King of Denial : An Academy Bully Romance (Boys of Almadale Book 3)

by Jacie Lennon

  I nod, furrowing my brow at his question. I don’t think he’s ever asked about my comfort to and from school. I glance toward the men again, and this time, the older man is staring. He’s around my parents’ age, and I’m assuming it’s the boy’s father. They both give me the creeps.

  “Beatrice, this is a family friend of ours, Seth Hastings Sr., and his son, Seth.”

  I have never understood why some men want their sons to have their exact name. Wouldn’t it get confusing?

  “Hi,” I say, my voice coming out squeakier than I intended it to. I’m still very confused and tired. I want to go lie in bed with a book and some hot tea and wait for a week to pass.

  “Your mother and I wanted you two to meet. Our families will be working very closely together, and you and Seth will be even closer.”

  My eyes snap to Seth. He’s lounging in the chair, legs spread and one elbow on the armrest. He’s propping his head up with his hand as he lazily grins at me. It’s not a cocky grin or even a nice one. It’s slimy.

  “Close, sir?” I ask Dad, hoping he doesn’t actually mean that I’ll have to spend time with this cretin.

  I feel like he is looking at me like I’m naked. His eyes are kind of glazed over while he’s staring.

  “Yes, close. This is a delicate matter, and I expect you to have the utmost discretion.”

  Delicate? Discretion?

  The words he said are registering, but the meaning behind them evades me.

  Why is he being so weird and cryptic? I wish I could go back to where he avoids me. My sister’s words come back to me, causing me to stiffen.

  “There will be great expectations for you, B. But know you have a choice. No matter what is asked, you always have a choice.”

  Her number bounces around inside my head after that—555-4634. I won’t forget.

  “Yes, sir,” I say when it becomes apparent that Dad is waiting for a response.

  He leans forward, smiling at Seth Sr. before shuffling some papers around on his desk.

  “The Hastings and I have come to an agreement, one that will benefit both of our families, but we need your cooperation, Beatrice. Do you think you can do that? You will be an asset to the Northcutt name.”

  He smiles at me, and my eyes widen. I try to think back to the last time I saw my dad smile for real, and I can’t. Not even this smile is real. His eyes are still cold and calculated. He’s putting on a show for company.

  “What agreement?” I wrinkle my nose in confusion.

  “Don’t do that, dear,” Mom says, smiling at me.

  I glance at her, narrowing my eyes.

  Don’t do what? Look confused?

  “You and Seth will be the ones to bring our houses together. You will help us, and Seth will help his family. In the end, everyone will be better for it.”

  I hear what my dad is saying, but I’m not comprehending the meaning.

  “Bring our houses together?” I’m a parrot, regurgitating what is being said.

  “As of today, you will be in a binding relationship. You will break off whatever you have going on with the Montgomery boy, and you will be Seth’s girlfriend. When you turn eighteen, we will announce your engagement and quick marriage soon after.”

  Relationship. Break. Girlfriend. Engagement. Marriage.

  Marriage.

  “What are you talking about? I’m fifteen. I can’t get married.”

  “You aren’t getting married right now,” Dad says with a chuckle and a hand wave, as if he’s swatting away his daughter’s idiocy. “You’ll be eighteen. But you will be faithful to the Hastings name now.”

  “What is this for? Why are you doing this?” I can hear the hysteria in my voice. My hands grip the side of my dad’s desk, the only thing keeping me standing right now.

  My mom moves from behind my dad to my side, placing a hand around my waist as she bends to whisper in my ear, “Get yourself together, Beatrice.” She smiles to the right at Mr. Hastings and Seth.

  Her face says everything is okay, but it’s not. My whole world is falling apart.

  I reach and pinch my wrist with one hand, the pain shooting up my arm, but I don’t wake up. This isn’t a dream. I look at Seth, who is leering at me. His eyes aren’t even on my face, but my chest still.

  What a pig.

