Them Seymore Boys: An Enemies to Lovers Bully Romance (The Seymore Brothers Book 1)

by Savannah Rose

  Apart from touching each other whenever we could steal a minute or a second, the only real communication we had during school was in music class. He would play seductive love songs or heart-wrenching songs of loss and grief. I would play songs of want and loneliness, or hot powerful tunes intended to make the audience feel sex in the air even without lyrics.

  It went unnoticed by Julianne, who only watched to see who was getting more attention. So far, we were about even, though to my mind he was clearly better.

  At the beginning of October, Yolinda decided that she wanted all of us to sing. I’d had years of vocal lessons, but quit when I started struggling with the guitar. My voice was good enough for singing along in the car, and I was satisfied with that, but I desperately wanted to earn proficiency on my guitar. I’d missed singing, but after two years of never doing it where other people could hear, I wasn’t thrilled about the idea.

  “Who has had voice lessons already?” Yolinda asked.

  Julianne raised her hand. So did a bunch of other people. I raised mine too, but tried to be as unobtrusive as possible; for as little as I wanted to sing in front of Julianne, I wanted even less to be treated as a beginner only to be found out later. My reluctance did not go unnoticed. I was pretty sure Yolinda was out to get me.

  “Kennedy! Excellent. Singer, guitar player—now if only we could get you writing songs, you could be the next Taylor Swift.”

  I couldn’t tell if Yolinda was being sarcastic or not, and I couldn’t decide which option was worse. I smiled wanly, she smiled expectantly, and we were at a standoff. Eventually, after a long, tense moment had passed, she gestured impatiently at the microphone.

  “Show me,” she said.

  I ground my teeth. “Any song in particular?”

  “Anything you’re comfortable with,” she said carelessly with a flick of her hand. She flipped a switch on a little machine on her desk—recording us, no doubt—and sat with her chin in her hands, gazing at the empty microphone as though I were already standing there.

  Sighing, I went over to the stupid thing. Anything I’m comfortable with? I had the sudden urge to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star just to get her off my back.

  What actually came out of my mouth was a song my dad used to play over and over again when I was very small, before he discovered that the world would drop money and acclaim with the fervor of snake oil disciples at his smile, back when he still thought “I love you, Daddy” was the highest praise imaginable.

  “Children behave,” I began tentatively.

  As I sang, the familiar sensation returned; the sensation I felt when I was singing alone in my car, the way I’d felt at my second-to-last recital, the feeling that was missing from my last-ever recital (which was the reason I’d never sought out the opportunity to sing in Starline). I was a conduit for the music, a living, breathing, speaker. “I think we’re alone now. The beating of our hearts is the only sound.”

  I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t—everyone would have seen. I didn’t know why I chose that song at first, except that it was the one I’d been singing the longest, the one I sang when I missed my dad the most—but today, I sang it for Rudy.

  The sneaking around wouldn’t have weighed on me so much if we’d been able to just sit and talk and clear the air, but like this? It was confusion over lust over a long foundation of slights and small hurts, compounded by a fascination I couldn’t quite define and a sense of belonging in his arms.

  I wrapped it up and sat back down, trying not to look at anybody at all. Julianne caught my eye though, and gave me an encouraging smile. Encouraging? Why did she feel the need to reassure me? I thought over my performance, but couldn’t remember the technicalities of it, just the emotions.

  I shook my head and looked at the ground.

  “Well,” Yolinda said. “That was very nice. Julianne, you go next.”

  As with the violin, Julianne was technically perfect, but her voice had no more soul than her bow. She sang a very complex soprano piece from Phantom of the Opera and somehow managed to distill the character’s fear and longing into a string of notes. I could almost feel them march across the page. Her purity was admirable, but the performance lacked something—and I didn’t even like Phantom of the Opera much. It wasn’t like I was a die-hard fan or anything, but she sucked the life out of it with precision.

