Instead, she links me to that awful day in third grade. I knew I hurt her when I asked her if she was a boy or a girl. Obviously, she was a girl. A shy, sweet, quiet girl who didn’t deserve a rich, spoiled, weak-minded third-grader using her shyness against her and making her question whether she looked like a boy or not. She didn’t look like a boy at all, but that wasn’t the point of me asking her. The point was that I needed to make certain friends. Not by choice. I already told you that almost everything I do isn’t by choice. But that’s not an excuse.
Everything I did and have done is on me. I allowed myself to be controlled by my parents.
“So, you have a thing for Ens now?” Elodie asks as I walk across the grass toward her.
“Maybe. Does that bother you?” I ask, coming to a stop beside her.
“Of course it does. Ens is too good for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumble, thinking about all the things I’ve done to her …
I swallow hard, hating myself a bit.
Elodie draws down her sunglasses and assesses me. “What’d you want to talk to her about?”
“Nothing.” I shrug her off.
She stares at me for an unsettling amount of time before putting her glasses back on and crossing her arms. “Fine. Whatever. Don’t tell me, then.”
“Okay.”
It grows quiet between us as she stews in her irritation. She hates it when I don’t tell her things, and I don’t tell her a lot of things, so she hates me a lot. Sometimes I keep quiet to protect her and sometimes I don’t want her knowing what I’m really thinking. Like when I’m thinking about Ensley and how soft her lips are. And how she obviously didn’t want me touching them. It’s driving me crazy. I can get any girl I want except the one I want; have wanted for a couple years now.
Talk about Karma.
I take a deep breath and try to focus on something else, other than rejection, which I’m quickly finding out hurts like a motherfucker.
My gaze moves to our mom and dad, just a ways in front of us. They’re chatting with Holden’s parents. Our mothers look so alike with their salon-styled hair and nails, strings of pearls, designer dresses, purses, and heels. Our dads are decked out in fancy suits and ties with expensive watches. Everything about them screams money, which is exactly what they want—for everyone to know who they are and that they’re important. And they’ve made me the same way, a son to show off, dressed in his designer clothes with my perfect grades and en route to take over my father’s law firm.
It doesn’t sound that bad, except my father’s main clients are rich bastards who are guilty of the crimes they’re accused of. Yet, he gets them off and doesn’t feel bad about it. Why would he feel bad, though? He makes a lot of money, right? At least, that’s how he sees it. But he’s probably about as bad as the men he represents. I know this from the stuff I’ve witnessed him do, from the stuff I’ve heard, from the stuff he’s threatened me with, from the stuff he says I’ll eventually have to do.
And my parents have tried so hard to mold me to act and look a certain way and, up until recently, I obeyed like a good little brainwashed son.
Elodie, on the other hand, is stronger than me. She frequently rebels, wearing whatever the hell she wants. She also decided to major in education. Which, let me tell you, my parents are not thrilled about.
Ever since third grade, when Elodie became friends with Ensley, she stopped wearing the dresses our mom wanted her to wear, stopped acting like a proper girl who’s all manners and fake smiles, stopped acting like Mom’s puppet. And part of me is glad for her. The other part of me is jealous.
“Oh, I know. We’re so proud of him,” my mom tells Holden’s mom with a fake smile on her face. “He got offered a full scholarship to several different schools. We don’t need the money, of course, but it’s good to have the offers.”
For show, I mentally add.
“He doesn’t need the offers because he’s going to college here so he can start working at my firm on the side,” my father cuts in, his voice ice cold. His voice is always cold, as if he’s frozen hell over and sleeps there every night.
As if sensing me, his gaze strays to me. “Isn’t that right, Carter?”
I nod, loathing how tense I get just from him looking at me. “Yes, sir.”
He grins in a way that makes me want to punch him. Then he turns back to the conversation, laughing about something.
“And then, of course, there’s Elodie,” Elodie attempts to mimic our mom’s falsetto tone, pressing her hand to her chest. “She’s such a disappointment. Did you see the dress she was wearing? She bought it at a thrift store. Can you imagine? Other people have touched her clothes. The fabric probably has cooties.”
I arch a brow. “You think Mom believes cooties are real?”
She shrugs, a smile twisting at her lips. “Maybe. I did hear her say once how she thought she was going to get herpes from a homeless person who was outside a restaurant she was eating at.”
“And I bet she called the manager and complained.”
“Of course. What else are you supposed to do? I mean, a homeless person is around. God knows what would have happened if they made eye contact with her and reminded her that the world isn’t all diamonds and Botox. That people actually suffer, and that everything isn’t pretty.”
“I wish she would realize that,” I agree. “She’s completely delusional about the realities of life, which makes no sense considering where she came from.”
Elodie slants her head to the side, her brows knitting. “Wait. Mom wasn’t born rich …? I thought Grandma and Grandpa were loaded.”
“They’re loaded because of Dad.” I pause, giving her a sidelong glance. “You’ve never heard the story?”
She shakes her head, her eyes sparkling with glee as she rubs her hands together. “But you’re so going to tell me. That way, the next time she tells me what a disappointment I am, I can throw the story in her face.”
