by Eden O'Neill
I nodded, not pushing her on that. We passed Thatcher’s room too, but I wasn’t curious enough to try to make up an excuse to poke around in there. I did need dirt, but with how accommodating Bow was being, I was already feeling like shit about my plan for today.
Instead, I let her take me to her room, which was decorated for a princess high in her castle. Her four-poster bed was donned in golden silks, the oak floors polished and pristine. She appeared to be a heavy reader and had one of those bookshelves where a ladder was needed just to get to the top of it. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d used it just that morning since there was a nice little stack of reads by it. Besides that, nothing was out of place, so she probably had just used it this morning.
“On a scale of one to ten. How ridiculous did I just embarrass myself downstairs?” She pressed her hands to her face. “Janet really told me we shouldn’t have made that much food.” Her leg shook, her hands balled. She really was worried. “I’m sorry. Mom and Dad always say I do too much. I can’t help it. My ADHD makes me all over the place.”
She laughed that off, like it didn’t bother her so much but was a reality. I supposed that explained a couple things too. She really did go a mile a minute. I smiled at her. “It was cool.”
“Really?” Her mouth parted. “I know it’s a lot. I’m know I’m a lot.” She chuckled. “I really didn’t mean to be all up on you when we first met. I tend to do that. I know it can be annoying.”
She chewed her lip after that last statement, and the nervous laughter that followed was more dry. I started to say something, but her door breezed open and a man the size of a building barreled inside. He wore a suit sans tie, his hair dark, and he looked so much like Thatcher my eyes twitched wide.
“Door stays open when boys are over,” the man grunted, letting go of the doorknob. He took in the room. “Where’s the boy?”
Bow and I glanced around, then she rolled her eyes.
“Dad, when have you ever known me to bring a boy over?” she asked. She placed a hand toward me. “It’s just me and Sloane.”
The man directed his gaze toward me. It was uncanny how much he looked like Thatcher. I supposed that made sense considering this was their dad, but Bow was so petite and little I wondered if she got anything from him. This guy was a semi. He frowned. “Sloane?” He eyed me. “Janet said some boy named Noa Sloane was here.”
Bow chuckled. “Yeah, Dad. That’s Noa Sloane. She’s a friend from school. We’re studying today.”
He grunted in my direction. Though, I noticed there was a sizable sigh in his big body upon noticing I wasn’t a boy. I raised a hand. “Happens all the time, Mr. Reed.”
I mean, my parents gave me a traditional boy name, constant confusion a given whenever anyone met me.
He nodded. “I see. Well, nice to meet you, Noa.”
“She goes by Sloane, Dad.” Bow placed her big blue eyes upon her dad, and something told me she was a complete daddy’s girl the way the large man tilted his head at her.
“Sloane, then,” he said, then directed a hand toward Bow. His eyes crinkled softly at her. “Sorry about that, baby girl.”
She merely laughed in response, but then, the man frowned.
He pointed. “Rules still stand about the boys, though,” he said. He left the room on a laugh to himself, and Bow lifted her eyes again.
“Sorry about him,” she said. “I’m honestly surprised he didn’t bring my god dads up here with him if he thought I had a boy in here.” She stopped when my eyes narrowed. She laughed. “Wells’s and Dorian’s dads. They’re all around here someplace. Tonight’s poker night for them. I’m sure they’ll all eat whatever we don’t.”
She chuckled on the end there, and my jaw freaking dropped. I put my hand out. “Wait. The dads of Wells and…” I paused, frowning. “Dorian are your godfathers?”
She shrugged that off, casual about it. She nodded. “Mmhmm. They’ve all known each other since they were kids. Ares’s dad too. Though, he’s not my god dad. All our parents are good friends, though.”
But god dad status? What the fuck? But then, Bow got up. She went to a pushpin board above her computer desk that had a bunch of photos and stuff on it. She plucked one, then gave it to me. “That’s them. They all used to play lacrosse together at Windsor Prep.”
