by Angel Lawson
He lifts a shoulder. “Intuition. That, and the fact I saw you two leaving the Preston House the other night after your B&E. I forgot my key in my car and saw you two getting into his Jeep.” I try to think back about that night—but my mind is a foggy void of anything that happened after I sucked him off. Sebastian happily fills me in. “You were holding hands and well, let’s just say guys don’t kiss a girl like that unless he likes her. A lot.”
I groan, slumping against the counter. “Please don’t tell—”
“Your brother? Yeah, no worries. I like a fight, but overprotective brothers who are also quarterbacks? Not the one I’d pick.” He tilts his head. “Is that what this is about? Reyn? Did Sydney say something about him?”
I try to swallow, but my throat feels like sandpaper. “She said that he… that they…” I can’t quite get the words out of my mouth. The image is hard enough. “That they were together.”
He rolls his eyes, pushing a loud ‘pshh’ from his lips. “Total bullshit. I’m talking free-range, cage-free, locally-sourced, one-hundred-percent organic bullshit. I might not know him that well, and I’m not saying guys aren’t assholes, because we are.” A flicker of guilt crosses his face—possibly thinking about his confession of hitting that girl. “But Reyn? Nah. Take it from someone who’s used to measuring other dudes up. McAllister’s the ride-or-die type. I’ve seen you two since Preston House. The guy looks at you like you’re the sun. Holding your chair out for you? Always touching you beneath the table? Eyes glued to you every time you’re in the same room? Jesus Christ. If that’s not a sign of a boy who’s whipped…”
I watch him, feeling alarmed. “If you noticed all that—”
“Then your girl Sydney probably has, too.” He shrugs loosely. “And we both know she’s the jealous and vindictive type. Let me guess, she’s had it bad for McAllister since school started? Mad at you for blowing her off for the Devils? Are two and two making four yet?”
That information hits almost harder than the gossip about Reyn. Is Sydney saying all this to hurt me? On purpose? Sure, she’s been fishing around for information lately and admitted to tracking me on the ChattySnap app, but the thought of her deliberately making me feel like this stuns me.
Sebastian takes the handkerchief from me and tucks it, dirty and wet, in his back pocket. “If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about Reyn getting side action. I would worry about the atomic bomb that’s going to go off when your brother finds out. That’s going to be a kick in the ‘nads.”
I nod.
“And V?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a Devil now. You don’t have to hang out with shit-stirrers like Sydney anymore. You’ve got us.” He tosses his arm around my shoulder like a protective cloak and leads me back into the hall. He’s right. I don’t need Sydney the way I used to. I’m starting to worry that she’s not going to let me go so easily, though.
Although I’ve been a student for three years at Preston Prep, this is the first time I’ve actually been truly aware of Homecoming. Before, it was always a buzz around the edges. Something bright and shiny that tried, and failed, to break through the stony-haze of drugs. Nothing—not the hand-painted banners, or the elaborate and cheesy HOCO proposals happening all over campus—ever penetrated the fortified armor I numbed my mind with.
But not this year.
This year, I’m clean. This year, I’m involved. This year, I’ve got the Devils. And yeah, this year, I’ve got Reynolds McAllister, who, at almost all times, has his eye on me like one of those shiny objects he can’t help but steal.
He promised, my mind keeps repeating like a mantra, never Sydney. I don’t have any reason not to trust him.
It almost makes up for the fact he doesn’t ask me to the dance. He can’t, I know that. Because of Emory. Because of Headmaster Collins. Because of the final initiation. The Homecoming dance is held at the same time as the Alumni fundraiser. The deck is stacked against us. Always has been, probably always will be.
“Well,” I hear Sydney say, three lockers away, “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about the dance yet. Reggie asked me—via text.” I hear the disdain in her voice. Lazy move, Reggie. “Andrew left a poster on my desk in French.” Better, but not quite up to Sydney’s flair. “But I’m really holding out for someone else to ask me, you know? Someone I really like.”
