I’ll Always Be With You (Lancaster Prep Book 4)

I GO STORMING out of the men’s bathroom, glaring at the man who was about to open the door, almost laughing when I see the confused look on his face.

I don’t laugh though. I’m too furious. Freaking West.

Mercedes is right—he is an asshole. I can’t believe he stopped by our table. My mother practically convulsed with joy when he spoke to her, his rich, deep voice stirring something deep inside me that I hate.

Fine, I don’t hate it. I hate my reaction to him. The power he has over me. It’s annoying.

Confusing.

“Carolina!” West is shouting, and I look over my shoulder to see he’s in hot pursuit of me, a determined look on his face.

I run faster, heading for the front of the restaurant, pushing my way through the crowd of people waiting in the lobby before I exit through the double doors, the early fall breeze washing over me, immediately cooling my angry thoughts.

“Why am I always chasing after you?”

Turning, I find West standing directly in front of me, breathing heavily. “Maybe you should take it as a hint.”

“What exactly are you trying to tell me?”

“I want you to leave me alone. I tried to ditch you in Paris. Multiple times. I’ve tried to ditch you at school. And just now. Yet you still chase after me.”

“Look.” He steps closer, crowding me, yet I stand my ground, feeling defiant. I thrust my chin up, glaring at him, but there’s something in his gaze that makes me soften. He seems … hurt.

Raw.

Real.

“I fucked up,” he murmurs, reaching for my hand and bringing it up to his chest, so I can feel the thunderous pounding of his heart against my palm. “I told you I couldn’t do this because I was going through some—personal shit.”

What in the world is he talking about?

“I should’ve never pushed you away. I could really use—a friend right now.”

I’m gaping at him, my mouth hanging open, shocked by his words. “You want me as a friend?”

“I want you any way I can get you, Carolina.” His smile is small, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. If anything, West appears completely tormented.

By me? Or life in general?

“Why did you come here tonight with Mercedes?”

“I didn’t come with anyone. We’re celebrating TJ’s birthday. She tagged along, that’s it.” He pauses. “Your friend Sadie is with us.”

I go completely still. “How do you know Sadie is my friend?”

“She told me. Us.” He tilts his head, his fingers clasping tighter around mine. “You’re pretty fucking paranoid, you know that?”

“You give me reason to be.” I yank my hand out of his touch, tucking it into the sleeve of my uniform jacket. “It’s hard for me to trust people. Especially those who toy with my emotions.”

“Got it. Like me. You don’t want to forgive me. I don’t blame you. I treat you like shit and make you come, all in a matter of hours.”

Oh, his words completely infuriate me. I ball my hands into fists, wishing I could sock him in his beautiful face so he could feel actual pain. This boy who sails through life without a care in the world. With all the money and prestige and privilege that comes with it. People could say the same about me, but I come from a messed-up family, who all use each other in some sort of sick, twisted game. I tried to escape it and did so for years, but here I am, having a shitty night out with my mother, running into my ex … lover? I don’t even know what to call him.

I don’t know how to feel about any of this. I just need to—go.

“You always have to bring sex into it,” I say, my voice low.

“Sex is a part of what we share, don’t you think?” He tries to grab my hand again, his watch snagging on a loose thread coming from the sleeve of my jacket, and I tug on it, watching as the very expensive watch unbuckles and almost slips off his wrist.

“Watch it,” he says at the same time I apologize, my gaze snagging on what looks like a tattoo on the inside of his wrist as he rebuckles the watch, the band completely covering it.

Hmm. I never noticed that before.

“Do you have a tattoo?”

“No,” he says far too quickly.

Now I’m the one reaching for him. “Yes, you do. I saw it.”

“You didn’t see shit.” He lifts his arm above his head and I circle my hands around his bicep, startled at the feel of it beneath my palms. He’s as hard as a rock.

In all sorts of places.

“West.” My voice is firm, like I’m a parent talking to a naughty child. “Let me see it.”

He shrugs my hand off of him, turning so his back is to me. “No.”

“Come on, this is dumb. I want to see it.”

“There’s nothing to see.” He starts walking, heading toward the restaurant’s entrance, and he glares at me from over his shoulder. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

I watch him go, puzzled by his reaction, how quickly he retreated. This boy …

Is so freaking confusing.

I wait a few minutes before I go back inside, heading straight for the table where my mother sits, scrolling through her phone, which is resting in her lap. There are already two salads sitting on the table, hers untouched.

“You should’ve started without me,” I say as I slide back into my seat.

She glances up from her lap with a frown, irritation gleaming in her eyes. “Where have you been? You’ve left me alone in here for at least ten minutes!”

“I had to use the bathroom.”

The concerned look on her face is hard to ignore. “You weren’t … vomiting in the bathroom, were you?”

I think the woman wants me to have a major eating disorder, I swear to God. She enjoys seeing her children suffer. “I haven’t even eaten anything yet. What could I throw up?”

“Fine, you’re right. I’m sorry I even mentioned it.” She straightens her shoulders and puts on a smile. “Are you hungry? This salad looks delicious.”

She doesn’t ask what I was up to; it had to be obvious what my intentions were. I took off after West left our table with a distracted, “I’ll be right back,” and she’s not questioning me, so I should be relieved.

Instead, I’m annoyed. My mother is so wrapped up in her own bullshit, she barely notices mine, which is normally a good thing.

But right now, I feel the need for some motherly comfort, despite knowing deep down, I’m never going to get it.

