The Masks We Wear: High School Bully Romance (Emerald Falls Series Book 1)

by Lee Jacquot

  The Masks We Wear

  Emerald Falls Book One

  Lee Jacquot'

  Lee Jacquot

  Contents

  A Quick Note from the Author

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINTEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY THREE

  THIRTY FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  THIRTY SIX

  THIRTY SEVEN

  Epilogue

  Preview

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents, as well as resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 Lee Jacquot

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner expect for the use of quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: AJ Wolf-AJ Wolf Graphics

  Editing: Ellie McLove – My Brother’s Editor

  Proofreader: Rosa Sharon- My Brother’s Editor

  Created with Vellum

  A Quick Note from the Author

  The Masks We Wear is a standalone in the Emerald Falls Series. It is a steamy read intended for mature audiences. All characters depicted are over the age of 18. That being said, this book does include graphic consensual sexual scenes and physical abuse by a parental figure. It is a BULLY romance, and some scenes may be triggering for some.

  This book is strictly a work of fictitious fantasy.

  Reader discretion is advised.

  To Vula, who didn’t get to see this happen.

  Twenty-five years ago, you wrapped my first story in cardboard and put it on your bookshelf.

  You believed in me. Thank you.

  ONE

  Three Years Ago

  “What do you mean you’re moving here?” My childhood friend, Liliana, knits her arched brows, the vein in her jaw tics when she clenches it.

  I don’t understand. I thought she would be happy, excited even.

  We’ve been best friends for seven years, and even though we only see each other in the summer because of my divorced parents, it’s never hurt our friendship. When I’m here, we do everything together. We camp in the backyard, stargaze until the sun wakes up, gorge on popcorn and watch scary movies. My favorite thing about us, is when we talk, even when we run out of things to say.

  But mixed in with all the good, there’s also the crappy. Her parent’s affair, my mother’s unexplained medical issues, her father’s abandonment… everything kids shouldn’t have to go through growing up, we’ve handled together.

  After what felt like forever, my mom asked if I wanted to move in with my father to finish the remainder of high school. She knew I liked Washington better, plus the school system has better opportunities for my future. Really though, Liliana was the first thing to pop in my head, and I said yes so fast I was scared I hurt my mom’s feelings. But I was ecstatic.

  Seeing Liliana during the short eight weeks of summer wasn’t enough.

  I want to be here all the time.

  I thought she wanted me here too. Then again, I can’t deny the subtle changes I’ve noticed before our eighth grade year—we lost half our summer when she went to a cheerleading boot camp. Ever since, she started dressing a little differently, putting makeup on and didn’t want to eat junk food with me until two in the morning anymore. She said she had to maintain her physique if she wanted to remain on the squad. I didn’t mention any of it to her, though, not even when she dyed her burnt caramel hair blonde and started wearing hazel green contacts.

  I miss her chestnut eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, almost scared to hear her response.

  Absentmindedly, I shake my head, ridding it of the thoughts. Liliana and I are best friends through and through. Every one of her secrets, every fear, every sad thought, all of it, belongs to me. I squeeze the small box in my hoodie—if not to make sure it’s there, maybe for some luck.

  I watch as she twirls a fake golden strand between her fingers, her gaze on the ground. My pulse strengthens with each passing second.

  What is happening?

  “You can tell me, Liliana,” I whisper, giving her a soft, reassuring smile.

  “Lily.”

  I tilt my head, my eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

  “It’s just Lily now.”

  “Since when?”

  “I don’t think you should move here, Spencer,” she spits out.

  What? A sharp pain echoes through my chest, and I rub at the ache. Liliana—Lily stands, brushing off her blue jeans.

  My eyes follow her, too surprised to speak. Is that all she has to say about it? No rationale or explanation? But then again, her logic doesn’t matter. I know it won’t change the sting radiating through my veins or the sudden thinness to the air.

  And I doubt anything will ease my throbbing heart.

  Ugh. Why does she have to wear those crap contacts? I used to be able to read her like an open book. If she weren’t wearing them, I’d be able to reason with her, maybe see where this bizarre change is coming from. Now, with those contacts that act like drawn curtains, I can’t see anything, and I know she can’t see me.

  Did I do something wrong?

  “Look, I gotta go, Spence. We have another practice.”

  Lily doesn’t wait for a response and instead disappears through the gate combining our two backyards. I stand like a stick in the mud, fixated on the spot she stood until the sun’s rays fade behind a row of clouds I hadn’t noticed before.

  Running a hand through the side of my hair, I slip the box from my pocket—the box I worked all spring to save up for, and open it. Even in the overcast, the small heart charm sparkles, attached to the James Avery bracelet she’s been eyeing since last Christmas.

