by Rachel Leigh
“Who is this?” she asks with her eyes glued to my phone. “Who the hell is Willa?” How does she know who it is? I didn’t save her number. She begins reading off the message. “What the hell do you want, Willa?” Lifting her head, she looks at me. “What does this girl want with you?”
Walking toward her with my hands at my side, I approach slowly. Then like a tiger, I pounce—grabbing my phone from her death grip.
“Wait a minute. Willa. Isn’t that the girl in the video? The virgin?”
“If you go straight home, I’ll come see you later.” I lie. If she thinks there’s a chance I’ll come see her, she’ll go home.
Heading for my car, I don’t hesitate or look back at her before jumping in. Locking the doors first, I shift into reverse and peel out. There’s a good chance she’ll go straight for Miner Park since she read the messages, so I call Willa.
I’m not surprised when she picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Willa. Still wanna meet up?”
“Want to? No. Need to? Yes. I’m already here.”
“Change in plans. Meet me at the abandoned warehouse past the high school.”
“Warehouse?”
“Yeah. The one that Axel Thorn used to have the fights at.”
The call goes silent when she doesn’t respond, and then it hits me, she probably has no idea what or who I am even talking about. I almost forgot that I’m talking to Willa Mack. A straight-A, straight-laced, straight-up saint. “Follow the road past the high school until you get to the end. You can’t miss it.” With that, I end the call.
My mind starts to wander to a dark place. What if she’s pressing charges? When the video first leaked, I thought for sure she would, but her parents wanted to keep things as quiet as possible and just let it blow over. It took a couple weeks, but eventually it did. Of course, that was at the end of the summer when she could still hide out in her house or at her family church and avoid any insults or vulgarity. Apparently a couple weeks ago, her mom fled town and no one has heard from her since. Willa now lives alone with her stepdad, the pastor, and is raised right by the Lord.
I wonder if people have been giving her a hard time now that school started back up. It’s been three months but surely some still remember. God, I wanted to strangle those assholes for doing that to me—to her.
I’ll never pretend to be a good man. I’ve done very bad things. I’ve got skeletons in my closet and blood on my hands. I’ve struggled to feel emotion since I was a kid. I seem to lack a moral compass because regret, anger, and pain don’t come easy to me. The biggest emotion that I lack is empathy. I do feel bad for what happened with Willa, so I like to think that’s a start at me beginning to feel something. But, the events of that day are not what started my downward spiral. My detachment from others started when I was nine years old.
It was the middle of summer and I was supposed to be keeping an eye on Colby, my four-year-old brother, while Mom took a shower. The neighbor kid came over and we got caught up in video games. I didn’t even realize what happened until Mom came downstairs and it was too late. Colby fell in the pool and drowned.
It was all my fault. It doesn’t matter what anyone tried to tell me, I killed my little brother. Mom blamed herself and I think Dad did the same. ‘Who lets a nine-year-old boy babysit?’ That was what he kept repeating that day. Over and over and over again. Mom and Dad divorced a year later. Apparently their marriage couldn’t handle the grief. I grew an ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude, and the rest is history. We never talk about it. Not just me and the guys—my family doesn’t talk about it. It’s like Colby never existed, and in my heart and mind, he never did. We sort of just continued to live our lives without him. Sometimes I’m not even sure that I’d call this living. Most days I feel like I’m just surviving.
Pulling up to the warehouse, I immediately spot Willa. Her car is backed in and her petite little body hides behind the steering wheel. I drive up next to her. Close enough that I’m hoping we can just stay put and roll down the windows. Really don’t wanna get out.
I roll my window down and gesture for her to do the same. “What’s up?” I ask. Her eyes blink rapidly and her lips are curled up in a friendly smile. I’ve only said two words to the girl, yet she looks like she’s on the verge of tears even while wearing a smile. “Listen, Willa. If this is about that night. I’ve said I’m sorry and I thought we moved on from this.”
