by Ella Fields
“Don’t you dare,” she wheezed, pushing back just enough to give me those huge eyes. “It’s not your fault. None of it is.” She clasped my cheek, rubbing at a tear that’d escaped. “Come inside before some busybody sees and tattles to Dad.”
“The neighbors know?” I asked, reluctant to let her go even with the promise of more touching inside.
She laughed. “No, but I’m sure Mrs. Greenwell next door will ask about the boy who came to see me if we don’t move it.”
Right. And Daniel didn’t need to be any type of genius to figure out who that boy would be.
Inside, I grabbed her cheeks, my mouth all over hers as I kicked the door shut and pressed her up against it. “I’ve missed you so much.” I kissed her nose, her chin, her neck. “So fucking much.”
Her hands sifted through my hair, and I groaned into her skin, then took her mouth again.
When something wet slid down my cheek, meeting our lips, I pulled back. “Fuck, Wil.”
She tried to keep kissing me, but I grabbed her arms, gently moving her back.
“Don’t you dare tell me not to cry,” she said, laughing all the while furiously swiping at the tears leaking from her eyes. “Has she hurt you again? Has Heath done anything?”
“No, I’m fine.” My thumbs swept in to finish the job, then I took her hand and led her to the black leather couch in the living room. She climbed sideways onto my lap, and I held her to me as she tucked her head beneath my chin, trembling.
“Your dad’s place is nicer than I expected,” I said, trying to lighten things up.
She knew what I was doing but humored me. “Did you expect a bachelor pad?”
“I did, actually. Something more…” I pursed my lips, pretending to think about it as I let my gaze travel over the huge red rug and the matching throw pillows on the couches. “Rugged.”
She laughed, quiet and clinging to me, but I felt something unclench in my chest knowing she could still do it.
“What are we going to do?” she asked the impossible.
“I don’t know, Bug.” I sighed, stirring her hair. “I don’t know.”
“They’re sending me to the public school. I start next week.”
“I know,” I said, trying not to let anger seep into my tone. “I saw Mom filling out the forms last night.”
“She hates me. It’s my senior year, and she couldn’t even let me finish school with my friends. She really hates me.”
“She hates me, not you,” I said, and I’d never forgive her for punishing me by hurting Willa. “How’d your dad take it?”
Willa yawned, relaxing into me. “Not as bad as them, but he’s still not exactly happy with me.”
I thought about that for a moment, staring out the front window. I’d have to leave any minute to get home in time to avoid danger. I should’ve already left. “Think you could convince him to get you a phone?”
Willa stilled, pressing a hand to my chest to peer down at me. “But they’ll check yours.”
“I’ll get a cheap one to use and keep it in my locker or something.”
Her eyes brightened. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The fact we didn’t even consider ending this should’ve troubled me, but we were past the point of changing a damn thing. Nothing about how we felt could be changed or altered; it demanded we endure.
I squeezed her to me. “We’ll find out who did this.” Those photos. I’d only caught a glimpse of them, but they were taken that night. The same night we’d gone on one of our rare dates out of town.
Her hand slid under my school blazer, and my dick woke up when her arm wrapped around my side. “It won’t matter.”
“It matters, Wil.”
I had to leave. Now. Or I was fucked.
I couldn’t. “What do you need?”
She nuzzled closer, her lips drifting over my neck. “Just you.”
“You’ve got me.”
“Good, just… please, keep holding me.”
And so I did, until five minutes before her dad was due home.
I couldn’t remember a time when the house had been so quiet. What was once so alive now barely breathed in Willa’s absence. Gone was the sweet scent of her shampoo, the strawberry frosting she always kept in the fridge, the shoes she’d kick off by the door, and the sound of the mixer at night.
All the little things I loved but never knew I’d miss.
Dad and Victoria—in my mind, that was who she now was—seldom spoke to me. Most nights over dinner, Dad was the only one who tried. Innocuous bullshit, usually about new lines, upcoming events, classes and college. After a few weeks, I stopped eating with them and ate in my room instead.
They didn’t protest.
The times Victoria did speak to me were to remind me of the rules and to request mundane tasks, like bringing up my washing.
Sure, her own daughter was no longer living under the same roof as her and the rest of her family, but one must ensure the washing routine didn’t change.
Her priorities, I’d realized, were so out of whack, I wondered how I’d never noticed it all that much before now. Perhaps that was due to never having much of a relationship at all with my real mom.
There were years I’d longed for it when I was younger. So many hours wasted, hoping she’d arrive on our doorstep, or surprise me at school pickup and look excited to see me. Just as Daniel had done for Willa when he could.
She never did. If I saw Kylie—I stopped bothering long ago—I was taken to her and mostly ignored. Because of that, Victoria had been more than a stepmother to me.
She’d been the only real mother I had.
Until she hurt the one thing I loved more than anything else.
Defiance in small doses would see me through, would continue to fuel the fire not even distance and absence could suffocate.
In a moment of weakness, I took the cheap phone I’d bought with cash home with me, needing to hear her voice before I slept. So I could sleep maybe, just maybe, through the night.
“What are they saying at school?” Willa asked, sounding tired.
