by R Holmes
I wanted to keep Valentina as my own fucked-up, filthy secret so I can't blame Sebastian for his silence.
"How about we focus on Ezra and making sure he walks out of fucking jail?" Alec all but grunts as he pushes us both in the chest. "Now, how about we hit the ice so I can show you douchebags how it's done?"
Later that night, I'm parked in front of the massive three-story house Ezra once called home. It's exterior is warm and inviting, all perfectly designed and built to show the façade of an alluring, loving home inside its walls. It couldn't be any further from the truth, but from the outside looking in, you'd never know. All white, cookie cutter shutters and a matching front door. Everything looks perfect.
What Ezra had to endure while living within its walls are things no child, no person, should ever have to face. Yet he did. Alone. The person who walked away from the trauma is a shadow of blood and bones. He's broken. If I didn't think it would fuck him up even more, I'd kill his father with my bare hands with zero remorse. Monsters don't deserve mercy. The fog lights and porch light on the house are on, and I see lights on throughout the house, so I know he's here. His Range Rover is probably parked in the garage, locked up tight for the night. That means he has no idea I'm coming, and it means he can't run like the coward he is.
I get out of the car and shut the door quietly behind me. Walking up the brick-paved drive lined by a perfectly pristine manicured yard, my heart pounds in my chest. I didn't come here tonight for a fight, but one wrong word from this motherfucker's mouth and almost ten years of pent-up rage is letting loose. I'm not excusing him for a fucking second after everything he's done. Once I make it to the front door, I expel a breath and knock on the cold, dark wood.
Seconds later, the door opens, revealing an older, harder version of Ezra. His father is tall with dark hair he wears longer on the top and buzzed close on the sides. Gray peppers his hair and beard, revealing his age. While Ez is bulky and cut from hours spent in the gym, his father is tall and lanky but with broad shoulders and a cold, unwavering set of piercing green eyes. The resemblance is uncanny.
He's the fucking devil himself, walking the earth like a mere mortal.
His stare is stone cold, and I see the muscle in his jaw clench as he avoids eye contact with me. "What are you doing here, Rhys?"
"Not very nice, Mr. Kennedy. Why don't you invite me in so we can have a proper discussion like civilized people? Wouldn't want your neighbors poking their nose around in places they don't belong, right?"
I grin sinisterly, the threat laced in my words.
"I'm expecting company, now's not a good time." He tries to shut the door in my face but I put my foot in the threshold, preventing him from closing it.
"Wasn't asking."
A few seconds tick by and he flings the door open, gesturing me in. The inside is much like the exterior of the house. Warm and inviting, everything is decorated by the finest interior decorator in the North East. Yet, I know all of the secrets this house holds. The basement, where Bradford locked Ezra from the time he was a kid. The kitchen, where he broke his arm for the first time. All of the memories of the past ten years hit me with so much force, I have to take a calming breath before I beat the fuck out of him in the middle of the entry way, before I've even really made it inside.
He walks past me begrudgingly, leading me into the sitting room. There are two plush cream couches that match the color scheme to a T. I choose to stand when he takes a seat on the couch opposite of the door and pins me with a look that says “get to the fucking point.” His eyes are hard and narrowed. His jaw is clenched shut tightly.
Gladly, asshole.
"Since you haven't returned any of the calls or texts I've sent regarding Ezra, tell me what the fuck you are doing to get him out of jail."
Straight to the point and no fluff. He has the nerve to look shocked I'm calling him on his shit to his face. When your last name is Kennedy, no one stands up to you, they let you get away with murder in this town.
"First of all, don't come into my home and disrespect me, son." He stands from the couch abruptly and walks over to where I'm standing. I wish he would put his hands on me the way he has Ezra so I can show him just what it's like to feel broken.
"Don't fucking call me son. You don't deserve the one you have now," I spit, my anger taking over.
"Blackwood, you're skating on a thin-ass line."
