The Best Chance (The Amherst Sinners Series Book 4)

by Elena Monroe

  Menacing was the appropriate word for my tone of voice, when I asked her to trust me. She didn’t want more than what we had; what we had was safe and good enough.

  I was the guy with priors. I was the guy who was comfortable when it came to handcuffs, sold drugs for a living, didn’t care much for family, and checked every other box on the sheet labeled “not boyfriend material.” I was the guy your dad warned you about and your mom probably thought about while he was on top of her. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s boyfriend, and I was never trying again after the damage Layla did.

  Finally rolling off Addi, I sat on the edge of the bed, pressing the home button on my phone so I could resume counting the time down until my meeting later. She sat up on her knees behind me kissing my shoulders, like I needed her to lick the wounds of me rejecting her.

  She should have been pissed, but she wasn’t. She was patient, unlike any other time. Love changes people into things you aren’t, and I was still rebounding to myself.

  I was saved, by the ringing of her phone, from having to explain further, thank god. I glanced over my shoulder, before laying back and watching her balance the phone between her shoulder and ear, while pulling my dirty shirt down over her body.

  All I heard were her replies, not the questions or even the voice behind them.

  “No, I’m busy.”

  “Because Liz had a kid, we have to do family dinner more? Why? Do it without me.”

  “Liz doesn’t need me there. Carry on.”

  Family drama.

  Addi was surrounded by the drama she created. She hadn’t learned to roll with any punches or perfect a poker face. Between her feeling like an outcast of her own family to her dumbass master list driving reckless behavior, I was shocked no real consequences had shot her confidence down yet.

  She hung up the phone, but she was still stuck in the moment when she didn’t move one inch.

  “What now?” I asked her, as least judgmentally as I could, knowing life would be easier if she stayed silent and nodded along to demands and requests.

  I knew from personal experience.

  She turned to me, looking the most pissed off I had ever seen her, and that was a feat in itself. “Don’t fucking ask me in that tone. I have every right to be upset. I’m not being a princess about it.”

  She may have not used the word purposely, but I certainly took it that way. I sat up, lighting another blunt, calming my nerves, and now dulling the senses from Addi’s meltdown.

  “Calm down. No one is taking your anger from you, so stop acting like a bitch.”

  “Don’t ever call a female a bitch, unless it’s badass bitch.”

  I tried not to let the smirk grow into a smile when she put me in my place—something only she could do. No one had the talent, except maybe the staff of the juvie I frequented.

  “Okay, badass bitch, what’s the family drama?”

  She slumped down on the end of the bed and held out her hand for the thick blunt. “Mandatory family dinners every Friday now, all because the golden child had a daughter.”

  I pulled her whole body into my lap and leaned back the same way I was before. “Why don’t you stop fighting them and just go?”

  She nuzzled into my chest, trying to make herself small enough for a pocket when I watched her gray eyes become hazy and unclear with tears building up. They didn’t even understand how she felt, let alone that they needed to fix it.

  My preoccupied fingers held the joint to my lips again, trying to dull the new feeling taking control of me: resentment.

  I resented her family for making her feel unloved and unwanted enough to cry in my lap. I knew exactly how she felt, but I could handle it. I replaced my fucked up family with dangerous friends, enemies, and even a string of unimportant women to distract me from not having a more permanent one. Addi needed someone, anyone, to accept her how her family didn't.

  “You don't understand.”

  My eyelashes fluttered in disbelief, but I couldn't hold it against her. She knew nothing about me, other than the basics and the obvious.

  I felt her singular tears dampen my chest, and I resented her family even more. I don't know what pushed me to tell her about my past. Maybe it was knowing she wanted more from me or seeing her this unwanted. Whatever it was had its grip around my throat and wasn't letting go, until I gasped for the truth—the damn truth. I could never outrun her.

  “My mom didn't want to deal with me anymore, so I went to live with my dad and his wife. She's three years older than me. No one wanted me but the correctional system.”

