Chapter Nine
THATCHER
The sound of a lounge chair being dragged across the patio pulls me from my thoughts. The screeching stops as it settles next to mine and someone plops down on it. My eyes stay focused on the sky, already knowing who it is. Cole has always used Arwen as a buffer when I get too moody for him. He thinks she’s better equipped to deal with emotions because she’s a girl, but he should know better. Arwen is more of a dude in that regard than either of us.
“What are you doing here?” I clip, hoping my harsh tone will allow me to get my quiet solitude back. Arwen isn’t that easily intimidated, though.
“Well…no one has been able to get a hold of you for hours.”
By “no one,” she means the mindless sheep of Westbrook High who have likely been desperately trying to reach me. They act as if they can’t make plans for the weekend without checking with me first.
Arwen pulls the bottle of amber colored liquor from my hand and takes a swig. “Figures you’ve been here acting like a drama queen.”
I chuckle, looking over at her long enough to swipe the whiskey back and take another drink before responding. “Screw you, Ari.”
Thankfully, she has no idea how right she is. Jealousy twisted my stomach when Violet gave Shaw her number. Then he put his fucking lips on her, and I wanted to tear him apart. As she drove away, I even considered following her to show her I wouldn’t be so easily defeated. Instead, I came straight home, grabbed a bottle of Woodford Reserve from my father’s liquor cabinet, and ended up by the pool laying in this chair. I’d purposely left my phone inside and have no clue how much time has passed since then. All I know is the moon has replaced the sun and the once full bottle of booze is now half empty.
And I still feel like smashing shit.
Violet is purposely trying to piss me off. It’s both infuriating and intriguing. She threw down the gauntlet today. Now, I need to decide if I want to rise to the challenge or put an end to it for good.
My little Saint doesn’t fully understand the consequences, what it will mean for me to conquer her. If she did, she might not be so eager.
“No thanks,” she quips. “Where are the ’rents?”
I sigh. Arwen doesn’t care about my parents. She’s dipping her toes in the water before she dives in. “Good ol’ dad is out of town on business, and mom is off on a girl’s weekend or having an affair. One of the two.”
My parents are rarely home these days, which works for me. There’s a lot of screaming and fighting when they’re home. They yell at each other, then start in on me. It’s exhausting. With Kandice away at college this year, I have the house to myself most of the time. My parents hired someone to come in a couple days a week to clean and do the grocery shopping. I’m pretty sure she spends more time here than any of us.
“Fabulous.” She slaps her hands down on her thighs before rubbing them—her nervous tick. “All right, that’s enough small talk. Are you going to tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to beat it out of you?”
I swing both feet over the edge of the chair as I sit up and glare at her. Though I’ve never seen my friend as anything more than one of the guys, Arwen is gorgeous. She has killer legs, and long, wavy dark hair. But the most alluring thing are her thick eyebrows and long lashes that accent her stunning gray eyes. They’ve always reminded me of the sky right before a storm, and Arwen is that storm.
She purses her lips, unimpressed by my attempt to seem threatening. “You could try,” I tease.
Her stormy eyes flicker with amusement. “Boy, please. We both know I could take you.”
It’s true, she could. Arwen is fierce and scrappy. She was the new kid in town when Cole and I first met her. We’d gone to a party and ended up in a fight we couldn’t win, until she stepped in, distracting one of the guys with her good looks before delivering a blow to his groin. We’ve pretty much worshipped her since then.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Who says anything is going on? Maybe I didn’t feel like talking to any of you jackasses.”
“I’d say the bottle in your hand and drunken glaze over your eyes is a pretty good indicator something is eating at you,” she retorts, yanking the bottle away from me again. “Besides, Cole already told me what your problem is. I merely wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”
“Fucking Cole.”
I swear to God, the big mouth gossips more than a girl in junior high.
