Truth Game : Ocean Bay #3

by Chloe Walsh

  "Let's talk," she coaxed, sliding into the seat opposite me. "We never talk anymore."

  Because you're sleeping with the enemy.

  "What do you want to talk about?" came my flat response.

  "Life," Mom answered, resting her elbows on the table and giving me her full attention. It felt weird as hell because if Wren had been home, my face was the very last place her attention would be focused. "What's going on with you? How's football? Is school going okay? Is your heart still set on Alabama State next year? You're happy about giving them a commitment? You're keeping your grades up?"

  "You know me, Mama," I replied, knees bopping restlessly under the table. "Same as always. And pretty much yeah to all of your questions."

  "And Rourke?" she added, trying to pretend that she knew more about my circle than she did. "Is he still planning on playing college ball, too? Is he planning on Alabama, too?"

  "No." I stared blankly at her. "He has no interest in playing football after high school and doesn’t need a scholarship to get out of here." You would know that if you paid even a slither of attention to my life. "Rourke's gonna be an architect."

  "Like his mother was," she said with a sigh. "Of course, that boy always excelled academically."

  "Unlike my 3.2 GPA?"

  "That's a solid GPA, son," she coaxed. "One you've worked incredibly hard for."

  True. I had worked my ass off to get my grades up and keep them there. "Not quite as Sophie's perfect 4.0 or Rourke's exceptional 4.5 though, huh, Mama?"

  "Daryl." Another look of disproval crossed her features. "It's not a competition."

  Of course it was. My whole life consisted of one big competition that I had been losing since I came out of her womb. "Sure thing, Mama."

  "While we're on the topic of school, I bumped into Martha Thomas at the store last week," Mom began, smiling now. "Well, homecoming came up and we both thought how lovely it would be if you and her daughter Ashley went together this year?"

  "That would be a no."

  "She's a beautiful girl, Daryl," she pushed. "And Martha seems to think that Ashley has a real soft spot for you."

  Folding my arms across my chest, I leaned back and stared blankly at her. "Hard pass."

  "Daryl." Mom narrowed her eyes. "You could do a lot worse, son."

  "I lied to you earlier," I came right out and told her, watching her carefully to gauge her reaction. "I wasn't at Rourke's place." Disappointment flickered in her green eyes. No surprises there. "I was with a girl."

  "A girl."

  "Yeah, a girl," I confirmed. "All weekend."

  A vein ticked in her temple as she digested this piece of information. "I'm assuming that this girl wasn't Ashley Thomas."

  "Correct."

  "Can I ask what this girl's name is?"

  "You can, but I ain't telling you."

  "Daryl."

  "You don’t wanna know," I replied.

  "Of course I do."

  "No, you really don’t, Mama."

  "Try me."

  "Fine." I looked her straight in the eyes and said, "I was with Molly."

  "Molly," Mom repeated the name, looking confused for a long moment before realization finally dawned on her. The moment it did, her face turned a crimson shade of red, and angry fire danced in her eyes. "Oh no, no, no." Jerking to her feet, she shoved her chair backwards, causing it to slide across the tiled floor before crashing into the opposite wall. "Over my dead body!"

  "Told you that you didn’t want to know," was all I replied as I watched my mother erupt like a volcano in her kitchen.

  "And when you say that you were with her…"

  "I'm grown, Mama. I'm eighteen. I ain't a virgin if that's what you're getting at," I countered unapologetically. "Haven't been one of those for a few years now, and I definitely ain't one after last weekend."

  "Her, Daryl?" she demanded, spitting venom now. "Of all people? You choose to screw around with her?" Mom's face turned a scary shade of purple. "Do you have a shred of loyalty to this family?"

  "Molly ain't the enemy, Mama," I replied, pushing my chair back and standing up. "She never was."

  "I don’t want you seeing that girl," she spat, chasing after me as I moved for the front door. "Are you hearing me? Stay away from that family! I forbid you from having anything to do with her!"

  "You forbid me?" I threw my head back and laughed humorlessly. "My god, you're unbelievable." Reaching for the front door, I pulled it open and stepped outside. "Don’t worry, Mama. Nick Peterson already warned me off."

