by Madison Faye
“Way to fuckin’ slay it out there, Owens!”
I scowl.
“Uh, yeah.”
“So, I’ll text you the address for tonight, cool?” He makes a face. “Wait, can you even sneak out with your mom being the fucking Vice Principle?”
My eyes swivel past Ian, and something heated teases through me as I see Camden standing a few yards behind him talking to some other girls from the team. But he’s looking right at me, those blue eyes wild and fierce and his perfect jaw clenched tight.
“Yeah,” I mutter, still starting right at Camden. “Yeah I can sneak out.”
“Sweet. See you tonight. Shit’s gonna be epic.”
Somehow, I drag myself from the water. My body is on fire with the exertion, and my eyes looking right at the man who’s got me twisted up and all sorts of turned around before I turn sharply and march off to the locker rooms.
8
Camden
Three years ago:
“It’s going to be fine.”
She shakes her head, blonde hair billowing wildly and tears running down her face as she turns and looks out the open window of the Maserati.
“Gina, look at me.”
My vision blurs at the edges, and a blaring car horn yanks my attention away from her and back facing forward. At the road. I blink, shaking my head and giving myself a quick slap back into focus.
Focus. I need to focus.
But that’s hard as fuck to do when you’ve got about six lines of coke and half a bottle of scotch in your system slowly dismantling your ability to think from the inside. Your ability to think, function, and drive, for that matter.
The car jerks, and I blink again, heart racing as I squint to focus.
This is a bad, bad fucking idea. Even I know that. But it can’t be helped. Not when she called me an hour ago crying that Raymond was smacking her around again. I showed up ready to put him the ground, but the rat-fuck was already off with his buddies somewhere getting drunk enough to forget he’d laid hands on her again.
Now, we’re headed back to my house. Hopefully, I can get the rager of a party currently going on there to get the fuck out.
“Gina, I’m going to fix this.”
“You can’t always fix everything, Cam.”
“I can fix this.”
She snorts, wiping away her tears. She’s nearly as drunk as I am, and that’s fucking saying something.
“You gonna swim, Cam?” she barks out flatly. “You going to swim me away from my life?”
“I’m going to beat the ever loving fuck out of Raymond, for starters,” I hiss, slamming on my horn as I roar around two stopped cars, flipping off a taxi as I blast through the red light and take the onramp to the bridge over the bay.
Gina laughs a brittle laugh. “There’ll just be another Raymond, Cam. There’s always a Raymond. There was Mikey before him, and Ken before that.” She shakes her head. “Fuck, there was dad even before all of them.”
She turns to look at me, knocking back a slug from the bottle of raspberry flavored vodka in her hand.
“Maybe it’s me, ya know?”
“Stop it,” I slur. “You fuckin’… fuckin’ stop it.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She turns back to the window, looking at the bay lit up as we roar up the on-ramp.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to.”
“Good,” I mutter, blinking and trying to turn ten lanes into the three I know they are in front of me. I swerve into the slow lane, the flawed, blurred, booze-soaked logic in my head telling me that’s playing it safer as we cruise up onto the big bridge itself. Another car horn blares past me, and I’m dimly aware of yelling at the guy to go fuck himself.
“You’re always taking care of me, Cam.”
I turn back, grinning at Gina.
“Always.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that.”
“Nah, it’s all good.”
“No, it’s not,” She takes another long, slow pull from the bottle as I fight to keep the road from spinning in front of me.
“Life’s a hell of a ride, huh?” she mumbles quietly.
The car thunders under me, and I’m flying high as fucking kite—from the booze, from the drugs, from the party back at my place, and at the knowledge that it’s all coming together. Years—literally years of hard, brutal, dedicated work are finally coming to fruition. Because I just found out I made fuckin’ Team USA for the Olympics next year. Phelps, Lochte, Dwyer, and me.
“I love you, Cam.”
I blink, the world coming back into fuzzy focus as I turn to glance at Gina.
“Huh?”
“I love you, you know.”
I shrug. “I love you—”
“Goodbye Cam.”
It doesn’t happen in slow motion. There’s not this big dramatic moment of realization. It’s just that one second she’s there, and the next, the door is swinging open and she’s just gone, her blonde hair disappearing over the guard rail out into the black abyss two-hundred feet above the bay.
It’s what happens next that happens in slow motion. I remember just staring—blinking and staring—like I’m just not seeing her. Like if I squeeze my eyes shut hard enough and open them again, she’ll still be there, and we can get back to my condo and just fix this shit. But she’s not, and I just keep blinking, and keep staring out the open passenger side door with my foot pushing the gas pedal to the floor until the front fender of the Maserati clips the back corner of a semi-truck.
That’s when the whole world goes upside down, and the lights go out.
* * *
Now:
I stare at the cabinet above my fridge. I’m sitting at the big white marble island in the kitchen, swirling green tea around my mug, and just staring. I know what’s up there, because I put it up there—I like knowing exactly where my demons are, and I know this one is just sitting up there, waiting for me to fail and give in.