“Don’t blame him. He was worried about you, and you know I can be very persuasive.” I chuckle at her attempt to sound sultry, and she smacks my knee. “Anyway…with all the rumors floating around school, I already assumed it was about your saint.”
My saint. Fuck, I’m so selfish for wishing that were true. I don’t deserve her, and she doesn’t deserve all the bullshit and baggage that would come from being mine.
I groan, cupping my woozy head in my hands as I come to my feet. “I don’t know what Cole told you or what you think you know, but I don’t care about some stupid rumors or Violet St. James.”
Arwen huffs out a laugh, following behind me as I head back inside. “Don’t bullshit me, Thatch. Remember, I was there the first time you laid eyes on that girl, and I’ve watched you pine over her for nearly two years.”
“Pine?” I shout, turning to face her as she shuts the sliding door behind her. “I have never and will never pine over anyone.”
Arwen’s demeanor remains calm and collected despite my raised voice and harsh tone. She takes a seat on the couch in the sunroom. The bottle of whisky rests on her thigh as she crosses her legs, her bored expression communicating she’s not going anywhere until she’s said her piece. “You do realize the very reason you refuse to pursue her is the same reason you’re so infatuated with her, right?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I huff, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “Now I’m infatuated? Jesus…how pathetic do you think I am?”
She tilts her head, giving me a pointed look, and I flip her off. “Seriously, though, Thatch. You’re into her because she’s different than the rest of us. She’s innocent and kind. She doesn’t try to fit in or impress people. She is who she is without apology and zero fucks given. Which, I have to say, is badass. I’m good at pretending I don’t care what anyone thinks about me, but I do. Violet is the real deal, and that’s why she’s special. Am I wrong?”
My jaw ticks as she looks at me expectantly, and I cross my arms. “Sounds like you’re the one obsessed with her,” I answer, only half joking. Arwen’s assessment of Violet was eerily accurate.
She shrugs off my comment before continuing. “You think you’ll ruin her, don’t you? You think if she’s with you, she’ll lose everything about her that makes her special.”
My eyes narrow at her smug expression before I look away, my chest so tight, I can hardly breathe. Arwen is right. Except, I don’t think I’ll destroy her, I know I will. The past couple days have proved as much. Then, when it’s all said and done, she’ll truly hate me.
I’ll be her ruin, but she’ll be my demise.
“Is there a point here?” I snap, refusing to admit she’s right out loud.
“I’m so glad you asked. My point, dear friend, is maybe she’s not the delicate little flower you make her out to be. Maybe, instead of you pulling her into the dark, she’ll drag you into the light. Maybe, you’re what each other need—a ying and yang.”
There’s only one way to test her theory, and it’s too risky. “Christ, Ari, this isn’t a fucking fairytale. Do you honestly believe she’d want anything to do with me if she knew about the things I’ve done?”
There’s so much I’m not proud of. So many people I’d hurt in the name of vengeance and survival. She’s too good, too pure. She’d never understand.
“I believe she would if she knew the real you. Maybe if—”
“No! Stop with all the maybes. Maybe isn’t good enough. I can’t…I won’t do that to her. To either of us.”
She takes a deep breath, giving up by the time she releases it.
Chapter Ten
VIOLET
When I close my locker and turn to walk away, I spot Cole and Thatcher coming down the hall together, as if my thoughts conjured them. My gaze falls to the floor, assuming Cole will follow Thatcher’s lead and ignore me.
It’s been three weeks—fifteen days of school—and Thatcher hasn’t spoken to me or looked at me once. If I didn’t find him confusing as hell before, I do now. Two Fridays ago, there was a feral promise in his eyes as I walked away with Aidan. The following Monday, I braced myself for the inevitable backlash. In fact, I was almost looking forward to it. I was ready for it—for him—and whatever was going to come next…but there was nothing.
“Saint!” My heart skips a beat hearing Cole use the nickname Thatcher gave me, and I slowly lift my eyes.
