King of Regret: An Academy Surprise Baby Romance (Boys of Almadale Book 2)

by Jacie Lennon

  I roll over and make a fist, bringing it down on Corbin’s back, and he grunts, his hold slipping.

  Bodhi lunges and falls on top of me, keeping me pinned on my stomach as he wrenches my arms behind me, and Corbin grabs my legs.

  “What the fuck, guys?” I yell, my face halfway in the dirt.

  Before I know what’s happening, I’m in Bodhi’s car, Corbin sitting on top of me. I try to push him off while we pull away from Almadale.

  “God, how much do you weigh?” I ask, still pressing against him while he braces his feet on the opposite door, not budging. “Get off me, asshole. I can’t breathe.”

  He laughs but doesn’t budge. Once we are off school grounds, he jumps up, somehow launching his large body in the passenger seat in the front, and I adjust myself, sucking in a full breath.

  “This is gonna be great,” Bodhi says, removing his hands from the steering wheel to run them together like a mad scientist.

  “What is?” I say dryly.

  “Interrogating you. Something is going on, and we are going to get to the bottom of it.” Bodhi turns to look at me.

  “Eyes on the road, idiot.”

  “Don’t deflect.”

  “I’m not,” I grunt as he flies over a pothole in the road. “Where are we going?”

  “Slice ’n’ Dice.”

  Of course. It’s Bodhi’s favorite restaurant. Satisfies his pizza cravings and his weird obsession with board games.

  “We are going to settle this like gentlemen,” Corbin says, and I chuckle.

  “What, a duel on the south lawn?” Bodhi asks in a fake British accent. “Consider me there, mate.”

  “Do the British even say mate? Isn’t that Australian?” I lean forward, asking.

  “Pretty sure they both say it,” Corbin interjects. “I could text Preston; he would know.” He’s referencing our British classmate.

  “No one is texting anyone. You are missing the important question here. Is there to be a duel or not?” Bodhi’s practically yelling at this point.

  “Calm down, hell. We are going to harass him over food,” Corbin says, and I sit back, sliding slightly to the left as Bodhi displays his horrible driving skills.

  “I would prefer if we ate without the harassment,” I say, and my stomach grumbles in agreement.

  “No can do, bro. You are holding out on us. And what is it you always say?” Bodhi taps the side of his cheek like he’s trying to remember. I know exactly what he’s going to say. “Kings don’t keep secrets from each other.”

  Bingo.

  I regret ever saying that. I know why I made the decision I did. I know that I’m trying to protect my friends. But now, it’s going to come out, and they will want to be involved. I reach up, rubbing my eyes with my forefinger and thumb, moving down to pinch the bridge of my nose. I can feel a headache forming.

  We get to Slice ’n’ Dice, Bodhi haphazardly parking and throwing the keys to Corbin as soon as we climb out.

  I feel kind of like I’m walking to the gallows. Maybe a little dramatic for me. Okay, it’s a lot dramatic for me, but I’ve never kept something from the guys. Definitely nothing of this magnitude for this long. No telling how they will react or what they will say. Especially Bodhi when he finds out about Drake’s involvement.

  Fuck.

  As soon as we order and carry our number to a round booth in the back, we sit, and Bodhi plops down Candy Land. I stare at the colorful board as he opens it up, taking the stack of cards and shuffling them.

  “Pick your colors, douche bags,” he says.

  I grab blue before anyone else can. Corbin takes green, and Bodhi slaps his little yellow man down with enthusiasm.

  “Sunshine, motherfuckers.” He smiles, and Corbin glances my way with an eye roll. “Pick a card to see who goes first.”

  We all humor him, picking cards, and I let out a whoop when I hold up the orange square, meaning I get to jump ahead on the bridge.

  “Damn it.”

  Bodhi takes his turn and then narrows his eyes at me while Corbin goes. I’m still ahead at the end of round one, so I keep my dickish smile and grab my next card, playing my round.

