by Rachel Jonas
He flashes a humorless smirk
I remember that week, and the “babysitter” our piece-of-shit father hired to keep us out of his hair while he dicked around, doing absolutely nothing.
“I couldn’t sleep one night, so I got up for water. On the way to the kitchen, I heard weird sounds coming from one of the bathrooms,” Dane continues. “Not thinking, I walked in and caught them. He had her bent over the sink, pants around his ankles.”
I shouldn’t be surprised Dane has a story of his own, but I am. Apparently, I’m not the only one who thought it best to protect the others from what I knew.
“He bribe you with ice cream, too?” I ask, half-joking, half-not.
“Nah, fifty bucks and mention of Mom having threatened to overdose on pills the week before. He said that, if I snitched on him, she might make good on her promise.”
“What kind of asshole tells his own damn kid shit like that?”
Dane shrugs before answering my question. “Only Vin Golden.”
None of us argue with that.
“What a sick fuck.” Sterling scoffs. “I’ve never caught him in the act, but you couldn’t have paid me to believe he’s ever been faithful. Someone with an ego like that was never meant to be a family man.”
We’re quiet again, and I wonder if they’re reflecting on our hit or miss childhood, too. Yeah, having money made it easier to ignore some of the bullshit, but those highs have always been punctuated by some pretty unhealthy lows, shit no kid should ever have to see.
“So, what’s the plan?” Dane asks. And I note he didn’t ask what ‘my’ plan is. Now that they know the truth, they’ve made it their problem, too.
I shrug, feeling fired up and defeated all at once. “Hell if I know.”
“We need to get to the bottom of Vin’s lie, and we need to fix this shit between you and Southside,” Sterling says, but then he eyes me. “Unless … you still think you got the whole truth out of Vin.”
I think about that for a moment and consider how he’s manipulated all of us over the years. As easy as it was to believe I had this all figured out, it’s no longer just about me being aware of what Vin’s capable of. I saw something in Southside that night, and I know what I felt when I touched her.
That, alone, has me ready to throw my theories out the window, because of the reality I can’t outrun—I want this girl. Maybe even more than I want the truth. It has me thinking that, even if we never uncover the whole story, I might just say fuck it all.
That is, if I can ever get her to listen to me.
“I tried talking to her today, but it was a no-go.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Dane says with a laugh. “She thinks you plastered a vid of her, ass up, all over the internet. Would you want to talk to you?”
“Let’s be honest, though. It wasn’t exactly a bad angle.” Sterling tilts his head as he zones out, visualizing Southside in the footage.
“Really, bitch?” He ignores me and blocks it when I beam my icepack at him. “You watched the whole fucking thing, didn’t you?” I ask.
“The whole fucking thing,” he freely admits. “And if no one had mentioned you were in it, I wouldn’t have even noticed.”
I’m holding in a laugh—the first that’s threatened to leave me in days. No one in the world but these two assholes could get away with even thinking about Southside in this light.
Just ask Austin how that went for him.
“Just saying. She’s hot all over,” he adds, testing me again.
“We’ve gotta focus,” Dane cuts in. “Just coming out and telling Southside that Parker’s behind the leak is out, because you’d have to tell her why you can’t turn her in,” he rambles, pausing to think.
There’s a lot of shit to work out. A lot of moving pieces, which haven’t all been revealed yet. The thought brings me back full circle—to Ricky and that vague-ass comment he made earlier.
“You’re gonna have to start small,” Dane concludes, interrupting my thought.
My gaze flashes toward him. “Sooo … start smaller than a conversation?” I ask, arching a brow. “Because that’s pretty fucking small to me.”
I’ve never given much thought to how I approach a girl, so I can admit to being in uncharted waters here. Even though the only girl Dane’s ever put any stock in is Joss, I consider his experience in taking a delicate approach with women far beyond mine. Usually, I take what Mom calls the ‘bull in a China shop’ approach to dating.
Rush in with reckless abandon. Fuck shit up. Move on to the next.
“You gotta go smaller,” he answers. “And resist the urge to back the girl into a corner when you get impatient, West. Seriously. As far as she knows, you’re guilty. Of everything.”
He knows me well. Patience, for me, is right up there with tact. I wasn’t born with either.
“Also, you might want to pray she doesn’t dick kick you while you’re working things out. The girl’s got a lot of fight in her.”
Despite myself, I smile a little. He isn’t wrong.
I’m considering everything they’ve said, considering everything that’s come to light today, and I know I have my work cut out for me. Thing is, there’s something about Southside that makes it impossible to give up.
She hates me, I get it, but even knowing there’s probably no chance in hell she’ll ever speak to me again, I’m committed to trying.
All because this feels different. She’s the first girl I haven’t been able to get out of my head and … that has to mean something.
Has to.
Chapter 8
BLUE
Unknown Caller: Can we talk? Please.
Blue: Depends on who this is…
I set the phone aside and rinse remnants of soapy water from Scar’s cocoa mug just as another notification chimes. But this time, when I glance at the screen, I’m immediately sick to my stomach.
Unknown Caller: It’s West.
