Owning Swan

by Carter Blake

  “Soon you’ll be calling me m’lady and thinking that washes out the dude-bro,” she says. “You still have some ways to go until I trust that your brothers haven’t done any lasting damage.”

  She doesn’t know how right she is. It’s only been a day but I feel it in my gut that Abby is going to play a large role in my future. And that means I need to get on top of cleaning up my act and ridding my brothers of any ammo they might use against me. I might not have spearheaded their bullshit all these years, but I’m complicit.

  As expected, the three are inside. They sit in a corner booth that accommodates eight people, and they’re not alone. The minute I see the bleached hair that’s Sheila’s calling card, I freeze.

  Abby doesn’t pick up on it. “I just realized I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll find you in a moment.”

  This is my opportunity. As soon as she disappears inside the women’s bathroom, I hurry over to the Cooper both. Tate sees me first. He pumps his fist in the air and grins. “Look who’s come out to play. Tell us everything.”

  “Hi, Quinn,” Sheila coos. “How are you?”

  “Sheila, will you give us some privacy?” I ask, cutting to the chase. “I need to talk to my brothers.”

  “If you’re going to be giving them the play-by-play about your night with not so little Abigail Swan, I have to decline. I want to know all about it.”

  I narrow my eyes at her and then look at Tate, Killian, and Derek. “You told her?”

  “Sheila’s practically family, bro,” Tate says. “Just because you were dumb enough to dump her doesn’t mean we all blacklisted her.”

  Sheila winces but remains composed. It’ll be a cold day in hell before that girl ever shows her true colors. I could fill pages and pages of stories about how despicable she is but I stupidly decided to let her save face and say we just “drifted apart” after our split.

  “It’s not like that. I care about her. I really care about her. I want out of the bet, and I don’t want Killian to pay for it. You guys can have my vintage Fender if we can pretend it never happened,” I say.

  That gets their attention, all three of the idiot bunch and even Sheila. She widens her beady snake eyes at me, visibly floored.

  “What? You’re willing to part with your beloved little toy?” she asks. “You don’t even play the guitar and that thing got more action from you than I did when we were together.”

  “And you know why that is,” I tell her, and turn to my brothers. “Do we have a deal?”

  “So, you want to get out of the bet we wagered fair and square last night and you’re putting your precious Fender up as collateral?” Tate says. “What’s the catch?”

  “The catch is you never tell Abigail what the bet was. And Sheila, I’ll think of something for you. I know you don’t want the guitar.”

  “Keep your fucking guitar or any other loot you have,” she says. “I’m not going to tell her anything because I don’t even talk to that fatso.”

  “Huh?”

  “Dude, Abigail Swan was that fat girl.” Tate stares at me like I’m supposed to know what he’s talking about.

  “Rubenesque,” Derek corrects.

  “Potato, potahto,” Killian says. “She used to follow you around with that notebook she was always writing in? Like some kind of spank bank in the form of a diary. She was, like, obsessed with you. I bet you she wrote all her dirty thoughts in it.”

  “It’s not potato, potahto,” Derek protests. “She wasn’t ever fat. She just wasn’t anorexic.”

  “Dude, she was chunky,” Tate says. “Do we have to go down the rabbit hole to find a picture of her from the glory days?”

  Well, this answers the question of what it was my brothers did. I do remember a girl they used to pick on during high school, but her face is a blank on my mind. As I recall, she wasn’t even close to having a weight problem. And even if that were the case, Jesus, they’re an embarrassment to the Cooper name. My head was in football to an obsessive degree during the time, so I never paid attention to what huge dicks they all were.

  “For fuck’s sake.” I slam my fist on the table. “Who fucking cares what you remember about her or what she looked like. I need you to keep your mouths shut. You have no idea how much this will hurt. She cannot know about that stupid fucking bet that I didn’t want to take in the first place.”

  “Q - Quinn?” a voice behind me says.