  “Okay, spill. What’s going on with you?” Bodhi asks as he picks up his card and then moves the yellow piece.

  I rack my brain, trying to figure out what to tell them, how much to tell them.

  I decide to start at the beginning and tell them everything.

  “That party we went to right before school started at the Loredo warehouse?”

  “Yeah?” they reply in unison, sitting forward a little.

  “I saw Peyton Rossman there.”

  Corbin frowns as I see him connect the dots.

  “Peyton Rossman? The girl you asked me about that one time?”

  I remember sitting in the car with him, randomly bringing her up.

  “Yeah, her. She used to go to Almadale, kicked out for fighting.”

  “I remember,” Bodhi says with a head bob. “Good rack on her.”

  “Shut up,” I say, glaring, and he throws his hands up.

  “Uh-huh. Continue,” Bodhi says, motioning with his hand.

  The waitress brings our pizzas then, setting them on the large table, careful not to disrupt our game.

  “Anyway, we hooked up that night.”

  “You hooked up with Peyton Rossman?” Bodhi asks. “Were you high?”

  “No, asshat.”

  “I’ve never known you to go ‘slumming,’ ” he says, making air quotations to drive home his point.

  He’s right. I’ve never slept with a Loredo girl before this.

  “She made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” I groan and sit back.

  “And the plot thickens,” Corbin says, laughing.

  He’s staring down at his phone while he’s texting, and Bodhi grabs it.

  “Pay attention. It’s guys’ night,” he says while Corbin practically leaps the table to grab his phone from his hands. “Calm down. No one wants to read your sext messages to Landry anyway,” Bodhi says, sitting up again, righting the pile of Candy Land cards that Corbin knocked over.

  “Okay, offer?” Corbin asks as soon as he finishes his message.

  Here’s where it gets tricky.

  “Yeah, she wanted to get back at her ex, so she asked me to hook up with her.”

  “Damn,” Bodhi says, moving his little yellow guy up a few spaces, thinking I’m not paying attention.

  “Saw that.” I snort at how not sneaky he was.

  “Fuck,” he says, moving his guy back and picking up his pizza.

  “So, anyway, we did and—”

  “Wait, do you know her ex? Why would she pick you and not someone from Loredo?”

  Shit.

  “Yeah, I know her ex. Let’s just say that she thought I would have more of an impact than a random.”

  “So, spill. Who was the guy she was pissing off?”

  I pause and pick up some pizza, biting into it and then drinking some of my water.

  “Drake.” I finally meet their eyes, round and wide in surprise before Bodhi is able to talk again.

  “Drake fucking Portley.” Bodhi seethes, standing abruptly and placing his hands behind his head before he sits again, slamming a fist on the table. “Hate that motherfucker.”

  11

  Peyton

  A week. Seven fucking days. That’s how long they’ve kept me locked in this bedroom, and I’m angry. I’m so pissed off that I’m currently dismantling the one chair in the room so that I can start knocking holes in the wall—and maybe someone’s skull. If anything, maybe I can knock out the boards nailed over the outside of my window.

  I’m locked in here like a damn prisoner, and that’s not okay. Nothing about this entire situation is okay. They’d better hope the day they let me out of here, they are wearing armor because I’m about to go apeshit on them. I haven’t seen Drake, except for that first day.

  I woke up, bleary-eyed from crying, which I’ll never admit
to anyone.

  He was sitting in this same chair I’m taking apart, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his steepled fingers as he stared at me.

  “What do you fucking want?” I asked, sitting up on the bed, glancing around the room and noting with relief that I still had all my clothes from the night before on, minus my shoes.

  “Protecting what’s mine,” he said, a scary glint in his eyes.

  I fought the urge to scoot back against the backboard, refusing to show any type of weakness.

  “I don’t belong to you.”

  “That’s where you are wrong, Peyton,” he spit my name, and I flinched a little.

  This was another side of Drake. I’d seen him scary but not like this. Never enough to kidnap someone and hold them hostage. My only hope was Mooney at this point. I knew my dad didn’t care enough.

