Ruthless Love

by Penelope Bloom

  “I mean, no. I can’t—I won’t just pretend this summer didn’t happen. Look. Maybe you’re not as much of a complete dick as I thought. But you did all those things to me. You lied. You tricked me. You went out of your way to make me feel stupid, and small. And I don’t care if that felt good, because it doesn’t magically fix you. Okay? So, I’m going to go ask Logan to take me home, and I’d appreciate it if you could control your temper and let me go.”

  I had to squeeze my teeth together to stop from talking. It doesn’t magically fix you. I thought it was ironic that the girl with a million diseases seemed to think I was the broken one. But maybe she was right. Normal parents didn’t do what mine did to me. Maybe I was the problem, not them.

  I watched her go. For tonight, I’d leave her be.

  But she was right about one thing.

  The kiss had felt good.

  Too good to leave alone. Too good to forget about. And too good to let it be a one and done.

  15

  Kennedy

  Disney music played from the phone in my lap while I struggled with my makeshift gardening tool. A few weeks of abusing the broom handle and endlessly taping various objects to the tip was taking its toll. There was a growing ball of used tape on the end that I was doing my best to scrape off, but it was slow going.

  I hummed along to the music while I worked at it. It was a nice, sunny morning and I’d started to really look forward to my time spent in the back yard. Granted, I seriously needed to find a little spare time to start building a real collection of tools. Maybe a shovel, for starters. The weeds were relentless, and I found myself constantly battling them back from my half a dozen budding plants.

  I still wasn’t sure what they’d grow to be, but they were about twelve inches tall, fuzzy, and mismatched.

  Tristan’s car rolled right up to my back yard and came to a stop.

  I fumbled with my phone, trying desperately to change the station I was listening to so he wouldn’t hear my childish taste in music. His car door opened, and I tapped a few times, picking a random station.

  Rap music laced with profanities started crackling out of my phone at full blast.

  Tristan stopped, tilting his head at me. He had a large bag slung over his shoulder, like some dark, porno version of Santa.

  “Interesting taste,” he said, just as I managed to finally silence my phone.

  “Did you come here to make fun of me?” I asked. “Because I was having a nice afternoon without your help.”

  He strolled right up to me, carefully walking around my garden. I noticed the bag on his back was clattering strangely. He turned it over and dumped out the contents in the grass at my feet. There was a shovel, shears, a small hand shovel, one of those little claw things, and a few other tools I didn’t know I’d needed or wanted until I saw them.

  I was about to do a celebratory seated dance when I remembered where all of the goods had come from. I looked up at Tristan, who was watching me closely.

  “What is this?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “I mean what is your goal here?”

  The shadow of a smile passed over his face. “I need a goal? Is it impossible to believe I might do something out of the kindness of my heart?”

  “Yes,” I deadpanned.

  “Alright. I stole all of this for you because if you impale yourself on that miserable excuse of a tool you’re always waving around, you’ll never finish my video.”

  I scooted my chair back from the tools. “You stole this stuff?”

  He grinned. “I’m fucking with you. No. I bought it from a hardware store just now.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “You do realize if I actually died, the school would probably make an exception and let you keep playing.”

  “Maybe. But then I wouldn’t get the Kennedy Stills edition of my recruitment video. It’d be some other dweebs take on it.”

  “Did you just call me Kennedy?” I asked.

  Tristan shook his head. “No. I was talking about you in third person, or whatever. Doesn’t count.”

  I smirked. “Okay. And assuming I believe any of this, I still don’t understand why you care about football. Every time I see you out there, you just look mad. Like you want to hurt someone.”

  Tristan knelt down, plucking idly at some weeds growing out of the dirt. “Football is like revenge to me, I guess.”

  “Against who?”

  “Nah. Forget it. That’s just how I play. It’s easier when you’re pissed. Easier not to think about what could go wrong or if you’re worried about taking a big hit. When you’re pissed, even the pain feels good.”

  I squeezed my eyebrows together, watching him. “Is it your dad?”

  He laughed humorlessly. “You heard him. What do you think?” Tristan got up and started walking to his car. I felt like I’d said something wrong—maybe pushed for too much.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t—”

  Tristan stopped, half-turning. “You’re the last person who needs to apologize to me, Wheels. By the way, you realize those things you’re watering are just weeds, right?”

  I frowned. “Well, the only difference between a weed and a flower is whether somebody loves it, right?”

  “Uh,” Tristan said. “I don’t think that’s exactly how it works. No.”

  “These are my little weeds. And you know what? I think I like them even more because of it.”

  Tristan grinned. “You’re a strange one. And try not to kill yourself with any of those tools I got you. My fingerprints are all over them, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be suspect number one if you off yourself.”

  16

  Tristan

  I twirled the hall pass on my finger, walking slowly through the upstairs corridor of classrooms. I’d been bored out of my mind in history class, so I was taking a break. By pure chance, I happened to find myself walking toward Mr. Frankie’s classroom, where Wheels had her videography class.

  I stopped at the window in the door and looked inside, curious to see what she was doing.

