Brazen Steele: Brazen Series Book 2

by Dean, Ali

  “Our fans. Some of your fans too. But mostly women who follow me and Griff.”

  “Who cares about them, Beck? It will die down eventually. Once filming starts there won’t even be opportunities for people to take photos of us together. And isn’t Griff going to be traveling all around as soon as the company launches in a few weeks? Pretty soon it will die off and I won’t be on anyone’s radar anymore.”

  “So, what are you saying? You want to keep trying to hide us for another year?”

  “Eleven months,” I clarify, adding a shrug for good measure. “I’ve been thinking about it.” That’s not true, I’ve done all I can not to think about it. “And the contract hasn’t even started. Shred Live can’t demand anything. As long as all these girl fans chill out in the next few weeks, we can go back to how things were.”

  Beck searches my face, and I know he sees through me. I’m not confident it’s that simple. I’m aware that if we say nothing in response to the speculation, and do nothing about the contract, I’m the one whose reputation will get tarnished. And it will, because I don’t really have much of one established to begin with. But maybe nothing will come of it.

  “Can I see your phone?” Beck asks after a long moment.

  “Why?” I wonder even as I slide it from the back pocket of my jeans and unlock it for him.

  He takes it and I can’t see what he’s doing. “I want to see what your Instagram looks like.”

  He’s probably checking to see what razzleydazzles and bubblerollie have been saying. I don’t think it’s anything all that alarming, in fact their insults are kind of lame and predictable. Sure, I’d be lying if I said they didn’t bother me at all. But it’s not what they’re saying that gets to me, I know there’s no truth to it. It’s simply the fact that people who don’t know me apparently hate me, all because of some pictures they’ve seen online. It’s disturbing and kind of creepy.

  I’m watching Beck’s face, expecting an eyeroll or a little growl of annoyance. That’s not what’s happening though. His expression gets harder, and then the color starts to drain a little from his face.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “It’s gotten worse.”

  “What has?” I reach for the phone but he holds on tight.

  “I’ve seen the bitchy comments on some of the posts. But the ones in your direct messages are worse.”

  “Yeah. I’m not responding though. I Googled online bullying. If they don’t get any feedback, they stop eventually.” That’s not exactly what the articles said. They said engaging and giving attention fuels the bullies. “Besides, they say Twitter is where things tend to get out of hand and I don’t even have an account on there.”

  I’m not sure Beck is listening to me. “The first ones I saw last Friday called you a slut. That was ten days ago. Now, they’re saying some really messed up stuff, Jordan. This isn’t okay. We need to report this.”

  “Report it? To who?”

  “The police. It says the messages were opened. Have you read them or was it Summer?”

  “I read them.”

  Beck puts down the phone and looks at me. “Jordan.” He sounds like he’s in pain. “The bubble account said that I wouldn’t have looked twice at you if you couldn’t ride a skateboard. That if you got hurt skateboarding, I wouldn’t want you anymore.”

  I shrug, even as my heart rate increases. “So?”

  “So? Then she says she should take out your legs. That she’ll hurt you if you don’t back off.”

  “It’s just words, Beck. No one’s actually even approached me about any of this in person.”

  Beck stares at me, but he’s only half here with me. What is going through his head? I try again. “Beck, it’s one girl writing that stuff. Yeah, others have said some mean stuff in comments on photos, but it’s not mobs or anything. It will die down soon.”

  “It’s not one girl, Jordan. The razzle account says something similar. That Griffin never would have noticed you if you couldn’t skateboard, you aren’t anyone special. She hopes you crash and can never skateboard again, then Griffin won’t have a use for you.”

  “Beck. Really. It’s not like I actually believe these messages. I’m only reading them so I’m aware what’s going on. To help me make a decision. If I wanted to I could block them.” But that would show them they’re getting to me, which also isn’t a great option.

