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You can't just turn off love, Zella.
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C.M. Stunich
Sarian Royal
Never Let Go
Copyright © C.M. Stunich 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 1863 Pioneer Pkwy. E Ste. 203, Springfield, OR 97477-3907.
www.sarianroyal.com
ISBN-10: 1938623851 (eBook)
ISBN-13: 978-1-938623-85-1(eBook)
Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal
"Optimus Princeps" Font © Manfred Klein
"Conrad Veidt " Font © Bumbayo Font Fabrik
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.
this book is dedicated to those who Never second guess the heart.
that's a skill worth fighting for.
1
I'm standing in the middle of the football field watching blood run down the side of Tobias Underwood's face. His perfect, white teeth are clenched and his left eye is nearly swollen shut. He's panting; I'm panting. But I did not get my ass kicked. And don't think he held back because I'm a girl. I saw it in his eyes, knew he would take me down if he could. All of this over a jacket I never liked. I just wanted to embarrass him in front of his ugly, new girlfriend, Lisebeth. I don't even believe that's a real name, but the way the boys all talk about her, you'd think she shit diamonds. Or maybe it's just the yummy hot spot between her thighs.
I squeeze my fists tight at my sides and try to hold back the tears. Tobias has had a whole ocean filled with my tears. They call it the Zella-is-a-sucker-sea and scientists are afraid it's going to rise and cover the whole damn continent that is her pride and dignity. What's that saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, what the fuck was I thinking?
“Whose is this?” the coach asks, the eight ball of cocaine held out in the palm of his right hand. The drugs are Tobias', but who's going to believe me? I'm a piece of white trash, born and raised by the Mississippi. I'm poor and he's rich. That's all there really is to it.
“They're mine, coach,” Tobias says, surprising me. He looks away and sniffles. Blood leaks from his nostrils and hits the grass at his feet. I reach up and adjust my ponytail, doing my best not to look around at the gathering crowd. Even though the game is over, there are people everywhere. As I'd wanted, Lisebeth is glaring daggers at me. But as I'd never expected, Tobias and I are both seriously fucked. The fight we might've gotten away with, but the drugs? I start to quiver, with anger, with disappointment, with fear.
And I think of Noah Scott.
He sent me another email last night. This one asking if it was okay if he went up to the cabin, too. Like I'd ban him from his own house? He's too nice sometimes. I don't understand him at all. I've been ignoring him for almost a year now, but this was too much.
If you don't come, you'll ruin the holidays.
That's what I sent back. It was kind of rude, but I'm still mad at him. I'm still so mad that I can't breathe. Why can't he just forget about my sister? Why? Why is Never so fucking important to him? I want to slap his face when I see him. And then I want to throw my arms around his neck and beg him to stay with me forever, to hold me at night, to kiss me in the morning. I am so in love with Noah Scott that I don't think straight when I'm with Tobias Underwood.
Coach glances over at his assistants. I think, if he'd had the chance, he would've tossed the coke in a garbage can and pretended nothing had happened. Tobias is the best wide receiver this team has ever seen. Without him, the Stallions are pretty much fucked. Competition's tough this year, and they need every member on their A game. Unless Tobias' daddy pays up, his son is done with the team. Maybe with school, too.
“I'm going to have to discuss your punishment with the dean,” he says, sounding faraway. He's just as upset about this as we are, I think. But there are too many witnesses for him to pretend anything else happened. The truth is all there is now, and it's butt ugly.
Tobias and I continue to stare at one another as the coach walks away. Nobody says anything to either of us, but I know that they will. Soon. Probably after the weekend is over.
I swallow hard and wipe the flecks of blood from my lips. Just a few droplets from the single swing Tobias managed to land on my face. I got him way worse, though. Way, way worse.
“Nice job, Zella,” he sneers, snorting up blood, licking his swollen lip. “Thanks a lot for that.”
