When the Saint Falls: a high school bully romance (Westbrook three Book 1)

by A. D. McCammon

  “Jesus, Dad! It’s like the two of you don’t know how to properly interact with humans.”

  He shrugs as he stands, picking up Austin before addressing Thatcher. “Josie is the boss. I’m going to let you hash things out with her. Treat my daughter right, and we won’t have any problems. Hurt her, and there will be no saving you. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Daniel will do,” Dad scoffs before kissing mom on the head and leaving the kitchen with Austin in tow.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  THATCHER

  “Eyes on Fire” by Blue Foundation is playing on the radio as I drive to school, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding Violet’s. I can’t remember the last time I was this excited to see Friday. It’s Saint’s last day of ISS, and we’re going on our first real date tonight. Nothing could bring me down today, and I feel sorry for anyone who tries.

  Violet seemed surprised I was able to charm her parents, but I’ve always been good with parents…except my own. Honestly, I think her dad is tolerating me for his daughter. Her mom, however, adores me. Even her little brother was team Thatcher by the time I left.

  “I think I might miss being escorted to and from school every day,” Violet muses.

  My brow ceases as my eyes flicker to her. “What do you mean?”

  “Mom is giving me back my keys tonight. I can start driving to school again.”

  My ploy to get Violet ungrounded had only partly worked. Josie decided to keep her keys and phone through the duration of Violet’s suspension. Her mom has no clue I’ve been taking Saint to school and bringing her back home for the past couple days. It never occurred to me she’d want to start driving herself again, and I hate the idea.

  “Why would you do that?”

  She chuckles as I pull into the school parking lot. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because your boyfriend enjoys doing it.” My answer is surprisingly honest and revealing.

  When I turn to look at her, she gives me a mischievous smile, her cheeks rosier than they’d been a few seconds ago. “My boyfriend? Is that what you are?”

  I tug on her hand to bring her closer and lean over the center console, staring her in the eyes as I rest my forehead on hers. “Not funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be,” she breathes, closing her eyes. I lift my head and cup hers in my hands as those baby blues appear again. “We haven’t exactly discussed it. I know you’ve dated a lot of girls, but I’ve never had a boyfriend. Isn’t the guy supposed to ask the girl if she wants to be his girlfriend? You can’t just assu—"

  My lips crash into hers, stopping her train of thought dead in its tracks. She moans as our kiss deepens, her tongue tangling with mine in a frenzy. She’s panting by the time I break the kiss, and I give her a wicked grin. Point successfully proven.

  “The question was asked and answered. Your kiss tells me everything I need to know. But if you want to hear the words…” I pretend to clear my throat. “Violet St. James, will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

  Her lips press thoughtfully as she hums. “I’ll think about it.”

  “In that case, let me give you something to consider while you’re making your decision.”

  My lips make a soft landing, my tongue meeting hers attentively, my movements slow and caressing. Her hand moves to the back of my head, her fingers combing through my hair as she tries to deepen the kiss. The sound of people hooting and hollering as they pass by my car causes her to pull away, her skin red and blotchy all the way to her chest.

  She nods as she works to catch her breath again. “Wow…that was a very compelling argument, Rebel. You’ve convinced me. Yes, Thatcher Michaelson, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

  “You’re so cute,” I coo, nudging her nose with mine, “acting like there was ever a choice.”

  She feigns offense with a scoff, the curve of her lips giving her away as I sit back. Keeping our eyes locked, I take her hands in mine.

  “For real, though, I want you to know I’m taking this seriously. I haven’t…”

  Her eyebrows shoot up as I try to think of a way to say I haven’t been screwing anyone lately that doesn’t sound vulgar. The truth is, I’ve only been with a couple girls since Brandi and her friends. And they had merely been to test the waters. To see if my dick still worked the way it should. To be sure I knew how to please a girl when she wasn’t the one calling all the shots.

