by Angel Lawson
We break apart with heaving chests and heavy eyes, but not before a shadowy figure appears at the end of the bleachers. Reyn must notice him a moment before I do because he drops my hand like it’s on fire.
It doesn’t matter. It’s too late.
Emory just caught us.
32
Reyn
“Dude, talk to me.”
Emory stops midway down the row of lockers, his shoulders as tense as his fists, which are notably balled tight. Without turning, he says in a low, apocalyptically angry voice, “Reyn, if I even look at you right now, I will kick your motherfucking ass, and I can’t do that. Not with this game on the line. But tomorrow?” His jaw locks tight, neck cracking. “Tomorrow, you better watch your fucking back.”
He continues through the empty locker room, flinging the metal door open so that it slams hard against the one next to it. The rest of the team is still eating the pre-game, pot-luck dinner brought to us by the booster club. Emory made an appearance—he’s captain after all. That had been a blast, trying to get him alone, only to be met with a red-hot, dagger-glare. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. But if looks could nuke this town, we’d all be dust right now.
The second he could leave, he bolted. Stubbornly, I followed.
Now I’m standing between the banks of lockers, the scent of sweaty jockstrap in the air, trying to figure out how to fix this. How to salvage what I can of our friendship. I broke a cardinal rule. The only rule.
“Well, if you won’t talk,” I reason, “you can at least listen.”
He yanks his gear out of the locker, slamming it on the bench. His voice is sharp through gritted teeth. “Don’t fucking test me, McAllister.”
Stupidly, I push. “Whatever you’re thinking is going on is worse than reality.”
“You can have any girl in this school. Any fucking girl. Could have just taken your pick, but no. That’s not good enough for you, is it? It’s so typical Reyn, I don’t know how I’m even surprised. You saw her, shiny and clean and innocent, and you thought to yourself ‘I’m going to take that’.” The anger rolls off him in waves. “I trusted you! I really fucking trusted you, with the most important thing in my life. Do you even understand that? Do you even fucking care?”
He still won’t look at me and I’m not sure I want him to. Guilt bubbles in my gut, hot like acid. “If you’ll let me explain—”
He snaps his face in my direction. “Fuck no. You don’t get to explain or manipulate your way out of this one, Reyn.” When he finally meets my eyes, I wish he hadn’t. The anger was one thing, but this is something new. This is hurt. “Did you set this up? Was it all a scam? Did you talk me into letting Vandy into the Devils so that you could get close to her and try to fu—” the word stumbles on his tongue.
“That’s not how this started. I was looking out for her, just like you were. But—”
Fuck. Shit. I can’t tell him the but.
But she knew we were up to something and was going to narc.
But she was tired of being treated like a baby and I told her I would help.
But she was drowning and needed something—someone—and that person, against all fucking odds, was me.
Good thing Emory doesn’t even want to hear my ‘but’. “But then you decided to use her?”
“I’m not using her!” I insist. “See, you’re already twisting this into something—”
He slams his fist into the locker, the sound reverberating harshly in the room. “I know my sister, Reyn! I know how she felt about you, and I saw the way you always fucking played on that. You made a promise!”
It takes me so long to understand what promise he’s referring to that by the time it dawns on me, he already has his shirt ripped off. I gape at him. “You can’t actually be serious.”
His eyes bug out, fists clenching. “Ask me again how serious I am. I dare you.”
“We were ten!” I laugh in amazement, remembering a promise made on a balmy Halloween night, eight years ago. “We didn’t even have pubes yet, Em. You think maybe shit’s a little different now?”
“I think maybe you’re a little different now.” He doesn’t want to hear a word I have to say. He walks up to me, chest heaving with restrained anger. “If you go near her again, I will fucking end you, Reyn. You’re never fucking my sister, so I’m telling you now, if you know what’s good for you? You’ll move the fuck on.” I’m not sure what my face is saying, but it seems to be broadcasting loud and clear, because Emory suddenly lurches back, face slack. “You already did,” he realizes.
“Em, wait,” I try.
