by Jacie Lennon
What have I done? What have I gotten myself into? What have I gotten Brock into?
I pull my phone out and stare at the message I sent him before I walked inside. His one-worded answer. Yes.
Something inside me craves more, wishes that he had said more. I think I’m looking for something to hold on to. To anchor me right now when I feel like I’m floating outside my body. I lie back, the cool floor sending ripples of goose bumps down my skin, where my sweatshirt has risen on my stomach. I press one hand to my abdomen, pushing in a little, as if I’d be able to feel the child forming there.
I wonder, Is this how my mother felt when she found out about me? Was she happy, sad, or angry? Why did she choose to have me? These are all questions I can’t ask now. Questions I have to decide for myself.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to be a statistic. I was supposed to have the happily ever after, the stupid white picket fence and two-point-five kids. Sitting in the backyard with lemonade while my husband played ball with the oldest and I shook a damn rattle for the baby on a blanket. Our dog yipping around. The fuckin’ American dream.
I laugh a little, a sob finally bursting forth with the action. It might be a dream, but it was never going to be mine.
I move my hand in a circular motion, thinking.
I’ve always kind of known that I am going to keep it. Ever since I saw the two pink lines staring back at me, I could feel it in my gut. This is something that is finally mine. I want to move heaven and earth for my child but now—now—I have a lot more to contend with. Two possible baby daddies who couldn’t be more different. Or who hate each other more.
Picking myself up, I shuffle to my room, shutting my door and shoving my small dresser in front of it. Dragging my sweatshirt and pants off, I crawl into my cool sheets, lay my tearstained face on the pillow, and close my eyes, letting sleep claim me.
7
Brock
“Dude, why’s there wet underwear on the floor? Did you have an accident? Or did you go diving yesterday?” Bodhi asks as he yanks the covers off of me.
Cold air rouses me from sleep, and I open hazy eyes to pin a glare on my asshole brother.
“Fuck off,” I growl, grabbing the covers back and rolling over.
“No can do, baby bro.” Bodhi likes to rub it in that he’s a few minutes older than me, but you wouldn’t think it when you met us. I’m the broody one, the serious brother, and he’s my happy-go-lucky counterpart. We balance each other out. “Got class in thirty. Get your ass up. Also, you didn’t answer my question.”
“Yeah,” I groan, and he takes the covers off me again.
“Yes, what? You had an accident?”
“No. I went diving.”
“What’s going on with you, man? You only dive when you are in some deep shit.”
“Just this stuff with Dad,” I say, sitting up and raking my hand through my hair.
“Bullshit. That’s been going on since he met Linda. This is something else.”
Why does he have to know me so well? I guess it’s twin instinct.
“Yeah, Bodhi has a point, man,” Corbin chimes in from where he’s fixing his hair in the mirror.
“Leave it alone,” I say and feel both of their stares on the top of my head while I’m hunched over, elbows resting on my knees.
“No secrets between the Kings,” Corbin says, and I want to roll my eyes.
We made that pact as fifteen-year-old boys. It seems so long ago now. But if I tell them this shit going on, it’ll bring them into it. They will want to get involved, and I don’t even know what’s going on yet. Sometimes, as a leader, you have to make the best decision for everyone, and I think keeping them in the dark for a bit longer is the best decision.
“It’s not a secret,” I say, and Bodhi’s eyes widen.
“I fuckin’ knew it,” he yells, making my head hurt.
I reach up to rub my temples. I didn’t get good rest last night after dragging my wet ass back from the woods and falling into a fitful, dream-filled sleep.
“Something is going on. Spill.” Bodhi grabs a chair and swings it around, sitting down in it backward.
“What happened to we got class in thirty?” I ask.
Corbin leans over, lightly hitting the face of his phone. “Twenty-two minutes now,” he says, shaking his head.
I know he’s going to be on time. As a scholarship student, he doesn’t fuck around like Bodhi and I usually do.
