with anticipation.

We won Districts last year, but my freshman and sophomore year we placed third, and didn’t qualify as a team. Without me racing, our odds of placing first or second are low. If everyone has a great day, it can happen, but it’s far from guaranteed. How I had avoided facing this reality until now is extraordinary. Perhaps I needed to hold on to some hope, any hope, that my goal remained attainable. I had to believe I could race at State in order to get through the cross training. Otherwise, the hopelessness of the situation would have been too much.

The first crowd of runners is coming my way. I hear them before I see them. I’m away from most of the other spectators, about a half mile in to the course. Most of the runners are still pretty close together, and I shade my eyes, trying to make out the blue and gold colors of Brockton Public. Jenny’s tiny frame is out in front, and my mouth curves into a small smile.

When I collapsed at State last year and missed qualifying for Regionals by one spot, Jenny gave up her spot for me. Judging by the look of determination on her face as she races along with girls I recognize as the top competitors in our District, I know she’s not just racing for herself today.

Over the last couple of weeks, Zoe has focused on cross with a renewed vigor, apparently recognizing this season likely will be her last ever. She’s realized she doesn’t have the commitment to the sport to continue in college. And Zoe is right there, on the heels of the top group. She flashes me a smile when she sees me and I cheer loudly.

It’s the top five girls on each team who score points, with six and seven only counting if there’s a tie. Though our other runners aren’t super strong, they consistently place in the middle of the pack. They will need to do better than that today.

I cheer with a ferocity that probably scares some of the runners, but I don’t care. I’m all over the course, probably running more than I’m supposed to in order to get to each spot to cheer, but I’ll sit out the cool down if I need to.

Jenny is battling two girls who are twice her size when she hits the home stretch. I can see her digging deep, seeking that
something else
inside her that not everyone can find. She’s a true competitor, and when her stride begins to surge, I know she’s got what it takes. The two other girls (who are certainly not big by any means, but who appear as giants compared to Jenny), notice that Jenny is pulling ahead. They pump their arms harder but they can’t hold on. And when she crosses the finish line in front of them, I’m the first to embrace her.

Zoe joins us a moment later, having placed higher than ever before at the District meet. More girls from our team filter across the finish line, until we’re squeezed to the side in a group circle. They are sweaty and dirty and the joy on all of their faces, knowing they’ve raced their hardest, brings tears to my eyes.

These girls did their best and they know it. I’m incredibly proud to be their teammate, their captain. Whether we make the cut for State or not, I’ll be okay. We’ll all be okay.

Though I’m at peace with whatever happens, waiting for the results to come through is a new test in patience. The boys’ team is strong enough this year to be quite confident they either won or at least placed second. They’ll be at State. But the rest of us can’t stop fidgeting as we sit on the grass attempting to talk about plans for the night. We’re all too distracted to pay much attention to the conversation, yet we keep talking anyway. Nerves will do that.

The guys have declared a celebration either way, especially once I told Omar and Rollie – the boys’ captains – that the girls raced awesome today, no matter what place they end up getting.

Coach Tom is running toward us and I jump up from my cross-legged position. Coach often jogs around the course at races and even occasionally at practice to help motivate us. But the pep in his gait tells me all I need to know and I’m grinning before he even announces the news.

We’re going to State. The dream is still alive.

***

“We’re going to State!” Zoe chants for the hundredth time. She’s drunk. And very excited for the State meet.

We’re standing around a campfire about a mile from anywhere else. It’s a campsite that has been closed for the season, but given that it’s the cross country team, we hiked a mile in with beer in backpacks. Our cars are parked where a gate blocks the road, and we know the odds of anyone checking things out is slim to none.

It was Omar’s idea, and I love it. It’s cold out, and we’re bundled in parkas and hats, but this is just the cross team tonight, and the celebratory vibe in the air is contagious. Even though I didn’t participate in getting us to the State meet, I feel a part of it.

