Spring: A High School Bully Romance (Sunset Beach High Book 3)

by McKayla Box

  Spring: A High School Bully Romance

  Sunset Beach High, Book 3

  By

  McKayla Box

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Spring: A High School Bully Romance

  Sunset Beach High, Book 3

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2019

  Cover design by McKayla Box

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

  THE SUNSET BEACH HIGH SERIES

  FALL

  WINTER

  SPRING

  SUMMER (Coming September 10th)

  INTRODUCTION

  They did their best to break me.

  But I fought back.

  And won.

  But I lost a lot, too.

  And now I'm alone.

  I'm just trying to get to the end of my senior year.

  No more drama. No more pain. No more heartbreak.

  So I can start over again.

  But I've got choices to make that will affect...everything.

  And the ones who broke me?

  They're still lurking.

  So my eyes are wide open.

  But my heart?

  It's closed forever.

  WARNING: Spring is the third book in the bestselling Sunset Beach High series. It contains mature themes, sexual content, and profanity. If you're not a fan of those things, this isn't the book for you. But if you like serious stuff mixed with lots of bad words and some sweaty sex, THIS IS THE BOOK FOR YOU. It is the third in a four book series.

  ONE

  I see him coming and I don't have time to move.

  It's April and I'm on the sand. The air is cool and the ocean is still cold. It's Sunday afternoon and I've been in the water for an hour, trying to find anything that resembles a wave. I've finally given up and I'm unzipping my wetsuit when I see him coming down the sand.

  There's nowhere for me to go.

  He sees me, too.

  He's carrying his board under his right arm, his wet suit turned down at his waist. He hesitates for just a second when our eyes meet, then he heads toward me.

  Shit.

  I pull my arms out of the wetsuit and push it down to my mid-section. I pull my backpack off the sand and sling it over my shoulder, digging in the pocket of it to find my car keys and to avoid making eye contact with him.

  “Hey,” Trevor says.

  I look up. “Hey.”

  He nods at the water without looking at me. “Any good?”

  I shake my head. “Not really. Super flat. Not crowded, though.”

  He nods. “Gotcha.” He looks at me. “You're outta here?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Gotta do some stuff at home.”

  I don't, but it's all I can think of.

  “Okay,” he says. He looks at me. “How are you?”

  How am I?

  It's a good question and one I don't have the answer to.

  I miss him.

  I miss my friends.

  But I can't figure out how to go back to all of them.

  “I'm okay,” I say. “How are you?”

  He stares the water, then shrugs his brown shoulders. “Okay, I guess.”

  We stand there awkwardly.

  It's been months since we've done anything other than this awkward little dance of pretending that we are both fine. I can't speak for him, but I know that I'm not.

  I miss him.

  But I also can't forget.

  “You hungry?” he asks. “We could go get some food?”

  My stomach lurches. Not from hunger, but from the question.

  Yes. I'm hungry.

  For him.

  For his words, his touch, his eyes, his voice, his everything.

  I miss him so much it hurts.

  “I can't,” I say, forcing the words out. “I need to get home.”

  He stares at me for a long moment, those blue eyes bearing down on me.

  I readjust the backpack on my shoulder.

  “Okay,” he says. “I guess I'll see you then.”

  I start to reconsider, thinking maybe sitting down with him over tacos or a burrito might fix things. Maybe it will convince me that I can let go of the hurt I've felt and maybe we can go back to the way it was before.

  But he's already moving down the sand before I can say anything else. His blond hair is blowing in the breeze and I want to run my hands through it, to put my hands on his bare back.

  If he turns around, I'll go to him and tell him I want to get food.

  I'll go to him and tell him I want to try again.

  I'll tell him how much I fucking miss him.

  But he doesn't turn around.

  He yanks the wet suit up over his upper body and zips it up with a hand over his shoulder. He steps into the water, shuffling into the ocean. He drops his board on top of it and then drops himself on top of the board. He starts paddling.

  He's not turning around.

  I turn away from him and trudge up the sand to my car, hungry for so many things.

  TWO

  “We should make a list,” my dad says.

  I get home, shower, and change into shorts and a T-shirt. He's sitting on the couch, some papers on the coffee table, and a beer in his hand.

  “A list of what?” I ask, sitting down next to him.

  He takes a drink from the beer and sets the bottle on the table. He picks up the papers. “A list of where you might actually want to go to college.” He holds up the stack. “You need to make some decisions here because these schools want to know if you're coming.”

  I frown at the papers. “I don't feel much like making decisions.”

  “Yeah, well, it's probably time,” he says, setting the pile between us. “You need to pick one.”

  I know that I need to pick one. He's been subtle about it and in my face about it. But I haven't felt like I could make a decision about what to have for breakfast, much less about where to go to college. I've been stuck in neutral and I don't know why.

