Broken: A High School Bully Romance (Athole Academy Book 1)

by Vi Lily

  “I’ll cook,” I tell her. Ben knows why — my mom, despite her new-found wealth, can only cook “poor.” While she always made tasty things, hamburger, beans and Ramen get tiring after a while.

  “Ben, you’re going to stay for dinner, right?” Mom asks him with a grin. I’m pretty sure she’s already planning our wedding. I can’t blame her; I’ve had those thoughts myself a time or two… hundred. But now, since the guy isn’t making any moves, I figure those plans are out the window.

  No sweet little Samoan-Viking vampire babies in my future. Dammit.

  “Thanks, but I can’t, Mrs. Hanson,” he says. Ben loves my cooking and eats with us whenever he can, especially since his mom is hardly ever home and she’s the only one of the bunch who could cook. Except for Glen — I was really impressed when I found out that he did the cooking at his restaurant.

  His lasagna is even better than mine.

  “Nadine,” my mom corrects Ben with a smile. “Or how about just ‘Mom’?” she asks.

  At that, I choke on my Monster and shoot some of the liquid out my nose. That crap burns as a nose douche, lemme tell you.

  Ben laughs and I elbow him again while I wipe my face off. My eyes water and I sneeze.

  “Bless you,” Ben laughs, then looks at my mom.

  “I’d like that, Mrs… uh, Mom,” he grins. It’s his full-face smile, dimples and all, and I swear my mom almost swoons, if such a thing is possible.

  “But I can’t stay for dinner tonight. Gotta meeting with my rowing team.” He picks up his cell and checks the time, grimacing.

  “In fact, I’m already gonna be late.”

  “Rowing?” I ask, my voice rising a bit as he starts gathering his notebooks and school tablet. “It’s like February. Aren’t the rivers all frozen?” Considering we just went ice fishing the week before and the ice had been measured at eight inches, I doubt any rivers are running in this arctic wonderland.

  Ben laughs as he stands. “Yeah, for the most part, but we still have monthly meetings so we’re all on the same page when the season starts.”

  I roll my eyes. He knows how I feel about the rowing team thing — I always tease him that the Vikings, my ancestors, never intended for their mode of transportation to become a sport. Still, I have to admit that I was looking forward to watching him compete. There’s something… very compelling, about watching all those wonderful muscles I’m sure he has hiding underneath the thick winter clothing pulling on oars to propel a sleek boat through the water.

  Yum.

  After Ben leaves, I start dinner, leaving my schoolbooks scattered in the living room, because I know I’ll get back to them. I’ve decided to make meatloaf with mashed potato casserole and fried green beans. It’s my brother’s favorite, and since he’s actually going to be home for dinner for once, I decide to spoil him.

  Dad has been suspiciously absent from a lot of our “family dinners” — which are usually just Mom and me — but tonight he said he’ll be home too, so I decide to make his favorite dessert, Boston Cream Pie.

  Cooking gives me a way to spoil my family. It gives me a sense of purpose, I guess, to cook something that makes them happy, makes them smile.

  I can’t wait for Ben’s birthday, because I found a recipe for kopai, a sweet dumpling that he said his Samoan grandmother used to make for him that he loves and hasn’t had since she died four years before. I plan on serving that instead of cake.

  I’m hoping to put a big smile on his face.

  Once the meatloaf is in the oven, I go back into the living room to start on my French homework. Mrs. Bettencourt is a ballbreaker, my strictest teacher. She gives tons of homework, which seriously sucks. But I have to admit, I’m quickly learning French, despite having taken Spanish for the past two years.

  I’m hoping to be somewhat tri-lingual one day.

  It isn’t until my third sentence using indirect object pronouns that I notice Ben’s cell phone on the floor. It had fallen underneath the coffee table, almost out of sight. I pick up my phone… and yeah, I text him to tell him he left it.

  I groan. Total face palm moment.

  I know Ben will need his phone and probably has already missed it, so I make a quick decision then that will affect me for the rest of my life.

  “Hey Mom!” I call toward the den. “Ben forgot his phone. I’m gonna run it over to his house. Can you listen for the oven timer? The meatloaf has about a half hour to go.”

