A Son of Carver (Carver High #2)

by Haven Francis

  A Son of Carver

  Haven Francis

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2016 by Haven Francis

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover design by Haven Francis. For more information: www.havenfrancis.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  A Son of Carver

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  Acknowledgements

  A Son of Carver can be read as a stand-alone novel and is book two in the Carver High series. Due to adult content and language, this book is intended for readers 17+.

  1

  Summer and I are in our covert spot up the ridge. We’ve been coming here regularly for the last month and a half and I warily admit (only to myself) that being here with Summer, of all people, is currently my favorite thing.

  When she first suggested we commiserate over the fact that our exes are in love with each other in private – because I’m too proud and she’s too nice to do it in public - I only agreed because A) I was looking forward to seeing her drunk for the first time and B) I thought it would be a fun challenge – seeing how long it’d take to get her naked and in my arms.

  But from that very first time, that’s never been what this is about. Turns out it’s exactly what she suggested it could be – the only place the two of us can really be ourselves. I’ve always known that part of me is constantly playing a role – being the easy-going, careless, rebellious, ego-maniac manwhore. And I knew Summer was doing the same thing – being the perfect, cheerful, spunky, optimistic friend to all. But here; up on this ridge, looking down at the bridge that crosses over the river and back into our real lives, I’m realizing just how deep our deceit runs.

  I twist the cap off the cinnamon whiskey that I now know Summer likes and take a pull before handing it to her. I underestimated her tolerance for liquor; I’ve seen her drink half a pint of this shit but have yet to see her drunk. She takes two big gulps before returning it to my hand and laying back on the blanket. She folds her hands behind her head and looks up at the stars for a moment before her eyes flutter shut and a small smile appears on her face.

  I continue to stare at her smooth, olive-colored skin as I ask her, “What are you smiling for?”

  Her smile grows and she says, “I’m happy. Like really, truly, honestly happy. For the moment at least.”

  “Of course you are,” I say, laying on my back next to her. “You’ve got me all to yourself, what else would a girl want.”

  She laughs. “True. But it’s more than that. I think I feel… free,” she says, sounding surprised by her own words. She opens her eyes and turns her head to me, a quizzical look on her pretty face like she needs confirmation that that’s possible.

  Freedom’s a feeling I’ve come to know and love over the last month or so; ever since my stubborn brain finally decided to let Tatum and Brandon go. It wasn’t an overnight thing, but every day it becomes easier to watch them together.

  “From Brandon?” I ask, staring into her brown eyes.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But it’s bigger than that. I think it’s more of an accountability thing, you know?”

  “Not really.”

  She smiles at me like she does sometimes – it’s tinged with pity and makes me feel like a little boy. “I told my parents I can’t go to bible study anymore. I blamed it on the fact that Brandon brought Tatum last Sunday.” She bites her bottom lip with her straight, white teeth but it’s not sadness covering her face, but guilt.

  I turn and prop myself up on my elbow, smiling at her, proud of the girl she’s becoming. “Which was a lie?” I guess.

  She pinches her eyes closed before covering her face with her hands. “Yes.”

  “You just don’t want to go to bible study anymore.” I reach over and grab the skin on her side. She giggles and removes her hands from her face to push me away.

  She lets out a breath and turns to me, mimicking my propped up positon. “Is that terrible?”

  “It’s genius. You should be taking everything you can get out of this breakup. That shit takes up your Sunday afternoons and Wednesday nights, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she confirms with a guilty smile. “And the rest of my family will still be going… which means I’ll get the house to myself for three blissful hours a week.”

  “See – genius.”

  “I’m an awful person for taking advantage of the fact that they feel bad for me though. They worry about me and I’m letting them think I’m worse off than I actually am.”

  “It’s gonna be okay – I promise you. You need to learn to enjoy whatever moments you manage to take for yourself. You know that.” It’s a conversation we’ve had many times. She’s a people pleaser who doesn’t know how to put herself before anyone. It’s one of our issues that we’re working on.

  Her eyes veer to the blanket. “It’s worse than that though.” I raise an eyebrow as she slowly brings her eyes back to mine. “I told them I’m not doing dance line either. And they told me, they understand.”

  I feel my face pinch in shock – I can’t help it. Now that football and cheer is over – Yes, golden boy Brandon led us to the state championship and kept our title alive – the competitive dance season is starting up. Summer’s been co-captain since she was a sophomore. Bible study is one thing, but her senior year as the captain of the dance team is something else. It actually worries me. Which is stupid. Why the hell would I care?

  “Oh god,” she moans, collapsing back on the ground – her hands over her face again. “I’m in a downward spiral, aren’t I? I mean, look at me; I don’t care about church or dance and I’m out in the middle of nowhere getting drunk with Carver’s number one bad boy.”