  “No,” I whisper, and Dad’s disapproving face turns my way. “I won’t do it.”

  “You will do it.”

  “You can’t make me,” I say, the words coming out normal, but it feels like a scream inside my head. My heart is racing, and my hand is clammy, where it still grips the desk. I pull it back and run it down the leg of my pants, wiping it off.

  “Beatrice,” Dad says, standing abruptly, “can I talk to you outside?”

  He grips my arm, propelling me out of his study, and stops me once the door is closed behind us. He spins me, my back pressed against the wall. I’m a rag doll in his grip, and I feel the whiplash of my neck as my head flies to the side.

  “Listen to me,” he says, spittle hitting my cheek as he brings his head down close to mine. He wants to drive this point home. “You will go back in that room, smile, and sign the damn papers. You will be an asset to the Northcutt name, and you will not disrespect me in front of company ever again. Do you understand?”

  I nod, eyes downcast. His hand is hurting my arm, and I wish he would let me go.

  “Maybe this will help you do what you’re told. If you do not sign those papers, act like you are in love with the Hastings boy, and keep your mouth shut, the Montgomery boy will suffer. His life is in your hands, Beatrice. So, I would choose carefully. I have friends who don’t mind getting their hands dirty, and it will be nothing to take care of this little problem.”

  My eyes shoot to his, and I see nothing but anger. He’s furious. His pupils are dilated, and I can see my reflection in them. I can see how wide my eyes are after hearing that he will hurt or even kill Bodhi if I don’t cooperate.

  Who is this man? He’s not my father. He’s desperate and unhinged. I’ve never felt so cold in my entire life.

  “Why are you doing this?” I whisper.

  If it’s possible, his eyes grow darker.

  “Because in there sits everything, and out here is nothing. You are our last hope, Beatrice, and you will obey.”

  I nod.

  “Answer me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He releases my arm, and I instantly cover the spot with my other hand. It tingles where the blood is rushing back. Bile rises in my throat, and fear coats my entire body in a cold sweat. Dad reaches to open the door, and he stands back for me to enter. I walk slowly, standing beside my mother, who seems foreign to me as well. I don’t know these people. I don’t understand them, but the one thing I do understand is, this isn’t a game, and I’d better choose my moves carefully.

  “Very nice to meet you, Seth,” I say as I turn, sticking my injured arm out to shake his hand.

  He stands, grabbing my hand and pulling me to him. His other hand reaches up to hold my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head to his, and then he lowers his mouth, pressing a kiss to mine. His lips are cold, like his eyes are when he pulls back to smile at me.

  “The pleasure is mine,” he says.

  11

  Bodhi

  After Freshman Year—Summer

  “She fucking ghosted me, dude.” I throw my phone down on my pool lounger and sit, placing my head in my hands. “I’ve sent at least fifty text messages and left her one hundred voice mails.”

  “One hundred?” Brock opens one eye to glance at me.

  He looks skeptical, so I open my phone to show him.

  “Okay, maybe more like fifteen. But it feels like a hundred. I can’t leave any more until she clears out her voice mail box.”

  “Which she won’t because you are fucking insane. Obviously, she doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

  “It’s been a week. I was supposed to pick her up today to sta
y here.”

  “She probably found a new guy,” Brock says, grinning at me.

  I scowl. “Not funny.”

  “It’s a little funny. Come on. It’s summer. We should be having fun, not moping around the back deck about our little relationship that ended.”

  “It wasn’t little, and it’s not over.”

  “I’d say it’s over if she hasn’t talked to you in a week.”

  “What if she’s sick?”

  “She’s not sick.”

  “She could be sick.”

  “Bodhi, fuck. Just accept that you two are over. O-ver.”

  “I don’t, and we aren’t.” I stand abruptly, grabbing my phone and trying her number again. It rings four times before telling me her mailbox is full and I can’t leave a message. “Damn it. I’m going.”

  Brock stares at me. “Going where?”

