The Bully (Kingmakers #3) - Sophie Lark Page 0,102
resentment washes over me.
But today, I feel something different. A little bit like fear, and a little bit like longing.
“I don’t think any of them would want to see me,” I say, quietly.
Cat reaches up to touch my cheek, her hand softer than any pillow.
“Do you want to be with me always?” She says.
“Yes,” I tell her.
“Then you’re going to be tied to the Griffins and the Gallos twice over. We’ll all be connected to each other. We’ll all be family.”
I take her hand off my cheek and bring it to my lips, kissing it gently.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you, Cat. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy. If you want me to come to Chicago with you . . . then that’s what I’ll do.”
The morning we’re due to leave Kingmakers, I visit Snow one last time.
He’s in the gym, straightening the mats and putting away any errant pieces of equipment, even though there’s no more classes and no students dedicated enough to train on the last day of school.
Not even me.
When he sees me standing in the doorway he straightens up, smiling without any surprise.
“Did you change your mind about coming to New York?” he says.
“No,” I reply. “But if the offer still stands in a few years . . . ”
“It will always stand,” he says, quietly.
“Thank you.” I pause, wanting to say this right. “Thank you for everything, Snow. You helped me, when I didn’t want it or ask for it. When I wasn’t grateful or even deserving.”
“You were deserving,” Snow says, his eyes as clear and piercing as ever. “I saw that from the start.”
I cross the mats and embrace him one last time.
I hope I can give that sort of hug to someone, someday.
“Cat asked me to come to Chicago with her,” I tell him. “Over the summer.”
“What did you say?”
“What do you think I said?”
Snow smiles, slowly. “I think you agreed.”
“You were right,” I nod. “I’d do anything for her.”
Snow rests his hand on my shoulder.
“You’re a man now. And that’s what a man does.”
Cat is waiting for me just outside the gym. She bounces on her toes, her eyes bright and excited.
“There’s an hour left before the wagons leave,” she says. “Want to walk around campus one last time?”
“That sounds ominous,” I tease her. “You’re not planning to take me up on the wall, are you . . . ?”
She smacks my arm.
“Don’t joke about that!” she hisses at me. “Don’t ever say it out loud. That’s how I—”
“Shhh,” I say, clamping my hand over her mouth to irritate her all the more. “You’re gonna spill all our secrets again!”
Cat is ready to kill me for real, but I can’t help it, I’ve always loved the way she looks when she’s furious—eyes glittering, cheeks flaming, body shaking.
Cat tosses her dark curls. “You better not plan on harassing me all the way home. It’s a long flight to Chicago.”
“Two long flights,” I say. “And a boat ride. But don’t worry, I’ll be pampering you the whole way. Rubbing your shoulders and letting you sleep on my lap . . .”
“Really?” Cat perks up at once, already willing to forgive me for teasing her. “That would be so nice, actually. I can stretch all the way out on two seats . . .”
We’re walking down the annex of the Armory together, down the double row of photographs bearing all the winning Captains of Quartum Bellums past, stretching back before the dawn of photography when the portraits were painted or sketched.
“There’s Adrik Petrov,” I say to Cat, pointing to the three photographs of the grinning Adrik, his black hair wild and windswept, his expression ferociously triumphant. “He’s Kade’s older brother.”
In the third photograph, the defeated Captain standing behind him looks battered and miserable, barely able to stand upright. That must have been an awful challenge.
“Oh, I’ve heard of him,” Cat says, pausing to stretch up on tiptoe so she can see the pictures better. “You met him in Moscow?”
“Just briefly,” I say. “I liked him, though.”
“He doesn’t look very nice,” Cat says, doubtfully.
“You don’t like nice,” I growl, slipping my arm around her waist.
Cat leans her body back against mine, arching her back with pleasure.
I stoop to kiss the side of her neck.
She turns all the way round to kiss me long and slow. The sun filters down through the high windows, turning the edge of her face