by Grace, Hazel
“He was bragging about fucking you,” Colson hisses, ripping his hands out of his sweatpants. “To everyone, down to the last detail of shit I didn’t even need to know.”
“Then cover your ears!” I yell, feeling the blood in my veins thrashing through my whole body. “You’re always throwing your nose in other people’s business, so that’s what you get.”
His eyes turn into slits. “So, you’d just want me to sit there and let that asshole talk down about you? How easy you were to get off? How tight you were when he—”
“Stop!” My stomach violently wrenches, and I feel like I’m going to throw up right in front of the person I hate right now.
My body jolts forward as I clasp my knees with my hands. Everything is spinning, my breathing is erratic and tight.
“Sawyer, are you alright?” His tone has softened, laced in concern, but he doesn’t touch me as I’ve requested. He lowers himself down on his haunches so that he can see my face. “I’ll take you home.”
“I don’t want you to take me anywhere,” I quake through my nausea. “Just go.”
“I’m not going to leave you here,” he retorts. I close my eyes, breathing in through my mouth and out of my nose, calming the storm raging through my body.
I want to go home, to Michigan, where things were simpler.
And if that makes me weak, then I’ll go back with my head raised high. I had no problem admitting defeat when it was affecting me physically like it was now.
I straighten and turn on my heels, continuing toward the gym doors so I can grab the rest of my things in my locker and go home.
“I didn’t want him to talk about you like that,” Colson admits behind me. “You didn’t deserve it, and I lost it on him.”
“I don’t need protecting, Colson. I just wanted to date someone who liked me and carry on with my boring life. I didn’t know you came along as a package deal or I would’ve possibly changed my mind.”
Silence resonates behind me as I keep walking. Everything about him overwhelms me, it cripples my emotions, and I never know whether to trust him or watch my back.
Reaching the doors, I yank one open, embraced with musty air and the inhabitants of the gossip that follows me around everywhere. I round the corner and stride down the small hallway, just wanting to be done with the day.
It’s not until I reach the girls’ locker room that I almost jump out of my skin.
“Do you hate me that much?” Dejection and heartache tones every single one of his words.
And I’m not sure what to do with them. I just want to be alone, to think out how I’m going to finish the rest of the school year.
I turn around to be greeted, yet again, by Colson. He looks discouraged and upset when he has no right to be.
“Why did you do it?” he mutters. “Why did you sleep with him when deep down you know.” I furrow my brows and wrap my arms around myself. I’ve sort of asked myself the same question, and I’m afraid to admit the reason to myself.
I’m scared of the way I’m starting to feel around Colson. The way he’s softened around me, eased off his pranks and even started looking out for me.
The fight with Camila was my breaking point, it disclosed so much more than just hitting a girl who was running her mouth.
It highlighted, uncovered and announced, loud and clear, that I was starting to develop some sort of feelings for him. The way Camila called him my puppy wasn’t what set me off. It was a strange sense of possessiveness over the fact that she even mentioned him that frightened me. It was the second time I’ve ever hit a girl in my life and both times it was because of him.
Except the second time was to defend him.
On top of the fight, I found myself hankering for his touch. I studied his lips way too much, wondering what they felt like, and I betrayed Gavin by letting him hold my hand in his truck. All while sitting right next to me, messing around with the radio and chatting with Ben.
His rough hands on my skin made me want to experience what the rest of him felt like. His hard chest against my palm, my lips against the scruff of his cheeks when he doesn’t shave sometimes. All things that I shouldn’t be dozing off into daydreams about.
It’s why I’ve been keeping a distance from him. And regardless of what Gavin’s gabby mouth has done, he and I are still dating.
“Please,” I beg. “I just want to grab my things.” He steps forward, towering over me like he always does when he wants me to hear exactly what he’s saying. Little does he know that I can’t not notice or hear him. He’s like a metal concert with a screamer and a large mosh pit.
“You stuck up for me,” he states. “I heard what Camila said. Then you fucking headbutted her like you were a WWE wrestler.”