  “I haven’t seen anyone since last year, and I’ve never had a legitimate girlfriend before. This whole dating thing is new for me too.”

  She blinks in surprise as she studies me. “No way. How is that possible?”

  I pull her hand to my lips and placing a light kiss on her knuckles. “It’s simple. Most of the girls who go to this school make me cringe. You, on the other hand…”

  I start to lean for another kiss, but she stops me, placing a hand on my chest. “Wait. You don’t have to hide your past from me. I know you’re more…” She averts her eyes, color splashing across her cheeks, “more…experienced than me, and it’s okay. I mean—”

  “It feels a little like you’re calling me a liar, Saint,” I clip, jerking the keys out of the ignition.

  “No!” she rushes out, wrapping her arms around my bicep. “I only meant…I know you’re not a virgin.”

  My blood starts to heat as my temper continues to rise. I turn my head toward her, and the worry in her baby-doll eyes quickly cools me. She doesn’t know this is a sensitive subject for me. She’s in the dark about my past, and I’d like for it to stay that way.

  “I wasn’t claiming to be one. But I’ve never had this.” I gesture between us. “I’ve never felt this with anyone else. Those girls were—”

  Vultures, succubi, predators.

  She releases me and leans back, her eyes unblinking as she hugs herself. “Girls? As in plural? More than one? How many?”

  Of course, that’s what she’s clinging to. In all fairness, I can’t say I’d be any better if the tables were turned. The thought of anyone else touching her makes me want to hurt someone. But I don’t even know the exact number.

  “Don’t you think the past is best left where it is?”

  Her lips twist as she lets out an exasperated sigh. “Says the one who has one.”

  I run my hands through my hair, noticing there’s almost no one left in the parking lot. “Fine,” I relent, grabbing my backpack from the backseat before meeting her gaze again. “We don’t have time to get into this right now. You can’t be late for ISS or they’ll extend your time. If you still want to hear all the sorted details tonight, I’ll tell you. But only after our date. Deal?”

  The nod of her head is slow and unsure. She’s already overthinking everything. It’s what she does. She’s weighing the pros and cons to see if knowing who I’ve slept with is worth it. Here’s to hoping the cons win. Otherwise, she’s going to learn the hard way that knowledge isn’t always power. More times than not, it only brings destruction.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  VIOLET

  The crash of the pins startles me out of my thoughts. It’s Thatcher’s third strike in a row. He’s totally kicking my butt. In my defense, my mind is a little preoccupied.

  Arwen came over to my house after school to help me get ready for my date, and when I told her Thatcher promised to tell me whatever I wanted to know afterwards, she all but begged me to leave the past alone—said the only thing that mattered was the here and now. A part of me knows she’s right, but her reaction only made me more curious. Besides, how am I expected to have a relationship with someone I know so little about? Wouldn’t it be better to get all the skeletons out of the closet now instead of months down the road?

  Thatcher swaggers over to me with a devilish grin on his face. My skin heats as his hands land on my hips, his thumbs brushing the bare skin under the tiny tank top I’d thrown a thrift store bowling shirt over.

  “Were you checking out my as
s, Saint?”

  Every girl in this place has been eyeballing him all night. Including me. He looks positively sinful in his all black ensemble. No one wears a pair of jeans and a t-shirt the way he does. Though, I image he looks magnificent without any clothes at all.

  “Is that a problem, Rebel?”

  He chuckles. “Not at all. But remember, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

  “You know… if you stop beating me so badly, I might let you do more than check out the merchandise.”

  “Are you seriously trying to bribe me with your body to throw the game?” I give him an innocent smile. “And here I was worrying I’d be the one to corrupt you,” he teases. “Your offer is tempting, but I’m pretty sure I can have the win and you. When you’re bribing someone, make sure you’re offering something they can’t acquire for themselves. I know you’re as desperate for my touch as I am to touch you.”

  “What makes you so sure?” I challenge.