“Guess we're even now, huh?” I whisper, but I don't feel any triumph in that. I just feel … empty. Like I could float away and no one would ever notice. But I know that's not true. Beth would. India would.
Noah would.
I turn and leave my shame on the field behind me.
2
I pace back and forth in my dorm room, thanking the heavens that my roommate's out tonight. I was supposed to go with her to some stupid mixer or something, but my nerves are electrified, zapping me with little shocks of fear and regret whenever I dare to let my guard down. At least a dozen times since I got back from the game, I've logged onto the student web portal to make sure I was still enrolled, that I hadn't been magically cleared from the system.
Don't worry, Zella, my anxious mind coos, you haven't been erased. Yet. It's only Friday night. Come Monday morning, things won't be looking so damn rosy.
“Ugh!” I groan, dropping to my knees on the gray carpet tiles. My hands come up to my face and I sit there for a minute holding my breath. It's only when I start to feel light-headed and my chest begins to ache that I suck in a massive lungful of air. It tastes like stupidity and petty jealousy. “I can't believe I just did that.”
“I can't believe you did that either.”
Crap.
I drop my hands from my face and scramble to my feet, doing my best to hit the door running. Both palms come out and make contact with the white painted wood. But like I said, Tobias Underwood is the best wide receiver the Stallions have ever seen. And me? I'm going to be the world's best damn defense attorney. Translation: he has muscles and I don't.
My bare feet slide across the carpet as he pushes his way in. I force myself to take a step back and cross my arms tightly over my chest. If I don't, I might take a swing at him again. In this enclosed space, he might actually be able to take advantage of his bulging muscles to fight back.
“I'm calling security and reporting a break-in,” I state firmly, my eyes catching on his swollen nose, his purple eye. Tobias scowls at me and throws my keys onto the bed. Even though they're exactly the same – twin beds, white comforters, blue sheets – he knows which one of the two is mine. Tobias and I have spent a lot of time in that bed together.
“Next time you decide to return my jacket, check the pockets.” He takes a step closer to me, running the fingers of his right hand through his red-brown hair. It's dark enough that you'd think he was just another brunette boy from Middle America. When the light hits it though, it gleams like bloody rubies. I bite my lip. “For the keys you gave to me,” he continues as my gaze wanders around the room. I'll look at anything but him. “And the fucking cocaine, Zella!” He's starting to scream now.
I don't want to get in another fight, not right now, not after what just happened. If there's any chance of us getting through this without getting expelled, that'll go right out the window if my neighbors report a screaming fight in my dorm room. These walls are paper fucking thin.
“You know I don't do that shit,” I tell Tobias.
He does. He knows. It's one of the reasons we broke up. Well, that he broke up with me. I guess my constant bitching – as he likes to put it – about his drug use was too much. Sorry that I care about you, dude. Sorry that I don't want to see you fuck your life up. Sorry I'm still in love with Noah Scott.
“I'm well aware,” he snarls as I look him up and down, take in his dress shirt, navy blue suit jacket, tie. My lips purse. Must be a football thing. Has to be a football thing. Why, why, why did I decide to date a football player? “You're holier-than-thou attitude isn't easy to forget.”
“Oh, please,” I snap back at him, finally daring to meet his brown eyes. That gaze, even burning like it is with hatred for me, is intoxicating. What's the matter with me? I'm better than this. Tobias and I both are better than this. I hate our relationship. It's toxic and disgusting. Why can't I just walk away? Obviously he can't either or he wouldn't be here. “Should you even be here? Isn't ESPN supposed to have a breaking news story on you taking a shit tonight?”
“I didn't come here to fight with you,” Tobias says, double checking to make sure the door is closed and locked behind him. His eyes flick to the knob and then back to my face, over to the bed, to the window. “I came here to talk.” I focus on his black eye, both proud and disturbed by the fact that I was the one that gave it to him.
