The Third Strike: Rogues of Everly Prep Book Three

by Wendi Wilson

  I heard Mom sniffle beside me, and I had to double my efforts to stop myself from crying. Atticus was a good man, striving to be the perfect husband to my mother, as well as the perfect father. He was helping me exactly the way he’d help Seth, his own flesh and blood.

  Something inside me snapped into place, mending even though I’d had no idea it was broken. This man wanted to be the father I’d never had. I hadn’t realized until now how much I missed having a strong male presence in my life—someone who’d stand up for me no matter what, protect me when I couldn’t protect myself, and accept me for exactly who I was, despite my flaws.

  “Thank you,” I choked out past the knot of emotion in my throat.

  “Of course,” he answered, his own voice cracking the tiniest bit. He cleared his throat and kept his eyes forward as he said, “There’s no pressure, but I’d be honored if you want to call me dad.”

  Mom sniffed louder, and I looked over to see fat tears dripping down her cheeks. She looked past me at her husband, her eyes filled with hearts as she smiled at him.

  I looked at my hands where they rested in my lap. “I’ll think about it.”

  I couldn’t promise to call him “dad,” no matter how grateful I was to him for his kindness. It wasn’t that I was totally against the idea, but the thought of calling him that made me feel…weird. I might get there, eventually, but I wasn’t there yet.

  “Good enough,” he replied, his lips turning up at the corners. “So, you have two more weeks off. What are you going to do with yourself? Because you are not allowed to mope around the house like last time, young lady.”

  “Really feeling this dad gig, huh?” I asked, returning his smile before it fell. “I don’t know. I’m beginning to think going to Everly Prep was a bad idea. Maybe I should just transfer to another school.”

  “You’d let them win?” Atticus asked in a soft voice.

  Oh boy, did he know how to push the right buttons. But I wasn’t going to back down so easily.

  “What if the prize isn’t worth the fight?” I asked. “The only reason I’d stick with it is to help me get into a good college, and Headmaster Swain all but threatened to write negative letters to any ivy-league school I intend to apply to.”

  “He did what?”

  Atticus’s roar echoed through the car, and I saw our driver Marcus flinch at the sound of it. Without waiting for an answer, he was on his phone again. In a deadly voice, he threatened to withdraw all of his yearly donations to Everly Prep, as well as write a letter to the board of directors suggesting Headmaster Swain be replaced if he ever even thought about threatening me again.

  He stabbed his finger against the screen of his phone to end the call, then took a deep breath and looked at me.

  “That’s taken care of. Swain won’t interfere with your future again.”

  “Thank you, but I’m pretty sure the Bellamys put him up to it. If they pressure him again…”

  My words trailed off, and Atticus shook his head.

  “Phin and Gwyn think they have power over everyone because they controlled us as kids. I am not a child anymore, and I refuse to let them have that kind of command over my life ever again. Besides, my donations to E.P. far outweigh theirs. Swain will heed my warning. Don’t you worry about it.”

  I nodded, deciding to take his word on it. And he was right, I didn’t want to let them win.

  After my two-week suspension, I’d go back to Everly Prep. I’d focus on my schoolwork, get into a good college, and put all this behind me.

  I had a family with Mom, Atticus, and Seth. I had two best friends in Josh and Simone. I had a bright future ahead of me and a home I could always come back to.

  And if I focused on those good things, maybe I’d stop thinking about Mason, and how his actions today broke my heart.

  21

  The Kincaid mansion became a prison of my own making. I could literally feel my ass growing as I sat on the couch watching reality television in yoga pants while eating my weight in potato chips and French onion dip.

  And I couldn’t bring myself to give two fucks.

  My long, knotted hair was piled into a ratty bun on the top of my head, my face was oily from all the greasy, fatty junk food, and my breath smelled like, well, French onion dip. I was a hot mess, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up off my fat ass and do something about it.

  Despite my internal pep talk at the police station about how great my life was and what a bright future I had ahead of me, it hadn’t taken long for me to turn into the dumpster fire I saw in the reflection of the television screen any time it went dark.