  I frowned when I spotted her. She was at the back of the room smiling about something with a guy. I pulled the door open.

  Mr. Frankie looked up expectantly at me. “Yes?”

  “I need to talk to… Kennedy about our project.” Saying her actual name felt foreign, but not in an entirely bad way.

  Kennedy was watching me with clear skepticism written in her expression.

  “Okay,” Mr. Frankie said. “Go ahead, Kennedy.”

  I waited in the hallway until she came out and let the door close behind us.

  “Who’s that guy?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “The one you were smiling with.”

  “That’s Trevor… We are working in groups. Did you actually have something you wanted to talk to me about?”

  I searched my thoughts. “You’ll be at the game tonight?”

  She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Yes. I already told you I would after practice yesterday.”

  “That guy.” I nodded toward the door. “You realize he’s just trying to hook up with you, right?”

  Kennedy shook her head in disbelief. “Tristan. I’m not your property. Your girlfriend. Your… anything. Maybe someday we could be friends, but I don’t even know about that.”

  My nostrils flared. “You’d better get back to class.”

  She looked like she wanted to apologize for what she’d just said, but she sighed, nodding. “Yeah. I probably should. Good luck tonight.”

  I found myself walking faster. My thoughts kept turning to my parents—to the conversation we’d had when I was fifteen and they’d found out about the alcohol and the fights. I cringed to think about how I’d apologized and how pathetic I must’ve sounded. Not that it mattered.

  Thinking about Wheels made me feel just as helpless. She wasn’t wrong to push me away either, and that pissed me off even more.

  My problem was that I’d been so
fixated on her, whether it was trying to keep her quiet or my more recent attempts to… Shit. I didn’t even know what to call the past few days. Whatever it was, I needed to clear my head. Like a reset button.

  I found Abbie’s class after a few tries of looking through windows. I got her attention, then motioned for her to come out to the hallway.

  She raised her hand, said something a few seconds later, and then walked out into the hallway with a grin and a flick of her eyebrows. “Hey.”

  “Come on.” I took her hand and led her to the girl’s bathroom. There was a freshman girl checking her makeup in the mirror when we walked in.

  “Out.” My voice slashed through the air in a single, deep note.

  The girl practically fell over herself trying to leave.

  I took Abbie into one of the stalls and pushed her back against the door. She bit her lip, smiling up at me.

  I closed my eyes before I leaned in, but Kennedy’s face popped into my mind. I could see her blue eyes and the smear of freckles across the bridge of her nose—the way she always looked so defiant.

  I found Abbie’s lips, kissing them and feeling revulsed at the same time. She tasted like cheap lip gloss and the sour sweetness of a sports drink. I shoved my tongue in her mouth anyway, hoping the feeling would pass.

  Abbie reached for my pants, fumbling with the button and the zipper.

  I thought about stopping her. Hell, I wasn’t even close to hard, but then I pictured Wheels and that guy smiling. I saw her talking to Logan. I saw the way Cassian looked at her. It felt like the entire world had realized they wanted a shot with her at the same time.

  The door to the bathroom opened. I didn’t hear footsteps, though. Just a smooth, rolling noise.

  What are the fucking chances?

  Abbie paused, briefly. I saw her eyes shift to the side. She bit her lip, smiling. “Oh, Tristan. You’re so big.”

  I frowned. She hadn’t even unzipped my pants yet.

  The sound of the rolling wheels paused and there was a sharp intake of breath. A moment later, I heard the door open and close again.

  I felt hollow inside. If there was any chance of mending things with Wheels, I’d probably just blasted the last of them away. I groaned, pushing Abbie back. “I need to get back to class.”

  She shoved me, making me bounce against the stall door. “What’s your problem?”

  I shook my head. “You don’t get me hard.”

  Abbie shoved past me, storming out of the bathroom.

  I leaned my head against the wall of the stall and buttoned my pants back up. I needed to clear my head before the game tonight, and I definitely needed to stop thinking about Wheels.

  17

  Kennedy

  Marne had found her way down to where I was watching the game. I wouldn’t exactly call her a friend, but ever since we worked together on our little project, she had a way of finding me.

  Her brown hair always seemed to be a little bit wild and tangled, like she’d just finished a few hours of wild game hunting in the woods. But there was a kind twinkle in her eyes that I found myself comforted by every time we talked.

  “That a Canon?” She asked, taking the camera from my hands and turning it over.

  “Yeah.”

  “My dad has one that can capture so many pixels you could see the nose hairs on a mouse at three hundred yards.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “These are just the school-issued ones. They probably tried to save money, but it’s still cool. I’ve never had a camera before.”

  “Why are you just filming him?” Marne asked. “He’s not even doing anything.”

  I pulled the camera down, clearing my throat. “I was hoping to catch a leadership moment. Or something.”

  “Looks like you caught a moment where he pulls his shirt up and wipes away sweat. A six-pack moment, if you will,” Marne said.

  I grinned. “Purely accidental.”

  “So, Tristan have a thing for wheelchairs, or something?”

