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

by Jacie Lennon

  Corbin asked Dad a while back if he had a place for him at one of the many housing complexes my dad manages.

  Grandpa built our company, Montgomery Properties, but Dad managed to turn it into something amazing, affording us the luxuries we have now. And the best thing about it is, he didn’t stomp on people to get it. He truly helps people who have nowhere else to turn, and I respect my dad for that. He was able to take run-down housing and transform it into something livable and affordable for those with low incomes. He’s the landlord everyone wants to have. Sometimes, it pays to be the nice guy.

  “Yes. We are expanding into Chicago as we speak. I know he has an interest in that particular area.” He turns a knowing look on me.

  “Yeah, he will be happy to hear that since Landry is applying to the Art Institute of Chicago. How are you? You know … since everything with Linda?”

  Dad turns, taking his glasses off and peering at me. “I’m fine. You know that’s nothing you need to worry about. Now, what brought you here?”

  “Maybe I wanted to drop in and see my old man,” I say with a shrug, running one finger back and forth against the leather-upholstered armrest. I finally sit up straighter and clear my throat. “I do have something I want to talk to you about. A few things. I’ve recently … and not so recently had a run-in with Drake.”

  “A run-in? What type of run-in?” Dad puts his papers down on the table and gives me his full attention.

  “Well, I saw him at a party back before school started, and then I might have hooked up with his ex. Of course, nothing good has come from it.”

  That’s a lie though. I have Peyton at school with me now, so I guess some good did come of it.

  “I see,” Dad says, clearing his throat. “And does this have something to do with the girl you are trying to get back into Almadale?”

  “Yeah, that’s part of it.” I drum my fingers on the armrest, trying to decide the best way to approach this particular topic.

  “A few weeks ago, Peyton—that’s the girl—came to me and said she was … in trouble.” I make myself look Dad in the eyes even though I’m being evasive.

  He doesn’t show any sort of emotion as he listens.

  “Does she know about your connection?”

  I know instantly what he’s talking about. The connection to Drake that I’ve neglected to mention to Peyton.

  “No.”

  He purses his lips as he turns to look at the wall. “You need to tell her.”

  “Why? It’s nothing that affects her.”

  “It does. By her being with you, it sends them a message, Brock. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I do. There’s another thing. Drake used the Lions to put a hit out on me.”

  “What the fuck, Brock?” Dad’s calm facade cracks, and he turns angry eyes on me. “A hit? Why didn’t you lead with that?”

  I shrug, at a loss for words. Honestly, in all the madness, I kind of forgot about the hit. Not until I took my solo drive today and ended up here did it all come rushing back to me. It’s a strange situation I’m in, so many moving parts and things happening at once. I don’t think Peyton knows about my connection to Drake, but I also think, even if she had known, she still would have picked me for a revenge fuck. But now, the turn of events has made things weird and feelings hard … and soft.

  “I don’t know. I forgot about it for a bit,” I say, meeting his stony gaze.

  “You forgot that someone was trying to kill you?” he insists, and I see the idiocy of the statement I said.

  “There’s been a lot going on.” I’m floundering, completely fucking this up.

  I’m not sure how he will react to my next piece of news. I didn’t think this through completely.

  “No, I mean, I know about it, but I’m not sure how legitimate of a threat it is. I saw Drake a few days ago, at the compound.”

  “You willingly went to the compound, knowing they wanted to kill you? I’m sorry, son, but this story isn’t making a whole lot of sense to me right now.” Dad leans forward and rubs his temples. “Why in the ever living fuck did you go to the compound?”

  “God,” I say, blowing out a long breath, “I’m making a mess of this whole conversation. We went—”

  “We? Who else went with you?”

  “Bodhi, Corbin, and Mooney—that’s Peyton’s uncle.”

  “Okay, continue.” He rolls his finger in front of his face, urging me on.

  “Mooney came to us and said Peyton had gone missing. We figured she had to be at the compound. Turned out, we were right. Drake and his fucking idiot cronies had taken her and kept her in a room there.”

