Chapter 251 Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty One

Chapter 251 Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty One
Lena

"I'll talk to my dad," Jace said.

I stared at him, trying to process what he'd just said.

"You'll what?" I exclaimed, my voice high pitched with disbelief. "Absolutely not. No way. No way, Jace."

"Come on, Lena—"

"No, I'm serious." I pulled my hands out of his and crossed my arms defensively. "We're both staying far, far away from that situation until the dust cloud in your house settles into actual peace. That means no dragging you deeper into my problems, and definitely no getting your father involved."

"But what about when you said..."

"I know I was the one who brought it up earlier, but I genuinely wasn't thinking clearly when I said it. I was desperate and panicking and just grasping at straws."

"Yeah, that's the thing though," Jace interrupted, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

His expression was serious and determined, his brows drawn close together. "Supposing this forger guy really is dangerous, like actually connected to some shady shit, and Allison's got her head too far up her own ass to care about fixing her fuck-up, then that means the only way forward is to get a bigger player on the board than Senator Hargrave to help us out."

"Nope. Bad idea."

"But listen, my dad has more money, more connections, more power than Allison's father. And I hate the guy, so I'm not saying that to brag, but it's the truth. He could definitely shut this whole thing down in one conversation. Neither of us would even have to lift a finger."

"Nope." I shook my head vigorously, my hair falling into my face. "You literally just got out of trouble with him. Like, barely escaped. Nope. We are not doing this."

The truth was, we'd only barely escaped our last encounter with his father by the absolute skin of our teeth.

Mr. Dawson still wasn't over the whole Noah situation—hell, he might even still be at the house right now, finally going through those security cameras his wife had refused him access to, meticulously reviewing the footage, and finding ways to poke holes in my story so he could end me.

I was almost fully certain that he was still building a case to prove I was lying, that Noah was innocent, and that Jace was the real troublemaker who needed to be sent away.

And if we went to him now, asking for help? After everything that happened at that disastrous dinner? After his wife had basically chosen my side over his?

He'd probably laugh in our faces.

Or worse, he'd use it as more reason to prove what he'd suspected all along—that I was nothing but trouble, that I was dragging his son down into the gutter with me, and that everything would be so much better if I just disappeared from their lives entirely.

Nope. No way. Not happening.

"What about Mom then?" Jace tried a different angle. "She'd want to help you. You know she would. She basically told my dad to fuck off to defend you last night. She fired him from her own goddamn house."

"Maybe," I agreed reluctantly. Mrs. Dawson had been incredibly kind to me. "But I don't want to put any more strain on your parents' relationship. It's already hanging by a thread. It's bad enough that I—"

I cut myself off abruptly, my entire body going rigid.

Mrs. Sinclair had just appeared at the library entrance.

She was standing there talking to Mr. Patterson, the librarian, her voice too low for me to hear the actual words from where we were sitting. But her mere presence alone was enough to send pure ice shooting through my veins.

"Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no."

"What?" Jace looked around, confused by my sudden shift. "What's going on?"

I discreetly pointed in Mrs. Sinclair's direction with a shaking hand, then immediately grabbed the nearest book off the table, some thick hardcover about European history that had to weigh five pounds, and held it up to cover my entire face.

I tried to turn awkwardly in my seat so my back was facing her general direction, hunching down in my chair as if I could somehow make myself invisible through sheer desperate willpower.

Please don't see me. Please don't see me. Please, God, just let the ground open up right now and swallow me whole.

"Fuck," Jace breathed out quietly, his body tensing as he spotted her too. "What if she sees you? You're not supposed to be here anymore. That's trespassing or some shit on top of everything else, isn't it?"

I couldn't even answer him. My throat had completely closed up. I just kept that heavy book pressed against my face like it was some kind of magical shield that could protect me somehow.

Mr. Patterson said something to Mrs. Sinclair, gesturing vaguely toward the back section of the library.

She nodded curtly, her sharp hawk-like eyes beginning to scan the room, moving from table to table like a predator searching for prey.

"Lena Hartwell?"