I give Cole a faint smile, and my stomach flutters as I look past him to a brooding Thatcher. His eyes stay focused straight ahead, his ticking jaw the only acknowledgement of my presence. God, he’s handsome. When my stare lands on Cole again, he waves me over, and I reluctantly oblige.
“Hey,” I squeak, coming to a stop next to him.
Cole throws his arm around my shoulders, giving me one of his signature smiles. “Hey there, sweetheart.” Ignoring my stiff body and Thatcher’s growl of protest, he drags me down the hall with them. “Where’s your boy Aidan?”
My face heats. “Oh…he’s not…we’re not…” I stutter, unsure what to say.
Aidan has called me a couple times since I gave him my number, but I would hardly call him “my boy,” nor do I want him to be. Though, I’m sure a lot of people are coming to that conclusion after seeing us walk through the halls together several times over the past couple weeks.
“You should come with him to Cooper’s party this weekend,” Cole says.
Aidan had asked me to go with him to a party this weekend, but I said no. I’m not into the whole party scene. My parents use to go to and throw parties a lot when I was a kid—when they were still young themselves. I think I lost my taste for partying then. Drunk people being loud and obnoxious. The music always blaring. I’ve only been to a couple of high school parties, and something tells me those were tame compared to a party with Westbrook High’s elite.
I open my mouth to decline again, but Cole leans in, resting his forehead in my hair before whispering, “Everyone will be there.”
It’s hard to miss his meaning, Cole wants me to know Thatcher will be there. I’m not sure if I’m more confused about that or the fact I’m suddenly considering going to the party. Why does Cole want me there, with Aidan no less? And, more importantly, what could I possibly hope to gain by going?
“Cole!” Thatcher roars, pulling Cole away by the collar of his shirt.
My eyes go wide, worried Thatcher is about to hurt his friend. Cole laughs, winking at me like he was purposely trying to ruffle Thatcher’s feathers.
“Gotta go! See you Saturday!” he calls before Thatcher drags him around the corner.
My eyelids fall, and I revel in the serene sound of silence, my body relaxing into the wooden bench hidden in the back of the high school. My bench. The one place during school hours where I can be alone and breathe. It’s nestled in the breezeway between the original building and the new addition, parked underneath a lone cheery blossom tree.
Westbrook is an elitist little town southwest of Nashville. Everything about this place screams pretentiousness. It’s the kind of area that makes anyone below the upper-class bracket feel out of place. But their schools have much better ratings than the ones in the city. Which is why my parents wanted to live here. They were “lucky” enough to find a small home that needed a lot of work on the town’s border. Otherwise, we could never afford to live here.
Westbrook High was originally a prep school for the wealthy. It was founded by some old rich guy wanting his offspring to receive the best possible education—which we all know is code for wanting to keep the poor riffraff out. Unfortunately for them, the town continued to grow as more people moved away from the city, and Westbrook Academy was forced to become a public school. When it could no longer accommodate the rising number of students, the new addition was built.
There’s a noticeable difference between the old structure and the new addition. The original school had grand architecture with intricate stonework. Hell, even the windows look fancy. The government funded building, however, looks the way you would expect a public high school to look—brown brick, boring windows, and cheap aluminum awnings.
I let out a sigh of relief as I place my lunch in my lap. The best part about this spot is no one else seems to know it’s here. I found it during my freshman year after venturing outside to get away from the noisy cafeteria and escape Thatcher. I’ve come out here to eat my lunch as often as possible since. Which is pretty much every day it’s not raining, and only the heavy stuff stops me then.
By the time I start digging my lunch out of the brown paper bag, my tense muscles already feel more at ease. I’ve no more than peeled my banana and taken the first bite when I feel that familiar hum in my blood. A shadow falls over me, and my spine goes rod straight as I swallow. His boots land in my line of sight, and a cocktail of emotions swirl in my gut. I’m annoyed he’s invading my sanctuary, thrilled he sought me out—and slightly afraid.
