“I never thought I’d say this,” Abby cuts in, glowering at Jackson. “But I think I preferred you when you were stoned. At least, you were funny and charming. Now, you’re just spiteful and mean, and that shit’s never attractive.”
“Control your woman, Anderson,” Jackson coolly replies, her words just flying over his head. “Or you won’t like what I’m about to say.”
“Shut your fucking mouth, or I’ll shut it for you,” Kaiden snarls, flexing his arms and balling his fists. I recognize the dark expression on his face, having been on the receiving end of it more times than I can count. Kaiden looks two seconds away from tearing strips off his best friend. “Take your slut, and sit someplace else, Lauder.”
Anger rolls off Jackson in waves. “You seem to have forgotten how you treated Abby when we first showed up in Rydeville, and if Nessa can’t handle that I’ve moved on, she can sit someplace else. No skin off my back.”
“If anyone is leaving, it’s you,” Drew cuts in. His icy tone and cold, harsh stare surprises me, and I shiver at the lingering menace simmering at the back of his eyes. Drew has hidden, dark layers, and I don’t think I’d like to get on his wrong side. “Or can’t you work out when you’re not wanted, Lauder?”
“Jackson, please.” Abby’s tortured expression and emotional tone claims everyone’s attention. “You don’t need to do this. We need to stick together, now more than ever.”
Jackson slides the blonde off his lap and stands. Blondie instantly suctions herself to his side, pinning me with a smug expression as her hand lands on his butt. “This is fucking bullshit.” Jackson jabs his finger at Abby and Kai, and I’ve never seen him so mad. “I put my own shit aside to be there for both of you last year, and this is how you repay me? You pick her side just like that? What the fuck, man?” He glares at Kai. “Abby thinks for you now? You can’t stand her!” He points at me, raising his voice, ensuring those in the vicinity are well aware of what’s going down.
“She is still the same pathetic, clingy hot mess who used to follow you around begging for scraps. The same girl who would fuck anyone for attention. The same girl who told you nothing was off-limits and you could do whatever you wanted to her.”
“I’ll happily fuck her,” some asshat behind me pipes up.
“We can tag team!” another douche adds.
Kaiden swivels in his chair. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll have you expelled,” he warns, and that thankfully mutes the idiots. I know Kai is a descendant of one of the founding fathers—something I read online about Rydeville—but I don’t know if he has that kind of authority.
“You know I’m right, Anderson,” Jackson continues, because he likes to have the last word.
I have no recollection of saying that to Kai, but I can’t rule out the possibility I probably did. Embarrassment crawls over my skin, and I hang my head in shame. Heat creeps up my neck and over my cheeks. What was I thinking? I can’t be friends with these people. Jackson is never going to accept it.
As soon as the warmth has left my cheeks, and I’m confident I don’t look like a withered tomato, I lift my head and push my chair back, ready to leave. Sawyer clamps his hand on my thigh, stalling me. He shakes his head. “Let the toddler have his temper tantrum.” He speaks loud enough for Jackson to hear.
“Oh, whatever.” Jackson throws his hands in the air, proving Sawyer’s assertion. “Choose her over our friendship. See if I fucking care.” He slams his lips down on the blonde’s, and I avert my eyes as pain crashes into me, knocking all the air from my lungs. “C’mon, babe,” he murmurs in that sexy voice of his. “Let’s screw in the bathroom. It beats sitting here with these boring fucks.”
He knocks his chair to the ground before walking off like he’s the one who’s been wronged. I don’t understand him or why he feels the need to inflict further pain on me. He publicly dumped me, humiliating me in the process, and he’s irreparably shattered my heart. Isn’t that enough?
“Please tell me I was never that pathetic,” Kaiden says to no one in particular.
“You were almost as bad,” Abby says, and my eyes lift in surprise. “But Jackson’s definitely going for gold.” Her sympathetic gaze lands on my face. “I’m sorry he’s being such a dick.”
“Please stop apologizing for him. And I’m the one who’s sorry.” I stand, grabbing my tray. “I know he wants to hurt me. I don’t understand why, but I can handle it. Me sitting here is causing problems for all of you, so I think it’s best I sit someplace else.”
Abby opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand, halting her. “It’s better this way, and there’s nothing you can say that’ll change my mind. I need to stop by the bursar’s office anyway. I’ll catch you in class.”
I walk off before anyone can say anything else, feeling proud I’ve done the right thing. I’m hopeful I can survive this even if my dickhead ex is determined to do everything to drag me down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Vanessa
“THE RECORD IS sealed? What does that mean?” I ask the kind lady with the enviable red hair behind the counter in the bursar’s office.
“That someone in a position of power or with considerable clout has requested the matter be kept confidential. That’s usually the way it works with anonymous sponsors, although this does seem a little unusual because there was no scholarship fund established or application process documented.”
“Is there anyplace else I can go for more information?”
She shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. I suggest you count your good fortune and make the best of the opportunity that’s been afforded to you. There are very few scholarships handed out for RU, and admittance is high. You’re extremely lucky.”