I walk closer to him until we're toe to toe, and even though he's thirty years older, I've still got half a foot on him.
"This is about you being a fucking father, a decent one for once in your fucking life."
"Ezra is guilty. He admitted to me he did what they're saying he did. You're lucky you little assholes don't go down with him. It would serve you right if you did. What the fuck were you thinking?" He runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair exasperatedly. "You thought just because he's my son I'd lie for him? I'd let him walk free even though he's guilty?" He curses and paces in front of me, clearly frustrated he’s having to have this conversation with me.
This is not my truth to tell. This is Ezra's truth and I'll never betray him, but fuck, his father knows whose goddamn house it was. Fuck, nothing makes me angrier than a family who does nothing but hurt. If anyone knows what it’s like, it’s me.
"You turn a blind eye to every other fucking thing. What about all the times your rich and powerful friends had turned a blind eye when you beat the fuck out of him, huh? What about the times you left him for dead and the help had to call someone here to nurse him back to health? All of the times you beat him for a B-minus in math, or the times he didn't replace the toilet paper roll once it was empty."
He looks away from my stare, and his eyes flit anywhere but where I'm standing.
"You can pretend all you want that it never happened, like you weren't the worst fucking father in history. But, we know. We all know what you've done to him. You think we spent all of these years being unprepared?"
That gets his attention. His gaze whips up to meet mine.
"Now you hear me? I suggest you work your fucking founding family magic and get your son out of prison. This shit goes away or it'll be the right Kennedy who sits in that cell. I'll post flyers all over this goddamn town, I'll do whatever it takes to expose who you really are."
He lunges for me, but I'm quicker. I dodge his grip and shove him backward. My hands find the collar of his thousand-dollar suit and I slam him against the wall, knocking down the picture frames by his head.
"You are a piece of shit, and it may not be today or even a year from now, but your days are limited. Just know we have the power to bring you to your knees. You think what we did to his house is bad? You have no idea what we're capable of, and unless you truly want to find out, do what the fuck you’re told."
I let his starched suit jacket go and he sags against the wall with a murderous look on his face, but it doesn't faze me. Not in the fucking least. My threats aren't empty and neither is my arsenal. We spent our entire adolescent lives preparing for this moment, and unless he makes good on his end, the entire town of St. Augustine will know exactly the kind of monster who walks among them.
"How many times can I apologize for the party, Val? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to ditch you," Rory says before he collapses into the desk chair next to my bed.
I roll my eyes for the tenth time since he called and begged for me to please put him out of his misery and talk to him. He couldn't possibly survive another second without his best friend. His words, not mine. If it wasn't obvious who was the drama queen in this friendship, it’s absolutely Ror. And as much as I hate to admit it, there is a wedge forming between him and I. It has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with what is going on between Rhys and me. Which makes me feel even more guilty. I can’t tell him anything for his own safety. I don’t want him caught up in this mess, and I'm too ashamed to admit this fucked-up dynamic between the two of us is likely only worsening from here. I would never be able to admit out loud
how something inside of me was lusting after Rhys Blackwood. Not with the vile, disgusting things he forces me to do.
"It's fine, Ror, really. I was okay. I had a headache and went back to the dorm." The lie tumbles from my lips easily, even though there's a feeling of shame in the pit of my stomach. I hate lying. Especially to someone who I care about as much as Rory. Not being able to tell the one person I have here at St. Augustine what's going on with my life is torture, in the purest form, and exactly what I expect Rhys to ensure. It isn’t worth the risk of getting Rory involved with the psycho and his cronies.
"I still feel like total shit. I am seriously the worst friend ever." He gets up and walks over to the bed where I sit, then kicks off his shoes and joins me cross-legged on my dark, velvet comforter. He picks at a loose thread and avoids my gaze.
"What's going on? You're acting weirder than usual." I joke.
"I can't really… I can't tell you anything, Val, but I need to get it off my chest. I can't keep it inside any longer."
