Under The Peaches (Teaching Love Series Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  By the time I bring him his check, he’s already got his credit card out. I take it without looking at him and run it through the register. Upon my return, Layla’s gone.

  “Have a good night,” I tell him. I mean it. I want him to have a good night.

  He smiles, but it’s tainted in exhaustion and pain. “Doubt I will, but I’ll try. You have a good night too, Kaelyn. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” Before he leaves, he slips a single fifty-dollar bill inside of the checkbook.

  I quickly snatch it up and gawk at his back. It’s a nice back, with a lot of muscle on top and broad shoulders that lead to a narrow waist. I stuff the fifty-dollar bill in my pocket and clean their mess, hoping he has a much better night than he did dinner.

  Chapter Two

  In the same second my alarm clock sounds, I turn it off.

  It’s on a second, maybe two. I hope that isn’t long enough to piss off Bruce or Mandy. Ever since I turned eighteen they’ve been giving me the eye. They want me out and another kid in. Part of me feels guilty robbing another kid of an opportunity to have a home, good or not. But I’m still in high school. I can’t work more than thirty hours a week unless I drop out. I didn’t want it to come to that point. I want to graduate, to prove the last four years were worth something.

  I’m so focused on right now I haven’t even thought about what I want to do with my life. Graduating and having a roof over my head is all I need, and unfortunately, that’s how I see it. Right now is the only thing my brain can focus on. It got me into trouble quite frequently, but when I’m hungry right now, later doesn’t matter. When I’m in pain right now, later hardly makes a difference. When I’m alone right now, later is depressing. So, I focus on the present and what I need in the moment because I’m not sure later is going to be able to give it to me.

  I shower as fast as I can. As I’m coming out wrapped in my towel, Bruce is leaning against the wall waiting for me.

  I blanch. “Bruce,” I gasp, frightened in the span of seconds.

  He leers, eyeing the bit of cleavage poking out of my towel. Sleaze. “Rent’s due,” he drawls. His accent’s so southern I compare it to mud. Thick, dirty, and under my nails.

  We live in Savannah, Georgia; most possess an accent, but I know Bruce’s comes from somewhere else. It’s too thick, too country. There’s nothing unique or beautiful about it. It’s from somewhere else entirely. When Haddie won her settlement and I came to live with Bruce and Mandy, they’d been moving in. What brought them to a beautiful place like Savannah, when they were anything but?

  “I don’t get paid until the end of the week. You know that.” I hug my towel around myself and pray he isn’t going where I think he is.

  “There’s other ways to pay rent.” He touches my arm.

  A blast of fear shoots through me. I pull my arm free and back away. “I have to get ready for school.”

  “Look, bitch. If you’re not paying in some way you’re out of here.”

  “I have fifty dollars in tips,” I blurt, thinking quickly.

  “Give it to me, or I’ll take it.” His gaze travels over my body.

  I dart into my room and grab my purse, making sure to keep my eyes on him. Thank you, Mr. Ean. Yanking out the loose bill, I return to the hall, where his eyes take me in hungrily. Maybe right now isn’t the best for me anymore.

  “What happened to your mouth?” he asks after I give him the money.

  Bruce has a seedy gaze. It’s been trained on me since I got here, all of thirteen. “Nothing.”

  He points at me threateningly while holding my money. Flaps of green paper jut out of his fist. “You keep that fighting shit up and you’re out of here.” He grabs my arm roughly and pulls me against his body. “Or I’ll give you something to fight against.”

  I look away when he smiles. “I have to go to school.”

  “If the school calls me once, your sweet little ass is out of here. I don’t need any attention on me like that. Unless you want to beg me to stay.” He leans over and blows into my ear, laughing when I tremble. He tosses me aside and walks away, his bare feet making no noise as he slinks back to his room down the hall.

  “Prick,” I force out. I run into my bedroom and make sure to lock the door.

