Queen of Hawthorne Prep

by Jennifer Sucevic

  As we head to the cafeteria, I keep an eye out for Kingsley. It’s like he’s vanished off the face of the earth. What has become disturbingly clear is that he’s avoiding me, and I can no longer fool myself into believing otherwise.

  The moment I step into the cavernous space, my gaze falls upon the table Kingsley and his friends have claimed as their own. Already football players are crowded onto the long stretch of twin benches. They’re talking and laughing as if everything is normal and my world isn’t slowly being tipped upside down. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or not to find Kingsley conspicuously absent. The last thing I need is a confrontation with him in front of the entire school. When we finally have a conversation, it needs to be in private.

  Unaware of the thoughts that circle through my head, Everly beelines for the table packed with athletes. Reluctant to explain why I’m hesitant to sit there, I trail halfheartedly behind her. Instead of buying lunch like she did yesterday, Everly holds a brown paper bag in her hand.

  Tension fills me as we settle at the far end of the table. From the corner of my eye, I glance at Kingsley’s friends, half-expecting them to rip me to shreds. It only makes me realize how precarious my situation is and how much protection Kingsley afforded me. It’s almost frightening how easily I forgot what it felt like to be hated by these people.

  A few of the guys acknowledge our presence with a chin lift before going back to their discussions. Football season is well underway and most of the conversations consist of the team they’ll be playing on Friday.

  It’s almost a relief when Austin settles next to me with his tray. “Hey.”

  Other than my brother and Everly, I’m surrounded by people who aren’t really my friends. It’s a little bit like swimming with sharks. Even though there’s relative calm, you’re constantly on edge with the realization that the situation has the potential to turn deadly at any moment. A stress headache brews at the back of my skull.

  “Hi,” I murmur.

  His narrowed gaze searches my face. A few seconds of eye contact is all it takes for a silent communication to pass between us. Unaware of the tension that brews beneath the surface, Everly unpacks her lunch and eats her PB and J. I don’t bother going through the motions of emptying mine. It remains untouched on the table in front of me.

  When the guy next to Everly engages her in conversation, Austin whispers, “Did you talk with him yet?”

  The him in question doesn’t need further elaboration.

  Kingsley.

  I shake my head.

  A troubled look passes over his face as his lips flatten into a tight line. Although that doesn’t stop him from wolfing down his cheeseburger and fries. There isn’t much that gets in the way of Austin’s appetite.

  “Hawthorne,” I jump to attention when one of the guys at the far end of the table yells, “where’s Rothchild?”

  All eyes turn to me with interest, as they collectively wait for a response.

  My mouth turns cottony as I attempt to swallow down my nerves. “I’m not sure.”

  They might be oblivious to the circumstances that surround the deal struck between our families, but everyone knows we’re together. It only makes me wonder what would happen if that weren’t the case. Would these people continue to accept us, or would Austin and I be relegated to outcast status in a school that was founded by our family?

  It's a scary prospect. One I don’t want to contemplate. Although instinct tells me that I’ll have to. Sooner rather than later.

  Chapter Eleven

  The second half of the day passes much like the first. Kingsley remains elusive and the tension brewing inside me rachets up until it becomes almost unbearable. Any moment, I’m going to splinter into a million pieces. I have no idea if he was here for anything other than first hour. I stopped texting after I realized he wouldn’t respond.

  It's like he fell off the face of the earth.

  Or maybe I did, and I haven’t realized it yet.

  How is it possible that we had sex last night, doing things to each other that I would have never imagined I’d be comfortable with, only to end up like this twelve brief hours later?

  It doesn’t make sense. No matter how many ways I come at it, I’m at a loss. I don’t know where we go from here. Am I supposed to stop by after football practice and demand answers? How much longer do I sit on my ass and wait for Kingsley to clue me in on what changed?