  “What if I close my eyes and just grab one?” I ask, closing my eyes and reaching for the pile.

  “Pres,” he says. “I'm serious. You've got these acceptance letters. UCLA, USC, UVA, Santa Barbara.” He holds up the papers again. “And a bunch more. What's the hold up here? Most kids would be thrilled to be choosing from that list?”

  “I didn't get in to Berkley,” I remind him.

  “And you told me you didn't really want to go there,” he reminds me. “So that's kind of irrelevant.”

  I lean back in the sofa and sigh. “I know.”

  “What's your first choice?” he asks.

  “No clue.”

  “You have to have some idea.”

  “I really don't,” I tell him.

  “You liked UCLA quite a bit when we went and visited,” he says. “And USC.”

  “I know. I remember. I was there.”

  “Pres.”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  I know I'm being a bitch, but I just don't want to get into it with him. We spent most of the spring visiting schools and there were some that I liked. There weren't really any I didn't like. I was just having a hard time envisioning myself in the future.

  “Were you serious about moving back to Virginia?” he asks. “Or
did you just apply to UVA on a whim?”

  “I don't know,” I tell him. “I mean, when I was little, that's where I wanted to go. But it seems sort of weird now.”

  “It's a good school,” he says. “You could do a lot worse.”

  “It's also far away from you,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Yeah. But not like you couldn't come home for vacations and for the summer. And maybe you'd run into some of your old friends there.”

  I don't have any old friends to run into there.

  Just like I don't have any new friends now to run into at school every day in Sunset Beach.

  Same old, same old.

  “What do you think I should do?” I ask.

  “Not my decision to make,” he answers.

  “I know, but I'm asking for your advice,” I tell him. “If you were me, where would you go?”

  He thinks for a moment and takes a drink from the beer. He sets the bottle back on the table and looks at me. “I'd go where I'd be happy.”

  “What if I don't know where that is?” I ask.

  “Well, you never really know until you're there, right?” he says. “You didn't know you'd like it here, did you?”

  I'm not certain that I still do. “Sure.”

  “So you have to make an educated guess as to what will make you happy,” he says. “West coast or east coast? What do you want to study? What do you want the weather to be like?”

  I stare at my lap for a moment. “I don't want to leave the beach.”

  “So UVA is out,” he says, plucking the letter from the pile and dropping it on the floor. “Gone.”

  “Just like that?” I ask.

  “You have to start narrowing it down somehow, Pres,” he says. “You have to send in an acceptance somewhere or you won't have anywhere to go.” He goes quiet for a moment. “Do you not want to go to college?”

  I shake my head. “It's not that. I do. I just...I don't know. I just can't seem to figure it out.”

  He lays his hand over mine. “I know the last couple of months have been tough. You broke up with Trevor. You didn't have a great time at your mother's over Christmas. I know it's hard. But you need to trust yourself. If you want to go look at some place a second time, then let's go.” He smiles. “But you need to trust yourself to make the right decision.”

  Easier said than done.

  THREE

  As much as I miss Trevor, I think I miss my morning rides with Bridget even more.

  My dad bought me a car after Christmas. It's a blue Volkswagen Jetta and it's cute and it's fun and he even put a rack on the roof for my surfboard before he gave it to me.

  But it's lonely driving to school in the morning and getting coffee on my own.

  I pick up my coffee on the way to school and find a spot in the parking lot. I grab the iced coffee from the drink holder, my backpack from the backseat, and head inside. I see Bridget's car parked in her regular spot and wish I'd ridden with her.

  Bridget and I are friends. Maddie and Gina, too.

  But not like before.

  We have lunch once in awhile and we talk if we run into each other in the halls. But it's kind of awkward and we all know it and we don't know what to do about it. I wanted their apologies to be enough for me, but they weren't.

  And I don't know how to change that.

  I want to be close to them again, to feel like I belong to a group, but I can't force it. I tried and it didn't work. They hurt me. They didn't believe in me and I can't shake that.

  It is what it is, I guess.

  I push through the doors of Sunset Beach High School and turn the corner to get to my locker.

  And find a very unwelcome sight.

  Athena Atkins is standing there with Shanna Becker.

  Like someone left a couple of walking, talking STD's out in public.

  I ignore them and spin the lock on my locker.

  “I mean, do you ever get your hair done?” Athena asks. “Or do you just wake up and...walk out of the house?”

  I don't say anything.

  “I think that's rhetorical,” Shanna says. “Because I know the answer.”

  I pull the book out that I need for first period and close the locker.

  “So silent and serious,” Athena says.

  “Or she just has a massive stick up her ass,” Shanna says.

  “The fuck do you want?” I ask, more because I'm exhausted by them than because I care.