I wouldn’t dare tell her that. She didn’t need to know we were being dubbed with all sorts of inaccurate, stupid names.
For a couple of weeks, it’d been quiet, and I thought that maybe no one cared. I realized my stupidity when I’d passed Hennessy in the hall one afternoon. It wasn’t that they hadn’t cared, the rumor mill was just running slow for once. He’d laughed with his stupid jock friends, coughing words like sister fucker, incest obsessed, and dirty big bro. The last one was what made me turn back and throw his ass to the ground.
His dumb friends had pulled me off, and Danny even so much as dared to swing an uppercut to my jaw. I’d blocked it and almost twisted his wrist in two until he’d yelped and the teacher had sent us scattering.
The last thing Willa and I needed was a write-up or phone call home.
“Not much, actually.” I hoped I sounded sincere, infusing enough indifference into my tone.
Willa hummed. “That’s weird. I thought, at the very least, Kayla and her friends would be having a field day.”
They were. Annabeth had even cornered me unawares in the boys’ bathrooms, her fingernail scratching down the fabric of my school shirt as she’d said, “No wonder you never let anyone near you. We thought you might’ve had a thing for guys, you know. Turns out”—my eyes narrowed as she licked her lips and swayed closer—“you just have a thing for family. Has that changed now?”
In answer, I’d stalked away, my teeth clamped as her sickly sweet laughter followed.
“Lars and Annika are giving them too much to cackle about.” Lars seemed to be trying to get his shit together, trying and failing, but trying all the same. “Enough about that. Tell me more about the new school.”
She’d started a week ago, but we’d only seen each other once, for maybe ten minutes, since, and we’d spent the entire time making out inside my truck.
“It’s fine.” I wrapp
ed my hand around myself, stroking slowly. “It’s not that different, but everyone already has their own cliques, you know?”
My hand paused, my eyes closing with shame. “Wil, you haven’t made any friends?”
“There’s this one girl Flo, or Florence but she hates her name, in art class who seems cool. But it’s okay; no one’s giving me trouble.”
I found that hard to believe. Some gorgeous, sweet new girl shows up at school… the guys there would be hungry as fuck. “Don’t let anyone mess with you.”
“Everyone’s been nice enough.”
I sighed. “I mean guys, Bug. I’m not stupid. I know they’ll try.” And it was going to continue to drill an anxious pit of fury inside my stomach until she graduated.
She giggled, and my cock pleaded to be unloaded. “I can handle myself, I’ll have you know.”
My hand tugged again, my teeth scraping over my bottom lip. “Yeah?”
“Yep,” she said.
“How about you handle yourself now, then, while I do the same.”
Silence, and then she coughed. “Wait, do you mean…?”
I withheld a laugh. “Fingers in that pretty cunt, Bug. Now. If I can’t see you come, then I need to hear you.”
Rustling hit my ears. “Okay.”
“I love you,” I said, squeezing myself when I heard her breath hitch.
“And I love you.”
My voice sounded strangled, but I didn’t care. “Good, now insert one finger and rub your clit.”
Willa
After a few brusque phone calls from Dad, Mom and Heath relented and allowed me to have my car.
I’d need it for school, Dad had argued, as I was a senior. Having to transfer schools had already disrupted my education enough.
Still, eyeing the fresh ding in the door of my Golf from an old Honda that was parked next to it, I had to wonder if bringing it here was even a good idea.
“I know a guy who could probably get that out,” a deep voice said. “But I must warn you, my favors come with conditions.”
I knew that voice, had heard it say hello to me before, and had listened to it talk to other people in class.
Todd Belzine. Star soccer player, six feet of arrogant charm.
Sighing, I opened the back door and tossed my books and bag inside before turning around. “It’s okay. It was bound to happen eventually.” I offered a small smile, barely meeting his impossibly dark eyes, and went to climb inside my car.
I halted when he spoke. “You know, Clay can be a right asshole, but I’m sure once he knows it’s your car he’s messed up, he’ll probably bend over backward to get it fixed.”
Clay Evans, I’d quickly heard, was the same guy who’d deflowered Daphne.
It was among the first words he’d said to me. “Prep, hey? You know Daphne? I fucked her virginity right out of her.” Followed by assessing eyes as he’d bent closer. “I’m playing this Friday night. You should come watch.”
I’d recoiled and backed away to the sound of his friends’ laughter, and I hadn’t had the heart to tell Daphne I’d met him.
I supposed it didn’t much matter. “It’s just a tiny scratch. Really”—I smiled—“it’s fine.”
“Whatever you say, Dimples.”
I felt my eyes grow and stilled.
“You have these faint, adorable as fuck dimples.” Todd chuckled, walking backward to an old black BMW that was parked on the other side of Clay’s car. “Later.”
Florence raced over before I could get inside my car, and I almost screamed, wanting nothing more than to call Jackson before he needed to be home.
“Todd just talk to you?”
I nodded. I could see how Peggy had once kissed the guy at a party, but I was incapable of seeing much else.
Flo nudged me, pulling a cigarette from her pocket. “He’s the worst with chicks, but he’ll show you a good time.”