I stared at the photo, five guys in total. If she hadn’t told me these were the dads, I would have thought they were the kids. They were the spitting image of the boys who’d come to hurricane through my life since I arrived.
Bow pointed them out. “Wells’s dad and Dorian’s dad,” she said, pointing to a guy with cropped hair, then a blond respectively. Her finger touched the biggest guy in the photo. “Thatcher’s and my dad.”
Definitely him, Thatcher’s twin. Their dad stood next to the tallest guy, a lacrosse stick on his arm. Seriously, this tall guy had to be Ares’s dad.
“Ares’s dad, Ramses,” Bow confirmed.
I scanned the photo of the five. There was a tall blond guy in the middle with long hair. “This guy?”
“Oh, that’s LJ, my third and final god dad.” She took the photo. “He doesn’t have kids, but he’s just as protective. I’m the only girl amongst the kids, so all my godfathers tend to hover.”
My gaze circulated the photo, stopping on who she stated was Dorian’s dad. As with the rest of the crew, he was Dorian’s clone. He was the only one not smiling in the photo, though, and Dorian most certainly didn’t mind flashing his dark grin. I think he did that on purpose, the expression simply simmering with cruel venom.
I wet my lips. “You said this is Dorian’s dad?” I asked, and she nodded. “Did Dorian’s mom go to Windsor Prep too?”
I asked casually, and again, she acknowledged that.
“Their names are Royal and December,” she announced, and they certainly were regal names. Fitting, I supposed. She placed the photo down, and I watched when she picked up her book. She obviously wanted to get started on tonight’s homework, but I certainly had more questions. If their families really were that close, she’d most definitely know a lot about the Prinzes.
And I wanted to know as much as possible.
Chapter Fifteen
Dorian
“Good work today, man.” I’d give credit where credit was due, taking Bruno Sloane’s hand. I shook, then snapped it after practice. “Good hustle today.”
The kid was actually pretty decent on the field. He kept up with us, and what had started as a way to get under his sister’s skin, might actually turn out in Windsor Prep’s favor. At least, when it came to football. The kid was fast, strong, and caught everything I threw at him.
He could stand a good chance at becoming quarterback next year after I left, and where Thatcher and Wells might disagree with that (they’d always been aiming for the spot), they may not mind. They were getting along with the kid too. I always saw them talking with him, in the hallways and at lunch and shit. The three’s teamwork on the field was impeccable, and something told me I wasn’t the only one who didn’t completely hate the kid.
Even if I wanted to.
My hate was obviously reserved for his sister, but it was harder to pass off to her brother, who actually took direction and did so humbly, respectfully. It was easy to want to treat him as an equal. He was a genuinely nice guy and did enjoy the game. Most people around here looked at me and the other Legacy guys as gods, completely enamored and were a bunch of follower fucks. Bru was more of a leader, though, which was rare with all this alpha shit running around on the field.
“Thanks, man,” Bru said, and like stated, humble. It sucked I was trying to drive him out of this town, but he was a casualty. Noa Sloane was still in my fucking way, and we hadn’t managed to break her yet. She was around, still in the way, and didn’t seem any closer to leaving.
I apparently wasn’t laboring hard enough, but in the meantime, we at least had a good player on the field. I slapped Bru’s back in the locker room, letting him go. He left
the locker room, but Wolf caught our exchange as he’d been coming out the showers. He had a towel cinched at his waist, the other drying all that crazy hair.
“Don’t get too fucking attached,” he grumbled, tossing the towel he’d been using for his hair. He opened his locker. “Kid has a target on his head.”
He didn’t need to fucking tell me that. I was the one who put the target on it. I smirked. “Just taking advantage of the fact that we have some decent fucking support on the field for once.”
“Fuck you,” Thatch stated, coming into the room. His hair wet, he had nothing on but a pair of jeans, and Wells flanked him. They both shouldered past me, obviously in their feelings about what I said, and I rolled my eyes.