I glance down the bank of lockers as she says it and our eyes meet. Hers are hard and hold none of the warmth for me they used to. I still don’t know how she can be so angry at me. Because I’ve been busy? Because I have my own life now? There are a dozen reasons, but what I’ve noticed most is that cutting her out of my life has been a blessing more than anything else. Maybe Emory’s been right all these years.
The locker door closes, and I see Fiona’s profile. That’s who Syd’s around all the time now. Fiona’s younger and obviously enthralled by Syd’s dramatic life.
“There’s still a few days,” Fiona says. “He’s pretty notorious for being impulsive, right? Maybe he’ll ask you last minute.”
“We’ll see. I’m not sure school dances are his scene.” Sydney grins wolfishly. “I’d be more than willing to ditch it for other activities.”
As hard as I try not to think about it, an image of Reyn and Sydney together pops in my head. In it, they’re at the dance, in his car, in that parking lot, making out, touching. My throat constricts and my palms suddenly feel clammy. Maybe Heston wasn’t so far off-base about me having a masochistic streak, because why? Why would I think of that?
I reach for the little pocket on my backpack where I keep my lipstick tube—the one with the little compartment that I know has two pills inside. But before my fingertips can even make contact, I yank my hand back.
No.
I won’t let her fuck with my head, and I’m certainly not breaking a promise to Reyn over it. I will not let her drag me back to that place. She’d want that, is the thing. She’d prefer the old Vandy who relied on her. The sad girl who walked at her side, whose whole life revolved around her. The girl who made Sydney feel superior.
I start down the hall, away from Sydney and her drama, steeling myself against the lure of oblivion. It’d just hurt so much less if I had it.
A hand cinches around my waist and drags me behind a pillar and stone bust of one of the founding fathers. Reyn towers over me, fingers pressing into my hips. He kisses me before I can say a word, and it takes my breath away.
This isn’t a tender kiss. It’s full of teeth and tongue and a desperation that I don’t quite understand, but meet all the same. I tangle my fingers into his hair and hold him close, kissing back with a startling kind of abandon, and all I can think is mine. This man and the way he kisses me, it could never belong to Sydney. He could never surge into her like this, like he’s magnetized and so hungry for it that his movements grow jerky, barely restrained.
He pulls away with a hard punch of breath, green eyes blazing into mine. “Come on,” he says, tugging me to the side, into the little alcove beside the industrial air conditioning units. It’s louder here, difficult to hear the students milling around on the other side.
Reyn casts a furtive glance around before cupping my face in his hands. “Hey, they said you were crying.”
I reach up to touch his wrists, hypnotized by the way he’s looking at me. “Who said?”
“Everyone is.” His jaw ticks. “Apparently some dick hit you in the hall? Your brother is on a fucking rampage.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Sebastian really had it right before. So much bullshit goes around this place. “He knocked my books out of my hands, and yeah, he was a jerk to me. But it really wasn’t as violent as all that.”
Reyn’s hands slide away. I tangle our fingers together as they drop. “Sebastian Wilcox to the rescue again?” He looks away, scowling, but I strain up on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.
“I didn’t need to be rescued.” Even Dr. Ross was right there. “But yeah, he put th
e fear of god into him, I think. It didn’t mean anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re just—”
“Devils, friends,” he says, meeting my gaze. “I know. And I know you don’t need to be rescued. It’d just be nice to be the one who gets to do it every now and then.” Despite knowing that, he probably also heard about us disappearing into the bathroom together, he doesn’t look worried. He just looks pissed off.
Because I promised.
And he trusts me.
Suddenly, I feel so stupid. “No one rescues me as much as you do, Reyn.” He rolls his eyes, but I can see some of that tight tension leeching away from his eyes. “Also, it was nice of you to give Sydney a ride home yesterday.” I’m not even digging. Not prodding. I already know in my bones that there’s nothing to find.
His face screws up. “Yeah, I probably won’t do it again. I know she’s your friend, but honestly?” He gives me a vaguely questioning look. “I’m not entirely sure why.”