  "Then you should take his advice, Daryl," she called after me. "Nothing good can come of dredging up the past."

  Yeah, nothing good for you…

  5 Daryl

  "Well if it ain't the prodigal fucking quarterback!" Rourke grumbled when I walked into his kitchen a little while later and found him raiding the fridge. "The hell you been all day, King?"

  "I needed a mental health day."

  "Oh yeah?" Laden down with more food than an elephant needed, he padded over to the island. "Well, Coach made us run suicides until we puked to make up for your mental health day. Hope it was worth it."

  Wincing, I sank down on a stool at the island with him. "Sorry about that."

  "You know you can't leave the team hanging like that, dude," he continued, mouth full of chicken. "At least not without a damn fine excuse."

  "I fucked Molly."

  "No…" Coughing and spluttering, he dropped the leg of chicken he'd been demolishing down on the plate, "…shit?"

  "Shit," I agreed somberly. "And then her father caught me buck ass naked in her bed this morning with her virginity smeared all over my dick."

  "Jesus Christ." Eyes bulging, Rourke rubbed a hand over his jaw and gaped at me. "Screw everything that I said earlier. I think I need a mental health day, too."

  "That's not even the worst part," I added with a sigh. "I got her drunk first."

  "Dude…"

  "And high."

  "Dude!"

  "I know, I know," I groaned, shoulders sagging in defeat. "I'm a disgrace. I get it, okay? But it's not like I planned any of it. Honest to god, man, it just…sort of happened."

  "So, your dick just sort of fell into her?"

  I cringed. "Don't."

  "Oh, I'm sorry," he shot back sarcastically. "Your mighty penis magically inserted itself inside the vagina of the very girl you've been obsessed with since Pre-k?" He arched a brow. "Awfully convenient, D."

  I debated arguing with him, but decided against it. There was no point in denying it. I didn't have a leg to stand on. Besides, I had more pressing sins to get off my conscience. "Ready for the worst part? I didn't wear a condom."

  "Tell me you're joking," he deadpanned.

  I couldn't.

  "I'm not joking," I squeezed out.

  "Then you're absolutely right," he snapped. "You are a disgrace. She's a mess, dude. Fragile as fuck. Sticking your dick inside that girl was a horrible mistake."

  "Kick me while I'm down, why don't you!"

  "D, you stuck your bare dick inside a female." Rourke cocked a brow and gave me a look that was full of parental disappointment – which was a crock of shit considering I was six months older than him. "Have the mistakes of our fathers not taught you anything?"

  My shoulders fell and I dropped my head. "Apparently not."

  "Yeah." He blew out a breath. "Apparently fucking not, dude."

  "Says the genius sticking his dick inside his sister."

  "Stepsister," he corrected. "And I'm gonna let that one fly. One time only, D. Next time and you'll pay for it."

  "What am I gonna do, Rourke?"

  "Plan B."

  "I'm all ears."

  "No," he corrected. "Plan B; as in the morning-after pill. You need to go buy it and she needs to take it. Asap, dude."

  "Are you serious?"

  "As a goddamn heart attack," he replied. "You can't take stupid risks like that, D. You're nine months shy of attaining everyt
hing you've spent your whole life working for. Alabama state, D! Alabama fucking state! Throwing that all away for some virgin pussy is about the most reckless thing I've ever heard."

  "Molly's not just some virgin pussy," I bit out, tensing. "Don't talk about her like that."

  "Fair enough, but you still need to shut that shit down before it's too late," he shot back without a hint of remorse. "Get her the pill, D, and save yourself the trouble of having her crying on your shoulder next month over two pink lines."

  "Newsflash, dude; Molly's not Britt," I hissed, taking full offense to his words now. "We had sex one time. The odds of being that unlucky her first time are beyond slim. She ain't a gold-digger, and she sure as shit ain't trying to saddle me with a baby. Remember, I'm not the one who messes around with nasty-ass girls like that, Rourke. That's all you, buddy."

  My best friend winced and I knew I'd hit a nerve, but I didn't take it back.

