by Laura Ward
Standing up from where I’d ensconced myself from the couch, I walked to my father and hugged him. Even without the intonation of his voice, I could tell how hard it was to communicate about that day with me. His fingers drooped, sadness and fear straining his hands like they were attached to an anchor plummeting to the bottom of the sea. It gutted me to hurt him. But I had to ask. I had to know.
When I pulled back, I signed, “I understand, Daddy. I’m sorry about it all. That I fell in. That he got hurt. That I’ve scared you and Mom so badly.”
He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead before his hands relayed his response. “It haunts me that I couldn’t say thank you and to apologize for his pain.”
That haunted me, too. The poor man, if he had lived, most likely had terrible injuries and we had never been able to express our gratitude for his choice.
Dad hugged me, and when I pulled back, we signed good-night before I headed to bed.
Nestling under my covers, I powered on my Kindle and settled in to read. As my eyes closed, heavy from the emotional exhaustion of the day, I pictured two people. One was faceless, strapped to a gurney. The other was angry, hot, and untouchable, racing away from me on his bike.
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, I walked into psychology class feeling exposed after my involuntary overshare.
I moved back a few rows, almost to the middle of the auditorium and closer to the center of the row.
I settled as low in my chair as possible, pulling out my laptop and bringing it to life. My fingers drummed lightly on the desktop, and I chewed on the corner of my upper lip as I waited for the home screen to appear.
My email loaded, and I scanned the advertisements and other junk emails without reading them. All around me, students settled in seats, playing on phones or tablets, some making idle chatter with a neighbor.
As I zoned out, a sudden warmth hit my chest, traveling up my neck and to my cheeks. I had the immediate sense I was being watched. Looking left and then right, no one on either side of me was paying me the least bit of attention.
But the odd sensation continued. Growing stronger, if that was possible.
Slowly, I turned my head, looking back over my shoulder.
It was him.
Him.
Tall, dark, so incredibly hot, and very angry. He hadn’t lost a bit of the rage written plainly across his face. I whipped my head back, staring straight ahead, as I inhaled cool, clean air into my lungs.
Professor Redmond entered the room and began her lecture. I focused on typing notes, desperately trying to ignore the hotheaded, sexy man behind me, who for the first time, intrigued me more than my studies.
Chapter Seven
Ricky
“THE HOLE? IN 30?” I texted to Jon.
“Finish work in ten. See you there,” he texted back.
Of all my friends, I related to Jon the most. Landon, Dean, Jon, and I had been best friends since kindergarten at Zionsville Elementary. Jon was like me. He’d never had a dad in his life. While I had a father, mine was unable to speak, or have any real relationship with us. Jon’s father was an asshole by his own doing, while my dad’s problems came from having a heart of gold. But still. We each missed a father’s presence in our lives.
I jumped on my bike, started it, and then gunned the engine as I left Ed’s and headed to The Hole. My stomach growled, but I only had spare money to pay for a couple of beers. The rest of my paycheck was going straight to Mama.
The heavy door to The Hole swung open and it took my eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness. The cool air smelled of stale beer, but despite that, I hopped on the cracked, vinyl stool and signaled the bartender. “Two beers.”
“Coming up.” The old man placed a wicker basket of popcorn in front of me and I eagerly grabbed a handful. I poured it into my mouth, wiping my greasy hands on a napkin as I chewed the stale, buttery kernels.
Two beers were placed on the counter and I watched as perspiration traveled in long lines down the sides.
“Hey, Dicktator! How’s it hanging?” Jon’s voice boomed across the quiet bar as he approached, smacking my shoulder and taking the stool next to mine.
I passed him one of the cold bottles of beer. “Buster Hymen, hermano. You made it.” Taking a long drink of my beer, I savored the cool, crisp taste. I swallowed, placing the bottle on the table and cupping my hands around it.
Jon slugged back his beer, landing it on the table with a thunk as he gave me the side eye. “You look wired. What’s going on?”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “I found her.”
