“You not. I luab you. Fuck, I cried. Like a boy. Over you. I neva said I luab you to anybady.”
I bite my lip. If he had said this when he was sober, I would melt into a big puddle. Right now, I’m not feeling this conversation. In fact, I’m not sure if anything he’s saying is really the truth or just a bunch of lies. “Okay. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t ignoring you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow when you’re sober. If you answer the phone.”
“Fine.”
I don’t know if he thought he hung up, because I hear something hit a surface of some sort. Then I hear deep snoring. I mean loud and throaty, so I whisper, “Bryce?”
He doesn’t answer, so I click the big, red end button and lie back against my pillow. I’m worried about him. Is his cousin watching over him and making sure if he pukes he won’t choke on it? I stare at my phone, and then I get out of my bed.
I pace the room. Sarah’s blond hair peeks from the covers as she shifts in bed and groans, turning onto her side. “Graham, please,” she whimpers.
Before, that would have bothered me. Now, though, I don’t care. Weird. I glance out the window and stare out at the darkness. There is a soft glow coming from Bryce’s room. I miss him. I lower my stare to the driveway and see it’s vacant of the one car I long to see.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Madison
One more week of school, and then it’s winter break. Emily and I have been hitting up stores on the weekends, so all my Christmas shopping is basically finished. Yay!
I make a quick trip to my locker between third and fourth to grab something. I stop at my locker and almost die at the sight before me. Sarah and Bryce are in deep conversation at a locker across the way from mine. She touches his biceps, and I see red. He hasn’t talked to me since our last phone conversation almost two weeks ago.
I shouldn’t care. He’s trouble. She’s a bitch. I should be happy if they get together. She’ll think she’s doing it to make me miserable, but honestly, she’d be doing me a favor. I tear my gaze away from them long enough to get the papers I need.
Slamming the door shut, I glance back at them. Sarah is pressing her mouth against his. My folder slips from my grip, and all the papers in it spill onto the floor. I kneel down and start scooping up the pages as fast as possible. Anger swells in my gut while my head spins.
I lied. She wouldn’t be doing me a favor. This is killing me. My eyes water, and I can’t really see through the blurred tears whether I got all the papers or not. I don’t care, though. I just take what I do have and run down the hall to class.
Mrs. Vixen calls me over to her desk and asks, “Are you okay?”
“No. Can I … May I go to the office and call my mom?”
“Sure, honey. Let me write you a pass.”
As soon as she writes the pass, I hand in my papers, gather my things, and flee from the room. I’m not even two steps into the hall before I ram right into someone and fall backwards. My ass slams into the hard floor, and a hand drops down to me.
“Hey. Where are you going?” Bryce asks in the most causal tone ever. Like he’s so innocent and perfect. Like he wasn’t just making out with my test-tube sister a few seconds ago.
I slap his hand away, stand up, and then slap him as hard as I possibly can. “Don’t talk to me ever again!” I scream as my palm makes contact with the side of his face.
“Madison?” He rubs his cheek while he tries to stop me from moving around him.
“Let me leave!”
He walks after me. “You need to tell me what the hell is going on!”
“I don’t have to tell you anything. I’m not playing this stupid game with you!” I storm ahead of him. At least I think I am ahead of him. He’s actually matching me stride for stride.
“Will you stop for one second? Please.”
“No.”
He catches my wrist and whips me toward him. I almost lose my balance, but he grips my waist and rights me. “Listen to me.”
“Let me go,” I growl.
“No. I know you’re mad at me. I know I’m an idiot.” He’s right so far. “And I know I shouldn’t have gotten out of my car and threatened to kick Darren’s ass when I saw him outside my cousin’s place. But the fact is I did do it. I can’t take that back, but I’m begging you to at least give me another chance.”
If he had just did that, and not made out with Sarah a few minutes ago, I would have said yes. But since this isn’t the case, I sound out the syllable slowly, “No.”