  When Yolinda was finished torturing those of us who had been given vocal lessons, she moved on to those who hadn’t.

  “Rudy,” she said. “You’re up next. It can be anything you like, even a nursery rhyme. Anything you feel comfortable singing in the shower.”

  Imagining Rudy in the shower sent heat washing over my body. I kept my face turned to the floor so no one would see me blush—especially Julianne, who, for whatever reason, had decided to sit directly across from me.

  I was terrified that Rudy would pick something romantic. I’d have to excuse myself or turn around in my chair or something, I thought.

  He stood at the microphone and I let myself look. After all, everybody else was. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet back and forth a couple times, then he paused. The concern melted from his face and he ducked his head, but not before I saw the small, devious smile. When he recovered himself, he looked at Yolinda.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  “Anything,” she said, clearly bracing herself for something explicit. “You’re all adults here. Mostly.”

  He grinned, shot a surreptitious glance at me, and cleared his throat. All at once, he started belting out lyrics I hadn’t heard since I was six.

  “Baby beluga in the deep blue sea…”

  Giggles smothered the room over. He threatened the notes but never truly hit them, though he sang enthusiastically. He was half a heartbeat fast or slow after every rest, creating a jarring nostalgia that reminded every person, without fail, of a kindergarten classroom. I wondered if he did it on purpose. If he knew that singing the way he played his guitar that first day, when we now meant something to each other, would blow our relationship wide open for the world to see. For Julianne to see.

  “You’re just a little whale on the go!” He finished with a flourish.

  The classroom erupted with laughter and applause, and he took an exaggerated bow. His dimple popped out on his rakish face and his eyes glittered.

  I laughed and clapped along with the rest of them. Only Julianne looked on with an icy silence, which she turned on me as soon as she realized that I was having fun. Killjoy.

  “Thank you, Rudy, that was—special,” Yolinda said. There was a cringe on her face that I thought might become permanent, but she cleared her expression and called the next student.

  Some were better than Rudy, some were worse—somehow—but none had his sense of showmanship. Too soon, the class was over. Behind Julianne’s back, Rudy held up four fingers at me. Same time, same place. I nodded and he turned away, satisfied that I would meet him under the bridge as I always had before.

  “You don’t actually sing that badly,” I accused him when he jogged under the bridge toward me.

  “What gave me away?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

  “Your timing,” I said. “Timing doesn’t change no matter what instrument you play.”

  He laughed. I loved to hear him laugh. “Okay, you caught me. I can sing. I just hardly ever do.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  I was fully aware that we were approaching personal territory—the territory we’d avoided since we started meeting up—and I fervently hoped that if I asked my questions casually enough, he would answer.

  He cocked his head to one side. “Do you want to kiss me?” he asked.

  I copied his gesture. “Do you want to answer the question?”

  He grinned and sat down beside me on the slanted concrete wall.

  “I like the guitar,” he said. “I can sing fine—to my foster siblings or my adopted father—mostly lullabies or songs I remember my mom singing. But singing, it
’s personal to me. With the guitar, there’s a barrier—the wood and strings are making the sound. Singing is like speaking, but more. It’s revealing. Some people don’t deserve to see me like that. Most people don’t.”

  My heart pounded in my chest, begging me to ask him if I deserved to. But I knew I didn’t, and I wouldn’t put him in the position of having to tell me that. Instead, I leaned against him and sighed, letting myself melt.

  “I liked hearing you sing,” he said softly. “I like that song. You sing it like it belongs to you.”

  I chuckled. “Doesn’t it, though? Look at us.”

  He did. He looked at me and it was like he really saw me, then ironically looked down at himself. He glanced around at the water and its ghostly reflection on the rough and dirty ceiling. He looked left and right, following the concrete shelf out to the sunlight on either side.

  “We’re okay,” he said contentedly, but I could see the wariness in his eyes. “Maybe it’s just the forbidden unknown and we’ll get tired of it. Maybe we won’t, and we’ll last all year like this. After graduation, who cares?”

