Wherever You Are (Bad Reputation Duet Book 2)

by Krista Ritchie

  Garrison tosses a couple expensive black beanbags to the floor.

  When he takes a seat, I plop down next to him and keep gazing at every wall and shelf.

  He flips the remote in his hand and then glances at me. “What’ve you noticed?”

  You have no pictures of your family. “You’re not messy at all.” No ashtray with cigarette butts. No scattered, half-opened DVD cases. No Fizz or Lightning Bolt! cans.

  “That’s because a maid cleans once a week,” he explains.

  I remember his spotless car, and I doubt the maid cleans his Mustang too. “Did she just come?”

  Garrison contemplates this for a second. “No…I think she comes tomorrow.”

  If his room looks this picked-up after a whole week, then it proves he’s neat. After two days, a pile of dirty clothes usually compounds on my desk chair.

  At first I wonder if he’s scared to be called neat, but after a while, I realize that maybe no one has ever pointed this out until now. Maybe he’s never noticed his own trait.

  Garrison switches on a DVD player for Supernatural. The title screen with Sam and Dean Winchester appears. I’m deeply aware that I’m currently in a boy’s bedroom.

  Alone. About to watch a television show.

  We’re just friends, I remind myself, still trying to relax and not sit so stiffly. Or else my stomach will start cramping.

  More nervous than giddy, I interlace my fingers and unlace them. Unsure of where to put my hands. I try not to be suggestive.

  After Garrison presses play on the episode I left off, he glances at me and shifts his arm close but then tenses. Pauses.

  He ends up clutching his knee.

  Someone knocks on the door—we both jump.

  “Shit.” Garrison hops to his feet, and he looks back at me with a you alright? expression. I nod, and he focuses on the incomer and opens the door.

  For some reason, I expect his brothers, but the moment a stunning brunette woman appears, I remember they’re away at college.

  Standing on the other side of the doorway, his mom wears a pink dress that molds her hourglass figure. Diamonds cascade off her ears and neck, and her makeup, all pink shades, gives her a benevolent glow. Her straight hair is slightly curled on the ends, the kind of perfection I’ve only seen on Real Housewives shows. (Maybe she has a personal hairstylist.)

  She’s unquestionably beautiful, and if she wasn’t a former model or beauty queen in her younger years, I bet people told her that she could easily be both.

  Mrs. Abbey meets her youngest son’s dour expression with a heavy sigh. “What did I do now?”

  “Nothing,” he snaps. “I’m just busy.”

  She peers into the room, at me, and offers a tiny smile before returning to Garrison. “If I knew you were bringing a boy over, I could’ve ordered pizza for you both.”

  Oh my God. She thinks I’m a boy? I stare down at my baggy overalls. Don’t change, I try to remind myself. Don’t change because of his mom.

  “She’s a girl,” Garrison emphasizes, and even though I only see the back of his head, I imagine his eyes narrowing a little. “And I already told you that I didn’t need anything today.”

  Mrs. Abbey sighs again. “Why do you have to speak to me in that tone?”

  Garrison shrugs. “Sorry.” His voice is entirely dry, and I try to concentrate on my cellphone to give them privacy. It’s hard not to overhear.

  “You’re acting like I’ve demolished your entire world, and all I wanted to do was say hello, how was your day?” She seems nice.

  Garrison grips the door like he’s seconds from slamming it closed. “It was really good. Now can I go?”

  Mrs. Abbey’s blue-green eyes flit to me, then back to him, and she tries to lower her voice. I still hear her say, “What happened to Rachel?”

  He groans. “We’ve been over this. Rachel isn’t my friend anymore.” In my U.S. Government class, I heard Rachel vilifying Garrison. Saying things like, he should’ve convinced Nathan and his friends to do the right thing. He’s no better than them.

  She hates him.

  “I just spoke to her mother yesterday,” Mrs. Abbey explains. “She may forgive you if you just apologize and spend a little time—”

  “No,” Garrison cuts in. “I don’t care about befriending Rachel again.”