  “It’s in the way your eyes dilate as you drink me in. The sharp intake of breath every time I get close. The slight shiver that courses through you when my fingertips caresses your skin.” His words brush against my lips, the huskiness in his tone making my knees weak.

  “You don’t play fair, Thatcher Michaelson.”

  “There are no rules when you’re playing for keeps, baby doll.”

  Thatcher waggles his eyebrows playfully as he opens the passenger side car door for me, and my stomach flutters with nerves as I slip into the seat. He quickly closes me inside before rushing over to the driver’s side. Once he’s seated, he shifts to face me, an expectant look in his dark eyes.

  “Where to next?” My breathy words give me away, and my cheeks heat.

  He chuckles, but the way he rubs at his jaw tells me he’s feeling anxious too. “Next stop is home. I told your dad I’d have you home by eleven, and I plan to have you there at least five minutes early. He scares me a little. I do not want to get on his bad side. That laidback, nice guy routine isn’t fooling me. I know he’d tear me up without batting an eyelash.”

  I snort. “He can definitely be ferocious when it comes to the people he loves. But that’s almost an hour away, plenty of time for some more fun. Unless…” I scoot closer, taking one of his hands in mine, “you want to see how fast we can fog up these windows.”

  He shakes his head. “I made you a promise. Go ahead, ask me anything.”

  My stomach knots and I chew on my bottom lip as my eyes fall to the console between us. I knew this was coming, but a part of me hoped he’d chicken out—that we could stay in our bubble a bit longer.

  We’ve had such an incredible time, and I don’t want to ruin it. He’s had me laughing and swooning all night. The brooding boy who rarely smiles is a lot of fun. Being with him has been so easy and natural—so carefree.

  Now, it’s time to choose. Take the red pill and see Thatcher through the eyes of his past or take the blue one and see him only as the person he is now. Maybe it’s naive or stupid, but I choose this—us. Whatever he did in the past doesn’t have anything to do with the here and now. Here, now, I’m happy, and I don’t want to let anything get in the way of that.

  “I choose the blue pill,” I declare, meeting his gaze again.

  His eyebrows shoot up, then bunch together, amusement dancing in his chocolate eyes. “You lost me, Saint.”

  I sigh, then tsk my tongue. “I’m disappointed in you, Rebel. I thought for sure you’d get that reference. You know, like in The Matrix. The red pill shows you the truth and the blue one allows you to stay in your current reality.”

  His lips spread into a wide grin. “Yeah, I know about The Matrix. It’s a cult classic, and I’m a big nerd at heart. I’m surprised you know it.”

  “It’s my dad’s favorite movie. We’ve watched together so many times, I’ve lost count. I guess I eventually fell in love with it too.”

  His eyes light up. “That scored you some major points. I can’t wait to watch it with you. But…are you sure there isn’t anything you want to know?”

  My tongue glides over my teeth as I tuck my hair behind my ears. There’s so much I want to know, but it all scares the hell out of me.

  “Have you ever…I mean, did you love any of the girls you slept with?”

  A cloud of shame darkens his features as he shakes his head. I’m not sure if I feel relieved or disillusioned. A part of me wants to believe he’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t sleep with a girl he didn’t care for. The other part realizes that’s not a realistic expectation and is thrilled to know he’s never given his heart away.

  “Were you…?” I trail off as embarrassment tightens around my throat. Clearing it, I try again. “Were you safe?”

  “Always.”

  “Good…” I nibble at my bottom lip again, my eyes darting around to avoid landing on him.

  “Anything else?”

  I force myself to meet his stare, hating the fear burning in his. There is so much more my jealous side wants to know. Every name, description, current location. If he slept with them more than once. If he ever called any of them his girlfriend. How long they were together. If Cole and Arwen liked any of them. If he still talks to any of them. But knowing all of that wouldn’t make me feel any better.

  “Tell me about your art.”

  His head jerks back as if I smacked him. “What?”