“Wouldn’t that be sinking to her level?”
“Are you seriously lecturing me about being cruel to people?”
She has a point. Still …
“I’ll tell you what.” I turn to face her and block the glaring sun from my eyes. “I’ll tell you the story if you promise not to bring it up unless she’s made you cry or done something equally as awful. No throwing it in her face just to throw it in her face.” She starts to open her mouth, but I hold up a finger. “In turn, you have to tell me some stuff about Ensley.” I know a lot of stuff about her already—more than I like to admit—because I watch her all the time.
Like a creeper.
Yep, that’s me. Carter the Creeper, obsessed with a girl who will barely talk to him.
I’m so pathetic.
Wariness flickers across her expression. “You want me to give you deets on my BFFFB.”
“BFFFB? What the hell is that?”
“Best friend forever, forever and beyond.”
“You say that like that’s common knowledge.” I stuff my hands into my pockets. “It’s not. It’s weird.”
“Yeah, well, that’s probably the first thing you should know about Ensley.” She crosses her arms. “She’s weird. So am I. So are most people who hang around us. So, if you want to be part of Ens’s life, be prepared for a lot of weirdness. All the time. Twenty-four-seven. And your pretty boy image isn’t going to work. You’re going to have to be weird yourself.”
“You say that like you don’t think I can.”
“I don’t,” she replies matter-of-factly.
“You don’t know me as well as you think.”
“You’re my twin. I know you like I know my own face.”
“We’re not identical.”
She mockingly gasps. “We’re not? Oh, my God! This whole time I thought I looked just like you.” She stomps her foot and fakes a pout. “Dammit, there goes my dream of joining a boy band.”
“Stop saying that shit. I don’t look like I belong in a boy band. I don’t
know why you always say that.” I hate when she pulls out the boy band remark. Tell me I look like the lead singer of a rock band. Or the drummer. Or even the bass player for an alternative band. But most guys don’t want to be told they look like they belong in a boy band.
“Because it drives you crazy,” she teases with a way too pleased grin. “And it’s sort of true.”
My jaw spasms. “No, it’s not.”
Her grin expands.
My jaw ticks again.
“You know we’re, like, the worst twins ever,” I say, slipping my hands out of my pockets. “All we do is fight.”
“A lot of twins fight. And you and I were doomed the moment third grade happened and you went from my sweet, caring brother to an asshole who told a quiet, shy girl that she looked like a dude. That was the day you stopped being my brother and became the enemy.”
I swallow hard at the truth of her words. “It wasn’t my fault.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure it wasn’t.”
I want to tell her everything, about what happened with Mom, about the talk she had with me the day before I started hanging out with that new group of friends. The friends who talked me into going over to Ensley. Friends who, sadly, are still my friends. However, I don’t think she’d understand. She’d tell me I should’ve rebelled.
Maybe I should have.
My life might have been so much better if I did.
But I may not have survived if I did.
My scars burns at the thought.
“Okay, maybe it was.” I grit my teeth and tap my fingers against the side of my leg, frustration bubbling inside me. Mostly frustration directed at myself.
Her gaze moves from my tapping fingers to my ticking jaw, then her brows lift. “You’re nervous.”
“No, just restless to get out of here.”
“No, it’s more than that.” She squints as she assesses me. “Something’s bugging you.”
“A lot of things are bugging me,” I say with a nonchalant shrug.
She continues to study me, and I expect her to throw some snarky remark at me. Instead she says, “So, are you going to tell me about this poor life our mother allegedly lived or what?”
“Are you going to tell me about Ens?” I counter.
“I could tell you a couple of things, I guess. Nothing too personal, though. That’s breaking the BFFFB code.” A contemplative look crosses her face. “It’s funny you’ve suddenly started calling her Ens. You know only her friends call her that, right?”
“I’m sure the guys she dates call her that, too.”
“That might be true, except she’s never been on a date before.” I don’t know what sort of face I pull, but she rolls her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised. You’ve known Ens since we were eight, and I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed she doesn’t talk to a lot of people, which makes getting asked out on dates complicated. Don’t get me wrong; I know a lot of guys want to date her, but every time they so much as talk to her, she freaks out and shuts down.” She pokes me in the chest. “And you’re part of the reason she’s that way. That day in third grade, you took some of her self-esteem away.”
I rub my chest where she poked me. “I know I did, and I’m sorry. And I know Ens is kind of quiet, but I don’t think she’s as socially awkward as everyone thinks. Or as she thinks, for that matter. At least, she hasn’t been that way for the last couple of days.”
“You think, just because you talked to her for, like, two minutes, you’ve got some insight on how she acts?” She laughs coldly. “It takes time to get to know a person.”
“I know that. And I’m not saying I know everything about her. But we didn’t talk for just a couple of minutes. I talked to her for a quite a while on the phone. And today … Well, you know how long I’ve been gone, so I’m sure you can figure it out.” Plus, I watch her a lot, but I’m not about to divulge that aloud.
