Broken: A High School Bully Romance (Athole Academy Book 1)

by Vi Lily

  The guy wouldn’t even take what he called “fake vitamins,” the pill versions, insisting on only taking colloidal minerals and vitamins in disgusting-tasting liquid form.

  But now, just one day into our tenure at a new school and new life, he is totally trashed. On a school night.

  “Hey Rod,” I say hesitantly as he loses his balance and slams into the fridge door and giggles. He then squints bleary eyes at me, like he’s trying to comprehend what I’m saying.

  “I left you food in the warmer oven.” I grab a potholder and pull out one of the plates as I laugh to myself again, acting like the mom.

  “You want salad and garlic bread?” I ask. Rod isn’t much of a carb eater because of his athletics training, but I figure at this point the more carbs the better to absorb all that alcohol. He reeks like a street corner drunk.

  “Sure,” he slurs, then giggles again, like a little girl. I roll my eyes.

  Since he’s so unsteady on his feet, I first guide him to a barstool at the kitchen island and then fix his plate. When I set it in front of him, he jerks like I’d startled him. I think he fell asleep.

  I watch as he stabs at his food before trying to maneuver it to his mouth. It’s pretty funny, but I’m too concerned about Rod to laugh about it. Even though we aren’t close, I am still his big sis, so I figure I should say something.

  “So, did you drink with your new friends? The jocks from lunch?”

  He shakes his head. “Party at Coach’s.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Coach Penn?” I get a wobbly head bob as an answer. I frown and pull out my phone to text Ben.

  Me: did you have a party at your house?

  I don’t expect an answer right away, so I jump when my phone vibrates.

  Ben: my dad had some of the guys over. why?

  I frown. He seems kinda, I don’t know — like it’s no big deal a sixteen-year-old just got drunk at his house, thanks to a party his dad had.

  Me: my bro showed up totally lit and said he’d been at your house

  Ben: oh man i’m sorry. Dad’s famous for his welcoming parties. Was doing homework or I woulda kept an eye on your bro. Sorry bout that

  Rod mumbles something about the awesome party. I ignore him as my phone vibrates again.

  Ben: get the ok from your dad yet?

  I smile; the guy is relentless, which is doing amazing things for my ego.

  Me: not yet. he hasn’t come home yet.

  Or at least, I don’t think he has. I only heard Rod come in, but if Dad had come up the stairs, I would have seen him go by my room since I’d left the door open for that reason. I walk to the garage to check for the Jag, just in case.

  Nope.

  My phone vibrates again.

  Ben: my mom is MIA too. maybe they’re together lol

  Okay, I gotta say that any guy who uses the correct spelling of “they’re” and “too” is a prime candidate for my future husband. Of course, I’ve already decided Ben was going to be just that earlier in the day.

  I’m grinning like a lunatic when I walk back into the kitchen while I text him back.

  Me: maybe. they’re probably having a torrid affair

  I wince after sending that. It’s probably not appropriate to joke about that, but he started it.

  Ben: torrid affair? exactly what century are you from? lol

  I laugh. I’d heard that before, that I was too “wordy.” I’d always shrugged it off; future Pulitzer winner and all that. We’re supposed to be wordsmiths.

  Me: lol sorry my writer is showing

  Ben: writer? is that what you wanna be when grow up?

  Rod decides at that moment to get up, which is more like a falling off the stool. I catch his plate, just before he knocks it off the counter.

  “Okay, big guy, let’s get you to bed,” I tell him as I brace my shoulder under his armpit. Even though he’s younger, he’s a lot taller than me and probably outweighs me by a good fifty pounds. Maybe more.

  “‘Kay,” he agrees as he giggles again. I roll my eyes. I’m thankful Rod isn’t a difficult drunk. I haven’t had a whole lot of experience with them, but my friend Jared at my old school had a drinking problem and he was a seriously mean drunk. Like, punch people who were trying to help him mean.