“She had my hands bound,” I counter with a shrug. “And why wouldn’t I? You saved my ass with Mandy.”
“Then you said you were ‘sometimes’ happy with him,” he continues, emerging closer. “And I let you have that.”
I give a dismissive wave. “Because he has a big mouth sometimes.”
“And then—” He impedes more space. “—you held my hand on the way home after picking up your boyfriend from jail.” I grip the strap of my backpack, tightly, needing a pull string to parachute me out of this conversation.
I raise a brow. “Are you trying to prove a point here, Hayes?” Slowly, he shakes his head, keeping his chestnut eyes bolted on mine.
“My point is that I think you like me.”
“I do,” I agree. “We’re becoming...friends, I guess.”
“It’s more than that. I can feel it.”
I shuffle my feet. “You might need to take some medicine for that.” He smirks, a kind and genuine one.
“Is there one for liking your best friend’s girlfriend?” A flush creeps up my face, he can’t be serious.
“I’m not falling for one of your little games,” I deliver. “So, save it.” I turn to enter the locker room, but Colson stops me with his words.
“It’s not a game, Bases.” I peer over my shoulder, studying his expression. Colson looks dead serious, but I’m not sold.
Nor is there anything I can do about it.
“Alright,” I deadpan. I turn on my heels and enter the locker room, thinking I’m safe until I hear Colson leave me with one of his legendary one-liners.
“And we’re not done talking about you sleeping with Gavin.”
Ten years ago
“Hey, buddy, my smokes are in my truck. Can you go grab them?” I yank my sweatshirt over my head and ignore my mom’s newest boy toy, Caleb, sprawled on our couch, watching ESPN. The same one she bitches at me for sitting on because she thinks I roll around in mud puddles all day, apparently.
His feet are kicked up on the coffee table with a beer in his hand, making himself at home when my mom is nowhere in sight. Probably hiding all her wrinkles to make herself look ten years younger.
This frat-looking ass clown could pass as my older brother, and thank fuck he’s not because I don’t like sharing my shit. His dark blond hair nonchalantly hangs over his eyebrows, messy and comfortable, too fucking comfortable.
“Hey, dickhead, does my shirt say ‘Caleb’s personal bitch’ on it? Get off your ass and get them yourself,” I upbraid, yanking my truck keys out of my backpack that’s hanging off the coat rack.
“Watch your mouth,” Caleb retorts sharply. “And my truck is blocking you in.” I stand on the threshold of the family room, where Dad and I used to watch baseball, except all the furniture has been replaced with white suede and expensive paintings.
“Looks like we’re at a crossroads then,” I allude, leaning up against the archway. “You wanna move it or do you want me to move it for you?”
He sends me a death glare. “You’re not touching my truck.” I shrug and push off the wall.
“Works for me.” I turn on my heels and make my way for the door, hearing his beer hit the coffee table.
“Don’t touch my truck, you little asshole,” Caleb
grounds out, his voice closer now.
I don’t respond, pushing the screen door open and letting it slam behind me. It doesn’t take long before I jump off the porch and proceed to my truck when I hear the same door open again.
“Bro, don’t touch my truck, I’m warning you.” I raise my middle finger in the air and pull open the rusty door of my truck, the one my dad bought me when I was sixteen.
It runs good but looks like a piece of shit. Red with rust over the fenders, sprinkling over the front bumper and in random places, but it didn’t prevent me from getting from point A to B, and the girls thought it was super “country.” All I needed was a cowboy hat and a guitar.
I start it up, my mom’s BMW is in front of me while frat boy is parked closely behind. I’m not going to smash into his truck, I don’t want to throw a dent in mine, but he’s going to learn real quick not to block me in my own driveway like a douchebag.
Putting it in drive, I pull up carefully to not tap the beamer and then throw it in reverse, turning the wheel to get my truck out of the driveway and onto the front lawn to just drive around.
Caleb is eyeballing me with his arms crossed as he watches me expertly ride the lawn and pass his truck without a scratch—yet.
