Wicked Blue Bloods: A Highschool Bully Romance - Crestwood Academy Book 1

by Devyn Forrest

  “Ah! Right. You know, your grandma used to work that event,” Mom said. Her smile faltered for a moment.

  I felt like I needed to say something to bring us together again. “How is Jeff? Is he still sneaking around the nook?”

  “Ha. As if Jeff would ever read anything,” Mom shot, although her expression was one of endless lust. “We’re going to breakfast tomorrow after my shift. Maybe you can meet him again if you don’t stay over in Crestwood.”

  “Maybe,” I said, giving her a shrug. I didn’t have any interest.

  Mom popped up from the table then, walking to the doorway between the foyer and the kitchen. She leaned into the side, frowning at me. “What’s up, kid? Are you still having nightmares? Lately, you’ve been looking—so skinny and tired.”

  I wanted to tell her that the nightmares would never fucking go away. That it wasn’t like something, you could just flip off. I knew she had problems of her own, so I just said, “I’m actually sleeping good. I’ve just been so busy with school and projects.”

  “Right.” Mom popped her tongue against her right cheek, making it bulge. “Well, I can’t wait to hear about the event. Don’t have too much fun.”

  THE HORSE RACING TRACK was located about twenty miles from Crestwood Academy. Over one hundred years ago, the Blairs had carved out this space, flattening it out for the very purpose Crestwood was using it that day.

  To get to the track, the boys had arranged that we meet at the bus stop just after three in the afternoon. I stepped off the bus, scanning the streets for that familiar convertible. The wind tipped at my hat, trying to tear it from my head. As I readjusted it, the car appeared, moving wildly from side to side in the street.

  What the hell was going on?

  The BMW pulled up beside me, with Caleb in the driver’s seat. This had never happened before. Dante and Kieran were in the back and Kieran was holding onto his right hand. I noticed it was all bandaged up, with droplets of blood oozing out onto the front layer.

  “What the hell happened?” I asked, my eyes wide.

  Kieran smirked. “Look at her—all worried about me.”

  “You’re such an asshole, Kieran,” Dante scoffed.

  “Did you guys—get into a fight?” I asked, my throat tightening. I had never seen the elites fight one another. I guess it was possible with them. They could be absolute monsters when they wanted to be. Just because they were choosing to be partly nice to me in the wake of this sex video didn’t mean they wouldn’t turn on me like a dime.

  “Fuck it, Ridgewood. You’re driving,” Kieran commented. “I wouldn’t trust Caleb here with my baby, not for a second.”

  “Hey, asshole,” Caleb said, thrusting his fist back and nearly knocking it into Kieran’s messy fist. “I got us here, didn’t I?”

  “Barely,” Kieran scoffed. “I want to see Ridgewood drive.” He turned his head toward me, and his eyes were ominous. “Besides. I’ve never seen her drive before. A woman behind a wheel is sexy as hell.”

  I swallowed hard. My legs wavered as I stepped back, preparing every single possible excuse I could muster. But all three boys blinked at me expectantly, not knowing my past, or how I couldn’t sleep at night, or just how horrible of a person I really was.

  Jesus Christ. If I was ever going to get over it, I had to get through it. Wasn’t that what my school counsellor had told me?

  “Okay,” I said, my voice wavering. “It’s been a while, though, so have some patience.”

  Caleb cut the engine and popped out of the front seat, leaping toward the passenger side. Feeling like I was walking a tightrope, I marched across the back of the car, then slid into the driver’s seat. It had been almost a year and a half since I had started up the engine of a car. Did I even remember how to do it?

  “Relax, Ridgewood,” Kieran shot. “It’s only ten miles away.”

  “Right. Along rocky, cliff-side roads,” Dante added and slapped the back of my seat.

  “Thanks for assuring me,” I said, looking out the windshield.

  My hand flicked toward the steering wheel, gripping hard.

  “I think you forgot to turn the key...” Kieran said, his voice layered with sarcasm.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, doing just that. The engine cranked up beneath us, and I shoved the car into DRIVE, grateful that it wasn’t a manual stick. I had learned to drive that, too. My dad had taught me everything I needed to know about cars.