Instead of answering, I give him a kiss of my own. This one is slow and sweet—an apology for letting her get into my head.
“Think you can get away after school?” he asks. His fingers are playing at the hem of my skirt again. It always drives me crazy. “I got all that stuff we talked about.” He smiles at me so softly when we’re close like this, faces tipped together, that it’s a physical impossibility to not smile back.
“I’ll be there at five sharp.”
28
Reyn
“What’s all this?” my dad asks, walking into the kitchen. I can tell from the way he’s dressed, pulling on a jacket, that he’s about to leave for the night. It used to annoy me, but now it just makes me feel grateful. I’ll be able to sneak over to Vandy’s tonight.
I roll my eyes. “Remember? You talked to Mrs. Hall?” It’s ridiculous all the shit we had to go through to get a single parent-approved evening hanging out together. There were, in fact, three phone calls, a stern talking-to from my dad, and an email from Vandy’s mom containing her contact info ‘just in case’. Just in case what? Who fucking knows.
Comprehension dawns over his features. “Oh, that’s today?” He looks around at all the shit I’ve dragged onto the counter. “Should I stay?”
I shoot him a narrow-eyed glance over my shoulder. “I think I can manage to not almost kill her for a couple hours.”
My dad does not look impressed. “You know how the Halls are about that girl. I’ll just push my meeting a little later.” He takes off his jacket and I determinedly do not think of the way he skittered out the word ‘meeting.’ As if whatever booty call he’s putting on hold is some sort of business symposium.
It doesn’t matter, though. Vandy and I had already agreed that a successful parent-approved hang-out could only open up the possibility for future… meetings.
I watch from my periphery as he takes out his phone, thumbs tapping over the screen. Apparently, dad is in the stage in his life where he can postpone booty calls by text alone. Classy fella, my old man.
Out of nowhere, he lets out this long sigh. “I hope you’re using rubbers.”
I think a drop of saliva becomes permanently lodged in my windpipe. “What?”
He looks up at me, gesturing to my neck. “Rubbers. Wrap it up, Reyn, or so help me god…”
The hickey, I realize. I resist the urge to press my fingers into the mark Vandy made beneath my ear. I mutter, “I think I’m a little old for the rubber talk, so why don’t you just cross that off your list and pretend we did.”
“God damn it.” He slams his hand down on the counter, almost startling me. “I mean it, Reyn! The last thing you need is to knock up some idiot girl—and a Preston girl, at that. Your life is going to be hard enough. You want to be saddled with some princess’s snot-nosed brat for the next eighteen years?”
It takes me a long moment to form words, but when I do, gripping the counter at my back, all I can manage is an awed, “Wow.”
“What?” he snaps, watching me.
“Oh, don’t stop now.” I sweep my hand out magnanimously. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel? It’s not like I don’t already know, what with the way you can’t even stand to stay in the same house with me for more than three hours. Though, I’ve got to say, adding ‘some princess’s snot-nosed brat’ to those college applications will really give it a certain flair. So, thanks for that, I guess.”
I barely catch the look on his face when I sweep past him, but it’s slack and surprised, and I want to tell him, Yes. I know. Of course, I already knew all of this. It’s just different, hearing it all laid out like that.
It stings.
I drop on the couch in the den and try not to let it bother me so much. I’ll be out of his hair soon, and he can have his house back. We’ll probably end up rarely speaking to one another. Holidays. Birthdays. I can see it now, me calling him on Father’s Day and faking through it, pretending he’s still the same guy who built me that treehouse and taught me how to catch a football.
I don’t turn when I hear him walk into the room, keeping my eyes fixed to the TV. Strangely, Vandy’s mom is there. She’s covering a story about fraud down at the board of education. Sometimes watching Mrs. Hall makes me wish I’d turned out to be a better kid—like I could have a mom like that, with warm eyes, who actually gives a shit.
And then I remember the stuff her own kids are getting up to.