When I get into the street, I throw the truck in park, climb out from behind the wheel and yank one of my old baseball bats out of the bed. Frat fuck is off the porch, already knowing that his truck is going to be used for batting practice.
I could use it.
I’m in this weird funk ever since Sawyer and I had our “talk.” It’s been a week, and Sawyer has been mute, dismissive, and not herself. I’ve stopped seeking her out because I said everything I needed to say to her when she stomped off the field.
I like her.
She does shit to me that I never thought possible when Dad died and I have my mother here at the house flaunting around a new fuck boy every few weeks. I never wanted to give any part of me to the opposite sex but my dick—this young, anyway. However, Sawyer is the only one who seems to be worth any amount of my time. Even though she’s doing exactly what I knew she’d do, which was stay with my best friend.
It still irritates me. I mean, what exactly did I expect her to do? Break up with him to date me? I haven’t taken a girl out since eighth grade, and that was a group date with a bunch of friends. So, it only left me with one option: continue what I always do and screw who I want.
I just need to take out some built-up aggression.
And since Caleb isn’t really my style, his pretty F-150 will do just fine for now.
I swing my bat along my side and see Caleb in my peripheral. He’s going to try and jump me for it, which is cool, but like a ninja with a katana, I can peruse my way around with a baseball bat.
“Touch my ride, and I’m going to fuck your ass up,” he fumes, getting to the end of the driveway.
Thing is, I don’t care.
Maybe I want him to hit me.
I curve the bat behind my shoulder, positioning my elbow up, and smash it right into his back bumper.
“Son of a bitch!” he yells, stepping closer to me. I whirl on him, positioning my bat to swing again.
“Keep your fucking shit out of the driveway,” I chide. “But feel free to step forward, I need the practice.”
“You’re dead,” he hails, glowering at me. I scoff, I’m not scared of him, my mother’s bitching at me, or any dumbfuck at school.
The only person that somewhat terrifies me is Sawyer, and she made it perfectly clear that any fizzle between us isn’t going anywhere. But I’ve been saying this since the promise I made to myself when Dad died, I’m going to a baller ass college and will be in the major leagues. Sawyer didn’t fit into that equation, and I wasn’t staying.
I turn my back on Caleb, daring him to charge me when I’m not looking, but he’s wise enough not to. Jumping back in my truck, I take off, hoping a few pebbles of cement pepper him for my last fuck-you.
Turning down Appleton Drive, I make my way to Moonlight Ridge. Ben set up a small get together, which will end up with a bunch of people that weren’t invited and the cops getting called.
When I arrive, I park my truck on the side of the lake where no one else will be at. If the pigs show up, I’ll have a clean getaway out on Walsh Street. I’m not looking to spend a night in the clink because I won’t be calling my mom to bail me out, and Ben’s been broke since we bailed out Gavin.
Ben already has people here, the music is on low, thank fuck, playing My Chemical Romance’s “Helena.” A few beer pong tables are set up, someone put up a volleyball net, and Ben was standing over...a grill.
I stride toward him, brows furrowed, as he turns over some hot dogs. “You’re cooking for everyone?”
The corner of his lip curls. “I’m fucking hungry, man, and I’m trying to make sure all these fucks soak up all the beer. Not looking for the cops to make this one of their drive-bys because all we do is get fucked up and disturb the peace.”
I shrug. “Good idea, I guess.”
“And I’m selling them for a buck,” he states while wiggling his eyebrows.
“And profitable.” I slap him on the back and pick up a hot dog off the grill, bouncing it in my hands to keep the heat off my palm.
Snatching a bun, I apply ketchup and mustard on the top then go looking for a cooler.
“That’s a buck!” Ben calls to me as I walk away.
“Throw it on my tab.” Finding a full icebox, I flip open the top and grab a bottle of Bud Light, shaking off the excess water from the ice. Closing the lid, I swirl on my heels and knock into a soft body.
“Oh, hey, Colson.” I step back to discover Camila, wearing a red T-shirt that offsets her dark hair and a black skirt.
“Fuck off,” I sigh, rounding her to go back to Ben.