  I frowned up at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Marne gave a little shrug. “Just never seen him stay interested in someone for more than a few days. Suddenly you show up with your fancy wheels and he’s smitten.”

  I laughed. “Smitten is not the word I would use. He’s… I don’t know, I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on boys.”

  “No, say what you were gonna say.” Marne sounded surprisingly forceful.

  “Tristan is such a good liar that he falls for his own bullshit. He thinks he can change, but he’s just… ruthless. He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants, no matter who he has to hurt in the process.” My thoughts went back to what I’d heard in the bathroom earlier at school. Tristan, you’re so big.

  My stomach felt cold at the memory.

  “I think he might have convinced himself he liked me at some point. But it was only a matter of time before he moved on from that lie, too.”

  Marne made a thoughtful sound. “Too bad. Sounds like you had the bully outsmarted for a while. You dangle his desire in front of him like a carrot on a stick. As long as you can resist letting him take a bite, you get to enjoy the remainder of high school. Brilliant while it lasted, at least.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, no. That wasn’t how I was thinking about it. I wasn’t trying to lead him on or trick him. I still don’t even understand what happened to make him start acting like he liked me. But I would’ve been an idiot to trust him, even if I had forgiven him for all the crap he pulled.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Marne said. “If you had given in to him, you’d wind up pregnant and getting bullied again. Guarantee it.”

  I nodded. She was probably right, minus the pregnancy part, at least. I wasn’t that stupid. I also didn’t really believe Tristan even wanted to take things that far with me. Yeah, he had kissed me, and yeah, it had been mind-blowing. But I had two functioning eyes. I knew I didn’t even come close to stacking up against the kind of girls who practically lined up for a chance to be with him. Just like whoever had been in that stall with him.

  I hated how much it pissed me off. I hadn’t been lying when I told Tristan I wasn’t even sure if we could be friends. He hadn’t just burned a bridge between us, he had blown up the ground it stood on, too.

  So why did it sting so much to know he’d hooked up with someone right after we had that conversation?

  No matter what I felt about him, it was hard not to feel a sense of awe as I watched him through the viewfinder on my camera. He had just thrown a touchdown and was running to the end zone with his helmet in his hand, pumping it over head as his teammates all jumped in celebration.

  He looked like a king.

  Like a god.

  But I knew it was just an illusion. I’d seen the real Tristan. It didn’t matter if there was a softer side of him—the side that was good with kids and liked talking about essays, or the one that had brought me gardening tools and replaced the camera Cassian broke. Almost all of that still fit with my understanding of him. He wanted something, and he was simply doing whatever it took to get it.

  A few minutes later, there was a pile of players on the ground at the end of a play. Cassian made his way toward the pile and reached to help Tristan up, but Cassian put his cleat on Tristan’s chest, pushing him back down before letting him up. Between the half a dozen other players all getting out of the pile, nobody on the field seemed to notice.

  Tristan got to his feet, tearing off his helmet and swinging it by the facemask at Cassian. Yellow flags flew from the refs, and Tristan got one more swing toward Cassian before players from both teams broke them up.

  I watched them get taken to the sideline and chewed out by their coach. He was yelling loudly enough that I could hear enough to know he didn’t believe Tristan’s side of the story. He motioned for Tristan to sit on the bench and gestured for Gage to go in at quarterback. Cassian discreetly flipped Tristan a middle finger before jogging back out to the field with
the team.

  I clenched my teeth, thinking about everything he had done to me. It would serve him right to let his coach go on thinking he had made it up. But all I’d need to do was get his coach’s attention and show him the few seconds of video.

  With a sigh, I told Marne I’d be right back.

  I went down as close as I could get to the bench and started yelling to get the attention of his coach. Eventually, he heard me. I showed him the few seconds of video and explained what I’d seen.

  His coach went to Tristan, gestured to me, and seemed to be apologizing, if the many pats on Tristan’s shoulder pads were any indication. My stomach clenched when Tristan’s eyes met mine.

  He got up and walked toward me, ignoring the few teammates who tried to get his attention along the way. I suddenly regretted helping him, because I knew what was probably going through his head. He’d think I was sending a mixed message—like I was just one of those girls who played games with guys’ heads. One minute, I’d say I wasn’t even sure we could be friends, the next I was coming to his rescue.

  But Tristan was glaring when he put his hands on the fence in front of me. “What the fuck was that?”

  I pulled my head back. Okay. Apparently, I still didn’t understand how Tristan’s messed up brain worked. Even if I hadn’t wanted him to thank me, I found myself pissed by his tone. “That was called ‘help.’ It’s this thing normal people do sometimes. They—”

  “I don’t need your pity, Wheels. Next time, do us both a favor and stay out of it.”

  My mouth hung open as I searched for appropriate words. There was ungrateful. There was obnoxious. And then there was Tristan, apparently.

  He took a few steps backwards, eyes still locked on mine, then slid his helmet on and ran out on the field.

  Marne slid in beside me. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “Smitten may not have been the most appropriate word. Well, unless you change the context. Like, ‘Tristan Blackwood probably would love to smite you with unholy wrath.’”