  “So, you thought you would run in, knight in shining armor, and get her out?”

  “Well …” Now that he says it like that, it does sound pretty stupid. “Yes.” I deflate.

  “What’s so damn important about this girl that Drake would take her and you would risk your and your brother’s lives to get her back?”

  Oh boy. Here we go.

  “Well, by in trouble, I mean, she’s pregnant, and I might have—sort of—gotten her pregnant,” I say, mumbling the P-word.

  “You what?” Dad leans forward, peering at me.

  “I said, I might have gotten her pregnant.”

  Damn, I’m fucking this up the same way I did in the dorm room with everyone staring at me. It shouldn’t be this hard to admit, but I’ve always been someone I wanted my dad to be proud of. For him to be able to say, That’s my son, and he’s going to take over my company one day. It’s all I’ve worked toward. Being on top, being the best. And now, I’m not sure where we will stand after this.

  “Pregnant?” he asks, deathly quiet, and I almost wish he were standing and yelling. The whispering is too much for me to take.

  “Yes. Maybe.”

  Dad reaches to rub his temples again and then finally leans back.

  “Do I even want to ask what maybe means in this scenario?”

  “She doesn’t know if I’m the father … or if Drake is.”

  “Holy fucking shit. Even better. How did this happen?”

  I would have smirked and been sarcastic if it wasn’t for the entire situation going so shitty right now.

  “The usual way.”

  “I thought you were smarter than this, Brock. Did I not talk to you and your brother at length about being safe? Using condoms? Maybe not banging the girlfriend of your mom’s stepchild?”

  “There it is,” I grumble. “You are only mad that it has anything to do with Drake and his family and the Lions.”

  “No, Brock. It has to do with being an adult, which you clearly aren’t. Kids are a lot of work. They are something you should aim for when you are in a committed relationship and able to raise them. You have your life ahead of you, son. What were you thinking?”

  “I did use a condom. I don’t know how it happened.”

  “Is this girl going to get a paternity test? Do you even like her? What am I saying? Of course you like her. You risked my neck to get her in school with you. Or do you just like fucking with Drake?” His ramblings are coming out so fast that I’m getting whiplash. “Don’t answer that.” He finally stands, and I wilt even further.

  So much for making my dad proud. But a part of me is relieved that he finally knows, and maybe he can help me figure this out.

  “I’m sorry that I fucked up.”

  “You have to man up now, be an adult in the situation. She will need doctor’s appointments if she hasn’t been seeing someone.”

  “Already taken care of.”

  Dad considers my words, worrying his jaw back and forth. “A child isn’t the end of the world. But it changes your world. You need to start thinking more about someone else, over yourself.”

  I know that this speech is coming from a place of possible insecurity about what happened with my and Bodhi’s mother. He knows how we struggled, growing up, feeling unloved. Not by him though. He showered us with enough love for two parents. He never talked bad
about her. But when I got older, I could see what a piece of shit she was.

  He’s been an amazing role model. Someone I could look up to. And it kills me that he doesn’t think I could set aside my own needs for the needs of a child.

  “I have, Dad. I got Peyton out of a bad situation. Set her up with Dr. Welsch at the clinic. Got her enrolled back in Almadale. I’m not trying to be her savior, but she needed—needs—help. And maybe I need this.”

  “And what happens if the child turns out to be Drake’s?”

  “That’s a problem for another day,” I say, trying not to think about the warring emotions inside me.

  Half of me wishes that were true, that I could forget all of this ever happened. Continue with my internship in the summer, go to college in the fall, and only have myself and my brother to look out for. But the other part of me knows that if the child isn’t mine, I’ll lose Peyton, and damn if I haven’t become a little attached to her. This entire thought process is selfish; I know that. But I can’t help myself.

  “It’s a problem for now. Will you be able to respect everyone’s decisions on the matter? What happens if she doesn’t ever get the test? Will you be okay with not ever knowing?”