“Quit stalling and spill,” Bodhi says, tapping my face with his open palm, and I jerk away with a glare. “What? You don’t like that?” he asks.
He reaches out to tap my cheek again, and I bat his hand away. The next thing I know, he’s on top of me, swatting my face from both sides while yelling. Ninety to nothing, that’s how he operates.
“Fuckin’ stop,” I yell, and I can hear Corbin laughing in the background, not helping, like a douche bag. “Get off me.”
I buck, and Bodhi lurches off the side of the bed, falling on the floor and laughing. It makes me crack a smile, and I haven’t had a serious thought in a few minutes. It feels good. It makes me happy to lighten up for a second.
“Gotta get dressed,” I say, grabbing my uniform from the back of my chair. I dash for the bathroom while Bodhi tries to swipe my feet, tripping me slightly. “Fuck.”
Their laughter echoes behind me as I shut the door, locking it. Placing both hands on the counter beside the sink, I lower my head, slowly blowing out a long breath. I look up, studying myself in the mirror. Something I haven’t done in a long time. If ever.
I’ve never critically looked at myself, instead preferring to live behind the power of my name. The Montgomery name has clout. People respect it, look to it. My dad is a real estate mogul, someone who is known across the country but especially here at Almadale. I’m a King.
But now, as I stare at my eyes, slate gray and stormy-looking, I realize that all of it is a facade. A lie I tell myself to hide behind. I might be a Montgomery, but what have I done to deserve respect? Nothing.
I could be facing something huge. Something life-changing. I’m pregnant are not words someone my age wants to hear. But I did it, and if the child is mine, I’ll step up and be there—as long as Peyton wants that.
Fuck.
I run a hand over my face and then turn the water for the shower on. Holding one palm under the stream, I wait for it to turn warm. A child. A reason that someone wants me dead. And I’m all alone in this. I know I could change it, make it different, if I told my boys, but I can’t right now. I can’t put them in danger.
I step in the shower and rinse myself quickly before getting out and drying off. I put some pomade in my hands, running it through the front of my hair, styling it in an effortless, lazy look. Then, I throw my button-down and slacks on. My tie hangs haphazardly around my neck, but I couldn’t give two shits right now. After leaving the bathroom, slipping my phone in my pocket and slipping my feet in my loafers by the door, I’m ready. Bodhi slaps my shoulder, leaning in with a satisfied smile. He flicks my arm with his damn hard fingers.
“Fuck off,” I growl, and his mouth only widens.
“A girl,” he says, winking. “My baby brother is growing up.”
I hit him on the back of his head and then grab my satchel, slipping it over my shoulder.
“Shut up and come on.”
I sit in class with my eyes narrowed so much that I probably look like I’m asleep, but no teacher is going to call me out. They know where their paychecks come from, which might sound like an asshole thing to say but it’s the truth. I could get away with murder here.
Unbidden, my mind drifts to thoughts of Peyton. I’m not in love with her. I barely know her. But there is something there. I chalked it up to sensational sex and tried to put it out of my mind. Now that we’ve been thrown back together, I can’t ignore the obvious attraction we have. Maybe it’s the reason I let her leave Almadale. She could be a weakness. I knew it that night, wh
ether I wanted to acknowledge it or not. It’s like something palpable but under the surface.
I could be making shit up, but I swear she feels it too. What’s the point of her telling me what’s going on otherwise? She could have never said anything, and I would have never been the wiser. But something tells me she needs more, wants more than what she’s getting right now. I have to figure out what is going on.
“Mr. Montgomery?” My teacher’s voice drags my attention to the front of the classroom. “Do you have your presentation ready?”
I cock my head to the side and stare, the silence stretching on before Mrs. Jergens averts her eyes and moves on to the next student.
I tap my pen on my desk for the remainder of class as I stare out the window, only focusing my eyes when a body stops in front of me, blocking my view. I raise my head and lean back, cross my arms and eye Georgia Milton.