  He just hadn’t told me how to drive one when I was too devastated with PTSD to continue.

  It started out okay. Sure, I didn’t press hard on the gas, and we moved at a grandma pace—something the boys pointed out very quickly. But I was doing all right: practicing my breathing, making sure to stop at stop signs and keeping up with traffic.

  Once we left the belly of Crestwood and embarked toward the outskirts, things got difficult. The car’s right wheels tipped along the edge and trees cut over us, ominous and thick, their trunks seemingly calling out to me, reminding me of what I had done.

  I had always dealt with anxiety, but since the accident, I had to deal with full-blown panic attacks every now and then. I had never had one around other people, though. Suddenly, a dark spot appeared in my field of vision, causing me to yank my foot off the pedal. My breath came in spurts. Thoughts stirred anxiously, wildly, as I stabbed my foot against the brake, shrieking and pulled the car over. I brought my hands to my throat, scarcely able to inhale.

  You did this. You did this to your father, my brain screamed.

  And you’re going to do it to them, too.

  Fuck.

  I felt Caleb’s hand across my shoulder, slowly rubbing it. It was the first time I remembered where I was.

  “Hey. Hey, hey. She’s crying. Guys—she’s not breathing. Hey! Kennedy. Hey, Ken, listen to us!” Caleb yelled, trying to get me to focus.

  “Turn off the fucking car,” Kieran ordered.

  Caleb turned the key and I blinked through the front windshield, feeling my anxiety fall away from me, like pulling back a hood of a sweatshirt. As the panic fell away, it was replaced with shame and horror. I knew for the first time ever that I would have to explain what had just happened.

  I would have to tell the boys about my skeleton in the closet.

  “Kennedy, what the hell is going on?” Dante asked, his voice low as he peered over at me.

  “I’m sorry...” I stuttered as my eyes pool with tears and then spilled onto my cheeks. Why couldn’t I just hold it together for once? “I just— I haven’t driven since my accident.”

  The boys didn’t speak for a moment. I expected them to open the door and to kick my ass to the curb. I was nothing to them after all. Just another potential fuck, a girl they could undress and play with. I was just their Ridgewood trash, and nothing more.

  But Kieran cleared his throat, whispering, “What are you talking about?”

  I dropped my head back against the headrest, causing my big stupid hat to roll off my head a bit and messing up my curls beneath. “I used to have a dad.”

  “Yeah. Of course, you did. That’s kind of the science of it,” Caleb said.

  “Just shut the fuck up, Caleb,” Dante said.

  “Sorry,” Caleb mumbled.

  “I meant when he was alive,” I continued, knowing that if I had come this far, I would be expected to finish. “He was kind of a heavy drinker. I mean, money was always tight with us, even after Mom got the nursing gig. And he had these nights where he went out and played poker and drank too much. Mom hated it, but she knew that it was his way of blowing off steam. But he always drove home drunk. Every fucking time and it pissed me off. I would just yell at him. Tell him about all the articles I had read about drunk idiots driving off the cliffs...”

  “Happens all the time,” Kieran affirmed.

  “Sure. So I made him promise that he would call me the next time he got too wasted to drive home and true to his word, he called. I had been out with my friends Eric and Wren. It was a Saturday n
ight. We hadn’t been drinking, just playing some games and watching TV. I remember my stomach hurt because we had gotten this new kind of candy and I’d eaten too much of it. So stupid, the stuff you remember. Anyway, I knew where Dad played poker. At his friend Randy’s, near the cliffs. He had even left his truck at home so that I could use it to come get him. I drove up the road and found him out of his mind wasted, but grinning in this insane way. He told me—that he had won almost a thousand dollars and that he wanted to take Mom out for a fancy night in Los Angeles. I was so happy! It had been ages since Mom was happy or surprised or excited about her life.”

  I paused, inhaling sharply and gripped the steering wheel again for support. I’d never said these words out loud. I must have sounded like an idiot, recounting this story to the boys. But they held themselves very still, listening intently.

