A Son of Carver (Carver High #2)

by Haven Francis

  “You didn’t ask him to do that. It’s not your problem.”

  “I didn’t stop him. It’s not like we didn’t discuss it. It’s not like he didn’t ask me if I was sure I was okay with all of this.”

  “And you said you were?” Paxton asks through a laugh full of disbelief.

  “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t throwing a party to celebrate but I also didn’t tell him there was a really good chance I would be tired of him before we hit the state line. It’s been a month. We’ve been here for one month. I just feel like I’m obligated to stick it out for at least three. I mean, three is at least giving it a shot.”

  “Yeah, I think three is what’s standard in the system. Are you listening to this madness you’re spewing, or does bullshit just fall out of your mouth all the time now?”

  “Fuck off, Paxton.”

  “You called me, sweetheart. I’m just trying to help you pull your head out of your pretty ass. Come on, Jess. What are you really doing there? Why are you letting yourself get sucked into this shit? Since when do you have it in you to stick it out when everything inside of you is telling you to cut ties? I mean, shit, that girl I met at that field party in River Bluff wouldn’t have put up with any shit from anyone. Where’d she go, huh?”

  “Cut me a break, Pax. I don’t know this city. I don’t know a soul outside of the dorms. Forgive me for being afraid of being completely fucking alone.”

  “You want me to come there?” he asks, catching me completely off guard.

  “To Chicago?” I smile into my phone. I wish he were here. I miss him. He makes me feel like…me. In River Bluff I had the two best friends in the world, but none of us were alike. Which was fine, it was good, it was why we were best friends. But when Paxton showed up I knew that there was an affinity between us. Which is why there has always been tension between us; why our words are harsh and our emotions run high. But it’s also why we get each other. “I miss you, Pax.”

  “I miss you too. So what’s the answer, beso, you need me there or not?”

  Paxton doesn’t want to come to Chicago. I don’t even know if he can come to Chicago; I think his mom probably has an invisible fence around the state line that will keep him out. Plus, he’s doing his thing and figuring his own stuff out. I don’t know what that stuff is, but it’s been clear, since day one, that there is a lot of it. And I know that he needs to be in Venice to do that. “No. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

  He’s silent for a moment. “Let me make a few calls. I’ll find someone to help you out. If you want to get out of the dorm I can hook you up. Just let me know.”

  “I didn’t realize you were the king of Chicago,” I tell him, rolling my eyes at his overreaction.

  “There are a few people there who still like me.”

  “I’ll let you know. Thanks, Pax.”

  “Not a problem, Jess,” he says and it’s clear in his tone that he thinks my petty problems, that I could make disappear if I would grow a pair, are stupid and that he’s over it. I need to be over it too.

  “What’s going on with you? Where are you at?” I ask him, wanting to move on from my issues.

  “At the moment? I’m at some chick’s house in Malibu.”

  “Really?” I ask, intrigued.

  “Don’t get jealous, kid, it’s just a party. I’m not settling in,” he tells me, but I hear a woman in the background. It sounds like she’s doing something close to purring and she calls him ‘baby’. “Back off for a minute- can you not see the damn phone in my hand?” he tells the girl.

  This cute little convo I’m hearing is not new. I get to hear all kinds of sweet, desperate voices in the background when I talk to him. I think women must just follow him around begging all day. I get it. I mean, the boy is insanely hot. And in a way that makes women crazy. Which is completely different from your everyday insanely hot boy.

  Take Dylan for example, he’s extremely good looking in a very traditional, rare but not unheard of, way. He’s got a strong chin and dimples in both cheeks, his teeth are straight and white, his eyes are a nice shade of blue, his dark, wavy hair is always perfectly styled. And Paxton’s right; he worked all summer on his tan. He works out every day to keep his body toned. He’s six feet tall, exactly. He’s hot in the most expected, boring form of the word. And girls love him; they stare at him and maybe they imagine hanging off his arm and being his girlfriend. He’s perfect boyfriend material.