  “That’s a lot of damn questions.”

  “Questions you need to consider. She is a person with her own thoughts on the matter. Have you sat down and discussed all the possible scenarios and how you will respond to each one? This is adult stuff, and you need to start acting like one. She might decide she doesn’t want to be with either of you, and you’ll have to respect that. But if she gets the paternity test and it turns out that child is a Montgomery, I expect you to step up to the plate. This isn’t something that ends. Being a parent is forever.”

  For some.

  The unspoken words hang between us. He’s being a hard-ass on this, but it’s well deserved and needed. I already decided that I wasn’t going to flake. I’m not going to make a kid feel the way Bodhi and I did as we grew up. But I’ve never been pushed like this by Dad, and it’s starting to sink in how real this is.

  I’ve got to get my shit together.

  “I love you, Brock. And I know that I’m coming off much more sternly than I usually am with you. But in the game of life, you’ve just leveled up, son. And I hope you can handle it.”

  I sit back, feeling wrung out and exhausted, all from this conversation. I think I’ll crash here tonight and head back to school in the morning. Sometimes, I need to be home.

  20

  Peyton

  The board approved my return, and the day I start classes again at Almadale Prep seems like a repeat of my first day of freshman year. Instantly, I find myself thrust back into the toxic society of elite teenagers. The mean girls turn their noses up at me, and the boys ignore me to my face but leer behind my back. What do I have to offer but being the butt of their poor people jokes? The only difference this time is, I have several people at my side who will talk to me. I’m not sure I can call them friends yet, as I’ve only known them a few days, but Landry is nice enough, and Trixie never treated me bad when we were classmates before. Although she never interacted with me either.

  It’s weird to see the change in her. Freshman year, she and Bodhi were stuck to each other like glue, never apart, and to see them not even talking when they are in the same room, I know something big must have happened. And no one is discussing it.

  Thud.

  I jerk again as the back of my chair is kicked, jolting me forward, and I feel rage building inside me, so much that I want to turn around, grab the guy behind me by the hair, and slam his head into his desk. I’ve seen it done at Loredo. No one there would dare mess with a student’s desk. The punishment was usually swift and intense. Unlike here. These people walk around with their pretty outsides, but inside, they are garbage—hot, smelly, decaying garbage—with the way they treat others.

  Thud.

  “Hey, Scholarship.” The guy’s voice assaults my ears, and I move to the side. His hot breath follows me, and I hear giggling coming from somewhere else. “Scholarship?” His singsong tone rises, and I want to scream.

  What did I ever do to these assholes?

  “Heard you are a good time. Want to prove it?”

  I finally turn and look at him. His face repels me, as does the cocky look in his eye as he propositions me. I bet this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

  I lean in and get as close to his face as I can. A scowl mars my features, and he shrinks back a little.

  “Back. The fuck. Up,” I say slowly, quietly, but it only makes him grin wider, as if he’s won.

  These kids think they are untouchable.

  “I believe she said to back. The fuck. Up.” Landry’s voice comes from behind me, and I see the guy’s eyes dart up to her and then back to me. His face drops before he sits back in his chair. “Always a fucking pleasure, Peter.”

  She stands over him, arms crossed, until he finally gets up and moves to the back of the room. I get the feeling there is a story there—a good one.

  Landry sighs as she sinks into the chair behind me.

  “I can’t stand that tool,” she says, dropping her bag beside the chair. “Glad you and I have a class together.”

  Before I can respond, the teacher starts class, and the rest of the morning runs smoothly. Or as smoothly as I can expect it. At least, no outward displays of aggression were aimed toward me. Everyone keeps their murmuring behind their hands and laughter behind my back. They will really be laughing when it comes out that I’m knocked up. Exactly what they expect from my kind.

  I’m standing in the restaurant commons of Almadale—a fact that always amazed me during my freshman year. The opulence of the place and the way they have four actual full-service restaurants serving food for them. It’s a sunny day, so most everyone is in the commons courtyard, sitting at the tables with umbrellas and enjoying the fresh air after being cooped up inside all morning.