  “I wanted to get home fast because I wanted to get back to Eric and Wren, but the rest is so damn hazy that it’s hard to remember all the details. It was really cold that night for some reason. Like, the windows were all foggy. I remember cutting across a curve so fast that the wheels swerved. One of them hit something—a rock, maybe, and exploded. The truck veered off the road and smashed head-on into a tree.”

  “Jesus,” Dante muttered and his eyebrows knitted together.

  “I was unconscious,” I whispered. “And my Dad died on impact. When I woke up at the hospital, it was three days later and my Mom told me I had almost died. Of course, I asked where my dad was and when she could hardly look at me.”

  I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes for a second. It was total silence. We sat there as an enormous truck barreled past us on the road, honking its horn. I jumped in my seat and felt completely defeated. I was on the brink of asking one of the boys to drive me back to Ridgewood.

  But before I could, Kieran popped out of the back and strutted toward me. With his good hand, he yanked open the door, tilting his head toward the back. “I have one good hand. I can do it.”

  I looked at him the way an injured animal might to the human saving his life. Inhaling sharply, I tossed myself into the back seat and then burrowed my head in my hands. Dante’s large hand found my shoulder and rubbed at it. The massage forced me to remember to breathe.

  “Just keep inhaling, exhaling,” Dante murmured.

  “He used to have to tell his mom this when she had really shitty clients,” Caleb said.

  For whatever reason, this calmed me even more, knowing that even the rich had problems. A small smile flickered between my cheeks. “Really?”

  “Sure. She was always going crazy when they did something wrong. They’re always saying the worst thing for the case, or going back on their word, or going to the press...” Dante continued. “Man, she’s always a nervous wreck. On many occasions, she has confessed that she doesn’t want to do it anymore. I’ll give her a little massage to try and help and then she goes back to her study.”

  “That’s oddly...nice. I guess you’re just secretly nice. Are you close with your Mom?” I asked him. I was now fully aware that my tears were still spilling down my cheeks. But I couldn’t stop them.

  “Yes, we’re close, and no way! I mean, don’t tell anyone,” he said, sniffing. “As far as you’re concerned, Ridgewood, I’m the meanest asshole at school. Now, come over here and put your head on my chest until we get there. You’ll be all right the minute we see the horses. Caleb has a heart of stone, but even he gets all excited about them. Don’t you, Caleb?”

  It was the strangest thing, revealing myself to the boys like this. Although normally, when I closed my eyes, I saw those last images of my drunken, overly happy dad—I now felt a bit more in the moment, like all my senses around me were in overdrive and hitting me all at once. It was like telling the truth had ripped me out of my constant melancholy and allowed me to lift a huge weight off my shoulders—if only for a moment.

  And I couldn’t believe it had happened with the blue blood boys of Crestwood.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As Caleb, Dante, Kieran, and I approached the horse racing stadium; I heard the band playing horns—the old school song, written from back when the school was first founded. I felt a surprise rush of school pride, which I immediately shoved down. Although the boys had oddly grouped me in with them, I wasn’t one of the Crestwood elites and couldn’t rejoice in their song. I had to remember that I was from Ridgewood.

  But it really was the most beautiful day. Like one of those days that made you angry at all the others, because it couldn’t stack up to this. The sky was bird eggshell blue, a perfect dome over us with the sun beaming toward the west. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The festivities before the horse race—the drinking, the revelry, along with the crowning of the Crestwood King and Queen (always someone’s parents, apparently) were to begin around four before the horse race started at five. After that, everyone would crowd back in their cars and return to the Academy for the evening gala.

  As we entered the stadium, Kieran immediately grew stiff. I glanced toward the far end of the arena where the governor of Crestwood stood with his wife—Kieran’s parents. I had never seen them up close before, although, of course, their faces were featured all over the Academy and Crestwood itself (most notably, I’d seen their portrait in Headmaster Blair’s library).

  “Fucking assholes,” Kieran muttered under his breath.

  “What?” I asked, my heart surging with surprise. I had assumed that since all the Crestwood elite had such prosperous lives and unlimited funds, they all lived such happy, simple lives.

  “Nothing,” Kieran grunted. He stared at his parents ominously and one of his fists clenched at his waist.

  I wondered if his dad was sleeping around again like he had with Michael’s Mom back in Ridgewood. Sure. That was the kind of thing that would drive me insane, too.

