The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  promise me you won’t go with Ron Tillman.”

  I forced a laugh. “I can virtually guarantee that.”

  It seemed like we were starting to say our goodbyes already, and I wasn’t

  ready for that, so I led him by hand into the dining room, where the smell of

  French fries was calling my name. After a thoughtful dinner of veggie burger

  for me and regular burgers for them, we played a few hilarious rounds of

  Bul shit, or “I Doubt It,” as it was called in my house. Pete had to intervene on that one, so we settled for “Bul crap” to the delight of the boys, who thought they were getting away with something.

  Mikey and I won, of course, because I always knew when Pete was lying.

  And called him out on it every time. He seemed to grow exponentially quieter the more rounds he lost, until every spec of good humor was gone from his

  face. Finally, he threw down his thick stack of cards and groaned that it would

  take till midnight to get rid of them all. But his humorous tone seemed forced.

  Could it be he was a sore loser? Life’s winners were often the worst losers.

  Maybe I should’ve cut him a break, like I did everybody else. But I was really

  enjoying sticking it to him for playing for the wrong team.

  We sent the boys off to get ready for bed and began clearing the dining

  room table. As he slid past me with a plate of stumpy fries bloodied from their

  ketchup-drowning, I poked him in the ribs. “Don’t tell me you’re feelin’ sore

  cause I finally found somethin’ I can beat you at?” I teased.

  Pete looked directly at me for the first time since I last blasted him with

  Bul crap! Half a lip lifted. “You should quit waitressing to become a card shark.”

  I laughed a little too heartily. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that. But

  alas, gamblin’s a sin, so Daddy’d never go for it.”

  • 401 •

  He laughed, a little less heartily. “Probably for the best. Why don’t you go ahead and get ready for bed while I finish cleaning up?”

  I dropped my dishrag into his palm. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

  A quick goodnight to the boys, and I was in the bathroom brushing my

  teeth. It was about at the end of this endeavor when my brain started to feel

  two sizes too big for my skull, so I decided to pop a couple of more Tylenols.

  But before I could get ‘em down the hatch, Pete came up behind me and

  replaced them with two Vicodin. I looked askance at the intervention.

  “Acetaminophen’s workin’ just fine. Plus, those happy pills tend to really

  knock me out.” I politely declined the offer— so wanted to stay awake right

  now. Gulping down my pain reliever with some coffee had even crossed my

  mind.

  “You could use the extra sleep,” he said gently. “And I kind of like seeing

  you when you’re a little . . . less inhibited.” This little revelation preceded those lips, I’d been admiring all night, nuzzling my neck; I practically swooned right

  there on the bathroom floor. But before I could melt into a puddle of pink

  ooze, he popped a pill between my lips. “Bottoms up,” he commanded with

  the kind of smile that dropped panties.

  I wasn’t sure, so Pete gave me a reassuring squeeze, running his hands

  over my shoulders and down my arms. Then, biting his lip, he gave me the

  eyes and an accompanying head toss. Gah! —s o sexy. I was able to witness this contrived move, and the corresponding bloom manifest upon my cheeks, from

  our reflection. But before I could reflect further, he pushed the pill into my

  mouth. I automatically swallowed it down with the water he tipped to my

  lips, and a sweet kiss was swiftly bestowed upon my cheek.

  Pete reversed his fingertips to trail up the insides of my arms, dredging

  the pleasure bumps back up. Then a second pill was pressed to my lips. I

  hesitated, feeling funny—I didn’t take him for a pill-pusher. He countered

  with another panty-dropper and got back to work on my neck. I could barely

  breathe, much less think straight. My eyes found his in the mirror. Something

  flashed there . . . until a small shape coming up behind us moved our eyes to

  a wide-eyed four-year-old.

  “Pete, will you—hey! Are you a vampire?”

  Pete threw back his head and howled at that one. After which, Mikey

  immediately persuaded him into leaving, but not before he did the sexy-lip-

  biting-head-toss thing again. I gave him my Mona Lisa and popped the pill

  into my mouth. A dazzling smile was my instant reward for good behavior,

  but the second he walked out the door I poofed it out into my palm. I’d save

  • 402 •

  part deux for later—I could handle a little headache as long as it came with a side of Pete.

  Being stuck in the confines of a matchbox all day had me feeling way too

  stir-crazy to go straight to bed, so I went out on the front steps to get some

  air. It was a beautiful night for stargazing; the air was crisp, the sky a black

  velvet. I sat there, absentmindedly petting Blue and reflecting on everything.

  The creaking of loose floorboards—and the thrill along my spine—alerted

  me to Pete’s presence.

  “Whew! I don’t know how you do that every day,” he said. “I’m bushed!”

  “It’s definitely a labor of love.” I smiled and leaned against the splintered

  wood column holding up our porch while he stared up at my part of the sky.

  “Have you ever played poker?” he asked apropos of nothing.

  I laughed. “Why? Are you challengin’ me to a game of strip poker?”

  He waggled his eyebrows at me. “Maybe.”