  A heaviness moves into my chest, anchoring my racing heart in place. I swallow my thick saliva and look in Liliana’s backyard to the treehouse we use to sleep in for days straight.

  Today was supposed to be the day. The day she knew… when I finally told her what I’ve felt since I first laid eyes on her in second grade.

  I make the decision quickly, before I think better of it, and go inside the gate, fumbling up the old ladder of the treehouse into the small space. We haven’t used it in a couple of years, but nothing has changed.

  An old black rug sits in the middle, posters of our favorite movies and animes pinned to the weathered walls. Two bean bags that are in surprisingly good shape sit in the corner. If I close my eyes, I can almost smell the popcorn and her lavender body cream.

  Crouching down, I walk to a small chest where we keep all our secret treasures. It mostly contains
geo rocks, a few trading cards, and a best friend contract we made in the fifth grade.

  I sigh and slip the bracelet inside. Should she ever come here and look, she’ll find my heart with it.

  I don’t need it anymore.

  Today

  I went back home that day, a cloud following me the entire five hundred miles to Idaho. It wasn’t hard to piece together what happened. She was popular and needed to maintain an image, one I clearly didn’t fit. After I figured that out, my decision was made. If she needed me to change, she wasn’t worth it. Nothing is worth giving up who you are.

  At least that’s what I told myself every day for the rest of the summer.

  My best friend in Idaho, William, filled most of my conscious hours with his presence. We overate pizza and watched way too many action movies while I moped. I couldn’t help it. No matter what I told myself, I still cared, like a dumbass.

  “Good guys don’t get the girls,” William would tell me, and I never understood why he thought it would cheer me up. It didn’t. In fact, it did quite the opposite. I wanted to prove that I could get the girls. Even if they weren’t the one I wanted.

  That’s when the dark streak happened. I put on some new clothes, developed a steady workout regimen—it didn’t take much. I climbed the ranks fast, and the number of girls I got was probably on the unhealthy side.

  But I didn’t care.

  I was proving William wrong and keeping my mind off of her, which is all I wanted. But the number of fights I found myself in, plus the countless times I was suspended, was not something I meant to happen. My grades never slipped—hell, I could miss a month and still pass my classes, but it was the look on my mother’s face every time she came to school. Upsetting her was the worst kind of punch to the gut.

  “I don’t understand what happened to my precious boy. My sweet boy.” That’s all she would ever say. No scolding, no punishment. Just disappointment.

  Nothing is worth losing who you are.

  The two succeeding summers, I didn’t go back to my dad’s. Making excuse after excuse, but really I couldn’t bear the off chance I might see her. So instead, we FaceTimed more, and my dad came to Idaho for visits.

  Then my mom got her diagnosis: early stages of dementia. We chalked up all the signs to menopause, and in turn, prolonged her treatment. They say it’s a common mistake, but that’s bullshit. If I wasn’t fucking around, and paid more attention, I would have noticed. It’s just the karma for me doing the one damn thing I said I wouldn’t ever do; breaking my mother’s heart and conforming to a fucked-up society that determines worth by our chiseled abs or how big our dicks are.

  And that same karma brought me back here to Emerald High. My father had us move in with him to help take care of Mom while also pushing me with my studies. My parents both know I would have dropped out to dote on my mom, and medical school would have been out the window.

  Even though this is the last place I want to be, it’s been fine for sixty-eight days. I’ve managed to return to my “pre-bad-boy state” and disappear with the sea of other outcasts, keeping my head low and eyes lower.

  Until now.

  The one day I was running late and threw on my dad’s shoes by mistake, is the day I trip and land right at her feet.

  “Fucking nerd.”

  The way her heel jerks under me, I can tell she wants to kick me, but when we lock eyes, she stiffens.

  Lily still has the same blonde hair I remember from freshman year, only now, it looks a lot more natural. The same can’t be said for those stupid ass hazel contacts. From down here, I can tell she’s continued to watch her figure as it is the literal definition of a coke bottle, and I curse the way my dick twitches in my pants.

  It’s not fair she gets that reaction from me.

  All this time, and it’s as though a day hasn’t passed. I’m still putty in her hands. The organ in my chest I haven’t felt in ages picks up pace, thumping against my ribcage as though it’s found its rightful owner.

  I’ve seen her before, a few times from afar, but made sure to disappear before she noticed. It didn’t bother me since the ache stayed dull. But this is different. My entire body fills with moths, flapping around in the dark, desperate for the light—something they haven’t seen in three years.

