Beyond Love: The Hutton Family Book 2

by Brooks, Abby

I lifted his arm off my shoulder and stepped aside. “And I’m telling you, maybe you should worry about your own daughter before you go off rescuing someone else’s.”

  Dad stiffened. “Harlow is wasting herself on all that writing and music nonsense. Kara, on the other hand, is gonna be something.”

  Kara, also, had spent the entire night in jail on drug charges. Her mother couldn’t bail her out because she was drunk and had called Dad for help this morning. He, also drunk, couldn’t collect the juvenile delinquent because he had appearances to keep up. And so, the burden fell to me.

  Wyatt, the good guy.

  The co-conspirator.

  The man you went to when your mistress’ daughter needed bail.

  With anyone else, I would have made a joke, but my sense of humor was lost on Dad. Instead, I got the information I needed and headed downtown, humming the theme to the TV show Cops.

  * * *

  Kara

  If Wyatt was cold the day we met, he was downright arctic as he collected me from jail. With barely more than a hello spoken between us, he filled out some paperwork, paid an undisclosed amount of money, and then stormed out of the building, expecting me to trail after him like a lost puppy.

  Which I did. At first. But then pride got the better of me. He had obviously decided I was guilty without asking me what happened. While yes, things looked bad—he was picking me up from jail after all—I deserved a chance to explain. To show my displeasure, I purposefully went as slow as I could on my way to the parking lot, pausing more than once to enjoy the sweet smell of fresh air. By the time I lowered myself into the passenger seat of his car, Wyatt’s jaw pulsed with anger.

  “I didn’t do it, by the way,” I said as I strapped myself in.

  Nothing.

  “But, you know, thanks for judging me without knowing the whole story.”

  “I know enough,” he bit out through a clenched jaw.

  “But do you?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “Do you really?”

  With his attention firmly focused on the road in front of him, Wyatt replied, “I know you are sixteen years old and have just spent your first night in jail.”

  “How do you know it was my first night?”

  That got his attention. Score one for Kara.

  Wyatt turned to me with wide eyes and I couldn’t help but laugh at his shocked expression. “Looks like you don’t have everything figured out after all, big guy.”

  “That makes two of us,” he muttered, before he gave his attention back to the road without another word.

  “It was,” I said a few minutes later, the silence getting the better of me. When Wyatt didn’t reply, I clarified. “My first time in jail.”

  And I only had to spend the night because my mother was too drunk to come get me. Figures. I was the one in trouble for drugs, and she was the one too inebriated to come to my rescue. Instead, my knight in shining armor was an asshole in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

  Wyatt gave me a look I couldn’t decipher, kindness softening his pale blue eyes even as his lips pulled into a frown. “Congratulations.”

  “Ahh. He speaks.” I knew it would be better for me to shut up and accept the ride home with grace. I just couldn’t help myself. The moment he decided to judge me was the moment I decided to make his life a living hell. Brooke told me I had a warrior’s spirit. I tried to see it as a compliment, but part of me realized that being ready to butt heads at a moment’s notice was a weakness of mine.

  Wyatt turned to me, still trying to look mad, but I didn’t think his face was designed for it. “Believe me,” he said. “You really don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

  “Really? Try me.” I folded my arms over my chest and lifted my eyebrows. Anything was better than the stony silence he seemed set on delivering.

  “Okay, fine. I think you are a self-entitled child who is too comfortable spending my father’s money and stupid enough to waste her life on drugs. Happy now?” he asked, then gave his attention back to the road.

  “I already told you I didn’t do it. Hence, the whole me coming home thing. I don’t think they let the guilty ones go home.”

  Turned out, the house party got a little out of control. Okay, a lot out of control. College kids showed up, some of them with pot and other such illicit substances. Brooke got wasted with Ryan Smeltzer and I found a quiet place to be until I could figure out how to get myself home. Turned out, once the cops were called, the kids with the drugs were smart enough to get the hell out of Dodge and Ryan Smeltzer was more than willing to point a finger at me. Brooke, as usual, was too wasted to be of much help. Tada! Kara Lockhart now had a criminal record.

  Fat lot of good it would do me to explain the story to Captain Asshole over there. Bored, I stared out the window, stifling yawns and composing self-righteous speeches while Wyatt navigated the streets. As he pulled to a stop in front of the condo, I grabbed the door handle, ready to yank it open and put as much space between us as absolutely possible.

  Wyatt caught my wrist, stopping me. “Look,” he said, his voice gruff. “Whether or not you did it isn’t the issue.”

  “Oh yeah?” I stared down at his hand around my wrist, ignoring the lightning strikes of adrenaline brought on by his touch. I didn’t know what they meant, but I liked the way it felt and that couldn’t be good. “Pray tell. What exactly is the issue?”

  “The problem is that you are sixteen years old and putting yourself in the kind of situations that end up with you in jail,” Wyatt replied, his frustration rising as I forced him to explain what he obviously thought I should already understand.

  “And?”

  “And you should stop.”

  I yanked out of his grasp. “Right. Noted. Thanks for the ride,” I bit off as I pushed open the door. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, by the way.” Growing up with Madeline Lockhart had been Independence Bootcamp and I graduated with honors.

