“It’s not that I don’t want to, Jess.” His heavy breathing disturbs my hair, the heat saturating my skin.
“Then what is it?”
I try to push aside the way my body feels when he’s near, but it’s damn near impossible. Any of these guys know exactly how to get me off their tracks—physical touch. It’s not like I can help it, though. It’s been years since I’ve had any form of bodily touch that didn’t result in me being hurt and that includes myself. Because while it may not have been the physical touch that hurt me, it made me strengthen the mental wall I had in my mind.
“It’s not my secret to tell. I know this is all different from what you’re used to, and you’re trying to work through it, but finding out the wrong way could harm us keeping you safe. Just trust me, okay? I know it will be hard, but you have to if we want to get through this with as little backlash as possible.”
Without my knowledge, he ends his tangent with us slowly swaying back and forth. My eyes drift around the room as I lose myself, staring at the minimalistic décor donning the walls. My father said he’d leave it to me to decorate how I saw fit. I think he did that because he knew how Debra was with the picturesque home, and the fact I could change nothing.
For years, I’ve been living in a Barbie pink princess room. The only things missing were the ruffles along the skimmer of my bed. Most of my things are darkish slash mute gray in appearance, so it clashed big time. I couldn’t paint the walls, even though I was desperate to get rid of the bubble gum pink. I couldn’t change my bedframe, which was something out of a fairytale.
But here, I can change everything. I can make things different, including the way people treat me.
If I believe I have a right to know the secrets that hide behind the proverbial walls of my family, then I will ask—no, demand—the answer.
Tilting my head back, I bring myself back to the here and now, peering up into Quinn’s soothing eyes. “Then I guess I have my work cut out for me.”
He gives me a funny look but says nothing as I extract myself from his arms, making my way toward the still open bedroom door. I clench my hands down by my side, tightening and releasing them, psyching myself up for the talk that’s about to go down.
The doctors said I should rest and recover, but how can I do something like that if everyone around me is handling me with kid gloves? The answer is: I can’t. It will nag at me until I finally solve the puzzle.
“Jess, what are you doing?” I smirk when I hear Quinn hotfooting it out of my room. I don’t even give him a backward glance, because he will find out soon enough.
They all will.
I come down the stairs, making sure my chin is parallel to the ground. Even if I don’t feel all that great, I will look damn confident while I do it.
The marble tiling under my bare feet chill me to the bone. It’s so hard, cold and emotionless in this big old house. Instead of the homey, warmth I would get from a set of hardwood flooring, I get nothing but crisp frigidness. A floor that probably cost thousands of dollars. It’s white onyx with just a hint of cherry finish, giving it a slight stain of a brownish-red.
Since I don’t know my way around this monstrosity of a home, I simply follow the sound of low-murmured chatting until I stand in the doorway of the dining area (a.k.a kitchen). Callum, Asher, Ellis, my father, Davis, and Whitney are sitting around the tiny nook table, pretending as if nothing is wrong as they smile and laugh quietly.
I take a few moments to look at them. Not skim my gaze over their movements and mannerisms, but to really look at the way they react toward each other.
Callum is as closed off as ever, but every few minutes, he will chime in on whatever they’re talking about. Asher’s face is made from stone as he glares in all their directions. I chuckle inwardly. He’s probably still upset over the scene in the bedroom. Well, he can get over it. It’s not like I’m monogamous with them. He knows the game, and if he wants to stay in, he better follow my rules.
Ellis is as energetic as ever, talking, laughing, and carrying on like I didn’t almost meet my maker a week and a half ago.
But the one that holds my attention the longest is Davis. He looks sullen, almost depressed. Not a look I thought I would ever see on him after the things that Quinn told me last night.
I wonder what’s wrong with him, because I know something is. He wouldn’t be as pale-faced and averse to conversation, otherwise.