“Why?”
“I saw you with Sarah. You’re a jerk! I can’t be with you ever again.”
He shakes his head while his eyes widen. “No! You have this all wrong. She attacked me in the hall. She caught me off guard, kissed me, and then I pushed her away. You apparently weren’t watching closely enough.”
“Really? She attacked you? Because I saw you two talking. Then kissing.”
“She kissed me. I shoved her away and asked her what the hell she was doing. She told me she was trying to make you mad. I told her to leave you alone. She laughed and tried to kiss me again.”
I narrow my eyes and shove him away. God, I want to believe him. I do. But I can’t. I know what I saw. But it is Sarah, and she’s been doing everything in her power to make me miserable. What if what he’s saying is true? I obviously can’t ask her, because she’ll just lie either way.
He looks defeated and doesn’t block my path anymore. Screw them both. This is too much drama for me, and you know what? I’m out. Deuces, bro. Never again. I make my way to the office and call my mom.
“Honey, are you okay?”
“I think I’m coming down with something,” I say weakly.
“Okay. Put Mrs. Butterfield back on the phone.”
I hand the phone over to the main office lady, Mrs. Butterfield. Her name kind of fits her. Not that she’s fat or anything, but she looks like a grandma and smells like a peanut-butter cookies. Seriously, how can anyone not love that scent?
Her red-painted lips curl upward, and she says, “Madison, I hope you feel better soon. Are you able to make it home safely?”
“Yeah, I can drive. Thanks.”
“Okay, dear. I’ll let the staff know you’ve left for the day. Get some rest and eat some soup.”
I nod. Although I’m pretty sure soup can’t cure a broken heart.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Bryce
She doesn’t answer the phone when I call. She doesn’t answer my texts. I’m not losing her. She might be done, but I’m not.
I sit in front of my laptop, trying to think of ways to get Madison back while I Google it. Yes, I said that. I’m freaking Googling how to get a girl to forgive you. And seriously, I’m not the only idiot who ever Googled this before, so ha. I scan the information, and some of it looks like crap. Seriously, this advice is really crap.
Annoyed, I decide to do something else. I’m about to place an order for roses to be delivered to her house when my dad comes into my room. I spin in my chair and ask, “Yeah?”
“Son, I think we need to talk. It’s about your mother and me.”
“You’re leaving her for your secretary?”
I haven’t really seen him for months. Glimpses of him here and there, but not long enough to study him, and damn, he looks old and tired. Bags under his eyes. More grays in his hair than I can count. He doesn’t look surprised or upset that I blurt out my response. Normally, I’d watch my manners. I’d address him as “sir.” But why should we kid each other now? He hasn’t stuck around, and whenever he did, he’d tell me I was worthless and going to end up being nothing because of all the trouble I got into.
“Well, yes. I want you to know this isn’t your fault.”
I snort. “I know it’s not my fault. I’m not married and screwing a girl fourteen years younger than me.”
“That’s enough!” My dad rubs his hand down his face. “Your mother tells me you’ve been hanging out with Madison Issac. Hopefully
she’s been a good influence on you.”
I lean back in my chair. “Been the best. Especially right here.” I pat my lap and grin.
My dad shakes his head. “I don’t know why I bother.”
“I don’t either.” I whip my chair back around and hit send on my order. Using his reflection in the screen, I watch him leave. I slide over to the far side of my room and grab a notebook from my stack. My mom—I love her to death, but she goes overboard on school supplies. If the list says three, she buys ten. Why? She says you can never be too prepared.
I slide back to my desk and start writing. Well, I write, and then I tear out the page and crumple it up. Then I start over again. I continue this process until I get the right words and phrases. I haven’t done this since first grade when she shot me down cold. But I’m older. Wiser. I’m even hotter. Yeah, I said it. So maybe this one will be my saving grace.
I don’t come out of my room until I have completed the best and sappiest love letter ever written by a man. Dear God, if this doesn’t work, I hope you drop a crater on my head. Immediately would be awesome.