“You fucked her? You fucked her. You fucked her!” Every time he says it, his eyes get a little wider, voice a little louder. There’s this vein in his forehead that bulges with each sentence, like it keeps feeding this feral, apoplectic rage into his bloodstream, and I’m powerless to stop the freight train behind it. He lunges at me, fist balled tight, swinging at my face. He pulls it before it can make contact, fist shaking with the force. “You’re so lucky there’s a game tonight.”
I never even flinched.
“When was it?” His voice is being pushed through his clenched teeth like a sieve. “Was it that night, when you said you’d walk her home? Keep her safe?” He spits the word like venom. “Was it at Thistle Cove? Huh? Or did you just have no self-control and fuck her the day after you got back?” His raging eyes ping back and forth between mine. “Answer me, pussy!”
“Last night,” I answer honestly.
“Bullshit!”
“What exactly do you want to hear, Emory?” I raise my voice, tension rolling up my spine. “You want a play-by-play? You want to hear about how I fingered her two weeks ago? You want to know when she sucked my dick? You want to know what we did in the Stairway for the fifth rite?”
Bad move.
Real bad move.
“I knew it!” He slams his fist into the locker beside my head. “And you stood here and made me feel like the bad guy for suspecting anything! What else, huh? How many times have you lied to my fucking face so you could get into her pants?”
I laugh bitterly. “You’re insane. You can’t handle the thought that Vandy has been out there making choices you don’t agree with, but instead of being angry at yourself, you’re just taking it out on me. News flash, Em! You have massively disturbing control issues! I can’t believe they have her in therapy and completely failed to realize that you’re fucked in the head.”
He pulls his fist back again, but I’m not going to just stand here, this time.
I square my shoulders. I’m taller than Em. Stronger. He’s a pussy quarterback, all protected and coddled. I’ve spent my life getting piled on. I can take him in a heartbeat.
“What the fuck is going on in here?” I hear Carlton coming down the row of lockers, but I don’t break Emory’s gaze.
“Why don’t you tell him?” Emory says, nostrils flaring. “Come on, Reyn, don’t be shy. Tell him how you almost killed my little sister, then came back three years later to take advantage of her like a fucking—”
I plant both my palms into his shoulders, shoving him with enough strength that he stumbles back into the lockers. “That’s not what fucking happened!” I can take a lot. If Emory wants to be pissed at me? Fine. I’d let him hit me, if that’s what he needed. But I can’t take this thing I have with Vandy being dragged through the mud like that—all twisted up into some ugly, hurtful, monstrous thing.
Emory gains his footing and is immediately flying toward me, but suddenly Carlton and Ben are there, separating us.
“What the hell, you guys?” Ben shouts. “This shit ain't buddies!”
Red-faced and irate, Emory thrusts a finger in my face. “This gutless asshole fucked my sister!”
Carlton lets out a slow, “Aw, shit,” and looks at me wide-eyed.
Ben winces. “Jesus Christ.”
“She’s seventeen!” I shove Carlton’s hands away. “If she wants to be with someone, that’s her
business! You’re not going to stop her.”
“Watch me.” His voice is low and deadly.
“You’re going away next year, genius!” I press my finger to my temple. “V and I are staying right fucking here.”
His eyes narrow. He knows it, which is why he adds, “I will tell my parents, your dad, and Headmaster Collins that you took advantage of her. I’ll tell them you broke into Thistle Cove. I’ll drive my fucking truck off a bridge and tell them you did it. Try me, motherfucker! I’ll have your ass tossed out so fast, you’ll wish you never stepped foot back here.”
“Whoa,” Ben says, arms extended between us. “Can’t we just talk this out? I mean, Reyn doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d—”
“What do you know?” Emory spits.
“I’m just saying,” Ben tries, voice calm. “Maybe we need to just cool off for a bit, let Vandy clear this up.”
“Shit is perfectly clear,” Emory replies, cutting his eyes at me. “You and me? We’re done. You’re never going near her again.”
I scoff. “You need to figure out how to tell your sister that, because I don’t think she’s going to take it very well.”