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Looks like it.”

  I stared for a few exasperated seconds, then slammed the door in his face. The asshole didn’t even flinch. He just yanked the car in gear and drove away without looking back.

  * * *

  Wyatt

  Kara had tried so hard to look strong. Or brave. Or some combination of the two. All I saw was a little girl who needed help and didn’t have anyone to lean on. I couldn’t imagine her mom set much of an example, other than how to make married men cheat on their wives or how to be too drunk to rescue the people who depended on you.

  I kept imagining Harlow in that situation and gave Kara the same speech I would have given her. As important as it was to have people in your life to protect you, the sooner you could do it for yourself, the better. Of course, Kara’s pride kept her from hearing what I was trying to say. Instead of a thoughtful response, she lashed out and stormed off, stubborn and certain she was right.

  With that attitude, this wouldn’t be the last time she needed my help. I was sure of it. And for some reason, the thought of being there to protect her made me smile.

  Chapter Six

  Kara

  This party wasn’t like the last one.

  Music throbbed around me, but something about it didn’t seem right. It was too loud. Or too fast. Or…

  …something.

  Whatever it was, it made the room spin. Somewhere close, or maybe far away, it was so hard to tell, someone laughed and the sound echoed weirdly. Todd Hudgins, captain of the football team, the star of every teenaged fantasy I’d ever had, and all-around master of the universe, leaned in close, nuzzling my ear. I flinched away from the contact, confused by my own slow thoughts.

  “Come on, baby. Why so uptight?”

  He thinks you’re just like your mom, whispered an insidious voice in my head.

  When Todd had invited me to this party, I was ecstatic. Three hours after arriving in a cloud of popularity and high-fives, the novelty was wearing off. Fast.

  “Did you put something in my drink?
” I pulled out of his grasp and stared into my red Solo cup, supposedly filled with plain old Coke. My words slurred and I wrinkled my brow, smelling something decidedly alcoholic.

  “So what if I did? I thought you were cool with that kind of stuff.”

  “Damn it, Todd! What’s in my drink?” The world set off spinning again as I lurched into a standing position. Despite the drug Kingpin reputation I had earned at Ryan’s party last month, I had never so much as sipped a beer.

  “What’s it matter, baby?” Todd gripped my arms and pulled me back to the sofa. “Come back to papa and let me make you feel better.”

  Even through the haze of whatever I had ingested, his line was too cheesy to ignore. Todd Hudgins was supposed to be, like, a decent guy. A unicorn with good looks, good grades, and good manners.

  I shrugged out of his grasp and stumbled for the door, sloshing the contents of my cup all over my shirt in the process. Whatever was in there, it definitely didn’t smell like Coke. In fact, it smelled a lot like Burke when he came in for a hug. How did I not notice before?

  “I should have known better than to think you were cool!” Todd called after me. “I’ll teach you to waste my time, you stupid cunt!” And just like that, all my illusions about him crumbled, proving once again that the whole world was intent on letting me down.

  I saw his brilliant smile for what it was: a way to lure girls like me into doing things they would regret. His sweet words were traps. The goal? One thing and one thing only, getting into my pants. Or anyone’s pants. His blonde hair, his high school stardom, they were all wasted on him. Todd Hudgins, the golden boy, was nothing but a dickhead after all.

  Drunk on shattered expectations and whatever it was he had slipped into my drink, I staggered through the clumps of inebriated teenagers, looking for a friendly face. Todd had driven me here and there was no chance I’d be getting back into a car with him. Brooke was on a weekend trip with her family, so calling in the cavalry was a no-go.

  As much as I didn’t want to reach out to Mom, she was looking more and more like my only chance of not having to walk home. The car ride would be nothing but thinly veiled barbs about how totally unfun I was for pulling her away from whatever she was doing on a Friday night, but it would be better than spending one more second here.

  I locked myself in a bathroom, dug out my phone, and sent her a text. Ten minutes later, I sent another. Five minutes after that, I sent one more. Finally, I sent what I thought would be the holy grail of cries for help. It took me three tries to get it right. My fingers weren’t listening to my brain.

  MOM. I’m stuck at a party. This guy spiked my drink and tried to take advantage of me. I need help. Please.

  As the minutes ticked by without a response and someone started banging on the bathroom door, the low hum of panic in my belly detonated into full-blown fear. I wanted to go home and I wanted to go home now. If my own mother wouldn’t come save me, who else could I turn to?

  The banging grew more insistent. “Come on!” someone called through the door. “You’ve been in there for like an hour or something.”

  I glanced at the time, adding up how long it had been since I locked myself in the overly bright room. Not quite an hour. But close. And not a peep from Mom. My thoughts were clearing up, but my stomach was not. Nausea grew with each passing minute, a coiled snake in my belly, slithering with the promise of vile things and ruined reputations. I did not want to be that girl who couldn’t hold her liquor and threw up at a party.

  I scrolled through my contacts, pausing to hurl an insult at the now constant doorbanger, and stopped when I came across the two entries for Burke Hutton. One was the phone he bought just to answer Mom’s calls. The other, the one marked DO NOT USE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE, was his personal cell. It hadn’t made sense when Mom gave me the number, though nothing about her ever did.