  “Those are your drawing pads on your desk in your room, right? You’re extremely talented. Your work is hauntingly beautiful. The perfect mix of dark and light in the world.”

  He blinks, continuing to stare at me like I’ve grown a second head. “So, you went in my room and took it upon yourself to go through my shit?” His tone is cold, his words clipped, reminding me of the boy who used to torment me. I shrink into myself.

  “I’m sorry…I was looking for you, and I just—”

  He sighs, running a hand through his perfect mane. “That shit is personal, okay?” His voice is softer now with a hint of remorse. “It would be like me coming into your room and reading your journal. Instead of writing down my feelings, I draw them. They aren’t something I share. With anyone.”

  Guilt gnaws at me. I would be mortified if someone got ahold of my journal. It’s my release, my therapy, the one place I don’t have to worry about anyone else’s feelings.

  “I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m the one who should be apologizing, I totally overreacted.” He tucks my hair behind my ears, then rests his forehead on mine. “You kind of caught me off guard. My father never approved of my little ‘hobby.’ I’ve become accustomed to hiding it. It’s something I’m very protective of.”

  “I get it,” I reassure him, shifting to give him a quick kiss on his soft lips before leaning back. “Let’s change the subject. Why don’t you tell me about your family?”

  “Oh lord, are you sure you don’t want to ask me more questions about who I’ve slept with?”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  THATCHER

  My parents’ angry shouting greets me as I walk through the front door, and my footsteps halt inside the foyer.

  “I refuse to stay at home while you’re out traveling the world and screwing other women.”

  “Don’t act like you care what or who I do. All you care about is my money.”

  With a sigh, I step right back outside. There’s no way I’m going to let the two of them ruin my night with their bullshit.

  As I get back into my car, I send Cole a quick text asking him where he is. He responds, “Party,” before dropping a pin with his location. This is typically what happens whenever my parents are home. He was likely already anticipating I’d stay with him this weekend.

  It doesn’t take me long to arrive at the party, and I shoot Cole another text asking him to meet me outside. I’m pretty sure this is Shane Donavan’s house. I don’t how Cole ended up at one of his parties, but something tells me he wasn’t invited. We don’t ha
ng out with Shane’s crowd. They’re what we like to call the old regime—the ruthless assholes who once ruled Westbrook. The same people who bullied us, or at least what’s left of them. My sister and most of her friends have all gone off to college now, but some of their younger siblings remain. Like Joey Fucking Roberts.

  He could be the reason Cole showed up here tonight, which could mean serious trouble for me. It’s taken everything in me not to teach that clown a lesson. If it wasn’t for my promise to Violet, I would’ve already. The last thing I need is to run into a drunken Roberts looking for a fight.

  Cole comes out of the house with a shit-eating grin on his face. It’s the kind he reserves for when he’s ready to burn the world down to the ground. Every muscle in my body goes stout, preparing to fight at his side. This isn’t good.

  “What are you doing here, man?”

  “She’s here somewhere, and I’m going to find her.” His eyes scan the crowd filtering in and out of the house.

  “Who? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The girl. The one I’ve been talking to. I pinged her phone, so I know she’s here.”

  Cole is low-key genius-level smart. He likes to keep it under wraps because he tends to use his superpowers for evil instead of good. His hacker skills are way beyond me, but he’s able to send someone a text that will tell him the person’s precise location when opened. Which is apparently how he ended up here, stalking his phantom girl.

  “Umm…the people at this party hate us.”

  “Exactly!” he exclaims, his eyebrows lifting as he wags his finger. “You were right. She’s been playing me. There’s no way a girl who would attend a party at this asshat’s house would want anything to do with me. But I’m no one’s fool. She’s clearly underestimated me.”

  “So, what’s your plan here? Won’t exposing her expose you as well?”

  “Expose her?” He lets out a wicked laugh, flipping someone off as they pass. “Hell no. I’m going to sleep with her then ghost her ass.”