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

by Jacie Lennon

  I can hear both guys behind me, and I’m glad that I have them to depend on in moments like this since I’m not sure what we are about to walk into.

  As soon as we get down to the first floor, I fling the door open of the boys’ dorm. Striding outside, I stare down the long sidewalk that separates the two dorm buildings. I can see people outside, and there’s a crowd gathered, but what stands out the most is Peyton has her arm clasped in the hand of a man, and he’s towing her away from everyone.

  My pulse starts to pound in my ears, and I can feel my anger rising. I’m furious at myself for not checking in on her over the last couple of days because I didn’t want to feel guilty. I make my way down the sidewalk and let my voice ring out.

  “What the hell is going on here?” I all but yell, and I can see Peyton’s head whip around and look at me.

  The visible relief in her face makes my heart clench, and I have to stop myself from running straight for her and grabbing her from the grasp of that man. I have to be smart about this. I can’t jump into the fire before I know the ways I could get burned.

  “This is none of your concern, boy. Stay out of it,” the man says over his shoulder as if I’m of no consequence.

  “The hell it isn’t,” I growl once I’m finally standing next to the man and Peyton.

  I look at her, assessing if she’s physically okay, and she’s quietly shaking her head, warning me not to do anything rash. I don’t listen though. No one’s going to disrespect me or Peyton, not while I’m standing here and especially not at Almadale.

  “Who is this?” I ask Peyton, and she takes a deep breath before glancing between the two of us.

  Before she can speak, the man opens his mouth. “I’m her father. What’s it to you?”

  He stares at me, and I want to lay him out right there, but I take a deep breath and steel myself.

  “Peyton is attending Almadale under my family’s scholarship. You can’t just take her from the grounds.”

  “The hell I can’t. She’s underage. And I didn’t give her permission to be here. She’s coming back with me,” her dad spits and then starts to pull her again, down toward a beat-up truck that he has parked in front of the girls’ dorm. I don’t know how I missed it before.

  “Wait. Why don’t we talk this out? There has to be a way that you’ll let her stay.” I throw up a hand and walk alongside them. I want to wrap my arms around her and keep her safe, but I know that, technically, he does have rights as her father.

  “She has better things to do than stay here at this fancy, highfalutin school with all you Richie Riches. She knows where she came from. She knows she’s not gonna rise above it, and she’s coming back with me. You’d do your best to stay away from her. She has a future, and it’s not with you.” He’s grunting with the exertion by the end of his long-winded speech.

  I’ll be damned if I let anyone tell me what to do. I never have, and I don’t think I ever will. Especially not this jackass who thinks that because he’s her father, he can do whatever he wants with her. I hate how he’s talking about her as if she wasn’t even here. If he was any kind of good father, he wouldn’t have let her get mixed up with Drake and the Lions.

  “Peyton, do you want to go with him?” I ask, getting her attention.

  She bites her bottom lip. Her wide eyes show me a mixture of fear and maybe a resignation that I don’t like. She gives a small shake of her head, so subtle that her dad doesn’t even notice it.

  “I’m sure that we can work something out,” I say slowly, putting emphasis behind my words so that he will understand what I’m trying to get across.

  Money talks. It always talks. It’s allowed me to get what I want, and I know what I want now. I want Peyton, and I don’t want anything or anyone to take her from me.

  Her dad halts abruptly, and she slams to a stop beside him since she’s still in his grip. I narrow my eyes where he has her in his hold, furious at his strong grip that will probably leave bruises on her. I glance behind me and see Corbin and Bodhi standing with their arms crossed, glaring at the scene. Trixie hovers behind them, and Landry has shown up, standing right beside Corbin.

  “You trying to buy me, boy?” he asks, leaning closer to stare me down.

  He might be a grown man, but we are about the same height, and where he has flabby arms and a beer gut, I’ve been working out for the last four years, so I’m built. I don’t think he wants to do this right now.

  “I’m trying to speak in a way you’ll understand.”

  He finally drops Peyton’s arm, and she scuttles to the side to stand next to me, rubbing her arm where he was holding her this whole time. She grimaces a little, but I quickly bring my gaze back to her father.

  “What are you offering?”

  “Brock, don’t. You don’t understand,” Peyton whispers, but I don’t look at her again.

  “It’s a small incentive that will make you disappear.” I cringe when I realize that he will probably make it that much harder for me to make my money issues go unnoticed by my dad.

  Fuck, I’m digging myself in deeper.

  “Well, if you are offering, I’ll take you up on it. Take her off my hands and a little parting gift to boot. Must be my lucky day,” he says, a smile showcasing two missing teeth.

  What an asshole, talking about family that way. I fight for my family, and this shows me that he doesn’t deserve to be in Peyton’s life.

  “I think forty thousand will make me feel all right about leavin’.”

  “I’ll give you twenty-five. Take it or leave it.”

  We stare at each other, and I know he’s about to counter.

  “Thirty-five, boy. Don’t play games with me.”

  “Twenty-eight. And trust me, this isn’t a game.”

  “Thirty.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest, and I narrow my eyes. I would usually shake over an agreement, but no part of me wants to come in contact with him. The slimy bastard.