Pushing it to the back of my mind, I make that final leap and step into the kitchen. All talking ceases as their gazes swing toward mine. But that’s not what surprises me. What surprises me is the fact that Whitney practically leaps out of her seat and rushes across the kitchen. What else surprises me is the hug she pulls me into, keeping in mind of my injuries.
“Oh, my goodness.” She hugs me tighter, her tiny body trembling in my reluctant arms. “Are you okay, sweetie? Is anything hurting?”
I don’t want to tell her that her grip on me is teetering on too tight, or the fact it feels like she’s squeezing the air from my lungs, so I shake my head.
She gasps, pulling away. “You’re not okay? Are you hurting, dear?”
I meet her eyes, nearly choking on my saliva when I find hers shining bright with tears. “I-I-I,” I stammer, being at a loss for words. Other than the guys and my father, no one has shown this type of emotion toward me. Could I have pegged Whitney wrong when we first met? If so, I’m the lowest of low.
“Whitney, dear, give Jessalyn some room to breathe,” my father states, chuckling under his breath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, then—fuck me sideways—leans away from me, wiping at a tear that slides down her cheek.
My bottom lip quivers with emotion, but I quickly mask it with a cough as I clear my throat. “That was fun. So, what’s for breakfast?”
Everyone looks at me through inquisitive eyes. The people at the table know how close I was to breaking. But what they don’t know is that I can’t give someone that type of power over me again. To allow them to tug on the strings of my heart is one thing I will not allow to happen ever again. I will have to harden my heart, which is something I’ve perfected over the years. No smooth words and emotional stances will change that.
No matter how much I crave for things to be different.
CHAPTER 7
I can’t believe they actually think I will go along with this. What are we—five? There’s no way in absolute hell I will ever agree to something so … well, fucking childish. That’s about as tame as I can say it without going overboard.
“You all can go straight to the devil’s evil crotch.” I narrow my eyes, silently daring them to force this subject.
It’s not happening. No way. No how.
After everything I’ve been through, they want to add more fuel to the fire. Like, are they kidding me with this shit?
“It’s only until this dies down, sweetheart.” Sweet, sweet Quinn. He actually thinks that nickname is going to soften my resolve. Well, not this time.
“Don’t you sweetheart me, asshole,” I grit out, stuffing my mouth with the most delicious pancake I’ve ever tasted this side of the Mississippi. Truly, it’s heavenly.
It’d be even better if they made a bit of sense and didn’t have me over here with ruffled feathers. Maybe then I’d be able to enjoy my breakfast, instead of dreading what’s to come afterward.
“Jess—”
“No,” I butt in, pointing my fork at each of them. “I will not skip school just because someone murdered my mother. Yes, someone forced her to kick the bucket, but that doesn’t mean I have to put my life on hold because of it. The second I’m okayed by the doctor to go back to school, I will return.”
“But—”
“I am not homeschooling my senior year!” I screech, completely exasperated with it all. “And now, before any of you can say it, again, I’m not going to wrap myself in bubble wrap to keep from getting hurt, either.”
Asher fusses under his breath, and that le
ads me to believe he was going to swing back to that idea. If I could roll my eyes any harder, I would. But ever since I was little, they told me my eyes could get stuck that way if I do it too hard, so I don’t try my shit on it.
But, seriously? Why do they think the best course of action is to lie low and let the heat pass? It may never fully blow over, and I’m not putting my life on hold until it does. I could be old and gray by the time that happens.
No, I will live my life how I want to live it, and not a damn person will convince me, otherwise.
Now, onto more important things.
“Dad, you need to reiterate what you told me in your study. If the guys want to be part of this, they need to know the fullest extent of your capabilities.”
My father’s gaze swings toward mine, then he breaks the connection to peer around the table at the others stuffing their face. He seems hesitant, but I’m not about to let him off the hook. He needs to come out with it, because I truly detest secrets—they’re far too close to outward lying.
“Dad,” I admonish, my fork paused in mid-air.