  My smile faded. “Actually, yeah. My mother taught me when I had the

  flu. Turns out—I really have a knack for cards. She made me solemnly vow

  to never play anyone for money, sayin’ I was too good at it for my own good.”

  “I bet she said that a lot.”

  I shrugged. “What can I say?—a mama’s love.”

  Pete worked his mouth around before coming up with another one of his

  smiles. I could read him now like the cards—this one was fake. “Remind me

  to never play strip poker with you then—I’m afraid I’d come out on the losing

  end of that gig. Defeat the whole purpose!” he said, ending with the real deal.

  “Yeah you would.” I laughed along, my eyes sparking with a flash of

  suppressed anger. “It’d be as easy as takin’ candy from a baby.”

  Pete started laughing at the same time I quit—to stare meaningfully into

  his eyes for as long as it took. Not long. The boy was a gosh dang elite cadet after all.

  I saw it happen—that thing that passed between us—the tacit

  understanding, a realigning of all that we thought we knew, with what we

  now knew. Waves of emotions came rolling across his face with neuron-rapid

  speed: surprise, denial, anger . . . humor. He threw his head back and barked

  out a harsh laugh then walked forward and planted his hands across the

  twin beams of rotting wood, straining beneath their weight. After taking a

  long moment to stare up at the heavens, intermittently chuckling and acting

  thunder struck, he finally spoke. “Of course . . . I should’ve known.”

  Arms wrapped around my knees, I rocked back and forth, smirking up

  at him. Pete was still processing, so I decided to fill the silence. “Of course,

  • 403 •

  you know . .
. the only problem with takin’ candy away from a baby is they howl and cry and point fingers, makin’ a big ole ruckus,” I warned. He looked

  down at me sharply. “And then they never, ever fully trust the one who took it from them. No matter how much they might want to, or how nice the

  person is—they never forget who stole their precious candy . . . and will never forgive them.”

  Pete took in my face and the kind of deep breath that only yogis do.

  After expelling it out in a long stream, he looked down on me with a tender

  cross between respect and aggravation. He held out his palm. Peace offering?

  I accepted it, and he hauled me to my feet. We padded a few yards from

  the house, gazing up at the same night sky that suddenly looked a whole lot

  different. A full moon, like a Chinese lantern, shone out from a blanket of

  shimmering stars. It seemed to be a portent of some kind — a reckoning was

  coming — a change, and not just of the seasons, was in the air. I shivered.

  We obviously couldn’t go on like this—feigning ignorance on both ends.

  Not now. Not after the cat just got dumped out of the bag by my happy pill.

  Pete was struggling, his thoughts running unchecked as first graders at recess

  across his face. He let out another gusty sigh, raked both hands through his

  hair. Twice. I just indulged in my favorite pastime—staring at his face. A

  few moments of windy silence, and Blue whined. I shivered patiently in my

  T-shirt. The evenings were cold now that we were digging out the last dregs

  of September.

  He barked out a couple of laughs that sounded arrogant when the notes

  weren’t warmed with humor. I recalled how I saw him that first time in the

  restaurant—rude, arrogant, privileged—and tried to reconcile the Pete from

  the past with the one I now knew. I’d have to take well-spoken off the list

  because the ambassador was rendered speechless.

  A wind blew, seeking something in this forlorn land to push up against.

  It chose me, making me sway like a corn sapling. “Whatever you gotta say,

  Cadet Davenport, you better spit it out, because the sergeant will be makin’

  his way home soon.”

  Pete guttered a laugh, one I was glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of. “I

  doubt it. Daddy Dearest is down at the local watering hole, imposing penance

  upon himself by drinking himself into oblivion . . . for selling out.” He finally

  spoke, and it was a doozy.

  Now I was speechless. “Ahhh,” I finally said. “That explains a lot.”

  A glimmer of a smile when he looked at me. “I could say the same.” He

  scrubbed a hand up the back of his neck, stalked away from me, swung back

  • 404 •

  around. “I guess I should apologize for being an asshole,” he said. “My only excuse is it comes with the territory.”

  “That’s real comfortin’ seein’ as how my precious brother is on his way to

  the territory Monday mornin’ bright and early.”

  Pete growled out some aggravation. Looked on the verge of saying

  something. Instead, he bent over to rub at his face again and again while I

  dispassionately watched him. When he righted himself, he came up with a

  face deeper in color—a shade I’d call shame.

  “I’m sorry, Kate. I really am. I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t tell you anything but that, okay?”

  “No,” I said, my throat aching. “It’s not okay! I deserve better than that.

  My brother deserves better than that—he looks up to you with god-like

  devotion. You should feel ashamed of yourself!”

  Pete fast-paced forward, throwing his arms out, like for mercy, as if there

  were a jury out there in the pasture. “I do! Alright?” he yelled, losing his voice

  to a break. He dropped a sigh, his arms, then his voice. “Look, I’ll recommend

  Andrew not be admitted to the program. . . . Honestly, I don’t even think

  that’s in everyone’s best interest, nor do I believe it will do much good, but

  there it is—the best I can do for now.”