He can go right ahead and go fuck himself, cause that ain’t gonna happen.
My thoughts turn back to Waverly, and my jaw clenches.
I fucked up. I… well, I don’t want to say I panicked, but I misstepped. I misspoke. I mis-acted. And then I did what I always do when I hit confrontation. I tried to boss and bully my way through it, like a fucking jackass. I glare down into my green tea, trying not to think of her off at some fucking party with fucking Ian. Or any other guy, for that goddamn matter.
I try not to think of her dancing with some guy.
I try not to think of her being touched by some guy.
Grinding with him, kissing him.
I whirl, and before I know it, that mostly empty mug of tea is flying from my hand against the wall, shattering into fragments as I snarl like an animal.
I leave the mess and go directly to my garage, yanking my shirt off and grabbing my gloves from the hook by the door before I step in and flick on the fluorescent lights.
“You’re fucking mine, asshole,” I mutter, shoving the gloves on and grimacing at the punching bag as I storm over to it and start to give it hell. And I go to town on that fucker, hitting and hitting and hitting until my arms are like putty and the sweat pours down my chest. I take a breath, gasping for air as I head to the garage fridge and yank out a bottle of water. Across the room, by the door, my phone dings, and I frown as I head over to pick it up.
My jaw tightens.
…It’s Waverly. And either she’s having a fucking stroke, or she’s very very drunk.
Hheey mr meannnny.
A smile cracks my lips. Mr. Meany?
How’s the party.
The little dots of her typing appear instantly, and I grin, taking a big gulp of water.
I’m misbehaving
I growl, the hairs on the back of my neck go up, and my hands clench to tight fists.
Don’t respond. Just don’t.
But I do. Obviously.
How so.
For a moment, the jealousy in me roars into a g
reen fire. Misbehaving how? With some fucking guy?
The phone in my hand dings, and I glance down at the new text from her.
A wine glass emoji.
I grin, rolling my eyes.
Be careful.
Oh ur suddenly worrrried bout me??
I frown as I hammer out a reply.
I mean don’t get hurt. Or arrested. We need you this season.
The second I send it, I groan to myself at how fucking lame I just sounded,
That all?
I can’t respond. I can’t. I need to stop this insanity—this fucked up path of self-destruction where I’m fucking losing myself over my barely-legal, entirely off-limits student. But then, I don’t just not respond. I don’t respond because I’m slowly scrolling up, my jaw tightening and my cock pulsing as my eyes slide over the pictures she’s sent before of herself.
Wat r u doing?
Scrolling up to look at your tits.
The pictures roll past my eyes—her soft, perfect tits, her tight ass, and that sweet, ridiculously mouth-watering little pink cunt, so open and wet for me. Fuck am I hard.
This prty sucksss :(
I grin, chuckling.
How come?
Three toomuuch boobs
My brow arches as I smile curiously. Uh, what?
*boobs
Fucccker. BOOBS
I start laughing.
ducking auto spell. BOOZE. Thrs too much here
I frown. Her texts are getting harder to read.
Then leave.
I scowl.
Hold on, did you drive?
Noooooo. Cab man brough me.
Call another one and get out of there.
There’s a minute of nothing, where of course I’m just staring at the phone like a fucking loser, before the dots of her typing pop back up.
Too ur place?
It’s followed by a winky-kissy-faced emoji, like she’s being cute and kidding. Or maybe just teasing.
…Possibly suggesting, and my cock is rock hard at the thought.
Suddenly, my phone rings. It’s Waverly.
“Heeeyy,” she slurs breathlessly.
“Hey yourself,” I growl, frowning. She sounds seriously fucked up.
“What are you doing?”
“Drinking.”
She snorts, hooting out a laugh.
“Drinking. I am drinking.”
She sighs heavily. “Coach,” she says it almost whimsically. “I am drunk.”
My jaw clenches. “Call a cab or an Uber and get home, Waverly.”
She sighs again.
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
She giggles. “Cause I’m on the phone with you, silly.”
I smile but I shake my head.
“Then get off.”
She giggles again.
“How forward, Coach.”
I growl.
“You know what I mean.”
“I knoooow what I want you to mean…”
“Waverly—”
“Coach?” she says softly.
“Yeah.”
“Why won’t you just fuck me?”
I groan, my blood roaring in my ears and my cock swelling. I close my eyes and pinch the bride of my nose as I walk back into the house and into my kitchen, glancing up at the cabinet full of demons above the fridge.
“Waverly…” I growl. “Because it’s not right.”
“If you say so,” she mumbles.
There’s a commotion in the background, and suddenly, I hear the full blast of the party, like someone’s opened a door or something.
“Hey babe!”
A guy’s voice blasts through the phone, and I snarl as I yank it away from my ear for a second.
“Heeeeey,” Waverly slurs back.
There’re some more words, and then I hear her again.
“No, I’m okay. Nooooo, seriously. I don’t want more drinks,” she giggles.
“Nah, have this last one then!”