  I missed my friends. I missed my relationship with Mason. And as much as I hated to admit it, I missed Everly Prep.

  Mom had come to me several times, her voice soft and her hands comforting, trying to pull me out of the doldrums in which I was wallowing. I kept telling her I was fine, which was ironic considering I’d harped on and on about the real meaning of “fine” when Josh had used the word to describe his own situation.

  Fucked up. Insecure. Neurotic. Emotional.

  Yep. Sounded about right. I was fine.

  When Mom couldn’t seem to lift me out of the swamp of sadness I was drowning in, she sent in Seth, who didn’t fare much better. He gave me a speech about persevering and rising above the drama and underhanded tactics of my enemies. He begged me to come out with him, told me I was being a baby, and all but ordered me to go shower.

  What he didn’t say was that the show put on by Mason and Charlotte was just that—a show. He didn’t tell me Mason was faking it for…whatever fucked up reason he may have had for pretending. Seth didn’t tell me that, because he couldn’t.

  And I was certain he’d asked. Knowing Seth, he went straight to Mason’s and demanded the truth. He probably looked his friend right in the eye and dared him to say he was with Charlotte, in truth. Seth would know if he was lying and would’ve come straight to me. He would’ve told me it was all a hoax and Mason was still mine.

  But that never happened, so I could only assume it was the truth. Mason wasn’t mine, and never had been.

  I shoved another handful of chips into my mouth, wiping my greasy hand against my yoga pants. Nothing would pull me out of this funk and nothing would get me off this couch. Ever.

  “What in the actual fuck?”

  The shout startled me from my thoughts, and my eyes darted up to see Josh standing in the doorway. His mouth was hanging open, and I wondered if I could sail a chip in there from this distance.

  Nope. Mine, I thought, shoving it into my own mouth.

  “Chaz.”

  “What do you want, Josh?” I asked as chip crumbs sprayed out of my mouth with the words.

  I knew I was being a gross bitch. Again, couldn’t find two fucks to give.

  “Oh, no, you didn’t,” he growled, stomping toward me.

  He leaned over me, his nose twitching at the stench I was sure was wafting from my hair and armpits. He snatched the bag of chips from my lap and tossed them on the table. I shouted a protest, but he didn’t acknowledge it as his hands gripped my wrists and pulled me up.

  “Josh, stop,” I said, trying to free myself.

  “It’s been four days,” he growled as he dragged me across the room. “Four days of you ghosting me and Simone and hiding in this house, on this couch. No more.”

  He pulled me out into the hall and headed for the stairs. I gave up the fight because, honestly, I ran out of energy. Josh pulled me to my room and shoved me into my bathroom.

  “Shower first, then we’ll talk,” he ordered. “And for God’s sake, brush your teeth, woman.”

  I huffed and growled, but did as he demanded. Somewhere deep down inside me, I knew he was right and only trying to help, but his bully tactics had me fuming.

  At least, they did until the hot spray of the shower hit my back. I groaned with pleasure as the stream rinsed away the sweat and tears. I shampooed my hair, groaning again as my fingers massaged the oi
l from my scalp. I took my time scrubbing every inch of my skin, then grabbed my razor and shaved four days’ worth of unwanted hair from my body.

  After climbing from the shower, I used a soft towel to wrap my wet hair up into a turban, threw on the clean clothes I found waiting on the counter, brushed my teeth and put on some deodorant. When I stepped out of the bathroom, I shot Josh a tentative smile.

  He stood from his seat on my bed and let his eyes roam over me. “Feel better?”

  “Nearly human,” I admitted, my voice cracking with emotion.

  Every wall I’d built out of potato chips and chocolate came tumbling down as Josh opened his arms. I darted across the room and flung myself against him. His arms tightened around me, and he whispered soft words into my hair as I cried.

  I cried for everything I’d lost and everything I’d never really had.