I’m holding on to a thermos of hot chocolate and watching the fire, glad that enough of us aren’t drinking so we can get all the cars back, when I jump at arms wrapping around my waist. Though they are strong and familiar, I have to spin around to confirm it’s him.

“Jace,” I breathe out. “What? How did you get here?”

He laughs. “How do you think? We parked where the road closed and walked the rest of the way.”

“We?” I frown, looking around.

“Me and Wes,” he tells me. “Omar told me what you guys were up to tonight so I decided to surprise you.”

My expression must not be what he hoped for because he loosens his hold a bit.

“I know it’s supposed to be just the team and everything, but Omar said you guys have been here since eight or so, and I figured people would be heading back soon,” he explains. He’s right. It’s nearly midnight and a lot of people have curfews.

“No, I’m glad you’re here, just surprised,” I tell him. It’s true. His warmth feels good. But there’s tension between us. I haven’t seen him since Tuesday morning, the morning after I was hit by the car. I’m not sure who has been avoiding whom, but there’s definitely a distance between us.

He knows these things are probably happening to me – terrible things – because I’m with him. I know it too. And neither of us knows what to do about it. We aren’t giving up. Whoever is doing this wants to hurt us, and as much as neither of us wants to admit it, they’ve succeeded. We can’t ignore what’s going on.

“Can I talk you into spending the night?” Jace murmurs. I’ve twisted back around to face the fire. It’s a welcome distraction. I love being in his arms, but I don’t want to talk right now.

“You don’t have to talk me into it, Jace.” I tilt my head back to tell him and he takes my lips in a brief kiss. But that kiss tells me so much. Jace holds me and touches me in a way that communicates he’s still deeply in love with me, and probably always will be. But how do we handle whoever wants to hurt him by hurting me? Can we fake a breakup and stay together secretly? The only solutions I’ve contemplated over the past few days are simply too extreme. Too heartbreaking.

When I break my eyes from his I see that Wes is by Zoe, who is even happier than she was earlier, which is saying something. Our teammates don’t hide their amazement that Wesley Jamison and Jace Wilder are at our little celebration, and they stare in open fascination. Being a spectacle in front of my own teammates doesn’t bother me like it might have a year ago. Instead, I find it amusing. Omar and Rollie are used to Wes and Jace by now, and they are the only ones who don’t seem dumbstruck. And maybe Jenny. She’s too interested in being seated on Rollie’s lap to care.

After making sure everyone’s ride home is accounted for, Jace and I make our way back to his Jeep. Though I didn’t race, the emotions of the day have taken their toll, and I’m yawning all the way back to Jace’s dorm.

He doesn’t stop holding my hand. He holds it as we walk to his car and while driving, and all the way up the stairs to his room. “My roommates are out,” he tells me as he unlocks the door to his common area, which is generally unlocked.

“I’m just going to run to the restroom real quick. I’ll meet you in your room.” I kiss him on the cheek as he makes his way to his dorm room and I slip into the bathroom the four boys share.

Despite how sleepy I am, my stomach flutters in anticipation of alone time with Jace as I wash my hands after doing the business I came to do. It’s eerily dark and silent in the dorm. Usually at least one of the guys is home, and the building itself is generally full of the sounds of dozens of college students living under one roof. But it’s Saturday night, and most of the athletes are either asleep, partying, or away at a game.

After drying my hands with a paper towel, I open the door and glance up to see light coming from Jace’s doorway. The door is partially open and Jace is standing there, facing inside, a grim expression on his face. I stop in my tracks when he puts his hand out behind the door, a stern gesture to stay away.

Gulping, I open my mouth to ask what’s going on when I hear a girl’s voice. My knees begin to quake. It’s a voice I know. Savannah, the amazon.

I can’t hear what she’s saying and very slowly I inch my way closer to the door. Jace tenses when he senses me beside him, but she can’t see me. I’m still shadowed by the door. Jace doesn’t look at me, and it dawns on me that he wants her to keep talking. He doesn’t want me to interrupt her.

