Revenge at Raleigh High

by Hart, Callie

  He spins on the balls of his feet like some sort of Nazi general and quick-steps back down the hall toward his office, leaving me alone with Zander.

  “I’m guessing that was our supreme leader,” he says mildly. “Can’t say I liked him very much. Let me know if you wanna break into his house and fuck him up while he’s sleeping. I am so here for that.”

  17

  ALEX

  I was already planning on trying to kidnap Silver for a date tonight, but Cam’s invitation/order to come over for pizza has made things much easier. He answers the door, still wearing that dark fury on his face—a fury I recognize all too well. It’s the kind of pervasive anger that soaks down into the roots of your soul. It’s the kind of anger that will set everything to rot if you leave it unattended. “In the kitchen,” he says stiffly, turning away from the door and disappearing into the house. “Silver’s asleep. I don’t want to wake her up just yet.”

  I point my thumb over my shoulder. “Should I come back later?”

  “No. I wanna talk to you.”

  Uh oh. I wanna talk to you. That doesn’t sound good. Was I too quick to assume Cam was defending me back at Raleigh? He could have just wanted to stick one to Darhower. I might be about to get the I-don’t-want-you-hanging-around-my-daughter-anymore talk. That would be a little out of the blue considering how cool he’s been with me, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Darhower’s snide remarks might have made him think twice about how liberal he’s being where I’m concerned.

  The kitchen smells like melting cheese and pepperoni. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten all day. I assume Cam must be keeping some take-out pizza warm in the oven, but then I see the flour on the marble kitchen island and the small dishes of toppings in bowls set to one side, and I realize that he’s actually making the pizza.

  “Don’t look so surprised. I’ve been pretty slack about immersing Silver in her Italian roots, I know. And my mother might not have taught me the language, but she did teach me the food. Come on. Come and make yourself something.”

  I hesitate.

  The last time I made pizza, I was a child. I was with my mother. She was still alive, and my father was gone, but everything was still normal. Everything was still as it was supposed to be. Most of my happiest childhood memories revolve around standing on a stool in the kitchen with my mother, when she was in one of her calmer phases and she wanted to bake and cook.

  “Don’t you like pizza?” Cam asks bluntly.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Good job, Passerotto. Now knead the dough. Like this. Dig your knuckles in. Yes, that’s it. Now stretch it out. Ben fatto, amore mio!

  Since the shooting, I haven’t heard my mother’s voice very often. It’s like a swift kick to the gut now, remembering her laughter as I tried to tease and shape my own pizza base in our small kitchen when I was a kid. I walk over to the sink behind Cam and wash my hands, then roll my shirt sleeves up to my elbows, taking up a spot at the island opposite Silver’s dad. He jerks his chin toward a covered ceramic bowl as he sprinkles cheese liberally over the pizza he was nearly finished making before I knocked at the front door. Inside the bowl: a large wad of dough. The smell of proving yeast hits the back of my nose as I rip off a handful and slap it down onto the marble, beginning to knead it with my hands. Turns out this rote motion is something you don’t forget.

  For a minute, Cam and I work in silence. Eventually he’s happy with his pie, and he goes to place it in the oven with one that’s already cooking. When he returns, he cracks open a bottle of beer and plants it down in front of me. “I’m going to hurt someone,” he says firmly. “And I need you to tell me who I need to hurt.”

  Oh shit.

  This is a test.

  The beer and the statement.

  Fuck it.

  I pick up the beer and take a deep swig, trying to buy myself some time. The bottle’s half drained by the time I lower it from my lips. “What happened with Silver today?” I ask quietly. “If you’re talking crazy about wanting to hurt someone, then I need to know.”

