by Dean, Ali
“I’m going to have Gramps take me home, son, but you stay and have fun. I don’t want to start crying and embarrass you.”
As Mitch gave a quick hug to his grandson and walked with Jake off the field, I had to fight my own tears. I’d been an emotional mess lately. This past week leading up to the final had been a whirlwind.
All six of us received our early acceptance to Harvard on Monday, the same day Seamus Malone shocked the hell out of the nation by pleading guilty to numerous RICO charges. There was no real incentive for him to do it. The sentence wasn’t technically a life sentence, but unless he lived past 100 years old, he’d be spending the rest of his life in jail whether he pled or a jury found him guilty. The only reason to plead guilty would be to avoid the rigors of trial and the media circus that would continue for years. There were still dozens of Malone relatives trying to piece a life back together, and while there wasn’t much to salvage in the way of reputation for the family name, having the family’s crimes spread over the headlines every day for years to come would be brutal for any Malone on the outside. Or inside, for that matter.
It seemed Seamus had some leadership potential after all. He must have convinced other family members of the wisdom of avoiding trials because one by one all week, each of the top dogs in the Malone Mafia pled guilty to various related RICO charges, with Raymond pleading guilty to attempting my murder. Maybe they figured Seamus’s guilty plea basically sealed their fate since the charges were interconnected. Maybe they’d had enough already of their deeds being splayed across international news outlets daily. Maybe they needed to focus on gaining some trust and respect inside the prison, and pleading guilty helped with that. Maybe they actually cared about their relatives on the outside trying to have lives now. Who knew?
Branden and Sean were the last to cave, pleading guilty Friday afternoon to obstruction of justice and illegal discharge of a firearm. They should have been the first to take a plea deal since they’d been charged with attempted murder in connection with the car shooting. They wouldn’t spend their entire lives in jail, but it was a far cry from the Ivy League hockey path they’d envisioned for themselves.
I watched Bodhi spin Ruby around and bury his sweaty face in her neck while she giggled. They’d become increasingly public with their relationship these past few weeks. I knew that he’d taken her to the shooting range, and installed some extra security measures at her apartment on campus and in her car, but the threat wasn’t enough to keep them apart. It was still there, even as it became clear the Malones had little to no power in these parts. If Neil heard about them and wanted to go after her, he’d have to go through a number of people behind bars to make that happen. The chances of him succeeding were minimal. The chances of him succeeding without Moody or Dad being alerted? Nearly impossible.
As it became clear just how much power we had and that the Malones were truly ruined, we stopped looking over our shoulders at every turn.
Cruz took my hand, pulling me away from watching the guys celebrate their win and asking for my attention. I was happy to give it to him. He tugged me close and in front of my dad, grandparents and aunt and uncle, smashed his lips to mine. Cruz tasted perfect. Like a guy who’d fought with blood, sweat, and yes, even tears. He’d been a boy thriving as the underdog, embracing the battle to the top, and it hadn’t been easy once he’d discovered he’d landed right at the pinnacle, with nowhere else to go. But Cruz had done what he had to and looked around him, inside him, and now he was clawing his way out of those internal fears, the enemies we couldn’t see but which were just as worthy opponents.
A body slammed into us, shaking us apart. “Is it party time or what?” Spike hollered, high on adrenaline.
A second later, Moody jumped on Cruz’s back and he went stumbling backward. Already losing my balance from the initial attack, I went with him, falling on top of his body.
“Is this a hug fest?” I heard Emmett calling, and then feet running our way. “I’m in!” A body jumped on my back and squeezed me around the middle.
“Get your brother off her, Bodhi,” Ruby scolded. I felt Emmett getting pulled back but when I twisted to see what was up, I realized Bodhi was just making room for himself and Ruby. We were a pile of limbs, entangled on the freezing ground, the smell of dirty cleats and sweaty bodies overwhelming me.
I glanced back at Cruz, who had all my body weight plastered against his. He was half on top of Spike, the other half on Moody. And he was grinning.
This was exactly the kind of mess I’d been hoping to find. The kind I never wanted to clean up or get out of. “This is my kind of chaos,” I told Cruz.
“Yeah? Good, because you’re stuck with us.”
“For life?”
He nodded.
I smiled. “Let’s seal that promise with a kiss, huh?”
“Gross, not here! That’s like, orgy territory!” Spike protested, trying to wiggle out of his spot and reminding me we weren’t having a private moment.
Moody’s voice came out muffled from under someone’s arm. “I thought of all of us you’d be into that kind of thing, Spike.”
“Not in the middle of the largest stadium in the state, dude, come on, I have some dignity.”
We managed to untangle ourselves and get to our feet, only to find the field was even more packed with people now. They must have taken my lead with the rule breaking. Fair enough. Everyone wanted a piece of the superstars.
“Go on, sign tee shirts and take selfies with your fans,” I joked. Then, I realized signing shit might actually become a thing once we hit college. Oh man.
Ruby threw an arm around me. “We’ll wait here. Go see the people. We’ll party after.”
“Then alone time at the Spot?” Bodhi asked.
“With all of us,” Emmett clarified, giving Bodhi a look.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant. That’s what it’s for, right?”