My gaze slides up his body, stopping on the bulge in his black jeans currently at my eyelevel as I take another bite. “Something pique your interest, Saint?”
My chewing pauses, and I swallow the remaining chunk before discarding the other half of the banana back in my bag. I take my time lifting my head, hoping to cool my heated cheeks and tame my erratic heart.
He looks impossibly hot in his simple white t-shirt, the sleeves hugging his biceps in a way that make me want to run my hands over them. By the time I meet his eyes, I’m even more flustered.
“What do you want?”
His lips twitch, his eyebrow lifting suggestively. “That’s a loaded question.”
The thick insinuation in his tone causes my abdomen to tighten as I grind my teeth. Feigning indifference to his comment, I press my lips into a hard line and blink with slow deliberation. His eyes darken and nostrils flare. I win.
“You’re not going to that party on Saturday.”
I huff out a laugh. “Excuse me?”
It’s hard to keep the amusement out of my voice and off my face. Cole played Thatcher like a fiddle. He knew encouraging me to come to the party would get under Thatcher’s skin. It’s like Cole wanted to give me the upper hand. Maybe we’re becoming legit friends.
“You heard me. You’re not going to the fucking party.”
Sighing, I grab the bottle next to me. His narrowed eyes are filled with warning as I take a sip of my water.
“Last I checked…” I start, packing up all my things so I can make a quick escape, “you don’t get a say in what I can or cannot do. You’re not my father.” I stand, placing myself dangerously close to him. A shiver rocks through me as I lock onto his molten chocolate eyes again. “You’re nothing to me.”
There’s a flash of something that resembles hurt in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with predatory lust. His eyes flicker to my mouth, and he makes a show of licking his own lips before they curl into a wicked smile.
“Oh no?” he challenges.
His hands land on my waist, the grip of his fingertips almost painful as he closes the small gap between us. His thumbs sweep under my shirt, gliding over the bare skin on my hips right above my jeans. I whimper as my nipples harden and my head starts to swim.
His breath brushes across my lips, and the air in my lungs seizes in anticipation. “You might want to double check your resources, baby doll.”
His cocky words and amused tone are like having cold water thrown in my face. Anger and humiliation burn in my gut, but the concern etched in his features keeps me from lashing out.
&n
bsp; He sighs, studying my face, as if trying to read my thoughts or convey his own.
“You don’t belong at a place like that with those people,” he says, his hard stare and harsh tone returning.
“Unbelievable.” I shove his hands off me as I take a step back.
More than anything, I’m pissed because he’s right. I don’t belong at that party. But the more he pushes, the more determined I am to go.
“You can’t stop me from going, Thatcher.”
When I turn away from him to reach for my backpack, his strong arms wrap around my waist. My back slams into the muscular wall of his body, expelling the air from my lungs in a loud yelp. I should be terrified, but there’s an ache between my thighs as I take in ragged breaths.
“Thatcher? What happened to Rebel? I liked my little pet name. Is that your thing? Do bad boys turn you on?” he taunts.
My feeble attempt to free myself only causes my ass to rub against his protruding groin. I quickly give up the fight.
“Maybe. Do good girls turn you on?” I shoot back, surprising myself.
His sinister chuckle breezes through my hair as he presses his thickness into my backside again. “Only you, baby doll,” he pants. “Do you want to be bad with me, Saint?”
A moan passes through my lips, and my weak legs squeeze together to help relieve the throbbing at my center. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling a deep breath through his nose as it slides to my hairline, then releases in a rush below my ear.
“You have to answer one question first.” He nibbles at my lobe before whispering, “What do you think happens when the saint falls for a rebel?”
My lashes flutter and brow creases as I try to process his question and the meaning behind it.
He kisses my temple as the bell rings, his tight hold going lax. “Time’s up,” he mocks, pulling his body away from mine. “Stay away from the party, unless you want to find out.”
When the Saint Falls: a high school bully romance (Westbrook three Book 1) Page 5