  I close my eyes and wonder if there’s any way to turn back time. Because the person who says it sounds like they’re shocked and on the brink of tears, so that sorrow is marring the words. But it’s unmistakably Abby. And if I turn around and look at her, then this becomes real.

  Whatever she overheard becomes real.

  “Cat’s out of the bag,” Sheila says, preening. “Hi, Abigail. May I call you Abby? We have so much to talk about. Let’s catch up sometime. I can’t wait to bond with someone else who was the victim of Quinn’s betrayal.”

  “Shut up, Sheila,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Fuck off, Quinn,” she snaps. “I won’t be silenced again and watch you ruin this poor girl’s reputation.”

  “You are such a-”

  “Quinn,” Abby says again. “What’s going on?”

  “Your new boyfriend only took you home as part of a bet he made with the idiot parade,” Sheila says, feigning concern. Is she that vapid that she doesn’t realize she doesn’t fool anybody? Just a second ago she was positively gloating. “The thing with Quinn is, everyone thinks he’s the exception to the rule. That he might have these awful, misogynistic brothers, but no, he’s not like that. He’s the golden boy.”

  I finally face Abby in time to see a single tear roll down her face. She meets my eye and doesn’t look away, as if she’s daring me to see her hurt. My stomach ties itself in knots and sweat pools fucking everywhere.

  There is no going back from this. Not ever.

  “Abby-”

  She storms off, letting the double doors slam behind her. It takes a moment for the reality to sink in but when it does, I bolt after her.

  Chapter 12

  Abigail

  Rubenesque.

  Stalker.

  Obsessed with Quinn.

  Spank bank in the form of a diary.

  Every last horrible word is branded to my soul, like a badge of shame. Quinn probably did remember me when he saw me at Marty’s. But he had just wagered a bet and I was the only one there he could use to get ahead.

  Suddenly, I remember my little quip about how I was the only eligible girl in the entire place. Nausea floods my system. I lean over a shrub outside, using the greenery to steady my wobbly self. My hands are shaking.

  “Abby!” Quinn shouts. “Ab-are you okay?”

  “Get the fuck away from me.” I spit the words out like they’re poison. “Get the fuck away from me, Quinn fucking Cooper.”

  “Abby, I don’t know how much you heard-”

  “I heard enough to figure out my place in all of this. It was a little strange that you suddenly had all this interest in me. My gut was right. I fell for that stupid fucking lie and then I-”

  I start retching over the shrubs. Nothing comes out, but it still feels like my body lost in a duel against a semi. Quinn comes to my aid, holding my arm.

  I yank it away. “Are you fucking deaf? Leave me the fuck alone, Quinn.”

  What breaks me is the pity in his eyes. It’s like a warped type of vindication, seeing that the way he looks at me is an exact match for the way I always suspected he did. The dam inside me bursts and tears come flooding down.

  “Abby, don’t cry―”

  “Oh my fucking God, how many times do I have to say to fucking get away from me for you to hear me? Have you heard me curse much in the past twenty-four hours? Newsflash, asshole: I don’t. But right now, it’s the only thing that comes close to expressing how disgusted I am. How fucking humiliated. You asked me what it was that your brothers did to me? They treated me like fucking shit all t
hroughout those four fucking years we were supposed to be coming of age and coming into own our,” I say, furiously wiping away the tears that don’t stop flowing. “For the record, my notebook isn’t filled with shit about you. I had a crush on you and I’m not surprised that everyone knows because I was about as subtle as fucking Coopers are nice. By which I mean, not very much at all.”

  It’s not enough that he has to take my virginity like a trophy for some game I wasn’t even aware I was a party to. He can’t summon enough respect to give me some privacy while I fall apart. It’s not just mean and cruel―it’s exploitative and heartless.

  If wrath could kill, my heart would’ve given out already.

