Heart of Thorns (Shadow Valley U Book 2)
Heart of Thorns: Chapter 12

Bill Keenland apparently works fast.

Bright and early Saturday morning, the ringtone I gave my father—the Darth Vader theme song—wakes me from a dead sleep.

“A serious relationship?” he growls in my ear after I answer his call. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Good morning to you, too,” I mumble.

“Cassius Remington Thorne,” my father booms.

I wince. All he left off are the Roman numerals that follow Thorne. The ones that declare me the third of my name. Not my father, though. Just his grandfather, and my grandfather’s grandfather. It’s tradition to skip a generation, I suppose.

Everyone calls me Thorne.

The only people to ever call me by my first name—or the full name, like now—are my parents. Usually when I’ve done something wrong. All through school, teachers were quietly and firmly corrected before they even had a chance to do roll call.

So I can get away with no one knowing, or giving a shit about, my first name.

Cassius feels ancient.

Remington feels presumptuous.

Thorne, though? That part felt right. Even as a kid.

“A serious relationship,” I confirm. “I was waiting to tell you⁠—”

“Can you imagine how humiliated I was when Bill Keenland called to inform me of this? Because you chose to tell him in front of his daughter? The disrespect you show our family.” He makes a disgusted noise. “You embarrassed me.”

Guilt presses in on me. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you going to marry this girl?”

I freeze, gripping my phone tight to my ear.

She hasn’t even agreed to date me yet.

“Dad—”

“Well. We’ll just have to meet her. And if she lasts as long as you think she will, we’ll be seeing her for Christmas, won’t we?” Except, he doesn’t quite frame it as a question.

He hangs up without so much as a goodbye.

I groan.

My door swings inward without warning, and Rhys pops his head in. We’ve shared a space—first a dorm room, fuck that, then an apartment, and now a house—since freshman year. We roped in a few other guys from the football team to join us, splurging on a space where we can have a living area for hosting.

Not parties or anything crazy. I, for one, like to protect my peace. But we’re not above beers and tuning in to Monday Night Football. Or vegging on the couch on Sundays, watching the games throughout the day. Or studying our competition on Saturdays…

“I heard the dulcet tones of one Thorne Senior.” Rhys ventures farther in, leaving my door open and plopping into my desk chair. “Bit early on a Saturday to have his knickers in a twist.”

I sit up and shake my head. “Well, word just got back to him about something I did wrong.”

“Naturally.” Rhys eyes me. He’s in shorts and a t-shirt, his dark hair still wet from a shower he probably just exited. “What did you do this time?”

“I…” I swallow. “Well, you know those dates he’s always setting up?”

“Indeed.”

“The girl and her dad came to the game last night. My father made sure to let me know that Bill Keenland is some big shot he wanted to impress. When Bill and his daughter came on the field, he made some comment about me being his future son-in-law.”

My best friend inclines his chin, clearly waiting for me to get to the fucking point.

“So I lied and told him that there was a misunderstanding and I already had a serious girlfriend.”

Silence.

Rhys just stares at me for a solid minute, then tips his head back and bursts out laughing.

My face heats.

“You? A serious girlfriend?” He slaps his hand on his thigh. “Fuck, man. So that guy tattled on you. Did you come clean to your dad or what?”

That probably would’ve been a smart idea.

“I doubled down,” I mutter.

He cackles.

“It’s fine,” I snap. I grab my pillow and chuck it at him. “I’ve got a plan.”

“A plan,” he repeats. “You have a serious girlfriend hiding under your bed?” He gets down on his knees and fucking checks. When he straightens, there’s a shit-eating grin on his face. He checks my closet, then makes a show of opening my window—on the second floor of the house—and leans out.

“Sit down.” I stand and pick up my jeans from the floor. “I have a plan in the works.”

“This sounds like a fourth quarter Hail Mary.” Rhys rolls his eyes. “A plan in the works to get a serious girlfriend? Those don’t happen overnight, you know. Or maybe you don’t? Since you seem so unfamiliar with the concept.”

“Fuck off.” I swap my sleep shirt with a clean one. “Briar Hart.”

He gives me a blank stare.

“The one who painted the portraits in the locker room.”

He stands and comes closer. I squint at him, wary, until he presses the back of his hand to my forehead.

I swat him away. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Checking to see if a fever has made you delusional.” He eyes me. “Jury’s out. She painted you as the freaking devil. How did your proposal go?”

I shift. “It wasn’t a proposal.”

“It had better be, seeing as how your parents are serious about you getting married.” He chuckles. “How did you ask her to be your fake serious girlfriend?”

“Well, I found her in the weight room. And I asked after she fainted at the sight of me.” I hold up my hand to stop his onslaught of comments. “Yeah, yeah. I heard how that sounded.”