When I hear what she’s saying, I jump into action. I’m filled with a sense of purpose and I grab my phone from my back pocket, frantically searching for the app that records conversation. My movements are jerky, but with determination I hit the record button. And just in time.

“The first time I saw you, I knew that you had to be mine,” Savannah says in a strangely trance-like voice. “It was two years ago and you were at my high school for a football game. I was leaving the locker room after practice and you almost ran into me in the hallway. You remember that, don’t you?”

Jace’s face remains carefully expressionless, but she clearly imagines a response because she continues confidently, “I knew you noticed me then. You looked at me like you loved me even then. It was love at first sight,” she sighs dreamily and my stomach lurches. “Of course, I’d already heard all about you. I knew who you were. But we couldn’t be together then. It wasn’t time.”

Jace’s breathing is steady and if it wasn’t for his white-knuckled grip on the doorframe, I might mistake him for calm. His stance is deliberately casual, though he has made no move to step closer to her.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know you want me too. But your childhood friend is holding you back.” She says
childhood friend
like I’m already in the past. Like I’m nothing. Nobody. It’s hard not to storm in right there and then. But I know I have to wait. She will admit to everything. I’m sure of it. The crazy in her voice tells me she’s responsible for everything.

“It’s okay, Jace,” and her voice is closer now. A pale hand touches Jace’s chest and I inhale sharply. Though every bone in my body wants to slap her hand away, I take a step back. Very slowly.

“You can let her go now. I know you feel a duty to stay with her and I respect that, but it’s our time now. She can’t fight me. She’s pitiful.” Her eerie voice turns hard now. Bitter.

“Did you send Pepper the flowers?” Jace asks quietly.

“Don’t!” She holds up a hand. “Don’t say her name when we’re together.”

Jace nods, showing no reaction.

“I did.” And then she lets out a high-pitched giggle that sends shivers down my spine. “That was just for fun. But the roofies in her soda did not work out how I wanted.” She sounds annoyed. “I must have given her too much because Clayton didn’t have time to make a move.”

“Dennison?” Jace can’t hold back the threat in his voice.

“Or Ryan,” she says casually. “Or anyone, really. It didn’t matter.”

Jace is losing patience now. The rapid ticking in his jaw muscles tells me he won’t be able to hold it together for long. But we have enough now, even if I stop recording.

“And hitting her on the bike?” he asks softly, in a tone I’ve never heard from him before. He’s trying to show no emotion, but there’s a darkness in his depths that is unmistakable. “Was it you driving?”

“What do you think?” And it’s a seductive voice from Savannah now. I can hardly keep up. She’s all over the place. “She’ll stay away now. She hasn’t been here all week, has she? She’s afraid. I’m the one with the power. And I think you need to be with a powerful woman.” Her fingers touch just below his collarbone and run down the length of his chest. “You are a powerful man.”

Jace closes his eyes and it almost looks like it’s from pleasure. Why doesn’t he stop her?

“How did you get in here?” Jace asks, still seeking more information.

There’s a pause before Savannah answers, and when she does, she sounds confused. “You left them out for me, don’t you remember? It was last week, and you stopped to talk to all of us in the common area before leaving one afternoon. I thought,” she hesitates, second-guessing herself, “you gave me a knowing look when you put your keys on the table, and then you never picked them up.”

Jace doesn’t say anything. The color is beginning to drain from his face as he loses his composure. I do remember him looking for his keys and I ended up giving back the spare pair he had given me when he couldn’t find them. Savannah reaches for him again and I suck in a breath. What is he planning to do? He can’t communicate with me though. I’m not leaving, if that’s what he expects. I want to confront her.

I’m about to do just that when the common area door swings open. Frankie flips on the lights and I notice he is tugging the hand of the soccer girl who was watching him the other night. Not pigtail girl, but one of the two who didn’t seem bothered by me being there.

He freezes when he sees Jace standing in his doorway, a hand reaching out from the other side while I hide close by, my phone outstretched.

“Uh, hey guys, what’s going on?” Frankie asks hesitantly.