  My brain races as I slide behind the wheel of the Mercedes and drive home. The obnoxious beat of the music blasting through the sound system isn’t enough to take my mind off Kingsley. I pull into the drive, surprised to find Dad’s pearly white Volvo SUV parked near the garage. I’ve become used to the long hours he puts in at Hawthorne Industries. To find him home at three o’clock in the afternoon now seems out of the norm.

  A strange feeling of foreboding fills me as I sit in the car and stare at the sprawling stone mansion. It takes effort to shake it away as I grab my backpack and head to the front door. As I turn the handle and push open the heavy wood, raised voices fill the air and have me skidding to a halt. Unease crawls across my skin.

  “You’ve fucked with my family for the last time, Hawthorne! When I’m done with you, there will be nothing left!”

  There haven’t been many occasions to hear Keaton’s voice, but I would recognize the deep timbre of it anywhere. After our bizarre first encounter, it’s been singed into my memory.

  Why is he here?

  “What did you really expect?” Dad shouts back in a voice that echoes off the high ceilings and leaves me cringing. “That we would just hand over our daughter?”

  “The terms were laid out clearly in the contract. If they were so repugnant to you, then you shouldn’t have agreed to them. Quite frankly, I would have been more than happy to take you to court and bury you under a mountain of debt.”

  He knows.

  Keaton knows that Dad was looking for a way out of the contract.

  But how?

  How did he find out?

  It’s tempting to back out of the foyer and pretend I haven’t stumbled upon this volatile situation. As difficult as it is, I force my feet forward. The two male voices continue to escalate, rising higher as I put one foot in front of the other until I’m hovering at the threshold of the dark wood panel study. I’ve never been a fan of this space. It reminds me too much of Hawthorne Prep.

  My gaze sweeps nervously over the room as I loiter in the doorway. Mom is planted near the oversized fireplace with her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Concern flickers in her eyes as her teeth sink into her bottom lip.

  “You all but pressured us into it! We weren’t given enough time to look for other options!”

  Dad stands unnaturally erect next to her. His face is bright red as he stabs a finger in Keaton’s direction. A fine sweat beads his brow as he continues to bellow. A rush of concern floods through me. Rarely have I witnessed Dad lose his temper. Even under the direst of circumstances, he always maintains an unflappable control.

  “This is exactly what I expected from you, Hawthorne.” Malevolence glitters in Keaton’s dark eyes as if he’s pleased by the sudden turn of events. As if this is what he wanted all along. Perhaps the end goal was never for me to marry his son. He was looking to inflict as much pain as possible.

  A movement catches the corner of my eye and I turn my head until my gaze collides with the fourth person in the room.

  Kingsley.

  He watches me from where he’s taken up sentinel near the window. His narrowed, mahogany-colored eyes drill into mine. The coldness swirling in them slaps at me, and I almost take a hasty step in retreat. Even after Kingsley discovered I was a Hawthorne, he never stared at me with so much ill-concealed contempt or hatred.

  Panic careens down my spine. I had spent all day obsessing about what was wrong, and now I know. Somehow, he discovered what my parents were up to. It’s obvious from the animosity wafting off him
in heavy suffocating waves that the fragile bond we had painstakingly built has been destroyed.

  My attention jerks from Kingsley to Keaton as he takes a step toward my father. I gasp when he plows both hands into Dad’s chest, knocking him back a couple of steps.

  “Tell me when the Hawthornes have ever done what’s right?” A vicious smile stretches across his thin lips. “Which is precisely why I had everything in place to take the company from you. My lawyers will have you tied up in litigation for years. Death will seem like a preferable option when I’m done with you. You’ve got my promise on that!”

  When Keaton reaches out again, Dad slaps his hand away. “Go ahead and try it, Rothchild! I wouldn’t hang everything you have on the affidavit you’ve been waving around for all to see. My mother was eighty years old. I have two doctors willing to testify that she wasn’t in her right mind the last couple months of her life. Whatever she said is nothing more than the ramblings of a sad, lonely woman who regretted the choices she’d made.”

