Flirting With Love

by Clara Stone

I stay silent. That irritates him. He drops his arms and walks toward me. “Hudson, I specifically asked you not to see that girl. She isn’t what your future holds.” He starts off on his usual, I’m-disappointed-in-you speech. “We agreed that girl would be nothing more than a distraction. And now, you’re taking her to Prom? Hudson, what kind of example are you setting for your brothers?”

  Is he shitting me? We didn’t agree to anything. Besides, he doesn’t even know Blake. What gives him the right to judge her? “You’re the one who said that I need to make friends with people who will enhance my life.”

  He cocks his eyebrow. “And how will a girl that has no future do that for you?” He sighs and turns his back to me, hanging his head. “I thought you had better judgment than this, Hudson. Especially since you and Hope had such potential. You two are perfect for each other. I don’t understand why you’d give her up for someone that is nothing like you.”

  Anger bubbles inside me. “Are we done?”

  That gets his attention; he slowly turns to face me, his eyes wide with surprise. “Don’t you take that tone with me, young man. We’re talking about your future. And how you’re foolishly throwing it away for a piece of tail. Think about the message that sends to your brothers.”

  This can’t be happening. “You’re right. This is my future, and the future of my brothers. I’m setting their expectations high by choosing to be with Blake.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Incredulity is etched into every line of his face as he stares at me.

  I stare back, unwavering.

  He laughs. “You are.” He drags a hand down his face with an exasperated sigh. “You’re ruining your life, Hudson, being with someone that isn’t your equal in money, status, or brains.”

  “Stop!” For the first time in my life, I fight back. “First of all, her name is Blake. And it’d be best for all of us if you accept that I’m with her. Secondly, how can you be so damn judgmental without even meeting her?”

  “I had a background check done on her. It doesn’t look promi—”

  “I don’t care. Her father’s mistakes don’t matter to me.” Anger rushes through my body, making me sweat under the layers of my expensive clothing. “Besides, she’s far more compassionate and genuine than any of the girls I’ve met at school.” With the exception of Hope, of course. But that’s a given.

  “You—”

  “Dad. All my life, I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I didn’t care if it was about the food I ate, or the people I hung out with, or who I dated. But this time . . . this one time, I’m not listening to you. This, being with Blake, is my choice. If it’s a mistake, so be it. But I’m not going to let her go just because you told me to. Whatever I feel for her—and I can tell you, it’s a lot more than lust—is not going to fade away anytime soon. So I suggest you learn to deal with it.”

  I turn around and place my hand on the doorknob, pausing. “I hope you know that, if I’m taking this course of action with Blake, it’s because it means something to me, to everything that is me,” I say, without looking back at him.

  I pull the door open and find Heath and Harrington standing right outside. Harrington looks at me with pride in his eyes. “Finally, you grew a backbone,” he says, grinning. “I’m proud of you, big brother.”

  I shake my head and smile back. “Shut it, turd.”

  “So,” Heath says, following behind me as I walk past them toward the garage. “Does this mean you love Blake?”

  My step falters, and I still in response. Just because I told Dad to take a hike, doesn’t mean I’m in love with the girl. Does it? I do feel more strongly about her than I’ve felt about anything in a really long time. And I know that being around her makes me a better person. I smile more when I’m around her, and she makes me love my life. So, maybe I am in love with her. I don’t know. But I do know that right now, I need her in my life.

  I turn around and ruffle Heath’s hair. “I don’t know, kiddo,” I respond honestly. Then I look both brothers in the eye and say, “You two be good. Okay?”

  I don’t wait for their responses as I head to Jags. I pull open my phone. It’s 5:19 p.m. I’ll still be thirty minutes early if I leave now. I shove it back into my pocket as I stop next to the driver’s side door. Grinning into my reflection, I pull it open. Time to go pick up my girls.

  IF I COULD sum up the last few hours in exactly three words, they’d be: Fun. Exhausting. Eye-opening.

  I seriously had no idea that people plucked and waxed their bodies in so many different places. After my face, legs, and armpits were attacked, I called it off. I wasn’t ready to find out where else the torture would lead us.