  “Yeah,” my mom answers somewhat distractedly. “Be careful.”

  I roll my eyes at that. While I’ve never been there, I know that Ben’s house is at the entrance, next to the gate. It’s all of two blocks away, so it isn’t like I’m going to get in some high-speed chase or anything. Even the chance of an icy road or snow isn’t an issue, since our rich bitch gated community pays for private road maintenance. This time of year, the roads are sanded almost daily.

  It’s ridiculously cold when I leave the house. Even though we have a six-car garage, I always park in the driveway, since Dad went on a car-buying binge and we now have seven cars for three drivers.

  Insane.

  I shiver as I think that it’s weird that February seems even colder than January had been. I figure I’m never going to get used to the cold. My “left coast” blood hates being on the right side of the country.

  The Mercedes doesn’t want to turn over, a testament to just how freaking cold it is. It makes a weird wurrr wurrr sound like it’s complaining about being awakened, before it finally catches.

  I know better than to take off right away, so I sit shivering while I give the motor a few minutes to warm itself. My breath hangs in the air like little puffy clouds and I glance at the dash display. The outside temp says minus four.

  Damn.

  When I think I’ve given it enough time, I make the circle of our drive and move out onto the street. Regardless of the diligent plowing and sanding the community does, surprisingly they’re still slick and I drive very slowly.

  It takes me about ten minutes to go two blocks, mostly because I’m terrified of icy roads. I definitely need to get more practice before I venture any farther away from home.

  Ben’s house is pretty dark, except for the porch light and what looks like maybe the living room. I hope his mom and dad are home, or maybe Gwen. If not, I’m not sure what to do. I figure leaving the phone out in the cold, like by the front door or something, isn’t a great idea. And even if I knew where his meeting was, I sure as heck am not going to try driving anywhere just to give him his stupid phone.

  I leave the car running while I run to the door. All the houses in our neighborhood have gravel or paving stone driveways. I had laughed when I first saw them, especially the gravel, because it seemed a cheap way to go. But after experiencing the snow and ice, I realized that it was smartest — asphalt or concrete are too damned slick. I’m thankful I don’t have to worry about busting my butt while I hurry to the door.

  The mansion Ben’s family lives in is maybe smaller than ours, but it’s hard to tell in the dark. Not that I care; a year ago, we’d been living in a two-bedroom tract house with one bathroom and a single car garage and a yard the size of a thumbnail.

  I’m start shivering again and curse my stupid body that thinks it can only function in seventy-plus degree weather by the time I ring the doorbell. I roll my eyes at the chime — it sounds an awful lot like the Adams’ Family foghorn thing.

  Kinda ominous.

  I laugh at my stupid thoughts and hop from foot to foot while I wait. I figure I’ll give it a minute before I run back to my car. I think about sitting in the warmth of the Mercedes and waiting for someone to show, but I have a meatloaf waiting for me and I still need to make mashed potatoes and toss a salad.

  That makes me pull my phone out of my pocket to text my mom and ask her to toss some potatoes in the microwave. I learned a long time ago that baking them in the micro was a lot easier than peeling them, cutting them and boiling them for mashed potatoes. Afte
r the micro, I just have to throw them in cold water and the skin comes right off without even having to use a peeler and they’re ready for mashing.

  Easy peasy.

  Before I can send the text, though, the door opens. I squint at whoever it is, because the light is behind them and I can’t see their face.

  “Well, hello,” the man says and I realize it’s probably Ben’s dad.

  “Uh, hi,” I say. “Um, Coach Penn?”

  He chuckles. “Yep, that’s me. What can I do for you?”

  I nervously tuck my hair behind my ear, cursing my forgetfulness for not grabbing my hat when I left the house. Ben is always getting after me about that, telling me that a beanie was mandatory in zero — or less — degree weather.

  “Um, I’m, uh, Beth. Ben’s girlfriend?” I say it like a question for some stupid reason. I assume that Ben has told his dad about us, and I know we’re exclusive, considering how much time we spend together and all, but Ben and I have never really discussed our relationship. We just sort of fell into it and let it take us wherever it will.

