his poor, dead mother. “You’re in my way,” Archer muttered.
“Am I?” I pointed over my shoulder. “Is this your locker, then?”
Archer nodded, but I could tell there were a few comments he chose to keep to himself right then.
“Huh,” I said, pushing off the lockers. I rolled my shoulders beneath my leather jacket, feeling the worn leather constrict with the muscle movement. “Funny, because I did want to talk to you.”
“You and I don’t need to talk,” he said. “Jaz already told me everything that’s going on, so as far as you and I are concerned, we don’t need to rehash.” Archer moved to the locker, trying to focus on putting in his combination instead of talking to me.
“I heard about mommy dearest.”
That got him to freeze, those blue eyes to turn icy and rise to me. The expression he wore right then was what I could only describe as haunted. Haunted and annoyed at me for reopening a wound that was still so fresh it hadn’t even scabbed over yet.
“Don’t call her that,” Archer whispered, his voice swallowed by the multitude of students walking near us.
“Ah, right. You loved your mother. Me?” I shrugged. “Mine was a druggie who tried on more than one occasion to sell me for her next hit. I guess I can’t really compare the two.”
His eyes closed, and he let out a flustered sigh. “What do you want?”
“I just wanted you to know that I know about your arrangement with Oliver Fitzpatrick. You’re living under his roof, just like Jaz.” I stepped closer to him. “I don’t trust you, Archer.”
Archer could only shake his head and mutter, “I don’t trust you either, so I guess the feeling is mutual.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking quite downtrodden.
If I had a heart, I was sure I’d feel something for the guy. He loved his mother, unlike me and mine, and to lose someone you love… I couldn’t imagine losing Skull like that. Skull had taken me in when I had no one left, and I meant it when I said I owed that man everything. I would die to protect him, just as I would die to protect Jaz. They were the only two people in this world I would go so far for.
“Look,” Archer said, his posture slumping a bit, “if this is about Jaz, just stop. I’m not going to hurt her again. I—I need her, Dante, whether you can see that or not. And you know what? I don’t have to explain myself to you. The only person I would ever have to explain myself to is Jaz. Jaz, not you. Do you get that? You’re not her keeper.”
I wasn’t her keeper.
Fuck that.
I totally could be. Hell, I’d volunteer to be her frigging keeper; she obviously needed one with all the trouble she got into on a weekly basis.
I didn’t say anything for a moment, letting his words sink in. Archer looked like he was telling the truth, that he’d never hurt Jaz again, but how could I really trust him? He’d already fucked her over in more ways than one by putting her on everyone’s radar at that party, letting everyone gang up on her.
Jaz might be able to forgive him for that, but I never would.
“Just know I’ll be watching,” I whispered. “And if you fuck up again, you’ll end up just like Ryan and his friends.” As I watched the threat sink in, I let myself smirk and take a few steps back. Oh, yeah. That hit the mark. I turned away, giving him my back, blending in with the hallway crowd.
I meant it, one hundred percent. If Archer fucked up, if he hurt Jaz one more time, I wouldn’t give him the opportunity to do it again. The next time he hurt her would be his last time hurting anybody. I didn’t make hollow threats. It was more like a promise.
Chapter Twenty-Five – Jaz
The funeral was Sunday. Ollie said it was best not to put it off; any evidence that was needed had already been taken from her body. To prolong it would only hurt more when Archer should be trying to move on.
Mom acted like she was a mom to the both of us in the days leading up to it, trying hopelessly to fill the void Archer had in his heart—or at least stuff him with food. That was always a close second. She was wary, at first, but Archer and I were careful