My hands are shaking as I pull down the menu, hovering over the ‘block’ option. I’m completely aware that I should’ve already pressed it, but it’s not as easy as I expect. So, one deep breath later, it’s done. West can no longer drop into my life whenever he pleases, and whatever chance there was for conversation, it’s gone.
What helps is envisioning the scratches and bruises my sister is currently sporting on her face and arms, thanks to him. By some small miracle, she’s fallen asleep, but before that, I didn’t manage to get a single detail out of her about today. Whoever these kids are, she’s terrified of them. So much so, she won’t even give up their names. Not a single one.
For now, Jules has agreed to see Scar to all her classes, and Shane’s not leaving her side during lunch. It’s not the top-flight security I’d love her to have, but it’s the best I can do from a distance.
Now, more than ever, I’m regretting being at CPA. Not only is my being there on the brink of meaning nothing anyway, but I know none of this would’ve happened if I’d stayed on my side of town. I’d be with Scar, I never would’ve met West, and I’d only have to face the usual BS that comes with being Blue Riley. The stuff I was already used to. The stuff I know how to handle.
North side drama is on a whole different level.
My heart leaps when the phone chimes again and, for a second, I think it’s West maybe texting from a different number, but an actual name pops up this time.
Ricky: Got a sec?
Blue: Finishing dishes. What’s up?
Ricky: Come out back when you’re done.
The message has me glancing toward the window and, sure enough, he’s already standing there, his back to me as he paces a little.
After drying my hands, I smooth my ponytail before realizing I haven’t done that in a while—cared if I looked a mess when he stopped by, but apparently that’s a thing again.
I snag a hoodie from the hook beside the door and then step out.
Broad shoulders beneath a black leather jacket catch my attention first, then he turn
s and I’m no longer remembering what it felt like being held by him the other night. Instead, before I can even greet him, I’m eyeing the two cuts on his face.
“What the hell happened?”
Before I can stop myself, I’m down the porch steps in just my socks, concern causing my anxiety to spike.
“I’m cool,” he insists, carrying fresh anger on his back like a boulder. But it isn’t for me. It’s for whoever was on the dealing end of these gashes, and whoever had likely taken a nasty beating himself.
As someone who’s seen Ricky fight on many occasions growing up, I feel for the other guy.
I settle back when I realize I’m acting too much like a girlfriend, but still keep close watch on him.
“Listen, some shit went down,” he begins, “and I just thought you should hear it from me before you hear it from anyone else.”
I breathe deeply and nod. “Okay.”
He looks off to the side and I try to read him, but he gives nothing away. My first thought is that he’s preparing himself, warming up to telling me that whatever he’s done will have the cops coming around. But I decide to let him explain instead of jumping to conclusions.
“I stopped by your school this evening,” he admits, making my stomach sink. His words cause me to see those marks and gashes he’s sporting in a new light.
“Okay,” I say again, trying not to panic.
“Shane told me about Scar, and I know you want me to stay out of it, but I was still pissed about the bullshit with the video and … I decided it was time to confront the guy.”
“You confronted West?” I ask calmly, having an idea of what Ricky means when he uses that phrase—confronted. I’m guessing there weren’t many words exchanged during this confrontation.
“He had it coming to him,” he explains.
I’m not sure what to say, and I’m also wondering how much this has to do with West’s random text a few minutes ago.
“So … what happened?”
Ricky blows out a breath and it’s visible in the chilly air.
“His brothers pulled us apart before it really ended. So, I guess you could say it’s over. For now, anyway.”
I take a breath and don’t quite know how to feel at the moment. “Thanks for telling me,” is honestly all I can say.
Ricky flashes a look my way now, for the first time since stopping by. I know what he was expecting. He thought I’d blow up and tell him he should’ve minded his business. While, usually, I do prefer for him to stay out of things, I get it. The protector in him couldn’t just let this go. Because of me. Because of Scar.
Not to mention, he only did what I wish I could’ve done myself.
“I’m sorry I butted in,” he adds, which actually draws a quiet laugh out of me.
“You’re forgiven, but promise me this is the last time. I’d prefer for you to stay out of trouble. Especially trouble that has anything to do with me.”
His steel-gray stare lingers on me as I blink.
“No promises, but I’ll take that into consideration,” he answers truthfully, which has me laughing a bit.
“Well, at least you’re honest. Been a while since I’ve had anyone be straight up with me,” I say.
“You know I have your back,” he reminds me. Not that I needed a reminder.
I take a couple steps to climb the porch, but a light touch to my wrist holds me in place. He doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he just levels a look on me that has me thinking there’s more he wants to say.
“What is it?” I ask.
He hesitates a moment, and then seems to come to himself.
“Nothing. Just … don’t hesitate to call me if you need something. Doesn’t matter what time it is,” he says. “Things on the street are heating up and … I just worry about you. About Scar. That’s all.”
When I nod, he lets go of my wrist.
“While I appreciate the thought, I stopped being afraid of the Boogeyman when I was eight.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever,” he shoots back with a laugh, starting toward the alley. “Just sayin’, the Boogeyman doesn’t need you to believe in him to exist.”