  “Let me go, and I won’t press charges,” I said, and he chuckled. He chuckled as if he couldn’t be bothered to respond to my ludicrous demand. “I promise. You can’t keep me here.”

  “I can do whatever the fuck I want, Peyton. Don’t you get that by now?” He stood suddenly and strode to the door. “You’ll get three square meals a day and a prenatal vitamin, and there is an attached bathroom. What more could you want?”

  He smiled. It reminded me of the Big Bad Wolf, and I was Red Riding Hood. Stuck alone with him in a house as he pretended to be something he was not.

  “Left a book there on the bedside table for you.”

  I looked down and cringed that he had been that close to me while I slept.

  If only I had known what a snake he was before I ever got involved with him.

  I finally wrench one of the legs off, holding it up in victory with a smile on my face. It’s now or never. I have a weapon in case someone ever comes in here. Every day, it’s been the same thing. The door is opened enough for them to shove a tray in, closed, and locked again. I’m about to die of boredom. There is nothing to do. The one book Drake left me was an informational how-to on being a good wife. He’s fucking crazy if he thinks I’m going to read that shit. I’ll never be his old lady.

  Never. I repeat it over and over in my head as I keep working at a second leg of the chair.

  I think about Mooney and how he’s probably crazy with worry by now. I wish I had a way to get ahold of him, but they took my phone.

  I wonder if Brock has thought about me at all.

  Probably not. Why would he worry about why I haven’t talked to him all week? I’m sure he has a different girl every single night.

  I would consider school, but they don’t care. Students don’t show up for weeks straight all the time; it’s old hat to them.

  No, if anyone is looking for me, it’s Mooney. And that’s all the hope I have to hold on to.

  Finally, I get the second leg off and stand up, holding both of them askew in a defensive position.

  Why did I never take a defense class with weapons?

  I slowly swing them around, trying to figure out how to maneuver with them. I succeed in hitting my elbow with one and my thigh with the other. This isn’t going well.

  I walk over to the window, trying to peer between the cracks of the boards. I can raise the window, but the planks of wood nailed in place don’t allow me much of a view. I lean closer, looking at the chair legs I’m holding and then back at the wood. I could hit them, but it would cause a lot of commotion. No doubt, someone would come in here and take my weapons from me.

  I glance back at the chair and bend to inspect the underside of the seat. Four planks run around the perimeter of the seat, connecting the legs with the bottom. They are thin but sturdy.

  Maybe I could use it as a wedge.

  I put my foot on the bottom of the chair and grasp one of the pieces between the two legs I already took off. I pull, feeling the piece give way, and then suddenly, I’m staggering back, holding my potential escape device.

  “You are a damn MacGyver, Peyton,” I congratulate myself with a smile. Even going so far as to reach and pat myself on the shoulder.

  I stick my ear to the door, listening to make sure no one heard anything and is coming to investigate. Once I’m convinced, I creep back over to the open window, eyeing the wood. There is one piece that isn’t completely straight, leaving a small gap between it and the windowsill, so I decide to start with that one.

  I position my thin wood between the crack like a crowbar, and using the lever, I pull back, trying to use the end to push the board out. It doesn’t budge.

  This is going to be harder than I thought.

  I bite down on my lip, tugging with more force, and hear a tiny squeak. I stop, my heart pounding.

  What if someone is standing outside and sees the board move?

  I don’t have much choice, I decide, and brace my legs a little wider, prying back again. A longer squeak, wood moving against a nail, and I grin to myself.

  Eventually, I have one side of the board worked free, and I can wiggle it back and forth to make enough room on the other side to wedge my self-made crowbar underneath. Bracing again, I reach and heave backward. The board in my hand snaps in half, and I stumble back, falling on my ass.

  Damn it. I freeze, listening. I don’t know if I’m upstairs or downstairs or even how close I am to anyone else.