  “She’s a sweet girl,” Mrs. Abbey continues. “I always thought she’d be a great influence on you, and if you go to the same college—”

  “Mom,” he groans and rests his hands on his head. “Just accept that your hopes and dreams of me marrying Zeta Beta Zeta royalty are over and move on. It’s not like Rachel and I were ever a thing. You just made it all up in your mind because you’re best friends with Rachel’s mom.”

  “That’s not true,” she says, offended. “I just want what’s best for you.”

  Garrison goes rigid, and eerie silence passes. A lump rises to my throat, but I stay quiet and respect their space.

  Mrs. Abbey says softly, “You should apologize to Hunter.”

  Garrison drops his hands and stares at the floor.

  “He graciously invited you to Penn for the weekend, and he told me that you cursed at him. Every single one of your brothers is making an effort to include you in their lives, and you keep pushing them away.”

  “You know why,” he says, almost inaudibly.

  She sighs for the third time. “Boys play rough. Your father is right; you need to stop being so sensitive.”

  My lips part at her response, and Garrison has completely shut down. He no longer speaks back.

  “All I want and hope and pray,” she says, “is that my four boys will be together as family. Please don’t make this Thanksgiving uncomfortable by hiding yourself in your room. Please.” She looks and sounds on the verge of tears.

  My stomach knots at what she’s asking him to do. By being around his brothers, he risks another bruise, possibly a broken bone—his safety. Yet, she acts like he’s at fault for the strained sibling relationship.

  In the aching silence, I find myself standing up and saying softly but loud enough, “I invited Garrison to Thanksgiving with me.” I didn’t really, but I suppose I just did.

  His head whips towards me, surprise opening his mouth.

  I approach but not too close, and Mrs. Abbey tries to place my appearance. I seem familiar to her because I’ve appeared on entertainment news sites. Which is just surreal in itself.

  “I’m Willow,” I greet with a sheepish wave.

  Recognition floods her face. “Loren Hale’s cousin.” Half-sister, I mentally correct. She touches her heart. “I deeply apologize for what my son did to your cous—”

  “Mom,” Garrison interjects. “You don’t have to go around making amends for me. We’re already friends.” He gestures between me and him.

  Mrs. Abbey forces a kind smile, obviously peeved by Garrison’s attitude. “So you’ll be spending Thanksgiving with the Hales then?”

  “Um…” I hadn’t thought about this. Lo has already offered, but I’ve been contemplating returning to Maine to spend a little time with Ellie. I’ve been saving for a plane ticket. “I might actually visit my little sister in Maine, but Garrison is welcome to come.”

  Garrison knows about my strained relationship with my mom and my little sister. Maybe that’s why he says, “Thanks, Willow, but I can’t.”

  Did I do the wrong thing by interjecting? I just wanted to give him an escape if he needed one.

  Mrs. Abbey radiates with joy. As though Garrison’s rejection of my offer was an affirmation that he’ll try to get along with his brothers.

  I drift backwards as Mrs. Abbey tells us to “have fun”—not even worried that we’ll hook up. No mention of “keep the door open” or “behave responsibly”—just, have fun. I wonder if it’s because I don’t look like anyone Garrison would ever hook up with. Or if she’d categorize hooking up as a teenage expectation for her sons, so she’s okay with it happening.

  If she
had a daughter, maybe she’d be more protective. Maybe it’d be different.

  Garrison shuts and locks the door.

  I return to the beanbag, and not long after, he joins me and grabs the remote. He waits to press play. The air is heavy and weighted.

  I stare at my hands when he says, “I’m cursed. I’m fucking cursed, and if I spend Thanksgiving with you, I’ll ruin your time with your mom and your sister—or your relationship with Loren Hale. I can’t do that to you.”

  It’s better than you staying here, I think but struggle to say. I rewind to the beginning. “Your mom knows.” It nearly steals my breath again. She knows that his brothers have physically hurt him before.

  He’s so quiet that I turn my head. He hangs his forearms on his knees, and his solemn gaze sinks into mine. “Hunter would bloody my nose. I’d tell my parents, and they’d just say why didn’t you fight back? To them, I’m the youngest, so being picked on is just expected. My dad said that my brothers were trying to make me tough, but…” Garrison trails off and cements his gaze on the floor. “You remember the first questionnaire?”