I reach out and place my hand on top of his, my residual anger from him abandoning me at the party dissolves knowing he needs me. "Ror, you can tell me anything. You know that. I'll never betray your confidence and I will always support you." I give him a comforting smile. At the end of the day, I know Ror didn’t intentionally try and ditch me. We can place the blame on Rhys, where I know it really lies.
He bites his lip nervously. "I'm seeing someone."
My eyes widen in shock.
"Wait, like a guy? Here? At St. Augustine?" I whisper excitedly.
This is major. Rory is openly gay. He's not ashamed of who he is and he was proud of his sexuality. Except… being a gay at a Catholic boarding school was never going to be easy. Sure, they have a few guys who have come out, but it isn’t widely accepted and it isn’t something the faculty would ever let happen. It makes my heart hurt for him. He shouldn't have to hide who he is, ever. I wish he was able to love freely with no limits.
"Yes. But I can't tell you who he is. I really can't, Val. I swear, he's the most amazing man I've ever met." He sighs dreamily, dropping his chin on the hand which rests on his knee. "He's tall, dark, handsome. And he's so attentive and sweet."
"Rory, that's fucking amazing. I'm so genuinely happy for you," I squeal and throw my arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.
He hugs me back, but then pulls back. "But… it's complicated. He's still in the closet. No one even knows he's gay. Hell, the boy barely knows it himself."
"So, what does it exactly mean for you two?"
"It means lots of sneaking around, and trust me, while it is hot as fuck to sneak around and there's a certain thrill of being caught… it's getting old, fast. I just wish that I didn't have to act like who I am is wrong. I wish everyone accepted me for who I am, not what I'm expected to be."
He looks away, unshed tears in his eyes.
"I wish that too, Ror. But, if he cares about you the way it sounds like he does, he'll do the right thing. Even if it's isn't easy. He'll choose being with you because, at the end of the day, being with you is all that matters, no matter what it takes to get there."
Rory sniffles and pulls me to him. "You're the best friend, Val. I don't deserve you. How about Saturday we go see a movie and go to the mall? We have a free day."
We do have the entire day off campus-free on Saturdays. That means from eight a.m. to eight p.m. we get to leave campus unsupervised and go into town. I mean, it’s not truly unsupervised. We're only allowed within the town radius to go to the mall, movies, and the park. If we are caught embarrassing St. Augustine in any way, the privilege is taken away with no chance of ever earning it back. Safe to say, most of us cherish the few hours of freedom we are afforded which aren't confined to the walls of this campus.
"Sounds amazing. I need a stress-free, relaxing day that does not involve St. Augustine."
"Oooh, we should totally get pedicures!"
"It's a date."
The next day, I spend the entire morning lost in thought about our weekend plans, eagerly counting down the days. It's been a while since I left campus, and I can't wait to have an entire day where I don't have to think about or see Rhys. I spend the rest of the morning trying not to think about what happened in the library the other night, but it's impossible.
Every time I think of what Rhys did, how he commanded and handled my body like it was made just for him, causes me to catch fire.
Then the guilt and shame set in, and I hate myself for it. It’s a constant battle when I try and sift through the emotions piling up inside of me. I feel like I’m drowning. Constantly trying to fight this sinful attraction for my tormentor, angry and disappointed in myself for giving in to him. Coupled with the worry of what’s to actually come of this situation. I’m fearful every single day the video he’s blackmailing me with is going to be released into the world, and poof, Harvard will be nothing but a dream I can never reach. That’s why no matter what sinful things he does to my body, I will never feel anything but hate for Rhys Blackwood. I refuse to let him have true power over me. I may play him at his own game, but I’ll never forgive him for the things he’s done.
I'm leaving calculus, walking to Latin, completely lost in my own thoughts, when I run smack into something hard and unwavering in the hallway.