  When my sobs finally faded to a few soft hiccups, Josh grabbed my shoulders and pushed me back. I flinched at the sight of his t-shirt, wet from my snot and tears, but he didn’t seem to notice. He waited for me to meet his eyes, then tightened his grip on me.

  “Did you get it all out?” he asked, his mossy eyes probing mine.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I said, sniffing loudly.

  “Good. Now it’s time to pull on your big girl pants.”

  “All I can wear now are big girl pants,” I quipped, looking over my shoulder at my chip-and-dip-enhanced ass.

  “There she is,” he whispered, pulling my attention back to him. “My queen.”

  I smiled, and the motion felt strange on my lips. I hadn’t smiled in days.

  “Thanks, Josh,” I muttered. “Sorry I was such a bitch.”

  “You’re forgiven,” he said, pulling me down with him as he sat back on the bed. “Seth told me what happened at the police station. Atticus is my hero.”

  “Mine, too,” I agreed. “He really stepped up. Even asked me to call him Dad.”

  “Whoa. What did you say?”

  “I told him I’d think about it.”

  Josh nodded. “Well, whatever you decide, it was pretty cool that he asked.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It was.”

  “So, you get a two-week vacay instead of being expelled, you have an awesome stepdad who really wants to be a father to you, a brother who called me in a panic to come save you from yourself, and an amazing best friend—that’s me—am I getting this all right?”

  “Yes,” I answered, leery of the point he was trying to make.

  “So what in the fuck are you wallowing about? Is it Mason?”

  I shot him a look that said, Duh, dumbass.

  “Okay, well, I see I have my work cut out for me. You’ve decided to throw in the towel and take things at face value, obviously.”

  “How else am I supposed to take things?” I asked.

  “You look at the whole picture,” he said, thumping my forehead.

  “Oh, I saw the whole picture,” I retorted, swatting his hand away.

  “No, you only saw what they wanted you to see. Think about it, Chaz. Mason hates Charlotte. Always has. He’s barely put any effort into that farce of a relationship in two years. Then suddenly, right after you make a mistake that could endanger his sister, he’s all about that blonde bitch? I don’t think so.”

  “But, that’s just it, Josh. I made a mistake. I got drunk and attacked Charlotte, putting Stella in danger. He’s done with me.”

  “God, you’re so stupid sometimes.”

  “Hey!” I shouted, slapping his leg.

  “Even if that were true, it wouldn’t mean he would suddenly be into Charlotte. He might continue to pretend, but it would be apathetic, like before you ever came to Everly Prep. Before he knew you existed. But no. He’s all into her—making out in public, touching her when people are watching—but it’s all an act, Chaz. Why can’t you see that?”

  “No,” I say, shoving down the spark of hope his words lit inside me. “He’d tell me. Or Seth. Or Theo or Cooper. Someone would know, and they’d tell me so I wouldn’t freak out.”

  “You’re still not seeing it,” he said, leaning down to catch my gaze. “For it to be real, you had to freak. He needed to convince Charlotte he wasn’t faking. Which means the Rogues needed to be visibly shocked and you…you needed to flip the fuck out.”

  “You can’t know that, for sure,” I said, feeling the walls I built against hope cracking, some of the emotion slipping through to warm me.

  “You’re right, I can’t. Mason isn’t talking to anyone, not even Stella. He’s cut himself off from everyone except Charlotte. And though that’s not an explicit confirmation, it’s good enough for me. He wouldn’t cut all the people he cares about out of his life unless there was a really good reason…like trying to keep them from asking about Charlotte and his sudden change of heart. He can’t lie to them, so he’s not talking at all.”

  “Those are some pretty big assumptions, Josh.”

  “I know they are, but nothing else makes any sense.”

  “What if I get my hopes up, and it turns out he really is done with me?”

  I knew I sounded like a weak, love-struck teenager, but I honestly didn’t care. Josh was my best friend, and if I couldn’t show a little self-doubt and weakness in front of him, then who could I? I knew he wouldn’t judge me. Or if he did, it would come from a place of love.

  “Then you pull up those big girl pants you’re wearing and move on,” he said with a wink.