  Cam’s jaw works while he considers this. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “The night Silver was born, I was about to get on a plane to DC. Some company offered me an internship on the east coast, and I thought fuck it. I’m too young for a kid. Celeste’ll be fine if I go. She’s so damn strong, and her family are all here to help her. What good am I gonna be to her anyway? I was freaking the fuck out. I’d never been so scared in my entire fucking life. I’d already arrived at the airport when I got the voicemail from Celeste’s mom that she’d gone into labor. I sat there and told myself that going back would be the worst thing I could possibly do. I’d make more money in D.C. I’d be able to support them better financially if I was in a bigger city instead of trying to carve out a meagre existence here in Raleigh. I’d be able to make a life and a name for myself on the other side of the country that I’d never be able to do in this Podunk town, and one day…one day my kid would be able to really think about what I did and why I did it, and they’d actually be proud of me for making the tough call. Can you imagine that? I was actually trying to convince myself in that airport that I was doing Celeste and the baby a favor.” He laughs bitterly.

  “I sat there with all these texts flooding in because I wouldn’t answer my ancient Nokia fucking cellphone, and I made up my mind. I was gonna go. I was gonna go. I was gonna go. They opened up boarding for my flight and I sat there, watching everyone else show their tickets and get onto the plane, and I told myself that over and over again. Cameron Parisi, you are getting on that goddamn plane to D.C. and you are not looking back. Don’t you dare fucking look back. They called my name over the loud speakers. Said I had five minutes to get my ass to the gate or the plane was gonna leave without me. They had no idea that the guy they were waiting on, holding up the whole flight, was the guy with the backpack at his feet, sitting on the chairs in front of the check-in desk, staring at that walkway down to the plane like it was of the gates of hell itself.

  “With a minute to spare, I got up, grabbed my bag, and I gave the woman my ticket. She ushered me through, told me I’d barely made it…but my feet wouldn’t fucking carry me forward down that walkway. Celeste and I hadn’t found out if we were having a girl or a boy. Early in the pregnancy, it was easier to be less scared. I’d even been a little excited. The idea of that kind of surprise appealed to me. But standing in that airport, about to leave forever, I realized that I hadn’t even seen my child’s face. I didn’t know who it was I leaving behind. And that…that hit me right here,” he says, thumping the center of his chest with his fist. “If I left then, I’d never know. Celeste would tell me if it was a boy or a girl. She’d let me know what she’d called it. She might even send me pictures after a while, when she was less angry and less hurt, but I would never get to truly know that child. And I couldn’t bear that thought. It fucking crushed me.

  “I went twenty over the speed limit the entire way back to Raleigh. I arrived at the hospital just in time for the birth. Celeste never even knew how close I came to abandoning her. I never told her. She was just so grateful that I was there when the time came that…I don’t know. It seemed cruel to tell her that I’d almost left. Then…Silver. She came into the world with this strange little frown on her face, like she was so damn confused by what had just happened to her. She screamed when she realized that she wasn’t in her safe, warm little cocoon anymore, and I mean screamed. The nurses couldn’t get her to stop. She didn’t even stop when they put her on Celeste’s chest. She howled and screeched the entire time, until the nurse took her from her mom and handed her to me.

  “I’d never held anything so tiny, so fragile before. My heart was beating out of my fucking chest when I looked down at her little face. She opened her eyes. She saw me, and I saw her, and it felt like the world was snapping into focus for the first time in my life. Really into focus, like I could finally see what was important, and it was the tiny lit
tle girl looking up at me like I’d hung the goddamn moon. She stopped crying immediately, and we just stared at each other for the longest time, wondering who the hell the other person was. One of the midwives took a look at her, all bundled up in her blankets, and said, ‘There you go. She just needed her daddy is all.’ And that…that fucking killed me. This child, this helpless infant that I already adored and worshipped more than life itself? I’d almost walked away from her, and she’d needed me. I made a vow right there and then that I’d never leave her. I’d never not be there if she needed me in the future. I’d always protect and care for her, and I feel like I’ve done a pretty fucking good job at that, Alex. Up until this year, I’ve been everything I swore I’d be to her. Her protector. Her champion. Her provider. The one person she can turn to when she’s hurt or sad. But something happened, and now everything is seriously, royally fucked up, and I didn’t take care of my daughter when she needed me, Alex. I can’t begin to tell you what that does to a guy when he has that realization. So please know that I will fucking destroy you if you don’t tell me who hurt my daughter, and I will do it gladly with a smile on my face because I am done not being there for Silver when she needs me.”