  I watched her eyes glaze over so much I could barely make out the gray anymore. “That was supposed to make you feel better.”

  Her hand landed softly on my chest, strategically over my heart, while the silence expanded between us. It was swallowing me whole, and it hit me the same way her feelings did. Those tears were for me.

  Addi

  The giant SUV with the darkest tints and biggest rims pulled to the side of the curb of the hotel at the exact time the door flew open. Eager much? I pushed Addileigh down, while I let my instant creation bubble to the surface: Brittany.

  I wasn't psycho like that; I was an actress, flexing my pretend muscles by being the type of girl I imagined would be on his arm in this situation. I gave Hunter no warning when I whispered, “Call me Brittany,” before I slid against the leather all clumsy.

  I was quick on my feet, thanks to acting classes and summer programs I had to beg my parents to send me to. They only ever wanted me to follow Liz’s precise footsteps, not making any indentions outside her perfect size 7.5 feet.

  Clumsy was really going to mean Brittany started drinking a little early. It was the perfect cover in making myself the opposite of a liability. I was the girl no one would care about if I seemed drunk and unintelligent.

  Hunter was staring at me with such a storm brewing in his eyes that my giggling faded quickly. He mouthed the words “what the fuck” in my direction, with his eyebrows furrowed.

  I let my hand land on his inner thigh, and I giggled a very prominent “daddy,” as I leaned into his space. I could feel his body tense, but the two men in the front were laughing and speaking Spanish, which didn't help me understand much anyways, even if I was myself. All I had was a fourth grade level of Spanish down, not understanding what truly happened to grades 5 - 12.

  The two men in the front had black sleek suits on and tattoos poking out of the collars and crawling up their necks. Gold rings sat heavily on their fingers, and one even was drinking Starbucks. Drug lords and minions were people too. Nothing about this drive was like the movies, but I was committed to being Brittany now.

  Hunter kept his glaring on a high, making sure I knew he was telling me not to do something stupid—- no matter what part I was playing.

  The car came to a stop after a half hour of silence—not one word exchanged between the four of us. It was torturous to not just start asking the shady men about their love life or who designed their suits. I wasn't even sure if they were fluent in English or just chose Spanish, thinking we wouldn't understand.

  I shifted towards Hunter, who whisked his palms on the seat, trying to wipe away the nervousness I was praying he’d cover up before he stepped out of the car.

  A huge modern house sat nestled in the Hollywood Hills that screamed, “I can gloat because my house is made of windows and literally stole the perfect view.” I tried not to let my jaw drop too much, while I settled into Brittany still.

  Bored and unimpressed made my features its new home, while I slid out from the SUV in my dress meant for something a lot less serious than this. I mean it was sequined, and the sun was just setting now. Only a few hours ago, I was curled up into Hunter, crying over problems I buried under self-tanner.

  Now it was my turn to be strong for him.

  The guy who was driving pushed Hunter forward, trying to establish dominance in this scenario.

  Ass.

  I wanted to act ou
t, get reckless, and earn the reputation of being unloved, but Brittany wasn't the type. I looked at Hunter, waiting for him to react, but he only let his fists curl up tighter.

  Hunter was good under pressure and annoyingly calm, as chaos erupted around him. You could punch him in the face and he'd laugh an evil kind of laugh that only made you want to hit him more. He liked the pressure, the stress, the chaos… not the buildup.

  Inside, a man was waiting right inside the door, the only part not glass, with open arms, smiling. I wanted to recoil. Nothing was ever this simple.

  The man was in a crisp, white button up, gaudy gold jewelry, and dress pants with the unmistakable LV symbolized as the buckle—impeccable style for someone who seemed middle age but didn't look a day over 40.

  “Hunter, I'm so sorry it’s taken so long to meet you.” His voice was the perfect blend of English and Spanish spliced together, giving himself an air of mystery. He pulled Hunter's stiff body into his with so much force I felt the vibration in my own chest. “They treat you okay? Let's get a drink.”

