by Logan Chance
“Everything ok over here?” I ask her.
She nods.
“Hey, is he the pitcher for the Knights?” Ian asks Rhiannon as if I'm not here.
“I am,” I answer as Dean makes his way across the field to have my back. “And you can ask me.”
Ian holds his hands up, in a mock surrender, and laughs a laugh much too cocky. “I’ve heard about you,” he says. “Too bad you can't afford to go to our school, they could use a good pitcher.”
My fists ball, begging to knock the smirk off his pasty face. His friend stays silent, darting his eyes back and forth between us.
Rhiannon steps beside me. “Ian, get lost.”
I laugh at the look of shock on his face.
I wink. “Looks like money can't buy you everything, asshole.”
5
Rhiannon
Seventeen Years old
The prom is a big deal in most people’s life. But, not mine. I couldn’t care less. My dream date was Xavier, but with him in his own apartment with Dean, and not really aware I’m alive, it didn't happen.
I text Morgan to hurry up and get here.
Be there in ten, she replies.
Taking one last look in the mirror, I smile at the strapless black dress I’m wearing. It's simple, with a hint of shimmer, and whispers against my skin. The dove Xavier gave me three years ago is my only jewelry. I know he's around today, courtesy of Hannah, and hopefully, he’ll finally notice I’m not a little girl anymore.
I slip on my heels and step outside my room. The house is quiet as I make my way down the wide staircase to the landing where Hannah stands changing out flowers in the tall bronze floor vases that decorate the foyer. Her eyes light up when she sees me. She stops what she's doing and hustles over to me.
“You look so grown up, Rhiannon.” She gives me a hug.
“Thank you, Miss Hannah.”
“You remember what I told you?” she asks, arching a dark brow.
A blush heats my face remembering Hannah’s lecture about sex and condoms. I already know these things, but I'm sure she feels it's her duty since my own mother seems not to realize I'm on the brink of adulthood.
“How could I ever forget,” I tell her.
Aside from the fact that's a conversation no teen wants to have, having it come from the mom of the guy you're pining after made it a hundred times worse.
She laughs a little and continues to mortify me. “Sex isn't something to be ashamed of, Rhiannon, but it shouldn't be taken lightly.”
“Yes, I know,” I reassure her. “There will be no sex tonight.”
She smiles and kisses me on the cheek. “Smart girl. Now go have fun,” she says before leaving me.
I’ll admit, I’ve thought about it...a lot. With Xavier. Somewhere along the way, my feelings of friendship morphed into infatuation. Unrequited infatuation. He’s never made a move. Not even last year at Tina's sixteenth birthday party when we were snuggled together on the hammock in her parent’s backyard. It was the perfect opportunity. The definition of perfect. We gazed at the blinking stars. We laughed about the future and my plans to attend MECA, Maine College of Art.
I pulled out the quirky hand drawn card, with a tiny screwdriver on the front, I made for Tina inscribed with “Happy Birthday! Get Screwed” and then he got quiet and leaned in close. I know I saw something in his expression. And just as I closed my eyes, ready and willing, he pulled away and stood so quickly from the hammock, it almost sent me crashing to the ground. More like crashing down to reality.
After that party, things changed. There was no more talk of the future.
Xavier stayed away, going to parties with new friends, and... he started dating girls. Lots of them. Holly, Noel, Faith. His very own Christmas card. On and on. Since then, our friendship has basically been non-existent. No more watching movies and just hanging out. I haven't even told him I received my acceptance letter to MECA a few weeks ago. No one knows, actually. In secret, I applied. Now, I must convince my parents. I'm ready to use the bargaining skills I've been mastering.
On my way to the kitchen, I pass my father’s office and halt when Xavier says, “I won’t be working for you, ever.”
My eyes widen. No one has ever talked to daddy that way.
But, the main reason for my surprise is Xavier’s words. Hearing him standing up to my father sets a flame of hope alight in my stomach.
