You're To Blame: A High School Bully Romance (Haven Saints High)

by Brooke Jordan

  He waved me off and cozied under the blanket.

  “Lights, Chelsea.”

  I placed my drink on the table and flipped off the lamp, then the TV.

  I settled in under the sheet. He wouldn’t really come over here tomorrow, would he? I fell into a deep slumber. Ethan and Marisa were huddled in the corner laughing. I walked into the room. “Murderer,” they chanted.

  “Murderers have to be punished,” Marisa laughed.

  Ethan wrapped his large hand around my neck. “Time to give up the goods,” he snickered.

  “No, no.” I swung my arms, trying to break free.

  “Chelsea, hey. Calm down. It’s Tate. No one else is here that can hurt you.” His voice echoed through my head.

  My eyes popped opened, and I gasped.

  Worry filled his stormy blue eyes in the moonlight.

  “Tate.”

  He dropped his head against mine and sighed. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  His fingers slid down my hair. “Are you, ok?”

  “Yes. Marisa and Ethan were trying to punish me.”

  “You’re ok. It was just a dream. Lie down.”

  Tate pulled me into his arms. His heartbeat lulled me back to sleep.

  ∞

  Music blared from the tiny alarm clock on my nightstand. I swatted the button, silencing the contraption.

  One eye popped open. My hand brushed over the cold spot. When did he leave?

  Hunched over my knees in bed I sighed. Mom had a surgery to perform early this morning. Dad often went into the office early twice a week. He needed to represent his clients in court. Lucky for me they were both gone. Nina was probably getting the kids ready for school.

  Finally, I had the time I needed to reflect on me and Tate. He still refused to talk to me about what happened to Mason. Yet, he expected me to tell him in grave detail why I cut myself. My fingers traced over the scars on my arms. We crossed a line yesterday. Tears slid down my cheeks. How could the person who ran a sharp knife into your heart, be the same person to save you? I curled into myself on the shower floor. The pipping hot water thudded my skin.

  Four years ago, I lost my mind. Literally. His cold blank stare broke my heart. “You’re to blame! I hate you.”

  His twin brother was rushed to the nearest hospital. Tate blamed me for the accident. And I did too. Mom and dad said I wasn’t to blame. That wasn’t how it felt. The second my parents and I returned home from the lake house, I shut off from the world. Sitting in my bedroom the tragedy played on repeat. I ran into the bathroom and grabbed dad’s clippers from the closet. I plugged them into the wall and flipped the switch. Peering at my pitiful reflection in the mirror, I placed the clippers against my hair line, gliding them over my scalp. My long black locks fell to the floor. Tears filled my eyes.

  “I hate you, Chelsea. I hate you, Chelsea.” I repeated Tate’s words until all my hair dressed the floor around my feet.

  Placing the clippers back in the closet, my eyes fell on a small white box of razors. I removed one from the box, then stalked into my bedroom with purpose. Locking the door, I set my eyes on my favorite corner of my room. Sitting criss cross apple sauce on the floor, I turned my right wrist upward. Slowly, I slid the razor over my skin. Crimson blood rose to the surface. A smile fell across my lips. I felt alive. Sliding the razor across my left forearm, I glared at the blood, dripping on the floor. The razor slipped from my grip, I peered between the matching cuts.

  His teary face that day came into view, clear as day. “No!” Tate’s voice scorched my eardrums. His stormy blues stared into mine. “You’re to blame.”

  Warm tears streamed down my cheeks and my head thudded the floor.

  My eyes fluttered, and the room became a haze. Two handsome twin boys who loved me caused this breakdown. I was slipping away.

  “Chelsea! Chelsea!” I heard my dad’s voice.

  “Jenny, she lost so much blood,” Dad cried, clutching me in his arms.

  “Chelsea, baby, don’t leave us. Please hang on. We love you so much.” Dad’s agonizing voice filled my ears.

  “Baby, can you hear me?” Mom’s shaky voice pierced my consciousness.

  Lights out. I awoke in a mental hospital. My parents were beside themselves.