  “Let me explain,” he murmurs. “I promise that-”

  “Quinn, save it. I don’t want to hear your excuses. And you don’t get to stay out here to bank the good guy. Take a good look in the mirror because you are not a good guy. For all of the torment I endured at your brothers’ hands, they never crossed the line you did when you accepted my invitation to come inside my cabin. They never put on this wretched charade and made me-” I can’t finish because another sob chokes me. It’s the violent sort of unraveling you only see just before someone breaks down.

  “Abby, I can’t leave you here. I can’t go away without knowing how you’ll get home or if you’ll be okay. I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

  “Guess what, asshole? It’s not up to you.” I swallow the venom and try to get through what I need to say to him without getting too worked up. “Quinn, I don’t want you near me. I would rather walk home than spend another second out here with you.”

  He stands there for several minutes. Neither one of us says anything. I can’t stand to look at him for more than a couple of seconds at a time, but when I do, I see that his remorse is palpable. It doesn’t make a goddamn difference, because I’m just done.

  I walk away, leaving him there to stew over what he’s done.

  Chapter 13

  Quinn

  It’s a total fucking waste of my time to go back inside and ream my brothers for what they did, but I’m so frustrated that any outlet will do. I barge through the doors and march to their table ready to salt the earth and poison the wells.

  Or something more fitting when the assholes in question are my own fucking brothers.

  “I can’t believe you,” is the only thing I can manage.

  “Dude, so she’s upset,” Tate says. “Who cares? Chicks do that. Give her a couple of days, show up on her doorstep with a few dozen roses or whatever you can afford, and tell her you’re sorry. No matter what she says, you just nod along and agree with her. If she doesn’t say anything and doesn’t even want to see you, do that thing where you make her think she’s totally in control.”

  “Tell her the ball is in her court,” Killian offers.

  Derek is the only one who shares in my outrage. “Y’all, shut the fuck up. Look, man, we’re sorry. That wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go down.”

  “The hell it wasn’t,” Tate says. “He came in here with fucking blasphemy about reneging on a bet. This shit is sacred. It’s the one thing that binds us together-an appreciation for the finer points of bets and brotherly profiteering.”

  “You sound like a complete jackass,” I snap at him. “I actually liked that girl. Wasn’t the point of this fucking bet for me to find someone? I fucking did. And you guys chased her away.”

  Sheila yawns, which is when I notice she’s still here. I ignore her.

  “Quinnie, she’ll get over it. And if she doesn’t, screw her. Plenty of fish out there.”

  “But only one swan,” Sheila says. “So, you take a girl home only because your brothers talk you into it but when the truth comes out, you have plenty of blame to dole out on everyone except yourself? Please.”

  “You didn’t have to come here,” Killian says. “You could’ve gone to any other restaurant in town. The moment you set foot inside that door, you knew this was bound to happen.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “No, don’t tell me to fuck myself. One, is that supposed to offend me? You know I’m all about getting in touch with myself and my feelings. Two, you know all of this. You’re spouting your anger off on the rest of us, but if you took a minute to really think about it, you’d see you have no one to blame but yourself. The good news is we’re all here and we can drink the troubles away. Grab a chair,” Killian says.

  “Dude, we’re sitting in a booth,” Tate counters. “And we’re in a diner. If you want to drink milkshake, God fucking bless you, but if you want to get hammered, you’re confusing this with the other place that starts with an M. Repeat after me: Moe’s for the milk, Marty’s for the malt.”

  Killian flips him the bird. The conversation devolves into their usual bullshit and I’m left standing on the outside, seething.

  For all their faults, Killian and Tate have a point: I can’t point the finger at anyone but myself. My mouth is dry and my appetite gone, so I make a go for the door.

  “Quinn!” Derek shouts. “Don’t go, man. Let’s buy you a round of, uh, strawberry milkshakes and then go back to Marty’s. You can lean on us.”

  “Yeah, bro, lean on us,” Tate apes. “We are here for you. If you want to share, we’re all ears. Don’t let it fester because you know what they say: emotional wounds become black holes in the soul.”