I guess I must be. However, it’s still a puzzle I want to figure out. In my experience, nothing is given without something being expected in return. Prickles of apprehension coat my skin whenever I think about my anonymous sponsor. Who is he or she, and why pick me?
I thank the woman and make my way back to Manning Hall.
I keep myself busy the next couple of weeks, on purpose, to distract myself from thinking about the jackass or how my heart still beats out of control for him. I throw myself into my classwork and my assignments, spending my evenings in the library most nights except when I’m meeting Abby for a run on the beach or attending a yoga class with Shandra. I still refuse to sit at their table in the food court, much to Abby’s chagrin, but it’s easier for me this way, and that’s the only reason she backs down.
I try to sit as far from their table as possible so I don’t have to watch Jackson flirting with whatever girl has caught his eye that day.
There’s an apparently endless stream of willing girls ready to drop everything for him. You’d think I’d be numb to it by now, but it still hurts whenever I see him with a girl draped around him like an accessory.
Which is why I agreed to attend my first college party tomorrow night. Abby and Shandra are coming here to get ready. Hence why I’ve been out grocery shopping, stocking up on snacks and drinks. Stepping into the elevator, I hug the bags to my chest, resting my head against the wall and closing my eyes. I’m determined to flush that asshole from my system, and the only way I’ll get over him is to move on.
So, tomorrow’s the night. I’m going to find a hot guy to get lost in. Sex with someone else will help me forget him, and I need that so bad.
Every morning, Jackson messages me with a new picture of his latest bed buddy, crushing my heart all over again. When I blocked his number, he started messaging me from a different cell, and thus, the pattern began. Now, I just delete them without looking because my fragile heart can’t take any more blows.
I thought when I stopped sitting at their table that I could avoid him, but he’s determined to make my life miserable, showing up before some of my classes to either hurl abuse, paw at the current girl on his arm, or remind me my time with his friends has an expiration date, because once I revert to form, they’ll dump
my ass and forget I ever existed.
His words, not mine.
But they’re sharp and pointed, and they hit the intended target, smashing my walls and piercing my heart.
Funny thing is, his behavior only makes me more determined to stand my ground. In a weird way, he’s helping me. I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t getting to me, because he is. I’ve lost count of the nights I’ve cried myself to sleep, but I only resorted to drowning my sorrows in a vodka bottle one night this week, so that’s progress.
Exiting the elevator, I walk to my door and open it. My foot hits something on the floor as I step into my place, and I almost trip over the package before my sneaker sends it flying across the room. I dump my groceries on the island unit in the kitchen and move to retrieve the mystery item sitting on the middle of the floor.
I crouch down to pick it up, my heart racing as I recognize the envelope with the same printed font on the label. I open it as I walk to the living area, plonking my butt on one of the couches. Depositing the contents of the envelope on my lap, I frown as a slim silver cell phone slides out, along with a folded piece of paper. I open the note first, and my heart falters in my chest when my gaze rests on the enclosed photograph.
The picture shows two men, dressed in expensive suits, side by side, smiling at the camera. They are both of similar height, but the man on the left is much older. With his dark-blond hair, slim physique, and classic good looks, he cuts a dashing figure for an older dude. The younger blond guy on his right is seriously hot. Not quite in Jackson’s league but not far off it either.
I scowl at my own thought, wishing I could remove all trace of Jackson Lauder from my lovesick brain.
Returning my attention to the stranger in the photo, I inspect him in more detail. Broad shoulders give way to muscular arms the dress jacket can’t hide, and it’s clear this guy works out. The cocky grin on his face is a little off-putting, but he has gorgeous features, and I haven’t met any good-looking guy my age who isn’t at least a little arrogant about his looks. His hair is more of a golden-blond color whereas the older guy’s hair is a darker, dirtier shade of blond and his eyes are bluer, but there’s no mistaking the resemblance—they are obviously father and son.
I have no idea who they are. I’ve never seen them before, and I don’t know why someone would send me their picture. Unfolding the letter with shaky fingers, I have a strong sixth sense this letter is going to fundamentally change me.
My dearest Vanessa,
I’m sorry it has taken years to write this letter, but your mother and her husband concealed your existence, denying me the opportunity to be a father to you. I don’t know what they have told you, or if they have told you anything at all, but my strongest desire is to connect with my daughter and to make up for lost time.
If I had known I had a daughter, I would have been an active part of your life. I cannot fathom why your mother would keep you from me, or my son, your brother, Trenton.
I imagine this has come as a shock, but I hope it is a pleasant one. It is my greatest wish to meet with you. To finally get to know you. To love you like you deserve to be loved.
I presently reside overseas, and my business interests are such that I cannot travel to visit you, but I hope you will consider coming to visit me? I will make all the necessary arrangements, and I will send someone to collect you when the time is right.
You most likely have questions. Concerns. That is only natural. I hope this photograph of me with my son will help to put your mind at ease. As you can see, the resemblance between all of us is unmistakable. I knew you were my flesh and blood the minute I found you.
I hope you are settling into my alma mater and that you like your new home. I have established a trust fund for you and set up a bank account in your name. The details have been input to your new cell phone. I ask that you reserve this phone for communication with me. It’s imperative that you don’t mention we are in contact with one another. Your mother and her husband kept you a secret from me for a reason, and I’m worried for your safety should anyone discover we are communicating.
