Hometown Heartless

by Aarons, Carrie

  It’s as if I’ve revealed that I’m really the son of an alien king, and I’ve come to take him back to the future with me. That’s how much his eyes are bulging out of his head.

  “Yell it fucking louder, why don’t you?” I grumble, flipping him my middle finger.

  It’s pretty easy not to lose your fucking virginity when you’re six feet deep in the ground being tortured on the regular. I won’t say I wasn’t tempted before that, when in high school and then there were options overseas. Female soldiers get just as lonely as male ones, and there were some locals who would come around. When I still attended school in Brentwick, it’s not as if the invitations weren’t plentiful; I was the quarterback of the football team for fuck’s sake. If I’d wanted to screw someone, I could have by now.

  But what I never told Kennedy was that, while she was holding out for her first kiss, I was waiting to … lose it to her. That sounds fucking corny now, like I was some poetic sap who believed in romance and everlasting love. I guess at that point I kind of did. But now, it feels so fucking stupid.

  I’m a twenty-year-old who has shot and killed people, but never got my nut off in a chick.

  “How the hell is this even possible? That’s it, now we’re really finding you a fuck buddy for the night.” The hard set of my friend’s jaw tells me that he’s actually going to put this plan in motion.

  A gust of wind blows past me, taking the heat of the fire on its tail, and that’s when I hear her laugh.

  I should have known she’d be here. Hell, she came flouncing out of her car the first day I got back to Brentwick in her cheerleading uniform. And if there is anything I know about these parties, it’s that cheerleaders and jocks always attend. I should know, I was in that crowd.

  Kennedy stands across the field, the bonfire between us, so every time it moves as I try to get a good look at her, it appears as if tiny sparks of light are glittering off her skin. It might be a cold autumn night, but by the way she’s cracking a smile and shaking her hips to the latest Luke Combs song, you’d think the long-sleeve painted to her curves and the jeans plastered to her long, slim legs were made of fleece.

  All those dark brown curls swirl around her face as she chats with her friends or slings her arms around a different guy’s shoulder every other minute. The energy coming off of her is electric, there is no way I can keep my eyes off of her.

  She’s wearing a sweater that shouldn’t even be legal. It’s tight as hell, the round globes of her curvy tits pressing against the pink fluff. The V splitting the neck wide open reveals her ample cleavage, and instantly, I’m sporting a semi.

  Fuck me. Apparently, since returning home, I’ve forgotten my dick. Some quality jack off time is in order to keep the horny guy under control.

  Because, as unbelievable as Kennedy looks, sipping from a red solo cup across the bonfire, she is off-limits. Not only did she fucking break the promise she made to me, but falling down that rabbit hole will only destroy us both. I’m not the guy she used to moon over, and I’d be a complete idiot not to know she used to harbor a cruise-sized crush for me. Maybe she still does, why else would she bring up the kiss?

  A flashback in my mind lands me in this very field, Kennedy on my lap, my fingers playing dangerously with the hem of her thin camisole. Fuck, how many times had I almost brought her back into those woods and undressed her perfect little body? We used to flirt toward the edge of a cliff during these parties, but I’d always held myself back.

  Spoiler alert, I used to harbor an Everest-sized crush on her, too.

  But I’m a different person now. The kind of man that dashes her hope and slut shames her. The man who can only tell her about vivid nightmares, not take part in the dreams of her future. The soldier who turned against his country.

  No one can learn my secret, least of all Kennedy. What would she think of me? How would she respond, knowing I landed myself in that godforsaken torture camp trying to protect the people I was supposed to fight against?

  I turn away, actively trying not to have her in my line of sight. If one of these fuckboys starts groping on her, I’m not sure I can be counted on to control my temper. As much as I tell myself I want no part of her, if I see her with her tongue down another guy’s throat, I’ll probably cut his right out.

  It’s maybe a minute before I hear a commotion coming from the direction I just purposely turned away from, and I can’t help myself. I turn to watch.