Her head shakes, no. “It’s not about that. Well, it is. But not exactly.” She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. I’m pretty sure I intimidate her and I’m not sure why that bothers me. I prefer most of the world look at me as a tyrant, but for some reason, I want her to look at me differently.
Resting my arm on the windowsill, I watch and wait. “Alright then. Spit it out.”
She rubs her hands together then folds them in her lap. “I’m not really sure how.”
Sweeping my hand in a circular motion, my brows raise. “Come on, Willa. I ain't got all day.” There it is again. The jackass in me that speaks before he thinks. It’s no wonder she’s fearful of me. I’m an impulsive asshole. Sure, some deserve it, but not Willa. She's as pure and as kind as they come. Frail and pale as snow, with a cross around her neck. After everything I did to her, she’s still sitting here choking on her words because I make her uncomfortable. Most girls would be slinging my dick back and forth with their windshield wipers.
“I’m…” she pauses. Looks at me, then her eyes move back to her lap. “I’m pregnant, Lars.”
I don’t think I heard her right. I lean forward, offering her my ear. “Come again.”
Her head lifts and her eyes meet mine. “I’m pregnant.” A single tear slides down her cheek as my mind repeats the words over and over again.
I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. That’s what she said. She’s lying. This is her way of getting back at me. Laughter erupts from deep in my stomach. “Good one. I’m not falling for that shit. Look, if you’re still pissed about that night, we can talk about it. But don’t start spreading rumors.”
“I’m not lying. I am pregnant, Lars. And it’s your baby.”
“You show me a paternity test and then we’ll talk.” I shift my car into reverse, but she starts talking, halting my movements.
“You were my first. And my last. I’ve never been with anyone else. It’s your baby, Lars.”
My hand holds the gear tightly. “Ok.” I nod. “Humor me. How far along are you? Have you gone to the doctor?”
“It was almost three months ago, so I’d guess like eleven weeks, maybe. And no, I haven’t gone to the doctor.”
“If a doctor hasn’t confirmed it, then how do you know?”
“Lars, I’m pregnant. I wouldn’t make this up. A friend bought me a whole bag of tests and they were all positive.”
“A friend? What friend?“ I didn’t know she had friends.
“Vi Moran. She can be trusted. Don’t worry.”
“Vi Moran, as in Josh’s sister?”
She nods.
I grip the gear even tighter. So tight that all the blood has drained from my knuckles. “Go to the doctor and show me proof, then we’ll talk.” Impulsive jackass returns as I slam my foot on the gas. My tires spin rapidly, before finally getting some traction and getting me the hell out of this place.
My mind is in this hazy fog that doesn’t allow me to even finish a complete thought.
No way. She can’t be.
There is no way in hell that I can be a dad.
No fucking way. She’s lying. She has to be.
God, she better be. For the first time in my life, I want to be lied to. I won’t even be mad at her for this prank. She just can’t be pregnant with my baby.
5
I didn’t go home. Wherever home is. Is it Talon’s house? Dad’s place, with Cruella Deville and her wicked daughter? I drove three hours north and ended up at some ritzy hotel with a fridge stocked full of liquor and a king-size bed. Left the air on all night—even
when my teeth began to chatter—just because I could. There was no one here to tell me it was too cold or too hot. No one to tell me how bad I’m fucking up. How I’ll never amount to anything, or how my choices are leading me down a dark and lonely path.
With my back pressed against the headboard, I tip back my bottle of breakfast and stare at the black screen of the tv mounted on the wall. While I have been drinking nonstop since I arrived, I’ve also done a lot of thinking. Haven’t really come up with any great ideas that will get me out of this mess I’m in, but my mind hasn’t shut off. It definitely wasn’t from lack of trying. You’d think half a fifth of whiskey would do the trick, but it didn’t.
Looking at the bottle of vodka in my hand, I realize this one won’t fix my problems either. My hand slaps around at the end table until I find the top then I twist it back on.
My phone’s been off since last night when I stopped myself from making a big mistake and I really don’t wanna turn it back on, though, I probably should. Regardless of the pity I’m taking on myself, there’s shit that needs to be dealt with.