  “Yeah.” It’s impossible to forget.

  “Remember my answer to any surgeries?” he asks, unable to meet my eyes.

  “I think so. You said something about breaking your wrist and leg and needing pins.”

  Garrison nods. “I was seven and nine. First one, my dad actually saw. Hunter was pretending to be some wrestler in the driveway, and he kept trying moves on me. I was screaming for him to stop, but he body-slammed me into concrete. My wrist broke, and the bone tore clean through the skin.”

  I remove my glasses, the lenses misting. “And your dad just shrugged it off?”

  “Boys will be boys,” Garrison says flatly.

  “And your leg?”

  “I was nine, and Davis thought it’d be funny to duct tape my mouth, legs, and hands and toss me in the pool. I sunk and struggled to reach the surface. I ended up blacking out at the bottom, and I was told that his friend dove in, pulled me out, and basically punched my stomach until I coughed up water.”

  I don’t understand…how did he break his leg? And how could anyone do that to another person?

  Garrison rubs his forehead like the memory hurts. “I stood up shaking, and Davis said, ‘Why are you being such a wuss?’. He laughed and then struck my leg with a lacrosse stick. Bone fractured.”

  Horrified, I shake my head over and over.

  “To him and his friends, it was all a joke. They were older. I was younger. I told my mom what happened, and she thanked the boy for saving me more than she scolded Davis for nearly drowning me.”

  I fit on my glasses, my pulse speeding at the thought of Garrison spending Thanksgiving with his brothers. Brothers that would do all of that and parents that would never acknowledge the harm.

  Garrison looks over at me. “It’s in the past.”

  Is it? I’m so scared for him. “I’d rather you…I…will you…” Why are words so difficult for me right now? I wipe beneath my eyes. “Maine is pretty, and my mom won’t mind extra company. Ellie will probably like you more than she likes me.”

  He shakes his head like it’s not possible. “I’ll be fine here.”

  “What if you tell Lo? He might help—”

  “No. Please don’t tell him,” he says, panicked. “It’s not that bad anymore, Willow. Ever since they went to college, it’s been easier. Hell, ever since I could drive it’s been better.” Before I speak, he adds, “Why don’t you tell Loren about what happened today?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The guys who broke your glasses,” he snaps, not at me but rather at their invisible presences.

  For a moment, I’d forgotten all about that. “I can’t…” Lo will freak out. “I can’t make his life harder. He has so much to deal with already.”

  Garrison twists his leather bracelet. “I’m scared for you,” he says exactly what I feel for him. “If those guys find out where you live, I’ll…” He pushes his hair out of his face. “You can spend the night here if you ever need to, you know.”

  I’m speechless.

  He recovers by explaining, “This is a gated neighborhood. No one can get in that shouldn’t be in here, and where you live, that apartment or dorm or whatever, it’s not like it has a lot of security.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I say quietly, but the offer starts expelling the heavy tension. We acknowledge that we’re on each other’s side when other people aren’t or can’t be. I relax more than I did, and he leans against his own beanbag too.

  “Sam and Dean?” he asks, remote braced in his hand. Ready to watch two hunters fight supernatural entities.

  I agree with a nod, and he plays the episode. We’re more lighthearted, and we pause the show every now and then to check Tumblr.

  We scoot closer and closer on our beanbags, and four-hours in, our arms are pressed together. I’m more lying down than sitting. He clicks play after we paused the show and makes funny commentary about Dean eating a hamburger.

  Another hour passes, and my eyes droop. I yawn, the television screen blurring.

  I only notice that I fell asleep when my eyes snap open. My cheek—my cheek is on his chest.

  Oh. My.

  God.

  I fell asleep on Garrison. I’ve never ever been that comfortable around a guy to do that. I gently lift my head and first glance at the television.

  Sam and his lush hair are freeze-framed. Garrison waited for me to watch the rest. I feel his arm wrapped comfortingly around my back, and he watches as I sit further up.

