Heart of Thorns (Shadow Valley U Book 2)
Heart of Thorns: Chapter 3

“Can you at least act like you’re having a good time?”

I glance at Marley, and something that resembles a growl leaves my mouth. She huffs in response, blowing a piece of her wavy hair out of her face.

“Fine,” I say.

A forceful smile curves onto my cheeks, and she blanches.

“You look like you’re in pain.”

That’s because I am.

Both literally and figuratively.

My back hurts from my earlier tumble in the street just as much as my ego. The idiot football player probably hasn’t given me a second thought, but the way he watched my careful movements with pity hasn’t left my mind.

Marley shoves a beer in my hand. “Drink this. Maybe it’ll help that thing on your face.”

I touch my cheek. “What thing?”

She holds back a laugh. “That thing you call a smile.”

A laugh tries to creep up from my throat, and I can’t help the way my lips actually shape into a crescent.

Marley gasps. “Oh my God! There it is! A smile, everybody!”

My face warms when people chuckle and clap. I quickly close my mouth and shoot her a glare.

She laughs and drags me farther into the party, over to some of the girls I used to hang out with.

That was before, though.

There’s a before and an after.

The Briar they know died in that fire, and I’m not sure anyone knows what to do with the new version of me.

“Hey, Briar!” Brianna, who we referred to as Breezy on the ice, comes bouncing over.

We.

There is no longer a we, even if my teammates still treat me as if I’m on the team.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here!” She wraps me in a quick hug, then grips my upper arms. She squeezes, and there’s a glimmer of sadness in her green eyes.

Ugh. Stop looking at me like that.

“Yeah, well.” I shrug, glancing around the party at all the jocks. This is clearly an athlete-heavy party. Hockey players with their wide shoulders and arrogant personalities fill the living room. Almost all of them have a girl on their lap. Most of my old teammates are loitering about, rolling their eyes at the puck bunnies or jersey chasers.

In the midst of searching for the baseball player who scattered his balls all over the sidewalk earlier—I’d like to give him some advice, like on how to keep his balls intact—Brianna nudges me with her shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” she whispers.

I hate this question.

“I’m doing good,” I lie. “Stronger every day.”

It’s bullshit. Absolute bullshit.

She eyes me closely, her expression conveying her suspicion. All she has to do is watch me walk for more than ten seconds and she’ll see how much my knee is still bothering me.

The party is becoming crowded, and it makes me antsy. My gaze moves around every few seconds. I eye the windows in close proximity and mentally count how many steps it would take for me to get to them if a fire started.

I turn toward the stairs, knowing I could always climb them if the exits were blocked, whether by accident or on purpose by some lunatic who’s obsessed with fire and trapping college girls in burning buildings, like last time.

A chill flies down my spine.

I place the beer bottle on a nearby table and slip through the crowd. The bodies press in on me, and the room seems to be growing hotter by the second.

Bri calls my name, but I don’t look back. Every bone in my body urges me to escape. But before I can, Marley steps into my line of sight. She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me, probably picking up on my internal panic.

“I’ve got to go,” I mutter.

“Are you okay?” Concern takes over her features.

I nod. “I’m fine. Professor Garcia texted, and she lined up a project for me to do tomorrow. I need to get my supplies together.”

It’s not a lie. Professor Garcia did line up a project for me. She’s been scheduling them here and there since the accident. Only, it’s not the real reason I’m leaving.

My heart beats harder when I turn away from Marley’s questionable gaze.

I need air.

Cool air.

I head toward the entryway. When the open front door comes into view, I relax.

But it only lasts a second.

A tall, overpowering presence steps out from the shadows. The hood of his black sweatshirt is pulled up over his head, and if it wasn’t for the glimpse of his warm, golden eyes, I’d feel threatened by his height.

I put the brakes on so I don’t stumble into him, and a rush of pain travels down my leg all the way to the floor.

“Fuck me,” I say under my breath. Ow.

“What was that?”

My attention snaps to his mouth. He’s grinning.

I recognize him right away. Unfortunately.

Him? Again? The one who stared at me on the sidewalk after the baseball incident, a not-so-silent witness to my humiliation. He picked up my meds, too. Said the name of the painkiller like… I don’t know what.

I don’t want to know.

“Move,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“Yo, Thorne!” someone calls from the kitchen.

Thorne. I know that name.

The guy in question—Thorne—jerks his chin in their direction, but he keeps me pinned with a curious stare. His expression is open, bright. I don’t understand it, or why he’s looking at me like that.

My chest tightens, and my heart thumps against my ribcage. A reminder of my growing need to escape.

“Move?” he repeats.

I raise my eyebrows. Yeah, move.

Sure, I’m being rude. But I’m seconds from a fucking panic attack and I’m beginning to sweat. The party is in full-force, and the more people who pile into this frat house, the harder it’ll be to get out if something happens.

God, I’m a fucking basketcase.

Thorne crosses his arms, and there’s a hint of humor on his chiseled face. “I’ll move…” he says, dragging the words out. “When you ask me nicely.”

I’m not asking him nicely.

We’ve had a total of two conversations, and I already know he’s an arrogant jock like the rest of the guys at this party.

I glance to the thin opening on his right.

I’m small. I can squeeze right past him, dragging my bum leg along with me.

As soon as I take a step, he does the same.

We look like we’re dancing, and my irritation grows by the second. My pulse skyrockets, and my heart is like thunder claps.

I growl. “Get out of my way.”

Thorne smiles wider. Does he think I’m flirting with him? Before I became a fearful little mouse, I probably would have. Jocks are all I used to date, and fine, he’s hot. He’s got this sexy yet golden-boy vibe to him. Edgy features, tight muscles, panty-dropping smile, and warm, golden-brown eyes, but I’m in no mood to flirt with a guy like him. His hair must be a paid actor, the way a slightly curled lock falls perfectly in the middle of his forehead.

“Seriously?” I stress. “Get out of my way.”

I don’t give him time to dodge me. I plow forward, desperate to get out of the stuffy party and crowded room.

He steps backward, and I shoulder check him by accident—though he probably thinks it’s on purpose.

“Oof,” I cringe with the sudden jerk.

Pain rushes my knee, and suddenly, Thorne’s arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me in place. His palm slips under my shirt, and we’re skin on skin.

I silently gasp. He freezes.

The contact shocks my system, and when I meet his gaze, his eyes are as wide as mine.

He lets me go a second later, and the cool night air coats my flushed skin.

My shoes spin on the creaky porch, and I face him. He’s standing inside the threshold of the party, staring at me like this entire interaction was my fault or something. If he would have obliged, this wouldn’t have happened.

His eyes narrow. “You’re welcome…”

I stand outside, no longer surrounded by the heat of mingling bodies. My confidence grows. I cross my arms and pop a hip, ignoring the dull ache in my leg. “Excuse me?”

There it is again.

That stupid smirk.

He stares at me for too long. My pulse races, and I’m jittery.

“You’re an angry little thing, aren’t you? How curious.”

His grin deepens, and my stomach flips.

It shocks me so much that by the time I let my anger take over, Thorne’s back is to me and he’s wrapping his arm around some blonde’s tiny waist.

My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, and at the last second, I flip him off again, even though he can’t see me.

I’m not sure if I’m more angry because I gave in to my anxiety and left the party in a haste, or if because for the first time since the accident, I felt something that resembled the old Briar who had a zest for life and a craving for something more.

Either way, the old Briar is dead. And she’s not coming back.