“I’m in a relationship,” I reminded her.
She lit the cigarette and pocketed her lighter. “Yeah, sure. So what’s happening there?” Her brows waggled as a huge cloud of smoke left her mouth. “Has brother dearest called you at all to see how life at the cesspit school has been?”
Florence had this way of pulling knowledge out of you before you were even aware it was happening, and so that was how, in art class on my second day at Magnolia Cove High, she’d discovered my dirtiest and most beautiful secret. It was no longer much of a secret at all, so I hadn’t exactly regretted telling her.
The other students who’d found out had whispered and thrown scandalized glances my way, but it felt more in jest than malicious, and they’d lost interest after a few days.
I looked around, a habit I couldn’t squash yet, and bobbed my head. “Yeah.”
“Stop it.” She laughed. “No one gives a shit. Shane Allens and Mira Seebun are practically cousins, and they fuck like rabbits.” She laughed again at whatever look was on my face, stabbing her cigarette at me. “Exactly. So you doing the mango tango with your stepbrother is only worth a five-minute conversation, really.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
She offered me a drag of her cigarette, and I scowled, shaking my head. “It is that easy. Your parents have a right to be mad, but they’re super uptight. You won’t need to worry in a few months.”
I thought about that as I drove the fifteen minutes it took to reach my dad’s place. Home.
It was home now, and the sooner I made peace with that, the better.
The phone rang out, and the sound of his voicemail was probably the only part of him I’d get, seeing as he usually left the phone in his locker or car.
Our parents had been scrupulous in their determination to keep us apart. They were tracking his cell, and they had been tracking his car until Jackson told them he’d take the bus or have his friends drive him.
After everything, they didn’t want other parents wondering why their son no longer had the means to transport himself to school, so they’d relented on that, but nothing else. Even so, he was rarely allowed out unless he could prove it was just to see his friends.
Dad, on the other hand, had arrived home in a blaze of temper a week ago, cursing up a storm.
He wouldn’t tell me why he was so angry, and I hadn’t dared to ask, but when he’d tossed a box with a cheap smart phone onto my desk the following morning, I found the courage to blurt, “What?”
He ran his hands over his growing hair, some gray sprinkling the edges of his hairline, and shook his head. “You need a phone. I work, and you have school and friends, so if something were to happen, like breaking down on the side of the road, you need to be able to contact someone.”
I’d swallowed, understanding what he’d tried to do. “And Mom didn’t care.”
Sighing, he leaned into the doorframe. “It’s not that she doesn’t. It’s that she’s caring about all the wrong things.” After staring at the boxed cell, he blinked over at me. “I know you’re going to call him. Do I like it?” He straightened and shrugged. “Not particularly, but I can’t stop you. I trust you. If you want to speak to him, just be smart about it.”
My chest filled with so much air, it came pouring out of me with my next words, drowning them. “Are you sure?”
Frowning, he’d laughed dryly. “No. But you’re both eighteen. If you want to keep seeing each other, you’ll find ways to do that with or without permission or technology.”
All I could manage was, “Thank you.”
Dad nodded, turning out of the doorway, then paused. “But Wil?”
“Yeah?”
“He can’t come here.”
I parked in front of the single garage, trying Jackson one last time.
He didn’t answer, and it’d be two days before I heard from him.
Time wasn’t kind to those who feel left behind.
The days would collide into each other with little care for what hadn’t been accomplished. The weeks would turn my heart into a bird that would only sing whe
n the sun came out once or twice a week in the form of a phone call or quick meetup after school.
Dad wasn’t much of a socialite, preferring to spend his weekends at home working on an old Mustang he kept in the garage. I hadn’t been brave enough to ask his permission to go to any parties that Jackson might’ve attended because I knew the answer would likely be no.
Our Christmas together had been quiet, and as if he knew the sad corners of my heart were pinching, Dad had taken me on a long drive until we’d found a restaurant three hours south that was open.
As the Christmas holiday came to a close and the new year rolled in, we decided to take more risks but less often.
I buttoned up my dress, then combed my fingers through my hair before heading into the bathroom to clean up.
Jackson had made good work of smearing my mascara and knotting my hair into tangles that wouldn’t relent without brushing, but as I stared at my flushed cheeks and glazed eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that we were in a dusty hotel we had to pay cash for, and therefore could only use maybe twice a month. We were here, together, and I was making the most of it.
My smile shattered when I entered the room and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind. “What are you doing?” He had my phone and was scrolling through the texts, probably looking at my social media pages and call history, too.
“Who’s Todd?” he asked with a calm that threatened to slice me in two.
Todd had put his number in my phone before Christmas when we’d been paired to work on a history assignment together.
“He’s my friend.” I went to take my phone from him, but he held his hand higher, and I wasn’t going to jump. I had nothing to hide.
“Why is he texting you?” He stopped, then laughed, rough and disbelieving. “At least three times or more a week.” He turned to me, his jaw rigid and his eyes storming. “What the fuck, Willa?”
I couldn’t keep myself from frowning and silently panicking. “Like I said, he’s my friend.” I gestured to the phone. “Which you’d know if you read the messages. They’re platonic, friendly.”