  Actually, he sits up with me. “You okay?”

  I push up my glasses.

  Garrison licks his dry lips. “You know I wouldn’t do anything…”

  “Yeah, I know.” Just friends. My heart sinks. Do I want him to do something? Partially, maybe, but not at the cost of what we have now. “I’m just surprised.”

  Garrison tenses. “At what?”

  “That…that I’d fall asleep on you.” I’m being painfully honest, but dropping all these walls with someone has almost felt cathartic in a way. “I’ve never done that before. With anyone else, I mean.”

  His lip quirks.

  “What?” I ask, his rare expression stealing my breath.

  “I like being your first.” Garrison almost smiles. “Ones are my thing, remember?”

  “And zeroes,” I remind him about the other number in computer language.

  “Fuck the zeroes.” Garrison balances his remote on his kneecap, and I’m more aware that he’s probably been with many girls like this. It may be my first, but it’s far from his. Still, he’s sweet and slow with me, and I don’t understand why.

  “Why are you so nice to me?” I ask.

  It takes him aback. He’s confused, but he answers as well as he can, “Because it’d be impossible for me to be a dick to you. Is that what you’re asking?”

  “You just…you care about what’s too far for me, and not many do.”

  “That,” Garrison says in realization. “Yeah…” He licks his lips again, and my shyness skyrockets, tucking my arms around myself. I’m more open than usual because he’s been so vulnerable with me.

  Garrison retracts his arm, but we’re still breathlessly close. “I understand what it’s like to be pushed out of personal boundaries, and I wouldn’t do that to someone. I’m not gonna do that to you, ever.”

  My chest swells, and my smile overwhelms my face. Stop smiling. I try to bury my face in my hand. God, I’m such a dork.

  “Can I hug you?” he asks in a breath.

  I nod without removing my hand, and instantly, his arms extend around my shoulders, his biceps flexing. I reciprocate, but my arms curve around his chest much looser and lighter. He squeezes like he’s mastered the art of hugging long ago.

  We’re still sitting on the beanbags, but the position isn’t awkward. He holds me against his body like that’s where he wants me to be.

  My heart thuds ha
rder.

  I feel so safe with him, and I see that he feels equally safe with me. Comforted. At ease. He only draws back when I descend into my head and overthink about my actions. My limbs stiffen, and he retracts his arms.

  “You know,” he says, “I didn’t even realize how unhappy I was with all my huge birthday parties until now.”

  “What’s so different?”

  “You.” He nearly smiles. “One real friend instead of a hundred horrible ones.”

  I’m about to reply, but my phone buzzes in my backpack. I give him a look like one second and I scoot forward and dig through the backpack’s contents. I find my cell and gape at the time.

  Two in the morning.

  Maya has sent me four texts.

  Maya: Are you okay? It’s getting late, and don’t you have school tomorrow?

  Maya: Can you respond just to let me know you’re in one piece?

  Maya: Not cool, Willow. If you don’t answer this in thirty minutes, I’m going to have to text Loren. It’s my roommate duty

  Maya: Just called him

  Not to mention the missed calls and texts from my brother, Lily, Daisy, Rose, and even Ryke and Connor. Maybe my backpack muffled them or most happened while I was asleep.

  “Oh no,” I mutter.

  “What?” Garrison straightens up and stands just as I do.

  “I have to go.” Lo has called me ten times and left seven texts, which range from slightly worried, asking about where I am, to full-on panicked, saying that he’s five minutes away from calling the cops to find me.

  And then this text:

  Loren: If someone’s taken Willow’s phone—if you’ve hurt her, I’m going to wring your goddamn neck and shove your dick inside your body, you little shitty motherfucker. You’ll be peeing out of your asshole.

  “I can drive you to your apartment.” Garrison grabs his hoodie.

  “No that’s okay.” I sling my backpack on my shoulder. “I need to pick up my car from Lo’s house, so I’ll just drive myself home. I can walk to Lo’s.” Before he offers to walk with me, I add, “If Lo sees that I was with you, I think he might pop a blood vessel. I’ve never seen him this angry.” I show the text to Garrison.