by Cora Kenborn
Carrick handles her like a polished iceberg, cold and unwavering. “I didn’t come with anyone.”
Before Taryn opens her mouth, I shut her down. “Enough. You know how I feel about nicknames.”
She knows. Everyone knows. I hate them—especially his.
Turning my back to her, I give him a private smile. “You came.”
“I changed my mind. I wanted to see your moment.” Carrick’s ocean blue eyes scan my dress. “You look like you should be on the cover of a magazine.”
“Thanks.” I don’t argue. It’s easy to look like a million bucks when your dress costs almost as much. Flown straight from New York, the grayish-purple dress, complete with a floor-length tulle skirt and a bodice covered in Australian crystals, cost more than most people’s combined annual household income.
“I’m glad you could borrow something to wear.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“This old thing?” Carrick grins a wide smile that’s much too large for his slim face. “I’ve had it for years. I’m wearing it to the White House next week.”
I giggle. The truth is, he looks handsome. Normally clad in grass-stained jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts, he almost exudes confidence in the outdated tuxedo. Although his slender frame and wiry limbs make the jacket sleeves a bit too long and the hem on the pants drag the floor, I can tell he took great pride in his appearance tonight. He looks almost dashing.
I wish I could tell him that, but the laughter grows louder around me. I have to get rid of him. Carrick has invaded the sacred circle for too long.
“Shiloh, I know the prom queen is supposed to dance with the king, but Ross will get over it. Will you dance with me?”
The sacred circle closes in, flinging a chorus of insults in their usual mob mentality. Everything in me screams at me to defend him.
But I don’t. I never have. I never will.
“Hey, Lawn Boy.” Ross staggers beside me moments before his eighty-proof breath does. “Why don’t you go home and jerk off to my girl’s picture some more?”
Carrick’s face darkens. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was speaking to Shy.”
Ross smirks and nudges me forward. “Go ahead, Shy. Give Lawn Boy an answer.”
The sacred circle crowds me, daring my break from the herd. So, I do the only thing I can do. The thing I’m the best at.
I choose me.
“I don’t want to dance with you.” I’m surprised at how steady my voice sounds when I’m screaming inside. “You don’t belong here. Why don’t you save yourself the embarrassment and go home?” Vomit rises in my throat as his face falls.
Cheers erupt around me, and I think I hear Ross tell him to fuck off as I’m guided away into the center of our circle of destruction. Because that’s what we are. It’s all we’ll ever be unless we get the hell out of this town. I honestly don’t care if any of them do or don’t. I’ve already got one foot out the door and the other ready to run.
I can still feel Carrick’s stare on me as Ross slaps my ass and tosses back another drink. Suddenly, I’m envious of his nickname.
Lawn Boy.
He’ll outgrow that. He’s brilliant. He’ll rule the world one day and shame us all. But mine will stick to me like a second skin.
Because you can’t outrun who you are.
Not when you’re shallow as fuck.
* * *
Present Day
Familiar sights break up the memory as I turn my watery gaze outside the passenger’s side window. I clench my jaw as beach store after beach store rush by me until they’re just a streak of brightly colored lights and towels. I’d give anything to go back in time and erase that night from existence. Not just because it was the catalyst for his downfall, but for the selfish act that preceded it all.
“Miss West? Are you all right?” Glancing up, I see William Emerson alternately shifting his gaze from me to the road.
“Yeah,” I answer in a distant voice that matches my mood. “It’s just strange being back here after so long.”
“Not much has changed, I assume.” He motions toward the windshield. “Tourists and tanning lotion—they’re a staple.”
I just nod. “Shiloh.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You keep calling me Miss West. My name is Shiloh.”
“Will,” he says, pulling into the right-hand lane. “We’re almost there, Shiloh. Are you ready?”
“Not in the least.”
He chuckles and ignores the weight of my response in favor of fiddling with the radio. Turning toward the window, I press my forehead against it and let my guilt drag me back to the night that ruined everything.
The first night I ruined him.
* * *
Seven Years Ago
April – Prom
“Ross, stop being a dick and let me out of this car!” Trying to block him is useless when he pushes me against the door of his BMW.
“What’s with the virginal act, Shiloh? It’s prom, and your parents aren’t home. You owe me some action.”
A shadow passes out of the corner of my eye, but I’m too busy fending Ross off to pay attention. “The only action you’ll be getting tonight is with your own hand, asshole.” Shoving an arm behind my back, I fumble around until I find the lock release button. In one click, I’m tumbling backward toward rough concrete and into a pair of strong hands.
I don’t have to turn around to know he’s there. Only this time, anger vibrates off him in waves. “Don’t ever touch her again.”
Ross grips the dashboard. “Lawn Boy. You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”
“Looks like you don’t either.” Carrick’s fingers flex around my arms and his normally calm voice rumbles with defiance.
Ignoring his jab, I force a bored look and stare into the car. “Go home and sleep it off, Ross.” I know it’s dangerous for him to drive, but it’s more dangerous to have him near me.