It extinguishes when I hear my father laugh. Such a sinister laugh. The kind of laugh that makes grown men cower in fear. The kind that makes me feel five and afraid again.
“Xavier, you’ve always been a smart kid. Why waste your talent?” My father rises from his chair. “This is my fifth security system you’ve broken into.”
“Not that hard.” Xavier clears his throat. “But the fact of the matter is, I won’t ever work for you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Yes, we will.”
Out of my peripheral, I see my mother exit the great room, wine in hand, and I quickly step away from the battle of wills taking place behind the cracked door and turn towards her.
“Well, you look lovely, dear.” She teeters on her black heels a bit, tipsy, like always.
“Thanks, Mom,” I reply, meeting her slightly bloodshot eyes.
Somewhere between my ninth and tenth years, Shannon DeLaurio began having wine for breakfast instead of fruit smoothies. Of course, we don't discuss it, though, because that would mean there’s a problem. Mom doesn't do problems, so, therefore, they don't exist.
Personally, I think she drinks herself into a coma every day, so she doesn’t have to deal with my father. I know I would if I was married to the man.
She threads a strand of my hair through her fingers. “Ian will love the dress.”
Ian, my hand selected date for tonight. Even if Xavier had asked me, my domineering father wouldn't have allowed it.
I grin, keeping up the pretense. “I’m sure he will.”
“Just smile and look pretty. That's all they really care about.”
Thankfully, the doorbell interrupts our awkward moment.
Ian and friends have arrived. We take a few obligatory photos in front of the fountain, and after I hop into the back of the limo, I gaze upstairs and see Xavier staring down on me through the arched window.
I trace the dove connecting us as Ian shuts the door, closing me in.
The next two hours are spent avoiding Ian in the ballroom of the Four Seasons. Lots of time spent in the bathroom. Hannah truly had nothing to worry about in the sex department tonight. The more my father pairs us up, the more I distance myself. He's too into himself to even notice I’m not interested. After he does this weird grinding thing against me on the dance floor, while declaring himself King of The Prom, I decide I want to go home. I've had enough, and my mind hasn’t stopped thinking about Xavier and my father. I need to see him.
I fake a headache, telling a now half-drunk Ian I'm leaving.
“Why, Princess?” he slurs, sliding his hand around my waist.
I hate when he calls me princess. It's an unspoken ‘secret’ amongst everyone of my background. It's one of those things everyone knows but doesn't speak about. Rhiannon, sheltered daughter of the… I can't even think the word, because that makes it true.
“I feel a little dizzy,” I lie.
“You finally get out, and you want to go home?” He shakes his head. “No.”
“Um, yes,” I answer, raising my brows, “and that's what I'm going to do.”
This flask sneaking jerk, who already thinks he rules the world, is not the boss of me. Boss, ugh. In a few more months, I won't have to think about any of this anymore. I'll be a little fish in a big pond of other little fish.
He reaches out to touch the dove. “Shouldn't you be wearing diamonds? You're always wearing this thing.”
I push his hand away. “This thing was a special gift from Xavier.”
“Ah, Xavier. And what makes it so special? It's probabl
y not even real gold.”
“He has the other half,” I inform him. “And not everything has a price. I'm leaving.”
He’s upset, but not too much, because he doesn't even bother walking me out. Good choice, dad. Father fail one million.
Half an hour later, the limo drops me in the circular drive, and when it pulls away, a deep voice startles me.
“How was prom?” Xavier asks, leaning against a tall oak.
“God, you scared me,” I tell him.
“So how was it?” he asks again.
“Everything was fine.” I slip off my heels and walk closer, wanting to talk about more important things. “What happened with my father today?”
He pushes off the trunk, a naughty grin tugging at his lips. “Don’t worry about any of that now. Tell me about your night.”
“There's nothing to tell.” We step into the dimly lit house, making sure not to wake anyone as we travel to my bedroom upstairs.