  “Yeah, where are you going?” Corbin asks, stepping through the large glass doors from the kitchen onto the pool deck.

  “Look who is alive,” I say as I turn, glaring at him for no reason.

  “Whoa,” he says, throwing his hands up. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

  “No one fucking pissed in anything. I’m going to get Trix to talk to me.”

  “Still no answer?” Corbin asks, shoving Brock’s feet to the side and sitting on the end of his chair.

  “No, and it’s driving me crazy. If she wanted to end it, why not tell me?”

  “Thought you said it wasn’t over,” Brock says, pulling his phone from his pocket and scrolling.

  “Shut up,” I say, unable to come up with anything better to volley back. I’m out of answers. I don’t know why she is doing this, but I’m going to find out.

  “I’m down for this little adventure,” Brock says, pocketing his phone and sitting up. “Then, tonight, we are hitting a party.”

  Usually, I would be all about a party, but I’m angry, upset, and in no mood to entertain or be entertained.

  “Come on,” I say, stalking back inside.

  I refuse to answer his party comment; he’s being a dick about this whole thing.

  The ride to the Northcutts’ is quiet. I think the guys know not to mess with me right now. This is exactly why I was hesitant to start anything with Trixie in the first place. It was so perfect until it wasn’t, and I’m the one left wondering what went wrong and if it’s me. Maybe I’m the common denominator. I tried so hard to be perfect, but in the end, I’m not good enough.

  I clench my jaw, working it back and forth as I drive, my foot pressing the gas harder and harder until we are flying down the road—fast. Too fast.

  “Slow down,” Corbin pipes up from the backseat, and I look at the speedometer.

  Fuck.

  “Sorry,” I mutter and then go quiet again.

  As we pull up at Trixie’s, I stare at the stone building, palms sweaty.

  Before I can think better of it, I park, and I’m out of the car, slamming the door behind me and striding toward the front door. I vaguely register a door opening and one of the guys yelling at me, but I don’t turn around. I have one focus—seeing Trixie. Okay, maybe two. I want answers as well.

  I rap on the heavy wood door and pause for maybe five seconds before I’m pounding again. It’s wrenched open, and Mrs. Northcutt is looking at me, her disapproving mouth set in a firm line.

  “Mr. Montgomery. You need to leave,” she says.

  I’m taken aback for a second. I didn’t think she liked me, but she hasn’t been downright rude.

  “I want to see Trixie.”

  “She doesn’t want to see you.”

  “No offense, but I’d like to hear that from her.”

  “You don’t understand.” Mrs. Northcutt pushes forward, causing me to back up on the landing. She steps down from inside the house and quietly shuts the door behind her. “She does not want to see you.”

  I feel like she’s punctuating each word in her sentence with a clap in her mind.

  “I don’t care. I need to know what’s going on.”

  “My daughter has moved on, and you would do well to move on yourself.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

  “Accept it, Bodhi.” She turns, opening the door and closing it behind her before I can say anything else. I hear her click the dead bolt into place before I can move.

  I reach to wrap my hand around the back of my neck and groan while I look up.

  My eyes snag on a sliver of movement in an upstairs window, and I step back, almost falling down the stairs. I grab on to the stone railing and look back up. No one is there, but the curtain is swinging back and forth.

  It was Trixie. It had to be Trixie. She’s inside, and I’m going to get my answers. I didn’t come here to be sent home with my tail between my legs.

  I stalk back to the car and pull the passenger door open. Brock cocks one eyebrow at me.

  “Get in and drive a little down the driveway,” I say as I let him out and take his place.

  “Okay …” He shakes his head as he sits behind the wheel and takes off.

  “Slow down. I’m tucking and rolling,” I say, and he jerks to look at me.

  “What?” Corbin asks from the backseat.

  “I’m getting my answers.” I don’t tell them anything else as I glance back to make sure we are a bit away from the house. Surely, no one is going to be watching us anymore. I throw the door open and jump out.