  I pull her hands away from her face and stare at her until she finally opens one eye to peek at me. “You really think I’m Carver’s number one bad boy?” I ask with a smirk.

  She opens both of her eyes and pushes her hand into my shoulder. “Shut up,” she says, laughing.

  “You’re fine, Summer. If you don’t want to dance, don’t dance. I mean, it’s just dance. Who cares?”

  “Is the fact that that’s exactly how I feel alarming?”

  “Absolutely not. You need this, Summer. Hell, maybe you’ll even figure out that there’s a not so perfect girl inside of you and the things she wants to do are not the things that everyone wants her to do.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she says, her pink lip between her teeth again.

  “That’s what you should be excited about,” I tell her, my thumb running over her bottom lip, popping it free of her teeth. Oh, shit. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to do that.

  Summer stares at me, her eyes questioning, but her mouth hanging open and heavy breaths falling out of it. My thumb passes between her lips all on its own and is covered with moisture. Fuck. Don
’t do it, asshole. Do. Not. Fucking. Do. It.

  Rarely, as in never, do I listen to that rational asshole that sometimes pops up in my head and this time is no different.

  Slowly, keeping my eyes on Summer- waiting for her to give me the non-verbal message that she wants me to stop- I move my mouth closer to hers. Her breathing becomes labored and her eyes relax; which would be the non-verbal green light.

  My thumb slides off her mouth, replaced by my lips. My hand slips behind her neck and tangles in her hair as I bring her mouth closer to mine. For a moment, I’m the only one moving; my lips teasing hers which are warm and soft. I watch as her eyes drift closed and her small hands rest on my chest. And then her lips are moving with mine – lazy and easy.

  It dawns on me that this is strange – yes, Summer is beautiful and has an amazing body and a month ago I was trying to seduce her partially just to spite Brandon, but since then our relationship has evolved into something more. More than friends, but not this. In a way she’s like the sister I never had. Part of my family that no one else knows the way I do. I’m thinking these thoughts as my tongue naturally slips into her mouth and caresses hers. She licks me back, her lips and her tongue moving naturally with mine.

  What is this going to do to our relationship? Will she still be the only person in that school that I can let my guard down around and tell everything to? Am I now going to have to worry about what I say and do with her, like I already have to do with everyone else? I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to mess up this thing we’ve got going on.

  I’m lost in my thoughts so it takes me a moment to realize that Summer and I are no longer kissing. My eyes open and she’s staring right at me. And then she starts giggling, which only takes a second to turn into full-blown laughter. I take my hand out of her hair and inch away from her. “What the hell are you laughing for?”

  “Oh my god, Nash. That was too… weird.”

  I crack a smile, relieved that this is not gonna happen. “Right?”

  “Like kissing my brother.”

  “That’s exactly what it was like.”

  “Thank god,” she mutters, propping herself back up on her elbows.

  “That would have been fucked up.”

  “Totally,” she agrees. “It’s bad enough that people think there’s something going on between the two of us.”

  “I don’t really mind it,” I say about the rumors that have been flying around school.

  “Maybe I don’t either,” she ponders. “People don’t think I’m perfect anymore. It’s kind of a relief.”

  I should maybe be offended, but I’m not. Summer getting with me would be a downgrade. She is perfect, and I’m all kinds of screwed up. At least that’s what everyone thinks. “When everyone finds out you quit bible study and the dance team, the rumors are just gonna get worse – you know that, right? Everyone’s gonna blame the relationship they think we’re starting up.”

  She lets out a long breath before saying, “I don’t care.”

  “I don’t either,” I agree.

  “Fuck ‘em.”

  “Yep. Fuck ‘em.”

  She smiles at me, a sad smile. “If I forget that on Monday, you’ll have to remind me.”

  I grab a hold of her hand. “Monday’s the start of second semester.”

  “The first day of dance practice.”

  “The first day of the new and improved Summer Brooks.”

  She lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. I’m not sure about the improved part.”

  “I am.”

  “What about you? Is it also the first day of the new and improved Nash Carter?”

  “What’s there to improve?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “God, you’re so full of yourself. You really don’t see any flaws, do you?” she says with a laugh.

  “Well I mean, there’re the obvious ones – I’m selfish, I’m lazy, I drink too much, I don’t have it in my heart to deny all those girls who need a piece of me… which, honestly, I’m not sure are flaws.”

  “You’re better than that, Nash. All of it.”

  I know what she’s saying. I’ve spent so many years telling myself that my flaws are really attributes… actually more than that… I’ve let them define me to the point that they’re all I have. They’re who I am. But that fact is something I’m not gonna admit to anyone – not even Summer. I try damn hard not to admit it to myself. “So who do you think I should be when I walk back in that door on Monday morning?”

  “You,” she says, “but with more self-respect.”

  With anyone else I would refute her words with sarcasm and insults, but because it’s Summer I take a minute and consider that she might be right. That I may not have any self-respect. And a moment’s all it takes to know she’s wrong. “It’s not a matter of self-respect.”