Finally, he sighs, directing his attention back toward me. “Fine. But the only reason I’m even doing this is because these young men can protect you when I can’t.”
Awe, how endearing? “Out with it.”
“I forgot how much of a hard ass you can be,” he huffs, but his obvious unease doesn’t deter my plan. If anything, it has me running full steam ahead.
“Dad.”
“Okay, okay—fine.” He sighs. “Before Whitney and I went on our first date, I did a little research beforehand, because, as you know, I had just liquidated all my personal and business assets and invested in the Empire as part owner—“(Yes, that’s what their business is called, so when the guys said ‘empire’ they meant that, literally).
“When I saw that she had been married three times before me, all wealthy men, I put two-and-two together. Yes, when we met, she was a gold digger.” He looks over at Whitney, seeing a frown marring her features. “Sorry, dear, but it’s the truth.” To which, Whitney shrugs. “Anyway, when I saw that, I formulated a plan of my own. I saw that she was working at the same office as Debra, ran in the outskirts of the same circles, and to be honest, I needed someone to gather information I could use against Debra in our mediation. So, I was going to use her just like she was going to use me.
“Only, I didn’t keep it hidden from her. I sat down at the table and when she joined me, I told her exactly what would happen if she wanted us to go forward, and what I’d be using her for. Of course, I offered her a stipend because I know work doesn’t come for free. That was until it became more. Now—” He glances to his right and reaches out his hand, which she takes gratefully. “It’s different. I love her.”
My throat works hard to swallow my saliva. “So, you two are going to get married or something?”
Whitney blushes. “We haven’t really talked about that. We’re just enjoying each other’s company at the moment.”
This would be the perfect time to tell her about the stunt I pulled with Davis. When I catch him peering toward me, I know the same thing is going through his head, too. Except, how does one approach a topic like that? My father, he doesn’t know what happened my freshman year, and if he does, he doesn’t know the details of it. This could be a terrible thing. Or, it could be good. I’m not so sure, and it’s terrifying.
“I have something to tell you all.” I sigh, then meet Davis’ gaze full on. And when he gives me a brief nod of acceptance, I dive right into it with both feet. “Davis and I have been … together.”
I picked the wrong time. Because the moment I say it, my father chokes on his coffee. It spurts out of his mouth and all over the table, ruining what’s left of the food in the middle with caffeinated goodness.
“Come again?” He clears his throat.
Okay. Time to start at the beginning. No matter how much I hate to do this, it seems like it’s a necessary evil. “Do you know what happened freshman year, right before Callum and his family moved away?”
“I see what you’re trying to do, and it won’t happen, young lady,” he chastises me, earning a chuckle from every other person around the table.
I mean mug them, then turn back to my father. “No, I can assure you this directly relates to how Davis and I came to have our moment.” I inwardly laugh when my father cringes into his coffee cup.
Sorry, I had to do that. It’s hilarious.
He’s boning Davis’ mother and it must be hard to hear his daughter did things with his woman’s son. It’s vicious, but there’s nothing we can do about it now except look forward.
This isn’t normally a conversation you’d have over breakfast, but with as unconventional as my life is, I’d say there really is nothing at this point that will surprise me. I’ve seen it all. Wicked women trying to play the role model of a mother. Vicious rapists that seem hell bent on stalking me. And four guys that all want in my pants and heart.
Yeah, there’s nothing predictable about my life at all.
“The only thing I know is that you changed. I don’t know why or how or even when, but it happened overnight.” And that’s where our problem lies. It’d be much easier if he knew about everything already.
Fuck, I’m about to spill this all over our morning cup of tea, coffee, and breakfast and Davis doesn’t even know.
“Okay,” I steeple my fingers on top of the table.