  “Dude, what the—” I hear Brock behind me, but I’m already up and running down the manicured tree line that follows the drive.

  I hear the car come to a stop, but I don’t look back. I’m on a mission, and I won’t stop until I hear it from Trixie’s mouth that we are over.

  I’m darting from shadow to shadow, and I would laugh about my covert ways if I wasn’t so serious.

  I find the back door that we snuck in the first time and plaster myself to the wall beside it. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I fight to steady my breathing. Looks like I might need to work on my cardio. Or it could be the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

  The back door swings open, almost smacking me in the face, but I grab the knob to keep it from closing as the person leaving thankfully walks the other way. I sneak around the open door and glance at the industrial kitchen. No one is paying me any mind as I make my way to the back stairway.

  “What are you doing?” I hear behind me, and my back stiffens.

  I turn to see Mrs. Appleby behind me, but she’s not looking my way. She’s berating a girl standing over a pot on the stove, and I jump into action again. Opening the stairway door, I slip through, the darkness swallowing me as I take the steps two at a time.

  It’s all a blur as I find myself standing outside Trixie’s door. It’s shut, and I press down on the fancy gold handle. It’s unlocked, but even if it had been locked, I would’ve kicked it down, giving zero shits about the noise it made.

  My skin crawls with an odd feeling that’s hanging over this house right now, and I don’t like it.

  I push the door open, watching as it swings inward and then slams against the door stopper.

  Trixie gasps from where she is lying on her bed. Sitting up, she scrambles back as I stalk toward her. Her face is puffy, eyes red. I know she’s been crying, but I’m half-crazed, and I don’t stop to ask what’s wrong.

  Her back hits the headboard, and she stills as I put one knee on the bed, crawling over her. My hands slam onto the headboard on either side of her head, and the loud noise reverberates through her room as she stares up at me.

  “You shouldn’t be in here,” she whispers and then sniffles.

  “You should have broken up with me yourself, and then I wouldn’t have had to track you down. Now, you have to answer for it.” I lower my face to right above hers, my eyes boring into hers. “What happened to us?”

  “I—I don’t—”

  “You don’t what, Trixie? Everything was fine a week ago, and without any
explanation, you quit talking to me, quit answering my texts and calls. You disappeared.” My eyes widen after I say those last two words.

  She disappeared. Like my mom. It makes more sense why I’m so affected by this. But unlike my mom, Trixie is here in front of me, and I want to know why.

  Is it me? Oh my God, I am the common denominator. Just like I thought. What about me makes women choose to leave without a backward glance and no explanation?

  “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” she says, barely above a whisper, a tear leaking out of one eye and trailing down her cheek.

  I want to brush it off, but I stop myself. I can’t touch her, or I’ll lose focus.

  The tear lingers on her chin before dropping off, soaking into her shirt.

  “You don’t think? Or we shouldn’t?”

  “We shouldn’t.” She lowers her eyes.

  “No, look at me, Trix. You don’t get to look away. I want to know why you’ve had a sudden change of heart. What did I do?”

  “Nothing. You did absolutely nothing.”

  “Then, help me understand!” I yell right in her face, and both of our eyes widen. I’m unhinged.

  I push off the headboard and sit back on my heels. We stare at each other, my chest heaving from my outburst and another tear leaking from her eye.

  “Help me understand,” I say on a whisper now.

  She sniffles, reaching up to rub underneath her eye and down her cheek, wiping away the glistening trail. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t?” I laugh. It’s not funny. It’s one of those incredulous laughs that sneaks out when you don’t know what else to do. When you don’t know how to respond. “And why the fuck not?”

  “Bodhi …” She glances away, toward her window. I don’t know what she’s looking at until I follow her line of sight.

  She has one of those fancy window seats with pillows and cushions, and lying on top of it is a book and her half to our matching anklets. Our broken heart. It seems like an omen now. Maybe I’m being dramatic. I know we are young, but this feels like my entire soul is shattering, and I don’t even have a good reason why.