  Hudson said he’d be over at six to pick us up. I’m nervous and excited, all at the same time.

  I know tonight is going to change everything. There’s something about it, the idea that I’ll be spending a night, in public, among his friends, on his territory, dancing the hours away. Or maybe it’s the possibility that we might do something more.

  I glance in the mirror and see a girl I don’t recognize—eyes glinting with glee, cheeks rosy pink, and lips ruby red. My hand trembles as I reach for the loose hair around my face, pushing it out of my eyes. I blink.

  I’ve never felt so bright, so alive, and so, so happy.

  Hope left a few minutes ago, Mom in tow, to buy something very important. She wouldn’t say what that was.

  I pull on my U-strapped, red high-low dress with a diamond bodice. The front of the skirt rests just above my knees, flowing around me like a river. I’ve never owned anything so elegant, or expensive. But Mom insisted that I get it. She said I deserved to have the night of my life with the boy I can’t seem to stop thinking about.

  A knock sounds on the front door just as I slip into the red, four-inch heels that have a beautiful ribbon around the ankle. Mom and Hope must be back.

  Shuffling toward the door, I yell, “Coming!” Grinning, I pull it open. “That was a fast run to the sto—” What the hell?

  Trey stands before me, his smile malicious, deadly. I try not to cower at that look. It’s hard. “What are you doing here?” I demand. Panic bubbles slowly, making its way to the surface as I realize I’m alone.

  “I said, what the hell are you doing here?” I want to pat my own back for how strong I sound.

  He smirks, his eyes locking with mine. “What, can’t a friend make a house call?”

  Is he shitting me? “You—”

  He takes a step forward, but I cross my arms and take a stand.

  “I do like a brave girl,” he says, the edges of his smile taking on a diabolical tint. “Especially when they start off that way. It’s so much more fun to watch them break down. Little. By. Little,” he says, the last three words clear and strong. He laughs and steps closer.

  I swallow back the panic clouding my thoughts. I reach behind the door and shove it closed. But he stops it from shutting all the way, wedging his foot between the wood and the frame.

  “Why in such a hurry, Blake?” he taunts, pushing against the door.

  I don’t respond. I need all my strength and concentration to get this door closed. And these damn heels aren’t helping. I feel a surge from the other side, pushing me back and stumbling into the couch as the door swings wide open. I vaguely register something metal clinking and rolling onto the floor.

  Sweat pores down my neck, and my heart races, thumping so hard, I can feel it in the tips of my fingers.

  “Leave, Trey.” My voice sounds so sure and certain and confident. But my body betrays me, taking a step to the side, then another, and another, trying to get around the sofa so I can escape.

  “Or what? Your boyfriend’s going to punch me in the face again?” He saunters forward, kicking his foot high, like he’s making a soccer goal, and laughs. Then he pauses, looking at me in that way that sends an eerie chill up my spine. “Oh, right. He isn’t here to save your sweet ass.”

  I swallow, my eyes darting from side to side.
I need to find a way out.

  “As a matter of fact . . .” he continues to taunt me, closing the distance between us as I try to decide on an exit. A small, helpless noise escapes me when the back of my legs hit the long table housing our family pictures. I feel behind me for something, anything that could do serious damage.

  “You remind me of someone. Someone that was . . .” He turns, his forefinger tapping his chin as he pretends to be lost for words. He smirks, recognition lighting the manic gleam in his eyes. “She was quite rebellious, too, until I beat the stubbornness right out of her.”

  “Vicki . . .” I whisper.

  He dips his head down and smiles at me in that creepy, mass-murderer way. I want to puke. “You’re a smart girl, Blake.”

  I grind my teeth. “What do you want?”

  He smiles again, but backs away, inspecting my house like it’s the first time he’s stepped inside. “This is a nice place you have here.”

  I stay still. My fingers brush against something wooden and hard. I grab the object and tighten my hold on it.

  “But I’m certainly not here to chit-chat.”

  “You had me fooled.”