“What did she say?”

“That she’d think about it.”

He bursts out laughing. “Oh, you’re screwed. Have fun with that one, Thorne. I’ll be watching with popcorn in hand.”

He leads the way out of the room, and all I can do is shake my head.

I didn’t even tell him that Dad wants to meet her at Christmas.

I didn’t realize I was a stalker until I spot Briar exiting an apartment building just up the street. I jog to easily catch up, only slowing to a halt when I’m right beside her.

“Briar.”

She jumps out of her skin, lurching away. She stumbles and rights herself quickly, and a flush works its way up her neck and across her jaw.

I like this flustered version of her.

“Don’t do that,” she hisses.

I raise my hands in surrender.

“Where did you even come from?” She glances over her shoulder, her brows furrowing.

The accusation in her tone makes me think she now is considering me a stalker. Which I did just admit to myself, too. So. That’s fair.

Not true, but fair to assume.

“I live two blocks down. Same street.” I hook my thumb behind us. “Probably why we ran into each other when you were nearly taken out by runaway baseballs.”

She gives me a true scowl.

Her black shirt is long-sleeved and skin-tight, showing off her curves. The neckline is high enough to hide her cleavage but leave her collarbones bare. I don’t know how she makes wearing a shirt so effortlessly sexy, but there it is. I’ve never wanted to be a scrap of fabric so bad.

“I suppose you would see it that way.” She sighs. “What are you doing? It’s Saturday.”

“I am well aware.” I appraise her. “I’m going to the library.”

Her lips turn down. “That’s where I was going.”

“Great.”

We walk in silence, and it strikes me that I should ask her if she’s made a decision. I’m not one to shy away from confrontation—part of me is into it, which is probably why my attraction to Briar is so present. She doesn’t give a fuck about who I am.

Just that I insulted her a few times.

I match her pace. She doesn’t have a pronounced limp right now. It seems to only come out when she’s been on her legs for a while. Although she walks slower than some others, I don’t really give a shit about that.

It’s nice to slow down and smell the roses.

The Briar roses?

Fuck off, brain.

I glance at her. Then straight ahead.

I just need to ask her if she’s made a decision.

If she’ll be my fake serious girlfriend.

Open my mouth to spit out the words…

“You’re staring,” she interrupts, and I don’t get a damn word out.

“No, I’m not. I’m pointedly not staring, grumpy cat.”

She snorts, and I smile.

We make it to the library without further conversation, and I kick myself internally when she strides away from me without looking back. I sign in, scrawling my name just below hers, then follow.

She finds a table in the center and drops her bag onto a chair.

I drag out the one across from her and sit.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting.” I tilt my head. “Is this seat taken?”

“Yes.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Go away.”

I sigh. “Who’s sitting here, Briar?”

“My friend.” She shifts. “My friend, who is on their way right now, and⁠—”

“Just one friend?”

“I—”

“There are three more seats.” I raise an eyebrow. “Besides, you haven’t given me an answer yet, and I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

Boom.

Mentioned it.

Now I just wait and try to make it seem like I’m not holding my breath. Although I absolutely am, because I am one hundred percent fucked in the lying-to-my-father category otherwise.

I’m fucked if he finds out I’ve got a fake girlfriend, too, but that can be solved with a real breakup. It’s just a matter of getting her to agree.

After a solid thirty seconds of eye contact, in which Briar doesn’t even flinch, she nods and sits.

“Okay,” she says evenly. “What class assignment are you working on?”

I unzip my bag and take out my laptop. “Research paper on recycled water.”

She chokes. “What?”

“What?” I pause. “Recycled water? One of the great inventions that will save millions around the world?”

“You cannot be serious.”

I brace my forearms on the table, and the realization strikes hard and fast. I shouldn’t be upset about it, but it still stings a bit. Especially coming from her.

“You thought I was a dumb jock,” I say.

“What? No, I didn’t.” Her eyes widen.

It’s her blush that gives her away.

“Yes, you did. Briar Hart, jock herself, thought I was—I don’t even know. Do you think my head is just full of Kermit the frog repeatedly shouting, ‘Football! Football!’ in my brain?” I rock back and point at her. “Admit it, Hart.”

She rolls her eyes. “Honestly? It was more like Hodor than Kermit.”

“Hodor.” I cross my arms. “From Game of Thrones?”

Her chin lifts.

Why the fuck does that turn me on?

“If my brain shouts ‘football’ over and over, what does yours shout?”

She pauses. Her gaze lifts over my shoulder, then sweeps around the room. When she refocuses on me, she clears her throat.

Did something spook her?

“You want to know what’s rattling around in my brain all the time?” Her voice drops. “‘Fire.’”

Before I can answer, she collects her stuff and shoves away from the table.