“Are you taking this shitbag’s side over mine?” Ross’s brown eyes blaze, and I know the double meaning of his statement. The next words out of my mouth will define the remaining month of school for me.
Fold or follow. That’s my choice. And once again, I choose me.
Wrenching out of Carrick’s arms, I wipe the back of my hand across my drenched face. “No. I’m choosing my side. Call me when you’ve sobered up.”
Slamming the car door, I realize too late I’ve forgotten my key. With a muffled curse, I stomp toward the back door as Ross drives away while yelling at both of us to go fuck ourselves. As if triggered by my mood, the heavens open up and the rain turns into a downpour.
Long legs move quickly behind me. “Shiloh.”
“Leave me alone, Carrick.”
“What the hell just happened with him?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing,” he insists, appearing by my side as I gather my ruined dress in my hands and hike it up my legs. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been there?”
“Handled it.” Throwing my high heels over the white wooden fence, I climb up and straddle the top before swinging my other leg over. My dress snags on a jagged post, and I hear the material rip the minute my feet hit the grass. I should be more upset, but at this point I just want the damn thing off.
Shitty reminder of a shitty night.
Carrick is up and over the fence with graceful agility before I can stomp away. The heavy layers of tulle slow me down, and he grabs my arm again before I reach the house.
“Did he hurt you?”
“I can handle myself,” I yell, breaking out of his hold and making my way toward the back door. Irritated with the whole night, I dig my heels into the muddy grass and spin around. “Why are you even here? You work here, Carrick. You cut our lawn. You’re not my bodyguard.”
“No, I’m your friend.”
“Are you? Think about it—the only place I talk to you is inside this fence. Do I ever acknowledge you in school? Hell, I was a bitch to you tonight
, yet you still showed up here. Why?”
“I love you.”
His admission guts me. “You can’t! Don’t you know what I am? How can you love me when I don’t even love me?”
The coiled tension in his limbs eases, and he trails the back of his knuckles across my wet cheek. “I love you enough for the both of us.”
“I’m going to make you hate me. It’s inevitable.”
Heat flares in his eyes, darkening the seafoam blue to a soulful indigo. “Nothing you can do will change how I feel.”
I don’t deserve his kindness, and I sure as hell don’t deserve his love. The path I walk is a one-way direction to hell, and I won’t drag him down with me. Besides, I’m putting this town and everyone in it behind me. Including him.
“Go home, Carrick. I don’t want you here.”
“But what if Ross comes back?”
“He won’t.”
He frowns. “I won’t be able to sleep if I’m worried about you.”
Slipping into my role, I throw my arms out wide and laugh. “What are you going to do—stand out here in the rain and guard me like some stray dog?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you so obsessed with me?”
“I’m not obsessed, but making sure you rest peacefully tonight will allow me to do it tomorrow.”
I latch my arms around my middle and drop my gaze. “You can’t save me.”
“Then I’ll just protect you.”
Turning my back to him, I punch in the keypad code and throw all my weight against the door, slamming it behind me. After climbing to the third floor, I rip the rest of the tattered gown off and pull on a tank top and boy shorts. With wet skin and drenched hair, I climb into bed, tears trickling from the corners of my eyes. I hate emotion. It’s why I prefer to hide behind a façade, showing the world the only face they care about.
The fake one.
Burying my face in the pillow, I cry for me. I cry for Carrick. I cry for being forced to juggle as many masks as I do lies. A few moments later, a familiar warmth settles over me, and I crawl to the window to confirm what I already know.
My throat tightens the minute I see him. His white tuxedo shirt is plastered against him and he stands with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring up at my window. He doesn’t move, his expression stoic and his soaked unruly onyx hair sagging against his forehead.
I watch him watch me and the warmth inside me escalates. I shouldn’t want him here, but I can’t help how safe he makes me feel. I should scream at him to go, but my selfish side takes everything he offers without an ounce of gratitude.
My eyes brim again as I push away from the window and crawl back into bed.
I won’t allow him to waste another night on me after this. But for now, I settle underneath my heavy white comforter and close my eyes, exhaling a remorseful breath for the peace I feel tonight and the destruction I’ll cause tomorrow.
* * *
Present Day
“Miss—I mean, Shiloh, we’re here.”
Lifting my forehead off the window, I notice Will facing me with a pensive stare. My heart races and a whooshing sound fills my ears.
“Already?”
“You’ve been zoned out for the last twenty minutes,” he points out, cutting the ignition. “Ready to go in?”
“Is that another one of your rhetorical questions?” I ask, turning a blank stare out the window again.
“I suppose it is.”
“Which means I don’t have a choice.” The memories that have pummeled me since stepping off the plane won’t leave my mind, turning an already tense situation almost unbearable. My eyes lock on the white plaque on the outside of the otherwise plain brick building. It proudly displays the name that sours my stomach.
The Elizabeth Kincaid Community Center.
Will is already out of the car and waiting by the hood by the time I join him. I can only pray that Ellie’s mom runs this place, and he’s become the doctor he was always meant to be.
Despite what I did to him.
“You act like this is worse than the alternative,” Will notes as my stride slows the closer we get to the entrance.