I hold the button down until it powers on, preparing myself for whatever might be headed my way when the missed calls and text messages appear. Before this whole situation with Josh, I never had calls. I hung out with the guys, went to the gym, partied, and life was good. Now, everything is falling apart. Our circle has been broken, and I’m not sure it will ever be repaired. We’re all at the mercy of Zed. And there’s a good fucking chance that I’m going to be a dad, whether I like it or not.
Just as expected, a string of messages come chiming through. Buzz after buzz. There’s Madison, Talon, Tommy, Dad, Mom, and Willa. I tap Willa’s name first. I saved her number last night in the heat of the moment, after typing up a dozen different messages and deleting them all. They went as far as asking her to get an abortion, but as much as I’m not ready for this, I know that’s not an option. At one point I think I was even going to ask her to marry me. Also not an option. Hence, why I shut my phone off.
The truth is, I don’t have those feelings for Willa that a guy should have when he’s having a baby with someone. It’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with her. Sure, she’s awkward, quiet, and basic, but it’s not about that. Whatever she once saw in me isn’t reciprocated. I won’t run away from my responsibilities, but I’m also not sacrificing my happiness by being with someone for the sake of a child. It’s not fair to either of us.
Is that cold? Probably. Am I cruel? Without a doubt. I don’t mean to be, but one thing I’ve learned in the past couple of weeks is that it’s time to start watching out for myself. Aside from Talon and Tommy, I can’t count on anyone at this point.
Willa: Someone was outside of my house last night. Did you tell anyone?
Willa: Whoever it is keeps driving back and forth in front of my house. I’m getting creeped out.
Willa: Can you call me, please?
I don’t even have to question who it was. Sorry, Willa. Now that you’re in my life, Madison is coming for you. There is no way in hell she will let us have our secrets.
With that said, I’ve decided who I want my revenge on. It won’t be deadly. No. She won’t get hurt. But she will feel the sting of sweet pain as I blow up her entire world.
It’s after dark by time I get back into town. It took me a good two hours to get out of bed, an hour in the shower while I tried to sweat out the alcohol, and five minutes to relieve myself of some built-up tension. I still haven’t listened to the messages from the guys. My eyes skimmed one text that said Zed hasn’t returned their calls. If he hasn’t returned their calls then nothing is fixed. If nothing is fixed, we’re still sinking.
I’m not sure where I’m headed, but for some reason, I end up on Hayworth Drive in front of the church. Willa’s church. I know she’s here. She’s always here. Bible study, choir practice, youth group. I wasn’t kidding when I said the girl is a saint. Her car is also parked in front, so there's that. The next thing I know, I’m getting out of the car and slamming the door shut. Still smelling like a brewery, I zip up my leather jacket and smooth my hands down my black holy jeans—no pun intended.
Cupping my hand over my mouth, I breathe out and sniff. Just the scent of my cinnamon gum. Even if the whiskey was still lingering, Jesus drank, so they can’t judge me. My fingers wrap around the u-shaped handle and when it doesn’t sizzle at my touch, I feel confident that I won’t burn when I go in. I open the door and walk inside. I’ve been in the church before, but it’s been awhile. I should have known I’d be opening up to a room full of tables and chairs, and of course, about thirty people staring at me. I hold a hand up and wave at all the unfamiliar faces. “Hi. I just need to borrow her for a minute.” I point to a flustered Willa.
The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor darts my attention to Pastor Jeffries, who is on his feet. His eyes narrow at me and I don’t think God would be happy with the look he’s throwing my way right now. “Young man, you have some nerve showing up here.” He whisper-talks as he jerks me by the arm and out the door I just walked in.
“Woah, Pastor. Chill the he..heck out.” I correct myself, just in the nick of time. “I just need to talk to Willa.” He gives my arm a shove and he’s lucky he has God on his side because I’d be unleashing the devil if he were anyone else.
“You stay away from my daughter.”
