Drown: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Diamond Cove High Book 1)

by Gina Finley

  “Well, what a brave girl we have here,” Whitney says, looking me up and down. “Can’t believe you’d show your face after last night.”

  “Fuck you,” I say.

  She laughs.

  “You have her phone?” Dash asks, looking at her.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m asking you,” he says, his voice a little sharper. “Do you have her phone?”

  She eyes him, then reaches into her bag, pulling out my phone. “I believe this is it. I know it’s not mine because I wouldn’t be caught dead with–”

  “Shut up, Whitney,” Dash says.

  Whitney is frozen in mid-sentence, surprised by being cut off.

  “The fuck is up your ass this morning?” she finally asks.

  “Nothing,” he answers. “Just wanted her to have her phone back.”

  She holds it out to me. “Here. Take your shitty phone.”

  When I reach out for it, she snatches her hand back. “Say please.

  There’s something in the way she says it that just snaps something inside of me. Maybe it’s the condescension. Maybe it’s the sarcasm. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just thinking about last night, but something inside of me snaps.

  My hand curls into a fist, I rear back and I connect squarely with her mouth. I’ve never punched anyone in my life, but I think I’ve just thrown a perfect punch.

  She drops my phone and stumbles backward, her hands flying to her mouth, her face tight with pain. When she pulls her hands away, her upper lip is cut, a thick line of blood dripping off of it and down her chin.

  “What the fuck?” she says, staring at her hand, then at me.

  I bend down and pick up my phone. I look at the face. Nothing broken or scratched. I shove it into my back pocket.

  “You fucking–”

  “I swear to god, Whitney,” I warn her. “If you say another word, they’ll have to pull me off of you. I have nothing to lose anymore. I will keep swinging at your fucking face until I can’t lift my arms.”

  Whitney looks at her bloody hand again, then touches her lip. She winces.

  I look at Dash.

  The corner of his mouth is turned upward into something that almost looks like a smile.

  “Are you going to just let her do that?” Whitney snaps.

  Dash looks at me.

  For a moment, the panic returns and I’m afraid of what he’s going to do.

  But then he just nods. “Yeah. I am.”

  She stares at him like he’s lost his mind, her lips bleeding and her cheeks turning red.

  I look at him.

  Something passes through his expression that I can’t read.

  I adjust my bag on my shoulder.

  “Cara,” he says.

  I look at him, wondering if now he’s going to try and make me pay for hitting Whitney. I’m ready if he is. I wasn’t kidding when I said I have nothing left to lose. I’ll swing at him if I have to.

  “See you tonight,” he says.

  SIXTEEN

  Dash

  I watch Cara walk away, intrigued.

  I didn’t realize she had that kind of fight in her, but that punch she nailed Whitney with was full of fury and anger and I didn’t know she had it in her.

  “The fuck, Dash?” Whitney says.

  I look at her. Her lip is still bleeding and it’s already swelling. “The fuck what?”

  She glares at me. “What the fuck was that? You just let her hit me like that? You call me over here, tell me to give her her phone back, and then you let her hit me?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Her eyes narrow. “I did what you asked last night.”

  “I know you did.”

  “And, so what? That’s it?”

  “Until I need something else from you, yeah,” I tell her. “Are you looking for a thank you or something?”

  “I’m not looking for a fucking thank you,” she says. “I just want to know...what’s going on.”

  “You’re not making sense, Whit,” I tell her. “Maybe she gave you a concussion.”

  “Fuck you,” she hisses at me. “She fucked up. She thinks last night was bad? She has no idea what’s coming for her now.”

  I look at Whitney. “Nothing’s coming for her now.”

  She looks me up and down. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Hands off.”

  “Last night, it was hands on.”

  “And now it’s not,” I tell her. “Are we clear?”

  She licks the blood off her lips. “No, we are not clear, Dash. I don’t get it all.”

  “You don’t need to get it,” I tell her. “You just need to stay clear of her.”

  She eyes me. “Is she your new...thing?”

  “I’m not asking you, Whitney,” I say. “I’m telling you. Hands off.”

  She gives me sort of a half-laugh. “Fuck you, Dash. You don’t tell me what to do. Especially after she just assaulted me.”

  I step in closer to Whitney, crowding her. “She is hands off, Whitney. You better be clear on that. Because if you’re not? You and I are going to have a problem. And I don’t think you’re going to like that. Do you understand me?”

  She looks past me, like she’s looking for help.

  She won’t find it, though.

  No one is going to side with her if she’s going against me.

  And she knows that.

  Or, she should.

  “Fine,” she finally says, her voice quieter now. “I’ll leave her alone.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “You will.”

  “I said I would,” she says. “Fuck. Am I still bleeding?”

  “Yep.”

  She grunts, then turns to her friends, who’ve been standing there like statues. They follow her as she stomps off to the bathroom.

  “She fucking caught her good,” Fox says.

  “Yeah she did.”