“Did you have fun?” he asks, as soon as the door shuts behind him.
“Sure I did.” I grab black yoga pants and a t-shirt from the drawer and walk toward the en suite bathroom.
“I don’t believe you,” he whisper-shouts as I close him out.
I drop my things on the marble counter and glance at my lying self in the mirror.
What am I doing? Trying to make him jealous? As if he cares.
I reach my hand around to unzip my dress and tug. It’s stuck. Just like me. Stuck in this never ending rut of wanting what I can't have.
Over and over again, I try, but the little thingy isn’t unzipping.
I peek my head out the bathroom door. “Xavier?”
He sits on the bed, my old ratty stuffed bunny in his hand, and when he sees me, his eyes skim my face.
“Can you help me with my zipper?”
Ugh, this sounds so contrived. How embarrassing.
“Sure.” He drops the bunny and steps closer.
When I turn around, there is no space between our bodies. He sweeps my hair across my shoulder, and I suck in a breath at the featherlight touch of his fingertips across the nape of my neck.
Oblivious to his effect on me, his hands land on my zipper. “This little fucker is stuck good.”
Describing what's happening in my belly as butterflies doesn't do it justice. The flutter is more powerful, like a swarm of eagles soaring.
He tugs a little harder, and his knuckle grazes against my overheated skin.
After another tug, the zipper finally succumbs to his power, just as I want to do.
He lowers it a bit, and I turn in his arms.
Xavier lets out a small chuckle, his hands unsure where they should go, but there’s nothing funny in this moment. Not now.
Instead of pulling away like I expect, he traces the gold chain draped over my collar bone.
“You still wear this,” he whispers.
“Every day.”
His eyes meet mine and the air stills in my lungs. This is all new. The overwhelming feelings. The rush of adrenaline I feel right now. My brown eyes hold his uncertain blue ones, wondering if he’ll finally kiss me. Wondering if I’ll be any good at it.
His crystal eyes war with something inside his head, and I see the moment he decides against whatever he was planning to do with me.
But, I don’t want to back down.
“I’ve never had a real kiss before,” I confess.
He laughs a little. “What?”
“Will you...uh...show me how?”
“No.”
I step away from his rejection of me. “I’m a freak. All the other girls are having sex, and I’m so inexperienced it’s laughable.”
He runs a hand down his face. “I’ve seen the guys at your school, be thankful they aren’t kissing you.”
“It doesn't matter anyway. Most of them are too afraid to even try because of who my father is. I’m going to die an unkissed virgin.”
“Good.” He shakes his head. “Why are you even asking this? Is this something you want?”
I chew on my bottom lip. I can’t voice what I really want, because that would be too embarrassing. “Yes.”
Xavier steps closer, tilting his head closer to me, his raven-colored hair inviting me to run my fingers through it.
“Rhi,” he whispers, his lips nearly touching mine.
“Yes?”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He presses his lips to mine. And it is...un-be-lievable. I let him lead me in this kiss. This explosion of want.
His hand plunges into my hair, thumbing through each strand. On a groan, he moves his body closer, wrapping his arm around my lower back, melding us together.
I cling to his shirt, fisting it in my needy hands.
The kiss deepens, his tongue finding mine, and everything changes. Everything. This kiss, with its rapid pants and hungry moans, strips away the last of the girlish layers, leaving a woman in its place. Nothing could have prepared me for the reality of his lips on mine. There is no coming back from this kiss. No wonder kissing leads to sex. A want so intense, it threatens to consume me, settles in my core.
When I trail my hand up his chest, across his pounding heart, he tears his lips from mine. No matter what else happens in my life, I'll never forget this moment, his labored breath and hooded eyes.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Lesson learned?”
I step closer as he steps back a little. “Yes, but why did you stop?” I rush the words out.
He avoids my eyes. “I think I gave you enough practice for Ian.”
“What? I won’t be kissing Ian,” I can barely get out.