  Beck shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can let you make this decision anymore, Jordan. If something happened to you…”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I cut him off. “I’ll be studying and taking exams for the rest of the semester. Then I’m home for winter break. When I get back to campus, you’ll be filming and all of this will be done.”

  Beck doesn’t say anything, but his hands move to my waist, gripping me harder.

  “What?” I try to joke. “I mean, I wouldn’t have fallen for you if you couldn’t skateboard either, so even if that part is true, it goes both ways.”

  Beck doesn’t smile though. I’m not even sure he heard me.

  “There’s no way out of it, is there?” he asks, but I think he’s talking more to himself than me.

  “Beck, there are bigger celebrities in relationships who make it work. They deal with this stuff too.” It’s true, it has to be.

  “We should go on a vacation somewhere far away from all of this, together. You think your parents would mind if I found some remote island for us to go to over winter break? Just the two of us?”

  “Uh, yeah. They’re counting on me being there for the holidays. Sorry Beck.”

  “How about just for a weekend? You have three weeks off.”

  “Where did you have in mind where we could really escape?”

  “I’ll do some research. I’m sure we can find somewhere.”

  “Hmm… I think I could get away for that.” My parents might give me some push-back, but I bet they’d let me. They’re going to want to meet Beck sooner or later. Not sure when or how that will happen, but someday.

  “Someday, this will all be easy,” I tell Beck, leaning down so we’re nose to nose, chest to chest. “We won’t have to try so hard.”

  “That’s the thing. In every other way, it is easy.” His lips are inches away, and as my body molds to his, the color finally returns to his face. “If you need to cancel your accounts to escape all this, do it. Don’t endure it for Brazen, okay? Griff wouldn’t want that anyway.”

  “Can we please stop talking about it? You know what my decision is. And it’s not going to change. Not today anyway.”

  I don’t give him a chance to answer. My lips meet his at the same time as my hips roll. We might have to avoid going to skateparks together for a while, but at least we still have this.

  Beck

  We share a twin bed in her dorm room, and having her in my arms is the only thing that keeps me from smashing her phone. Destroying the ugly words, at least from her device. I want to go to the police, because there’s nothing else I can do. Maybe in the morning light, Jordan will let me talk her into that.

  But when she wakes up with a smile on her face I haven’t seen since Sunday morning, I can’t bring myself to talk about the police or the messages. Instead, I tell her, “I just ordered breakfast burritos to be delivered. Should be here in ten minutes.”

  Her smile grows. “I’ll meet the delivery guy.”

  That’s the thing. I even have to be careful going in and out of her dorm now. We can’t just leave together like we’ve done before. You never know who’s watching.

  As much as I want to force Jordan to confront the seriousness of the situation, in this moment I just want to go along with her naïve optimism. Maybe she’s even right about some of it. Not a risk I’m willing to take when it comes to her safety, but I want her to be happy so damn bad, and right now, she is.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jordan

  Vienna was right. With none of us responding to, correcting, or clarifying the
comments on social media, it doesn’t die off. Crystal refuses to take down the photos, because they are getting her all kinds of visibility. The question of which guy I’m with only becomes more of a thing. There’s a hashtag now for it too, so I’m told. I’m still kind of in shock so many people care – don’t they have better things to do? But then I remember it’s not me who’s causing the stir, not really. It’s Griffin and Beck, who have been building followings for a decade. They’ve each been on lists for sexiest men alive, most eligible bachelors, and hottest athletes. It doesn’t help there’s not much else going on this time of year in the skateboarding community. December is slow for contests.

  For the next week, I don’t even get out to skate. It’s studying in my room or the library, and grabbing something to eat at the cafeteria or ordering in.

  I miss Beck. I miss skateboarding. I miss hanging with Beck, Griff, Taylor, Naomi, and Summer at skate parks. I’m still studying and eating with Lucy, Ellie, and Zora when I can, but finals have all of us in our own heads. I tell myself no one’s having fun, this is just how it goes in college during finals. I tell myself I’m not avoiding Beck or my skateboarding crew, I just have to study.

