by Jacie Lennon
“Hey, I’m Landry,” Landry finally says, stepping forward and extending one hand.
I reach out and take it, shaking briefly before letting go.
“I arrived this year.”
“That would be why we don’t know each other,” I say, stating the obvious. “I got expelled from Almadale for fighting.” I go ahead and put it out there and watch as Landry cocks her head to the side before a smile spreads across her face.
“I like you already,” she says, stepping back beside Corbin.
Then, everyone finally seems to relax, finding places to sit, and I’m not surprised when Brock sits beside me. It seems he’s made protecting me his mission, but he has another thing coming if he intends to smother me.
“So, spill. What’s going on?” Landry says, looking first at Corbin, who fidgets uncomfortably.
Something tells me he didn’t exactly let her in beforehand on what he was going to do tonight.
“Where to start?” he mumbles, and I snort.
“In a nutshell, these guys here saved my life tonight,” I say, sinking even further into the fluffy pillows on Trixie’s bed. They surround me, lulling me into a drowsy state.
“Saved your life?” Trixie asks from where she sits next to Landry, legs crossed and hugging a pillow to her chest.
“Yeah. I was kidnapped by the Lions MC—specifically, my ex-boyfriend—and the three guys along with Mooney went to help get me out. Lucky for them, I’m a woman of many talents, and I was able to get out myself before anyone was seriously injured.”
“Seriously injured?” Landry leans forward, eyes wide. Then, she pins her stare on Corbin. “Seriously injured? What the hell?”
“It’s fine,” I say, waving my hand around, sitting up slightly. “All I did was manage to step on some wire cutters; that’s the only reason Brock was carrying me inside.”
“Oh my God, I’m glad you all are okay,” Landry says.
“You said, three guys,” Trixie says, sitting forward.
“Yeah, Bodhi was there too. He went to grab me some stuff at the store. Wait, are you two still together?” I ask her, and suddenly, the room goes deathly silent. “I’ll take that as a no.” I lean back again, resting my hands across my abdomen.
“I’m confused,” Landry says, wrinkling her nose. She’s adorable, and I like her fire. “What do you have to do with the guys? No offense.”
“None taken.” I glance at Brock, who strangely can’t seem to meet my eyes at the moment.
Pussy.
“Care to share?” I nudge him with my foot, and he glances up with a sigh before running one hand through his hair.
“I might have gotten her pregnant.”
“You what? Might have? How can you might get someone pregnant?” Trixie asks incredulously.
Brock runs his hand through his hair again. It stands on end and makes him look adorable and vulnerable. I ache to run my fingers through it, scratch his head, and send goose bumps over his body.
“Well?” Landry adds on, staring at Brock.
“Babe,” Corbin says, shaking his head in warning, and she melts over into him a little. Well, that solves the mystery of if they’re together or not.
“Right before school started, we slept together. But I also slept with my ex around the same time,” I say, giving a small shrug. “Now, I’m pregnant, and we don’t know whose it is.”
“Who is your ex?” Trixie asks.
“Drake Portley,” I say, and her face has a flash of surprise before she covers it up quickly.
Weird.
I glance up to see Brock looking at her strangely, but she won’t meet his eyes.
“He told you,” Brock murmurs. It’s not a question; it’s a statement. Whatever he thinks was told to Trixie, she doesn’t deny or confirm it. “That little shit.” Brock balls his fist, and I sit up, putting my hand on his arm.
“It was a long time ago,” Trixie murmurs before turning to stare out the window.
This meeting is getting stranger by the minute.
“Wait a second. What do you know about my ex?” I sit up, my tiredness ebbing away with the wheels starting to turn in my head.
“Nothing,” Trixie says, eyes wide as she glances furtively at Brock.
“Brock?” I turn to him. “What exactly is your beef with Drake? I figured it was some rich kid, poor kid struggle.”
“It is,” he says, not meeting my eyes, and I smell something fishy.