Jon squinted, studying me. “You found who?” He asked the question, but before I could answer he shook his head. “No, man. No way.”
Looking over my shoulder, I took in his slack-jawed, shocked expression. “I met her.” I nodded at him, allowing him the time for my words to sink in. “She told a story about her near drowning; a stranger dove into shallow waters and was badly hurt.” I drank again, watching Jon’s mouth open and close, but no words formed.
He ran his hand over his close-cropped hair and rubbed his neck. “Please tell me you dropped your stupid ass idea. What happened was an accident.”
My shoulders slumped from the sheer weight of my thoughts. I’d confided in Jon this past summer about my dream of retribution. Finding the girl who Papa saved and making sure she knew what her accident did to him. To my whole family.
“I guess you’re right. A little girl drowning isn’t her fault. But where the fuck were her parents? Why did it have to be my dad? Why did my dad end up so disabled he needs to breathe through a fucking tube, while her neglectful parents walked away healthy? Someone needs to pay. Someone needs to make it right.” Tipping the bottle back to my lips, I drained the rest.
Jon signaled the bartender for another round. He nodded his thanks as two fresh bottles were placed in front of us. “Pay how? You’re wasting your life focusing on revenge against people you don’t even know. This isn’t healthy. Focus on finishing your associate’s degree. Focus on applying to college next year. Anything but this.”
I stared ahead of me, avoiding his gaze.
Jon swiveled on his stool, facing me, his lips set in a deep frown. “Okay, that’s not happening. Go on. Did you talk to her? Tell her your dad is the stranger?”
Pressing my lips together, I shook my head. “Nope.”
Jon’s eyes widened to the point of bulging. “I thought that was the whole point? To confront her. Tell her what happened to your dad. Find out why her parents fucked up.”
I inhaled a huge breath and blew it out slowly. “That was the original plan. But then I took a closer look at her and I sort of followed her to her car.”
Jon hung his head. “This is heading south quickly. And what did you discover?”
I swiveled to face him. “Fancy clothes, lots of expensive jewelry, she drives a freakin’ Tesla.” My hands formed fists on top of my thighs. “She’s rich. Loaded.”
Jon narrowed his eyes. “And?”
“The way I figure it, that means her family has more than enough and we’re barely getting by. It’s time to even up the score.” Lifting my bottle, I took a large gulp.
Jon choked on his sip. “What the fuck? Don’t do it. Your family needs you. Don’t get yourself in trouble.” Jon’s voice was hard, his jaw set. “I’m not in law school yet. I can’t help you if you get thrown in jail.”
I rolled my eyes at the moron sitting next to me. “I’m not stupid. I’m going to get to know her, make her like me, and then figure out the plan from there.”
Jon clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Think of your mother. Madre Ana would never like a plan where anyone got hurt in the end. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Me too. But I have a bad feeling about my entire life. How could this possibly be worse? And Mama doesn’t need to know anything about this,” I warned. “I need answers. Hell, I need more than that, but answers are a start at least.”
Lips pursed, Jon gave me
a hesitant nod. The topic was dropped for now. I’d spend some time with my boy catching up on his life and shooting the shit, avoiding the thoughts that plagued me.
After that, I had some serious thinking to do.
Chapter Eight
Ricky
WALKING INTO THE lecture hall, shrouded in darkness, a foreign sensation of unease crawled up my spine.
Despite the lack of light, I spotted her. Aveline, the rich bitch, sitting in a middle row like last class. Was she trying to hide after exposing her trauma to our class? Rage stirred inside me, hoping that my presence might irk her like it did before.
Moving behind her, I watched her back stiffen, straightening tall. A pale hand moved to the back of her neck. She wore her hair in a bun of some kind, patting it to assure all was as it should be. Her fingernails were painted a pale pink and she wore a ring with several clustered pearls on her right hand.