  My hands are shaking, but I ignore them. I have to. I get dressed, craving warm clothes today. I choose blue jeans, a long sleeve dark green V-neck, and my thick black parka. I want to hide. I don’t want to be seen, or touched, or acknowledged in any way.

  When I get to school, I sit in the parking lot with my stomach growling and finish my homework. After the confrontation in the hall, I don’t want to be around Bruce, especially not for food. Eventually, money won’t be enough. He’ll want another form of payment. One that costs way more. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

  I leave the safety of my car behind and go to my English class. I have my homework out when the teacher goes down every row. She doesn’t even look at me as she takes it, adding it to her faceless pile. None of them do. Now I have a teacher who isn’t even mine and he’s seen more than he should. I regret everything about yesterday. Telling Mr. Ean the truth, letting him in for even one second. But as we read along with Othello, I can’t help drifting off thinking about his dinner last night.

  By the looks of it and what I’d heard, it hadn’t gone well. He looked tortured because of it. I wonder what losing love would feel like after having it for so long. Brady hadn’t actually said we couldn’t happen. We spent one night together sophomore year, and ever since he’s all I wanted. But if he had, if the man I loved looked me in the eye and told me he didn’t want me, I had a feeling the walls keeping me whole would come tumbling down.

  Is that how Mr. Ean’s feeling? Like his walls are coming down?

  When I get to my own calculus class, Brady is sitting in his usual spot. He smiles when I sit next to him, eyeing my mouth. This is the only class we have together and it’s the only time without Nessa anywhere around. I suffer for this class every day. We don’t talk about Nessa or our lives.

  It’s just Brady and me.

  The way I want it.

  My cut is gone. He’s sitting beside me. And there’s a bubble protecting us from the truth.

  “What’s up, Scarlet?” he teases.

  I roll my eyes, when really, I want Brady naked and on top of the desk. “My hair’s barely red.” I pull at a dark mahogany strand for proof. Fine. It’s more red than brown.

  “Oh, it’s red enough to be a Scarlet. You mind if I start calling you that?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughs. “Too bad, Scarlet.”

  “Whatever makes that small brain of yours feel better.”

  His gorgeous smile widens. The man is adorable. Blond hair, all messy and pushed back. His eyes are jade green, and he’s got these sexy little patches of stubble on his chin. I recall our night together and my body heat flares. I was too young then to appreciate sleeping with him, but I know given the opportunity again he’d be the one remembering me.

  “Did you do your homework?” He leans over to whisper it since the teacher is taking roll.

  I turn to him, our faces inches apart. I could kiss him right now. Again. It was so long ago since we kissed the way I wanted to. He pretends our night together didn’t happen, but I know he told Nessa it did because why else would she torture me for sleeping with Brady first?

  I lick my lips and his eyes shoot to my mouth. “I always do.”

  “Can I copy it?”

  “What do I get?”

  He leans over and kisses me right under my jaw, slow and lingering. We’re in the back of the classroom; anyone could turn around and catch us. Ruin my tiny moment of happiness and drop the hammer on the most sensitive part of my wall.

  I want his lips. I look at them when he pulls away, and then into his eyes, blindly handing him my notes. “Here. Hurry up.”

  He winks. “Thanks, Scarlet.”

  I spend the next few minutes trying to calm my
self down. My heart is pounding. I know the next beating Nessa gives me I deserve. I deserve it because the next time Brady does that I’m tackling him. I’m taking him and he’s not going to have a say. You don’t do that to a girl. You don’t kiss her like that and then ignore her in the halls.

  It’s a twisted game we play, and yet I get the impression he’s the one who’s made up the rules.

  For the rest of class, he copies my homework. I’m the reason he passed trig, pre-calculus, and now this class. For some reason, we always have math together. Because of me he’s probably getting into a good college and leaving me all alone with my right now. Because of him, I suffer. I know it’s wrong to want another girl’s boyfriend, even if that girl is Nessa Ferguson. But I can’t help it.

  That want is all I have.