“Bullshit,” I say, and he presses his lips together. “I thought that night was mutually beneficial for both of us—I got what I wanted, and you got your rocks off. Now that I think about it, maybe there was more to it. I mean, why even bother going into an MC compound to get me back—”
“Because—” he cuts me off, but I stop him.
“Let me talk. Why even bother unless it was more about taking back from Drake instead of getting me out? Is that what this is? Is your heroic rescue attempt a thinly veiled jab at Drake?” I’m seething by this point. I don’t know what it is about the way he’s sitting, but it’s crawling all over me that he’s not immediately denying it.
“No, Peyton. That’s not what tonight was about at all,” Corbin cuts in, and I let my attention drift to him. I bite my lip, trying to figure them out. “Brock, Mooney … all of us were worried about you. We didn’t think you had gone willingly, and it wasn’t about some power struggle between Drake and Brock. It might have turned into that, but it wasn’t initially about that.” Corbin sits forward, elbows on knees, and Landry is staring at him, assessing.
“What exactly happened tonight?” she asks him, and I sigh.
“I’ll tell you later, where you can’t yell at me in front of everyone,” he murmurs, and I can’t help but feel bad for him. He’s definitely in for it.
The weariness comes crashing over me again, and I am eager to get this little meet and greet over with. Brock doesn’t belong to me, and he won’t ever. It is what it is.
“Fine. It doesn’t matter what your motivation was. What matters is, we are all okay. But I want to lay some ground rules here, depending on if you can get me enrolled again.” I pin Brock with a look, and he stares right back, not saying anything. I hold up one finger. “I don’t want you to get some hero complex about me. Don’t try to protect me all the time. Let me live my life. Two”—I throw up a second finger—“you don’t own me. I don’t own you. You are free to do whatever and whomever you want.” That one hurts a little. I’m surprised when I look up into Brock’s stormy eyes. He’s angry, and I can’t figure out if it’s because of what I said or because I’m laying rules down and he thinks he’s above that.
Either way, I’m going to stick to my guns. I won’t be a pawn in the power play between Brock and my ex. I’m worth more than that. I can’t let myself develop feelings … or more feelings for Brock than I already have.
Damn hormones.
I’m feeling pretty damn relieved to be out of the compound and with people who seem to want to protect me and my baby.
“Whomever … so proper.”
Our gazes swing to the doorway, where Bodhi is leaning against the wood, surveying the room with that ever-present grin.
It seems we were so embroiled in conversation that we didn’t hear the door open. His hands are jammed in his pockets, and he has a bag hanging off one wrist.
He shoves off the door, sauntering over to me and removing one hand to set the bag in my lap. “Your supplies, milady.”
I can’t help but smile back at him. He has this way about him, a certain charm and charisma that would have any girl melting under that jovial face.
“Thank you,” I say, sifting through to see he got me the basics and even a bottle of prenatal vitamins.
“Can’t have little Montgomery growing without proper nutrients,” he says when he sees what I’m holding.
Little Montgomery.
“Anyway, I’m out of here,” he says, turning to saunter back through the doorway. “Got things to …
do.” He suggestively wiggles his brows over his shoulder, and I notice how tense the room grows at his announcement. There was no mistaking his sexual innuendo.
“Bye, Bodhi. Thanks again,” I say with a small wave, if only to break the awkward silence as I watch him turn the corner, out of sight.
“Fucker,” Landry says, and I swing my head toward her. “Never mind.” She waves a hand around in the air as if she didn’t just say that.
Trixie gives a halfhearted smile beside her, and I am now dying to know that story.
“Any more rules, Peyton?” Landry asks me, and I squint, trying to remember what I was saying before Bodhi interrupted.
“Yes, one more.” I hold up a third finger. “You don’t go after Drake.”
“I can’t agree to that one,” Brock immediately says.
“Those are my rules.”