When she returned her hand to her desk, she turned a touch to the side, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. The light from her laptop screen bounced off her glasses. Her earrings caught a beam of the light too, the large pearls becoming even more noticeable.
Christ, the brat even wore a pearl necklace. I held back a growl. Her jewelry alone could feed my family for a month.
Forming a fist, I pressed it to my lips, hoping to contain the rage boiling inside, anger that was about to erupt and permeate the hush of the classroom.
The sound of the whiteboard lowering in the center of the stage got my attention. I stretched in my seat, looking around for Dr. Redmond.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, images of a movie splashed on the screen at the front of the classroom. It was a scene from The Shining, a film I’d watched with the boys back before we cared about girls or beer and liked to overdose on horror flicks. The scene was a particularly famous one where the deranged dad hacked at a locked door where his wife and son were hiding on the other side. He poked open a hole wide enough for his head and stuck it through. It’s some freaky shit.
Students gasped. I watched Aveline. She had covered her mouth with her hands but didn’t look away. Surprising. I would have thought she was way too wimpy for a horror flick.
The movie switched off, leaving the classroom shadowy and somber.
“Are you scared? Is your heart beating? Palms sweaty?” Dr. Redmond asked, walking onto the stage. “Today we discuss fear. I like to set the stage by having the classroom dim when you enter. Fear of the dark, fear of spiders, and fear of heights are common.”
Lights brightened in the room and students shifted in their seats.
“When humans are born, we all have two innate fears. Fear of falling and fear of loud sounds. Watson, Plutchik, and Ekman tell us that fear is one of our innate, basic emotions. But most of our fear is learned. We take cues from our parents.” Dr. Redmond flipped screens, showing a chart with notes.
“John Watson is famous for his 1920 experiment called “Little Albert” where he taught an eleven-month-old boy to fear a white lab rat through repeated exposure. Conversely, we can also overcome our fears through repeated exposure, encouraging tolerance.”
Dr. Redmond moved to the podium, resting her hands on top. I scribbled notes. “Think of something that you’re scared of. As humans, we have an instinctual fight or flight response when confronted with fear. How did you react to that fear? Fight or flight?”
She paced the stage, arms crossed over her chest. “Take a few minutes and write down your biggest fears. Maybe something you haven’t told anyone before. You don’t need to be in danger to feel scared, but you must perceive danger. Worry over things you can’t control, isn’t fear. That’s anxiety and a lecture for another day.”
Tapping my pencil to my lips, I thought. What was I afraid of?
Papa dying. Mama hurt. Marcella or Theresa being hurt or hungry. Failure. Losing control of anger.
I lifted my pencil, examining my list. My fears mostly concerned my family. I was fairly sure they crossed the line into anxiety, but they were as terrifying as any other danger in my eyes. I especially feared the release of my anger and resentment, and the damage that could be inflicted. What would Mama say if I gave into my fury?
I balled my fists tightly—the thought of that release causing excitement. I wondered what the rich bitch was afraid of.
Leaning forward, I held my breath. I looked over her shoulder at her illuminated laptop screen.
Strangers. Meeting new people. Public speaking. Being alone in the city. Leaving home. Not ever leaving home. My parents being hurt or scared. Water. Drowning.
Holy shit, what wasn’t the princess afraid of? I scanned the list again. My hands twitched. Maybe I could use her list to teach her a little lesson? My eyebrows drew together as I thought through an idea.
The last two on the list made sense. I wouldn’t even go there. And I was already planning on scaring her parents. There had to be payback for their negligence. I just had to figure out how.
Making my decision, I bent over, as if to tie my shoe. Her jacket was draped across the back of her chair and I slipped my hand into the outside pocket.
Bingo.
Grasping her car keys in my palm, I shoved them deep inside my backpack. This would be fun.
* * *
CLASS ENDED. I followed a distance behind her, ensuring that my presence went undetected. Hovering outside the parking garage, I watched her search her pockets and dump her bags out, looking for her missing keys.
Her face was distraught, fearful, and upset.
