3

HOPE’s POV

It took me an hour, but I am finally pedalling my bicycle towards the residence of the Parker family manor. 

The ride back was a long one. I was chased by a bulldog and almost fell into the drain, no thanks to my missing glasses. Add that to the sudden heavy downpour.

Mom’s going to kill me when she finds out that I need to buy another pair of glasses. It's the third time this year. The first two were crushed and broken, courtesy of Sara Carter. Maybe I should just bill the new pair of glasses to her. 

Right.

What a joke. If I ever dare to even look her in the eye, Sara Carter will hang me upside down from the school gymnasium and use me as a pinata or a punching bag.

I shake the thought off and quickly ride towards the garage, grateful that no one is seeing me in such an embarrassing state. Especially mom.

Getting off my bike, I lean it gently against the wall, careful not to dirty the pristine clean walls of the garage with my wet and peeling bicycle. Then, picking up my soggy bag of books, I tiptoe past a row of shiny black cars. Mercedes, BMW, Lambo, you name it, they have it. All in black.

And then, I see it. Amongst the row of luxury cars is a shiny black Bugatti that had definitely reached the manor before the pouring rain. It's as dry as the Sahara desert. 

Blake’s Bugatti. 

I don't understand that guy. One minute, he's like a knight in shining armour, saving me in my darkest hour and the next, he's as cold as ice, acting all aloof and shitty. 

A quick look around tells me that no one else is in the garage and I quickly give the front wheel a kick. 

Serves him right for making me pedal back in the rain. 

“What do you think you're doing?” A voice rings out across the garage and I literally jump in my skin. 

“Mom!”

Mom stands at the doorway with both hands tugging nervously at her apron. She frowns when she sees me.

“Did you just kick Blake Parker’s car?” 

“What? Um, no..why would I do such a thing?” I shrug and quickly zoom past her only for her to grab me by the jacket and yank me back in place. 

I gulp. I'm in BIG trouble. No one lies to mom and gets away with it. 

“Mom..I -”

Mom’s calloused palms go to my cheeks and she squints her eyes at me, the car forgotten. “Where are your glasses?”

My breath hitches but I fake a nonchalant smile at her. “I uh- I accidentally dropped it in school and someone stepped on it. It broke.”

That's not exactly a lie. 

Mom's scowl turns deeper and she squeezes my cheeks. “Hope! This is the third time!”

I take a deep breath. If only she knew, but I mustn't cry in front of her. I can't let her know what happened in school. She has a lot to deal with already. I'm only glad that the rain washed away those two jerks’ scents. Mom would freak out if she knew what almost happened in the store room.

Mom sighs exasperatedly as she shakes her head and her voice drops to a hushed tone, “Hope, please be more careful next time. You know we still have to pay back the rogues for helping forge our new identities.”

I can only nod. How can I forget that? I am reminded day in and day out that our lives do not belong to us, that we owe our freedom to the rogues who smuggled mum and me out of the hellhole and into a second chance in life at Crescent Moon. 

I can still remember the fire, the pain and the bloodshed..and most of all, I remember father lying lifelessly on the ground with glassy eyes staring into mine as I cowered under the dining table, sobbing my eyes out. 

“Hope?”

My reverie is broken by mom's voice,” Where did you get this jacket?”

Oh…. quickly, I pull the jacket tighter around me, worried that she might catch a glimpse of my stained and torn blouse. 

Mom drops her hands and reaches out to tug at the jacket, her brows furrowing suspiciously. “This belongs to Blake Parker. I just washed it for him on Friday. Why do you have it on you?”

“Mom, I can explain…I -”

“I gave it to Hope,” a voice, rich and deep with timbre calls out from behind mother and her head snaps to attention. 

Blake Parker. Talk of the devil.

He comes up to us with both hands resting comfortably in the pockets of his white fluffy robe. His dark brown hair is damp from a shower and his toned chest peeks put a little from the slit of the robe. 

“Oh, Blake!” Mom's stern voice immediately melts into a warmer and gentle tone, a tone that she has never used on me ever since that fateful night when father died. 

“You shouldn't have. It's a birthday present from your father…”

Blake shrugs, “Hope can have it.”

I blink. What is this? Is he helping me out? Again? What does he want from me this time? Another week of homework served to him on a platter? 

Mum breaks into a smile and she bows a little at him. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. 

“That is too kind of you, we couldn't -”

“I insist, Mrs Summers.” Blake shoots her his signature charming smile that can melt even the north pole and mom starts to fawn over him, telling him that he is too kind, too nice and too much of a gentleman.

Blake merely nods, basking in her compliments and sends her off with a, “Oh, I am so craving the chocolate chip muffins that you’re baking in the oven right now.”

Mom gets the hint and immediately zooms off into the kitchen, leaving me standing there alone with him. Blake Parker, my saviour and my tormentor.

I lower my head, tug at the strap of my bag and try to walk past him but like mom, he stops me with a tug on the jacket.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” he asks cooly.

“To my room. As you can see, I am drenched from head to toe.”

Blake raises both eyebrows and nods, looking me up and down as if he is studying some specimen in the science lab.

“I saved you earlier on,” he says as a matter of factly.  “Twice, once from those two losers and another from your mom.”

Slowly, he reaches out and cups my chin in between his two fingers and lifts my head up, forcing me to stare into his steel-grey eyes.

“You owe me, Hope.”

My heart starts to pound wildly and for some weird reason, my cheeks become flushed. Why are his fingers so warm? Why is he standing so near?

“What do you want?” my question comes out in a quivering whisper.

A slow smile starts to spread across his lips. “I want you to come to my room.”