  “What do I need to do for you to shut the fuck up?” Derek yells. “Quinn is obviously…”

  I’m out the door before I can hear another word of their little jokes and games. It isn’t funny. Not any of it. And I might not be able to level accusations at them without looking to myself first, but I also don’t have to stay and listen when they mocked, and all but kicked, the girl I like.

  More than like. I can’t say the word. I can’t even think it. It’s too crazy and too soon, and now that she’s gone, it’s also too late.

  I get in my car and speed home. There’s work in the morning. I groan at the thought of having to explain to my manager why I bailed today without giving them any notice. There’s still a lot of cache attached to the image of golden football star, Quinn Cooper. I won’t get fired.

  There will be a considerable amount of grunt work waiting for me, though.

  My car door slams after me and I stalk my way inside. The house is in complete disarray. Around every corner lurks a reminder of what happened here this afternoon. Of the newcomer who wouldn’t show her face again.

  Just get yourself a beer and give up on trying to make sense of what happened.

  Not once in my life have I fucked up this badly with a girl. It’s just the turn of my luck that it would happen when I stand to lose so much.

  You already lost, asshole.

  For the longest time, I sit on the couch and go over the highlight reel of this colossal clusterfuck. My thoughts are only interrupted by the knock on the door.

  Abby?

  Was she going to give me a chance to explain myself?

  “Quinn, open up!” Sheila’s shrill voice calls. “I want to talk to you.”

  Is the man in charge getting off on this?

  “Sheila, I don’t have to tell you that I don’t want to see you in the best of circumstances. And I certainly don’t have any time for you right now,” I reply, not bothering to get up from the couch.

  “Quinn, please,” she says. “I’m really sorry about what happened. I want to make it up to you.”

  I take a swig of my beer. “Go sell your snake oil to someone else.”

  “Are we going to continue to have this conversation through a door? Come on, we go way back. Open up.” She pounds against the wood frame again and again, until I’m left with no choice but to haul my ass so she can see I mean business.

  “Sheila,” I say as soon as I open the door, “let’s get one thing clear. We do go way back but you ruined any chance of us getting back together when you hooked up with Scott Mercer. Anyone could’ve told you he would throw you away the m
inute he got word that my scholarship was going to him-never mind that, it happened a mere seconds later. You were just a taste of what wearing my shoes would mean for him. So he got to have a go at my girlfriend, then he got to take my place in college, and he’ll likely go on to have the career I thought would be mine.”

  To her credit, she brushes my snide comment off. “You have to forgive me about Scott Mercer. We were young and we were stupid. I really regret that.”

  “I don’t think I could’ve forgiven you even if you weren’t the biggest bitch to ever walk the earth.” I spit on the ground and it lands right next to her. “I don’t want to ever see you again.”

  “How long are you going to keep this charade going?” she asks. “You and I were meant to be. We will be. Whether you like it or not. You try it out with these other girls and when it invariably goes badly, I know you start thinking about me. But your fragile ego can’t handle the idea of forgiving your girlfriend for a mistake she made when she was seventeen. Seventeen, Quinn.”

  “That mistake you made turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It saved me from having to suffer through that joke of a relationship.” I point inside, and she steps forward like it’s an invitation. “No. That was just me telling you I’m going back to my spot on the couch. You can stay here for as long as you want, but I’m telling you, you’re wasting your breath. Go bother someone else.”

  “What did that little skank let you do in bed? Did she allow you to use her every which way? Is that it?”

  I swing the door back open again and let the can of beer I’m holding fall to the ground. “What did you say?”

  “That has to be it. You’re pussy whipped by the fatty because she compensated for her lack of status by letting you do all sorts of depraved things to her. Admit it.”

  I know Sheila. I know she’s only baiting me because it gives her more face time with me. When things turn against her, she doubles down and goes for the kill. It’s the same thing she did to me when I broke up with her after finding out about Scott Mercer. Even with all of that, I snap.