Breakaway: A Playmaker Duet Prequel (Prescott Family Book 3)

by Mignon Mykel

  But I had one more month until graduation.

  What if she couldn’t place me in another home in this school district? I needed to graduate, even if it was with a C-average. Being re-placed right before finals started wasn’t the best idea.

  I gathered my backpack, ready to head to school for the day. It was Friday and a half-day; maybe I could study at Starbucks or something before heading to the grocery store where I worked a few hours during the week.

  I walked out of the bedroom just as Ryan, the college-aged bio-son, came out of his bedroom. I hadn’t had any true interactions with him, but he looked like his father—in a younger, prettier way—which was enough of a reason for me to be disgusted with him.

  I adjusted the strap on my backpack and tried to step past him when he grabbed my arm. “Genna, right?”

  He had brown hair and brown eyes, but his weren’t beady-dark like his father’s. He also had more muscle than his father.

  Would he join his father? He was much stronger. I couldn’t even fight off his father; there’d be no way I could fight off him.

  I started to feel panicky at the thoughts circling in my head, but instead of letting them take over, I feigned indifference, putting on the persona that got me through the last six years in the foster care system.

  The last six years when I realized no one wanted me, so to hell with being a good little girl.

  Lifting my chin, I raised my brows. “What’s it to you?” I clenched my molars together.

  He chuckled and shook his head, put it wasn’t a happy sounding chuckle. “You doing ok?” he asked instead.

  “Yeah.” I stepped away from him. “I have to go.” I hurried away from him, racing down the carpeted stairs, hoping that Ryan’s father wasn’t around this morning.

  The wife, Tracy, I could deal with, but not him.

  “Genna?” called from the kitchen. I was relieved to hear it was Tracy’s voice.

  I glanced at the front door. I could just leave. I had to get to school.

  Tracy stepped out of the kitchen. “Genevieve, don’t forget you’re meeting with Marie today after school.”

  Tracy was a seemingly nice woman. She was what foster kids hoped for in adoptive parents.

  Smiles.

  Laughter.

  Warm.

  With blonde hair and warm brown eyes, she was the pretty woman foster kids saw in all the ‘Gotcha Day’ ads, hoping that a woman like her would adopt a misfit like them.

  I wondered if she knew what a monster her husband was?

  If she did…

  Well, it would ruin that ‘Gotcha Day’ ad in the worst way possible.

  “I forgot,” I mumbled. “I’ll text her and see if she’ll meet me when I’m studying.”

  “Oh yes,” Tracy said with a smile. “You get off early today.” She walked closer to me and I could smell the jasmine in her perfume. She placed a manicured hand on my face and I fought the need to flinch away.

  She is not her husband.

  “You’re incredibly bright, Genna. I wish you would put more effort into your studies.”

  Tracy had gotten ahold of my SAT scores before I could, and my troubled, angered, dumb kid ploy no longer worked with her.

  I had been contemplating not taking my SAT or even the ACT, but I needed to do something with my life once I got out of the system. My savings—as great as it was from working the moment I was legally allowed and hardly spending a dime—would only get me so far.

  Without cracking open a study guide, I scored in the top fifteen percent of the nation. I could go to any school I wanted; the problem was I couldn’t afford it, not if I wanted a roof over my head and food in the cupboards. Twenty-K went far, but it didn’t go that far.

  And schools didn’t give scholarships to slackers, no matter how intelligent the kid was.

  I searched Tracy’s eyes, unsure of what to say. “I have to go,” I finally said, stepping away. I passed Ryan at the base of the stairs and, with my eyes downward, I walked out the front door.

  It was abnormally chilly in Tennessee this spring. I walked to school but enjoyed the brisk chill on my cheeks.

  At Tracy’s insistence—and his disapproval—I took my driver’s test and had my license, but the house was only a mile or so away from the school. I drove to school a few times, but I found I preferred walking.

  It was freeing to my mind.

  I could think, contemplate…just be.

  Besides, I didn’t have friends at the school; driving would only get me there early and to do what? Sit on a bench by myself in some crowded hall, where no one would pay me any attention?

  Thanks, but no thanks.

  Add to that, the parking situation at the high school was nuts, so in order to even get a parking spot that wasn’t two blocks away, you had to arrive early.

  Walking, though, allowed me to leave at the same time, every day, and get to school at the same time, every day—five minutes prior to the final morning bell.

  Once at the school, I walked in through the cafeteria, paying no mind to the chattering going on all around me. Talking, verbal fighting, laughing. It was all around me and a direct reminder that I was a loner at this school.

  Before coming to stay with the current family, I was at a different high school, and before that, a different middle school. I came into this school just before the beginning of senior year and immediately didn’t fit in.

  I wasn’t looking to, so it really made no difference.

  I exited the cafeteria and entered the commons area, where tables were being set up. I frowned, taking in the people setting up the tables. They weren’t students. There were four tables, but each pair of people looked to be working on their own.