“Weston seems like a nice young man,” she says, when we’re a few bites into our salads. “Good manners.”

Oh, if she only knew. He’s really just a giant perv who enjoys eating pussy, but I don’t want to ruin the illusion.

“He’s whatever.” I shove more lettuce into my mouth, so I can’t say anything else. I can feel her heated glare, but I choose to ignore her.

“You’re at Lancaster Prep for what, two months, and you’ve lost all semblance of manners?” She shakes her head, forking up a dainty serving of salad before she carefully inserts it into her mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing before she says, “Maybe it was a mistake, bringing you here.”

The fork falls onto the edge of my plate, the loud clattering noise startling her, but I could give a damn. “My life isn’t a game, you know.”

She wipes at the corner of her mouth with the cloth napkin, setting it in her lap before she answers me. “I never implied your life was a game.”

“Yet you treat it like one. Pulling me out of one of the most prestigious dance companies in the world after I had the performance of a lifetime, because I needed to be reminded of my roots? Or were you just toying with me because Whit doesn’t let you in his life, and Sylvie ran off and married someone old enough to be her grandfather?” I think I’m the angriest I’ve ever been toward her. Toward anyone. Like, my blood is boiling, I’m so pissed.

She brushes her brittle blonde hair away from her unlined forehead, and I’m reminded of my sister. Our mother isn’t a real blonde, but her hair matches Sylvie’s. Her face matches it too.

“You were misbehaving and someone needed to control you. As your parents, we have that right.”

“Making me return to the States ruined everything. Not that you care. My future in the dance world. I was destined to become a prima ballerina. If I’d stayed there, I would already be on my way.”

“They just filled your head with grandiose ideas, while we paid for your tuition. We funded the theatre’s renovation, helped pay for various productions. They used us—and you—to get what they wanted.”

My heart starts to race. “You’re lying.”

“It’s true.” She shrugs, nonchalantly. Like what she said didn’t just shatter my entire image of the dance company.

“I am a dancer.” I bang my fist on the table, making the plates, the silverware, the water glasses shake. “They wouldn’t let just any old person dance at the Palais Garnier. I had to earn my spot. I worked hard. I put in the time. I auditioned—and I was selected.”

“You earned your spot with all the family money that funded their failing dance company. They’re well taken care of for years to come.” Her smile is bitter. I think she’s enjoying this moment. “Face it, Carolina. You’re just a rich girl playing at being a dancer.”

Her words are evil. Mean. So is the look on her face. She wants to hurt me. But why?

What did I ever do to her?

“God, I hate you.” I jump to my feet, tossing my napkin in her face. I throw it so fast, I hit my target, and she bats the napkin away, her expression horrified that I’m making such a public scene. “You’re such a bitch.”

Before she can respond, I’m walking out of the restaurant with my head held high and my footsteps hurried, my entire body trembling with a combination of anger, adrenaline and fear. I have never spoken to my mother like that in my life. I’ve never spoken to anyone like that.

Somehow, I manage to make it outside, the air having turned even colder since the last time I left the restaurant, and I wrap my arms around myself, shivering. Desperate to calm my racing heart and my shattered self-esteem, I take deep, gulping breaths, closing my eyes as I turn my face toward the sky. The breeze washes over my face, cooling my angry thoughts, and I blink up at the sky, wishing I was anywhere but here.

“Hey. Are you all right?”

I turn to find West leaning against the building, basically in the same spot as I left him, his phone clutched in his hand and a curious look on his face.

I can’t believe he’s standing in front of me. “What are you still doing here?”

He frowns, pocketing his phone. “Waiting for my Uber. They’re taking fucking forever.”

I’m this close to crying at finding him. If anyone can comfort me right now, it’s him. Despite everything that’s happened between us, it’s like I know I can count on West. I don’t understand why I feel that way.

I just do.

Without hesitation, I rush toward him, my gaze on the restaurant’s entrance, afraid my mother is about to bust through those double doors and start yelling at me. “I need to get out of here. Now.”

“Let’s go,” he says without hesitation, slipping his arm around my shoulders as he steers me toward the sidewalk, turning down a side street when we get to the intersection a short time later.

He doesn’t ask me why I need to leave, or what’s wrong. He just agrees, and I almost collapse with relief at his unspoken devotion.

But I say nothing. I let him lead me down the sidewalk, farther away from the restaurant, walking deeper into an older, rather quaint neighborhood full of beautiful, small homes that are well-kept, with lush green yards filled with flowers and shrubs, shaded by large trees. It’s quiet here, and I squish as close to West’s side as I possibly can, without impeding his ability to walk.

He squeezes my shoulders reassuringly, and I close my eyes to ward off the tears that want to spill. I keep my head bent, dashing my fingers under one eye, then another, before I dare attempt to speak.

“What about your Uber?”

“I canceled it.”

I turn my face to his, frowning. “How are we getting back to campus?”

“We’ll figure out a way.” We come to another intersection, and he turns right, taking me with him, and I realize we’re on the other end of the downtown area. The scent of coffee suddenly fills the air, and I can hear jazz music playing on a speaker outside.

“Let’s get something to drink,” he suggests as we slow in front of the cutest coffeeshop I think I’ve ever seen. The exterior is painted white brick with dark gray shutters framing the windows and inside it looks warm and cozy.

Inviting.

I smile at him in relief, on the verge of tears yet again, though I don’t quite understand why. “Thank you,” I murmur.

His smile is probably the sweetest I’ve ever seen. “Just trying to prove to you that maybe I’m not such an asshole after all.”