“Hello?” a new voice calls from the hall. Flashlights beam through, narrowly missing us as the trooper’s scan for bodies.
“Distract them!” Lincoln hisses, all but hoisting Duke up in his arms and shoving his limp noodle of a drunk ass out the window.
I have three seconds to come up with a plan, and it’s not a great one. I yank a tiny chunk of hair out the back of my head, the sting making my eyes water. I rush to the lights then, throwing myself into the trooper’s chest. “Oh! Thank goodness!”
“Whoa, hell.” He catches me with strong, tattooed arms. His ice blue eyes are wide and concerned as he tries to right me on my feet, but I hang limp, deadweight in his hold. His partner, a wide shouldered woman with pale blonde hair, cringes at my display, while the poor trooper I have chosen to torment struggles to keep me steady. “Easy, sweetheart. Can you stand for me?”
“Can I stand?” I gasp. “Can I stand? No! I am distraught.”
He’s pretty, I note. Raven hair, strong build. His eyebrow and tongue are both pierced, and tattoos peek out from the collar of his uniform. But somehow, he still looks like a kid, soft and untouched by the darkness the world offers.
A stab of jealousy runs through me, so I decide to give him an even harder time. I collapse to the ground and fling myself against his legs. Lincoln is forcing back laughter as he pulls himself back out through the window, and I screech to keep the troopers from looking at him.
“Okay, okay,” the female says. “What’s wrong? Is it your head?”
My head? Ah, right, I cut myself. That would’ve been a good reason, too, though it probably would’ve landed me in the hospital. Which would absolutely result in a call to my father. No thank you. “I lost my friend,” I cry, covering my face with both hands.
“Riley!” Paris yelps, right on queue. Thank God she was the one down here. Carly and Cheyenne never would’ve caught on. “I’m right here!”
I gasp and rise to my feet, hugging her fiercely. “Thank you,” I whisper, before bellowing, “Oh, thank God! I thought the monsters found you!”
The troopers share a troubled glance, then the man takes my elbow and tows me out of the room. “Alright, ladies. Party’s over. Let’s get you both home.”
“How is it possible,” Duke slurs. He stumbles over his own feet and windmills his arms until I grab the back of his shirt and steady him again. “I convince—I beg—you two to come with, because I had a girl, and I am the only one leaving with a dry dick?”
“I didn’t get my dick wet, for fuck’s sake,” I bark. “I gave her my number. That’s it. And she probably won’t call me anyway.”
I’m only lying a little. He doesn’t know where I went or what Riley and I got up to, and as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t have to. He and Rhett can kiss-and-tell all they want. I’ll keep my secrets.
And what a secret she could be...
“Why not?” Duke asks. “You’re decent. If I were Rhett, I’d suck ya.”
I smack the back of his head. “Rhett’s not gay.”
“You’re decent,” he says again. “But speaking of gay, I can’t wait ’til we find him. He told you not to talk to her—he was talking so much shit. I can’t wait for you to tell him you banged her.”
I don’t even bother correcting him. He’s off on a Rhett tangent now, one I’ve heard a million times before, and I’m grateful I can respond accordingly without paying him any attention. I let my mind wander back to my little troublemaker.
Riley. That girl positively glows when she laughs. There’s an innocence in those mossy green eyes of hers I haven’t seen on anyone before. A blissful, loving kind of ignorance that makes me want to shield her from the world before something truly breaks her.
Or maybe she’s already broken. I saw the guilt in her eyes when I panicked at the sight of cops. It’s too soon to assume, isn’t it? That she’s had this perfect little life and that’s where the syrupy sweetness in her eyes comes from?
I should’ve let her leave. I had no business letting her get in between me and the cops. Who knows what would’ve happened to Duke, though. She really saved his ass, and in turn, mine.
If she reaches out, I owe her big.
“She seems cool,” Duke says. He smiles wickedly. “She had ass, too. Not like Paris’s fine behind, but shiiiiiit.”
I punch him in the arm. “Keep her name out your filthy mouth.”