“It is.” I don’t elaborate. My probation officer isn’t meant to be my new best friend, let alone the person to confess my deepest, darkest secrets to.
“You’re an enigma, Shiloh West,” he notes, holding my stare as if I’m gullible enough to probe him for a reason.
I’m not.
Instead, I turn the tables on him as he reaches for the door. “You’re not from here.” It’s not a question. I already know the answer.
“Missouri,” he says, ushering me inside. “Small farm town right outside Kansas City. Moved here about five years ago.”
Midwest. I was right.
Our conversation abruptly ends as we both step foot inside the center. It’s as plain inside as it is out. A flat coat of white paint covers the walls, adorned only by black framed pictures of Ellie—as a baby, as a toothy little girl, as a timid high school freshman, determined to live a normal life.
The last one catches my eye, and I look away before Will sees my expression. A different white room, wires, and sterility blocked out by two familiar smiling faces with dark circles etched under their eyes.
“Whoa. ¿Qué pasa, mami” A voice pulls my attention away from the picture and to an intimidating-looking younger guy in a black t-shirt and baggy jeans. Although it’s rude, I can’t help gawking at the litany of colorful tattoos painting his arms and bald head.
“I’m sorry, I’m not Mexican.”
He tosses his arms wide and winks. “Hey, that’s okay; I’m not either.”
When I just stare at him, he breaks into a megawatt grin filled with perfectly straight white teeth. He has a nice smile framed by a sparse goatee, but the way he’s looking at me makes me take a step back. Undeterred, he inches forward, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.
“I’m Puerto Rican, not that I’ll ever see it in my lifetime.” He holds out a hand by way of greeting. “Frankie, I run the desk here.”
I stare at his hand then back at his face, confused at what’s happening. Before I can form a thought, Will steps in front of me, taking Frankie’s hand.
“Hey, Frankie. Is the boss around?”
“What’s up, big suit?” Frankie says, doing some handshake ritual with him. “You been hittin’ it with some honey somewhere? You’ve been MIA.”
Wait, what?
“You two know each other?” I interrupt their reunion, wrinkling my forehead while passing a finger between them.
Frankie just grins. “Will drops by now and then; dontcha, big suit?”
Either sensing my discomfort, or just ready to get rid of me, Will ignores his comment and nods toward a closed wooden door diagonal from the entrance, where no less than ten young boys are hanging in a circle. “Boss got company? He should be expecting us.”
Frankie’s eyes light up as if a show is about to begin and he has front row seats. “Nah, man, he’s ready.” Walking a half-circle around me, he hums low in his throat and winks again. “Follow me.”
I don’t remember walking across the open room, or even the silence that suddenly befalls the group of boys as they lick their lips and blow kisses at me. When Frankie opens the heavy door, all air exits my lungs in one punch.
The man sitting behind the desk glances up, not bothering to stand as I enter. Massive muscles ripple across completely inked arms and melt into a defined and hard chest attached to his equally decorated neck. A slow smile curves his bottom lip as his tongue toys with the round ring piercing through it. The moment he leans forward, a long piece of onyx hair falls down his cheek, covering the ocean blue eyes from my memory—the boy from my memory.
Only the boy is gone, replaced by a dangerous-looking man who’d make me run in the opposite direction if we met alone on a darkened street.
One word hisses from my lips as my mouth goes dry
. “Carrick.”
Five
Cary
“Carrick,” she whispers, her jaw going slack.
“I’m sorry, Miss West. You must have me confused with someone else. My name is Cary.” A streak of vindication rushes through me, and I fight a smirk. I’ve waited a lifetime to see the shock that’s on her face. I only wish I had a camera to capture it.
“Cary,” she repeats, twisting her shaking fingers together as she brushes her hair forward on one side. “When did you lose the rest of your name?”
Sitting back, I brush the pad of my thumb over my lip ring. “Pretty much when I lost everything else.”
Shiloh glances from the top of my head down to my waist. She’s evaluating me, and I’m more than happy to let her get her fill. After all, I’ve waited for this moment for seven years. It’s all I’ve obsessed over since finding out she’d been court-ordered back to town.
To me.
Still, the reality of seeing her again is deadlier than the anticipation. Seductive magazine pictures were safe. I could appreciate her assets like any other red-blooded male. However, I have to fist my hands underneath my desk to control my reaction as the real thing stands in front of me.
An uncomfortable silence fills the room, and I want it to go on forever. I want her speechless, just like she was that night. She chews on her lower lip, trying and failing miserably to not stare. The reward is even better than I imagined as a flush heats her neck. She breaths heavily as she blatantly takes in the new Cary Kincaid.
Surprise, Starshine.
Shiloh’s slate gray eyes dart back and forth from my arms to my neck. The shocking tattoos that paint every inch of skin from my fingertips to my neck are a far cry from the clean-cut honors student she spent four years casting aside. Her unwavering confidence is replaced by a distracted bounce from one foot to the other, and I smile as I take it all in. I’m so soaked up in the moment that I barely hear the discreet clearing of a throat as Will steps in front of her, blocking my view.
“I take it you two know each other?”