  “Nothing can get past you.” He laughs, opening his arms wide. “I do have to say one thing, though. You clean up good. The red dress, fuck-me shoes, the whole package.” He licks his lips, eyeing me, top to bottom. “I must say, I like this look better than the one I saw you in the other morning.”

  “Chivalrous and abusive. Just my kind of guy.”

  That gets to him. He takes the recently replaced lamp and throws it across the room. It sails right past me and shatters against the wall. My shoulders hitch up to my ears as I flinch. My heart’s beating against my ribcage, wanting no part of whatever game he’s got planned.

  “I just wanted to have a talk. But . . .” He punches his right fist into his left palm. “I’m going to have some fun breaking that mouth into submission instead.”

  “Fuck you,” I spit.

  He comes toward me, his walk intentional, threatening. “I tend to.” He grabs hold of my hair, and I scream, swinging my hand and the wooden object toward his head.

  He sees it coming and brings his hand up to protect himself. The wooden vase smashes against his forearm and shoulder. Still, the impact catches him off guard. I take the opportunity to run for it. But he grabs me again before I make it to the door and whirls me around, shoving me back, away from the exit.

  My head smacks against the end table. My vision blurs, and my head swims. Warmth trickles down the side of my face. I bring my hand up to dab at the place of impact, pulling it back to look at the red smeared on my palm. Tears roll down my face.

  “That wasn’t very nice, bitch,” he says, shaking his head.

  I get up on weak legs. “Get away from me.” Using the support of the couch, I crab-walk away, slowly. I shake my head when it blurs again for a moment.

  “You can run from me, Blake,” he taunts. “But I’ll find you!”

  I try to make it up the stairs, but he’s on me too soon. He pulls me down by the legs, whacking my head against the steps. He flips me over, shoving my dress high. And for the first time, I’m grateful for the heels I’m wearing. I pull back the leg he’s let go and ram it into him. I don’t aim for anything in particular, but I know no matter where I hit, it’ll hurt. These babies aren’t called “killer heels” for nothing.

  He falters back, holding on to his stomach. Not wanting to waste another moment, I spring up and make a mad dash for the door. I collide with something on the porch, tripping and falling in the process. I hear a sickening crack, but I still try to get up. Excruciating pain shoots up my leg, and I fall.

  Trey reaches for me, taking a strong hold on my shoulder, and I thrash. My nails connect with his face and he lets go, stumbling back inside. I fall. I’m screaming, calling for help. But no one comes to my rescue. There’s no way I’ll be lucky enough to get away from him a third time. Not with this woozy feeling in my head and a broken ankle.

  “Stop!” Someone cries.

  It’s not Trey.

  Hope.

  “Blake!” She shakes me, trying to get my attention. “Blake!”

  “Hope!” I’m crying. “You need to leave. Go! Hope, leave.” I’m frantic. I know there’s no way I’ll get away from the psychopath. But she still has a chance.

  “Like hell!” she replies.

  “Hope, he’s in there. You need to go. Where’s Mom?”

  “I’m not leaving without you,” she protests. “Your mom went to pick up another disposable camera. She’ll be back any minute. Now, come on.”

  She puts her arm around me and helps me up, not asking who, or why, or what the hell happened. I grunt through the pain, thankful for her.

  “Come on, Blake,” she says, as I try to hop and wobble my way to safety. But then I trip over my own two feet, my heel getting stuck in the grass, and fall.

  “Shit!” Hope says.

  Before she can help me back up, a dark shadow falls over me. I roll over and push up on my elbows, then my hands. My eyes widen, and my heart races. A gun is pointed at my chest. Behind it, Trey stands, a sneer on his face.

  Red streaks down his left cheek, and he spits to the side. “I was going to let you off easy. Warn you to just let Vicki go, make a threat or two. But now . . . after that kick

  . . . you’re dead, bitch.”

  Suddenly, my fear falls away. Instinctively, I know I should still be terrified, that my life could very well end at the hands of this maniac, but something in the way he said those last words tells me he feels threatened by me. It tells me that no one’s ever fought for Vicki the way I have, and I’m glad that I did. At least now, maybe, she’ll know that someone does care for her. She’ll know I cared enough to die for her.