  One table had two men wearing red. Another, a woman and man wearing dark blue. Also, there was a lighter blue, and a deep green. I was curious as to who they were but I didn’t have time to sit and figure it out. I glanced up at the clock and saw I had three minutes to get to my locker and grab my book and notebook for my first class, US Economy.

  Done, with books to my chest and my chin down, I made my way to my first class of the day.

  Four hours.

  I just had to get through four hours.

  I forgot all about the random people in the Commons area until I was getting ready to leave with the early dismissal bell.

  Backpack slung over my shoulder, I headed down the hall and toward the Commons, ready to start my trek into town and to Starbucks to study. There were a few students loitering around the tables, but most were walking and talking, paying no mind to the people set up.

  In thought, I looked them all over. Now, instead of their colored shirts, each duo of people was in different camouflage.

  Ah. Military.

  Recruiters, was more like it.

  And they were sitting in the Commons, trying to recruit high school seniors to give them five years of their lives, all in exchange for a meager scholar—

  Wait.

  I hadn’t considered the military before.

  It would get me out of here—heck, it could take me far away and I’d never have to look back. And it could potentially help pay for school down the road.

  I was physically in good shape. I wasn’t overweight or weak.

  Plus, even if I was, wasn’t that what boot camp was about?

  Slowly, as to not draw attention to myself, I studied each table. I watched the recruiters’ mannerisms, the way they spoke with students and among one another.

  In my perusal, I was caught unaware as one of the uniformed service members stepped away from his table and over toward me.

  “Did you have questions?” he asked, startling me.

  I shook my head, bringing myself present. “No.” Again, I shook my head but now in reference to his question. “No, I was just thinking.”

  “You have good grades?”

  Again, I shook my head. “No. I could, but I don’t,
” I said honestly, making the man chuckle.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded toward an apparatus near the table he stepped from, the table with a Marines banner.

  “Can you hang?”

  I frowned. “Like, just hold myself up there?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Want to try?”

  I didn’t know what the deal was with the bar but the Marines were the only table to have something extra near them. The other services appeared to be doing push-ups and crunches.

  I shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.”

  The Marine walked me toward the bar and after I dropped my bag to the floor, he offered his hand. “Sgt. Kitters. Your name?”

  “Genevieve,” I answered automatically, my eyes already above me and on the bar. I looked at him then, noticing his hand was out, and nearly blushed—and I didn’t blush, dammit—at my being rude and not shaking his hand.

  It was one thing to be rude in school, and quite another to be rude with military people.

  I grasped his hand in a firm shake. It must have impressed him because he grinned crookedly. It made me slightly uncomfortable though, his grinning at me. Ever since moving into this last home, I just didn’t trust men.

  “Alright, Genevieve. Let me give you a hand—”

  I shook my head. “I’ve got it.” I moved to stand under the bar, looking up at it. It couldn’t be much more than seven feet off the ground.

  I brushed my hands against my jeans before swinging my arms to jump, my hands grasping the cool, rough metal. Taking a deep breath, I pulled my five-five body up with ease. I could swear I heard the Marine whistle under his breath.

  “Alright. Chin above the bar, don’t rest on it, and I’ll time you.”

  “Sure,” I answered, my eyes fixed to some place far ahead of me. I took deep breaths, focused and unwavering. I sucked my top lip in between my teeth, crossed my ankles, all the while, my upper body content in the hold.

  I could have stayed up there longer than what was likely a minute, but when other students looked at me, openly stared at me, I lowered myself and eventually dropped to the floor.

  “One hundred seconds,” Sgt. Kitters told me as I picked up my backpack. “The max points time for women is seventy seconds.”

  I nodded once. “Cool.” I was ready to leave, extremely uncomfortable now that people kept glancing over at me. I was the quiet artsy girl, the girl no one spoke to and who spoke to no one. The one with the crazy piercings in her ears and one in her nose. If I liked black, I probably would wear it more often but as it was, I preferred blues and greens.

  I saw a stack of fliers on the table. “Can I take one?”

  Sgt. Kitters nodded. “Absolutely. The recruiter’s station’s number is on there. Talk it over with your parents and if they want more information, we’d be glad to talk to them.” He reached over and grabbed a brochure for me, including a red lanyard with USMC printed around it in yellow.

  “It was great meeting you, Genevieve. Hopefully we’ll hear from you.”

  I nodded, walking away as I read through the paper.

  This could be the answer…

  I may have been failing most of my classes at the beginning of the year, but I had still managed to stay on the honors track in math. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fuck up mathematical equations, and because of that, I now had my trig book cracked open in front of me, and a hot mocha with extra, extra espresso in it, at my side. To my other side, on top of my history book, was my cell phone.

  That was another thing that Tracy fought for me to have. Most homes I’d been homed in offered a cell phone, as it was the foster kid’s right to have something to make confidential calls on, but like everything else, he fought it.

  I was thankful for the small things Tracy won.

  Surely she couldn’t know…

  I shook my head and took a breath, looking at the screen on my phone. When I arrived, I texted Marie to let her know I was going to be studying here. She was due to meet me in the next ten minutes but I was afraid she was going to have to reschedule. She didn’t reschedule often, maybe no more than five times in the entire time she’d been my case worker, but I was beginning to have severe apprehensions about what was going to happen in the next few weeks.