  But Paxton… he’s a whole different kind of beast. If we are going tit for tat against Dylan, God help him, I will break it down.

  Paxton is at least six-foot-two, so he doesn’t have to (and would never think to) make sure his back is straight and his calves are extended in order to ball with the tall dude that is getting too friendly with you. He definitely doesn’t spend time in the gym but he’s physical. His muscles are lean and defined but do not bulge and are not a direct reflection of his ego. His skin is a beautiful shade of tan; not because he laid out in the sun but because it’s how he was born. The top of Paxton’s hair is long and, depending on the day, is all messed up and sexy, or slicked back and badass, or cutely flopping lazily to one side. But the bottom is shaved short and there is something about being able to see his strong neck and the exact shape of the base of his skull that, for some unknown reason, is tempting. Paxton’s eyes aren’t blue, they are light gray. So light that sometimes they look like clear pools surrounding his black irises. His eyes aren’t friendly like Dylan’s. They are haunting and enigmatic.

  Paxton likes tattoos. They start on his palms and cover the underside of both forearms. They snake around his upper arms and over his shoulders and under his collar bone and over his back; like they’re creeping. Like they’re growing. Like maybe someday he will be nothing more than a beautiful illustration of his ambiguous life.

  All of the above add to his insanely hot status. But really, for me, it’s the lips. They’re big and fat and it’s hard to look at him and not want to suck on them just to see what delicious thing will come out. Like candy. Paxton’s lips are like candy.

  I’m partial to his lips because he kissed me with them. I like to give him shit about that night, the first time I met him, because he was such a god awful prick. If there is one thing I lie to Paxton about it’s that that kiss left me unsatisfied and definitely not wanting more. The truth is, when he reached out and grabbed me in a way that felt more angry than affectionate, I liked it. The way he pulled on my hair and looked at me like he was going to murder me before he bit down on my bottom lip and then sucked it, did something to my insides. When his tongue forced itself into my mouth and he kissed me, it felt primeval; it felt like we were just bones gnashing together. It was violent, it was awful in some ways, but damn if it wasn’t the most exhilarating moment of my life.

  And that’s the problem with Paxton. That’s the part of him that makes him near-impossible to resist. He screams danger. He screams come with me and I will show you shit you have never seen before. There is a fear in being with him, like you are a step closer to death, like you are definitely doing something you shouldn’t be doing. And for some reason, being that close to danger, to death, is exhilarating and somehow makes you feel alive. That part of him I can’t explain. It’s in his demeanor and in his expressions. It’s his voice and his eyes. It’s just who he is. I can’t explain it, but I get it. Trust me, I totally get it.

  I spent the first part of our year together in River Bluff trying to figure out how to work around it and see him as something more. It took me a while to realize Paxton is a damn good friend. That there is a soft heart and a damaged soul under that exterior. And that’s how I see him now. My comrade. My best friend. A total asshole, but also the friend that I was waiting for. And this conversation is just another example of why that is. He will drop all of his own plans if he thinks someone needs him.

  And I know I’m not the only one who knows this because Paxton seems to have a great dad and a lot of friends in California who love him. Which
is awesome. He’s finally free and doing what he wants. I want him here, but I don’t need him. Ever since I was twelve I knew that the only person I needed in this life was myself. I appreciate Paxton’s willingness to help, but I can handle my problems on my own.

  I want to stay on the phone with him, but I know I’m keeping him from his night time activities. Plus, I have to go deal with Dylan. “It sounds like you’re busy. I’ll talk to you later, Pax,” I tell him, smiling into the phone.

  “You letting me go already?”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you want to sit on the phone and talk about my problems instead of getting a piece of that girl that’s purring at you?”

  “I always want to talk to you, kid.”