  I followed behind, carefully taking it all in, even the women in similar dresses, who scattered in the next room with a full bar decorating the corner. I was hoping I went unnoticed, but his eyes bore into me, while his words were meant for Hunter. “This yours, or did you bring me a gift?”

  I made sure to shift my weight to one side and smile, like I was Miss-fucking-America, waiting for be crowned. Stepping forward, I made sure my eyes locked on his, shoving my hand forward clumsily, “Brittany. Your house is… just wow.” I really sold it with my wide eyes and dropped jaw.

  Good job, bitch.

  He seemed amused with me, when his critical expression dampened into a slick smile. Something about him felt vicious and unlike anyone I have ever met. Boston’s night life could get sketchy, but this guy made me uneasy, not just creeped out.

  Hunter’s face was riddled with silent warnings that I wasn’t heeding. He was calm until it came to me. I was a risk.

  “Well, Brittany, estás en tu casa. Why don't you get to know the girls? Hunter and I have business.”

  He never introduced himself, and it didn't go unnoticed. He put his hand at Hunter’s back, leading him out of the room, out of eyesight, and I couldn't stop looking in the direction they went, like I would develop x-ray vision. I finally gave up when I heard a door close.

  A door closed, but a pretty big fucking window opened me up to so much anxiety.

  Maria was a beautiful woman that didn't have a hair out of place, and her tan was exactly what my self-tanner promised. Yet it wasn't even close to her natural bronze that I now envied.

  Her voice was like a song, fluid and drawing me in: “Why don't I introduce you to the girls?” I had to remind myself I wasn’t Addi right now. I was playing a part, and my worry for Hunter needed to be pushed down further, otherwise the tears I bit back would be creating streaks in my foundation.

  Her hand landed on my forearm, rubbing it gently with the tips of her fingers. “Stop worrying, mija. He's very good at what he does, and Hector only wants to give him more responsibility. This will be good for everyone.”

  She sounded as rehearsed as I should have been. She said the words like it was something she said to everyone who wore a panicked look. I didn't believe a word.

  Try harder, bitch. I'm a theater major who grew up not believing my own parents loved me.

  At least she was dumb enough to name the guy in charge: Hector. It rolled off the tongue with more ease than his personality was to swallow.

  The girls lounging around all seemed docile, like they needed to cover up any emotion. One girl looked like she was sampling the products too often. Her legs were limp, and her fingers curled lazily around the champagne flute as her head was sinking down. My eyebrows drew together as I looked at her, and Maria responded to another expression, like a mind reader.

  “That's Jaclyn. She's new, getting her legs. Don't mind her.”

  With her fingers still around my forearm, she tugged me down to sit next to her. It was gonna be hard to not mind Jaclyn when she looked like she was going to pass out any minute.

  “Girls, this is Brittany. She's our guest tonight.”

  I'm glad she was clear on what I was, “guest,” not someone staying longer than a few hours.

  Another girl, with a short brunette blunt cut and bangs, sat forward, rummaging through her top until she pulled out a vile and waved it in the air. “Brittany, do you...?” Her voice trailed off, hoping I'd get it without having to say it.

  I felt my voice get stuck in my throat. Method acting was a bitch when you have to battle your own moral compass at the same time. I quickly ran through my master list, searching for a bullet point that read: Try drugs in LA with sketchy women provocatively dressed.

  Besides trying some Molly at a senior party, while I was still in high school, I shaped my master list around chasing feelings instead. I wanted to experience every feeling my parents disbanded from entering their home, but here I was, confronted with playing the role of a drug dealer’s girlfriend or being myself. Myself almost never won, hence the ambition to be an actress.

  “I only sample Hunter’s merch.”

  Maria and the still unnamed girl laughed together, like I was missing something. I felt my eyebrows wrinkle at them, waiting for the punchline of a joke when Maria touched my leg, “It’s all Hector’s merchandise, mija. Hunter is just one of his boys.”