  I pick up my good foot, intending to ram it into him, but then, two things happen: Another shadow barrels into Trey as Hope hurls herself between him and me. And the gun goes off. Twice.

  I fall back with Hope on top of me. My ears thrum from the sound of shots so close. I hear distant grunts and sirens wailing from afar.

  Hope isn’t moving. Her body lies across mine, but she’s still. I shoot up to a sitting position so fast I get vertigo.

  “Hope,” I say, pulling her into my lap and cradling her head. “HOPE!” Her head lolls to the side, like she’s lost control of her neck muscles. A red splotch appears, growing bigger and bigger on her stomach.

  “Hope!” I’m crying louder than before, pain and guilt mixing together. “Hope! Please. Please wake up!” She doesn’t stir. She’s limp in my lap. My hands are red, coated in the blood I can’t keep from spilling through my fingers as I try to shake her. “God damn it, HOPE! Wake. Up!”

  My hand shakes as I bring my finger under her nose. Air stirs against my skin, but it’s barely there. She feels cold. My sobs get bigger and louder as I yell, “Help! Somebody, please help.”

  Someone falls to their knees next to me. “Hope?” Hudson’s words are hoarse with anger and agony. He takes her from my arms and cradles her, his hands holding her chin, moving it back and forth like he’s trying to wake her. Big fat tears roll down his cheeks as he chants, “Hope . . . Hope . . .”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I’m wailing, tears streaming down my face, blurring everything, and my heart is ready to explode. “Hudson, I didn’t mean to.”

  He gently puts Hope on his lap before he grabs me and tucks me into his chest, crushing me so tight against him, I wonder whether it’s to help me or to keep himself together.

  A few seconds later, voices and crying and screaming surround us. I can’t tell who’s saying what. Not until someone—Hudson—runs his hand over my thigh and says, “You’re shot.”

  “BLAKE.” A WAVE of nausea runs through me. “You’re shot,” I say again.

  “No.” She tries to resist. “It’s H-Hope’s.” Her teeth chatter.

  I see the blood spreading over her leg, but I don’t correct her. “Sh
h . . . it’s okay.” I turn, looking, needing someone . . . I see Vicki, standing just outside the crowd, a phone clutched in her hands. “Help! I need help,” I yell to no one in particular. Blake’s head rolls, and her eyelids start to close. Nononono. Not you too. I pat Blake’s cheeks. “Don’t fall asleep. Come on, Blake. Stay with me, baby. Stay with me.”

  But it’s too late. Her body collapses into mine as her eyes shut.

  “Blaaake!”

  I don’t know how much time passes before arms grab at me, pulling Hope and Blake away. I scream and cling to them, my vision blurry from the tears. I can’t let them go. I have to protect them. I flail, unseeing, struggling to keep the world from ripping apart at the seams as they’re dragged from my arms. It takes me a few seconds before I realize that help is finally here. I relax, my body sagging under the weight of despair. The paramedics have both Blake and Hope. They’re strapping them onto gurneys and rushing away. I can’t make out the words they shout as they try to get them stabilized.

  The second they load Blake and Hope into the ambulance, I move, climbing in without hesitation. The paramedics give me a surprised look.

  I think I say something like “family,” but I can’t be sure. I know that words are churning in my head, but don’t know if I’m saying anything out loud. When they look away and get back to work, closing the door, I know I must have said something.

  The entire ride to the hospital, I sit, numb, praying and promising to do whatever if only Hope and Blake come out of this okay. I look down at my hands in my lap; they’re covered in red. I rub my palms together, wanting to get rid of the blood. When I can’t, I rub them across my chest, over my dress shirt that’s also filled with it. So much blood. Tears prick the back of my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I roughly pull out of my jacket and slam it into my lap, punching it several times for good measure. This can’t happen. I can’t lose either of them. God, please, please, please, keep them safe.

  The paramedics look at me with concern. “Hey, let me—” one of them starts.

  “I’m fine,” I snap. I wipe my hand over the free-falling tears and take a deep breath, counting backward.