  Kennedy, her two best friends, Rachel and Bianca, and a couple of other girls I don’t recognize, stand in a circle, raising shot glasses into the air. They chant some line about being friends forever, and then toss them back, a lot of the party-goers cheering wildly after the girls come up, sputtering for beer or something to chase with.

  The rest of the girls calm down, either meandering off or falling into each other’s arms to dance. But Kennedy lingers by the guy with the bottle.

  “Give me another!” she demands, accepting a shot glass full of liquid less than thirty seconds after she took the first one.

  Although, who knows if that’s her first one. Kennedy looks like she might not be able to stand on her own, she’s swaying so much. She knocks back the second shot, that I’m aware of, and screws up her face in a sour reaction. Immediately, she chugs beer out of her red cup to wash the burn of alcohol down.

  “And another!” Her lithe body wiggles, shaking the ass I can’t make out past the flames and logs between us.

  I watch as Rachel and Bianca’s eyes widen, but they don’t stop her. Maybe they think it’s funny she’s trying to lose all control. Maybe they don’t think they can stop her.

  “I think that’s enough.”

  8

  Everett

  I don’t even realize I’ve walked halfway across the field, right up into Kennedy’s personal space, until I’m pulling the shot out of her readily waiting grasp.

  “Hey, man, what the—” The guy who was serving from a magnum bottle of Svedka is about to start yapping at me, until he sees my face.

  His “oh, shit” expression is all I need to see to know that he knows who I am.

  “What the hell!” Kennedy makes a face at him, before turning to me.

  Her expression molds from annoyance into shock in one second flat. Then, she smacks me with an open palm, right against my right pec.

  “Everett? What the hell do you think you’re doing? That’s mine!” Her words are clear, but the screech of her frustrated tone grates on my ears.

  “Doesn’t look like it anymore.” In one quick swallow, I down the shot.

  The liquor burns my throat, dissolving the knot of fury that took up residence there just seconds ago as I watched Kennedy making one bad decision after the next.

  “You’re cut off. She’s cut off, got me?” I say to those around us, who nod like bobble heads.

  They’re probably scared shitless of me, which means ridiculous rumors about my time away have been floating around. That’s probably better, they should be.

  “You’re not the boss of me!” Kennedy shrieks, rage flashing in those amber eyes.

  It turns me on, her anger, and the tip of my cock is tingling with anticipation. Fuck, keep it together, Everett. How did I go from actively trying to avoid her, to stomping across the party and rubbing my scent all over her? I told her I wanted nothing to do with her.

  “And you sound like a five-year-old,” I taunt.

  She stamps her foot, really adding to the level of maturity. “What are you even doing here? This is for Brentwick seniors only.”

  “Yet I see Dan and Matt Gilroy over there, both juniors.” I hold up a hand, waving to the twin little brothers of one of my good friends from school.

  Kennedy huffs out an annoyed breath. “Either way, you have no say in what I do and don’t do. You made it very clear the other day that you never wanted one.”

  People around us are starting to stare, and both Rachel and Bianca, who stand close by, look stunned. This is not a conversation I wan
t to have, much less in front of people, and yet I’m the one who came swooping in like some sober savior.

  Attempting to reclaim her shot glass, Kennedy swats at my hand, getting into my space so much that I have to wrap a hand around her waist to keep her upright as she clumsily paws at me.

  “Let. Me. Have. It,” she grits out, struggling to even move with the hold I have on her.

  Somehow, she’s able to slip from my grip, and sidles back up to Bottle Guy, taking the entire handle of Svedka and gulping.

  “What the fuck …” My teeth snap together, and I grab it, spilling vodka all over the ground.

  “That’s it,” I declare, and pluck her straight off her feet.

  With Kennedy over my shoulder, and a handle of vodka in my fist, I take a swig, hand it back to the random guy, and stomp off.

  “You are a piece of shit!” she curses, smacking my ass and digging her nails into my tailbone.