  I sculled myself for not studying my character enough. I knew the lines, but that was half the battle. I needed the backstory, the details, the things Hunter wasn’t sharing with me.

  He was holding back in every aspect when it came to me. I couldn’t blame him. How easy could it be to love someone when their own parents couldn’t bring themselves to even fake it for eighteen years? I wasn’t throwing a pity party. I detached myself from them enough to numb those parts of me, except when they made demands centered around Liz. Then my walls cracked just enough for the insecurity to creep in.

  Now it just felt like a fact: I was going to love myself better than anyone else could, and that was that.

  Mister was on my master list, when really he was just the safe bet when I needed to stretch my inch.

  “It’s a couple’s thing. We only trip together.” I pushed my long platinum hair over my shoulder with a snide look on my face, resembling how much they wouldn’t understand. I was praying all my acting classes paid off when I needed it to the most.

  The girls seemed satisfied with my answer when the girl with the blunt cut wrapped her nostrils around the glass and sniffed up an unmeasured amount.

  Is that how Jaclyn got to be an overused rag-doll?

  Hunter had perfect timing when I heard footsteps, and my head snapped in their direction too eagerly. He looked untouched, except his suit jacket was thrown over his shoulder and his sleeves were messily rolled up now.

  You watch too many movies, bitch. This isn’t Scarface.

  I heard Brittany’s bubbly voice in my head mock me for being so nervous. Hunter could hold his own and me loving him secretly wasn’t going to save him. I finally took a deep breath and kept my placid smile in place when our eyes met. He stopped walking, taking inventory of me, just like I was of him. Both enacted the same as we came.

  Standing up, I walked over to him, ignoring where I was, who was around, and all the risk closing in on our every moment. I strutted like myself, shedding Brittany altogether. Around him, it was hard to maintain anything but authenticity. He demanded it from everyone around him. Be yourself, or don’t be around him. I stopped right in front of him when he tossed his jacket on a bar stool before teasing me with not holding back, but all he did was keep staring at me.

  My voice barely pushed the words out of my throat, “Are you okay?”

  The sly smirk crept up his face; he was pleased to know I cared. It solidified my actions from earlier with proof. Another thing Hunter demanded of people: He wanted proof of almost everything. Now he had
it. It wasn’t just me under him begging for more; now he could see every worry and panic float to my surface, pushing past my self-tan.

  His hands slid against my face, not stopping until I could feel his fingertips at the back of my neck when he pulled my face closer to his. Everything in me fluttered with so much force that I still felt as uneasy as I did waiting for him to reappear. My lips brushed his slightly, teasingly in a way I knew he hated. He hated the buildup, the foreplay, the beginning parts of love… He wanted proof, authenticity, and permanence.

  I was ready to meet every demand the day in the alleyway when I met him. He shook everything about me into a place I never thought I’d be: loved.

  I plucked the joint from his fingers and took a long inhale until my lungs burned. I released the smoke into the alleyway. His features were scrunched up in surprise that I even existed.

  Same thoughts exactly, pal.

  “I didn’t know she had a sister.”

  “Funny, neither do our parents.”

  He squinted, still looking dumbfounded and intrigued by the idea of me. “So what’s your deal?”

  It was more straight to the point than I was used to. Normally, I was the one rolling my eyes and cutting to the chase.

  I looked up and made eye contact, which was my test of who could handle my truths. If they broke eye contact after one honest, real sentence, then I’d lie about the rest. “I go to Amherst. I’m in Boston for a short weekend trip. My robotically perfect sister wouldn’t stop texting me that I had to participate in tonight’s events, while my inappropriate hookup was fucking me in a public bathroom… because he’s married. So, here I am. Think that covers it in one long sentence.”

  He didn’t even blink, as I regurgitated everything on the forefront of my mind.

  He stepped closer into my space, just looking at me like I wasn’t a freak or jealous younger sister, or even a whore for using “fucking” and “married man” in the same sentence.

  He looked down at me, my average height (mostly legs) was no match for his. “Hmm… I like you. You’re fucked up.”