“Ow!” he whines. “Jesus fuck. Alright, Ma, damn.”
Young people. Why do I subject myself to this?
I drag Duke in the apartment behind me, sharpening my ears for the sounds of moans or creaking beds. Silence greets us, and I have half a mind to be worried about Rhett. He was nowhere to be seen in the house. I had a little time, I should’ve scanned the bedrooms.
He’s the good one. No sirens have gone blaring down the road, so I just have to hope he snuck out with his pick of the night before anything went down.
“Goodnight, assholes,” I say before Duke’s even fully parked on the couch.
“Night, Gramps,” he retorts, laughing at his own crummy joke.
My room is drafty and feels hopelessly empty. Everything is too still, too quiet. It’s lived in, sure. The bed has stories to make the pope cry, the carpet the fitting amount of stains for a 24-year old bachelor. My parents both smile at me from the mantle and the fridge, the family dog of my youth is in more photographs than even them. It’s just so...lonely.
I wonder what Rhett would think of a cat? Add a little life in the place.
I shake myself and throw myself down on the bed, not even taking off my shoes. The poison in my veins is exhausting, thank God, and I might get a real night’s rest if I can just keep my brain off. I have work in the morning; kids to teach, to better the world. It’s not worth their time to stay up all night feeling sorry for myself. They need me; they need our lessons.
Their lives might genuinely depend on it.
“Great job, bud!” I clap my hands together and take a seat on the bench beside my brightest student, Danika Rourke. She’s only six years old, but her skills with a piano could make angels cry. “You’re really improving.”
She smiles at me brilliantly. “Thank you, Mr. Sanders,” she coos, her shoulders hitched up to her ears. “My big brother is coming home this weekend. I’m gonna play for him! And then he’s gonna stay for a while.”
Her mom has told me several stories about Derrick. He got caught up in the wrong crowd at fourteen and has been in and out of juvie ever since. Six months ago, mere days before his eighteenth birthday, he came clean to his mom about a coke addiction and got booked into rehab. He’s trying to turn his life around—for Danika’s sake, I hope he does. If I have to hold her while she cries over him one more time, I’m gonna beat his ass into the ground.
“How’s it going in here?” The door creaks open and Mrs. Rourke steps in. Her hair is tied up under a scarf and everything about her just screams exhausted. She’s been working doubles to keep food on the table, and most nights, she doesn't eat, herself.
“Momma!” Danika leaps off the bench and charges her mother, throwing herself against her frail legs. “Mr. Sanders taught me a new song today!”
“Did he? That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Rourke beams up at me. “Thank you, dear.”
“Of course,” I say. “You two better get home, now. Get some dinner in your bellies and then get some sleep.”
Danika giggles, hiding her face behind her hands.
“Here, dear—”
“Oh, pay me next week,” I cut Mrs. Rourke off as she’s reaching into her bag.
She pierces me with a withering glare. I’ve been putting off her paying me for the last two months. Danika told me their life situation through tears one day, her head and stomach aching from hunger pains. I’d been bringing her dinners and refusing payment twice a week since then.
It’s my company, all under the table. I have no boss sniffing for their cut, and the building owners let me use the auditorium and pi
ano as often as I want, so long as I clean the place up for a cheap price.
The Rourke’s need the money more than I do right now.
“Now you listen here, Lincoln Sanders—”
My phone beeps, and I use it as an excuse. “It’s no problem. I have somewhere to be tonight anyhow, so you don’t want to keep us held up.”
She puts her hands on her waist. “You watch that mouth of yours.” But she’s smiling.
“I’ll see you next week,” I say, softer now. She sighs her disapproval at me but lets me lock up the auditorium and shoo her out of the school and toward her car.
“Thanks again, Mr. Sanders,” Danika cheers as I open her car door. She gives me a firm hug before hauling herself into the hatchback and buckling into her seat. Mrs. Rourke pecks my cheek before sliding behind the wheel and driving off.