  It’s the first I’ve heard her curse … maybe ever. It turns me on more than anything. Well, that and the fact that she’s swatting at my ass. Any kind of female contact at this point would probably turn me on.

  “Yeah, I know. Welcome to reality,” I grumble, because I am a piece of shit.

  But I’m a piece of shit who isn’t going to let her get alcohol poisoning out in this fucking field. Who isn’t going to let some drunk asshole take advantage of her unconscious body. I’m going to put a stop to that right now.

  Setting her down after walking into a clearing, the laughter and music long behind us, I watch as Kennedy rights her clothes and huffs like a pissed off peacock. It’s hard to take her frustration seriously when her tits are covered in bubble gum pink fuzz.

  “So I’m not allowed to lay a finger on you, but you can throw me over your shoulder like some kind of Neanderthal?” She sways, disoriented from the vodka and her little upside-down ride.

  “What the hell were you doing back there, Kennedy?” I demand.

  “You’re not the only one who sees dead people.” Her voice takes on a singsong quality.

  “What is this, comparing our Sixth Sense abilities?” I crack, the vodka going to my head. It’s been a minute since I’ve drank, and the liquor is pulling me into the realm of tipsy.

  Kennedy cracks up, leaning on me for support. The side of her boob brushes my bicep, and the jolt goes straight to my balls. If I’m not careful, and she keeps touching me, I won’t be able to keep myself in check. As it is, the hormones raging through me were sent into chaos the minute I took her out here in the dark, alone.

  And as much as I told her that touching me was a hard limit now, no alarm bells go off in my head. I don’t want to put her in a headlock or cower in a corner when her hand grips my arm, and I’m … fucking shocked.

  “Remember when we secretly watched that movie as kids, and then I had night terrors for like, weeks? My mom was convinced I was having a psychotic break.”

  “Yeah, then I came clean and got grounded for being a bad influence on you.”

  In fact, I often got grounded for being a bad influence on Kennedy. She was my only playmate, both of us being only children, and it was only natural that the boy took the brunt of the punishment.

  The cold closes in, as does the darkness, and no one is coming out here after us. I miscalculated just how tense removing her from that situation would be, because it landed me in my own personal hell.

  Kennedy shivers, moving in closer, and though I shouldn’t be able to stand so close to someone due to all I’ve been put through, I don’t step back. If anything, I lean in.

  We’re pushed up against each other, her tits against my chest, my groin snug against her hips. All of the blood in my body rushes to my cock, and she must notice the massive hard-on I’m beginning to sport. Our breath comes out in white puffs, the air and the proximity to her making it hard to breathe for me.

  “What do you mean, you see dead bodies?” Something about her is off tonight, and I can’t put my finger on it.

  And it’s spooky that even after all the time I’ve been away, I can still read and know her moods like the back of my hand.

  Kennedy ignores my question. “I miss those days,” she whispers, those doe eyes blinking up at me.

  The moon illuminates her face, and all the reasons why I shouldn’t kiss her no longer remain in my brain. I promised her this; we promised each other this. We could still have it …

  A shriek pierces the night air, some girl out in the woods, probably with a guy chasing her as foreplay. It breaks the spell.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not the same person I was. We’re not the same.”

  I physically remove her hands from my arms and step back, severing the connection. I take two more steps back, trying to convey to Kennedy that she should go. That I don’t want any part of this. She gets the message, turning without a word to walk off.

  Just when I think she’s going to rejoin her friends, Kennedy stops, her back to me. When she speaks, her voice seems a million miles away. “Yeah, I guess we’re not.”

  9

  Kennedy

  Two days after the barn party, after the Monday-est Monday anyone has ever lived through, I flop down on my bed with my trigonometry and physics textbooks, not eager to dive in.

  Why does there still have to be so much homework, especially when it’s senior year? Oh, right, when my dumb ass decided to take advanced placement courses during the coasting period for most of my other classmates.