  After a few minutes of me crouching on the floor in a panic, no one comes to investigate, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Back to square one. I walk back to the chair, determined to get another piece from it. I’ve kind of resigned myself to my fate. I have to try and escape soon, no time to sit around and think about it. If anyone were to come in here and see what I did to this chair, I’d never be left alone again.

  I spend the next thirty minutes—or what feels like thirty minutes—working at dismantling the rest of the chair before I finally approach the window again.

  “Okay, you can do this.” I blow out a breath and wedge my second crowbar under the other side of the plank and brace myself, this time putting more weight on my front foot so if the board breaks again, my back foot can catch me.

  I manage to slowly wiggle the plank free, and before I know it, I’m lurching forward, grabbing it before it can fall. I turn it sideways, sliding it through the hole I’ve made. I pump my fist in victory and then peek out the window.

  I’m on the first floor. I’m on the first floor.

  Praise everything that is holy. Hallelujah. I’m on the first fucking floor!

  I won’t have to knot a bedsheet to rappel down. I don’t even know if that works.

  I hear footsteps and freeze. A knock on the door, and then it’s opened. A tray is shoved in, and then the door is closed. I could cry with my relief. I look outside again, seeing it’s evening, and decide to wait and work on the rest in the morning. It will be too quiet around here at night for any noise I might make. I manage to get the board back outside and the nails inserted in the holes. I can only pull it in so far before I don’t have any more room. If someone looks closely at it from the outside, they will be able to tell it’s sticking out further, but that’s a risk I’ll have to take.

  I’m going to pack up some of the food they give me since I have no fucking clue where I am or how long it will take me to get back home once I escape. If I escape.

  No, you will get out, I remind myself.

  I walk and grab my tray. Sitting on the bed, I bring a hand and settle it on my lower belly.

  You have to.

  12

  Brock

  “Yeah, me too,” I mutter, tapping my fingers on the table.

  “I get why you did it,” Bodhi says.

  But I don’t think he does. Sure, that night, it was about pissing off Drake and getting my rocks off. I mean, Peyton was offering. But now, I don’t think it was fully about that. Now, I think about Peyton more than I should. Especially this past week of her radio silence.

  “So, anyway, it was all fine until three months later when she had me meet her and
she told me she was pregnant. And also, the Lions have a hit out on me.” I let it all out in one breath and then sit in the pause that follows.

  The restaurant sounds are the only things breaking up the tension as the two of them stare at me, and I avoid their eyes.

  Bodhi reaches into his back pocket, taking out his wallet and extracting a twenty, handing it to Corbin.

  “What the fuck?” I ask, tapping one finger on the table as I look between them.

  “He bet me that it was serious, and I said it was probably some stupid shit you were being all broody about. Looks like it’s shit, but it’s not stupid. Fuck, bro, I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us when you first found out?” Corbin asks, sticking the twenty in his pocket and eating another slice of pizza.

  My stomach has sunk, and I don’t feel like eating or playing fucking Candy Land anymore.

  “Did you not hear what I said? They have a hit out on me. Why would I want either of you involved in that?”

  “I get your point,” Bodhi says, drawing a card from the pile.

  How can he play a stupid game at a time like this?

  “But also, we are your family. You don’t keep shit like that from us. Don’t ever do it again.” He looks at me this time, anger on his face, which is surprising. Bodhi usually doesn’t let his emotions take over. Sarcastic and aloof but not angry. “I’m gonna call older-brother rank,” he says, and I roll my eyes, sitting back and crossing my arms. He always likes to remind me that he’s older by a few minutes. Twins and everything. “And I’ll go ahead and let you know that we are going to be by your side through all of this, no matter what you say. Now, let’s talk about the most important part of this. Should I start calling you Daddy?” His mouth tilts up, and I groan.

  “Please never call me Daddy,” I say.

  Corbin snorts and then starts to cough as he chokes on the piece of food he was eating. Bodhi reaches over to pound him on the back until he throws up an arm, stopping the hard hits.

  “Dude, you are assaulting me, not helping me.”

  “Sorry,” Bodhi says, not looking sorry at all.