“Your rules are fuckin’ dumb,” he retorts, and I pin him with a glare.
“Maybe so, but those are the terms.”
“Why can’t I go after Drake?” He sits forward, one hand landing on my shin, his fingers digging in slightly. I can’t seem to focus for a second.
“What?” I glance up from where I was staring at his touch to see laughter in his eyes.
“I want to know why you care about me going after Drake. He fuckin’ kidnapped you and held you for a week at the compound. You should want him dead. Or at the very least, beaten to a pulp.”
“I do. But it’s dangerous, and I don’t want to put you or anyone else at risk for my sake. I would feel awful if something happened to any one of you.” I look around the room, taking in the faces sitting across from me. I don’t know them well, any of them, but what they sacrificed for me tonight makes me feel warm. A feeling I haven’t had often in my life.
“Fine.” Brock stands, running hands down his jean-clad legs before looking at Corbin. “You ready?”
“Yeah, I’m going to talk to Landry outside,” he says, standing and pulling Landry along with him.
I’m not sure they will be back in anytime soon.
“I’ll be here tomorrow morning to get you,” Brock says, looking at me.
I peer up at him from my perch on Trixie’s bed. “For what?”
“To head to the office and get you on the class roll.”
“Okay.” I want to do that like I want to get shot in the head, but I guess it’s a necessary evil now. I can’t go back to Loredo High, and I have to graduate from somewhere. I have to be able to provide for myself and my child in the future, and I can’t do that well as a high school dropout without a penny to my name.
“Okay,” Brock agrees curtly. “See you.” He turns abruptly and walks out the door, leaving me to watch him retreat as if his ass were on fire.
“So, that was weird,” Trixie says with a small laugh, and I glance at her.
“You don’t know the half of it.” I lean back, holding my bag of supplies, and blow out a long breath.
17
Brock
I can’t seem to calm my racing heart, the adrenaline from the night keeping it excited, making it impossible for me to sleep. I think about going to dive at the cliff to clear my head, but I can’t drag myself outside right now. I lie and stare at the ceiling instead. Soft snores assault me from both sides of the room. Corbin and Bodhi seem to have no problems with sleeping. Even after they got in from their nighttime meetings.
I drum my fingers on my chest, blowing out a breath and shutting my eyes tightly. I keep replaying the night over and over in my head. The scenes play through like a slideshow, flipping to each memory faster and faster, building the panic in my chest.
I can’t help but think about what could have happened to any of us tonight. It was sheer stupidity and complete believability in my invincibility that sent me into that compound without a second thought.
Or maybe it was belief in family and that Peyton could be carrying part of my family. But I know that’s not all of it. I know Peyton herself had a lot to do with it. Somehow, in the short time that we’ve been around each other, she’s burrowed herself under my skin. She’s infiltrated my thoughts. She’s become someone I think about daily, and I don’t know that that’s ever happened with a girl.
With a huff, I roll myself out of bed, landing on the floor, and immediately launch into push-ups. Maybe I can exhaust my body and brain at the same time. Up. Down. I exhale and inhale, trying to clear my mind.
The plans for my future, what my dad has been preparing me for my whole life, are changing, and I’m not sure what to do with that. I know that my internship is safe, the one my dad is giving me for the summer before college, but to think that I will have added responsibilities on top of that is a stressor I didn’t fully think through until now. Maybe it would be best to cut ties. If she never finds out who the father is, I’ll have no claim, and she will have no hold over me.
But the alternative—her going back to Drake—is unthinkable. Not because I hate him, but because it would effectively cause Peyton and the child to stay in a cycle of abuse—and it’s possibly one they could never get out from or recover from.
Peyton could make a go of it on her own, but she has no one and nothing. Not exactly the best way to bring a child into the world.
I can’t do it. I can’t let her go right now.
“Dude. Please, for the love of all things holy, stop grunting on the floor and go to sleep.” Bodhi’s sleepy voice cuts through the silence, and I pause in my push-ups.