I settle heavily into my car before pulling my phone out to check my texts. It’s a number I haven’t saved—unusual. Duke is always bugging me at this hour. Wonder what he’s up to. Maybe this is him on some random punk’s phone, ‘cause his died and he needs me to bail him out of a sticky situation. Again.
555-1024: What do you get when you mix a jackrabbit with a unicorn?
Who in the fuck did I give my number to in the last week? I’m not job-hunting, as if any professional anybody would start a conversation that way. Rhett, maybe? He’s known for sending weird as fuck messages, the bastard.
Unless...
Lincoln: Is that you, Trouble?
555-1024: Precisely.
My heart starts hammering in my chest for reasons I can’t explain. Riley. I add her name into my phone, unwilling to lose it by accident, before typing back.
Lincoln: I didn’t expect to hear from you.
Riley: Why not?
Oh, I dunno. We made out on a rooftop, my self-obsessed ass told you to distract the cops so I could run away, and you didn’t contact me for six weeks. Just for starters.
Lincoln: Well, I did shit on your horrible taste in movies.
Riley: Don’t make me regret texting you, sir. Princess Bride is the pinnacle of my childhood and I will not allow it be shat on.
Lincoln: For real. What would a pretty girl like you want with someone like me?
Riley: Ice cream, usually. But I can be bribed with pizza and tacos any day.
Lincoln: Is that another really backward way of asking me out? Lol
Riley: Maybe. Would that be a bad thing?
Lincoln: Not in this life.
Riley: Excellent. What are you doing right this moment?
Panicking? Is that an acceptable answer? No, probably not. Good way to make a girl think you’re a pussy is to immediately tell them you’re intimidated. Maybe lie, tell her I’m showering—no. That’s just a way to tell her I’m naked. I’m not a perv. The fuck do I tell her?
Lincoln: Nothing!
Not that.
Idiot. Lonely, desperate looking idiot.
Riley: Haha well yay. So, about that ice cream...
Okay, so the girl has a thing for lonely, desperate idiots. Good for me.
Lincoln: I have ice cream at home, if you want to come over. Or we can go out to meet somewhere, if you’d be more comfortable.
It’s a solid six minutes of silence, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s up to over there. Weighing pros and cons, wondering what I could possibly do if she came to my house? Biting her thumb, staring at my words on her phone, tapping the screen every few seconds to keep it from turning off.
I probably went too far. Wrecked my shot with her before I ever had one. As if I had one in the first place, right? Did I even want one? Was I ready to try for something special, after everything that happened, after everything I lost? Was my heart ready for more damage?
Maybe it’s better I scared her away...
Ding.
Riley: Send me your address. I’m on my way.
...or maybe not.
“Maybe this is a bad idea,” I say.
Carly sighs at me. It was her idea to reach out after such a long span of time, and when he instantly knew who was sending him such a ridiculous text message, she practically made the decision to go see him for me. Jackrabbit and a unicorn—only Carly could come up with something so crazy. “Calm down. You’ve been weirdly interested in him for like, ever. Now he’s available and you’re gonna chicken out on me again?”
Six weeks later and he still remembers who I am. And on top of that, he wants to see me. Sure, I kind of invited myself over and told him I want food, but he seemed eager enough to oblige, right? I’d be lying if I said that didn’t send my heart flying at least a little bit.
This is just what I do. I want attention until it’s offered, then I want to be left alone. It’s why I’ve only had flings and trysts, and never anything serious.
Lincoln feels serious. He’s the guy you take home to your family and cart around at family gatherings. He’s the guy you fall madly in love with and marry, move to a suburb and have 2.5 kids with. Even in this day in age, he’s not a guy you fuck and forget about by the following weekend.
The problem is I could never walk him into a family gathering. Not my family, anyway.
“Dad would die,” I say.
“So what?” Carly grunts. “Look, I’m not like, into black guys or anything. But if you like him, great. Forget your dad. Just ‘cause he’s got some strong language doesn’t mean he’ll actually lose his mind. I’m sure he just wants you to be happy, regardless of who it’s with.”
“You don’t know my dad.”