Jace shoves the door open and I can hear Savannah stuttering as she crashes to the ground. I rush to his side, on the offensive, but a laugh of disbelief erupts from my chest when I find Savannah sprawled on the ground. She’s wearing the kind of lingerie you might find in a kinky sex store. Not that I’ve ever been to one, but all I can think is that she looks ridiculous. His room is lit with an array of candles, and rose petals litter every surface.

With her hair wild and askew, her face pale in shock, I can’t help but take pity. My reaction startles me. But there’s no doubt that this girl is sick. This isn’t just a mean girl with a jealous vendetta like Madeline Brescoll. This girl is crazy. Certifiable.

Just as pity sets in and I let my guard down, she launches herself from the floor at me. Her eyes are set on my wrist with the cast, and she reaches for it with a snarl, but only her fingernails touch me, ripping skin from my arms. Jace has already grabbed her and pulled her away. Her arms and legs flail.

Frankie is pulled from his frozen disbelief and rushes toward us.

“Take her, man.” Jace shoves Savannah at him, which is no easy feat given her size. “I don’t want her near me.” Frankie easily handles her. The right guy for the job.

The girl who was with him is already on her phone, and I can hear her talking to campus security. Though I imagine the police will need to be called into this one. When Jace takes me in his arms, pulling me away from the situation, all clear and rational thoughts escape me. I begin to gasp for air and a sob escapes.

He rubs my back and though it brings me some comfort, I’m lost in the utter absurdity of what just happened. A girl obsessed with my boyfriend. Driven crazy by it.
Again
.

Again.

My sobs stop and my breathing begins to return to normal as I process that this is not the first time a girl has been driven to do crazy things over Jace Wilder. Madeline Brescoll’s behavior was tame compared to Savannah’s, and I can’t help but wonder if this will only get worse. It seems impossible and likely at the same time. Jace’s celebrity status is bound to continue growing. Will there be more girls like Savannah in the future?

At that thought, my heart turns cold and a strange numbness settles through me. Slowly, I pull out of Jace’s arms and take a step back. He watches me closely, his eyes giving away nothing. I can hear Savannah struggling behind us with Frankie, but it doesn’t affect me. I don’t feel pity or fear anymore. I can’t feel anything at all.

Campus officers arrive and the police shortly after that. Savannah is taken away and all four of us are questioned. Frankie and the girl, whose name I learn is Lizzie, are dismissed at some point, but Jace and I remain until the early morning hours. They have the recording, and it seems that should answer all their questions, but they need us to make statements and sign papers. I remain detached throughout the entire process.

Jace asks me where I want to go at some point and I tell him home. If he thinks I’m staying in his dorm room he’s nuts. I’m not sure I’ll ever stay there again after Savannah contaminated it with rose petals, candles, and… her body. But those thoughts don’t make me queasy like they should. I simply feel empty. The idea that I might not go back to Jace’s dorm, and what that means, causes a small tug in the pit of my stomach but nothing more. I’ve completely shut down.

And Jace knows it. He doesn’t push. He helps me into bed, and as I fall asleep, I can hear him talking in hushed tones with Gran, who must have heard us coming home. It’s a wonder I can sleep at all, but I fall into a long, deep, dreamless state.

I sleep for nearly twenty-four hours. Well, I’m not sleeping the entire time. I can hear people talking in the apartment at several points, but I stay in in bed. The cops have my cell phone, which I handed over so they could take the recording into evidence. I’ll get it back in a couple of days. But really, I’m grateful that I’m unreachable right now.

I get up once to use the restroom and brush my teeth late Sunday night. Gran left food on the kitchen table with a note to wake her whenever I want. But I’m not hungry. When I wake early Monday morning, I still have no appetite, but I eat a banana and drink some tea before heading to school.

I’m entirely unprepared for the stares and whispering. Pitying looks, alarmed expressions, they follow me everywhere. But I isolate myself with a hard shell, solidifying myself with numbness. I remain distant even as I talk to Zoe and my teammates about what happened.