  "I would sleep better tonight if you at least texted her about it," he pressed, unwilling to give a damn inch on the matter. "Just send her a quick line, man; a reminder."

  "Can't do that."

  "Why the hell not?"

  "Because her stupid fucking father warned me off her."

  "Nick Peterson warned you off Molly?"

  "Sure did."

  "Why?" He frowned. "He used to treat you like his own when we were kids."

  "Yeah, well, things change, Rourke."

  "Not that much," he mused. "What aren't you telling me?"

  "Nothing," I snapped. "There's nothing to tell. Can we change the subject?"

  "No," he replied before tormenting me further. "Why aren't you pushing back on this? You like the girl – clearly too much considering you lost your head and wandered bareback through her untouched pastures –"

  "You are sick."

  He snickered. "Why not tell Nick to go fuck himself?"

  Because he's right. "Just let it go, Rourke."

  "So, because her daddy tells you to steer clear, your plan is to what, ghost the girl?"

  "No."

  He arched a brow. "No?"

  "I don't fucking know, okay!" I threw my hands up. "I need a damn minute to figure this all out."

  He continued to stare at me for a long moment, appearing to be at as much of a loss as I felt, before reaching for his plate and holding it out to me. "Chicken?"

  Glum, I grabbed a leg and bit down hard.

  6 Molly

  My phone notifications remained depressingly silent all-day Monday, and his lack of contact continued into the rest of the week.

  Daryl never called.

  He was also a no-show at school.

  By the following Friday afternoon, I was starting to panic. Maybe Daryl wasn’t avoiding me after all. Maybe he was genuinely sick. He had a game tonight. Never in the past two years had I known him to miss school on game day. It simply wasn't done around here. When I mustered the courage to ask Rourke if he was okay, he'd grunted something about not being his damn babysitter before stalking off to talk with his coach.

  Beyond concerned and unable to take another second of not knowing, I walked to Daryl's house after school. Facing my old street wasn't something I relished doing, I'd only mustered the courage to do it once in the past two years, but I was too worried about him to let my PTSD control me.

  Concentrating on anything other than the house across the street, I pushed the gate open and walked up the familiar garden path. The sound of angry voices rose with every step I took closer to the house. Nothing new there. My breath was coming in loud, audible puffs now, my anxiety rising to epic proportions, but I refused to turn and run away.

  Braving my fears and the prospect of rejection, I climbed the remaining porch steps and pressed my finger to the shiny brass doorbell.

  The screaming match that had been taking place inside the house momentarily ceased, followed a few moments later by the sound of heavy footfall.

  When the door finally swung open, I was faced with the very last member of this family that I wanted to see.

  Wretched.

  "Sheriff Chambers," I acknowledged the police officer towering in the doorway.

  The big, imposing man glowered down at me, his brain clearly going into overdrive as he fought to put a name to a familiar face.

  "Well I'd be goddamned," he finally said, his beefy hand moving to stroke his whiskery mustache. "If it ain't little Molly Peterson all grown up."

  I nodded and forced a tight smile, feeling nothing but repulsion for the man standing in front of me. His paunchy gut bulged against the fabric of the faded wife beater he was wearing and I had to repress a shudder when my eyes caught a glimpse of his hairy beer belly hanging over the waistband of his jeans. "I was hoping to speak with Daryl please."

  "Well, ain't you just the mirror image of your mama when she was your age," he stated with whistle, ignoring my request to speak with his stepson. "Pretty as a Georgia peach." His traced his tongue over his bottom lip. "It's a damn shame about the rest of your body, sweetheart. Would've been a real looker if that fire hadn't torched the good parts –"

  "I really need to speak with Daryl, sir," I cut in, balling my hands into fists at my sides. "It's real important."

  "Real important, huh?" He sniffed the air like it had suddenly turned foul. "Well, I doubt his mama's gonna be happy about you sniffing 'round her boy again."

  My brows furrowed in confusion. "Excuse me?"

  "I've got it, Wren," Daryl bit out, appearing in the doorway. "She's here about our group project," he added, shoving past his stepfather.

  "Group project?" Wretched narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "How is it that this is the first I'm hearing about any group project?"