  “I know she said she wouldn’t, but you know Whitney isn’t gonna let that go.”

  “I know,” I tell him. “We’ll keep an eye on her. Let Tyler and Shane know, too.”

  “On it.”

  I watch him cross the courtyard. I see Whitney and her friends disappear into a bathroom. I see other kids look away when they catch my eye.

  And all I’m thinking about is Cara.

  SEVENTEEN

  Cara

  I make it through two classes before I can’t take it any longer.

  I manage to avoid all of the looks from people and stare straight ahead and take notes in my classes and tell myself everything is fine until I admit that it’s not. Punching Whitney didn’t fix anything and I realize that it’s all bottled up inside of me. When I start thinking about the possibility that someone might report me to the school administration for hitting her, I can’t stop thinking about the consequences of that and it’s all just too much.

  Instead of heading for third period, I need air, so I head out toward the track and the football field. There’s a P.E. class going on, but they don’t seem to care too much that I’m sitting in the bleachers with my head in my hands, trying to catch my breath.

  “Are you okay?”

  I look up and there’s a guy standing there. I think I’ve seen him before, but I’m not sure. He’s in a black T-shirt, black jeans, and black ankle boots. His black hair hangs to his shoulders and I swear there’s eyeliner around his green eyes. He’s tall and thin and there are a bunch of silver bracelets around his wrists.

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”

  “You’ve been sitting here for a while like that,” he says. “Wasn’t sure if you passed out or something.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He squints at me, like he’s seeing me for the first time. “You’re the chick that punched Whitney this morning.”

  I don’t say anything.

  He smiles. “You did what a lot of people have wanted to do for a while now.”

  “Great.”

  “You’re new, right?”
/>
  “I really don’t feel like talking,” I tell him.

  He nods and shoves his hands in his jeans. “Cool. Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m Parker, by the way.”

  I nod but don’t say anything.

  He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a vape pen. He offers it to me, but I shake my head. He shrugs, then sucks on it for a moment.

  “I saw what happened last night,” he says. “I’m sorry. Those people are fucking assholes.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “They get away with everything,” he continues. “No one does shit about it.”

  I don’t say anything. He clearly doesn’t know the meaning of not talking.

  “Dash does, too,” he says. “I saw you talking with him after you nailed Whitney.” He eyes me for a second. “Do you know him?”

  “I don’t know anyone,” I tell him. “I’m new. Remember?”

  He smiles. “Right. Sorry. I just hear lots of stories about that guy.”

  I should just get up and walk away, but there’s nowhere for me to go. “What kind of stories?”

  He sucks on the pen again, then shrugs. “Just...stuff. Nothing good. Like he’s into a bunch of shit no one really wants to talk about.”

  I look away.

  He’s not wrong.

  “Anyway,” he says. “I didn’t mean to bother you. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll leave you alone.”

  He turns and heads down the steps of the bleachers.

  “Hey,” I say.

  He stops and turns around.

  “I’m Cara,” I tell him.

  He nods. “Cool. I hope the rest of your day gets better, Cara.”

  I watch him walk down the steps and onto the track and back toward the gym. It occurs to me that his words were the first kind ones I’ve really heard today. I probably should’ve been a little nicer to him.

  But I don’t have it in me right now.

  I have to go back to class, make up an excuse as to why I’m late, and then get through the rest of my day.

  And then figure out what the fuck I’m doing with Dash tonight.

  EIGHTEEN

  Dash

  “I can’t,” I say. “Having a friend over.”

  My father raises an eyebrow at me. “A friend?”

  I shrug.

  It’s after school and I’m at home. We’re sitting in his office and he’s just asked me if I want to have dinner tonight with him at the beach club.

  “Anyone I know?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone you care to tell me about?”

  “No.”

  He leans back in his leather chair. “Alright then. I’ll find someone else to keep me company at dinner.”

  I haven’t seen him in several days. He’s been in New York, working on some project. That’s normal. He travels a ton and we rarely communicate in any way other than text. So it was weird to get home and see his Bentley in the garage.

  He loosens the red silk tie at his neck. “How’s school?”

  “The same,” I tell him. “Fine.”

  “Grades?”

  “We just started.”

  “Done any looking at colleges yet for next year?”

  I shrug again.

  He frowns. “I know school isn’t your favorite thing, but if you want to take over this company, a degree is non-negotiable.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then get on it.”

  I nod. “Alright.”

  He unbuttons the cuffs of his white dress shirt and rolls them to his elbows. “What else have you been doing?”

  “The usual,” I tell him. “Surfing. Getting stuff done.”

  He eyes me over the huge desk. “What stuff?”

  “Saw Edwin Taylor the other night.”

  He leans back in the chair again. “That right?”

  I nod. That’s how we talk about it. Never specifics, just vague details.

  But he knows what it means.

  “Well, hopefully that’s the last time I ever have to hear that fucker’s name again,” he says, shaking his head. Then he nods. “Well done, son.”