I relished every agonized look.
She pulled out her phone, her finger hovering over the screen as if to type and then she shook her head. Aveline slipped her phone into her pocket, packed up her belongings and walked out of the garage.
What would Princess do now? Would she call Mommy and Daddy? I prayed to God she did. I needed a look at them. I was dying to see their faces.
But shockingly, Aveline didn’t look perturbed anymore. She looked… determined. I watched as she scanned the main street and walked to stand underneath a bus stop sign.
What the fuck?
I’d bet my bike that Aveline had never been on a city bus. Watching her face, slight concern washed over her features as a bus rumbled up, its brakes emitting a high-pitched squeak. Not hesitating for a second, she boarded, talking to the driver and then examining a map he gave her.
I memorized the bus number and then sprinted to my bike. While she didn’t seem half as distraught as I hoped, a weird panic pumped through my veins. What if she got lost? Mugged? I wanted her to pay for what she caused, but I wasn’t prepared for anything bad. I was vaguely aware that I didn’t want her harmed. I pushed that thought down and tore out of the parking garage, racing down the street until I found the bus Aveline rode.
Riding along the side, my dark helmet kept my face hidden, the anonymity essential for spying. I saw her sitting in the middle, looking out the window. Her face bore a look of fascination, not repulsion. I watched her ride the bus through rough neighborhoods. I continued to case her. None of the disgusted judgment I anticipated registered on her face. In fact, I watched an elderly woman sit next to her and they engaged in conversation, a blinding smile spread across Aveline’s face.
What the ever-loving hell was happening? Why was this chick happy to be riding a bus? She’d said she was scared of meeting strangers and to be alone in the city, but she seemed fine doing both.
Finally, Aveline disembarked on the outskirts of one of the richest neighborhoods in the city. Anger pulsed back through me. She wasn’t just wealthy. She was filthy rich. There was no doubt in my mind that her family had to pay for what happened to Papa.
She strolled alone down the sidewalk. I elbowed the darkness inside me away when she smiled up at the sky, even a cold winter day making her happy.
Blowing out a breath, I was mollified. I’d made her face a fear. That was enough for today. Starting my bike, I rode it slowly over to her. She
jumped, eyes wide and startled when I pulled next to her and stopped.
Bike running, I put my feet on the ground to steady myself. “Found these in class. They yours?”
Aveline’s eyes bulged as she looked at me, my bike, and her keys in my hand.
“Yes. Th-th-th-thank you,” she whispered.
I hesitated, my brain struggling with what I knew I had to ask her. “Need a lift back to your car?” Fuck, but I wanted her to say no. Yet, I couldn’t leave her alone in the city without a way to get to her precious Tesla. Even I wasn’t that big of a douche.
She licked her lips, looking for a long minute at the motorcycle. Raising her eyes, she shook her head. “I live around the corner. My father will drive me back for my car this evening. But thanks for asking.”
All polite responses ended. I stared into her gray eyes for a minute trying to read more into her before I took off. This was a start.
Problem was, I was intrigued. Intrigued, angry, monster-ridden, and ready to form a plan.
Chapter Nine
Ricky
I STOPPED AND stood outside the campus library to take a deep breath. Fresh air filled my lungs as I willed my stomach to stop its incessant churning.
Standing strong, I pulled the door open and entered the large study area filled with tables and chairs, finding the person I’d followed here at a table in the corner.
“Excuse me.” I said to the back of her head.
She sat up straight, turning slowly to face me. Her cheeks bloomed with color, her skin so light that the sudden shock of pink to her face made me want to laugh.
And I rarely laughed.
“Me?” She pointed to her chest with a thumb.
“Yeah.” I shot her a cocky half-smile, working the little charm I had to the hilt. I moved around to the chair across the table from her and placed my backpack on the ground. Bending over, I pressed my forearms to the top of the chair. My hands were folded casually in front, though my racing heartbeat proved that relaxed stance to be a lie.