  I close my eyes and smile. I’m picturing my first day of senior year- my first class of the day. I was sitting at a table in the art room with Emily, when the most beautiful boy walked into the room. For a second my heart was racing and then I realized it was that guy that had kissed me at the river before telling me to fuck off and walking away from me. I’m picturing the look on his face when he recognized me- the shit eating grin he gave me. I was fuming inside but he just smiled at me. I thought I was never going to see him again. I thought he was going back to Chicago and he thought, that when I said I was heading to school in that same city, I had meant that fall. But there we were, face to face again. A million thoughts raced through my mind as the boy that had rocked my world came stepping into that art room. Best case scenario – I thought maybe he would end up being my new friend with benefits. Worst case, and most likely, scenario I thought he would be my nemeses for the rest of the year. The word ‘friend’ never crossed my mind. Friends is not a place I ever pictured us going. But now it seems so right.

  “You still there?” he asks me.

  “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “You,” I tell him, opening my eyes.

  “What about me?”

  “I was just thinking that out of all of the things you and I could have become, friends seems like the most unlikely.”

  “What were we supposed to become, beso?”

  “This is what we were supposed to become. I get it now. But when I first met you… I wouldn’t have ever believed it – that you would be my friend.”

  Paxton lets out a loud breath like I’m wasting his time with this walk down memory lane bullshit.

  “Anyway,” I tell him, pulling my head back into the present. “You have a girl to screw and I have a boyfriend to break up with, so I’ll let you go. If you think about it, call me back when you’re sober and there isn’t a girl on top of you.”

  “Yep,” he says, quietly. “Catch you later, kid,” he tells me before the line goes dead.

  Chapter 2 - Paxton

  My whole life has been leading up to right now. As far back as my memory goes, the only thing I’ve ever wanted was to be able to come to California to live with my dad, Gabriel, and to never have to leave. It’s taken me twenty years to get to this point. Twenty years to put the state of Illinois, and every fucked up thing in it, firmly in my past. But like the bitch fate likes to be in my life, I’m still tied to that place.

  Because Jessa’s there.

  I spent the last year of my life making sure I didn’t get too attached to her, making sure I never let things get out of hand with her for this exact reason. I was cool with the situation. And if I was tempted, which I was… all the time, I managed to keep my eye on the prize. Venice was my girl and I was going home to her. It was the only thing that mattered.

  And Jessa made it easy to do that. River Bluff had two main attractions: a giant concrete cow named Myrtle, and a beautiful girl, in a town where fifty percent of the girls get married straight out of high school, who did not do relationships. It didn’t matter who the hell you were, Jessa Fairfield would never be yours. Which was great fucking news for me. I was never gonna have her, but neither was anyone else. She was messing around with that fool Dylan all year long, but she was spending her days, and most of her nights, with me. Dylan was her safe, stable, sexual partner. But I was her fantasy. We weren’t going to have each other, but we were living off the energy that blew up when we were together. Because we wanted each other.

  That’s what I told myself.

  And then she went and did the unthinkable and let that pretty boy claim her. She went and became his fucking girlfriend. That shit threw me.

  My last morning in that farm town, after I snuck in through Jessa’s bedroom window one last time, held her in my arms one last time, spent the night talking about the past year and all the crazy shit we had been through one last time, it hit me. It was, very likely, the last time I would ever see this girl. She was heading to Chicago to start a life with Dylan and for the first time since I met her, a thought crossed my mind – that could have been me. She could have been mine. But it was too late for us.

  Right now, at this moment, I have a hot girl in a very small bikini, rubbing her goods all over me and what am I thinking about? Jessa. Jessa and fucking Chicago.

  I push the girl off my lap. Having her mouth on my neck while Jessa’s voice was in my ear was a complete turn off. She’s not Jessa. That’s all I know right now.

  “What the hell was that for?” she stammers.

  “Just go… get the hell away from me.”

  “You schizophrenic freak,” she says, stumbling out of the room.

  I have to laugh at that. She might be right. I’ve always had to be at least two people and generally I have no idea who the hell I am.