I hope we can meet in the very near future. I think it’s about time you got some answers. In the meantime, should you need me, please contact the number stored in the phone.
Yours lovingly,
C.M.
I clutch the letter in my fingers as I slump back on the couch, shocked and speechless. What the ever-loving fuck? My brain is fried, shooting conflicting thoughts around my skull. Is this for real? I pick the photo up again, examining it in more detail, and there is no doubt I share a strong resemblance to both men. But is that enough to prove it? I only have his word he’s my father, and he didn’t even sign it personally. Alarm bells are ringing in my head, but I’m intrigued too. Plus, there’s everything he’s done for me already. Why would he go to such trouble and expense if he was lying?
Mom spoke about my father one time and one time only. I was twelve, and Aaron had just taken my virginity. I lay in bed at night trembling in fear, praying for someone to rescue me. I remember begging God to send my real father to save me. I asked Mom about him the next day. I’d always known I had a different dad, because Aaron reminded me regularly that I wasn’t his biological daughter. If he’d had a conscience, I’d say he did it to try to justify his actions, but that bastard had no moral compass, and the only reason he mentioned it was to put me in my place. To remind me I was lesser than him and to taunt me that my own father had abandoned me.
So, I asked Mom. I’m sure I asked when I was younger too, but I have no earlier recollection. However, I remember every word Mom said when I was twelve and I plucked up the courage to ask her who he was and where he was.
“Your father is dead, and there is to be no more mention of him in this house.” She had gripped my arms hard, leaving more bruises. “Especially to Aaron.” She made me promise not to breathe a word about him again, and I didn’t.
Any notions I’d entertained of my real dad riding to the rescue evaporated that day. I have thought of him on occasions. Wondering what my life would have been like if he hadn’t died. If I had grown up with him instead of that monster Aaron Breen.
Could it be true? Could this C.M. really be my dad? And why did Mom lie? I know he said not to talk to anyone, but that doesn’t give me a warm and fuzzy feeling. I won’t fly overseas to meet a man I’ve never met before just because he’s thrown money at me and told me I’m his daughter.
He could be some sick stalker for all I know.
There’s only one way to be sure.
I need to talk to Mom.
_______________
“Vanessa. This is a surprise,” Mom says when she opens the door, not looking all that shocked to see me despite her words. She steps aside to let me in, glancing over my head, and biting her lip.
I look behind me before she closes the door. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She plasters a fake smile on her face. “I saw lights out on the road, and I was curious.”
She slurs the last sentence, and I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you drunk?”
I trail her as she walks into the living room. “It’s Friday night. I’m enjoying a few glasses of wine. There’s no crime in that.”
I’m about to open my mouth to criticize her for falling off the wagon when I remember my own recent descent from grace, so I purse my lips and push the criticism back down. I’ll worry about that another time. Right now, I have more urgent questions.
“Would you like one?” She points at the half-empty bottle of white wine.
I shake my head. “I’m driving.”
“Suit yourself.” She proceeds to top her glass up, almost to the brim.
“Are the twins asleep?”
“They’re not here. Kayleigh is at a sleepover at Ashley Stevens’ house and Hunter is staying with Benjamin Peters this weekend.”
“Since when are they allowed sleepovers?” I ask, perching on the edge of the couch.
“Since that b
astard died,” she snaps, downing a large mouthful of wine.
“Fair enough.” Aaron was anal about not letting the twins out of his sight, and he never permitted sleepovers. I’ve always assumed it was because he was a control freak, but now, I think it was because he knew there were other monsters like him out there.
“I’m sure you didn’t come here this late at night to discuss the twins’ sleepovers. What do you want?”
“Wow. Nice to see you too, Mother,” I hiss. “Can’t I just be visiting?”
“Are you?” She arches a brow.
I sigh. “No. There is a reason for my visit.”
I ignore her irritating condescending look and narrowly avoid flipping her the bird. Jackson is rubbing off on me.
Ugh. Shut up, stupid brain. I shake the asshole from my thoughts, remembering why I’m here.
Retrieving the photo from my purse, I silently hand it to her. She clutches it with trembling fingers, staring at it for so long I begin to suspect she’s stopped breathing.
“I wondered how long it would take him to reach out to you now that Aaron is dead.”
I grind my teeth to the molars. “So, you don’t deny it? That you lied to me?”
“I did what I could to protect you.”
I bark out a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell. Her words are like waving a red flag in front of my face. “You have never protected me! You knew your husband was raping me, and you let him climb into my bed night after night!” I screech.
She gulps back wine, flinching from my words and my tone. “I can’t do this right now, Vanessa.”
“No,” I harrumph. “Of course, you can’t. I don’t know why I’m even bothering.”
Silence engulfs us, and the air is heavy with years of unspoken questions and futile answers.
“Is it true? Is that man my father?” I ask when I’ve sufficiently calmed down.
There’s a pregnant pause before she answers. “Yes. He’s your father.” Judging from the pained expression on her face, it hurt her to admit that.
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