He shoves a finger at me. “You leave Vandy to me. She has never been, and will never be, any of your fucking concern. That ship sailed three years ago, when you almost killed her. Or have you forgotten that?”
He turns back toward his locker and grabs his stuff, carrying it past me toward the door. Carlton and Ben are looking between us, wary.
My nerves are still firing, and I’m pissed off, but beneath that is the same thing I’d seen in Emory’s eyes before. It’s hopeless and sharp and wants to strike back. There’s only one thing I know that’ll hurt him as much as I want to, so I call out, “I want my senior shirt back, asshole!”
Emory takes two steps and freezes, slowly turning to glare at me over his shoulder. “I don’t have anything of yours.”
“Yeah, you do.” I swear, Ben and Carl must sense that whatever’s about to come out of my mouth won’t be good, because they start inching between us. “You picked it up off her floor.”
I can practically see the words hit him. “You piece of—” He tries to fly at me, but the others are already there, pulling him back. “In my house? Under our fucking roof?”
If I thought it’d make me feel better, then I was wrong.
Our fight doesn’t muddle the game. Emory won’t let it. He’s stone cold, flinging ball after ball in my direction, like he’s daring me to fail.
I don’t. I won’t.
I score touchdown after touchdown. I’m a fucking machine out there. Adversity isn’t a problem for me, I thrive on it. But that’s me. More than once, I catch sight of my girl in the stands, camera clutched in her hands, eyes red, forehead worried. This isn’t the kind of situation Vandy flourishes in. The gaping chasm between Emory and I hurts, but he’s her brother. She has to live with him. She loves him.
No one can tell everything is crumbling. Not during halftime when Headmaster Collins announces Emory, coated in a sheen of sweat, and Aubrey, cute and sparkly, as our newly crowned Homecoming King and Queen. Or when Sydney lunges at me for a post-game, celebratory hug. I peel her off without another thought and head toward the showers, stopping at the fence where she’s waiting for me. Vandy smells so sweet and fresh that I just want to wrap her up in my arms and bury my face into her neck.
The firefly charm is hanging around her neck.
“We’ll figure this out,” I tell her. “Don’t panic.”
“I’m not,” she lies. It’s not even half-hearted. It’s like one-fiftieth-hearted. Her face is drawn and she looks all at once sad and terrified.
I mutter a low curse and wipe my face with my jersey. “Let’s give him a chance to cool off, get through tomorrow night, and then we’ll deal with it, okay?”
She nods and I beat a hasty retreat, knowing that if he catches us talking, shit will escalate fast. If Em squeals, I’ll get sent packing, and at this point, I’m not sure I’d call his bluff.
What he doesn’t get is that Vandy has leverage of her own. She’s documented everything about the Devils since the beginning. If he pushes her… well, she may just take the whole thing down. Including herself.
People are talking when I get into the locker room. Emory’s still on the field, taking pictures, but the rest of the guys are in the room, sweaty and tired.
Some junior I barely know is saying, “So McAllister’s hitting that shit?”
“Apparently,” Ben says.
Another senior pipes in, “Well I hope he keeps banging her and fighting with Hall about it, because those two were killing it out there.”
The junior agrees, “It was like McAllister was possessed.”
Carlton’s sharp voice drifts in. “This is serious, okay? You know how Emory is about his sister.”
“Do you really think Reyn…” Ben trails off, voice low and uncomfortable, but I can’t see him yet.
“Nah,” Carlton says. “I know Em. That girl could have her consent signed and certified in a court of law, and he’d still find a way to ignore it.” I slump, exhausted and relieved, against the wall. At least these guys don’t think so low of me. So low of Vandy. “This was always going to happen, sooner or later. The fact it was his best friend?”
“Fuel to the fire,” Ben agrees.
They all go quiet when I walk in, eventually changing the subject to this game’s point spread. I rip my pads off mechanically, barely seeing what I’m doing. It’s not long before Emory walks into the room. I don’t see him, but I can feel the shift in the energy, the hush and tension.
