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

by McKayla Box

  The smile makes me nervous.

  “Unless,” he says.

  I don't say anything until I can't stand the silence. “Unless what?”

  “Unless he'd been in another fight,” Derek says. “Like, maybe it's a habit for him. Maybe he's just running around, beating the crap out of guys for fun. I wonder if he'd have a harder time staying out of jail if he had a history of assault? If someone else pressed charges against him?” He raises his eyebrows. “I'm guessing everything might look a whole lot different then.”

  “What exactly are you getting at?” I ask.

  “Remember when I got kicked off the football team?” he asks. “Of course you do. And remember when you were still threatening me? To maybe go to the police and fuck up my life even more?” He pauses. “I'm going to recommend against that unless you want your fucking boy toy running up against another assault charge.”

  My stomach knots.

  “I never threw a punch that night,” Derek says. “Not one. It was all him. I couldn't even defend myself. And we both know people have that shit on film because everyone was there. I have no doubt someone has that all on film. Trevor just wailing away on me. When I never touched him.” He smiles at me. “How do you think the police will react to that?”

  I don't say anything.

  “Let me tell you how they'll react,” he says. “They won't like it. Not one bit. Sure, you can still tell everyone what happened that night. I can't stop you and I'm sure that'll fuck things up even more for me.” He pauses. “But I'll absolutely tell them what Trev did to me and I will tell them I want to press every fucking charge they can find against him.” He smiles. “And that really might make it a little harder for him to just grab some probation for the Santa Barbara thing. Don't ya think?”

  I look down at the ground.

  I want to punch him in the face.

  I want to kick him in the balls.

  I want to tear his hair off.

  Because I know he's right.

  And now I'm fucked.

  “So, maybe give that some thought before you ever threaten me again,” he says. “Just think about that. You wanna hang that over my head? You go right ahead.” He smiles. “Just remember I've got this in my pocket.”

  I stand there, staring at the ground, as he walks away.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  I drive home, my hands shaking the whole way.

  In a matter of ten minutes, Derek Morgan has managed to undermine everything I've made up my mind to do. So, now, not only do I have to worry about screwing up my father's new relationship, but I would literally be putting Trevor in danger of going to jail and screwing up his record.

  Forever.

  I pull into the driveway, lay my head on the steering wheel, and fight off the nausea that's taken hold of my stomach.

  Lunch with the girls convinced me that I had the strength to tell my father and everyone the truth.

  In one conversation, Derek Morgan has convinced me that I can't do shit.

  I get out of the car, grab my bag from the bag, and slam the car doors shut. I'm angry and I want to break things. I want to punch things. I need to let it all out.

  I go inside, change out of my clothes and into my bathing suit, and head to the garage. I grab my board, strap it to the roof of the car, pulling hard on the straps, and drive to the beach.

  I don't even look at the water because I don't care what the waves are like. I just need to get out there. The water is my drug and I need it or I'm going to lose my mind.

  I pull on my wetsuit and stomp down the sand. I drop the board in the water, strap the leash to my ankle, and throw myself on the board. I paddle hard, not even bothering to dive under the incoming waves. The water stings my eyes, but I just keep paddling.

  I find my place in the lineup and ignore the waves of the couple of familiar faces already out there.

  I just want to surf.

  When it's my turn, I just point my nose toward the shore and start paddling slowly. I feel the water rising behind me and I slash at the water with my arms. I bounce to my feet and ride down the face of the wave.

  And I surf my ass off.

  Every move, every turn, every attempt at cutting back is done with anger. As soon as a wave ends, I drop and paddle back out, waiting for the next one.

  And repeat.

  Halfway through the session, I realize I'm crying.

  But I don't care.

  I just keep going, trying to ride the anger out of me.

  Finally, my arms and legs are too heavy to do anymore and I let the water push me in. I don't slide off the board until it grounds itself in the sand. I unstrap the velcro from my ankle and push the board into the shore.

  I sit there for awhile. The water's only a few inches deep, but I lean back on my hands, watching the ocean rise and fall. My feet are numb from the cold, but I don't care. My arms and legs ache, but I don't care. My lungs burn, but I don't care. My eyes feel puffy and swollen, but I don't care.

  It all feels unfair.

  All of it.

  And I don't know what to do.

  Damned if I do and damned if I don't.

  And no one can tell me what to do because no one else is in my shoes.

  It's my choice, my decision.

  And I feel so fucking alone.

  “There you are,” a voice says from behind me.

  I know that voice.

  Normally, it makes nearly everything better.

  But now it just hurts for some reason.

  I turn around.

  Trevor is standing on the hard-packed sand, smiling at me. “You shoulda called me. I'd have come out with you.”

  I push myself out of the water. “Sorry. Last minute decision.”

  He takes a long look at me. “What's wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  “Were you crying?” he says. “Your eyes look all messed up. What's wrong?”

  “Oh,” I say, looking down and wiping hard at my eyes. “No. I just took a face full of water right before I came in. Stings like crazy.” I look up at him and force a smile onto my face. “I'm okay.”