I sink to the floor, resting my head on one forearm before getting up and diving under the covers again.
I don’t know if I dozed off or never fell asleep, but I open my eyes to the light streaming through our window, and both guys are gone. I groan as I roll over and check the time. One fifteen p.m. Definitely fell asleep.
Shit.
I rub my eyes and sit up, remembering I told Peyton I’d come get her and get her registered. I scroll through the Contacts in my phone until I find the one I want, pressing the Call button and lying back down while it rings.
“Brock?” My dad’s voice is a welcome sound coming through the speaker.
We haven’t talked much over the past seven or so days even though we usually talk multiple times a week.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“I just got out of an investors meeting. Is everything okay? This isn’t about Bodhi, is it?”
“No, he’s fine,” I say with a sigh.
I think.
He’s been going off the rails more and more lately.
“You’d let me know, right?” Dad’s concerned voice draws me back into the conversation.
“Yeah, I would. Don’t worry. I’m calling about a school thing. Would you be able to get a student reinstated?”
“Reinstated? Why did they leave in the first place?”
“They were expelled,” I say with a grimace, reaching up to run one hand through my hair.
There’s a long pause on the other end and then a sigh.
“Brock … you know the board doesn’t appreciate me getting involved in these types of matters.”
“I know. But they also respect the amount of money you give to the school every year, and you technically are on the board, so that should give you some say in school matters.”
“I’m on the board as an honorary member.”
I don’t answer.
Another sigh.
“I don’t know, Brock.”
“This is important to me, Dad.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t hold your breath.”
“Would it help if I talked to them as well?” I say and then clear my throat. “I might … I might have had a hand in the expulsion.”
“You what?” he asks, his tone going from resigned to angry in a heartbeat.
“I might have been the one who started the fight that got her expelled. I was younger, dumber. It was freshman year. I didn’t know what would happen. But she needs to come back here, and maybe if I tell the board what
happened, they would be more lenient.”
“Brock, I’m disappointed in you. I’m also thinking there is more to this than you suddenly experiencing a change of heart. You said, she, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, realizing my dad is a lot more perceptive than I thought. I debate on telling him the extent of her problems and the connection to our family but decide against it. That’s a discussion for another day. Right now, my only concern is to find Peyton a place here at Almadale.
“Okay. I’ll talk to Principal Meriwether and see what can be done. I also think it would be a good idea for you to tell them exactly what happened. It’s only fair.”
“I will.” I dread it, and I can only hope that Peyton won’t find out what I did. For both our sakes. She’s liable to leave, and even though she would have every right to, I don’t think that’s in the best interest of her safety.
“I’ll call Meriwether right now,” Dad says, and I take that as my cue to get off the phone and into the shower.
We say our good-byes, and I drag myself out of bed to get ready.
An hour later, I’m sitting in a chair in front of Principal Meriwether’s desk, Peyton to my right, and I’m fighting the urge to fidget. I now regret telling my dad what I did, knowing it’s about to bite me in the ass, but I guess I deserve it a little bit.
“Mr. Montgomery, Miss Rossman, this is unprecedented,” Meriwether says, taking his glasses off to peer at us once he looks up from a file on his desk.
“Yes, sir,” I say, watching the surprised look cross his face.
I don’t think I’ve ever referred to him as sir. Right now, it’s a matter of formality, a way to butter him up to get what I want—Peyton’s enrollment at Almadale Prep.
Glancing over, I see her fingers tapping on the top of her sweatpants-clad thighs. They are a different pair than she was wearing last night, so I guess she borrowed them from either Landry or Trixie.
He lets out a long sigh and then puts his glasses back on to look back at the papers in front of him.
“We don’t generally allow expelled students back into Almadale Preparatory Academy. This is a prestigious academy, and there are students who don’t get accepted every year. The only saving grace for you, Miss Rossman, is your intellect, which got you here in the first place.”