A soft touch on my elbow has me breaking my gaze with my father to stare into Ellis’ cerulean eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I nod, which makes him nod in acceptance. Turning back toward my father, I lay it all out. Every dark, demented detail—minus the actual details—that got me to where I am today. I go through it all, ignoring the paling of his skin and horror shining through his eyes. I ignore the girlish squeak that releases from Whitney before her tears make an appearance, sliding down her rosy cheeks. I ignore Davis, which tries several times to gain my attention.
I ignore everything as I divulge my bitter secret.
Afterward, my father looks a little green around the face. He splays his hand across his stomach, as if the thought of that happening to his daughter is more than he can bear. And the worst part is, when I got to why I did the things I did and just how long I’ve been spiraling down this road of self-destruction, Davis is the one that looked completely mortified.
“Y-You were—how did I not know?” my father breathes out, his face a mask of hurt.
I shrug, giving off the appearance of nonchalance. “It’s not your fault. No one knew. Not until I told the guys at Callum’s party a few months ago. That’s what made them stop bullying me.”
“Do you know who it was? Because that’s probably who was in the house that night?” Callum asks in a low murmur, and his words invoke a flash of images that have me reeling back in my chair, jumping to my feet. My chair screeches across the floor just before banging backward with a loud bang.
Black boots, open window, box on the table.
Blood, silk scarfs, his boots stomping against the floor.
Image after image bursts like tiny balloons inside my mind.
Locked doors, ruined rose petals, and mud caked on the Persian carpet.
There’s something else there. Something on the very tip of my tongue, but no matter how hard I focus, it won’t come to me. I don’t realize how hard I’m breathing until someone grabs me by my upper arms and starts cooing in a soft, genteel tone. When my vision comes back to me, and I’m no longer seeing those images, I spy Ellis standing in front of me with a mask of worry.
“Jess, baby—are you okay?” he asks, trying to keep the frantic timbre from his voice, but I hear it all the same. There’s nothing these guys can’t do that I don’t catch onto.
“Y-Yeah,” I rub my forehead. “I just remembered some things.”
“What did you see?”
“I think I just recalled a little from that night. Were there rose pet
als, a box, black boots … blood and silk scarfs?”
My father jumps up from the table at my words, racing toward me with purpose. “Yes! Can you remember anything else? Do you recall how you could have fallen from the window?”
Mulling it over in my mind, I still find it’s all a blank to me. While everything comes in spurts of hazy images and a severe case of dread, I recall nothing involving a window.
“Why would I go out the window, anyway?” I murmur aloud, biting into my bottom lip in concentration. “It makes little sense.”
Asher murmurs something under his breath that has Callum jerking his face toward him. “What did you say?”
A light stain of red rises over Asher’s face. I don’t know if he’s embarrassed or angry, but he looks like he’s about two seconds shy from either flipping the table or passing out. We continue to stare at him, no one even breathing a word, while he mulls over his silent babbling. It isn’t until his eyes widen and he stands up from the table, a slew of curse words raging out of him, and his hands smack down on top, that we all move into action.
“What’s the matter with you?!” Ellis growls, slinging a half-eaten bite of pancake from his lap.
“Don’t you guys get it?!” he yells. The force of his words has me backtracking toward the exit. Logically, I know he wouldn’t hurt me. Well, physically at least. But there’s something about the tenor of his voice that states otherwise.
The moment he notices, his expression completely changes, sans the red face and vein pulsating on the side of his neck, he transforms back into the loveable guy I’ve had the pleasure of coming to know.
“The reason she fell from the window isn’t because she crawled out of it. Because I know our girl, she wouldn’t slip and simply fall. Which means …” He lets the sentence drag on, unfinished.
“Which means …” Davis says, swaying his head from side to side in question. But then, his eyes light up as he, too, jumps up from the table. “Some motherfucker pushed her!”
“Dear God, that’s not where I was going with that.” Asher rolls his eyes so hard I fear they’ll get stuck that way.
Love Me, Baby: A High School Bully Romance (Silver Creek High Book 3) Page 5