  After class, I head to my locker. I’m not surprised to find Nessa waiting for me. She knows who I was just with. She’s unaware whose lips touched my jaw, but I think deep down she knows for one hour Brady is mine. I pay daily for it.

  She grins at me. There’s no joy in her smile. It’s pure evil. “How was class, skank?”

  I ignore her and open my locker, exchanging calculus for chemistry.

  She looks around before she reaches over and pulls my hair hard. “I was talking to you,” she hisses. “You whore.”

  “Kiss my ass, Nessa.” I slam my locker shut but she chases after me, grabbing my elbow and pulling me to a stop.

  “How was class?” she demands.

  I grin. “It was the best hour of my life.”

  Her fist connects with my jaw so fast I barely have time to react. My reaction does little because her fist is on me again. I shove her off me, sending her into the lockers. I grab my backpack off the ground and stomp away. She won’t chase me again. She never does.

  I find the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. Thankfully she hit me in my jaw and the side of my face. There’s some redness; I can pull it off. But it’s my eyes that I can’t stand. They’re leaking my pain. I am in pain. My eyes belie my indifference. I am not indifferent. I would love help. Getting hit hurts. My face hurts so bad when I move my jaw I know I won’t be eating lunch today. I don’t want to want Brady. I don’t want to get punished for that want. I don’t want to live with Bruce and have him eye me and touch me. I don’t want to be me at all.

  But I don’t see a way out of this pain without adding more to it.

  I take my makeup out of my backpack and apply it to my face as the late bell rings, getting rid of the red marks on the side of my face. What I can’t get rid of, I hide with my hair. When I arrive to class, my teacher gives me a dark look, as if it’s my fault I got punched in the face. His indifference to my life makes me depressed. By the time lunch arrives, I’m writhing on the ground.

  I can imagine staring up at the sky as it rains, watching the drops land on me carelessly while everyone blames me for being soaked.

  I bypass my locker and go to my spot as the rest of the school goes to the cafeteria. I haven’t eaten there since I was a freshman before Nessa made it her personal mission to beat prom night out of me.

  When I get to the music hall, I exit through the side door unthinkingly. I can already envision sinking down on my bench and fading away for a few minutes. These few minutes to myself, to bleed, to feel, is the only thing keeping me together.

  But I forgot Mr. Ean knows my hiding place. He’s slouched on the concrete bench staring out at the teacher’s parking lot again. He doesn’t even react when I come out.

  I think about going back through the side door, but I know he heard me. Sitting next to him, I join his aimless stare. It’s not as cold today as it was yesterday; I burrow inside my parka and hide in the protection it provides anyway. For a while, we’re both silent. I’m lost in my thoughts. He’s lost in his.

  Eventually, I can no longer deny his presence. I peek at him.

  With his eyes straight, his lips finally open. “Layla and I broke up last night.” He takes a long painful breath. “We had a huge fight when we got home and … now it’s all over.”

  I’m glad he’s talking about himself. I am my least favorite subject. “What did you fight about?”

  He looks at me, his face red. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you.” He smiles at little at me, but it’s small and pained. “You were a reason to fight, you weren’t the reason we were fighting. If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been something else.”

  I frown, working his explanation through my head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Layla’s a jealous woman. Don’t make me spell it out. I’m already embarrassed she accused me of it in the first place.”

  Oh. I look away, finally understanding. “She thought we were together? How ridiculous.” How impossible.

  “Agreed, but when you’re looking for reasons to break up small things look big.”

  “I was a small thing? We don’t even know each other.”

  He shrugs. “I didn’t know the gas station clerk last night either and she accused me of sleeping with her too. She’s over me. Every little thing I do is an excuse to push me away. I came home late from work the other night and she flushed her engagement ring down the toilet.”

  “You were engaged?”