“I’m here to apologize,” she offers. “I know you heard what I said to that redhead bitch.” My jaw tightens, but I turn around, plastering a cool facade to my face.
“And?”
“It wasn’t meant for you to hear,” she says. “And I didn’t mean it. It was just to piss her off.”
“Looks like you did.” I nod toward the faint bruise on her forehead. She rolls her eyes with a small smirk.
“Didn’t peg her to be scrappy, mistake noted on my part.” I fight back my lips that want to twitch into a smile.
Yeah, she was something alright, learned all that the hard way.
“But I just wanted to let you know, I didn’t mean for—”
“You to call me a puppy that follows her around?” I raise a brow.
She bows her head into her chest and fiddles with her fingers. “Yeah, we both know you’re not like that. If anything, it’s Gavin.”
I pop the cap off my beer. “You’re striking out here, Camila. That’s my best friend you’re talking shit about.”
“Who you’ve punched twice over his girlfriend.” Her truths taunt and stab at me.
It was dumb as hell, both times, to do it in public where everyone could speculate and make us look like a bad season of a soap opera.
It also made Sawyer the rising star for getting two guys to fight over her. But I wasn’t throwing punches over her.
I was fighting for her.
Maybe I made it hard for her to fly under the radar, but she was naive enough to think that with dating Gavin she would be getting off scot-free. With reputations like ours, you get looked at, spoken about, and judged over.
Camila continues to stand in front of me, waiting for me to sweat, when all I want to do is push her away from me by her big ass forehead.
“Didn’t know you were a basic bitch who listened to gossip,” I concede, taking a sip of my beer. “Don’t you have like a flip or something you need to go learn to keep yourself busy.”
Her eyes narrow in on me. “I’m the co-captain, I know everything. And I keep my ears open.”
“Well—” I salute her with my beer. “—thanks for the half-ass apology and info
rmation that I couldn’t give two shits about.” I turn on my heel, but her arm shoots out to stop me.
“She’s here,” she reports with a sharp inhale of breath. “With Gavin.” I rip my wrist out of her grasp as the hairs on my arms stand, because just knowing Sawyer is close sends adrenaline through my body.
I coerce myself not to look around and find her. Especially when Camila is examining my every move to see if I’m going to spasm out or something.
I want to know what Sawyer’s wearing, if she’s hung on Gavin’s arm or alone. If she looks like she’s been sleeping or upset about—
Geezus fuck. What the hell?
“And that’s supposed to mean what to me?” I force myself to say, meeting her gaze head on. This little wannabe snake isn’t going to gain or see shit from me to go run and tell her little posse.
“I want to hang out with you tonight,” she tells me. “But if you’re too busy staring at your best friend’s girlfriend then I’m out.”
I give her a once-over. “Why the hell would I want you following me around all night?”
“Because you need a distraction.”
“From?”
She shrugs again, which is starting to fucking irritate me. “School, baseball, whatever it is that is making you look like you just got electrically shocked.”
“I’m not fucking you tonight,” I recite. “Gavin’s specialty is not being picky, not mine.” The stupid bitch grins, and I have to admit, she can take an insult pretty damn well.
She looms closer to me. “Gavin isn’t my type. You see, Mandy says you’re the best kisser in school. I’m polling for Bryan Hanson.”
“Good for you.”
“And there’s fifty bucks in it that says you’ll prove me wrong.”
I narrow my eyes down at her. “I’m not about to get pimped out, you ignorant ass—”
“And I’ll owe you,” she returns.
“There is nothing you could possibly do for me,” I profess. “But get the fuck out of my space.”
“I can get Sawyer pissed and jealous.”
“Again, Camila, why the fuck would I want—”
“We both know that Gavin is fucking around on that girl,” she replies. “And I’m obviously not a fan, but Gavin is a dickhead who thinks he can hit it and quit it without consequences. He drove my best friend into popping pills because she was in love with him and couldn’t deal with his salty ass attitude and how he dumped her. My biggest problem with Sawyer isn’t because she’s dating the prick, it’s because she’s blind as hell.”