My dad picks up the remote control, turning the TV off. The room goes silent, darker, thick with awkward tension. “Reyn,” he starts, and he’s standing there shifting around, hands planted on his hips, looking anywhere but at me. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
I snort bitterly, wishing he’d just go away. Vandy will be here in thirty minutes.
“You were just a boy when you went away,” he goes on. “You came back this angry, quiet man, and the truth is, I don’t know you anymore. I don’t know how to talk to you. I don’t know how to be a dad to someone who’s—” he lifts a hand, gesturing at me like I’m something baffling and foreign. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am. “You grew up when I wasn’t even looking. Sometimes I go into your room and look in that damn drawer.” He nods when I gape at him. “Oh, I know about the drawer. I also know you haven’t been adding to it quite as much, so I thought maybe… maybe you were working it out on your own.” He falls on the couch beside me, heaving a big sigh. “I don’t know what else to do about it. When I was your age, I was just fucking everything that moved.”
My face screws up. “Gross.” And then, “As if you ever actually stopped.”
I see his nod through my periphery. “I did, once. When I was with your mom. For… for a long time.” He looks around the room, the silence still charged with that uncomfortable silence. “This is her house, you know. Your mom’s? She’s the one who chose it, furnished it, decorated it. Everywhere I look, there she is.” He drops his head to the back of the couch, admitting, “I hate it. I was going to move, but they said I shouldn’t. They told me you needed some normalcy when you came home, the home you remembered. I thought I could handle it, but I guess I was wrong. You’re right; I don’t like being here. But you’re wrong if you think it’s got anything to do with you.”
“You miss her,” I realize.
He smiles sadly. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Then why?” I wonder, my reality shifting. “Why did you fuck around on her? She would have stayed.”
“Christ, Reyn.” He drags a hand down his tried face. “There’s no easy answer to that. Just sometimes, when things get rough, that’s the only thing that…” He trails off, waving his hand, but I don’t need him to finish.
It’s such a carbon copy of what I’d told Vandy that night—about why I steal—that it guts me. “Jesus.”
He must realize I’m drawing the dots, because he nods. “Your mom used to say McAllister men had a sickness. That we sabotage ourselves. That we couldn’t handle things going good, we just had to mess it all up. She never understood
. Not like we do.”
I finally look at him, and I know she was wrong. It’s not about self-sabotage. But it doesn’t really matter. That’s the outcome, every time. “Sometimes I really hate how alike we are.”
“Me, too.” He doesn’t look upset about it, but his smile is rueful. “It’s not all bad, is it?”
It’s easier than I thought it’d be to give him this. “Not all of it.” I pluck idly at a spot of fuzz on the sofa. “Plus, grandpa still has all his hair, so we’ve got that going for us.”
“You take after him, you know.” He nods when I meet his gaze. “Oh yeah, that man would steal the ground right out from under you. He just became a CFO and called it acquisitions.”
We share a small laugh.
“I’m not sure that’s for me,” I admit. Then, quietly, “I can’t go to college next year, Dad.”
Instead of arguing with me about it, he asks, “Why?”
I shrug, falling back against the couch. “I’m not Emory, okay? I didn’t spend the last three years at a nice school, finding out who I am and what I want. I only just recently learned how to drive with someone else sitting in my car. I know I’m too old to be a kid anymore, but...”
“But you’re not ready to be an adult. I’ll let you in on a secret, son. No one ever is. It’s just something that comes and we deal with it, because there’s no other option.” To my surprise, he adds, “But if you think a gap year is going to give you time to become an eighteen-year-old, then I think I understand.”
“You do?”
“One year,” he stresses. “And I want you to work hard, Reyn. Get your GPA up. Keep performing on the field. Use that year for something good. Become an attractive applicant.” He claps me on the shoulder, standing. “I know I can’t tell you not to steal, but would I still be a hypocrite if I asked you to try?”
I look at him, deciding to be honest. “I’m already trying.”
“Good. And I know you’re different than I was at eighteen, but for Pete’s sake,” He hands me the remote, eyebrows raised, “wear a rubber.”