Looking up, I see it's a guy from my Latin class—Eli, I think. He's tall and ridiculously handsome. Light blond hair with piercing, pale blue eyes. He reaches out to steady me when I almost topple over into a locker.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry… I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Ugh, I'm such a klutz," I stammer.
He gives me a friendly smile and shakes his head. "No big deal at all. I should've been paying attention. Hey, you're in my Latin class right? Valentina?"
"Uh, yeah. Hi."
My cheeks feel warm under his gaze and I swallow nervously. God, he knows who I am?
"I'm Eli. It's nice to officially meet you." He holds out his hand for me to shake and I place my hand in his. It's probably clammy from being nervous, but he doesn't notice if so.
He gestures to the hallway, "Do you uh… wanna walk together? To class?"
"Sure."
We start toward the Latin classroom at the other side of the hall. I half-expect Mara and the bitches to jump out from hiding somewhere and do something horrible.
"I've wanted to talk to you for a while, I just didn't know how to approach you. I'm sort of shy," he says quietly and I look over at him.
"Well, I kind of forced you into talking to me today."
"I'm glad you did. I was wondering… would you maybe want to study together some time or use a free day to see a movie? If you don't want to, I completely understand. I just figured I would shoot my shot and—"
I cut him off before he can say anything else. "I'd love to, Eli. That would be great."
"Oh, okay, perfect. Here, give me your cell and I'll put my number in. You can text me whenever." I reach into my backpack and find my phone, then hand it over to him. A few seconds later, he hands it back. "There, all set. See you in class, Valentina."
He gives me a small smile before jogging off into the classroom. The second he's out of view, I grin giddily to myself and do a little spin of excitement.
I hear a throat clear, and I look up to see Rhys leaning against a locker a few feet from me with his hands shoved into his pockets. His jaw is clenched so tightly it must hurt and a pinched expression takes over his face. He looks more ragey than usual. His dark hair blends in with his black blazer, and his eyes match. Dark, cold, unfaltering. The look on his face sends a chill down my spine.
"Discussing your next gang bang?" he sneers.
My jaw drops. He's such a fucking asshole.
I lift my head a few inches higher and brush past him into the classroom, when I feel his hand wrap around my arm. He leans in and whispers so only I can hear, "Don't forget who the fuck you belong to, Valentina."
He drops his hold on me like h
e's been burned and saunters over to his desk, like our exchange never happened. I can't understand how he manages to look so effortlessly carefree in everything he does. Like he truly doesn’t give a shit about anything and everything. His dark blazer fits him like a glove, the St. Augustine crest sitting on his chest like a proud trophy. You’d never know by just looking at him that under all of the faux rich boy exterior is someone completely rotten inside. I watch as he twirls a pencil between his fingers, not even paying attention to the lesson, but yet he somehow has near perfect grades.
Like he can hear my thoughts, his eyes cut to mine and he delivers a look so smoldering, it pins me to my chair. It physically makes my chest go tight. A look that says, “I own you, body and fucking soul.” Like always, Rhys is an enigma I’m not ready for.
Later that day after a punishing game of softball during gym, I take a few extra minutes in the shower, trying to wash away all of the sweat and grime from my body. The locker room seems to disperse quickly, leaving me the last one showering. That rarely happens, and since I have a free period afterward, I take my sweet time. The hot water cascading across my sore muscles is so relaxing, it almost puts me to sleep standing there. I wash my hair and condition it, then wash my body. I cut the water off and wring my hair to remove the excess water.
When I open the curtain, I feel around for my towel, but there's nothing there. I poke my head out and look at the empty rack, panicking as an uneasy feeling of dread fills my stomach.
I know I put my towel there, along with the key to my gym locker, and now it's gone. I force myself to take a few deep, calming breaths. It's fine, Valentina, someone must have just picked it up by accident. My clothes are on the bench in front of my locker. I'll just run in there, grab them, and run into a bathroom stall to change.
Jesus, it's cold. My teeth chatter as I step out into the cool air. No longer surrounded by the steam from my scalding shower.