  Three months later I returned home. I met with a psychiatrist weekly. She sat in our living room. Her starched gray plaid suit fit her perfect. She was so fucking up tight. I hated her. She was a sounding board for my rage. The Culvers and the Forrester’s didn’t speak for a year. Our families hurt was too much. Through all the tragedy our mothers found their way back to each other. And the rest of us had to grin and bare it. I blinked twice popping back to reality. Tate’s lips brushed over my cuts yesterday like a silent apology. It wasn’t good enough. I needed him to say the words. ‘You’re not to blame.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TATE

  Chelsea stood at her locker surrounded by her only friends. I peered down the hallway in each direction. Where the fuck was Matt?

  Matt texted me last night. He asked was Chelsea all right. I put his mind at ease. We were supposed to meet in the parking lot this morning.

  My anger brimmed as I gripped my fork tighter at dinner with my parents. Dad informed me Ethan and his family fled the country. Maintaining self-control grew harder by the second. I felt my jaw tighten. Shit, I should have broken both of his legs. Maybe he would have been in the hospital laid up instead of walking the earth as a free man. He needed to pay.

  I tossed the fork on my plate. “May I be excused?” I glared into dad’s eyes.

  He stood. “Tate, don’t leave this house.”

  “I need fresh air.” I glowered.

  “Fine, when I call you better pick up the damn phone.”

  “Yes, sir.” I snapped.

  I needed to know where that fucker Ethan was. I drove around before I arrived outside his house an hour later. The drive didn’t cool me down. Anger coursed through my veins. Someone had to talk.

  I parked down the street, from Ethan’s house. The front wrought-iron gates were open.

  I checked my surroundings, before I knocked on the oversized door.

  “Hello, may I help you, Mr. Forrester.” A wide smile slipped across the tall man’s lips. He stood in his custom-tailored suit. His blonde hair was styled perfectly.

  He favored Ethan.

  I grinned. “What happened? The family left you behind to clean up their mess?”

  “Get out of here kid.”

  I took a guess. “Give your brother a little message for me.”

  His firm arms crossed his chest. “And what’s that?”

  I slammed my fist into his jaw, throwing him to the floor.

  “Tell your brother I’m coming for him. He fucked with the wrong one. She’s my woman. I won’t rest until I find him,” I growled, pounding his face with my fist.

  He finally shoved me back. I stumbled.

  “He ran like a coward.” I pointed. “He needs to pay for what he’s done.”

  He stood, straightening his suit jacket. “Get the fuck off my property, before I call the police.”

  “Call them. My family owns this town. They won’t do anything.” I turned on my heels.

  I’d get a slap on the wrist, but that was it. My grandfather owned the mall in our town, the largest securities company in Georgia, and now London. Right after Mason passed away, he moved to London, England. He said I would run our company alongside my dad when I graduated from college. There wasn’t any talk about what I wanted to do in life. It was always what I needed to do for our family. I loved football. Hoped to go pro one day. Doubt grandfather would allow that to happen.

  ∞

  After a long hot shower and nursing my hand in an ice bath, I walked over to Chelsea’s. She asked about my hand. I ignored her question. She didn’t need to know how I handled a guy getting away with touching my fucking woman. We never had to voice who Chelsea belonged to. It was obvious. She was mine. I skipped
first class this morning and went for a run around the track.

  Chelsea demanding, I talk about Mason crowded my thoughts. She knew why I wouldn’t talk about that day. It was two fucking painful. I lost two people I loved that day.

  The memories from my past resurfaced. My brother and I were as thick as thieves. We did everything together. We were restless. My brother and me played too many physical contact sports: wrestling, soccer, taekwondo, football, Lacrosse, and basketball. Or should I say competed? We also competed for her.

  She belonged to me. Always had and always would. Even if I never touched her, she’d still be mine.

  Summer had finally arrived. An entire year had gone by since the last time we tortured Chelsea Culver. I had a crush on her since we were five, before my brother got it in his head to crush on Chelsea. My girl.