“Oh, come on. You know your dad will have you married off to him before you're even eighteen.”
“That's not true.”
“Don't be so naive, Rhiannon. Maybe if I go to work for your father, I'll be good enough in his eyes to even sit at the same table.”
“Don't even joke about that.” He raises a brow, and oh my god, is he serious? “Would you?”
“Does it matter?”
The high of my first kiss plummets into my first taste of disappointment. True disappointment. I never expected him to be the one to serve it to me.
Hopes and dreams dim into a dark reality I can’t be a part of. “Please leave. I don’t want to see you right now.”
Deaf to his pleas, I slam the door shut.
I rip the prom dress, bought with tainted money, off me and throw it in the trash can. After a long scalding shower, trying desperately to wash away the contamination that is imprinted on my skin, I change into my night clothes.
When I emerge back in the room, Xavier is gone.
6
Xavier
Life changes in an instant. What in the damn world was I thinking by kissing her? I shouldn’t have. I mentally kick my own ass. I’ve always kept a good distance from her. Kept my hands to myself. Kept the whispers away from her father’s prying ears. And he's got jumbo fucking ears. Dumbo ears. He’s always watching, always listening. She's on a short leash that he yanks back if she goes too far. Pretty sure that's why he hates me, because I’m the one thing he can't control.
I slip out the back door, still tasting her kiss on my tongue, and head down the long drive I've walked a million times to see Rhiannon, back to my mom’s house. I really fucked up coming here today but seeing her with that All-American athlete and piece of shit douchebag, Ian, well, no fucking way. There was no way I was going back to my apartment till I knew she was home.
Headlights come into view, driving away from the cottage I grew up in. I step to the side of the narrow drive, into the grass, as two black sedans speed by. Delaurio’s car.
A weird feeling sets in. You know the one, where your hair stands on ends, or your skin breaks out in goosebumps. I jog the rest of the way, up the front steps, and jiggle the front door handle. Mom’s car is still parked next to my piece of shit Ford truck. I fumble with my keys in my pocket and damn near drop th
em as I try to get them into the lock.
“Mom?” I call out, racing through the house, flipping on lights as I go. My heart beat slams into overdrive when I can’t find her. I reach for my cell, heading into the kitchen, and there she is sprawled out on the floor in her nightgown. Her eyes stare through me.
I slide along the floor, like I do on the field sliding into home base, and scoop her head off the floor.
“Mom, say something. Mom?”
Her chest doesn't move. No air comes from her lungs. She isn’t breathing. There’s no sound as I punch in the numbers 9-1-1 on my cell and bring it to my ear.
Suicide. Overdose. Mixed with alcohol.
I sit in disbelief as the coroner tells Mr. DeLaurio one more time about the events that took place. My mother didn't have anti-depressants. There was no liquor in the house.
What the fuck does he know? Asshole wasn’t even here, but pretty sure Mr. DeLaurio was.
The realization that she’s even gone hasn’t fully hit yet. She’s been everything to me—mom, dad, friend. And when I find out who did this, they will fucking pay. Rhiannon finds me and wraps a comforting arm around me, our earlier fight forgotten.
Her tears soak my shirt before her mother ushers her away. Everything is moving in slow motion.
Mr. DeLaurio finishes up with the officials, and a catastrophic storm is brewing in my bones. He glances at me, his solemn look as artificial as his worried smile.
The chief of police and coroner stand close together, signing off on papers. DeLaurio walks across the spot where her body lay an hour ago.
Even if I did speak up, then what? Who would believe a kid against the powerful Mr. DeLaurio? Who would believe me at all?
No one.
And I know what type of man he is. And now what? I’ll tell you what—I stand up to one of the most ruthless mob bosses in the world. What have I got to lose? I have nothing now but distant relatives I don't even know.
“Two cars left here,” I say, glancing over at DeLaurio. “Looked a lot like yours.”
“Son, you're upset,” the police chief says. “Sorry for your loss.”