  “No? Then what is it?” she asks.

  “It’s fun, Summer. That’s all it is. When I’m ready to stop having fun I’ll let you give me life advice.”

  She pulls her hand out of mine and replaces it with the bottle of whiskey, taking a pull before telling me, “You might be right. It’s probably me who should be taking life advice from you.”

  I laugh at that. She apparently doesn’t realize she’s already doing that. “Do I need to point out that you have recently started cussing, drinking hard alcohol and cutting some of your extracurricular activities?”

  She stutters a laugh. “I might be letting you influence me, asshole. But do you realize that you’ve recently started sharing your feelings, voluntarily skipping out on parties and therefore several opportunities to spread your love around and… I’ll grudgingly admit, you treat me with plenty of respect. And I’m a girl; a hot one with boobs, just in case you haven’t noticed.”

  I pick her hand back up in mine. She’s right. She’s changing me, just as much as I’m changing her. “We’re good for each other.”

  She squeezes my hand, “I never thought I’d say this, but you’re right. You’re good for me.”

  2

  Outside of my lunch hour, I’m a stranger to my fellow classmates. Really, I’m invisible. Which is what happens when all of your friends are seniors and all of your classes are with fellow juniors. I don’t mind it at all. I don’t have to talk to anyone. I don’t have to ignore anyone. I don’t have to pretend to be happy. I can just breathe, which is something I definitely can’t do at home and can barely do in social situations because my psychotic cousin, Jolee, is always there. School and work. That’s all I have at the moment.

  I used to have Tatum’s house, but she’s deep into the honeymoon phase with Brandon which means if I want to hang out with her in her spare time I have to do it while she’s being pawed by Brandon. And with Tatum out of the picture, there’s less of Angel too. It still feels like he’s her friend, not mine. And although we’ve hung out together alone, it’s only because she left us. And if we shared a mind blowing kiss, it’s only because she dared us to.

  I let out a long breath then shut my locker, preparing to go to next period which I’m looking forward to. My schedule only allows for two electives per semester and this semester, unlike my first one at Carver High when I started two weeks in and had to take whatever they gave me, I was lucky to fill both of them with art classes. I had advanced drawing first period and managed to void my mind of all thoughts concerning my family – my cheating dad, miserable mom, controlling aunt and devil cousin. I’m hoping my photography class will have the same effect.

  I walk into the room, discreetly getting a lay of the land from behind my heavy black hair that’s hanging over my eye. I recognize some of the faces, some are even seniors, but none of them are part of Jolee’s circle of popular jocks and beauty queens that I have reluctantly been let into. I let my guard down as the corner of my mouth lifts with a hint of happiness, and find a two person table in the back corner of the room that is currently person-less.

  I take out my sketch book and pencils and smile at some of the familiar f
aces when they turn to see who the newcomer is. I regret it though as soon as a boy I recognize from last semester’s gym class lets his eyes wander to my chest and picks up his bag like he’s about to come sit by me.

  God damn it.

  Gym class, where you’re required to change into shorts that are too short and a t-shirt that’s too tight, is only slightly less uncomfortable than being at work in my ridiculous sexy athlete uniforms. Yes, I have big boobs, but I don’t get why any girl, no matter what size bra she’s rocking, would wear clothes that cling to her body. They’re uncomfortable and attract the kind of attention I’m about to get from this scrawny, popped-out-on-the-other-side-of-puberty-yesterday, walking phallus. As he approaches my table I hold up my hand. “Don’t,” I tell him. “Please, just… don’t.”

  He stops in his tracks, confusion covering his face.

  “What she means to say is, this seat’s already taken,” a deep voice, that I recognize instantly, says from behind me.

  “Oh, god damn it,” I mutter, gripping the edge of the table and squeezing my eyes shut, hoping it’s just a bad hallucination. My one-out-of-two hours of peace cannot be infiltrated by Nash Carter. Dear god, no.

  I open my eyes, hoping for different results, but all I see is the kid walking backwards, his eyes no longer on me but, I assume, on the mass of muscles standing behind me. “Wait,” I tell him. He continues to retreat. “Come back.” His eyes flicker to mine but the fear on his face makes it clear I’ve lost him. “Please,” I give it one last attempt with my arms stretched out in front of me, reaching for the phallus because a phallus is better than a dick. Which is exactly what Nash is. This biggest one I’ve ever met. When the kid trips over his own feet, falls backwards onto the floor, but manages to continue scooting away from me, I give up. I lay my head on the table and mutter, “Fuck me.”

  Nash- who I can tell by the manly scent that has taken over my personal space, is now sitting next to me- laughs his deep, throaty laugh and I instantly regret my choice of words because the man is a Neanderthal with very few brain cells so I know what’s coming next.