  I sent a series of texts to his burner. Then tried calling. Then, in a moment of desperation as the guy on the other side of the door got downright mad, I called Burke’s personal cell.

  It rang once.

  Then twice.

  I sent out a silent prayer as it rang a third time. And as it finished the fourth ring, a rush of guilt washed over me, only to be chased by relief when someone picked up.

  “What the hell are you doing calling this number?”

  The disdain I heard could only mean I was talking to one person. “Wyatt! Wait! Please don’t hang up.” Even to my ears, I sounded like a desperate child and in that moment, I wasn’t even ashamed. “I really need your help.” Nausea churned in my stomach and I was afraid I might start crying.

  I waited for the scathing response but when none came and the line stayed open, I launched into my story. “I really need a ride home,” I finished. “I don’t know what he put in my drink, I don’t feel so good, and I’m really afraid.”

  After a long pause, Wyatt sighed. “Where are you?”

  Relief surged through me because I could hear concern in his voice. Outside of Brooke, I couldn’t remember the last time someone sounded concerned about me. “I locked myself in the bathroom.”

  “Good. Stay there. Text me the address.” He hung up and I did as he said, then covered my face with my hands and waited, my head pounding in time with the asshole on the other side of the door.

  Wyatt didn’t make me wait long. Just a few minutes later, his deep voice boomed my name over the music and laughter of the party. I waited for the sound to get closer, then unlocked the bathroom door and pushed past the impatient kid standing on the other side with a murmured apology, staggering as I called Wyatt’s name.

  He took one look at me and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close and guiding me toward the door. “You smell like a liquor cabinet.” He sounded angry. Accusatory. I wanted to shoot back a caustic response, but I was too grateful. He rescued me when no one else would and that had little bombs of gratitude going off in my belly.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled as we stepped outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air, hoping my stomach would calm down now that I was safe.

  He stayed silent as he guided me down the street to his car, helping me inside, then leaning through the passenger door to latch my seatbelt even though I could have done it myself. His scent permeated my space and I breathed him in.

  “You smell good.”

  It took a second to realize I had spoken out loud, and by the time it registered, a throbbing headache devoured whatever embarrassment I might have felt. I leaned my head against the headrest, groaning. This might go down as the single worst night in my existence, even worse than the one that ended up with me in jail, and that was saying a lot.

  Under the dome light, Wyatt’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. “How much did you drink tonight?”

  “I don’t know.” I swallowed hard. “I thought I was only drinking Coke, but obviously there was more in it. Don’t know how I didn’t notice the change in taste.”

  “He probably added a little more whisky every time you turned your back. Specifically so you wouldn’t taste it.” Wyatt shook his head and shut my door before crossing in front of the car to climb into the driver’s seat. He sat there, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white.

  “Are you mad at me?” I asked.

  An emotion I couldn’t name flickered across his face. “I’m mad, but not at you. Not really.” He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “I thought I told you to stop putting yourself in these situations.”

  “Putting myself in these situations?” The force of my indignation had my head lurching off the headrest, an action I immediately regretted, but I couldn’t let Wyatt blame me for what happened tonight. “Because I asked Todd to spike my drink and take advantage of me?”

  “Did he drag you to the party?”

  “No. I came willingly.”

  “And did you keep an eye on your cup the whole night? Or might it, by chance, have gone unattended for some time?”

 
; Suddenly hot, I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window. I had definitely left my cup unattended, but again, not my fault. I shouldn’t have to pay that much attention when all I wanted was to have a little fun.

  “And who knows where you are?” Wyatt continued. “Your Mom? Any friends?”

  “Like telling my mom would have done any good.” My breath fogged up the glass and I seriously regretted everything that led to this moment. The last thing I needed was a lecture from some guy who knew nothing about me. Wyatt was probably a Todd Hudgins when he was my age. Good looking. Charming. And toxic.

  “I’m just saying…” Wyatt spoke with a strange mix of irritation and kindness. “You seem to think these things keep happening to you, but you’re an active participant. You are making choices that allow you to be taken advantage of.”

  “Oh. So, because I came to a party with a boy, that makes it my fault when he turns out to be a shithead.” I swallowed hard. My frustration with Wyatt churned in my stomach, adding to the already significant nausea. Go figure, I could add misogynistic asshole and victim-blamer to his long line of indiscretions.

  “Nope.” Wyatt glared out the windshield toward the house. “That one’s on him. It’s not your responsibility to make him honorable. But, you’re the one who came to a party when you knew there wouldn’t be any adults around. And after what happened last time, I would have hoped you learned your lesson. But you didn’t. Instead, you made the same mistake, then added to it by not keeping an eye on your drink…”

  I was so mad, I just wanted him to shut up and drive. Who did he think he was? Lecturing me when I hadn’t done anything wrong. “Go ahead and blame the victim. Whatever makes you feel better, dude.”

  “Damn it, Kara! It’s not your fault. But if you don’t pay attention to the choices you made that led up to that guy taking advantage of you, then you’ll just keep repeating this pattern. And one of these days I won’t be here to rescue you.”