“Stepdaughter,” I retort, but quickly eat my words because it seems to do anything but calm him.
“Willa is my daughter and after what you did to her, you have no business even coming to this church.”
“Hmm, I didn’t know churches discriminated against sinners. What’s going on tonight? Open Bible study?” I arch a brow. “Maybe I wanna join. Ya know? Let Jesus in and all that jazz.”
"Even Jesus can't save you, son." He pats a hand to my shoulder and attempts to spin me around to face my car that's parked right in front.
"Now, what kind of pastor talks like that?" I push past him and pull the unlatched door back open. When I step inside, it's like deja vu when everyone looks back at me. Ignoring all but one person, I walk over and take one of the two empty seats at the end of the joined tables. They're all lined up to make a square with an empty space in the middle. The smell of the room floods me with memories of Colby's funeral. I'm not sure if it's the smell, or the attention laser-focused on me. That day, everyone watched me as I sat quietly with my hands in my lap and my head hung low. I still remember seeing Willa at the funeral. In fact, the memory of her sticks out like a sore thumb. Even then, she carried this calming aura. The difference is, today my head is held high. I have just as much of a right to be here as all these other people. They sin. They fuck up.
Willa is sitting directly across from me. Her eyebrows are pinched together and her cheeks are tinged pink. When Pastor Jeffries walks back in and takes the only empty seat beside me, I let out a breathy huff. "Where were we?" he asks, looking Willa dead in the eye.
"The Christmas Pageant. We were agreeing on a timeframe for each set." Willa chokes out as she taps a pen to an open notebook.
I guess I'm not at Bible study after all. When Pastor Jeffries begins talking to the group, I catch Willa's attention and mouth the words, "Can we talk?"
In small but rapid movements, she shakes her head then rolls her eyes away from me. We need to talk, damnit, and she needs to tell me the truth. My hand slaps softly on the table. Not hard enough to get everyone's attention, but enough to grab hers and a few others. "Yes." I mouth again, then nod my head toward the door.
"Willa Jean. Please handle this and then come back inside. Alone." Pastor Jeffries speaks sharply.
When her chair slides back and she stands up, I do the same. She's fast as she makes her way through the door. Her long navy blue skirt drags on the floor and her flip-flops smack against the bottom of her feet as she walks.
Tugging her beige cardigan tightly around her, she looks down at her feet as she speaks. "What are you doing here,
Lars?" Her voice is calm and collected and I'm starting to wonder if this girl has the capability of getting mad.
"We need to talk about this. Were you lying?"
"Not here. We can't."
"Do they know?"
She raises her voice. "Lars! Please just stop. Go home and we can talk tomorrow."
I take a stance and cross my arms over my chest, just as she is, and step up in front of her. I raise my voice even higher. "No. I'm not leaving until I have answers."
Looking at the door in panic, she grabs me by the arm and pulls me down the cement steps. "Would you be quiet? Everyone will hear you. I'm already going to be in enough trouble because you showed up here." Her hand flaps in the air. "You can't be here, Lars."
"Fine. How much longer is this meeting?"
"We're almost done. I'll meet you at Miner Park. Just go." She gives me a shove toward my car.
Taking steps backward until my back hits the car, I watch her stand there, waiting for me to leave. How could a girl like her fall for a guy like me? She's so angelic and sweet. I’m nothing but a fuck-up. Yet, for years she watched me and waited for me until I came for her, and when I did, I stole her innocence and ran like hell. I guess that's what the devil does after all—preys on the weak and pure.
Spinning around, I walk to the car. When I look up, she’s gone. Just like that night. I drove her to her house and told her I’d call her later while I bragged to the guys in a group text about accomplishing my mission. The door slammed shut and by time I realized she was out the car, her porch light was off and she was behind the closed door.
Shifting in drive, I take off. The small space in the car begins to feel suffocating. I tug at the collar of my shirt then roll the window down, letting in some fresh air. Tapping the call button on the dash, I speak out loud, “Call Tommy.”