  I get Rod up to bed with fewer problems than I thought I would. Of course, that doesn’t count trying to navigate the freaking stairs, which, after trying to get his drunk butt up the thirty-three steps — and yes, I’ve counted them, thankyouverymuchOCD — I decide to ask Mom if we can get an elevator installed.

  Seriously.

  Once Rod is safely installed in bed with a glass of water on his nightstand, I go to my parents’ room. The door is closed, but I can see light under the door. I knock softly, in case Mom fell asleep with the light on.

  “Come in,” my mom calls.

  I open the door and the words I planned to say stick in my throat like a chicken wing with too much hot sauce.

  My mom is sitting on the side of the bed and I can tell she’s been crying. And drinking, if the wine glass on her nightstand is any indication. I can’t recall a single time I’ve ever seen my mom drink. Ever. Not even a beer.

  I frown; first, Dad has been missing all afternoon and it’s late at night now and still no sign of him; then Rod shows up drunk; now, my mom is drinking, and even though it could just be one glass of wine, it isn’t something I’ve ever seen before.

  This sudden wealth and “movin’ on up” crap apparently is wrecking my family.

  “Um, I just wanted to, uh, tell you goodnight. Oh, and Rod is home and already asleep.” I’m not going to mention my brother’s hammered state; I’m not a snitch.

  She sniffs and carefully keeps her face turned away from me, probably so I won’t see her red nose and eyes. Like I’m a young kind that can’t handle seeing her mama crying.

  “Thanks,” she says. I nod, even though she doesn’t see it and I close the door.

  It’s much later — after midnight — when I hear my dad finally come in. And just minutes later, my phone lights up my darkened room with a text message.

  Ben: my mom just got home. how about your dad? lol

  I frown, then shake my head at the coincidence.

  Me: yeah just came in lol. sketchy

  Chapter 3

  F RIDAY NIGHT is going to come too quickly. I may want to marry Ben and have his babies while playing house in some cute suburb with a good school system and a well-maintained park with safe play equipment, but I don’t really want to date him.

  I don’t want to admit it to Ben — because it’s pretty lame for a seventeen, almost eighteen-year-old — but this is going to be my first date. Official date, anyway. I’ve been to parties, gone out in groups to the movies and stuff, and even came close to having sex a few times, but this is my very first “go out, just me and a guy” date.

  Honestly, I’m kinda worried I’ll embarrass myself.

  It’s not like I don’t have table manners, or that I talk during movies, or something like that, but Ben makes me nervous. Really nervous. I’m just glad that it’s winter and I can use the cold weather as an excuse for the shivers I always have around him.

  After talking to my dad the next morning at breakfast — my dad and Rod both looked like they’d been at the same party — I’d gotten his permission to go out with Ben. Actually, my dad acted like he couldn’t care less what I did, which was weird. He’s always been a little protective. Not as much of a helicopter parent as my mom with her constant hovering over Rod — and me too, which I’m pretty sure is just because she doesn’t want me to embarrass her — but Dad isn’t one to just let me have my own way all the time either.

  But come to think of it, my mom wasn’t hovering much anymore. I wonder if that has to do with being distracted from the move, the change in our family’s status, or the fact that Rod and I are getting older.

  Or maybe it’s just from the heartbreak that seems to be seeping out of her pores like the smell o
f alcohol seeping out of my brother’s and dad’s skin.

  I wonder and worry what’s going on with my parents.

  I decide to wait until Rod and I get to school to tell Ben I’ve gotten Dad’s okay so that I won’t look too anxious. He already texted me twice this morning, asking if I talked to my dad.

  It’s kinda funny how anxious he is to know the answer, but then I remember Raine’s question about whether he was going to go to the rally on Friday, so I figure maybe he just wants to know for sure so he can make alternative plans if not.

  I’m thrilled that I’m his first choice.

  But then I decide to check that attitude right at the door. I’m not going to put myself into that position, of hoping some guy will pay attention to me, will put me first, put me on that pedestal.

  Hell no.

  I’m going to put myself on a pedestal, and any dude who wants to be with me is going to have to climb the damn thing, bring himself up to my standards, just to get my attention. Without being conceited, I know that I’m worth that. All girls are.