Emerging from my room, I go downstairs to the kitchen. My mom sits at the island, drinking a glass of wine. Excuse me—it actually looks like she’s finishing off a bottle by herself. “Mom?”
“Hmm.”
“Did you eat anything?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not hungry, honey. There are leftovers in the fridge. Did your father talk to you?”
Um, about those leftovers … I ate those last night. But I’m not going to tell her this. I’ll get a pizza in a little bit. “Yeah, he did.”
“What an asshole! I mean, I’ve known for months. But that prick just kept saying it was my imagination. The nerve of him.” She dumps more wine into her glass and then stares at the bottle. “Bryce, please get another bottle down for me. This one seems to be empty.”
I don’t point out it’s because she drank it. I do, however, grab her another bottle. If she wants to get drunk, hey, go for it.
She takes a sip from her glass and swallows. “Don’t become a liar, Bryce. That’s one thing I can honestly say you aren’t. You make bad choices, but you aren’t a liar.”
“Thanks.”
“I like Madison. I haven’t seen her around much. Are you two okay?”
“We’re fine, Mom,” I lie. “I’m just about to head out to go see her.” I’m hoping to get a glimpse of her as I get into my car. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll speak to me.
“Have fun. Be back at eleven.” Now I know my mom is hammered because it’s a school night and she usually wants me in at nine thirty every night.
Madison isn’t outside. She doesn’t appear to be in her room as I lurk in the driveway and stare at her window. I’m officially creepy. I need to quit.
I get into my car and head down the road. My stomach growls and seems to get louder as I pass by a food place. Long John Silver’s. I love the place, but today I’m not feeling my usual. So I keep driving, and my stomach keeps grumbling.
“I know. Jeez, man.” What the hell? I just talked to my own stomach like it was a little kid.
I pull into Zaxby’s. I walk in and place my order and then go have a seat. As I’m waiting, Emily walks in, Madison following. Madison’s eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Emily keeps talking to her, and Madison simply nods.
Emily would know what to do. She’s Mads’s best friend; she’d definitely know how to win Madison back. This is, of course, if my flowers and love letter fail miserably. The flowers are due to arrive at school on the last day before break. And the love letter is currently burning a hole in the back pocket of my jeans.
Emily looks about the joint, and I duck down before she sees me.
“Order 82.”
Son of a bitch. That’s me.
The guy calls out again, raising his squeaky voice another notch. “Order 82!”
I look up. Emily and Madison are ordering at the front, so I hurry up, grab my food, and head outside. I’ve gotta get Madison back because there is no way I’m going to keep dodging places just to avoid her glare.
Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice me in my car. I’m not stalking the joint like a perv. I just didn’t want to drive and eat at the same time. Also, I don’t want to go home in case my mom is still eyeing the front door like a vulture.
“I hate him, Em. And then … I love him. I’m pathetic,” I hear Madison say. “Why can’t I just forget about him?”
“Because he was your first boyfriend, Maddy. Of course you aren’t going to forget him”—she snaps her fingers—“like that. And he lives next door. You know, next time, you should probably pick someone that resides outside of your neighborhood. Did you know …” I can’t hear the rest because she’s inside Madison’s car.
It doesn’t stop me from watching them from my rearview mirror. Madison tips back her head and then wipes her hand under her eyes. Damn it. Again and again, I make this girl cry. She dumped me, though. She told me we were through, not the other way around. I want her so freaking much, if she’d just take my call or talk to me she’d see that.
I drive home. My food looks unappealing, I force down a few fries and give up. Driving through my neighborhood, I stop at the park.