  “You son of a bitch!” A flush steals across Keaton’s cheeks as his eyes flash with rage. “Your family stole from me and I’ll be damned if I allow you to do it again!”

  Mom and I both scream when Keaton yanks back his arm and swings at Dad, who barely manages to sidestep the attack.

  “Stop it!” Mom shouts. “Both of you!”

  Neither take their gazes from the other as they circle around the small space like caged animals.

  “You damn well know what happened all those years ago,” Keaton growls. “You know what your family did to mine.”

  “Well, that’s the thing, no one knows for sure what really transpired,” Dad says stiffly. “It’s nothing more than speculation on your part. And after this stunt, that’s the way it’ll remain. I was willing to be reasonable, but no longer.”

  “Not only will I ruin you,” Keaton vows, “I’ll destroy the little whelps you spawned. I won’t be happy until I wipe every last Hawthorne off the face of the earth.”

  “Leave the children out of it,” Dad roars, spittle flying from his mouth. “I told you before that we could settle this like civilized adults, but you refused to listen. There’s no reason to drag Summer into your half-cocked schemes. Do you think this is what she wants for her life? To be forced into a marriage with your son? She wants nothing to do with him.”

  Oh, God. That’s not true!

  My wide eyes cut to Kingsley. Pain flashes across his expression before it’s quickly shuttered away, almost as if it had never been there. His attention remains focused on the two older men.

  That’s not how I feel, and I don’t want Kingsley to think it is. My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. “Dad—”

  “Not now, Summer!” He swipes a hand in my direction, cutting me off.

  This is all my fault.

  When Mom admitted to what they were planning, I should have immediately shut it down. Now it’s too late. The wheels have been set in motion and there’s no stopping them. It’s like a runaway train barreling down the tracks.

  Once again, my gaze is drawn to Kingsley. His expression is set in hard lines and his jaw is clenched. Regret rushes through me, threatening to swallow me whole. No matter what I say, he won’t believe me.

  “Is that really what you think?” The dark chuckle that slides from Keaton’s lips has alarm bells ringing in my head. “Your whore daughter has been spreading her legs for a month now.” His eyes glint triumphantly. “Before the contract was ever struck.”

  The high color that fills Dad’s face drains away before slamming back into his cheeks. “You’re lying!”

  “What? You don’t believe me?” Keaton smiles before thrusting a hand in my direction. “Just ask her. I’m sure Summer would be delighted to give you all the juicy details.”

  Heat radiates from my face as Dad swings toward me with disbelieving eyes. I take a hasty step in retreat as he skewers me in place. I’m like a butterfly pinned to a Styrofoam board. All I want to do is sink into the floorboards and escape the oppressiveness that fills the paneled room.

  “Summer?” he whispers, pausing for a beat as his gaze searches mine. “Tell me it’s not true.”

  Humiliation burns through me as I remain silent. I don’t think my father has ever looked at me with so much disdain.

  “Come now, my dear, don’t be shy. Tell your father how my son has spent the last month sleeping in your bed.” When there’s a pause, I send up a little prayer that Keaton won’t say anything more. “So, let me get this straight,” he drawls, “you’ve been telling your parents that you’re against this arrangement when in actuality, you’ve been begging Kingsley to fuck you?”

  The air gets sucked from my lungs until there is nothing left.

  Keaton grins when my eyes pop wide. “Perhaps your parents didn’t realize what you two were up to, but I’ve made it my business to know where my son sticks his dick.”

  Throughout his father’s tirade, Kingsley remains stoically silent. His expression devoid of emotion. Perhaps I made a mistake in not being truthful with him, but I was always honest about my feelings. My guilt lies in not wanting to be bartered away like property. As I continue to stare, I can’t help but wonder if he ever felt anything or if it was nothing more than a game. Maybe I’m the one who got played after all.

  “Answer the question, Summer,” Dad chokes out, snapping me from my thoughts.