  “Beth!” His dad exclaims as he pulls the door open farther. “Come in! Get out of the cold.”

  I really don’t want to; I just want to hand him Ben’s phone and go, but I don’t want to be rude, especially since this is my boyfriend’s dad and our first time officially meeting. Coach had smiled at me as we passed in the hall at the Academy, but we’ve never spoken.

  The house is warm as I step through the door and I breathe a sigh of relief. A shiver runs through me then as he closes the door behind me. I turn to face him and my breath catches in my throat.

  Ben wasn’t kidding; his dad really is… hot. I hadn’t paid much attention to him before at the Academy, especially since we were at school, being that he was a teacher and me a student, so it would be kind weird to be checking the dude out. But, damn.

  He’s as tall as Ben, which is saying a lot. Ben’s six three, which is seriously tall for a high school junior. His doctor told him he figured Ben was going to grow at least another three inches by the time he’s done.

  Coach Penn is light-skinned, not as pale as me, but definitely Caucasian. Ben has his dad’s turquoise eyes, but his dad’s hair is a rich red color, like the color of pumpkin pie. I never liked redheads, but the color definitely works for his dad.

  Looking at the man is almost like looking at a negative of Ben. Same strong bone structure, same lips, same color eyes. But I much prefer Ben’s dark hair and skin. It suits him.

  “I was just making some hot cocoa,” his dad tells me. “Come have a cup with me and tell me about yourself.”

  I inwardly grimace. I had a meal to get back to, but I don’t want to be rude to my future father-in-law. Haha. So, I dutifully follow him into the kitchen.

  “Marshmallows, or whipped cream?” his dad asks as he pours the creamy mixture from a pan on the stove into matching dark blue mugs while I take a seat at the kitchen island.

  “Uh, both, please.” He laughs at that.

  “Girl after my own heart,” he grins at me and I notice he has Ben’s dimples. Or, I guess Ben has his dad’s. I pull my phone out of my pocket and send the text I’d typed out earlier. Hopefully, my mom will get it and take care of the potatoes.

  I’m still shivering and Coach notices, because he picks the mugs up and motions with his head to follow him.

  “C’mon, we’ll go into my study to drink our cocoa. I have a nice fire going in there.”

  Ugh. The last thing I really want to do is get all comfy with Ben’s dad while sipping cocoa by a fire. But, again, I don’t want to be rude. I figure I’ll just drink it fast and make the excuse of dinner waiting to get out of there.

  His study is at the back of the house at the end of a long hallway. Coach stands at the doorway and motions with one of the mugs for me to precede him in.

  As I step into the room, I realize it looks exactly as I’d always pictured a study would look, and pretty much like ours at home does — dark wood bookshelves lining one wall, a matching desk in front of a big picture window, and a seating area with comfy looking chairs turned toward a big stone fireplace.

  I snort to myself; it was like mansions had premade rooms that they just plopped into place when they were building.

  A noise makes me turn back to the door. Coach had closed it and sees me staring. He grins.

  “Trying to keep the heat in.”

  I mentally shrug; while I really don’t want to be in a closed room with an adult man, that’s a plausible reason to close the door, I guess.

  “Sit,” he says cheerfully as he motions to one of the chairs by the fire. The heat coming from the fireplace draws me like the proverbial moth to a flame; or the freezing Cali girl to any available heat source.

  He walks to the desk and sets the mugs down. I wonder why, but then he opens a drawer and pulls out a flask and a little bottle. He sees me staring and he winks.

  “Don’t worry; I won’t give you the booze, but I do want you to try my homemade salted caramel sauce.”

  I watch as he opens the flask and pours some liquid that I figure is probably brandy or schnapps into one of the mugs, then he opens the other bottle and drizzles some liquid into the other mug. Remembering that my brother came home trashed from Coach’s house, I watch carefully as he comes around the desk toward me, to make sure he doesn’t switch the mugs. Of course, I would be able to taste alcohol, so that’s kind of a dumb worry.

  I take the mug he hands me, the one he’d poured the caramel into, and thank him. The cream has already melted and the marshmallows are spreading. He sits in the chair across from me and we sip the warm chocolatey goodness in silence for a moment. Coach watches me over the rim of his mug while I fidget. I hate being stared at.