  I don’t know if he already knows what we did or if he’s just pleased that we moved on Taylor, but I like hearing those words from him. It’s the only affirmation I ever get from him and it’s the closest thing to affection that shows up in this house, especially after my mom died. I don’t need much, but I need to hear those words from him every so often.

  “You were careful?” he asks.

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t ever get complacent.”

  “I won’t.”

  He lifts his chin, studying me. “I said the same thing at your age. I made mistakes.”

  “I know. You’ve told me. I won’t repeat them.”

  He folds his hands together on the desk and leans forward. “Make sure that you don’t. I’ve told you many times. Be ruthless, but be careful. Too many people don’t realize you can be both. You can have everything you want - power, money, women - any of that, as long as you’re careful. But if you fuck it up?” He raises the eyebrow again. “Well, then everything else goes away. Be ruthless. But be careful.”

  He says it so often it should be on a poster somewhere in our house.

  He stands. “I need a shower before I head to the club. Maybe I’ll call Marilyn Bader. I haven’t seen her in awhile. And she’s always available.” He chuckles. “Funny how that happens when I’m paying for everything.”

  “Right,” I say.

  “I’m going to Atlanta tomorrow,” he says. “Be down there for a few days. I’m working on purchasing a building there. Will be worth three times what we pay for it when I’m done with it. But it’s going to take a few days to get the deal done. You’ll be fine here?”

  I wonder what he’d say if I said no. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

  He walks around the desk and pats me on the shoulder as he passes. “Good man. Enjoy your friend this evening. And remember that I’m not looking to be a grandfather anytime soon.”

  I sit there for a few moments after he’s left.

  The office is huge, with floor to ceiling bookshelves, expensive furniture, and art in thick frames on the walls. I doubt he’s read a single book in here and I’m positive he had someone buy the paintings to hang in here. It looks like any and every office slash library you see in a TV show or movie. It’s soulless and I think he wanted it just to have one because he never does any work in here. It’s more for show.

  My mother never would’ve allowed it.

  She would’ve made sure there was at least some personal touch in here that let you know who lives here. She did that in every room of this house before she died. But in the six years since she’s been gone, he’s gone about redecorating and rebuilding and expanding this house. He wants it to be the biggest, most expensive home in Diamond Cove and he’s succeeded. It is that.

  But there’s a museum quality to it that I hate sometimes, especially when I’m here alone. That’s why I moved out to the pool house. At least out there, I can do my own thing. I don’t have to be in this cavernous place.

  Don’t get me wrong. The house is awesome and it’s great to bring people over and watch their eyes bug out.

  But it always feels like it’s missing something.

  I stand up and check my watch. I don’t know what time Cara is coming over. I didn’t tell her when to be here. But I want to be ready when she shows up.

  And if she doesn’t?

  I’ll be ready to go get her and bring her back.

  NINETEEN

  Cara

  I don’t want to go.

  It’s already seven and I’ve been putting it off for an hour. I don’t want to go to Dash’s house. I have no idea what’s waiting for me there and I’m not sure I want to find out.

  But I worry that if I don’t go, he’ll follow through with his threats about my father.

  And I can’t have that.

  So I
finally put on a clean pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a zip up hoodie. I grab his sweatshirt I wore home last night, take a couple of deep breaths, and start the walk to his house.

  The first thing I notice is how fucking big his house is when I get there. In the dark last night, I couldn’t really tell. But now, in the fading daylight, I see a house that has to be at least ten thousand square feet with multiple smaller buildings around it. I’m standing in a circular drive that has a fountain in the middle of it and all of this is on a wide bluff above the ocean.

  It’s straight out of a movie.

  The front doors are at least twenty feet tall and I don’t see a doorbell, but I do see an intercom, so I press the button.

  “Walk around to the back,” Dash says without even saying hello. “There’s a path to your right. It comes down the hill to my place.” It clicks off.

  A knot forms in my stomach and I clutch his sweatshirt to my chest as I walk down the narrow brick path that snakes alongside the main house. I see the pool he carried me past last night and then I see the poolhouse or whatever it is that he lives in.

  And I see my bike.

  It’s propped up near the front door. There’s a new lock hanging from the handlebars.

  What the hell?

  The door opens and he walks out. He’s in gray shorts and a black T-shirt. His hair is wet and brushed back. Even ten feet away, I can smell the shampoo and sandalwood. He looks like a model that just stepped out of a magazine.

  If only he wasn’t such an asshole.

  “That’s my bike,” I say.

  “It is,” he says, nodding. “Thought you might want it back.”

  “How did you–”

  “Cut the lock,” he says. “That’s why there’s a new one on there. Didn’t think the busted one would do you much good.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Okay. Thanks.”

  He nods.

  And I’m pissed that I’m thanking him. It’s his fault I had to leave it in the first place. I can’t forget that.

  “I brought your sweatshirt,” I tell him, then hold it up.

  He holds a hand and I give it to him.

  “I ordered Chinese food,” he says.