I stiffen. The guy’s voice is Ian Cavanaugh.
“I am so drunk.”
Ian laughs.
“Even better! Drink up, babe!”
Fire is blazing in my fucking veins, and I’m gripping the countertop like I might snap the marble with my bare hands.
“This tastes funny.”
Everything goes still as I freeze.
In the background, I hear guys voices—maybe two of them, and the sound of someone snickering.
“Nah, just drink it.”
“I don’t wanna,” Waverly slurs.
“C’mon!” another guy’s voice says. “Loosen up, beautiful!”
There’s the sound of cheering and then there’s Ian’s voice again.
“Yeah! There you go, Waverly! Chug!”
“Waverly,” I growl into the phone. I hear her coughing and then groaning as she brings the phone back to her face.
“Waverly?”
“You’re still there!” She giggles. “I’m so glad. That drink did noooot taste good. It tasted funny.”
There’s a ringing in my ears as my jaw clenches hard.
“Get a cab—fuck it, I’m calling you one.”
“Noooo, that’s okay,” she mumbles. “I am sooooo sleepy.”
Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.
I’m yanking my shirt on and grabbing my keys as I storm back to the garage.
“Waverly, stay on the fucking phone,” I growl.
“I am so sleeeeepy though!” She sighs. “Isss cool. I don’t need cab. I’m gonna…” she sighs. “I’m just gonna sleep right here.”
“Waverly.”
There’s no answer.
“WAVERLY!” I roar as I charge into the garage and yank open the door to my Land Rover. The engine bellows to life, and I’m about to hang up when I hear voices again.
Two guys’ voices.
“Bro, she is out, man!”
I snarl, pushing the button for the garage door, and I’m about to gun it in reverse, when I hear the guy say something that chills me to my core.
“Perfect.”
I almost take out the garage door and blast down the driveway and out into the night. I flash back to the pool, and Waverly telling me about the party at…
I frown before I remember.
The Manning’s house. And I know where that is. The Land Rover thunders under me as I floor it, not stopping for a goddamn thing. Thankfully, Southworth is basically empty this time of night, because I blast through every stop sign and red light I hit before I get to the Manning’s huge, sprawling mansion. I screech up the driveway until I’m blocked by all the cars from the kids at the party, where I get out and start running, my ears ringing and my pulse racing.
I see movement, around the back corner of the house, and I frown as I stop and squint into the shadows. It’s two shapes—people—who look like they’re carrying another shape—another person—between them.
Mother. FUCKERS.
They’re moving away from the main house over around the backyard pool to what looks like a pool house of some kind, and I run after them until I come barreling around the corner of the house and roar at them.
“The fuck is going on here!?” I bellow. The two of them jump, half-dropping the shape between them as I whirl.
“Coach?!”
Ian Cavanaugh’s face is white, his eyes wide as he stares at me in fear.
“Wh—what are you—”
“I asked you what the fuck is going—”
My eyes slide back to the shape, and as the other kid moves out of the way and light falls over her face, I stiffen.
It’s Waverly, looking completely passed out.
Slowly, my eyes slide back to Ian, and then to other equally terrified looking shitstain.
“Answer my fucking question, Ian,” I hiss dangerously, stepping towards him.
“Coach, I just…” he swallows. “Coach, what are you doing at this—”
“ANSWER ME!!” I roar like
the goddamn devil himself, the two guys half jumping in the air in shock.
“She’s sick!” the other guy blurts out. “Yeah, she’s, uh, she’s not feeling good, and we’ve got a spare bed in the pool—”
“Scott Manning,” I growl at the kid, who pales even whiter as he nods in this terrified way.
“Uh, we’re just…” Ian’s shaking.
“We were just bringing her to bed.”
I roar, my teeth flashing and my hands closing to fists as I advance on them.
“To sleep!” Ian squeaks. “So, she could sleep, Coach, I swear!”
“Move,” I hiss.
Ian jumps aside, but suddenly, it looks like Scott’s found himself some last-minute liquid courage.
“Yo, you know what?” the little fuck suddenly sneers. “Nah, man. This is private property, and this is a private party. So get the fuck out of here before I call the—oooopph!”
He doubles over, choking as my fist slams into his stomach, dropping him to his knees. I grab him by the hair, haul him halfway back up, and do it again before letting him drop the grass. He moans like a stabbed pig, sobbing as he suddenly just vomits what looks like beer and blood.
I whirl on Ian, who looks like he’s about to have a fucking heart attack.
“Coach, I—it’s not at you… I mean, she was all over me all night! I was just—”
“You were just being a bottom-feeding, shitstain excuse of a human being is what,” I snarl, marching right up to him and jabbing a finger into his ghost-white face.
“This isn’t fucking over, Ian.”
I move over to Waverly, stoop down, and scoop her easily into my arms. She murmurs, licking her lips in her sleep as her head lolls against my chest. I turn, being sure to step on a still-puking Scott’s hands as I storm past him, giving Ian a withering look.