  Maybe he liked her because he knew I did. Girls sent him notes every day asking to be his girlfriend. To be fair, I was often asked the same question over the years. Sure, they were cute. But none held a torch to Chelsea. Her two long swirling black pigtails only made me want to tug them. Chelsea sat in the glue I poured in her seat right before kindergarten recess. She’d scrounge up that cute little nose and her long eyelashes swept over her big blue eyes.

  I chuckled under my breath. All the boys laughed at her. That was my proudest moment. Her eyes locked on mine. Her tongue shot out of her mouth. Yup, she hated me. Yet still liked me.

  Luckily, Mason and I weren’t in the same class or it would have been an all-out war.

  Three days after that incident Chelsea was absent. The following day still no Chelsea. I asked the teacher was she sick.

  “Oh, thanks for the reminder, Tate. I almost forgot to announce Chelsea moved. She’ll be attending a new school.”

  My eyes widened a little.

  “What’s wrong, Tate? Did you have a crush on Chelsea?”

  I shook my head.

  Ms. Petals patted my head. “They’ll be plenty of girls you’ll like in your lifetime.”

  I ran back to my seat. She knew nothing. Chelsea was the only girl for me.

  That night I walked into my mother’s bedroom.

  “Mom, Ms. Petals said Chelsea moved. Did she?”

  We sat on the bed. She wrapped her arm around me.

  “My friend Jenny was offered a really cool job at a hospital in a small town in Georgia. She accepted the position at the last minute.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell her goodbye.”

  “You’ll see her this summer, hun.” She kissed my temple.

  It wasn’t enough. I wanted to see her every day.

  Seven months later, she and her folks arrived at the lake house. I was ecstatic.

  “Melissa, Brian, we’re here,” Chelsea’s father announced, stepping inside the door.

  “Coming,” my mother hollered from her bedroom.

  At top speed I took the wooden stairs. Skipped the last two, flew through the air, landing on my feet. I peeked to my right. Our eyes locked. Chelsea’s face lit up.

  Fire filled my eyes. Barreling through the living room, I braced my hands, ramming them into her chest.

  Thump.

  “Ouch!” she rubbed her bottom.

  Mrs. Culver’s eyes widened. “Tate!”

  Mr. Culver grabbed my arm. “Tate, that is not how you treat girls. Knock it off.”

  He pulled her up into his arms.

  “What happened?” my parents blurted out at my back.

  Mason fell to my side. “What happened to her?”

  I shrugged.

  My father gripped my shoulder, after the Culver’s explained what happened.

  Mason’s lips curled at either end.

  “To your room now, Tate. You aren’t allowed out of your room until dinner.”

  Mason grabbed Chelsea’s hand. “Let’s play Go Fish.”

  He peered at me and smiled. Mason was trying to steal my girl. Did her face just brighten for him?

  Slowing, I sulked up the stairs.

  Maybe, no more torturing her in her parents’ view. I wouldn’t stop giving her my special love taps.

  Seven years later, I sat on a rock near the lake, skipping rocks under the stars.

  “Why are you out here alone?” Her southern drawl shined through.

  She sat beside me, gazing into the water.

  “Just needed a little time to myself?”

  “Oh.”

  She didn’t budge. I smiled inside. My heart pounded so loud I felt it in my ears.

  “Give me a rock.”

  “No, go get your own.”

  “In the dark?” Her blue eyes widened.

  “Here,” I huffed.

  “This is not a hand out. But I can’t let you roam around in the dark. If something happened to you, I’d never hear the end of it from your parents or mine,” I said with a thick southern drawl.

  Chelsea grinned as I placed a handful of rocks in her hand.

  “You remember how I showed you to skip rocks last summer?”

  “Yup.”

  “All right. Well get to it.”

  She threw the first rock, then the second.

  “Hold on a minute. Watch me.”

  My rock skipped across the lake.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Mason still doesn’t know you sneak out here every other night?”

  “Nope, and I want to keep it that way. Your turn.”

  Her rock skipped across the lake and a huge smile took my lips.