  Since we were students, we had to check-in at the front betting desk, which we found none other than Hailey Blair manning. She flipped her long blonde hair across her shoulders and beamed at Kieran, arching her back to make her tits pop out that much more.

  “I’m in charge of betting,” Hailey announced to Kieran, Caleb, and Dante, while I hung back. “You’re only allowed to bet if you’re 18, of course.”

  Caleb and Kieran snuck hands into their back pockets, drawing out thick wallets. They looked at the pad of paper on which the horses were listed, along with their stats. Dante was still seventeen and his face was etched with annoyance as he stood there tense. Caleb and Kieran placed their bets and then turned back to find me, beckoning for me to join them in the stands.

  We had arrived a bit late, and the only seats we could find were stitched up at the very top, overlooking the crowd. As we headed up, I heard several students cough my name, along with, Whore, Slut, and, Look at her. She can’t get enough of them. She’ll probably spread her legs right here in the stadium.

  My cheeks flushed red and Caleb seemed to catch some of the words and turned his hand around my waist, cupping it. My pulse was like a rabbit, but it calmed the minute he touched me. After telling the boys everything about my Dad, I felt such allegiance to them. They could have done whatever they wanted to me and I would have allowed it.

  From the top, I got a better sense of the crowd. Everyone—parents and students alike—had dressed up like it was the Kentucky Derby, with massive hats that reflected the sun overhead and cinched-tight dresses that highlighted too-thin waists and big, fake, California boobs. I spotted Teony with her mother, who seemed to be dressed more reasonably, in a dark blue suit dress, while Teony wore a silly yellow hat, one I had seen in her closet when I had been at her house.

  Come on, Teony. Why won’t you see that I didn’t do this on purpose? I wanted to demand that she at least gave me the benefit of the doubt, but it was no use. She saw me as nothing more than trash now. I doubted she would come to her senses. She was a Crestwood kid, after all.

  The Governor and Mrs Winters, Kieran’s parents, were in charge of starting the r
ace. As the horses bucked at the starting line, they marched to the top of a platform and raised their hands to quiet the crowd. Kieran’s father was an older carbon copy of him, twenty-five years later, of course, with broad-shouldered and thick, dark hair. His expression was almost ominous, as though he was on the brink of saying something nasty. But when he opened his mouth, his words were kind and upbeat. He was playing the part of the governor, just as he was meant to.

  “Good afternoon, Crestwood Academy,” he bellowed into the microphone. “It is my unique pleasure to welcome you to the 120th annual Crestwood Academy Autumn Horse Race. I hope you’ve all placed your bets with Crestwood Academy in mind and remember that our students cannot have a top-level education without your backing.”

  I rolled my eyes and wanted to puke in my mouth. Wasn’t Crestwood essentially built on piles of gold? It didn’t seem like it needed any more cash. But what did I know? All that food that wasn’t eaten at lunch couldn’t buy itself.

  “Now, let me introduce the woman of the hour—the stunning Hailey Blair, who will start off the race,” Governor Winters continued. He reared back and smacked his palms together, forcing the rest of the crowd to do the same.

  Of course, I didn’t bother to clap. But Hailey didn’t notice. She was entirely in her element, strutting toward the starting line with a tiny black gun in her hand. My stomach tightened, seeing her with that thing. I knew it was just for starting the race, that it wasn’t a murder weapon. But something about Hailey with a gun seemed almost too correct. In another world, I bet she had a cold enough heart to use it on someone like me.

  As Hailey lifted the gun toward the bright blue sky, my eyes turned across the stadium to find Headmaster Blair himself, seated alongside Hailey’s parents, his son and daughter-in-law. They all beamed at their little next-generation Crestwood elite. When the gun rang out, I nearly leaped from my seat.

  “Calm down, Ridgewood. It’s just a race,” Kieran said, his voice layered with irritation.

  The horses stretched their legs forward, surging down the track. The jockeys hovered over the saddles, their thighs thick and firm beneath them and their noses pointed forward. I had only seen something like this on television, and never live—and the entire image was almost frightening, too real, too fast but simply impressive.