  When she recovers, so do I, fumbling to my feet like a dumbass and taking off before things get worse. Running a hand through my hair, I manage to rush away from the influx of hot air.

  “If you’re gonna be a jackass, at least know how to walk,” an unfamiliar, high-pitched voice calls after me. It’s grating, and I know it must belong to the cheap platinum Barbie next to her.

  Jeers and snickers of nearby observers echo in the hallway. Well, if there’s any way to announce my arrival, I guess this is as good a time as any.

  Turning on my heels, I shove my glasses up my nose and look at the pale girl in her eyes. “If you’re gonna be the school’s blow-up doll, at least be a hot one.”

  My gaze flashes to Lily’s before shifting back toward the AP hallway.

  I can feel her eyes on the back of my head, in the endings of every nerve, and in the deepest, darkest part of my soul.

  Fuck.

  TWO

  When the hell did he get back?

  Scratch that. When the hell did he get so...delicious? Even under his thick orange flannel, the muscles in his back and biceps flex when he gets up. I also don’t remember his jaw being so defined or his face being perfectly symmetrical. But his eyes are the same. A swirl of caramel breaks up the smooth brown in a way that almost feels hypnotic.

  They pull me back to earth—reminding me who I am, what I was, the things I lost.

  My biggest fears.

  My greatest regrets.

  “Can you believe that asshole? I mean, seriously…” My friend, and co-captain, Amora, drones on about her encounter with Spencer.

  Spencer Hanes. Holy Shit.

  I blink a few times—a failed attempt to capture one of the dozens of thoughts careening around my mind. The last thing I need to worry about is old secrets being dug up for anyone to find. And Spencer knows just where I buried them.

  Finally grounding my head, I shrug. Talking isn’t one of the things I often do, even when rattled. The less you speak, the less people know. I try to keep my face neutral as I wiggle my fingers and turn toward the front office.

  “Where are you going? It’s time for lunch.” The sparkle in Amora’s usually glossy eyes, dims. One hand is propped on a thin hip, while her face is pinched in disgust. She hates being alone with our cheer squad, though I haven’t been able to figure out why. My dear friend is the biggest bitch they make in her five and half foot size, and she has no qualms displaying it.

  “Bolwig,” I call over my shoulder without stopping.

  I’ve been putting the guidance counselor off for a while now, but two months into my senior year, I know it’s no longer an option. At least, not a smart one. I have a feeling I know what she’s going to say, and I’ve never been in the mood to hear it.

  Rotating my increasingly tight shoulders as I reach her office, I can’t seem to hinder my thoughts from returning to the mess that just dropped at my feet. Between Spencer and the uncertainty of my future, everything in my mind is becoming a tangled mess. Both unpredictabilities twist around each other like two weeds fighting for dominance in a garden. Both of them spread their tendrils around everything beautiful, threatening to overtake what I’ve worked so hard to cultivate.

  I sigh—one thing at a time.

  Ignoring the slight ache creeping behind my eyes, I walk toward Ms. Bolwig’s collage-covered wall. Her office is littered with university pendants and pictures of prior students at graduation, probably her favorites. As I bide my time, attempting to keep my mind clear, I trace a finger over a few. Each one was taken on an impossibly sunny day, in an almost picturesque light. The many smiles shine back at me, and I wonder vaguely just how genuine their happiness is. No one is that happy. Th
ey’re all just wearing masks, waiting for the moment they can take them off.

  “Excited about graduation, Miss Conley?”

  Ms. Bolwig’s voice jolts me from my thoughts, and I whirl around to face her. The aging woman stands in the doorway; her signature clipboard hugged tightly against her massive chest. She twirls a fluffy purple pen between her short fingers as she gazes past me to the pictures.

  “Yep.” I pop the p, leaning on the wall. “Ready for the University of Kentucky.”

  The crows’-feet at the edge of her dull blue eyes make an appearance as she grins. “Ah, yes. Kentucky. Let’s talk about that, shall we?”

  Ms. Bolwig gestures a hand toward an empty chair in front of her pristine desk before taking a seat in front of her computer. She grabs a file from a stack and opens it with care, tracing the pages of what I assume is my permanent file.

  It’s clean, full of A’s, a thirteen hundred SAT score, and not one referral. Captain of the cheerleading squad with perfect attendance since fourth grade. Even on that day, I would have given my left kidney to be at school. My file is—

  “Uneventful,” she determines.

  I don’t stop my face from crumpling. “Uneventful?” I repeat as though I’ve misheard her. I mean, I must have. I know it isn’t the prize horse at the Derby, but it’s still pretty impressive, nonetheless.