  If I couldn’t emancipate, if I had to stay in this home until October…

  I slowly let out my breath. Marie would help me.

  Under my history book, the Marine Corps brochure was sticking out. I put down my pencil and pushed aside my Trig study guide, pulling out the paper again. I was looking it over, studying the pictures, when Marie showed up promptly on time.

  “How are you doing, Genevieve?” she asked, her voice kind. I looked up and took her in. In the entire time I’d known her—most of my life—she’d always been very put together. I wondered how a person could work in her field and not feel remorse for some of the kids she placed in shitty homes.

  Maybe she did, but she certainly never showed it.

  “Good,” I answered, putting the paper down and in my Trig book, closing the book around the information.

  Marie pulled out the chair across from me and sat, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “How is school?” Her lips were turned up slightly, as if she and I shared a joke.

  Marie was well aware of my intelligence. She was the one, after all, who helped push for skipping through some of my elementary grades. She’d been afraid that if I stayed back with kids my age, going over information I already knew, I would become the bored, delinquent type of student.

  Too bad for her, it still happened.

  “Better.” I clasped my hands together and put them between my thighs, looking down at the table.

  Marie gave me my moment before asking, “And you’re going to pass?”

  I nodded to the table before looking up, tilting my head to the left and shaking my hair from my eyes. The long brown mass sometimes had ideas of its own, and I already broke two hair ties today.

  “Yes.” I told her. I looked away as I mumbled quietly, “I need to.”

  Either she didn’t hear, or she pretended not to notice I spoke. “Do you have plans for the summer? Applying to some of the tech schools? You know you’ll have resources.”

  I bit my upper lip and ran my tongue over it while studying her.

  “What do you need, Genna?” she asked after I didn’t say anything.

  I took a deep breath through my nose and let go of my lip. “I want to emancipate after graduation.”

  She didn’t seem to be surprised. “I can bring it to the Transition Counsel, and we can start with juvenile court. You’ll be eighteen in less than six months.”

  I nearly blurted out that I needed to emancipate but instead I pulled the flier out from my book. “I want to enlist.” I handed the paper to Marie.

  Marie glanced over the brochure before nodding. “Ok.” She regarded me then, staring at me for an uncomfortable length of time, when in reality it was likely less than twenty seconds. “Is everything ok in the Johnson household?”

  “Yeah,” I answered with a shrug of my shoulder. It wouldn’t do me any good to tell her what he had been doing. I had less than four weeks to graduation…

  This emancipation really had to go through.

  Still, Marie watched me, watching for any sign that I was lying, I was sure, but I held firm.

  Finally, she nodded and tapped the paper with her index and middle fingers, sitting on the table in between us now. “Ok. I’ll work on this. Do you need anything else, Genevieve?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m good,” I lied.

  “Alright. I’ll be in touch.”

  I watched as she left, then picked up the flier again.

  In a world where I stopped believing, there was some hope.

  I had hope.

  The next few nights in the house were relatively quiet. He was away on a business trip and I let myself fully relax for the first time si
nce arriving in this house. Between work and my studies, I kept busy, but it was nice to go to bed knowing that I could actually sleep.

  I should have been better prepared.

  You could never let your guard down…

  I woke up to a burning, tearing pain.

  I was on my back with my arms behind my back. I tried to pull them apart but realized they must have been bound together. My legs were pulled apart and they too, couldn’t be moved.

  And then the source of my pain…

  He was over me, in me, his big body clothed, yet still he was in me. I opened my mouth to scream but he put one of his big hands over my mouth, nearly covering my nose in the process. My eyes widened in fear.

  This wasn’t happening.

  He pulled back, his penis dragging in the tight friction.

  “Not wet enough, girl,” he grunted. He leaned back, still in me and his hand still on my mouth, and reached for something beside me. I heard the pop of what must have been a cap, then felt a cold substance as he poured whatever was in that bottle between us. He tossed the bottle back down beside me and rubbed the cold, thick liquid between us, over him and through my folds. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  If I closed them tight enough, maybe I could go somewhere else.

  Be somewhere else.

  Be someone else.

  As he started to move in and out of me, his grunts and stale breath filling the air, I turned off my mind.

  I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be anywhere else.

  He kept his hand over my mouth, sometimes pressing harder, the action pressing my lips hard into my teeth, but I fought to keep my mind elsewhere.

  I was quickly thrust back into the here and now as his body stiffened over me. I could feel his penis throbbing inside as warmth filled me. And just like that, my body betrayed me yet again, bringing my own sex organs to a throb, my legs shaking and straining against their bounds for reasons other than fighting.

  “Such a tight, beautiful pussy,” he murmured, pulling out of me.

  Tears were again falling down my cheeks, tears I hadn’t felt burning behind my eyes. When his thickness left me, I was left sore and oddly feeling like something was missing, leaving behind a mess of wetness.