  “Well,” he says, breaking the silence, “I can see why Ben is so enamored of you. You’re a stunning young lady.”

  I choke on a gooey marshmallow at that comment. What do you say to your boyfriend’s father, who makes a comment like that? To say I’m uncomfortable is the understatement of the century.

  “Uh, thanks,” I mumble as I shift in the chair. I’m sure I could be more eloquent, but verbal words are definitely not my strong point. I have the fleeting thought that I could write the dude a note to express myself. Like, “Dear Coach Penn, you’re totally freaking me out right now and I just want to go home.”

  He chuckles, like I’ve amused him with the two words I muttered. I want to hurry up and get this little get-together over with.

  I pull Ben’s phone out of my coat pocket and place it on the table between the chairs. “I came over because Ben forgot his phone at my house.” I nod at the rectangular object that had suddenly become the bane of my existence.

  His dad reaches out and pulls the phone closer to him and tucks it into his shirt pocket. “Mmm, beautiful and thoughtful. Nice combination,” he grins and I feel my face heat.

  I seriously want to get the hell out of there. Something about Ben’s dad flirting with me is making me want to projectile vomit. Instead, I take a healthy swallow of the cocoa, which is hot, but not scalding, thankfully. I grimace a little at the salty taste; not a big fan of salted caramel, but again… don’t want to be rude.

  “How long have you and my son been dating?” he asks as he sips his own drink.

  I nervously fidget and take another swallow. I wonder how much Ben has told his parents, if anything.

  “Um, since the first week of the semester.”

  He smiles again, his dimples showing. I suddenly feel a little calmer, less nervous and I laugh to myself — the Penn men have some serious magic mojo with the ladies.

  “How is it I haven’t met you before then?” he asks.

  I mentally cringe. Because Ben doesn’t want me meeting his pervy dad. If his dad is this flirty with all the girls, I can see why.

  “Oh, uh, I don’t know.” I shrug. “We usually just hang out at my house to study. No reason, really.” I give him a lame smile.

&nb
sp; “Hmm,” his dad says as he sips his cocoa, watching me. I can tell he doesn’t really believe me, and I wonder if he knows the real reason.

  I take another big gulp of my cocoa. I just want to finish it and get the hell out of here because… why? For some reason, I can’t remember why I was in a big rush to leave. In fact, I’m pretty comfortable and I’m starting to get really warm for a change.

  Right where I am seems like a perfectly good place to be.

  Chapter 5

  T HE SUN is shining the next morning, but my world is gray, covered in dark clouds like I’m in a fog.

  I’m disoriented. I really don’t remember going to bed. In fact, I really don’t remember anything from the night before.

  I lift the covers up and look down. I’m wearing my favorite pajamas, but I don’t remember putting them on. I have no recollection of getting into my bed, yet I’m surrounded by my four fluffy pillows and covered with my teal and black comforter. I’m even wearing my dad’s socks, the wool pair he had given me after I complained about my feet always being cold when I sleep.

  I know that I’m in my room, but I feel like I’m on the surface of the moon, as alien as it all seems. I frown; it’s like I’ve been drugged.

  When I was twelve, my friend Staci and I had begged her brother to give us a joint. We were dying to try marijuana after watching a movie where teenagers were smoking and having a great time. We thought it would somehow magically propel us into adulthood if we could smoke it. Donnie was more than happy to oblige us, for the mere price of ten bucks.

  What he didn’t tell us was that the rolling paper had been soaked in PCP.

  For nearly a month after smoking that joint, I would have these weird episodes that I can now describe as “out of body experiences.” I would know that I was in my home, in my kitchen, talking to my mom, or whatever, but I felt like I was hovering just outside of the physical realm, watching life as it happened from afar.

  That’s how I feel now.

  I struggle to remember how I had gotten to bed. The last thing I remember, I had made meatloaf for what was finally not going to be another “Mom and Beth alone” meal, since Rod and Dad both said they’d be home. I remember putting the meatloaf in the oven and then going back to finish my homework…