  "It's recently assigned," I lied, once again falling into an age-old pattern of covering for his stepson. His gaze flicked to me and I smiled brightly. "It's for extra credit."

  "Yeah? Well make it quick," Wretched finally relented with a huff. "We have unfinished business to attend to, son. Don’t want your mama finding out about this, huh?"

  Wretched slapped Daryl's shoulder and I watched as every muscle in his body locked tight with tension. When his stepfather disappeared back inside the house, Daryl stepped onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Shirtless and clad in a pair of grey sweats, he pressed his back to the door, clearly still on edge. "Sorry about him."

  "No, it's totally fine," I replied, drinking in the sight of him.

  "So, what's up?" he asked, folding his arms across his bare chest.

  His bare and bruised chest.

  "Hey – are you okay?" Moving closer, I reached a hand up, but froze when he casually slipped out of my reach. My gaze flicked to his face, honing in on the purple swelling on his left cheekbone. "What happened to your face?"

  "Nothing," he replied, sounding distant.

  "Nothing?" I asked incredulously.

  "I fell."

  "Yeah," I shot back, eyes narrowed. "Into Wretched's fist."

  He blew out a harsh breath. "It's all good."

  Like hell it was.

  "Why are you lying to me, Daryl?"

  "Why are you pushing this, Molly?"

  "Because I care," I snapped.

  "Then stop," he snapped right back before blowing out a heavy sigh. "I'm okay. I am."

  Feeling at a loss, I clutched the straps of my backpack and stared up at him. "I've been worried about you."

  Daryl didn’t look me in the eye. Instead, he looked everywhere but my face. "I just told you it's all good."

  "You haven't been to school all week."

  "Yeah." He rolled his thick shoulders. "I know."

  "Are you…sick?"

  "No."

  "You've got a game tonight." I watched him carefully, praying to see a semblance of the boy I'd spent last weekend with. Right now, I was coming up empty. "Are you still planning to play?"

  "Yeah. I sort of have to."

  "Oh. Okay."

  "Was that it?" he
asked flatly. "Because I should get back inside."

  Hurt filled my eyes. "Are you…mad at me or something?"

  His nostrils flared and he shook his head. "No, Molly, I'm not mad."

  "Really?"

  "It's all good."

  His clipped responses spoke volumes in this moment.

  Pity fuck, remember?

  He regrets you.

  "So that's how it is, huh?" I tightened my grip on my shoulder straps.

  He shrugged and looked away, shutting me out. "Guess so."

  "I thought you wanted this." I looked around helplessly and shrugged. "I thought you wanted us to be friends again?"

  "I did – I do," he hurried to say before blowing out a pained breath. "Fuck, I don't even know anymore, Molly. I need some breathing space."

  "Breathing space?" I said flatly. "After one weekend together?"

  He flinched and looked away. "Everything is getting way too heavy."

  "You know what?" I whispered, after a long stretch of pained silence, "I think it hurt less when you were pretending that I didn’t exist."

  I could have sworn I saw him flinch, but if he did then he covered it well.

  "Wow," I breathed, body jolting violently from the pain racking through me. "Yeah. Okay then."

  I thought I heard him curse under his breath, but I was concentrating too hard on not falling apart.

  Staring at my feet, I could feel my face burn. I searched for the words, but came up empty. Blowing out a shaky breath, I tried again and failed miserably.

  Nodding stiffly, I tumbled down the steps of his parent's porch and quickly backed out of his garden.

  I needed to get out of here.

  I needed to get away from him.

  "Fuck," Daryl groaned before pushing off the door and moving for me. "Molly, wait! No, don't go –"

  "No!" Determined to get away from him with some sliver of my pride intact, I power-walked away from the boy that had ripped my world to shreds. "Just no, Daryl."

  I wasn’t sticking around to be anybody's punching bag.

  "I'm sorry, okay?"

  No. No, it wasn’t fucking okay, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of giving him a response.

  Blowing out a shaky breath, I shook my wrists out, desperate to stem the panic attack that was roaring to life inside of me as I hurried down the street. I couldn't stem my tears, though. They were determined to stream down my cheeks like two piping hot rivers of humiliation and regret.