“Regardless, you’re living your life, not his.” She grabs my hands and squeezes me, smiling brilliantly. “And if he’s gonna be a tool, you’ll be eighteen soon anyway. We can move out together, get a little apartment, and you can date whoever you want.”
I hate that I need to have this conversation, have to think about moving out of my house just to talk to some guy I have a crush on. Why am I even risking it? My dad is really and truly my closest ally, and I’m throwing it away for a smooth-talking good kisser. I have officially gone off the deep end.
My car pulls up, a dingy blank sedan driven by a young girl named Grace, and I hug Carly goodbye and make my way over before I can convince myself I’m making a mistake.
Why I agreed to meet him at his house, I’m not sure. I’m feeling my Wheaties I guess, grabbing life by the balls or whatever. I know from Cheyenne’s various stories of her online boyfriends what this leads to. I’m off to have sex with this random dude, and I’m not even wearing my cutest underwear. I don’t know if I even want to have sex with him. But isn’t that what I’m implying?
Ha, who am I kidding? I definitely want to have sex with him. And while they’re not the cutest underwear in my arsenal, they’re lacy. No one wears lacy fucking underwear without a reason.
“Wait a minute!” Carly calls just before Grace can pull off the lot. She passes me a condom through the window with a wink. “Safety first.”
Okay yeah, down-to-fuck is exactly what I’m implying.
Clearly, I have completely lost my mind. Here I am, Little Miss Perfect, getting in a ride share, on my way to a house forty minutes from my own neighborhood, to see a guy I met once. One singular time. And made out with. While drunk. On a rooftop. That’s all I know about the guy—how my stomach flipped when he winked at me and that my legs haven’t felt exactly the same since.
I haven’t even done an internet search on him yet. I’m going to this guy’s house and I haven’t even done a basic follow-up on him.
“So what are you up to tonight?” the driver asks as we merge onto the highway.
I keep my eyes trained out the window, watching the scenery. “I’m going to see a guy.”
“Boyfriend?” she asks.
I know she’s just making small talk for a good rating, so I don’t affect her side hustle, but venting sounds like a fine idea. “Not really.”
“No judgement,” she says. “I haven’t settled down, either. Life is sh
ort, girl, gotta have fun while you can.”
“He doesn’t feel like a fun guy,” I say. Realizing how bad that sounds, I quickly add, “Not—not like boring. Just. I don’t sleep around, and he doesn’t feel like the type I’d just fuck and run on.”
She nods thoughtfully, then shrugs. “You sound nervous.”
“My dad would hate him,” I say.
She giggles. “Oh, you’re that type.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dating a guy just to make Daddy angry. I love it. I hope he’s super handsome,” she says. “Lemme guess. Dad wants to ship you off to Harvard, so you’re bringing some buff guy to dinner? Does he have, like, dreads and tattoos? Ooh, snake bite piercings?”
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. He’s a clean-cut dude.”
She hums. “Older guy?”
Hadn’t thought of that. He was drinking, and probably doesn’t have a damn clue I’m seventeen. I lower my eyes to my lap. “A bit. Not Dad’s age, though.”
“Okay,” she says, confused at my motives. “So what’s gonna make Daddy’s head go boom?”
What do I care? I’m never going to see her again, right? “He’s black.”
Her mouth falls open and she gasps. “Oof. For real?”
I nod.
She sighs. “My mom hasn’t spoken to me since I came out. My boyfriend is trans, and honest to God, when I took him to Christmas, we had to take my mother to the hospital. She legit fainted.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Right?” she laughs. “Story of my life. But hey, you can’t help who you love. Is this your stop?”
I peer down at my phone, watching the map adjust. “Seems so.”
Grace pulls over on the side of the road, in the shadow of an old apartment building. The exterior is bland gray, shutters and bricks slipping out of their places in decay. Desperately in need of renovation. Poor part of town, I suppose.
I leap out before I can stop myself, waving my thanks to the girl in the car. She looks uncomfortable all of a sudden and hightails it off the road before anyone can book a ride with her, heading straight for the highway.
Fearless Page 6