At practice, I’m allowed to join the team for part of their speed workout on the track. It feels good, holding nothing back as I sprint around the track a few times, but my emotions remain muffled and dim. My speed is way better than I expected, but there’s only a slight glimmer of joy that fizzes out immediately instead of the elation I would expect to follow me for the rest of the week.

Zoe and Gran are concerned, but they don’t pry. They just hover all week, checking in frequently and eyeing me closely. Even Annie stops by once. I avoid Jace. And he lets me. The cops return my phone on Tuesday, and he texts me a few times, but when I don’t respond, he doesn’t show up at the apartment or try calling or anything. I’m not sure if I want him to. I’m not sure how I feel at all.

When the State meet arrives on Saturday, I go through the familiar race day routine like a robot. I eat my usual breakfast, pack my race bag, put my warm-up clothes on over my uniform, tie my hair in a ponytail with two hair ties, and paint my fingernails the school colors. Well, I don’t paint my nails for every meet, just the big ones.

I really have no idea what to expect at this race. It’s a 5K race and I’ve only run that distance a couple of times since I recovered from my injury. As for running fast, I’ve only done the one speed workout, and it was a short one. The team spent this week “tapering” – which means they were taking it easy. For most, this will be the last meet of the season. It might be for me as well, but that thought doesn’t bring the shooting pain it would have weeks ago.

It’s my competitive spirit that breaks through the hard shell blocking my emotions. I’ve positioned myself near the front of the pack and I’m embracing the burn in my legs. It’s a familiar feeling that I’ve missed. The pace begins to pick up, and it takes a moment before I realize about a dozen girls are breaking away from the pack. I’m right in the middle. Jenny is beside me, and she begins to pick up her pace in order to stay with the lead group.

I need to place in the top seven to qualify for Regionals. I have to stay with the lead group. But in order to do that, I’m going to have to push hard. My legs are already burning, and the race is only halfway through. After crashing and burning at numerous races as a freshman, I learned to hold back. But I can’t do that now. I have no choice. Sure, a few of those girls might crash and I can pick them off later, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

So I pump my arms harder and urge myself forward, knowing that my body will be tested like never before. It hasn’t run this pace in weeks, and it’s protesting the exertion.

Coach Tom shouts words of encouragement as I close the gap with the top group.

“That’s it, Pepper, stay right with them. Just stay with them.”

I chant that motto over and over as they pick up the pace even more up a hill. Normally I am the fastest up hills. It’s when I drop people and pull ahead. But it takes every ounce of energy left inside me to stay with the group as the course takes us up what feels like a never-ending mountain. I’m unaware of anything else, just the importance that I stay with this group. No matter how much my lungs are screaming at me.

Before I know it, girls around me are falling back, unable to maintain the pace as the finish line comes into view. The top group of a dozen begins to break up and I hold on for dear life. It’s Jenny’s tiny frame that I lock my gaze on, doing everything in my power to stay with her. I glance to each side, counting. Four have pulled twenty feet ahead. Two are on each side of me, and Jenny is just in front of me.

My body fights me as I try to compel it into a different gear. But it takes everything in me just to stay on Jenny’s heels. The two girls on the right close in on her, while the other two fade back. Jenny picks it up and I close my eyes as the pain in my body washes over me. I can’t let the two girls to my right beat me. Then I’d be in eighth place. Just like last year. And Jenny isn’t giving up Regionals for me again. I wouldn’t allow it even if she tried.

The finish is 100 feet away but it might as well be 100 miles. My body begins to ease up, relenting to the pain, resigned to the fact that this will be my last cross race for Brockton Public. But I grit my teeth, fighting with my own legs.

No. This isn’t it.

The anger at my own momentary willingness to give up fuels me and to my own surprise, I surge forward. I can see the first four girls sprinting through the finish line as I move past Jenny on my left and the two other girls on my right. Jenny matches me stride for stride as we leave the two others behind.