  He watches me for a few seconds. “Oh. Okay.”

  I wipe at my eyes again. “What's up?”

  He wrinkles his nose for second. “Can you come look at this? I can't figure out what it is.”

  “Look at what?” I ask.

  “Just come look,” he says. “It's down here by the pier.”

  I pick up my board and tuck it under my arm. “Uh. Okay, I guess?”

  “Just come on,” he says, gesturing toward the pier.

  We walk along the edge of the water. The sun is halfway down to the water, casting long shadows across the surface. It's one of my favorite times of each day.

  But I'm not feeling it right now.

  I scan the pier as we get closer. “I don't see anything.”

  “It's right up here,” he says, pointing straight in front of us.

  “All I see is...the pier.”

  “It's on the ground,” he says. “Man, you're impatient.”

  “Well, you're being weird.”

  He smirks and shakes his head. “You'll see it.”

  I keep walking and I'm maybe a hundred feet from the pier.

  Then seventy five.

  I still don't see anything.

  Then fifty.

  Then twenty.

  “Look down,” he says.

  I turn around because he's stopped walking and he's just standing there, with his hands on his hips.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, totally confused.

  “Just keep walking and look down,” he says, laughing. “I didn't think this would be so fucking hard.”

  I turn back around and take a few steps forward, looking down at the sand. It's ragged and doesn't look like it's been groomed in awhile. There are rocks everywhere.

  And then I realize what I'm looking out.

  The rocks have been laid out with a purpose.
>
  He's used them to spell out “PROM?”

  I drop my board and laugh.

  “I'm not really into the whole big promposal production shit,” he says, coming up behind me. “But I thought I should do something.”

  I smile and it feels like the first time all afternoon. “You didn't have to do this.”

  “I know,” he says. “I wanted to. It's kind of funny to me, but whatever. And I know. You've already agreed to go with your girl gang and that's totally cool.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask.

  “I asked around,” he says.

  “You asked around?”

  He laughs. “I asked Bridget what you were doing. I didn't know if someone else had asked you and knowing you, if they had, there's no way you'd tell them no because you'd never go back on your word.”

  “I'm not sure how to take that,” I tell him.

  “It's a compliment,” he says. “I think.”

  I laugh again.

  “Anyway, she told me you guys agreed to go together,” he says. “So I'm not trying to break that shit up or anything.” He pauses. “But I've never gone and I figure if I'm gonna go, I wanna go with you. Even if that means just meeting up with you there.” He runs a hand through his hair. “And now I just sound like some dorky asshole.”

  I grab him and pull him into me. I kiss him. “You are not a dorky asshole. It's incredibly sweet. Thank you.”

  “Welcome,” he says. “And incredibly sweet feels like code for dorky asshole.”

  “It's not,” I say, hugging him. “I swear.”

  “Sure.”

  “We can go together,” I tell him. “I'll tell the girls. They'll understand.”

  “No,” he says. “That's not what I did it and I don't want you bail on them. Bailing on them is very un-Presley.”

  “They'll get it,” I tell him. “I promise.”

  “I believe you,” he says. “But I don't want to be the guy who makes you do that.”

  “You aren't making me do anything.”

  He laughs. “Trust me. I fucking know I can't make you do anything. But I don't wanna do that. We can meet up there and it'll be cool. I just wanted you to know that I wanted to go with you.”

  I wrap my arms around him tighter. “I love you, Trevor.”

  “I love you, too,” he says. “And maybe don't lie to me then.”

  I pull back and look at him. “Lie to you?”

  He nods toward the water. “That bullshit about getting water in your eyes. You were crying before I got here. Why?”

  I look down at the sand for a moment, trying to come up with a response.

  “What's going on?” he asks. “Just tell me.”

  I look at him. “I just needed a good cry. That's all. I'm stressed about school and college and you getting arrested and all that shit. Just got to me and I knew I could cry while I was surfing and it wouldn't be super obvious.” I pause. “Or that's what I thought.”

  “Don't be stressed over what happened,” he says. “It'll be fine.”

  The knot takes up residence in my stomach again.

  “And you'll figure out school for next year,” he says. “I know you. You'll figure it out and make the right decision.” He smiles. “You're good at decisions.”

  I take both of his hands in mine. I hate lying to him. I hate it. I hate that I'm not telling him what's really on my mind.

  Because I still don't know what I'm going to do.

  And the fact that he thinks I'm good at decision making is making it harder.

  Because I know what the right thing to do is.

  I'm just not sure I can do it.

  I look at him. “I hope so.”

  TWENTY EIGHT

  I drive home, dump my board and wetsuit in the garage, and head for the shower. I stand under the water, washing the beach off of me and thinking about...everything.

  I wish Derek had come to me a week earlier, before I'd made up my mind to go to the police.

  I wish Trevor and I had been anywhere but at the bonfire when those assholes showed up.

  I wish I hadn't been so dumb way back when to think Derek might be a good guy.

