My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 127

Chapter 127 Admitting I Truly Love Him

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The heavy fire door clicked shut. The quiet isolation of the north stairwell vanished. The B-wing corridor exploded with the chaotic noise of the passing period. Students rushed past my shoulders, eager to reach the cafeteria or the outdoor courtyard.

I ignored them. I ignored the shrill shriek of the warning bell for the fifth period. I ignored the pristine index cards waiting inside my canvas backpack. The biology exam meant nothing. The flawless attendance record meant nothing.

I clutched the pale green cloth book to my chest. The rough binding dug into my sternum. The black ink of his handwritten inscription burned a hole straight through my uniform blouse.

I needed to find him. I needed to bridge the massive gap he created when he dropped this package in my locker and vanished.

I marched past the open doors of my afternoon calculus class. Mr. Peterson stood at the chalkboard. I did not stop. I bypassed the main office and the crowded student lounge. I pushed through the heavy glass exit doors of the A-wing.

I stepped out into the damp April air. The gray overcast sky mirrored the heavy, charged tension in my blood. A cold wind whipped across the manicured lawns. I walked toward the South Lot. The massive stretch of cracked asphalt sat deserted. The affluent student body remained trapped inside the warm brick walls.

I scanned the rows of parked luxury cars. I searched for the battered, dark blue Ford truck.

I spotted the vehicle parked in the far corner. It sat near the rusted chain-link fence bordering the thick woods.

Ryder leaned against the front grille. He wore his scuffed leather jacket over a plain black t-shirt. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. His head tilted back. He stared up at the rolling gray storm clouds. He isolated himself from the school. He abandoned his classes to stand in the freezing wind.

He waited for the fallout. He handed me the ultimate weapon. He bared his soul on the first page of a 1943 first edition, and he braced himself for my rejection. He expected me to run. He expected me to read the depth of his devotion and retreat to my safe, logical world.

I tightened my grip on the book. I closed the distance.

My scuffed loafers slapped the wet asphalt. The sound echoed across the empty parking lot.

Ryder snapped his head down. His hazel eyes locked onto my approaching figure. The wind pushed his dark hair across his forehead. He uncrossed his arms. The rigid, defensive tension corded the muscles in his neck. He saw the pale green object in my hands.

I stopped three feet away from his massive frame.

The familiar scent of worn leather and cedar washed over me. It mixed with the smell of damp pavement and impending rain. We stood in the exact spot where he fought Trent Lawson years ago. We stood on the battleground where he earned his monstrous reputation to protect a freshman girl who dropped her history textbooks.

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Chapter 127 Admitting | Truly Love Him

“You skipped first period,” I started. My voice shook, but the wind carried the words. “You skipped second period. You broke into my

locker.

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Ryder set his jaw. The fading yellow bruise stood out against his pale skin. He dropped his gaze to the book pressed against my chest. He

did not offer a sarcastic greeting. He did not smirk. He looked like a man standing on a trapdoor, waiting for the wooden floor to drop.

‘I guessed the combination,” he stated. His voice sounded like cracked stone. “Thirty-four. Twelve. Eight. You use the atomic numbers of

Selenium, Magnesium, and Oxygen.”

“Because of my freshman chemistry project,” I finished.

He gave a single, rigid nod.

The confirmation sent a fresh shockwave through my veins. He did not guess. He knew. He possessed the numbers because he paid attention four years ago. He paid attention to every single detail.

I pulled the book away from my chest. I held it out in the space between us. The pale green cover offered a stark contrast to his dark

leather jacket.

“You found a 1943 first edition,” I said. “You tracked down the exact printing from the presentation I gave in Mrs. Gable’s class. I was fourteen years old. I stood in front of thirty rich kids and talked about a poor girl surviving on a library card. They laughed at me.”

Ryder flinched. A dark, territorial shadow passed over his eyes at the mention of the laughter. The memory of the humiliation angered him just as much today as it did four years ago.

“I remember, he rasped.

“You sat in the back row. You wore a dark hoodie. I thought you were sleeping.”

“I heard every word you said, Raisa.”

The confession hung in the cold air. The wind pushed against our clothes, but neither of us moved. The truth stripped away the remaining

mysteries.

“Why?” I demanded. The question tore from my throat. The raw, bleeding truth demanded the light. I cast aside my logic. I cast aside my fear of the unknown. “Why did you remember a book presentation from four years ago? Why did you carve the Orion constellation into the side of the bookshelf in the library?”

His chest heaved with a ragged breath. The leather of his jacket groaned. He reached his limit. He exposed the deepest, most guarded pieces of his heart. The vulnerability suffocated him.

“You know why, he murmured. He refused to look at my eyes. He stared at my hands holding the book.

“I want to hear you say it. I took a step closer. The tips of my loafers brushed the heavy steel toes of his combat boots. “I want you to

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