  Well, most anyway. I reserve judgment on the Raines of the world.

  I talk a good game to myself, but my follow-through sucks, because once I see Ben standing in the hall talking to some girls, my stupid heart speeds up and my stomach gets that weird fluttery feeling. I’m feeling all sorts of jealous, which is seriously stupid, but at the moment, I really want to slam those girls’ heads into the ceramic tile floor. Repeatedly.

  Once again, I talk myself out of career-ruining thoughts — thank you, Harvard, for keeping me from having to wear orange — and walk right by like I didn’t give a care.

  “Hey Ben,” I call casually and wave as I pass by, barely giving him a glance. I grin when I hear him interrupt one of the girls in the middle of a sentence.

  “See ya later,” he says and I school my face to a neutral look when he trots up beside me. I glance up at him and cock an eyebrow.

  “Done with the harem so soon?”

  I almost grimace after that leaves my mouth. It sounded a little bitchy, even to my ears.

  Thankfully, he just laughs as he throws his arm over my shoulders. Despite my earlier “I am woman, hear me roar” thoughts, I have to admit that it feels seriously awesome to have his attention, especially since all the other girls in school seem to crave it so much. I like the dirty looks I’m getting now as we walk down the hall.

  Yeah, I know… I’m petty sometimes.

  Ben laughs again. “Aw, baby, don’t be jealous. Those bitches don’t have anything on you.”

  My heart does a funny little leap at his endearment, but I elbow him in the ribs. “You shouldn’t call girls ‘bitches’.”

  He grins at me. “But those two really are bitches. They saw us talking yesterday in the hall and they had just asked me who the ‘new skank’ was.”

  I screw my mouth to the side. “Yeah, they’re bitches.”

  He laughs yet again and steers me down a hall in I what I know is the right direction for my French class, since I got a map of the school yesterday. How it is that Ben knows it’s the right direction for my first class, I have no clue.

  We stop just outside my class and I cock an eyebrow at him. “How did you know this was my first class?”

  The biggest grin I’ve seen yet from him lights up his face and I just can’t help staring at him. Seriously, with his dark skin, light eyes, those naturally white teeth with the adorable gap — and omg, he has dimples! — he is amazing looking. Movie star material, for sure.

  “Perks of working as an office aid,” he shrugs. “I also rearranged some of my classes so we can be together.”

  Umm, okay. I try not to think of how stalkerish that is, and probably shrug it off too quickly without protest, simply because I decide that seeing more of Ben and the glorious eye candy he presents is more tempting than anything as unimportant as personal boundaries.

  I’m not sure what the look I have on my face portrays, but he chuckles. “Relax, I’m not some psycho stalker,” he grins, reading my mind once again.

  He shrugs. “I just liked you right outta the gate when we talked yesterday in the office and considering how stuck-up the rest of these jackasses are, I thought we normal peeps should stick together.”

  I laugh at that and figure he’s right. It is nice to have someone to talk to. I also remember that Aleen is nice and seems pretty “normal” too. I hope she and I can have a great friendship like I had with Sheila back in Cali.

  Ben cocks his head to the side. “And why are you so different?” he asks as he glances down at the checkerboard shoes I wore that day, a smile curling his lips.

  “Gotta say, I haven’t seen a chick wearing Converse since we came here.”

  Embarrassed laughter escapes me then. I’m unsure if his comment on my footwear choice is a compliment or not. I shrug.

  “What can I say? They’re comfy and have always been my favorite. Don’t really care what anyone thinks.”

  One of his eyebrows raise. “See? That’s what I’m saying.” He waves his hand between us. “You, me, we’re like soul mates.”

  I roll my eyes at the ridiculous statement as I feel my cheeks flame up. Pretty sure I’m going to trigger the school’s sprinkler system with the heat shooting off my face while another embarrassed laugh escapes my lips.

  Ben ignores my embarrassment, thankfully. Most guys would have teased me about the red cheeks, which are especially noticeable with my pale skin and hair. But he just reaches out and puts my hair behind my ear again. I realize with a bit of shock that I’m starting to crave his touch.