The guys went over to high-five friends from school, let people pat them on the back. The Spot had become even more of a refuge from the constant attention at this point. It was a hiding spot, but not so much to protect us from danger as so we could have each other to ourselves.
Dad came over to say goodbye, explaining Pops and Mimi were ready to crash. “We’ll see you all tomorrow for Sunday dinner.” Jake and Mitch sometimes came too, depending on how things were going with Jake.
He leaned down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “I love you, sweetie. Don’t get into too much trouble tonight.”
“Oh, we won’t,” Ruby piped up beside me. “Well, Hazel might, but the rest of us don’t give in to her peer pressure.”
“Thanks, Ruby.”
I wasn’t that bad, but these parties got dull without some skinny dipping in freezing lakes, impromptu water gun fights, or forcing the guys into dance-offs.
“I’m glad you went to that party for Cruz’s birthday, Hazel,” Dad admitted with a reluctant smile.
“Yeah Dad, me too.”
About the Author
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Books by Ali Dean
Pepper Jones Series
Pepped Up (Pepper Jones #1)
All Pepped Up (Pepper Jones #2)
Pepped Up & Ready (Pepper Jones #3)
Pep Talks (Pepper Jones #4)
Pepped Up Forever (Pepper Jones #5)
Pepped Up & Wilder (Pepper Jones #6)
Pepper Series Standalone Spinoff
Chasing Indigo
Stark Springs Academy Series
Black Diamond
&nb
sp; Double Black
Black Ice
Spark Sisters Series
The Line Below
Kick
Defiance Falls Series
Defiance Falls
Defiance Falls Revolution
Defiance Falls War
Standalones
Elusive
Doubles Love
Sneak Peek
Have you met Pepper Jones? Here’s a sneak peek into the first chapter of the first book in the series, Pepped Up. (No cliffhangers in this series.)
Pepped Up
This right here is what I live for. The steady rhythm of my feet landing softly on dirt. Colorado sunshine heating the fresh morning air. Birds singing as they swoop in and out of trees. And Dave frolicking beside me with his tongue lolling out to the side.
I want to capture the exhilaration and peace flowing through my veins, pulsing through my soul. Who needs a vice when you can attain an utter sense of being alive with such simple ingredients? Blue sky, fresh air, and, of course, man’s best friend. Dave’s feeling it, too - runner’s high. Endorphin rush. Call it what you will.
We turn off the single track and cross the footbridge separating the foothills from Brockton’s residential neighborhoods. I could easily run for another hour or two, but my training schedule calls for a forty-five-minute easy jog, and I’m already pushing an hour.
I used to think that being a disciplined athlete was all about pushing hard. But I was wrong. It’s really about knowing when to hold back, being patient enough to do it, and then pushing hard when the time comes.
I got into running on my first day of high school, almost by accident. Having never played sports when I was younger, I was pretty clueless about how they worked, but it turned out I was fast – really fast – and immediately made varsity and even qualified for the State meet. But since I had no idea of strategy, starting every run with a full-on sprint was all I knew to do, so “crash and burn” became my motto for the first few races.
I now have two cross country seasons and two track seasons under my belt, and I’ve learned how to pace myself at races and in workouts. But this season presents a new challenge. I need to pace myself over the course of the whole season. Not just for twenty minutes or so, but for three and a half months, or fourteen weeks.
I’m usually beat, mentally and physically, after the State meet, but if all goes well, I’ll be racing for a month longer than past seasons. First I have to qualify for Regionals at the State meet, and then I have to qualify for Nationals at Regionals. Until then, I’ve got to hold back. Easier said than done.
I wind through the familiar streets, my empty stomach coming to attention when the smell of bacon from someone’s kitchen floats by. When I turn onto Shadow Lane, slowing to a walk for my cool-down, I see a silver Mercedes Benz pulling up in front of the Wilders’ house. I narrow my eyes at it, watching Jace Wilder get out from the passenger side. His biceps flex as he holds the top of the door to lean in the open window and say something to the driver. Reaching in the car window, he retrieves a box of donuts before walking towards his house.
The car drives away from the Wilders’ house in my direction and slows as it passes me on the sidewalk. I recognize Madeline Brescoll when she rolls down her window. “Hi, Pepper.” Her voice is filled with self-satisfaction. Through the window, I can see she looks gorgeous as usual.
I raise my hand in an unenthusiastic wave. “Morning.”
She flashes me an insincere smile, turns up the radio and drives away. I glance down at Dave, who’s licking sweat off my shin. He’s unimpressed. He might be the first male of any species to snub her like that.
Dave’s a multi-colored, short-haired mutt I adopted pretty much by accident last year – I simply wasn’t capable of ignoring the “free puppies” sign. Clearly, despite his lack of pedigree, he’s far too good for the Madeline Brescolls of this world.
Madeline’s family owns one of the largest breweries in the nation. She goes to Lincoln Academy, the private school in town. And along with the rest of the female population in Brockton, she wants Jace Wilder.