  I looked at him in surprise. “I sort of figured you would,” I said. “Your brothers will still be your brothers after high school.”

  He shrugged, his mouth twisting, and I felt his muscles tighten in his back. “They never really were my brothers, chica. Just as Mr. Seymore was never really my father. It’s nice to pretend, sometimes, but—it’s not real. It’s just paper. You know how they say—blood is thicker than water.”

  He gazed down at the water rushing below our feet. I couldn’t bear the loneliness in his eyes, the resignation in the set of his jaw.

  I squeezed his arm. “You aren’t using the whole quote,” I told him.

  He shot me a curious glance.

  I nodded. “The whole saying goes, ‘The blood of battle is thicker than the water of the womb.’ It’s a warrior’s saying, claiming brothers in arms over the woman who birthed them. It’s still depressing in a general sense, I guess—but for you?” I shook my head. “It fits. Optimistically, even.”

  He looked at me thoughtfully for a long moment, his blue eyes softening to a warm haze.

  Brushing the hair away from my cheek, he leaned close and kissed it. “How did you end up as one of Julianne’s?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Sort of the same way you ended up a Seymore, I guess. I didn’t have anybody and she claimed me as hers. I figured it was the surest way to survive high school.” I snorted. “Of course I didn’t realize that I would nearly suffocate to death in a locker because of my friendship with her at the time. Thanks for rescuing me, by the way.”

  His face darkened as he frowned. “Yeah, well—Chris and Gary knew better. They weren’t supposed to touch you.”

  “Oh come on, all four of you have harassed us at one time or another. And vice versa.” I kept my tone light, trying not to make too big of a thing out of it, but he shook his head.

  “Not Julianne’s crew. You. Just you. I told them I didn’t care how they retaliated to the rest of the girls, but you were off-limits.”

  I blinked at him, shocked. “Why?”

  He hung his head, scoffed once, and dismissed my question with a shake. Then he glanced outside at the lengthening shadows.

  “I’d better get back,” he said. “It’s my turn to cook dinner.”

  “Let me give you a ride,” I said.

  His Mustang was still out of commission—when Chris insisted that he could change the belts himself, he managed to screw up something else and they hadn’t quite figured out what he’d done yet because he hadn’t let anybody help and stubbornly refused to admit that he could have done anything wrong.

  He nodded. “Just let me off at the trees by the house. I don’t care what my brothers do to me—but they’d think you were manipulating me or something and they’d go after you behind my back.”

  He started to move and I stopped him. I held his face, looking into those sky-deep eyes. “Do you think I’m manipulating you?” I asked.

  He kissed me in response, a long, lingering, tender kiss that tasted like melancholy. When he pulled away, he brushed his thumb down my cheek and over my lips, tracing the motion with his eyes. I wondered if he was memorizing my face. I hoped not. People only did that when they expected the other person to go away.

  “I’m cautious,” he said. “I can’t help it. I don’t think you are—but I don’t think you aren’t, either. I’m waiting to see how this plays out.”

  A hundred responses flashed through my head, all rejected out of hand.

  Finally I gave him a slight smile. “I guess inviting you to join me naked in the back seat of my car wouldn’t help you make up your mind, would it?”

  A true smile flashed across his face, making his dimple show and his eyes sparkle.

  “No,” he said. “But I like the way you think.”

  He kissed me again and it was hotter, not so sad as last time. I fell into it, feeling his body respond to mine through our clothes. Just as I was seriously contemplating out-of-the-way places around here that wouldn’t be too hard for my car to get to, he pulled away.

  “I really do have to get started on dinner,” he said apologetically.

  “Okay,” I said breathlessly. “Let’s go.”

  It’s only about seven minutes by car from the old bridge to the edge of the Seymore property. I wanted to drive slowly, to stretch out the time I had with him—but it wouldn’t have been fair to him, and I didn’t want to be responsible for getting him into trouble.