  With another pained breath, he nods. His pain is evident, a different kind than my own. Though the reasons for a person’s pain differed in varying degrees, it was pain nonetheless. I knew what it felt like to be pushed aside all too well.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Ean.” I think about comforting him, maybe touching his arm, but the moment passes too quickly. I pull back my hand with a blush. He’d probably prefer it that way anyway. I didn’t even know why I considered it.

  “Me too, Kaelyn.”

  Awkward silence settles between us. At least it’s awkward for me. Somehow, I want to keep our conversation going. For the first time in days, weeks, even years, I’m talking to someone who won’t make me pay for it later.

  I turn to look at him at the same time he does me. Our eyes lock briefly before his roam over my face. Unhappiness settles in them.

  He reaches over and touches my jaw. “She get you again?”

  It was only a matter of time before he wanted to talk about me. “I asked for it.”

  “I’m sure you did.” His tone is dry. “I hope you know what I have to do.”

  “What’s going to happen now? Are you going to move out, or is she?” I quickly change the subject, anything other than me.

  He narrows his eyes, but his lips quirk. “Are you trying to distract me by reminding me of my failing relationship? That’s either crafty or very insensitive.”

  I crack a smile for the first time today. “I am insensitive.”

  “Hmm, I don’t think so. Insensitive people wouldn’t even know they were that way to begin with.” His fingers trail over the small red patch on my jaw. “Does it hurt?”

  “No. Please don’t say anything.”

  “Where else did she hit you?”

  I touch my jaw and temple. “Nothing to cause alarm.”

  “If you were an MMA fighter maybe. You’re tiny. How tall are you anyway?”

  I lift my chin. “I could annihilate her if I wanted.”

  His fingers move to the red line on my temple. They’re soft and warm as they trail over my skin. “Why don’t you?”

  “Because I’m not mad at her. She’s mad at me.”

  “All because of prom sophomore year?”

  I’m surprised he remembered. “It’s not just because of that,” I admit.

  “Then what’s it about? Give me a good reason why someone would think it’s okay to let another human being beat them daily?”

  I don’t appreciate the way he says it. Like I’m a punching bag for Nessa when that isn’t how it is. “I’m in love with her boyfriend. There, happy?” Or maybe it is that way. Maybe that’s why his question bothers me so much.

  He drops his hand and looks at me reproachfully.
“I need another reason.”

  “That’s the only one I have.”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.” He leans over to catch my gaze. “Did you sleep with him?” he asks softly.

  I nod.

  He sits back, expression tightening slightly. “Are you still?”

  “No.”

  “So she’s got it out for you because you slept with her boyfriend? Still makes no sense. But then again I’m not a teenage girl.” He laughs uncomfortably. “Dated enough when I was a teenager to know that you girls don’t change, you just think you do.”

  That’s interesting. I imagine him as a teenager, gorgeous as he is now, but more youthful. “I bet you were a whore in high school.” He had the looks and he was touchy, always touching my face and hands. He smiled a lot, and when your smile looks like his it attracts attention. The wide kind, surrounded by full lips and white teeth. I wanted him to smile again.

  “I wasn’t afraid of the opposite sex,” he agrees offhandedly. “And don’t say whore. You girls say that word so often you think it’s appropriate. It isn’t. Back to the matter at hand. I can’t let this continue.”

  “What do I have to do for you not to say anything?”

  “Let me talk to her.” When I cringe, he continues. “I’ll leave your name out of it and make it sound like I saw you two fighting or something. She won’t know.”

  “Do what you have to do, Mr. Ean.” I bring my knees to my chest and hug myself. He won’t let this go. I was used to everyone being blind, and his attention was too strange to argue with.

  He snorts but doesn’t comment further on Nessa. He sits beside me quietly for a few moments before he can’t help himself any longer. “How long have you worked at Bella’s?”

  “Since I turned eighteen and the state stopped paying my dues. Before that, I worked at the library after school cataloging books.”

  “How long ago did you turn eighteen?”

  “Two months.”

  “Did you start school late?” he guesses, probably because I should’ve graduated last year.