  I stared into his eyes; he was telling the truth. That was something at

  least. “How bad is it, Pete? Are y’all like devil worshippers or somethin’? Why

  don’t you just quit?”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “Religion—in any form—isn’t exactly a factor at

  The Academy, so I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said, answering only one

  of my pointed questions.

  I shiver-swayed with the wind again. “Pete, can we go back in? I’m freezin’

  and startin’ to get a little woozy.”

  He pursed his lips at me. “Hold on a second. It’s a beautiful night. I’m

  going to miss all these stars. One good thing about living out on the flat plains

  of nowhere is I’ve never seen such beautiful skies . . . or girls,” he added, with

  a brief, bruising kiss before sprinting to the Hummer. He grabbed something

  out of his console and tucked it into his back pocket. Then walked around to

  the back to grab the infamous blue jacket. I was beginning to feel like it was

  my jacket now, and shuddered from the thought (or from the cold I wasn’t

  sure which).

  “You know,” I began when he jogged back to grab me, “I can think of a

  great deal many things I’d rather wear than this thing . . . and that includes

  one of Tillman Mill’s feed sacks.”

  He chuckled and held out the jacket for me to slip my arms into. “Humor

  • 405 •

  me, one more time,” he said, zipping me up. This made me feel a little like a child being attended to, and I frowned at the thought that he saw me that way.

  By this point I could hardly stand up. Unfortunately, there was nothing

  for us to sit down on because we were standing on what would normally be

  considered a front yard, but in our case consisted of dried brush with the odd

  cactus thrown in for unpleasant surprises. Pete held me steady in his arms

  while I snuggled up, deep breathing him in.

  “Kate . . .” It sounded like the beginning of a goodbye.

  My spine stiffened immediately. “Don’t say it yet,” I pleaded, feeling

  heartsick even as my stomach dropped. I clutched his arms as if I could hold

  him hostage here—to this spot a long ways away from his world—just a little

  longer.

  A few more moments of me trying real hard not to cry later, and he tried

  again. “Kate . . .” I looked up to face my bleak future. “I only came back to

  pack and escort your father and brother back to San Francisco. I have to go

  back, be the ambassador, show them around campus, facilitate the paperwork.

  The mission is essentially over, honey.” I didn’t think my heart could sink

  any further in my chest. Then he said, “If all goes as expected, they’ll have

  attorneys present Monday to sign the official documents.”

  “But-but we don’t even have an attorney!”

  “The Academy has provided one for your father.”

  “Right,” I snorted. “Very helpful that.”

  “Kate, I-I just want you to be prepared . . . this could be the end. I don’t

  want you to do anything rash that could get you into trouble. I’m doing the

  best I can to help you, but you’re not making it very easy for me.”

  So little time, so many questions. “Pete!” It just dawned on me he was

  leaving. Forever . “But there’s just one more
day! What is that physical even about? Should I be worried? Is it even safe?” I gushed out questions. “I have to

  find out everything I can to help my brother! Pete!” My face crumpled. “Please!

  I love him so much! I don’t wanna lose him, too. I’m so scared!”

  Pete looked down on me with pity but firm resolve. “I’ve told you

  everything I can.”

  “Which is exactly nothin’ that’s not in the brochure. Or why you lied to

  me! Or why y’all feel the need for parents to give up their rights in order for their kids to attend!”

  He sighed. “You didn’t take that second Vicodin, did you?”

  “Why? Are you waitin’ for me to pass out, so you can run off with my

  brother?” I realized his bag was already packed. By me.

  Pete looked pained while my ears strained for a denial. “I didn’t want to

  • 406 •

  end this way with you—again. It seems like we can never have a good ending.

  Maybe . . . there isn’t one for us.” His voice sounded raw.

  “Because you’re still masqueradin’ as a cadet. Still not bein’ forthright

  with me.” I pounded on his shoulders, hating his dispassionate face. “What

  am I even to you?” My disjointed thoughts actually came out sounding exactly right.His eyes shifted in the moonlight. “I don’t know exactly.” I waited him out

  for a better answer. He shook his head, looking up, searching. “Something . . .

  real I need to protect for one.”

  “That’s real poetic comin’ from the guy who set out to win me over with

  lies and deceit.”

  Pete’s face fell, and when he spoke next, his voice sounded thick. “I can

  understand how you could feel that way, knowing what you know now. But

  I’ve always had your best interests at heart, Kate . . . you have to trust me.”

  “I wish I could—there’s just too many unanswered questions. And until

  you answer them . . . I can’t.”

  “And I can’t really say anything more,” he said, wrapping up.

  “So this is it? We exchange email addresses and follow each other on

  Instagram? ”

  He let out a hollow laugh. “I guess so,” he said, but we both knew it was

  a lie.I felt like crying. It was going so fast. Time: it was the force that couldn’t be stopped. Not water. Water could be quelled, dammed, bottled up. Not

  time. It couldn’t be manipulated. It was a constant, propelling us forward into