  Holy fucking shit. Cameron’s lost his ever-loving mind. He’s threatening me to get what he wants, which isn’t typically a great plan where I’m concerned. Usually, I rebel against threats on principle alone, but Cam—

  “Dad? Who are you talking to?”

  I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear Silver’s voice in the hallway. Cam leans back, plastering a smile on his face that definitely wasn’t there a moment ago. When Silver enters the kitchen, hair a little mussed, cheek red from her pillow, her father looks like he hasn’t got a care in the motherfucking world. Silver’s eyes light up when she sees me, and a sharp, painful knot tightens in my chest. I’m never going to get used to another human being looking at me like that. Like I deserve all the love and adoration in the world. I’m not worth three seconds of this girl’s time, and yet somehow she’s permitted me to fall head over heels in love with her, and it’s just…it’s fucking unbelievable.

  “We’re out of those little pimento olives you like,” Cam says, kissing his daughter on the top of her head. “I’m gonna run over to the store and pick some up. If you guys think of anything else you’d like, shoot me a text and let me know. I won’t be long.”

  He scoops up a set of keys from a dish by the backdoor and lets himself out without another word.

  “So smooth,” Silver says, with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “He’s making himself scarce so we can talk.”

  I spin my half-drunk bottle of beer around, eyes boring into the side of her face. There are more bruises developing under her skin, leaving purple-black shadows that weren’t there before when I saw her outside Darhower’s office. My anger is a steel glove, tightening its grip around me. A living, breathing thing, just under the surface of my skin that wants me to lose my cool and start smashing things out of frustration. I can’t though. I need…I need to stay fucking calm, or this is going to be a disaster.

  “That was nice of him,” I say. “We do need to talk.” I take a beat to even out my breathing. Only when I think I’ve got my shit locked down do I permit myself to open my mouth again. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to go through an entire afternoon and half an evening not knowing what happened to someone you care about? To see them hurt and obviously upset, and have no idea why, what happened, or who did it to them?”

  She looks down at the kitchen island, hair forming curtains around her face, hiding her remorse. “I’m sorry, Alex. If I’d told you about what happened in a text or a call, you’d have gone and done something stupid, and I can’t have you doing that. If you beat someone, or broke something, the consequences would be much more dire for you than they would for anyone else.”

  “Because I’m trailer trash?”

  She looks up at me with sad, steady eyes. “Because you’ve already been in trouble before, and some people in this town would love nothing more than to see you sent away, where you’ll no longer be a thorn in their sides.”

  I let my head fall back, stifling a growl. “Let’s stop pretending, Silver. We both know who did this to you, don’t we? This has Jacob Weaving written all over it. Please just tell me what happened. Tell me you’re all right. Tell me what you need. I’m going fucking crazy.”

  “Okay. But you have to promise—”

  “No. No more fucking promises!” I’d already made my mind up about that one before I left Raleigh this afternoon. It’s been murder trying to find a way to bring Weaving to justice with the constraints Silver set in place blocking me at every turn. I’m not going to tangle myself up in any more restrictions. The time for that has long passed.