  I get up and leave too. I stumble out to the beach, looking for the guys; my cousin, Santos, specifically ‘cause he’s the asshole who dragged us to Malibu chasing some chick he inked an angel on this morning. I fucking hate Malibu.

  Venice is beaches and surfing, it’s skating on whatever surface you happen to find, it’s grit and grime, it’s piss and motor oil. It’s a small dirty house and bunch of raucous Latino guys getting high and getting drunk. It’s freedom. It’s about finding the most dangerous and stupid ways to feel alive. For me, Venice has always been home. But drag me ten miles up or down the coast and I’m not happy.

  Santos ain’t out here and I can’t get Jessa and the fact that she’s done with Dylan out of my head. I told Jessa I could help her out, that I still have friends in that city, which is probably true but the fact is that when I left there I cut ties with everything and everyone. But I’m thinking of calling Violet. I’m thinking about connecting myself back to that life. For Jessa.

  I head down to the water and pull out my phone. I stare at it, not wanting to dial the number that’s running through my head. I’m tired of thinking about my past. I want to forget about that pathetic kid from Glencoe who was nothing more than a dirty dog that my mom, Rachel, had to feed once a day if she was feeling generous. I want to forget about that selfish drug addict in Chicago who managed to turn the one thing he had going for him – the music – into a near-death disaster.

  Jesus, I really need to put my past behind me and move the fuck on.

  The really sad fact is that I think I would do it… for Jessa. I would pick up and leave this paradise and head back into that hell for her. If it was just me and her I would probably already be in my ’68 Dodge Charger - which I picked up, along with a ‘65 GTO for Pops, with the insane amount of money I got for Dr. Dixon’s vehicle. But I can’t do that to Gabriel. He’s fresh out of lock up and his lifelong growing and distributing business is nonoperational which means his life is in dire straits and the only thing saving his ass at the moment is me and the steady flow of money coming into my account from Dr. Dixon. The flow that will freeze like artic ice as soon as I step foot back into that state.

  I’m not gonna do that. I shouldn’t do that. This girl has been in my life for a damn minute. Gabriel is my family and I will live and die devoted to him. But I can’t leave the girl hanging and if she wants out of her life with Dylan I’m going to a
ssist her in any way possible.

  “Shit,” I mutter to myself as I start dialing the number that’s running through my head like a ticker.

  “Hello,” the sweet voice, that I haven’t heard for over a year, says.

  “Hey, Violet.”

  “Paxton? Holy shit, is that you?”

  “It’s me. How’s it going?”

  “Oh my god…what the hell, Paxton? You are such an asshole, you know that? You realize that, considering the way you left this city, I’ve been worrying about you every day for over a year? You couldn’t have picked up a phone and given me a call, just to let me know you were okay? I mean shit, I still call your old number once a week just in case you’ve just had if off for a damn year.”

  I push my hand through my hair and grit my teeth. “I’m sorry, Vi. I just… I don’t know. I should have called you I was just trying to forget about everything.”

  “I know. I get that. But Jesus…nothing? You couldn’t have shot me a text letting me know you were okay? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m good. I’m at home in Venice with Gabriel.”

  “Seriously? That’s great. When did he get out?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “I bet he’s so damn happy to see you.” Vi’s part of my Chicago life so she’s never met Gabriel, but she’s the one who was with me when things started to unravel and so she knows more about this life of mine than anyone else in that city.

  “Yeah, it’s good. For both of us.”

  “Shit, Paxton. You’re never coming back to Chicago again, are you?” she says with a sigh.

  “Wasn’t planning on it. But I have some shit going on there and I need your help.”

  “Shoot.”

  “There is a girl that I met in Minnesota. She’s going to school in Chicago and it’s not going so fantastic for her. She could use a friend outside of campus if you can manage it.”

  “That sounds like a whole lot of drama, Paxton. What are you trying to get me involved in?”

  “Violet, it’s me- the guy that saved your ass.”