  “Thirty. And you don’t ever show your face around here again. Or even in Loredo.”

  “No problem,” he says, a wide smile on his face.

  He doesn’t even look at Peyton again, and I feel disgusted that he can even call himself a father. I guess I won the lottery with mine.

  “I’ll have the cash tonight. Ten o’clock. I’ll meet you halfway at mile marker thirty-two,” I say. I jerk my head toward his truck. “Time to go.”

  “Pleasure doing business,” he says, unable to keep the glee from his voice.

  I reach down to wrap my hand around Peyton’s. I notice hers is trembling, and it amps my anger up even further.

  “God, I hate him,” she murmurs as we watch him back up and make his way down the long front drive in front of Almadale.

  “We need to have better security, it looks like,” I say, squeezing her hand and looking down at her. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, eyes glistening, and I glance around at our group of friends.

  Everyone is standing around, not saying anything, and I decide that I need to take Peyton somewhere that she’s not going to be stared at. The small crowd we drew has already dispersed, in search of better entertainment.

  “Wanna get out of here?” I ask Peyton.

  “Yeah, I do,” she says.

  “See you all later.” I turn, hand still clasped with hers, and feel in my pocket to make sure I have my keys and wallet.

  “Where are we going?” she asks, and I smile down at her.

  “You’ll see.”

  28

  Peyton

  We stop in a strip mall parking lot, and I glance around as Brock cuts the engine off and takes the key out of the ignition. I’m numb after the showdown with my dad. It doesn’t surprise me that he would stoop to accepting a payoff to never see me again. I’ve never mattered much to him.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask.

  We were driving for about thirty minutes, and I’m not sure where we are.

&nb
sp; “We are going in that store right over there,” he says, pointing toward a surf shop.

  “Random,” I mutter but climb out of the SUV since Brock is already shutting his door.

  We walk in silence toward the shop, but I watch Brock out of the corner of my eye. He looks so calm and unaffected by what just happened, but I feel shaken up and wrung out over the altercation with someone who was supposed to unconditionally love me. He holds the door open for me, and I walk in with a smile, looking around at the array of beach items everywhere.

  “Well?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “Pick out a swimsuit,” he says, a smirk on his face and his hands shoved in his pockets.

  “A swimsuit?” I ask incredulously.

  “Yep. Chop-chop. Get to picking,” he says before turning away to look at a small figurine on display.

  I stare at his back for a moment before turning toward the women’s swimsuits. I can’t figure him out. He doesn’t talk to me for two days, and now, he’s buying me a swimsuit for some unknown reason. Makes no sense.

  I reach up to finger the material of a hot-pink suit, something I would have put on no problem before now, but I’m poking out a tiny bit and kind of feeling self-conscious about it. I grab a one-piece from the rack and hold it out.

  “No,” he says, his voice coming from over my shoulder, making me jump. He’s so close that I can feel his breath on my neck. “Not that one.”

  “I like this one,” I say, clutching it to my chest and frowning at him.

  “No, you don’t,” he says with a chuckle before reaching up and grabbing a bikini from a hanger. “Try this one on.”

  “That’s two small scraps of material held together by a prayer,” I scoff, and he chuckles again. Butterflies kick around in my belly, and I avert my eyes, feeling a blush rise on my neck.

  “And I’m praying I get to see you in it,” he says softly, holding it out to me.

  I turn and grab a different bikini, one with more material. I hold it up, eyes widened in question.

  “Fine,” he says. “As long as you don’t try that hideous thing on that you picked out first.”

  “Deal.” I turn to find the dressing room and step inside after casting another look behind me to see him watching me. I quickly shed my clothes and slide into the swimsuit, getting it in place, and then I look at myself in the mirror from all angles. My stomach is bigger, but in this swimsuit, it looks cute. I run my fingers over the protrusion, and I’m startled when I feel something.

  I suck in a breath and run my hand across it again.

  “You okay?” Brock asks from the other side of the door, and I look at my stomach in the mirror again.

  “Yeah, I think I felt the baby kick,” I say, unable to keep the awe from my voice.

  “No shit? Let me in,” Brock says with a light tap.

  I don’t even think about it. I unlock the dressing room door, and he steps inside, closing the door behind him as his eyes starting at the top of me and working their way down and then back up. My entire body feels like it’s on fire under his perusal, a fire that’s mimicked in his eyes.

  “Damn,” he says on an exhale.

  I roll my eyes, trying to play it off.

  “Don’t act like you’ve never seen a girl in a swimsuit before,” I say, waving my hands around as a distraction. I’m not good with compliments it seems. “Give me your hand.”

  I’m still standing in front of the mirror, and I watch as Brock presses his front to my back, extending one long arm around to rest his palm on my exposed stomach. I hold it there with mine, moving it in small motions, like I was doing with my hand earlier.

  I glance up and catch his eyes on mine in the mirror, and I’m powerless to look away. His deep, even breathing is tickling the hairs around the base of my neck, and my glasses are drooping on my nose. I continue to look as he presses closer, placing his head beside mine, hanging over my shoulder. He looks down to where our hands are connected on me, and his slight stubble scrapes my cheek.