They must have not been too sore about it, because they did tap my fist on their way out after they’d dressed. I told them not to be late tomorrow since they’d been dicking around before practice. This was something else Bruno Sloane didn’t do, and I reminded them of that.
They both jostled me, and after they left, I tugged a shirt on. “They could learn a lot from the target. Bru was hustling his ass out there, unlike them.”
“Maybe.” Wolf stood. Fully dressed, he closed his locker. “But the guy’s still a target.” His eyes narrowed. “His sister is still the enemy.”
We kept our enemies close, hence the connection to Bruno, but I didn’t need him to remind me of the rules.
I fucking made them.
“Right, Wolf,” I said, turning away. It was all I could do not to start some shit with him. Ares Mallick may be my best friend, but I had to check his ass more often than not. We were two guys filled with testosterone and malice, a deadly combination. Wolf had his own reasons for that, and though I respected him, I didn’t put up with it. Nor did he put up with my bullshit. Honestly, between the two of us, we flew off the handle just to start shit, but I really didn’t have time for it today.
He tapped my back since I didn’t give him my fist, pretending to be busy getting my belt on. He left after that, and a sophomore player came in to get me after I was all alone.
“Hey, Prinze. Your mom is looking for you out by the field.”
I didn’t think I’d heard him right. Neither of my parents came to practice, but I nodded at him. I honestly expected to find a fuck buddy or something when I got out there, maybe someone using the excuse of my mom as a way to get me out of the locker room quicker.
Girls had attempted crazier things to get my attention, so imagine my surprise when my mom was standing out near the field. She was on the sidelines actually, still dressed for work in her heels and pantsuit. She was pacing the track surrounding the field when I jogged up to her.
“Mom.” I went quick, worried. She didn’t come to my practices. In fact, the last time I’d come upon her pacing like this, things had been bad.
Stuff had happened.
My family had experienced more tragedy than what should be humanly possible, most of which had occurred before I was even born. I’d heard stories, tales of murder and darkness and a chilling family legacy well before any breaths I’d breathed. I was experiencing the backlash of it now, but even with as numb as I started to get to bullshit occurring in my life, I hadn’t been prepared to come outside and see my mom pacing rogue on the racetrack.
And with flushed cheeks.
She’d looked like she’s seen a ghost, and I pulled her off to the side. “Mom, what’s going—”
She wrestled around in her purse, moved things around like crazy. She seemed frazzled, panicked, and when she pulled out a bag holding a long skinny object, I fucking panicked. I didn’t know why she was showing me this.
“This was delivered to my office,” she said, holding it up. She waved it at me. “Why was this delivered to my office, Dorian Prinze?”
I eyed what she had in the bag with no words. I mean, I knew what the thing fucking was.
She shoved a note in my face.
“It came with this,” she huffed, gazing around, and I read the note while she took the bag back.
“Ask your son about this,” the note said. “Thought you should know.”
No sooner had I read the note than she was shoving the bag back in my face. Inside was a long stick.
A pregnancy test with blue lines.
My mother was basically on the football field showing me a pregnancy test, and the note she apparently got to go with it. She shook it. “What is the meaning of this, Dorian?” she asked, her voice low. “Did you get a girl pregnant?”
The words came out whispered, thick and loaded with emotion. I had no idea what the fuck was going on, but whatever it was had nothing to do with me. I shook my head. “Mom—”
“Don’t you lie to me, Dorian.” She gazed around. No one was out here because practice was over. Everyone had gone home, the field cleared. She hugged her arms. “Dear God, are you making me a grandmother?”
My jaw dropped, fucking shocked to hell. “No, Mom. No—”
“Then what is this?” she whisper-shouted. “Why did someone have this delivered to my office via carrier instructing me to ask my eighteen-year-old son about it!”
Shaking, she shoved her hand in her hair, and I took the note from her, reading it again. This was a goddamn mistake. I hadn’t gotten a girl fucking pregnant.
At least, I didn’t think I had.
“Dorian—”
“I use protection, Mom,” I gritted. I couldn’t believe I was actually having this conversation with my mother—on the football field. I homed in. “Dad would fry my ass.”