Her voice cut through the quiet library atmosphere, piercing my ears. My entire body went completely rigid with pure terror.

"Is that you?" Mrs. Sinclair's voice grew louder, more incredulous and outraged with each word.

"What on earth are you doing on school grounds? You were expelled effective immediately this morning. That means you are no longer permitted on this campus for any reason whatsoever!"

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

"Get the hell out of here, Lena." Jace's voice was urgent and low in my ear, his hand gripping my arm. "Seriously. Right fucking now. I'll cover for you."

"But—" I started hyperventilating, my chest getting tighter and tighter with each shallow breath.

Jace grabbed my face with both hands, forcing me to look at him, and kissed me quickly but firmly on the cheek. "Seriously, princess. Go. Run. I've got you. Trust me, okay?"

And so I ran.

Well, it wasn't exactly a graceful run—more like the most awkward, pathetic attempt at stealth I'd ever executed in my entire life. I kept my back turned toward Mrs. Sinclair the entire time like that would somehow make me invisible, still clutching that stupid oversized history book up in front of my face like it made any difference whatsoever, weaving desperately between the tables of students who were supposed to be studying but were now completely invested in watching this drama unfold in real time.

"Excuse me," I whispered frantically as I nearly tripped over some sophomore's backpack that was sprawled out in the aisle. "Pardon me, so sorry."

"Yo, watch where you're going!" the kid hissed back at me, annoyed.

"Wait, isn't that the girl who got expelled this morning?" someone else whispered, though it was loud enough for half the damn library to hear clearly.

"Oh shit, this is Round Two!" another voice said with barely contained glee. "First that massive fight with Allison earlier, and now she's getting chased by Sinclair? Dude, this day is fucking legendary."

"Is someone recording this? Please tell me someone's recording."

"Already got my phone out, don't worry."

"This is better than anything on Netflix."

I kept moving forward with my burning face down, my heart hammering so violently against my ribcage I genuinely thought it might explode right out of my chest. Behind me, I heard the sharp screech of a chair being pushed back violently—Jace standing up quickly—immediately followed by a tremendous, earth-shattering crash.

"Oh, fuck! Shit, sorry, I'm so sorry!" Jace's voice rang out loudly across the entire library. "My bad, Mrs. Sinclair, I'm so fucking clumsy today—didn't see that pile there—"

"Mr. Dawson, watch your language this instant! And what on earth—these are library property! You've just knocked over an entire cart of returned books! Do you have any idea how long it took to organize those?"

"I know, I know, I'm really sorry about that. Here, just let me help you pick them all up real quick—"

"Stop! Just stop moving right now, you're making it infinitely worse! Those books are organized by the Dewey Decimal System!"

I risked one quick glance over my shoulder and saw that Jace had somehow—whether intentionally or through actual clumsiness, I honestly couldn't tell—managed to knock over a massive cart stacked high with returned books that Mr. Patterson had clearly spent hours carefully organizing. They'd scattered absolutely everywhere across the floor, creating a chaotic barrier of scattered hardcovers and paperbacks between Mrs. Sinclair and the escape route I was currently fleeing down at top speed. She was effectively blocked, completely unable to chase after me without literally climbing over or wading through the mountain of books now littering the entire walkway.

"Mr. Dawson, I need you to step aside this instant so I can—"

"Of course, yeah, absolutely, Mrs. Sinclair. Just give me one quick second to grab these off the floor—oops, shit, dropped another one. I mean shoot. I mean darn. Sorry about the language—"

"Mr. Dawson!" Mrs. Sinclair's voice had gone sharp and cold with barely restrained fury. "You have exactly five seconds to get out of my way before I add deliberate obstruction of school administration to your already extensive disciplinary file!"

"I'm not trying to obstruct anything, I swear! I'm just trying to clean up this huge mess that I accidentally made—"

"Enough of this nonsense! This is clearly a deliberate and calculated attempt to—"

That was the last thing I heard before I finally reached the library exit and shoved through the double doors with both hands.

The hallway stretched out I'm front of me, mostly empty since everyone was still in class, and I didn't stop running.