  This thing we had was so precious and so fragile. I knew that one true manipulation between us would eat away at the flossy bonds we’d woven between us.

  He turned to me when I pulled over and parked behind the strands of trees at the edge of the Seymore land. He touched my face, my hair, my neck and shoulder with a slow, tender sweep of his fingers. Then, suddenly, his fist was in my hair at the nape of my neck and his mouth crushed mine, sending wave after wave of molten desire through my blood.

  When he finally released me, I had to gasp for air.

  He winked at me. “Consider that a promise,” he said.

  He was gone before I could ask what he was promising—but the pulse between my legs answered that question for me and a low moan escaped my throat.

  I zoned all the way out, imagining his body on mine, letting my car idle on the side of the road. When I sucked in a breath to clear the steam from my eyes and my head, I froze.

  Someone was here. Someone who wasn’t Rudy was here. I saw the eyes, first. Not unlike a cat’s it illuminated the darkness, driving the kind of fear into me that made it impossible to move.

  All the breaths I’d sucked into my lungs rushed out in an instant.

  When the figure moved, the leaves of the tree obscuring it ruffled. So quiet was the night that I heard every sound. Every creak of the branches, every footstep.

  I swallowed hard and managed to reach for my keys. Turning it in the ignition, however, wasn’t as easy as it was meant to be. My hands were trembling, my fingers very incapable of gripping anything. I tried the whole breathing thing again.

  This wasn’t some stupid cartoon from the 80’s where time stopped and the victim stuttered and stuttered before speeding off at full speed. I needed to move now. Except my eyes were still pinned to the spot with the eyes. With the body moving forward.

  One more step.

  And then another.

  The closer he moved, the more his features came alive. Chris. It was Chris. Another set of eyes joined him, glaring at me. This second set belonged to Gary who stepped out from behind a tall bush to lean on the tree opposite Chris. His glare was even more of a warning than Chris’.

  I was dead.

  Oh, I was so, so dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Julianne called me early the next morning and I groaned. It was a weekend, she shouldn’t even know about it yet. It wasn’t like the Seymore boys sought her out to talk to her, right? Or m
aybe they did.

  Could Julianne and Bradley be orchestrating an entire bullying charade? No, that wouldn’t make any sense. What would be the point? Attention, I thought. Social gladiator games, maybe? All of these thoughts raced through my head in the six seconds it took me to force myself to answer the phone.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Hi, yeah, so I was thinking, we should all meet up at the mall for lunch and then go to Darlie’s. They just got these new dresses in and I am dying to try them on. You’re coming, right?”

  I knew I couldn’t, but I couldn’t immediately figure out why. I meandered over to the calendar on the fridge and saw today’s date circled in a bright red marker with an arrow pointing toward a note stuck to the door with a unicorn-shaped magnet. I smiled, then forced the expression off my face before it could find its way to my voice.

  “Sorry, I can’t. The nursery had to reschedule my garden installation three times because of one thing or another, and this time they swore up and down that they would be able to finish it. My backyard looks like the aftermath of a hurricane with all the stuff half-finished. I’d do it myself, but there’s electrical and plumbing involved and I don’t really feel like dying this week.”

  She gasped, horrified. “Of course you shouldn’t do it yourself, are you insane? That’s menial labor, Kennedy, good Lord. Are you sure they’re coming today?”

  “Hold on,” I said. I snapped a picture of the calendar and the note and sent them to her. “There, look at your texts.”

  I knew that she had when she sighed heavily. “Okay fine, but Kennedy I just want to point something out to you in the gentlest possible way.”

  I braced myself as she paused for dramatic effect.

  “You have not been a very good friend lately,” she said. “I’m sorry to put it that way, but it is what it is. You haven’t sought us out, you’ve been running off every day after school, you’ve bowed out of a bunch of stuff we wanted to do with you. You’re like a ghost, and it’s hurtful.”