Nothing I'll Regret
Jamie Linwood never knows when to shut the hell up. He’s like a fifteen-year-old puppy the way he flails his arms, trying to convince me.
“Simple, Conor. Tyler gives us the stuff, we get a cut of the profit. Bulletproof. You can thank me later.”
To drive the point home, he holds up a clear Ziploc bag. The pills look harmless; clean, white as snow. I knock his hand down with a muttered curse.
The common room is packed. Half the football team is hanging around the tables and benches, killing time before the next class, a few sprawled across the lockers. A group of stoned artsy kids lean against the walls, entertaining themselves by heckling people who pass by. Most of them are human, unaware that people like me even exist. But all it takes is one shapeshifter whispering in Alpha’s ear for my life to turn into hell.
Jamie is playing with fire. I’m the one who pays the price. As usual.
“Forget it,” I growl. “I don’t want anything to do with your brother’s crap.”
Miss Spencer gives me a sideways look as she walks past in the hallway. Jamie shrugs and slips the bag back into his pocket.
“You’re passing up a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Tyler’s paying really well this time.”
“Doesn’t matter. Not worth the risk.”
Jamie grins. Apparently he thinks I’m just messing with him.
“Since when do you need a reason to take risks?”
I don’t even bother answering. How could he understand? Jamie lives in a different reality than I do. His mom cleans hospital floors on rotating shifts, his dad works nights as a security guard in some industrial park. Neither of them keeps tabs on what he does, as long as he looks polite when they ask about his day.
Jamie’s been sleeping alone since he could say goodnight, with only his asshole older brother for company. He’d probably have slept safer without Tyler around, considering that idiot uses their apartment to sell speed, stolen goods, and whatever else he can get his hands on.
Jamie drags his thumb along my temple, following a strand of dark brown hair down past my jaw.
“Think about it, at least,” he says, just as the janitor unlocks the study room door for me and a handful of other kids in detention.
I watch Jamie disappear into the gray autumn rain outside. For a wolf shifter, he’s small. His blond hair is always falling into his eyes, and he moves a little too unpredictably, like he’s following a rhythm no one else can hear.
In a lot of ways, we’re opposites. But he’s my friend. And both of us know I’m going to help him with Tyler’s business.
***
I shove my books into my locker and kick the door shut. It’s five-thirty. Detention’s over. My little sister has had all the time in the world to walk three hallways and meet me, and yet she’s nowhere to be seen.
The bus leaves in ten minutes, so I half-jog over to the junior common room. The worn wooden benches sit empty, no note taped to Chevonne’s locker. If I remember right, she had gym last period. She’s probably still hanging out in the locker room, smearing mascara and God knows what else all over her face, now that neither Mom nor Ruadh is there to stop her.
I turn a corner and nearly run straight into Miss Spencer. She braces herself against the wall and peers at me over the rim of her glasses.
“Well, you’re still here? I thought you’d be in a hurry to get home by now. An hour of detention makes for a long end to the day.”
I swallow my irritation and shrug. Miss Spencer shifts her briefcase to her left hand. A stack of red-marked papers sticks out through a gap. My name buried under the red ink.
“I’ve been trying to catch you in the halls today, Conor. The fall semester moves fast, and you’re running out of time to make up what you’ve missed. We need to schedule a planning meeting with your mom and dad.”
“Ruadh isn’t my dad.”
She blinks.
“Stepdad, then. Anyway, you’ve got quite a pile of assignments building up.”
When I don’t answer, she studies my face. The crease between her eyebrows smooths out.
“I won’t keep you any longer. You must be thoroughly sick of these walls by now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Conor. New day, fresh start.”
Miss Spencer disappears through a side door, and the pressure in my chest spikes. Where the hell is Chevonne? I raise my voice and call her name, slowly turning in place, hoping for some kind of sign. Wouldn’t be the first time she got tired of waiting and headed to the mall. She knows I’ll get the third degree at the kitchen table if I come home alone.
It’s almost five-thirty. The bus is already long gone. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and shove the door open. Outside, the rain is coming down hard.
Fuck this. Screw my sister. Screw Ruadh and his precious pack rules.
Halfway to the bus stop, I realize my wallet’s still in my locker. I drop my head against the wind and turn back, muttering curses in time with my steps. The light by the main entrance is still on, the doors unlocked.
I slow down outside the hallway leading to the gym. A vague sound catches my attention, and I press my ear to the inner door. Muffled shouts. A rhythmic pounding. Something clattering. I yank the handle, but it’s locked.
The fire extinguisher is my best option. I unhook it and smash the glass in the upper half of the door. Hopefully the school budget didn’t stretch to surveillance cameras.
I reach the emergency handle inside and force the door open. The fluorescent lights flick on as I move down the hall. I probably tripped a silent alarm. Doesn’t matter. Too late to turn back now.
I follow the muffled sounds to the bathroom. A broom handle blocks the latch. I kick it aside and pull the door open. My little sister is curled up in the darkness, wedged between the trash can and the sink. The floor is flooded with vomit and toilet water.
The sight blinds me for a second. Then I’m with her. Chevonne hides her face in her hands. Her long hair reeks of piss and sewage. Automatically, I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. She sways and trembles, barely able to stand, so I put a hand against her back.
“I’m here. We’ll fix this.”
She shakes her head. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I guide her toward the showers and turn on the water.
“I’ll wait outside.”
“Leave the door open,” she mumbles as I step into the hallway.
The stink of urine mixes with cherries as she soaps herself with a forgotten shower bar. I lean against the wall, clenching my fists until my knuckles ache. For a long while, all I hear is water splashing against the tile. Her clothes are piled on the shower floor, so I stay where I am, my back turned.
When she’s pulled on a grimy T-shirt from the lost-and-found bin, I take a deep breath.
“Give me a name, Chevonne.”
“John Walton. Him, and his usual crew. Mike and Sam.”
The words break apart in a sob, but her voice is far too calm. I force my fingers to uncurl.
Walton. Who the fuck else?
The long-running feud between the Walton pack and ours has been going on for ten years. John’s my age, and he gets his kicks from messing with kids smaller than him.
“Did they touch you?”
She tugs at the hem of the shirt and won’t meet my eyes. She’s tall for twelve, but the shirt hangs down to mid-thigh.
“Not like you think. They shoved my head in the toilet and pissed on my clothes.”
I close my eyes for a second, just to keep from pouring my rage onto her.
“Who tells Alpha?”
She flinches like I’ve slapped her.
“Are you insane? You can’t tell Ruadh. He’ll tear them apart.”
“Who cares?”
She shakes her head, water droplets flying everywhere.
“If Ruadh finds out, we’re at open war with the Waltons before midnight. You can’t sacrifice the whole pack for me.”
“What’s the fucking point of a pack if this can happen?”
“Please. I don’t want anyone to die because John Walton’s an asshole. Promise me, Conor.”
She starts hyperventilating, so I nod and toss her a pair of sweatpants from the bin.
“I promise it was the last time Walton ever touched you.”
She freezes, one hand gripping the pant leg she’s pulling on.
“What do you mean?”
“Whatever. Where are your shoes?”
“Conor, leave John Walton alone. Everything gets worse if you talk to him. I just want to go home and forget today.”
I drape my jacket over her again.
“I’m not going to talk. Come on, Cian will pick you up at the bus stop.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Got something I need to do. Don’t say anything at home.”
“You’re so predictable,” she mutters, hugging my arm. “I know you. You’re going to do something stupid.”
“Nothing I’ll regret.”