  I tug at my uniform skirt, still uncomfortable with it after going to a public high school and being allowed to wear whatever I wanted for two and a half years. Not to mention, when I woke up this morning, I swear my stomach was poking out just a little more than it had the day before. Not enough to outwardly show, but it won’t be long. Then, I’ll be a double pariah—the charity case from Loredo, who happened to get herself knocked up.

  My eyes are drawn to a waving hand, and I smile when I see Landry standing and motioning me over to her table. She and Corbin are already eating, but I don’t see any of the other parts of their small group. I make my way through the maze of students, tripping a little when one guy extends his leg too far out in the walkway with a smirk. I want to smack him with my bag, but I refrain. I need to stay here. For a lot of reasons.

  “Hey,” Landry says around a mouthful of artisanal sandwich while I scoot a chair back and sit down, placing my bag in my lap. I like Landry. She’s a little sassy, and I think we will get on well. “You not eating?”

  “Well …” I stall, trying to think of a way to say that I have no money and therefore can’t fill my lunch fund, which these rich kids don’t have to worry about since their parents do it for them. When I was here on scholarship, food was included. Now, I’m here on charity, and I’m not sure if I have any food credits. I don’t relish the idea of making a fool of myself in front of these sharklike classmates.

  “No,” I finish lamely, and Landry cocks her head as she looks at me.

  “I can get you a plate on my account, no worries,” she says, going to stand and then stopping when I feel two arms encase me from behind as something is lowered in front of me.

  Instantly, his scent washes over me and pins me in place as I stare at the food he set down. A heaping plate of salad, fettuccine Alfredo with chicken, and a breadstick on the side.

  I’m pretty sure my mouth is agape, but he moves quickly, dropping into the seat next to me and lounging back, not a care in the world.

  “Eat,” he says gruffly after I sit th
ere, staring at him.

  “I told you not to take care of me,” I say, trying to keep my hold on my emotions. I know how stupid saying that sounds, but for someone who has only had herself to rely on for most of her life, I know that favors come with consequences, and I’ve started to rack up a hell of a lot of favors from Brock Montgomery.

  “Hell, you have to eat. I brought you here with nothing. The least I can do is feed you.” He rolls his eyes and greets Landry and Corbin, who are watching the exchange with unabashed interest.

  Corbin gives a chin-up and then continues to eat, but Landry leans forward.

  “What is it like, being pregnant?” She peers at me, and I watch her jerk to the side as Corbin kicks her under the table. “What?” She looks at him.

  He shakes his head with an eye roll.

  “It’s fine,” I tell Corbin and then pick up my fork, rolling some noodles around it. “It’s okay, I guess. I was sick in the beginning, threw up a lot. Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about that while eating.” I continue to twirl my fork in the fettuccine. “Now, I wake up a little bigger every morning, and my hips hurt while sleeping. I feel like an old person, saying this.” I glance around at the eyes staring at me.

  It’s weird to think that these kids are my age, but I feel so much older and tired. They are always talking about going to college, starting careers, and my worries now include getting a job that can support me and a child.

  “My mom …” Landry stops, and her face clouds over a little when she says that before brightening back up once she looks at me. “She told me she had to sleep with a body pillow when she was pregnant with me. Maybe that would help you?”

  “How big is a body pillow? These beds here probably aren’t meant to support a pregnant person,” I say with a self-deprecating snort.

  “I don’t know, but we could go shopping sometime for one,” Landry says, taking another bite of her sandwich, and I stare at her. “What?” she says around a mouthful of food.

  “I’d like that,” I tell her, my smile growing on my face. I’ve never really had friends, and I never expected to make one at this place. But it looks like I’m about to go on a shopping spree … but I have no money, and the thought dims my smile. I turn to Brock. “Can we head back to Loredo one day this week? I need to grab some stuff from my dad’s place.”