  He crosses his arms over his chest then and I try not to stare too hard at the muscles I can almost see outlined as his jacket pulls tight against his arms.

  “So, Tink, did you get daddy’s okay to go out with the big, bad jock?”

  “Jock” is an understatement. “Super Jock” would be more accurate. I spent a good hour last night cyberstalking the guy, so I know that he’s called the “new and improved Ken Penn” — his dad, the former pro — and is already being scouted by teams in the U.K. and Europe. Ben is also a snowboarder, rows with a local rowing team and plays lacrosse in the spring.

  I smirk at him as I plant my hands on my hips and cop a sassy attitude. “He said it was okay, but I’m not sold on the idea. I mean, what are you bringing to the table? I do have to weigh this date against the latest Master Chef episode.”

  He laughs so loud that people turn and stare. “Seriously, what century are you from?” he asks, repeating his text from the night before. His turquoise eyes twinkle at me.

  “You’re like my gramma, wrapped up in a seriously hot, sexy little body.”

  I didn’t think my face could get any hotter, but it does. I glance up at the sprinkler system, to see if any water is starting to spray.

  “Uh, thanks, I think,” I mutter, and he chuckles.

  “Well, I was planning on impressing you by wining and dining you at the fancy steakhouse on the north highway, but now that I know you a little better, I’m thinking you’re more a pizza and soda chick.”

  I grin. “That would be perfect, actually. I haven’t had pizza since we left Cali.”

  He matches my smile, then steers me into class by throwing his arm over my shoulders once again. I’m starting to worry that I’m going to end up even shorter from the compression of my spinal discs with that weight constantly on my shoulders.

  Honestly, I love it.

  Friday night comes slower than I thought it would, once I resolved myself to going out with That Guy and started to look forward to the date.

  Of course, spending so much time with Ben throughout the week has done wonders to ease my worries about embarrassing myself with the guy. He’s so easy-going and likable that I doubt anything I say or do will change how he is with me.

  I found out that he lives in the same gated community we do. I was kind of surprised at that, because I was pretty sure that a coach couldn’t afford a multi-million-dollar
mansion, regardless of how fancy the school was where he worked. But Ben told me his mother was the community manager for Oak Place and one of the job perks was a “small mansion” that was used as a combination office and model home.

  Ben told me that he’d pick me up at six, because the roads get icy pretty early and he wanted to make sure we were back in our neighborhood before then. I still haven’t had to drive in the snow or ice, thankfully, since Bearing keeps the streets plowed and sanded — and especially the road to our school — but I dread the day it does happen.

  The white stuff can be kinda scary to a SoCal girl.

  At five fifty-eight, the doorbell rings. I jump up from the kitchen island to get it, but my mom laughs and tells me not to be so anxious, that it’s good to keep a guy waiting a little. I decide to take her advice.

  I wait seven whole seconds.

  “Hey,” I say a bit breathlessly as I open the door. I feel my stupid face flame again and try telling myself there’s seriously no reason to be blushing and that I’m being ridiculous. My damn capillaries apparently have a mind of their own.

  Ben grins down at me as his eyes travel my length. Mine do the same. He looks so hot in his street clothes. He looks hot in his school uniform too, but seeing him in faded jeans and a cable knit pullover with a leather jacket… day-ummm, I breathe to myself.

  “You look damn hot in regular clothes,” he says, echoing my thoughts. I feel my face heat even more and I inwardly groan.

  This time, he doesn’t ignore the red cheeks as he laughs. “You blush more than anyone I’ve ever known. It’s surprising you don’t pass out from all that blood rush.”

  I roll my eyes and pull the door open farther. “Come in,” I say, ignoring his comment. “My mom wants to meet you.”

  He leans close and I fight not to close my eyes and breathe in his amazing scent. He’s wearing just a light touch of cologne and I think that he needs to give a class to the rest of our male classmates on proper cologne use.

  “No father? My mom is MIA again too, just sayin’,” he whispers as he lightly elbows me.