  By the following Monday, I’m done with my exams, and I’ve got no more excuses. I don’t fly home until Friday. I’d given myself extra time because I thought I’d need it for term papers that weren’t due until the very last day of the exam period. But since I’ve been doing nothing else but school work, I’ve turned everything in, taken my last test. I have four days now to play and hang out.

  With the exception of one sleepover at Beck’s on Thursday night, I haven’t seen him since he was in my dorm room a week ago. Sitting on my bed, I tap my home screen, planning to call him. But for the first time in seven days, I don’t have a good excuse to avoid the Instagram icon sitting next to my text message icon.

  I know I’ve got to deal with it eventually, see what’s going on and post something about finishing exams or whatever. If any really bad messages had come through this week, I would have heard about them from Summer. All I’ve heard is there’s some hashtag people follow about which guy I’m with, and lots of photos and commentary posted about the three of us. Most of it isn’t mean, just curious. That’s what everyone’s been telling me at least.

  I skip my newsfeed and click on the direct messages. The messages are all unread, unopened, so Summer must have decided to stop monitoring them for me. Unless it’s someone I’m already following, I have to accept message requests from followers before I can see them. When this all first started, we agreed I’d accept all messages and try to respond and be personable. I don’t know if Summer, Griff, Beck, or anyone would still give that advice now that things have blown up, but I find myself accepting all the message requests anyway. Now that I’ve opened the door, I’m letting it all in. It’s not as if I can tell from people’s Instagram handles if they’re going to be fans or haters.

  Scrolling through, I find a few over the past week asking about when I’m competing next, which parks are my favorite around here, and if I’ve tried this or that park. Two messages from people on the east coast who said they’d met me at the indoor park I used to hit up, and they’re happy to see I’m competing now. These are all the kinds of messages that are easy to respond to. I don’t mind, even if it can be a bit tedious conversing with people who are basically strangers over a screen. But it’s also a little bit cool, I can admit that.

  I don’t respond though, not yet. Instead, I keep scrolling, my fingers shaking a little as I read a solid twenty messages asking about my relationship status. Some questions are short and sweet: “Do you have a boyfriend?” “I saw you were at a wedding with Beckett Steele. Are you guys together?” Some are a little more obnoxious. “OMG are you sleeping with Griffin Perry?! I’m so jealous! What’s he like? You know, in bed LOL!” Yeah. Okay. I still can’t believe people are asking me stuff like that after a few photos of us skating together and smiling like good friends. Then there are some which can only be described as hostile. “You can’t have both. Which one is it?” “You little slut, sleeping with skateboarding hotshots to get your own following? That’s pathetic.” That one came from a guy’s account.

  I’m barely aware of how hard I’m breathing as I read these. Yes, these are just words. They mean nothing. But then why can I feel the blood draining from my head? The room is already spinning when I open one from bubblerollie, the one who’s claimed Beck is hers, and if I couldn’t skateboard, he’d never look at me. “He’ll forget all about you when he’s filming next semester. You’re nothing special.” Huh, okay, at least she’s not talking about cutting my legs off this time.

  Razzleydazzles’s message is the last unread one, and she’s been the most vicious. But I’ve already gone down this path, I might as well get to the end. Ha. Yeah right. This inbox will fill up again just the same if I give it another week without checking. I’ll never really get to the end. That thought has me swaying slightly, the blood definitely not circulating right in my body. My hand wobbles as I stretch to toss the phone to the side of the bed. I need to lie down. But for some reason, I don’t let go of the phone. I open the last message.

  There’s a photo.

  I hear a squeaking noise, and it takes a second to realize it’s me gasping.

  The picture is of me at the door to Beck’s apartment building, tapping in the code. I’m wearing these ugly sweat pants that are cut off right below the knee. They’re so damn cozy, and I’d gone straight there from my dorm on Thursday night. I recognize the tee shirt too. A yellow one ripped at the sleeve. I’ve got on my backpack, my board tucked under my arm.