“Got it, Ruiz. Night,” I call out, stepping back inside to watch from the doorway.
“Later, beautiful.” He waves once over his shoulder, never looking back.
Without even realizing it, he’s made my night. All because I’ll have the visual of one, West Golden, getting his ass handed to him as I fall asleep.
Sweet dreams to me, I guess.
@QweenPandora: SeXyBeAsT found the perfect way to lick his wounds after that fight. And I’ll give you one guess what his last stop was before heading in for the night.
You guessed it. NewGirl’s house.
Check out these pics of the duo and tell me what you think. Is there a true love connection happening here? I’m no expert, but something in this blonde bombshell’s eyes tells me she’ll be getting over everyone’s favorite QB-1 in no time.
But be careful, SeXyBeAsT. KingMidas isn’t known to graciously take a loss.
Later, Peeps.
—P
Chapter 9
WEST
Dane’s advice has been stuck in my head all day.
When I passed Southside before first hour. When she entered the cafeteria. And now, as I’m posted outside the locker room trying to look casual, knowing I’m guilty of that stalking shit she accused me of before.
There’s just this impulse in my gut, urging me to plead my case. Hopefully, without saying too much, which I know is probably impossible, but fuck. I’m losing my shit.
I spot her and I’m instantly on the move.
“Southside,” I call out, damn-near sprinting toward her, which makes her pick up speed with hopes of avoiding me.
No such luck.
She’s maybe three feet from making it into the girl’s locker room when I catch up and manage to wedge myself between her and the door. Lucky for me, Rodriquez—cockblocker extraordinaire—is nowhere in sight.
Southside gives the mother of all eye rolls when I gently take her shoulders and move her aside as a group of chicks approach. They level weird looks at us as they pass by, heading in to change for gym. I don’t care about that, though. Yeah, I’m abso-fucking-lutely positive I look like a maniac, but who gives a shit?
“You don’t owe me a chance to say a single word. I know that,” I say first, “but I’m begging you. I’m only trying to say I’m sorry for how things went down.”
She steps back and slips from the light hold I have on her.
“You’re not deaf, West, so I’m sure you heard me say we’re done talking,” she snaps.
There’s no mention of the marks I’m sporting from yesterday’s fight, but I see her eyeing them.
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say,” she adds. “Hence the reason I blocked your ass last night,” she says in a low hiss. “And for the record, FUCK your apology.”
She moves to step around me and, despite knowing I shouldn’t, I take her shoulders again. Immediately, I release them when she flashes a death glare my way. Instead, I opt to plead with her again. This time, I’m completely aware of the freshman doing a shit job of hiding behind a locker, taking pictures.
Pandora has eyes everywhere. A loyal following despite no one even having a clue who the bitch really is.
My gaze snaps back toward Southside.
“Listen, I know things are jacked up right now. Believe me. But I didn’t—”
Just that easy, the words almost slip out. The one thing I’m not allowed to say—revealing that I’m not the one who posted the video—was so close to tumbling out. Desperate to be heard, I’m not thinking clearly.
At all.
My breaths come hard and fast. Southside’s staring but hasn’t walked away yet, which is a small victory, I guess. It’s clear she’s sick of my ass, though. I’m actually positive there’s nothing in this world she’d want more than to be left alone right now.
&n
bsp; Which is when I remember Dane’s words from the night before. Something about starting small, and then something about not backing her into a corner.
Kind of like I am now.
So, I go against my nature and fall back, give her room to breathe despite wanting to push and be heard, which isn’t going so well anyway.
“Sorry I bothered you,” is where I leave it.
She’s eyeing me, maybe a little surprised I’m not pushing as hard as expected, but I’m trying to stick to the plan. The one that has me feeling like I’m leaving things between us unfinished as I back off.
My gaze slips from her eyes, down the length of her, resenting the hell out of this intense energy that keeps us strung together. It’s what makes me want her even when her mean ass gives me the cold shoulder, or when she tears my fucking ego to shreds.
I earned this, though. Every ounce of it.
Turning, I head into the locker room to change. Well, to sulk, and then change.
I’ve never had to work so hard for one girl in my entire life. Chicks’ feelings aren’t even something I consider, but that’s not the case with her. I mean, here I am letting her hate me, all because my brother said I shouldn’t push. So, this is me trying to comply.
This is me not pushing.
Kind of.
I make it out onto the bleachers just as Mrs. C. blows her whistle and glances down at her tablet to take attendance. From the corner of my eye, I’m aware of the blonde ponytail I know to be attached to Southside, but I don’t turn her way.
Give her space, jerkwad.
Sighing helps relieve the tightness in my chest, but this whole thing is killing me inside.
“Today’s the official start of our basketball unit,” Mrs. C. announces. “You all did swimmingly during our pool unit.”
No one laughs at her lame-ass dad joke but some douche on the front row.
“Anywho. We’ll start with a simple layup tutorial for the first half of class, then we’ll move into small drills to practice what you’ve learned. I’ll need a couple volunteers,” she calls out.