  I yank my gaze from Kingsley, barely able to meet Dad’s shocked one. This isn’t the way I imagined him finding out about my relationship. I had assumed Mom clued him in as to what she walked in on Sunday morning. From his stunned expression, that isn’t the case.

  “Have you been sleeping with him?” he barks again.

  The growing silence turns deafening. The sound of my own breathing fills my ears until it’s like the roar of the ocean crashing onto rocks. I remind myself that I’m eighteen years old. My guess is that this has more to do with who I had sex with rather than the actual deed itself. “Yes, I have.”

  Color rushes into Dad’s cheeks. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face. It seems at odds with the coolness of the room. He presses his lips together and jerks his gaze from mine.

  “Dad,” I whisper brokenly, hating that I’ve disappointed him.

  When I take a hesitant step in his direction, he holds up a hand and staggers in retreat as if he doesn’t want me any closer. “No.”

  “Not quite the vestal virgin you purported her to be, huh?” Keaton snickers, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Or does your disgust lie in the fact that it was a Rothchild who defiled her?”

  Oh God...

  Why can’t he shut the hell up?

  Hasn’t he caused enough damage for one day?

  I glance at Kingsley, wishing he would do something about his father, but his face remains inscrutable. I’m tempted to close the distance between us and smack him. Or pound my fists against his chest. Anything to solicit a reaction. How can he stand there and allow Keaton to say such vile things about me?

  Unless it really was all a game.

  The thought is enough to gut me.

  My father wedges two fingers beneath the collar of his starched blue dress shirt, attempting to pull it away from his throat. When that doesn’t work, he loosens the top two buttons with shaking fingers. His breathing becomes labored as he paces the confined space like a caged animal before dragging a hand through his short, silvered hair.

  “Dad, please...”

  Why is Keaton Rothchild so intent on destroying our family?

  I understand what the Hawthornes stole from them. But we, personally, weren’t the ones to do it. We’re innocent in all this.

  In an effort to de-escalate the situation, I take a tentative step toward Dad and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should sit down for a moment.”

  “I’m fine,” he growls, shaking off my touch.

  “I’m sorry.” Tears fill my eyes as my hand fall
s reluctantly to my side. “I didn’t mean to hurt or embarrass you.”

  His breathing turns harsh as he rubs his chest. Pain flashes across his face before vanishing.

  “Griffin?” Concern threads through Mom’s voice as her brow furrows. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Dad snaps, waving off her concern before spinning toward Keaton. “Get out of my house! Anything that needs to be said can be done through our,” his eyes widen as a burst of panic explodes across his face, “through our—”

  His voice dies as one hand clutches at his chest, and he gasps for air. His fingers twist, clawing at the perfectly pressed cotton of his shirt.

  “Dad!” I leap forward as he topples over like a tree. I reach out, attempting to slide my arms around him. Instead of stopping his descent, I get taken down. I’m no match for his girth. He crashes onto the wood floor with a thump and the wind gets knocked out of me.

  For one brief second that stretches for eons, utter silence swamps the room. My heartbeat gallops in my ears as I gape at my father’s ashen face. He stares back sightlessly as his mouth hangs open.

  And then all hell breaks loose.

  “Griffin,” Mom screams, dropping to her knees. She clutches his arm before pressing her fingers against his neck. “Summer, call an ambulance!”

  Unable to stop staring at my father, I drag my arm from beneath him and scoot back on all fours until my back slams into the paneled wall. My brain clicks off, no longer able to process my surroundings. I can’t shake myself from the strange stupor that has fallen over me.

  “Summer,” Mom shouts, louder this time. The panic filling her voice has my own hurtling to the surface. “Call 911!”

  Oh God.

  I need to call an ambulance.

  Something is wrong with Dad.

  A sob threatens to escape as I drop onto my hands and knees. Pain shoots through my bruised shins as I crawl toward the door. My body trembles as I rise unsteadily to my feet and stumble toward the foyer where I dropped my backpack when I walked through the door only fifteen minutes ago. Tears streak down my face as I rip open the zipper and frantically rifle through the bag.