  “I did it.”

  “Calm down. It’s not a big deal. Why are you awake?”

  “Excited about the fair tomorrow.”

  “Just a bunch of rickety rides and the fakest wrestling match I’d ever seen. Mason and I can wrestle better than those jokers.”

  “I cannot wait to ride every last rickety ride.”

  I peeked at her. The moon light cascaded across her tanned face.

  “I suppose, I’d have to ride those stupid rides with you.”

  “Yup, I suppose you will.”

  I closed the space between us and my lips fell upon her soft pink lips. She smelled like peaches and tasted like cherry lip balm.

  Pulling back, I turned my attention back to the lake. “Don’t ever tell anyone about tonight.”

  “Why?” She tossed a rock into the water.

  “Mason. That’s all I will say.”

  “But I like you.”

  “If things were different, I’d ask you to be my girlfriend.”

  “You know what I’d say to that.” She clutched my arm, leaning her head on my shoulder.

  My heart swelled. I wanted to remain close to her forever. “Go to bed, Chelsea.”

  “Ok. Don’t forget. We’re riding all the rickety rides together.”

  I nodded, skipping a rock across the lake.

  She disappeared into the house.

  That was the first time we expressed our feelings for each other. I’d have to keep torturing her or Mason would suspect something wasn’t right. Why was I so pressed about sparing Mason’s feelings? Maybe because he had the same glint in his eyes, I was sure I had in mine. The difference was she wanted to be my girl.

  The following day, Mason insisted we either ride together with Chelsea on the rides or take turns. Not sure what the difference was between us. We had the same deep blue eyes and short dark hair. Why didn’t Chelsea like Mason too? Maybe because we met first.

  I didn’t care. As long as I knew in my heart, she was mine.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TATE

  Later that summer, our fathers sat around the living room watching a baseball game on TV.

  “To bad you couldn’t bring the twins. Maybe next summer.”

  “Dad, loves spending time with them. Melissa, I never saw the day we’d have twins too. Chris reminded my dad he only has the twins for one week.” They laughed.

  “I’m so happy for you.” Mom smiled.

  Our mothers’ banter carried on thr
oughout the massive lake house.

  Standing at the end of the stairs my eyes locked on Chelsea’s. Her blue eyes twinkled. Mason tore down the stairs, slapping me on the back.

  “What the heck are you waiting for come on?”

  “Mason?”

  He turned mid stride. “What?”

  “We can catch frogs tomorrow.”

  His eyes darkened. “Not on your life asshat. Frogs today. Besides, I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I shove it down the back of her shirt.”

  Chuckles released from his throat.

  The tiny hairs stood on my arms. My head felt heavy. I was tired of him moving in on my girl.

  “Dad.”

  He glanced at Mason. “What’s up, buddy?”

  “Can Tate and I look at the frogs in the pond?”

  “Sure, bud.”

  Chris gripped Mason’s shoulder. “Take Chelsea with you guys. And be nice.”

  Mason nodded, then winked over his shoulder at me.

  Chelsea sat at the kitchen counter listening to our mothers ramble on about surgeries.

  “Tate, Chelsea, come on.” He held the screen door open, bucket in hand.

  I grabbed three nets out of the chest in the living room.

  “Kids come back in thirty minutes. It’s supposed to rain soon,” mom smiled.

  “Yes Mom,” I stated, tapping Chelsea on the shoulder.

  I nodded my head toward the door.

  Chelsea and I grabbed a bucket off the floor next to the front door.

  “Last one to the pond is a rotten egg,” Mason yelled, running down the dirt road.

  I peeled off after him. Chelsea pulled up the rear.

  The sun heated my skin as I came to a halt beside Mason.

  Our lake house sat on acres of land. There were two lakes on our property and a pond. One lake close to the house and one on the property line near two other homes.

  Mom and dad wanted a place full of imperfections. They said we should enjoy our childhood. Be one with nature. I laughed inside just thinking about it.

  “What’s the plan?” I stared into the pond. The tiny gold fish swam past my feet.