“Okay, then. Let's talk.” I scoot back a step, so I don't get caught in his atmosphere. Tobias scoots past me and sits on the edge of my bed. Ugh. Mistake. I curl my fingers tight around my upper arms to stay still. It's not like I don't know my own family history, how horrible the Regali women are when it comes to making decisions about men. I blame my mother – we all do. But I'm not going to have sex with Tobias tonight. I mean, after what just happened? We just had a freaking brawl in front of a massive stadium full of people. There were drugs involved. Punishment is imminent. Ahh. I just want to lay down and cry. If I get kicked out of school, then what? I end up like Angelica? Like Beth? The short of the matter is that I end up back in Mississippi, a nothing and a nobody.
I swallow hard and stand my ground.
“Coach is telling everyone that there's been a misunderstanding.” I raise my right eyebrow. Uh huh. Of course he is. Tobias Underwood is a god in a pantheon of gods, a mythical being that can catch a brown ball and run it across some white lines on a grass field. It's a miracle! Humanity should bow down to these almighty heroes.
“Okay?” I ask, stretching the word out to indicate my confusion. Why come here and tell me that? So he's going to get away with the drugs? Doesn't really surprise me. Now all I have to do is worry about myself, about the fight. They can't really expel me for just one incident, right?
“He's saying that the … drugs were yours, that I'm just trying to cover for you.”
“What?!” I screech, clamping a hand over my mouth to keep the rest of the words back. I want as few people as possible to know that Tobias even came here tonight. “What do you mean? You admitted that they were yours, in front of everybody.” I hate the way I admire that he did that. Tobias and I have had a horrible relationship. From the moment he spotted me in the university bookstore, we've struggled through this swamp of emotions and pain that I can't figure out. It's been almost two years of this shit, and I just want it to be done. Even though I don't.
Fuck.
I blame all of this on Noah Scott.
“I know, and I'm willing to take responsibility for it.” His perfect jaw clenches tight again, and I can tell he's still pissed at me. Well, I'm still pissed at him for parading Lisebeth around on his arm, like she was some sort of carnival prize that he'd won. It takes more effort to win one of those gold fish from the county fair. “But nobody else seems to think that's a good idea.”
“I don't care if it's a good idea!” I'm crying now, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I know in my heart that it doesn't matter what Tobias says. That this world isn't fair, that I'm going to get blamed for this. I'm just a bit of nothing, carried here on the wind on a scholarship. Tobias is … he's perfect. Perfect family, perfect face, perfect grades. “I can't go home, Tobias. If the dean decides the drugs are mine, I'm out. I'll lose everything.”
I actually move over to him, actually sit down next to Tobias on that bed.
He reaches out for me, and I cringe. The movement's a by-product of our sordid past; I can't help it. When Tobias sighs and drops his hands back into his lap, I reach out for them, curling my fingers around his. Our eyes meet and the space between us closes fast.
We both shiver when our lips meet. His right hand withdraws from mine and brushes against the side of my face, silently apologizing for the right hook he landed on my mouth. I sigh against him, apologizing for the bloody nose, for throwing the full force of my body into the punch I connected with his eye. Over and over again we make the same mistake. Tobias and I, we hit each other and then we apologize and we come back for more. I don't get it.
All I know is that it isn't right.
Noah Scott.
As Tobias lays me back on the bed and yanks down his pants, as I spread my legs and pull up my skirt, I'm thinking of Noah Scott.
The love of my life. My sister's ex.
I wonder what he'd think of me right now?
3
When I wake up the next morning, Tobias is gone. I'm not surprised. This is our typical pattern – fight, fuck, make up, repeat. He's never paraded another woman around in front of me before though. My lip curls at the thought of Lisebeth wrapping her long, bronze legs around Tobias' back. As much as he pisses me off, he's still mine. He's supposed to be mine. I deserve someone in this world, don't I?
I groan and sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. This sort of thinking won't get me anywhere. What I need to be doing is figuring out how to get through this situation without a one-way ticket home. I figure I have two options here: wait for Monday to roll around or confront this thing head on. I could write a letter apologizing for the incident, go talk to the coach, explain why I did what I did. Sounds like a bunch of bullshit though. Knowing my luck, it won't make any difference.