What is it with these girls suddenly approaching?
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Lord help me if I’m going to be the first to speak. Finally, she nervously clears her throat—probably the first time Georgia has been nervous in her entire life.
“What do you want?” I practically growl at her.
I have to give it to her; she doesn’t back down. I watch as she licks her lips; the movement is usually interesting, but now, it only makes me irritable and impatient, like she’s trying a little too hard.
“Well?”
“Do you, like, want to get something to eat?”
Do I, like, want to? my mind mocks her.
But do I? I mean, a distraction would be nice. I can’t mope around forever, and I’m not in a relationship with anyone. It might feel good in more ways than one to get my dick sucked.
“Yeah,” I say, putting one of Bodhi’s cocky grins on my face and hoping my feelings catch up with it as I rise in front of her.
Her eyes glitter as they watch me as I turn. I walk out the door, knowing she will be right behind me.
“So,” she says, power-walking beside me since I haven’t slowed down, “where are we going?”
“To the commons,” I say, continuing to make my way toward the large area where the restaurants are located in Almadale.
It’s not typical for most schools to have actual restaurants that cater breakfast, lunch, and dinner meals, but we do. A perk of our money, I guess.
“The commons?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her wrinkle her nose. I roll my eyes. She asks me if I want to go eat and then complains about where we go. Typical.
“Don’t you want to go somewhere off campus?” she asks, putting a hand on my bicep and squeezing a little, flashing a smile my way that is supposed to look coy but only makes her look constipated.
“Nah,” I say and continue walking.
I spot Bodhi and Corbin at a table already, flipping a piece of paper back and forth between them, and I scowl. They’d better not be doing a paper football tournament without me. We started it as freshmen, something to compete in, and the game has been going ever since. We’ve even made it into something monetized by live-streaming it on social media, where people can place bets. Straight entrepreneur shit really.
Georgia sticks right by my side. Ever since her hand touched my bicep, it hasn’t left, and she’s trying hard to keep up with me in her heels. She’s pretty—not drop-dead gorgeous, but decent. Her downside is zero personality.
I’d rather eat with Peyton.
I stop dead, and she flails a little, trying to stop at the same time.
“Everything okay?” she asks, peering up at my face.
“What?”
“Are you okay?” She looks confused, and I think I am too.
I’m not sure where that thought came from. Peyton. I shouldn’t be thinking about her.
I shake my head and look up. My chest tightens as Bodhi and Corbin stare at me. I’m not sure if they are wondering about the girl currently barnacled to my arm or the way I zoned out.
“Fine,” I say and make my way to the table with the guys, dropping into an open chair as Georgia sinks beside me.
“Um, don’t you want to, ya know, eat somewhere with only the two of us?” She leans in while Bodhi watches us, amusement on his face.
“Nah. Right here is fine.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, plumping her breasts up as she plasters an overly bright smile on her face. I’m not amused. She’s not doing it for me. Plus, she’s sucked my dick before, and it was average, nothing to write home about.
“I’ve changed my mind. Get lost,” I say, and her face drops. I feel a little bad, being mean, but if I’m not, she won’t get the hint.
“You’re an asshole,” she says, rising and smoothing her skirt down before turning and stomping away.
I watch, detached, seeing Peyton in sweatpants and a hoodie instead of Georgia. I shake my head and turn my attention toward the guys.
“Damn, that was cold,” Corbin says, flicking the folded-up paper toward Bodhi’s outstretched fingers.
I reach out to swat the flying paper football but miss.
“You haven’t missed a swat since, well, never,” Bodhi says while I grimace. “What’s up?”
“Off my game, I guess.” I pick up the football and flick it toward Corbin. It misses the middle of his thumbs by a good five inches. “Shit,” I groan and lean back, raking a hand through my hair. I grab my phone and hit the screen, seeing no messages waiting for me so I click it back off, setting it down.