  I feel suspended in time, almost like we’re in a movie, standing frozen with a camera panning around us in circles. A movie that I don’t want to end. Movement in my belly has me sucking in another breath, and he glances up in the mirror, a huge smile breaking out over his face as a second kick comes.

  “Holy shit,” he breathes, and I giggle.

  “I know,” I say back, and we stare at each other some more.

  “There’s a real human in there,” he says, and I nod, causing his cheek to rub against mine again.

  A harsh knock on the dressing room door has us breaking out of our bubble, and Brock steps back.

  “Only one person in the dressing room, please,” the employee says, sounding irritated that she has to come tell us that.

  I’m irritated that she came over here too.

  “Okay, we are done anyway,” I say with a grin, and Brock chuckles as we listen to the footsteps outside the door recede.

  “I’ll take this one,” I tell him, tearing off the tags before throwing my uniform back on top of the suit.

  We quickly check out, and he’s grabbing my hand again as we walk to the car.

  “Are you going to tell me where we are going now?” I ask as we are on the road again.

  “Somewhere you can relax for the rest of the day without anyone to bother you,” he says.

  I lay my head back against the headrest, a content smile on my face and my hand still clasped in Brock’s, lying on the center console.

  We come to a stop in front of huge iron gates, an M right in the center, and Brock pushes a button, causing it to open. The opulence in front of me would put Almadale to shame, and that’s the fanciest place I’ve ever been.

  We round a fountain and stop in front of the largest house I’ve seen, towering over us. Where most big buildings have a cold, sterile facade, this house seems warm, but I’m not sure how. It invites me in, and I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open as I get out of the car.

  “This is where you grew up?” I ask, and Brock chuckles.

  “Yeah,” he says, closing his door and then waving me over to where he’s already walking up the steps.

  I trail behind him through the front door and spin in a circle once we are inside. Our footsteps echo in the raised-ceiling entryway, and there’s a huge set of stairs that go right up to the second floor.

  “Did you ever slide down the rail of those stairs?” I ask, and he winks.

  “Definitely. I even broke a bone once, doing it. Ms. Anderson was always trying to keep us from having fun, but she couldn’t be everywhere at once.”

  “Who is Ms. Anderson?” I ask, staring at a gigantic painting that adorns the wall.

  “Our housekeeper,” Brock says, his hands shoved in his pockets as he watches me.

  “Oh, right,” I say, twirling one hand in the air. “How remiss of me to even ask such a peasant-like question.” I put a high-society accent on and smile at him.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks, starting down a hallway.

  I follow, taking in everything that I can. We go through an open archway into a spacious kitchen, an island counter taking up the center of the room.

  “I could eat,” I say as I climb up on one of the barstools that lines the countertop.

  “My culinary expertise only extends to microwaving frozen food or fixing sandwiches,” he says, and I laugh.

  “A sandwich is fine,” I say and lean back to watch him work.

  I should probably be helping, but he said I get to relax, and relax is what I’m going to do. Finally, he slides a plate across the counter to me with two turkey sandwiches and a whole bag of chips perched on top. He turns and grabs two glass water bottles—because, of course—out of the fridge. Then, he cocks his head at me.

  “Come on,” he says.

  I grab the plate, following him through the glass doors that lead outside. I can only describe the scene in front of me as paradise. There’s a huge infinity pool that overlooks lush gardens wit
h several cabanas set up and lounge chairs that line the perimeter.

  “No wonder you were always such a douche bag,” I say as he leads me to a cabana, and I set the food down on the small table in the middle of the couches.

  “What the fuck?” he asks, startled as he looks up at me.

  “You know, at school and stuff. You have everything you could ever want. You don’t have to be nice to people,” I say, and he looks at me. It’s not a mean look but an observational one, like he’s considering something he hasn’t ever thought about before. I squirm under the perusal.

  “I don’t have everything I could ever want,” he finally says.

  I sit down on the comfy outside couch. The shade from the cabana is nice, and I grab one of the bottles and take a drink of water.

  “I wasn’t trying to offend you,” I say softly, and he takes a bite of his sandwich.

  “You didn’t,” he responds once he swallows. “I guess I do seem like a prick most of the time. Well, I am a prick most of the time. But sometimes, all the material things in the world can’t make up for … other things.”

  I know exactly what he’s talking about. I might not have had much, growing up, but my life would have been a lot different if my mom had lived and my dad had given a shit about me.

  I bite into a chip and let out a loud moan. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I look up to see Brock’s eyes on me, and I laugh. “Calm down. It’s not hanky-panky time.”

  “What are you, a hundred years old?” he asks with a chuckle as he shakes his head.

  “Starting to feel like it,” I say as I adjust myself on the seat. “But do you want to talk about those other things you wish you had?”

  We eat in silence for a bit while Brock gazes out over the pool and gardens, deep in thought. I don’t want to force him, but I’m chomping at the bit for an inside look at his brain, thoughts, and feelings.

  He lets out a sigh, and then I feel bad for asking.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble around a mouthful of sandwich.

  “No, it’s fine,” he says, waving my apology away. “There’s something I haven’t told you about me, and I need to now.”