  She was spying on me. Following me. She’s not some stranger who lives in a different country. She’s here. In Summerside.

  My vision is already blurring a little as I squint at the message.

  “Griffin is mine. Stay away from him.”

  The words aren’t even personal. She’s not attacking me this time, not telling me I’m not good enough for him. But with the picture and the knowledge I’m being watched, followed even, it’s more personal than ever. This isn’t petty jealousy. My breaths come faster, and the room tilts.

  I fall back involuntarily, passing out I suppose, but my head hits the wall, and the pain snaps me back to the moment.

  I’m a mess. A total mess. And this time, I’m not ashamed or embarrassed to feel the way I do. I’m legitimately freaked out. Someone I don’t know just warned me, and made it clear she’s close. Either she traveled here because she went off the rails or she’s been here all along. Maybe she’s a student! She could be in my dorm. I don’t have the energy to get up and lock my door. My body weighs a million pounds as I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. What have I gotten myself into?

  * * *

  Sometime later, maybe an hour, I have no idea, my phone rings. I glance at it, and sigh in relief when I see Summer’s name.

  “Hey!”

  “Are you done with finals finally?” she asks.

  “Yeah, just finished.”

  They must be on speaker because Naomi asks, “Why don’t you sound happier?”

  “I’m just exhausted.” I should tell them about the messages on Instagram, but I don’t have the energy to talk about it right now.

  “Too exhausted to skateboard?” Summer asks.

  “We just got out of class and are going to Riptide. Want us to pick you up?”

  My mood instantly improves, and I’m already sitting up in my bed as I tell them I’ll wait outside. I need this.

  As I stand on the sidewalk a few minutes later holding my board, I can’t help but look around, wondering if I’m being watched. Beck was right. It’s probably time to go to the police. I mean, I leave in a few days and then I won’t be back for three weeks, but still. That photo with that message? It was a warning, and I’d be stupid to ignore it. As soon as we get back from the park, I’ll go to Beck’s and tell him. Griffin too. Maybe Griffin’s messages from this
girl will help the police find her.

  With a plan in place and a couple hours at a skatepark ahead of me to shake off the panic attack earlier, I’ve got a big smile on my face when Naomi pulls up in front of me in Beck’s old Jeep Wrangler.

  Summer informs me that Griffin told her to stop reading my direct messages, and that’s why there are so many. She tells me I’ll have to catch up on my own at some point, and I promise I will, not wanting to get into it right now. I wonder if Griffin didn’t want her reading them because of how nasty things were getting. Didn’t want her lying awake at night worrying about it. I shudder, wondering how the hell I’m going to fall asleep later.

  Once we pull out of campus and onto the highway, Naomi turns up the radio and I’m grateful. With the anticipation of catching air soon, loud music is the best medicine. I’m celebrating the end of my first college finals like a normal student. The tension in my body that had me glued to my bed earlier releases little by little, and by the time the park comes into view, I’m shaking in my seat for a different reason. I can’t wait to get out there and rip.

  Unfortunately, I let myself forget how crowded Riptide can get in the afternoon, and we find ourselves having to wait to drop in and navigating around lots of people. There’s no one on the giant half pipe, and my eyes keep roaming to the empty platform and ramps. Something inside me tells me now is the time to go for it again. The fear that’s hit me each time I’ve looked at it since that first time isn’t present. I’ve got new, different fears blocking it out maybe, I don’t know. But I’m ready to tackle the huge ramp again. I need to go for it. To prove something to myself. What that is exactly, I have no clue.

  “You keep looking over there,” Naomi points out, leaning to tap her shoulder with mine as we wait our turn for a rail.

  “I’m going to go for it,” I announce, before I can chicken out.

  “You totally got it, girl,” Summer reassures me from the other side. “Can I come up to the platform with you to take pics? I’ve never been up there before.”