  “Then I can’t tell you,” Silver says reluctantly. “I’m going to deal with the situation myself. I—”

  “NO!” Pain lashes around my wrist, shooting up my arm as I bring my hand crashing down onto the marble top. I don’t want to shout at her. I don’t want to be that guy that gets mad when he doesn’t get what he wants, but this is just too much. Silver’s eyes round out, surprise and shock warring for real estate on her face. “You aren’t in this alone anymore! This is no longer a secret story of abuse that you have to carry around like poison in your heart, pretending like it’s not fucking killing you on the inside. Squirreling this shit away, it’s fucking toxic. I am fucking here. I fucking love you. I promised you that you would never have to deal with this shit alone, and you’re making it impossible for me to keep that promise. What is it, Silver? Do you feel like you’re supposed to be able to bear the weight of this all by yourself? Do you think you’ll look weak if someone else picks up a weapon and helps you fight a couple of these battles? Because that’s not how this kind of thing works anymore.”

  Silver looks like she’s walking a fine line between misery and rage. She’s shaking, her eyes filling with tears. “Anymore? What’s changed, Alex? Nothing. Those bastards at Raleigh are always going to—”

  “You’ve changed! I’ve changed! Everything has fucking changed! When someone hurts you, I have to fucking bear it, too, because I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my entire, miserable fucking life. You’re my fucking heart and my soul, and I will defend those two things with my own goddamn life. I can’t bear for anything to happen to you. I can’t see you hurt and not feel it. I can’t see you suffer and not have something wither and die inside me. I can’t see you wounded and not feel like I’m fucking failing you. If you’re asking me not to react to this, you’re asking me not to care about you anymore. You’re asking me to cut the damn wires to my fucking heart, and I cannot…will not do that.”

  She isn’t breathing. She’s frozen in place, trembling, her eyes brimming over as she stares at the center of my chest, like her gaze can pierce through the material of my shirt, through my skin, through bone and muscle until she’s looking upon the very organ I just mentioned. I hope she can see it. I hope she can see how fucking broken and worn it is, that it’s held together with string and fucking duct tape. I hope that she can see how much it’s fucking hurting right now.

  “It’s hard admitting that I need help,” she whispers under her breath. “I’ve never had to do it before. Maybe I’m too proud. But how am I supposed to tell you difficult things like this when I have no assurances that you aren’t going to do something that will inevitably end up in you being taken away from me?”

  “You trust me. That’s how. I just found you, Argento. I’m hot tempered and reactive, but I’m also really fucking smart. I’ll never jeopardize us. Nothing is more important to me.”

  A single tear streaks down her cheek, and pain knifes into my chest. I can’t fucking bear to see her cry. It’s harrowing. “You’re right. You do already know who did this,” she says, gesturing to the bruising at her throat and her cheek. She seems so dejected. “I’m not going to say his name out loud.”

  I blow out a breath down my
nose. It may be freezing outside, but there’s a desert wind howling around inside my head right now, growing hotter and hotter as the seconds pass, scorching everything in its path to cinders and ash. “Was he alone?” I grind out. “Or did he have someone with him?”

  “Alone,” Silver mutters. “We were alone.”

  My stomach revolts, nausea climbing up the back of my throat, making my mouth sweat. “Why did he do it?”

  “I don’t know. I made him angry. Why does Jake do anything? He tried to kiss me. He kept smashing the back of my head against the wall—”

  Oh. Fucking. No. He. Did. Not.

  “—then he tried to drag me into the boy’s locker rooms, and I…I just snapped. I punched him. I kept on punching him until he let me go. Next thing I knew, he was on the ground and I was on top of him, and my hands were bleeding. I couldn’t stop hitting him. I think I broke his nose.”

  I root myself through the kitchen floor, mentally sending out anchors down into the basement, down through the house’s foundations, deep into the frozen earth below us. I fix myself in place so that I can barely move a muscle, and it takes every ounce of strength that I possess.

  I’m going to fucking kill him. I’m going to fucking skin the bastard alive. He’s going to die screaming, and I’m going to relish every last second of it.

  I exhale out a shaky breath, pressing down the dark thoughts that rear up inside my mind, filing them away to be dealt with later, when I don’t need to prove to the girl I love just how reasonable and calm I can be.

  I ask the only important questions that matter in this moment. “Are you okay, Argento? What can I do?”