  I wish I hadn't been so dumb to think Shanna was actually going to be my friend.

  And I wish I'd known how awful Athena really was.

  Good decision maker?

  Fucking hardly.

  I shut the water off, wrap up in a towel, and find a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I grab my brush and yank it through my hair, spraying water everywhere. It feels like I'm hate-brushing, like I'm mad at my hair.

  I'm just mad at everything else.

  “Presley?” my dad calls out. “You home?”

  I glance at my phone. He's home super early. “Yeah, I'm in my room.”

  “Get out here. Now.”

  His tone surprises me. It's sharp and angry and I'm not used to hearing that in his words. I drop my brush on the bed and walk out to the living room.

  He's standing there, his tie loose at his neck, his hands on his hips, looking at me.

  “What's wrong?” I ask. “Are you alright?”

  “I am not alright,” he says. “You wanna tell me what actually went on this weekend?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “This weekend,” he says. “In Santa Barbara. You wanna explain what really happened?”

  “That I went camping with my friends on the beach?” I tell him. “That I surfed?”

  “That your boyfriend and his friends got arrested?” he says.

  My stomach drops.

  He shakes his head. “Frank and I were finishing up a meeting and talking. He said he had to leave early to pick up Trevor and go talk to another one of his lawyers. I asked why. Frank tells me he got in a little bit of trouble this weekend. I ask what kind of trouble and he tells me that Trevor and two of his friends were arrested for aggravated assault.” He stares at me. “I guess you just forgot to tell me that part about your weekend?”

  I sit down on the couch. “I didn't forget.”

  “No shit,” he says.

  His swearing shocks me. He almost never swears and when he does, it's because he's super angry.

  So I know where he's at.

  He sits down on the edge of the chair across from. “What happened?”

  I take a deep breath. “I'm sorry I didn't--”

  “What happened?” he snaps.

  I take another deep breath. “He got into a fight. And it was my fault.”

  “Your fault? How exactly? Were you arrested, too?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Good to know.”

  Sarcasm hangs on every word coming out of his mouth.

  I look down at my lap. “I didn't get arrested, no. I don't mean it was my fault like that. It started on Friday night.”

  He leans back in the chair and folds his arms across his chest, glaring at me.

  “These guys were hassling us,” I explain. “Me, Bridget, Gina, and Maddie. They were just being jerks and giving us a hard time. They pushed us in the water.”

  “Pushed you in the water?”

  “Actually, they dropped us in the water,” I say. “We told them to get lost and started walking away. They came up behind us, picked us up, and dropped us in the water.”

  He sighs and rubs his chin.

  “And I got pissed,” I say. “I went after the guy that picked me up. I shoved him from behind and he fell into the sand. I think he broke his nose then. I jumped on him and just...sort of lost my mind. I pulled his hair and just...I don't know. Beat him up.”

  “Jesus,” he mutters. “Okay. So, what? Trevor then got into it with him?”

  “Not exactly,” I explain. “That was Friday night. Trevor didn't come up until Saturday. We were sitting around a fire on the beach. Trevor didn't start anything. They found us. They came to the fire and were just being jackasses. The one guy that I beat up was just saying all this stupid stuff about me and Trevor got pissed. I told him no
t to do anything and, at first, he didn't. But the guy wouldn't stop and he was...pretty awful. Trevor finally snapped and went after him. Brett and Jake jumped into it with the three other guys.”

  My dad shakes his head, but doesn't say anything.

  “The police came and arrested all of them,” I continue. “I don't know what happened to the other guys. Trevor, Brett, and Jake were in jail for a couple of hours. We waited for them. Then they were released and he told me what they were being charged with.” I look at him. “That's what happened and I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I should have and I know that.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “You should have. Presley, you know better than to keep things like that from me. I try to stay out of your business, but this is a big deal. You should've told me.”

  “I know,” I say. “I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry.”

  He's crossed his legs and his foot is bouncing. It's how I know he's agitated. He's done that ever since I was a little kid.

  “Was he hurt?” he asks.

  “Trevor? No, not really.”

  “His friends?”

  “Some cuts and stuff, but they were fine.”

  He eyes me. “What about the other boys?”

  I take a deep breath, exhale. “They were...pretty messed up.”

  He rubs at his temples like he has a headache.

  “I mean, they all walked away with the police,” I tell him. “No one was carted off in an ambulance.”

  “Gee. That's great to hear.” He looks at me. “Aggravated assault is a big deal. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes,” I say. “But I talked to a lawyer and he said that as long as Trevor didn't have a record, he should be okay.”

  My dad stares at me for a moment. “I'm sorry. You talked to a lawyer?”

  “It's not what you think,” I explain. “It was these guys I met surfing. One was an older guy and he was a lawyer. I saw him in the morning after it happened. He'd heard something happened and I told him what it was. He told me that Trevor should be...okay.”

  He sighs again and rubs at his temples. “Good to know that you'll talk to a stranger about what happened but not with me.”