  I figure, though, that if I can place out of most math courses in college, that would be better for my grade point average. Science is my easiest subject, obviously, and I can pick up English and history well enough. But it’s math that gives me a run for my money. Not that I don’t still ace tests and walk out with one of the highest grades for the marking period, but it takes me triple the amount of time to study for those tests or complete that homework than it does anything else. I know that college-level math will only be increasingly harder, which is why I’m busting my butt to place out of the requirement before I get there.

  A knock comes at my closed bedroom door, and I yell that it’s open. My mom walks in, two glasses of iced tea in her hands, and a tray of cookies teetering on one arm.

  “Oh! How did you know I needed study snacks?” I push up on my elbows from my stomach, where I was about to flip open the trig assignment.

  Mom raises her eyebrow. “Because I birthed you and I know everything you need, every second.”

  “Well, that’s kind of a creepy answer. But, I’ll take it since you brought cookies. Sugar?” My fingers are crossed when I hold them up.

  “With funfetti frosting, your favorite. How you don’t have a million cavities is beyond me.” She chuckles.

  Sweets during studying is my weakness, and I’m studying a lot due to my classes so there are a lot of sweets.

  Mom sets them down, hands me one, and then takes a sip from her glass. When she spots two sets of pom-poms laying across my floor, she rolls her eyes and starts laughing.

  “You did not snatch Bianca’s pom-poms again.”

  “You bet I did.” I hold my chin high with pride. “Technically, it’s not stealing if your forgetful best friend leaves them on the second set of bleachers in the gym. It’s my captain-ly duty to collect them. And then maybe leave them on top of the flagpole, or on the bookshelf in Mr. Greyman’s office.”

  It’s a running prank between Rachel, Bianca, and I. Bianca is constantly misplacing things, most of all her cheerleading paraphernalia. Last year, Rachel stapled Bi’s pom-poms to a bulletin board in our French teacher’s classroom, I hung them from a fluorescent light in the cafeteria—which took almost breaking my neck after Scott hoisted me on his shoulders while standing on a lunchroom table—and the rest of the team helped us tie one pom-pom around a brick and sink it to the bottom of the gymnasium pool.

  “What’s your plan for them this time?” Sitting on my bed, her fingers skim the pages of my textbooks, noting what subjects I’m about to bin
ge learn.

  I shrug. “No clue. Rachel is supposed to have some devious plan, so I’ll follow her lead.”

  “You stay at Rachel’s on Saturday night?” she asks out of nowhere.

  My parents are epically cool. Especially since I’m an only child. Most people would assume they smother me, that we’re too close, or that I’m a spoiled brat. In reality, they give me a long leash, trust me to make smart choices, reward me for the good grades and community work I do, and show me unconditional love while keeping open communication. A lot of people out there think being an only child holds negative connotations, but I choose to focus on the positives.

  However, this is the part where I feel epically guilty. Because I didn’t stay at Rachel’s, though I told them I would and even texted that we were back at her parent’s place. In reality, our group of seniors passed out under the stars at the barn party, covered in layers of fleece blankets by the fire. We could have died from burns, hypothermia, or a random serial killer hacking us all to death, but we survived—not without brutal hangovers in the morning though.

  “Yep, we went to the diner in the morning.” I smile, trying my best to sound nonchalant and genuine.

  If Mom suspects that I’m lying, she doesn’t say anything. This is also a good aspect to our relationship; she doesn’t snoop or push for answers. My parents putting their faith in me to make the right choices, and giving me space to do so, usually means I do make the smart decision. Just not every single time. Saturday night was an exception. I had way too much to drink to numb the shock of what I’d seen at the accident. When there are dead bodies floating around in your memory, you don’t feel like remembering much of the night.

  “All right, sweetheart. Well, have fun with your homework. I’ll come up and check on you in another hour or so.” She lays a kiss on my forehead and walks out.

  Staying true to her word, Mom does come and check on me in an hour. I’ve gotten through all of my trig assignment, most of the history paper I already have due in the first month of school, and am on to my physics homework when she comes up. Blinking and rubbing the study haze out of my eyes, I decide to call it a night.