Admittedly, Madeline has actually succeeded to some degree in her efforts to get him. Jace sleeps with her more regularly than any other girl and, according to the gossip, she’s the only girl he’s been with in his grade. Apparently Jace only hooks up with older girls these days; I imagine that will change now that he’s a senior, unless he moves on to college girls.
I shake off my thoughts as I stretch my hamstrings. I’m determined not to let boys, or one boy in particular, ruin the buzz from my morning run. High school drama isn’t something I’ve let invade my life in the past two years, and junior year won’t be any different.
It doesn’t matter to me who our class officers are, or who won Homecoming Queen - my life revolves around running, and all my friends are runners except for Jace. It’s the one thing I have where I can stand out. I’m not an amazing student. I’m not popular. I’m not in band, on debate team, or dating anyone, let alone the starting quarterback (that would be Jace, by the way). Running is my thing. And this season is going to be epic.
I jog up the stairs to the second-floor apartment I share with my Gran. She’s singing along to Aretha in her bedroom, meaning she’ll be out soon and looking for her coffee, so I hit the kitchen before the bathroom. I don’t drink the stuff myself, but Gran’s an addict and I know she’ll want some any minute.
Ten minutes later I’m out of the shower and tugging a brush through my wet hair when I hear the unmistakable sound of Jace’s voice in the kitchen with Gran. I quickly clasp my favorite purple bra behind my back and pull on a pair of red cutoff jean shorts from my closet floor. I’m pushing my arms through the holes of a snug grey tee shirt when I hear Gran in the doorway to my bedroom.
“Nice bra, Pep. You got matching undies?” She grins and wiggles her eyebrows.
“I’m going commando today, Gran,” I tease.
“Not in those short little shorts you ain’t. I can practically see your butt cheeks hangin’ out.” She waves her index finger in mock disapproval. “Not that you got much in the way of butt cheeks, but if you did, they’d be hangin’ out of those little scraps of fabric.”
I make a face in response. “Whatever, Gran, I have to race for twenty minutes in front of hundreds of people in a uniform that covers less skin than these, and it’s required by the school. And I am wearing underwear.” I pull down the shorts a bit and pull up my polka-dotted panties. “But they don’t match the bra. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Can I see?” Jace peeks over Gran’s shoulder into my bedroom.
“Young man!” Gran elbows him away and we follow her down the hallway. Her piglet slippers oink with each step as she patters towards the kitchen. Gran’s looking her usual snazzy self in a butterfly-patterned pajama set, her wiry grey hair sticking out in all directions.
“Happy birthday, old lady.” I wrap my arms around her soft little body and rock her back and forth. “Love you, Gran.”
She pats me on the back. “I know you do, hun. Now, eat a few donuts. You need some butt cheeks.” She pushes a box of a dozen donuts in my direction. “Jace brought over a good selection.”
I glance in his direction and raise my eyebrows. He must have stopped at the donut shop with Madeline. After a sleepover at her place, I presume. Jace shrugs and takes a giant bite from a jelly-filled one.
I let my eyes linger a moment. I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks and his olive skin has turned to a dark tan. His jet black hair is ruffled in a messy fauxhawk. He’s had the same haircut for long enough that it falls into place without the need for styling.
Jace takes a seat at our dinner table. At six feet three inches, his presence dominates our little apartment even when he’s seated.
“Hey, I wasn’t gonna miss seeing Buns on her birthday. Got up early just for you.” Jace says, winking at Gran.
Gran practically raised Jace, whose mom left when he was four years old. My parents di
ed in a car crash when I was a toddler myself, and Gramps (Gran’s hubby) passed shortly after that. Jace’s dad, Jim, is a cool guy, but he works full time, so Gran babysat Jace when we were little, and watched us after school as we got older. Gramps was able to leave us a little to live on from his hard work as an electrician over the years, but it was Gran’s pension from her days as a U.S. postal mail-woman that allowed her to retire and raise me.
“You’re a sweetie,” Gran tells Jace. “You could come to the party at Lulu’s later. We’re having a luncheon,” she offers.
I laugh. “You sure that’s a good idea, Gran?” Lulu is Gran’s BFF. She’s throwing a birthday party with all the ladies from Gran’s knitting and book clubs. I can just imagine the reaction they’d have to Jace. Teenage girls aren’t the only ones affected by his charms.
“Sorry Buns, I can’t miss football,” he answers, and to his credit he actually sounds regretful.
“So how was the camp?” I ask. He’s been in Texas for two weeks playing football. It was for college recruitment and he had to be specially selected to attend.
“It was intense, but a good time. I met some cool guys. We pretty much just played a shitload of football.” He mimes throwing a pass. “Slept a ton. Ate a ton. They actually had some decent food at the cafeteria.” He glances at Gran and quickly adds, “Nothing like your cooking, Buns, obviously.”
Jace feeds the rest of his donut to Dave, who has been waiting patiently with his head resting on Jace’s lap.
I shake my head at the resulting crumb-and-drool fest. “So was it worth missing Brockton’s preseason? Did they have a lot of recruiters?”
Jace shifts in his seat. “Yeah, they had coaches from all over the nation. But shit, hosting the camp in Dallas in the middle of August pretty much killed any idea that I’d end up anyplace south of Colorado. It’s hot as fuck there.”