His locker’s right beside mine, which used to be a good idea.
Now, not so much.
I don’t look at him, but my anger has already fizzled. It’s been replaced by something cold and tired. “We didn’t do it to hurt you.” I keep my voice low, but I know he hears me. I can tell by the way he goes still before jerking his pads from his shoulders. “And it’s not just a physical thing, it’s—”
He slams the locker closed and walks toward the showers, ignoring me.
Ben gives me a look from the other end of the row, but I just shake my head, resigned.
I think back to that promise I made eight years ago.
“Do not be fucking with my sister, Reyn.”
“What?” I asked, stuffing a candy bar into my mouth. Emory and Vandy had gone trick or treating, but I was content to swipe my candy from the other kids’ bags. “Why would I mess with Baby V?” She was so cute that night in her little angel costume, silver halo bobbing along as her wings dragged the ground. “I like your sister.”
Emory scowled. “If you try to make her your girlfriend, I will kick your ass.”
I choked on the chocolate. “Gross!” At the ripe old age of ten, girls were only sometimes tolerable when they were the same age, but nine-year-olds? That was a completely insurmountable age gap. Entirely different worlds.
“I mean it,” Emory pressed. “I’ll fuck you up.”
“I don’t want a girlfriend,” I said, but I could see he was bothered. So even though the thought outwardly grossed me out—and inwardly did things I couldn’t even understand yet—I loftily added, “I promise, I won’t fuck with V, okay?”
I hadn’t even thought of that night in the treehouse in years. There should really be some law of limitations regarding promises made by ten-year-olds. What the fuck did I know back then? Nothing.
All I know now is that everything is fucked up and there’s a lot more to lose than my freedom. I can handle losing Preston Prep, the Devils, maybe even Em. But after getting Vandy back? That’s a loss I’m not sure I can survive.
33
Vandy
I wake up the next morning with the same pit of dread in my stomach that was there when I went to sleep. Only now, it’s joined by something else. It’d be stupid to call it anger. Anger is messy and confusing, and what I feel is a very tidy, simple thing. It’s strong as st
eel and just as unforgiving. It’s sure and confident—things I’m not used to feeling.
Emory didn’t get home until late, so we haven’t talked. But I know it’s coming. Up until now, I don’t think I knew how to even approach it. It all seems very clear this morning, as I get dressed, carefully and efficiently.
When I come across three pills tucked into an old bra, I know I’m doing the right thing. Things are muddled and scary right now, but looking at them, I barely feel the pull to bliss out and escape. Whatever Emory thinks of Reyn and me, he’s dead wrong. Being with Reyn makes me better. Stronger.
Fuck what Emory thinks. Screw what my parents think, for that matter. To hell with Mr. McAllister, who’s never around. Headmaster Collins, Jerry, Dewey—all of them can suck a fat one, for all I care.
I know it’s not that easy. I can rail against everyone and come out the other side just fine. Reyn doesn’t have the luxury. He has Jerry riding him. The school. His dad. His future.
The best thing is for me to do as Reyn asked; wait. Let Emory cool off and we’ll talk it over. And if not? I’ll get my revenge with my exposé. It’s all sitting on my laptop, locked behind an encrypted file, tucked in my room. It’s also backed up on a flash-drive I’ve started carrying on my person. Every letter, every instruction, every photo.
If Emory wants to burn my life down, I can do it right back. And I will. No regrets.
The flash-drive sits warm in my pocket as I walk into the kitchen. Emory looks up from the counter, bagel in his hand, cream cheese on his bottom lip. “You ready?” he grunts. “Because we need to talk on the way.”
The final meeting is in thirty-minutes, at ten—or as Sebastian declared, “The ass-crack of dawn,” when I called him to ask if he’d pick me up.
“I don’t have anything to talk to you about,” I coolly respond, popping two slices of bread into the toaster. “In fact, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll probably avoid talking to me at all today.” There’s a long stretch of silence and I don’t bother turning around to see the annoyed expression he’s probably wearing.