She meticulously eyes me over. “You did talk to her for a while. Makes me wonder why.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why the sudden interest in her?” She steps closer to me. “You’ve known her forever, and just a few days ago, you told her she wasn’t pretty.”
“No, I told you you weren’t pretty,” I clarify. “And only because you called me a pretty boy.”
A slow, wicked smile curls at her lips. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” I question.
“You like her.” She points a finger at me, that evil grin on her face growing even more sinister. “I think you might have liked her for a while. Damn! I don’t know how I didn’t see this before.”
I roll my eyes, but seriously, how does she know? “I think you’re looking way too into this.”
“No, I think I’m looking just the right amount. I just don’t know how I didn’t see it before.” The happiness in her eyes makes my uneasiness shoot up a notch. “But yeah, now that I think about it … all those times you’d come home drunk and try to annoy us was just your lame-ass attempt at trying to flirt with her.”
“Hey, I never lame-ass flirt. I’m awesome. Just ask my fan club.”
“You might not be a lame flirt with those shallow, borderline stalkers who follow you around, but Ens isn’t one of those girls, and that throws you off your game.” She fists pumps the air. “Ha! I’m so freakin’ smart I amaze myself.”
My lip twitches in annoyance and worry rises inside me. The last thing I want is for Elodie to find out something she could use against me. And this is something she’d definitely use against me.
“Well, at least you amaze yourself, because no one else is impressed,” I say flatly as my phone rings from inside my pocket. I have a good guess who it is. “I have to go. I’ve got some stuff to take care of. Tell Mom I’ll meet her at the restaurant in a bit.”
“Aw, don’t pout. I’m not going to tell anyone you have a secret crush,” she calls out through her laughter. “And what about our deal? You owe me a story.”
“I’ll tell you when we get home,” I throw over my shoulder as I fish out my phone, but silence it when I see it’s a call from my dad.
Then I make my way across the parking lot and toward my car. It’s a 1969 GTO that has been restored. I’ve owned the car ever since I turned sixteen, a present to myself that I bought with money I saved up over the years. My parents wanted to buy me a Porsche, but I told them I wanted to purchase my own car. My dad was impressed … until I drove up in an old junker that looked straight out of the junkyard. He lectured me for hours, telling me I had to return it, that it would ruin my image. I refused.
It was the first time I told him no, and it felt good. I’m just lucky he let it slide that time. And he may have thought the car was a piece of crap, but I could see the potential. A couple of years later, after some bodywork, a new paint job, and a total interior restoration, it looks way better than a Porsche. At least, in my opinion. And it runs great usually, but I need to take it in and get everything double-checked before I take Ens out tomorrow.
My stomach rolls with nerves as I think about tomorrow. Nerves of fear and excitement.
“You okay, man?” Holden calls out as he approaches his BMW parked next to my car.
I blink myself from my thoughts and plaster on a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. I always am.”
“Really?” He twirls his car keys around his finger. “Because it looked like you were thinking really deep about something.”
I shrug. “I kind of was.”
My phone pings with a new message. When I glance at it, I see it’s from my mother wanting me to come back so she can brag about me some more.
I ignore the message and decide it’s time to get the heck out of here before she comes and tracks me down. “Hey, I have to take off. I’ve got this lunch thing with my family, and then I’m taking my car in to get looked at before my date tomorrow.”
“Aw, right, the big date.” He grins. “Dude, I still can’t believe Ensley agreed to go out with you. I always thought you bugged the
hell out of her.”
“Me, too,” I say, ignoring my phone buzzing inside my pocket. “Honestly, I was surprised when she said yes … twice.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s really weird.” He rubs his jawline thoughtfully. “Maybe she’s screwing with you.”
“That’s not really her MO.” It’s mine.
God, I suck.
It would be so much easier if I was going on a date with one of the girls from my fan club who I didn’t really care about. And yes, I’m completely aware that having a fan club makes me look like a straight up douche. But I didn’t create it.
“Are you sure, though?” he questions with a smirk. “It is kind of weird that she suddenly agreed to date you after ignoring your ass for years.”
For a faltering moment, I worry maybe he’s right. Perhaps Ensley is messing with me. But then I remember this is Ensley. Sweet, shy, very beautiful Ensley.
She would never do anything to hurt anyone.
13
Ensley
The next day Elodie stops by to help me pick out an outfit, but I’m kind of distracted by thoughts of my father. It’s been driving me crazy, wondering who he is and what happened between my mom and him. I’m not even sure why it suddenly is bothering me other than maybe seeing everyone with their family’s at graduation struck a nerve. And then there’s the way my mom reacts every time she thinks about him.
After a bit of prying on El’s part, I decide to tell her my concerns.
“Maybe he broke her heart,” Elodie suggest as she dumps out the bag she brought with her. Clothes spill out across my bed, and I nearly go blind from all the sparkly material.
“Yeah, I’ve wondered that.” I sit down on the bed beside the pile of clothes and take a sip of my coffee.”But it doesn’t explain why she wouldn’t ever take his money.”
“Maybe she’s too prideful. Or maybe her never offered her any money.” Her hair falls into her face as she begins sorting through the clothes.
The Unexpcted Complications of Revenge Page 8