I toss my food in the trash and head toward the merry-go-round. I sit down on the cold metal surface. With one foot hanging off the side, I push, sending myself into a slow spiral. The night sky is filled with stars, and while the angles of the sky change with each spin, I wish I had a cigarette. Not really for the taste or something to do but for the release. That’s why I started smoking; it helped me not snap at my worst moments. Right now, I’m almost there. I need control over my life again, and at this point, it seems I’ve got none. My cousin has a stalker I can’t do anything about. The girl I want isn’t speaking to me because her … I don’t know what to call her … but whatever, she kissed me. She kissed me, and I’ve never ever hit a girl, but she was damn close to being the first. Then there’s my mom and dad and all their dumb shit. I can’t. Everything is turning into a shitstorm, and I can’t seem to find the exit. And, being on probation, I’m damn lucky I’m not going to be in a fuckload of trouble for my Michigan trip. My assigned case officer said I was lucky the guy did it to himself, otherwise I would be in jail right now.
The merry-go-round moves slower, as if it’s about to come to a stop. I push off again. My butt is feeling a little numb from the frigid surface, but I don’t care. The cold helps me think in a way. Maybe I should hold off on the letter. It’s too late to cancel the flowers. That’s okay.
I launch myself off the merry-go-round and head back to the house.
Chapter Forty
Madison
Today is the final day of school before we have almost three weeks off for winter break. People here are acting nuts, even the teachers are not in a teaching mood. Each class so far has been, “Today is a free day. You can watch …” I’ve seen some of Christmas Vacation, Jingle All The Way, A Christmas Story, How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the Jim Carrey version), and Christmas with the Kranks. Like I said, it’s been a really lazy day. It’s going on sixth period, and I just want to cut out early.
I slump into my assigned seat and avoid looking at Bryce, which I’ve been doing for every class we share. Good thing is he hasn’t tried to talk to me. It makes ignoring him that much easier.
Graham is speaking to me again. Weird, right? It’s like the deranged cycle of my life: lose a friend—gain a frenemy, gain a friend—lose them, lose—gain, gain—lose. I lay my head down on my desk, indicating I’m not in the mood to talk, but Graham shakes me.
“Hey. Someone’s calling your name.”
I look up and see a cute guy in a brown button-down with “Flander’s Florist” stamped on the pocket carrying a huge bouquet of roses. Most of the class is making kissing noises or ooh and aw sounds. My face feels like it’s on fire as the cute delivery boy says, “Are you Madison Issac?”
I swallow. �
�Yes.”
“These are for you. Happy holidays.” He places the enormous vase of roses on my desk, and I just stare at them. They’re not one color. In fact, there’s one of each: yellow, red, green, pink, pink and yellow, white, purple, blue, the list goes on.
I glare at Bryce. “Did you send this?”
He doesn’t answer.
This only makes me madder. Why won’t he just answer me?
“There’s a card,” Graham says as he points to the top near his side.
I turn the bouquet, and right as I reach for the card, Bryce snatches it from the clip.
“Give it back!”
“No,” he snaps. “I want to see who you’ve been giving your attention to since it sure as hell isn’t me.”
What? He didn’t send this? Who did then? I chew on my thumbnail and stare at the multicolored roses. I should toss them in the trash, but they’re pretty and I’ve never gotten roses before. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I’m touched that someone got them for me. But I’m also creeped out. They seem to be from someone I don’t know. At least I don’t think I know them, because Bryce still has my card. I motion for it back. “Give it.”
“Dude, just give her the damn card,” Graham snaps.
Bryce smirks. “Here.” He hands it over but doesn’t say a word.
I read it and frown. The card is sweet, but the sender signed it, “You own my heart.”
I turn back to Bryce. “You seriously didn’t send this?”
“I told you I didn’t.”
Why would someone sign the card like this? Apparently the one person’s heart I’d like to own didn’t send this to me.
The rest of the day, I carry around my vase of roses. Thank goodness I only have two more classes. Because if one more person asks me who sent the flowers, I might scream. Especially when I hand over the card, and they ask, “Well, who do you think sent them?” Yeah, as if I have a clue.
Bryce (Scandalous Boys #1) Page 18