  “Want?” Athena asks, raising an eyebrow. “Nothing, really. Just wanted to make sure you were still miserable without Trevor.”

  Athena is his ex and she tried to win him back.

  She failed.

  “Weird how he and I break up, but you still can't get him back,” I say. “It's like he can't lower the bar enough to get back with you.”

  Her arrogant smile fades.

  “No idea what he ever saw in you,” Shanna says. “No. Idea.”

  “No idea what he ever saw in you,” I say. “Oh, wait. You tried and he wasn't interested. I think, if I remember right, he used you to make me jealous.” I smile. “Remember that?”

  Based on the fact that she looks like she wants to punch me, she does.

  “So I'm not sure what you two want, but I'm over it,” I tell them. “Go play in your Barbie Dreamhouse or whatever the fuck you two do.”

  I walk away.

  “Someone's going to ask him,” Athena says behind me.

  Against my better judgement, I slow.

  “To prom,” Shanna chimes in.

  My stomach clenches.

  “And you're going to have to watch him go with someone else,” Athena says. “How's that gonna taste, bitch?”

  I stop completely and turn back around.

  I walk back to them. I look at them. “As long as it's not either of you? I'm fine with that.” I force a smile on my lips. “Because I know it won't be either of you. Because you know he'll say no.” I spin around and walk away, then stop again.

  I turn around.

  “And because both of you two are too scared to ask him,” I say.

  They look at each other, then back to me, unsure how to respond.

  “Why would we be scared?” Shanna asks, frowning.

  I smile at both of them. “Because you know I'd kill either of you.” My smile grows. “Or both.”

  FOUR

  Bridget is standing by my car after school. She's scrolling through the phone in her hand until she glances up. Then she smiles and holds her hand up.

  “Hi,” she says when I get there.

  “Hey,” I say. “What's up?”

  “Do you have a minute?”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  She smiles and she looks nervous. “How are you?”

  “I'm fine,” I say. “Everything okay?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I just...I just wanted to know if you were going to Senior Weekend?”

  “I don't even know what that is,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “Oh, okay. Well, it's tradition. Every year, the senior class heads up to Santa Barbara the weekend before prom and camps on the beach. It's just basically a big party on the beach.” She smiles. “Not a whole lot different than weekends here, I guess, but with tents and in a different place.”

  “Gotcha,” I say. “I didn't even know about it.”

  “It's not a school sponsored thing,” she says. “It's just something that happens every year.”

  I nod. “Right. Well, I don't know if I'm going or not since I didn't know. I'll have to think about it.”

  “I want you to come,” she blurts out.

  I'm surprised she's asking so blatantly. We've both been careful with our words, as if neither one of us wants to say something offensive to the other. It's lots of small talk and I pretty much hate it.

  “You want me to come,” I repeat.

  “We all do,” she says. “Gina and Maddie, too. They wanted me to ask you. We all want you to come and we want you to share a tent with us and ju
st...I don't know. Hang out. Be us again.”

  I'm surprised. It's not what I'm expecting because we've sort of avoided doing exactly what she's suggesting. Hanging out. Being us again.

  “I don't know,” I say.

  She looks down.

  “No, no,” I say. “Not because...not because I don't want to. But I literally didn't know about it and I guess I need to ask my dad if he's cool if I go.”

  She looks at me as if she's trying to tell if I'm telling her the truth or not.

  “I'm not putting you off,” I tell her. “I swear. I didn't know about it and I can't just say yes without talking to him.”

  “Will you come if he says you can?” she asks.

  “What do we do?” I ask, more to buy time to figure out an answer than because I'm curious.

  Bridget shrugs. “We camp. We eat. We drink. We lay on the beach. You could surf. Sometimes there's games and stuff. It's just supposed to be a fun weekend hangout. Kind of a last hurrah before prom. We go up Friday night and come home Sunday night. Maddie's gonna drive.” She pauses. “But I guess you could drive yourself if you didn't want to ride with us.”

  “Bridge, come on,” I say. “It's not like that. We've hung out.”

  “Look, I don't know what it's like,” she says. “I'm not trying to put pressure on you, but I miss you. Gina and Maddie miss you. We seriously want you to come and of course we want you to ride with us, but if you're more comfortable or whatever driving your own car, that's cool. We just want you to be there. That's all.”

  I'm torn. Part of me wants to go, to have fun with them, and just forget all of the bullshit that's gone on. I miss my friends. I miss having fun with them.

  But part of me is still hesitant, afraid to make myself vulnerable to those relationships again. I know Bridget means well and I believe her. It has nothing to do with whether or not she's being sincere.

  It's just me.

  “Let me think about it,” I say. “Okay?”

  She forces a smile and I can tell she's disappointed. “Okay. I really hope you come, Presley.”