But I have to try.
I force myself to stand up, finding that my legs are shaky and my head is spinning. I feel like I have a hangover, and I didn't even go out last night. How fair is that? I guess emotions are like alcohol – only they don't poison the liver, they poison the soul.
I slap my hand against my cheek a few times to wake myself up. A few ibuprofen and a bottle of water is this girl's version of breakfast for champions. Beth would freak if she knew how little I eat around here. I guess without burned pancakes and dry toast being thrown at me every morning, I'm practically anorexic. I smile when I think of Beth's cooking, of India's singing, of Noah's smile.
No!
I shake my head again to clear thoughts of that boy from my mind. It's been, like, a year since that happened. Since we slept together.
My cheeks heat, and I find myself flooded with memories. I'm ruminating about Noah's fingertips trailing down my waist when my roommate, Ciara, walks in, face grim, lips pinched with worry. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she sees me standing stationary in the center of the room with my face flushed and little beads of sweat clinging to my forehead.
“Hot night with Tobias again?” she asks, her voice low and threaded through with little needles of disappointment that make me want to slap her. Sometimes Ciara reminds me too much of Beth – in a bad way. I find myself constantly reminding her that we're the same age, that she doesn't know shit about me, and that I don't need her advice. I mean, it's not like we hate each other or anything. In social situations, we get along great. It's just in private like this, when she begins to pass judgment, that we have problems. “And after last night's fiasco? I don't know how you do it, Zella.”
“I'm not thinking about Tobias,” I snap at her. It's true – I'm not. Even though I lost my virginity to Tobias, even though he's been my boyfriend for almost two years, he doesn't make me feel like Noah d
oes. I shake my head and move over to the mini-fridge to grab a bottle of cold water.
“Oh.” It's all she says. She doesn't mention that I'm wearing the same clothes from last night, and I don't mention the fact that her bed is still made, that she never came home last night. Those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, right? “Are you freaking out right now?”
“Over what?” I ask as I stand up and take a swig of H20. God, that tastes good. I grab the white bottle of pills from my desk and pour three of them into my palm. Behind me, Ciara makes a noise in her throat.
“Oh my God,” she says, and I can hear a cringe in her voice. I turn around slowly, my fingers squeezing tight around the water bottle. Ciara's not looking at me but up at the ceiling like she can't freaking believe how stupid I am. I stand there for a moment and stare at her, examining her orange-red hair and the smattering of freckles across her nose. A normal person would follow that statement up with an explanation. Instead, all she says is, “you don't know.”
“I don't know what?” I ask, already exasperated at … I turn the digital clock on my desk around. Noon. Holy shit. I hadn't realized I'd slept in so late. Well, it still feels early to me, too early to be this irritated. “Come on, Ciara. You can't just drop a bomb like that and not follow up with an explanation.”
“Zella, the entire student body saw what happened yesterday. You attacked Tobias in front of everybody.” I open my mouth to protest, but I know what it looked like. Bad. I hadn't gone there intending to fight with him. All I really wanted was to parade in there wearing his jacket, throw it at him like a badass, so Lisebeth could see me and know he left it in my dorm room two nights before. He was cheating on her with me, but to me, it felt like it was the other way around. I just wanted her to know he still cared about me. I wanted everybody to know.
“I … ” I can't come up with anything to say, so I just stand there and sigh. My mouth is sore from where he hit me, swollen and achy, but not nearly as bad as some of the injuries I've had before. I touch my fingertips gently to my mouth and let my eyes flutter closed. Tears threaten, but I know I can't cry around Ciara and leave with my dignity in tact, so I don't. I squeeze them back with sheer force of will, and open my eyes to look at her. “He hit me back,” I say, but the words sound lame, even to me. “And he had the drugs.” I shrug and Ciara's pale face gets even paler.
Never Let Go Page 1