“Care to share?” Bodhi asks, sitting back and swiping a cigarette from his pocket, lighting up in the middle of the commons.
I see a few teachers frown our way, but no one comes over.
“Shit, guys, I’m—” My phone vibrates on the table, and I grab it before the guys can see the name.
Peyton.
“You’re what?” Corbin prompts, and I glance up at them, not remembering what I was about to say.
“I gotta take this,” I say, holding my phone up and standing. “We can talk about this later.” I rap on the table twice before walking off a few steps, swiping to answer as I do.
8
Peyton
I drum my fingers on the desktop as I contemplate what I’m going to do. I can feel Drake’s stare from the seat next to me in the one class we have together, and of course, it’s the last one of the day.
Loredo High isn’t fancy or state of the art, but my history teacher, Mr. Palm, acts like his job is the most important one in the world, and he will call me out for not paying attention, so I don’t look over. I don’t show any sign of noticing Drake or his penetrating gaze. I don’t even look like my mind is miles away from learning about World War II and the Allied powers versus the Axis powers.
My mind is instead on the doctor’s appointment I finally scheduled. One I’d procrastinated on because once I went, it would be official. It would be real.
It is real, I have to remind myself.
I stop my hand from moving down to rest on my stomach. Instead, I watch the whiteboard as Mr. Palm writes our homework on it and tap my foot as I glance at the clock.
The bell rings, and I shoot out of my seat but stop as soon as Drake’s hand wraps around my wrist.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
I almost yank my wrist from his hand, but I don’t want to upset him more than he already is.
We started good, a normal relationship in the beginning, but over time, things morphed into bad. A slight here, a hateful remark there, which turned into yelling and grabbing me during a fight. I finally figured out that he wouldn’t change. This was who he was. He’d put on a front in the beginning.
So, I had enough and left, right after my ass slept with him, and now, I’m in a mess.
“Let go of me,” I say almost in a whisper. I don’t want to attract the attention of anyone around us.
I’m surprised when his hand instantly releases my wrist, and I take it back, crossing
my arms across my stomach.
“What’s going on with us, Pey?”
“There isn’t an us, Drake.” I frown up at him, and his face looks so crestfallen. I know it’s an act though. I’m not falling for his gaslighting techniques again, where he makes me feel like I’m the bad guy.
“Don’t say that. There is an us. There’s you and me and our baby,” he says, holding his hand out to me.
I don’t take it.
“I don’t even know if it’s yours.”
His eyes darken for a moment, and I shrink back a little. But he blinks, and they clear.
“It’s mine. I can feel it,” he says. “I want to do right by you. I want to raise this baby together.”
“I haven’t decided if I’m keeping it or not,” I say and cringe. I have decided, but I’m not telling him that.
Knowing what I do about Drake’s involvement in the Lions, I want to ask about what my dad told me. I want to see if I’m a payment for debts, but I don’t think he would tell me the truth.
“You’re keeping it, Peyton,” Drake says, deadly quiet.
I step back, my legs meeting the seat. I turn suddenly and grab my backpack, holding it in front of me like a shield.
“I haven’t decided anything,” I say and duck out from beside him, making my way toward the door but feeling his penetrating gaze on my back the entire time. I’m thankful that we are at school and not somewhere by ourselves.
Once I get outside, Mooney is waiting on me. He’s been picking me up from school, and today, I asked if he would give me a ride to the clinic on the edge of town. I open the door and slide in, expelling a long breath as I lay my head back on the headrest.
“Rough day?” he asks, stepping on the gas and peeling out of the parking lot. Mooney doesn’t go anywhere slow.
“Always,” I say, pressing my lips together.
“ ’Bout to get worse,” he says, and I groan. “Can’t drive you across town. Gotta get back to the bar. I had to shut down to get you because my bartender had called in sick. Can’t lose out on the revenue for hours.”