  “Ass,” I grumbled.

  “No, that’s an ass,” he said, leaning back like he was perusing my butt.

  “Shut up,” I yelled, pushing him back and leaping on top of him.

  I pinned him down, and he let me. The towel fell off my head, and the wet ends of my hair brushed against his cheeks. I stared into his eyes for several beats before giving him a heartfelt smile.

  “Thanks, Josh,” I whispered.

  “Any time, queen. Any time.”

  22

  “You got any fives?”

  “Go fish.”

  Seth arched a brow at me, and I stuck my tongue out at him. This was our seventeenth game, and I’d won the last twelve. He kept accusing me of cheating, which was ridiculous. But letting him believe I might be was half the fun.

  “If ya ain’t cheatin’, ya ain’t tryin’,” I said, giving him a saucy wink.

  He shook his head, but didn’t challenge me further. He didn’t care if I was cheating, or not. All that mattered was that I wasn’t a lazy, depressed, chip-gobbling blob with my ass plastered to the couch. And I no longer stank like one, either.

  “Any word from Stella?” I asked, dropping my cards to the table.

  We were in the kitchen, playing cards while munching on popcorn and blueberries on a Saturday night. Yeah. Pathetic.

  I was at the end of my two week suspension, and I hadn’t left the house since coming home from the police station. Seth had come home right after school each day, keeping me company. I hated that his life was put on hold to babysit me, but he assured me he had nowhere else to be.

  Much like Mason with me, Stella hadn’t spoken to him at all.

  “No, not yet,” he sighed, throwing his own cards down. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What? And go where?” I asked, panic lacing my voice.

  “I don’t know,” he said, standing up so fast his chair screeched across the floor. “Anywhere but here. You can drive. When was the last time you took the Chevelle out?”

  Not since the day I got arrested.

  “Fine,” I said, “but when I’m ready to come home, we’re coming home. No arguments.”

  “Deal,” he agreed, smiling. “Now, go put on your party clothes.”

  “A party?”

  “Come on, Chaz. It’ll be fun. And I guarantee no Roguettes will be there,” he promised, giving me a sly grin as he used my nickname for the bitch squad.

  Uneasiness skittered through me, but I decided to take Seth’s word for it and go get dressed. He was
right. I did need to get out of the house. I needed to live a little.

  I just hoped I didn’t live to regret it.

  “Who are all these people?” I asked, clutching Seth’s arm like a lifeline as we pushed through the crowd into a modest, two-story home.

  “Kids from the public school on the north end of town,” he explained. “No one from Everly Prep would be caught dead here, which is why I’m sure we won’t run into anyone we know.”

  “How did you even hear about it?” I asked.

  “They post their parties all over social media, hoping people like us will show up. Helps with their street cred.”

  People like us.

  Seth included me in that statement so effortlessly. I was both touched and appalled, an uneasy combination that made my stomach churn.

  On one hand, he obviously no longer thought of me as an outsider—not even subconsciously. On the other, did I really want to be lumped in with the likes of Charlotte Rutherford and her coven of evil witches?

  I shook off the negativity as Seth stopped and dug his hand into a cooler filled with ice and drinks. He turned and presented me with two options—a fruity spiked seltzer drink and a diet soda. My eyes flicked back and forth a few times before I reached out and took the soda.

  Seth nodded and tossed the alcoholic drink back into the cooler before grabbing a bottle of water for himself. He was following my lead, for which I was thankful.

  The last time I got drunk, I set off a chain of events that sent my whole life spinning out of control. I was not up for a repeat performance.

  Seth and I picked our way through the crowd, finding an open spot on a long couch where we squeezed in close to each other. A few people stopped to chat, but they seemed almost in awe of him, which made most of the conversations extremely awkward.

  Someone cranked up the music, and people started to dance. The booze was flowing, people were getting buzzy, and the air seemed charged with electricity. A couple of girls approached Seth, full of liquid courage, and he let them down as gently as he could when they suggested he accompany both of them to an upstairs bedroom.