“I will fry your ass.” My mom cursed all the time. She did because sometimes, I’d overhear her, but she always tried to act like she didn’t around me.
This time she hadn’t bothered.
“Dorian Prinze, if you’ve made me a grandmother, I’m going to ship your butt to boarding school so fast you won’t even know what girls are.” She directed a finger in my face. “Now, tell me the truth.”
“I am, Mom,” I said, kind of panicked now. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I’m responsible.”
“Yeah, well, honey. Sometimes responsibility doesn’t cut it.” She gazed around, even though no one was there. “Sometimes good intentions aren’t good enough. I know things have been hard. I know I haven’t always had it together. I know you’ve been left to fend for yourself these past few months after…” She paused, her eyes shining. Like she was on the cusp of tears but fighting it. “After everything with Charlie.”
My stomach clenched.
“I know that, more often than not lately, I’ve needed you and your father’s help to keep things running smoothly, but…”
“You’ve been fine, Mom. I swear it.” I looked around, hating to see her fucking cry. It was only worse because it was something I’d potentially done. I didn’t make my mom cry. I only made her smile, a promise I made because she had been struggling. But it hadn’t been a big deal. Dad and I filled in the gaps and would always be there for her. She’d do the same and always did. I faced her. “Mom, this is a mistake. Probably someone working up shit.”
“Dorian…” Her faced scrunched up, and she covered her mouth. I assumed so I couldn’t see her cry. She shook her head. “I need to go.”
“Mom—”
“I said I need to go. We’ll talk about this later with your father.”
Shit, when Dad found out…
He really would fry my ass. My mom would have nothing left to fry.
Mom started walking away, but when I chased after, she told me we’d all talk about this tonight. We needed to have my father there so we could discuss things, her words.
What the fuck just happened?
I grabbed my legs after she left, scanning the grass.
“Maybe you shouldn’t mess with people’s lives so much.”
I turned, righting. Noa Sloane sat in the middle of the bleachers.
She frowned. “Because it sucks, doesn’t it? People working shit up in your life? Causing chaos?”
&n
bsp; My words stated back to me, I saw red.
She waltzed down the bleachers in her little booty shorts, the confidence of a queen in her stride. She thought she’d gotten something over on me, paid me a lesson. She lifted her chin. “You fucked with my life, Prinze. You’re fucking with my brother, and because you are, you’re fucking with me.” Her frowned deepened. “You’ve slashed my tires, had your friends manhandle me, and turned the entire school against me.”
I’d given her an option to leave. I’d told her to do that, or I’d make her disappear. I’d given her an option. I’d been generous, gracious even.
She was going to wish she’d taken the fucking deal.
I’d shown her mercy before. She stumbled upon shit bigger than her that night she got in Wells’s way. I’d given her the benefit of the doubt.
My mistake.
I ran at her. I could get across a football field in seconds, and there was no getting away once I gained momentum.
Noa fucking Sloane didn’t have a chance.
She screamed when I grabbed her, but there was no one to hear her, all lifelines gone, and it was just us out here. Her chest collided with mine, and I took her with me into the bleachers, lodging her between them on the creaking metal.
“Get the fuck off me!” She kicked, clawed me. She scratched the shit out of my arms and neck, but I wasn’t letting her go. She was mine, my ass to own.
My ass to take when I wanted.
I’d promised her she was going to scream for me, my cock instantly hard at the thought. This was probably some kind of real sick shit, pinning her outside where whoever wanted to look could fucking come along and look. All reasonable and logical thought evaded me. This girl had become my obsession in little more than a tango with me, a vice with her little shorts and bare midriff top. Her naked shoulder eased out of one of the sides, strikingly tan and luscious. She’d gone home first, obviously changing before coming back to witness what she’d believed would be my demise. She’d clearly set this shit up.
I grinned. “You get off making people hurt,” I hissed. I jerked her to me. “Making my mother fucking cry.”