by McKinley May
“I’m just joshing with ya, Dad. I got inspired by the meatloaf in the cafeteria. I call it ‘Mystery Meat Gone Wrong’.”
That explains the fork. But what the hell are they feeding the kids at this school?
“I’d stick with pack lunches from now on if I were you, dude,” I suggest as Stone continues to poke and prod his masterpiece. He nods in agreement.
“You shoulda seen the spaghetti they served last week.” He closes his eyes and shudders. “Tasted like worms.”
After one last poke, Stone drags his parents and little bro off to meet his art teacher. Rayne and I make our way through the gym, stopping to observe the rest of the artwork on display. Some of it is normal, cutesy shit—portraits of pets, sculpted ceramic pots, the usual art class project type of stuff—but a good portion of the work is just as weird as Stone’s piece.
I point at a painting of a freaky three-headed chicken and turn to Rayne. “Okay, am I completely out of the loop here, or is this what teenagers are like nowadays?”
She laughs as her eyes flit over the art. “No idea. We should give them a break, though. Kids go a little wacko during puberty.”
“Not me.” I smirk down at her. “I was cool as shit during puberty.”
“Uh, not possible. No one is immune to those awkward middle school years. Not even you.”
“Baby, I've been a fucking stud since the day I was born. Don't hate.” I wink and she rolls her eyes.
“Jeez, Vaughn. Cocky much?”
“I prefer the term confident.” I rub my chin and grin. “Actually, no. Cocky is definitely more accurate.”
She pretends to look annoyed, but a laugh slips from her mouth. “Let's go with conceited. That works best. You are the most conceited guy I've ever met.”
“Yeah, but I’m your conceited guy and you love it. Admit it.”
I lean down and press my lips to her temple. She wraps an arm around my waist and smiles up at me under thick lashes.
“I will never admit that.”
We continue walking around the gym, dodging wild kids and checking out the rest of the displays.
“Oh my God. Okay, this one cannot be blamed on raging hormones,” Rayne comments as we stare up at the most disturbing piece yet: a massive sculpture of a rusty spoon holding a dismembered eyeball, fake blood dripping from every inch. “This kid needs a visit to the school counselor.”
“Definitely. I'd rather look at an entire collection of inedible mutant lunches by your brother than this shit.”
We’re turning the corner when we see Stone and two boys his age sprinting in our direction. They try to skid to a halt in front of us, but one of the boys slips and ends up crashing straight into Rayne. She holds out her arms to steady him and looks at her brother curiously.
“You guys in a hurry?” she asks, but they all ignore her.
“I told you guys I know him!” Stone crosses his arms and nods towards me, giving his friends a self-satisfied smile.
The other two stare at me, jaws hanging open like I’m a fucking celebrity or something. They must be as obsessed with soccer as Stone is.
After they finally gather themselves, I learn their names: Chase and Xavier.
Chase blinks up at me, his shaggy hair poking out from under a black beanie. “Stone says you gave him a soccer lesson today after school. Is that true?”
“Yep.”
The moment Emerald pulled into the driveway after picking the boys up from school, Stone jumped out of the moving car and ran towards me with a soccer ball under his arm, Cedar chasing closely behind. Rayne and I spent two hours kicking the ball around with them, teaching Cedar how to dribble and Stone how to trap.
Xavier and Chase glance at Stone, impressed. He smugly raises his brow in response.
“We're going to Stone's house tomorrow,” Xavier says as he shyly kicks at the ground. “Could you teach us some stuff?”
“Sure, man. No problem. Bring your cleats and a few balls,” I say as they exchange high-fives.
And just like that, they're running off somewhere else. These kids are freakin' energizer bunnies.
“Stone! Slow down!” Rayne calls out after them, but they're already out of earshot. She turns to me and shakes her head. “Okay, it’s official. My brother has replaced me with you. A plain old sister can’t compare to the amazing Steel Blue. In fact, I’m pretty sure my entire family wants to adopt you.”
“I think I might be a little past the cut-off age for adoption, but I'd still sign the papers,” I say with a laugh. “For real, though, your parents and brothers are great. It’s really nice to feel like part of the family unit.”
And damn do I mean that.
These last few days with the Everetts have been fantastic. I joined in on one of her mom's yoga classes this morning, shared a few beers and shot the shit with her dad, and her brothers practically worship the ground I walk on.
It's been everything I missed out on growing up, everything I wanted but never really had.
“Do you ever speak with your family?” Rayne asks as she takes in my expression. Her voice is soft and timid, and it’s obvious she’s apprehensive to broach the subject with me.
Can’t say I blame her.
“Well, we...” The words to the same bullshit I feed anyone who asks about my family evaporate on my tongue as I realize something. Rayne isn’t just anyone. She’s my girlfriend, and she deserves to know everything about me and my past—the good and the bad.
“You know what? Fuck it. I want to take you to Raeville. Tonight. After this.”
A shadow of concern passes over her face. “Vaughn, we don’t have to go there. I’m sorry, forget I even said anything. It’s not my place to ask.”
I shake my head. “I’m taking you there, Rayne. I’ve spent the past couple of years trying to repress everything that’s happened, thinking I can just shove my past to the side and move on. But that’s not how life works. I need to fucking face it. And I want you to know the truth.”
Rayne grabs my hand and squeezes gently. “Are you sure?”
I muster up a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, I am.”
And despite the fact that my stomach’s churning at the mere thought of going back there, I know I’m sure. I know it’s what I want. If I’m going to tell anyone the full story, it’s Rayne. She’s kind, understanding, and I trust her completely.
31
Anxiety prickles on the tip of my skin as Vaughn drives slowly through the streets of Raeville. I stare out the passenger window, watching the orange glow from the street lamps blur together and listening to the soft hum of the engine that pierces through the quiet. He hasn’t said a word the entire twenty minute drive over, his jaw tight and brows low as he drove us in silence.
It really wasn’t my intention to pry earlier at Stone’s Art Show, but the question slipped out before I could stop myself. I expected him to brush it off, change the subject, but he didn’t.
And the look on his face when he said he wanted to bring me here? It was so raw, so freaking pained, I can tell this is something he needs to get off his chest. I don’t know what he’s going to say, but whatever it is, I’ll support him.
The thing is, I decided a while ago that whatever happened in his past, whatever obvious issues he has with his family, whatever the reason he got in trouble all those years ago, none of that matters to me. It doesn’t matter a damn bit. All that matters is the guy I know now.
Every preconceived notion I had about him, every negative expectation and judgemental thought, all of that shattered the moment I got to know him. Vaughn’s honest and dedicated, loyal and determined, one of the best people I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. And his past is just that: his past.
The car comes to a stop as he pulls up to the left curb and puts it into park. I peer out his driver side window. I’m surprised when I see an impeccable stucco home and a beautifully manicured lawn. I twist my head down the street, realizing every house on the block is mansion-like in appearanc
e. I must’ve been completely lost in thought to have missed the turn into this section of Raeville.
“Wow,” I mutter in awe. “What a gorgeous home.”
“Yeah, it is.” Vaughn’s mouth twists down in a frustrated scowl. “On the outside.”
“So, uh.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for the door handle. I’m about to open it when I notice he hasn’t moved a muscle. “Shouldn’t we go in and say hello?”
He gives a small shake of his head. “Nah, no one’s home.”
“Oh,” I say, slightly confused. “How do you know?”
“My mom’s out of the country, somewhere in Europe I guess. And my sister doesn’t live here anymore.”
“What about your dad?”
My question is met with a small laugh of disbelief, and I can’t help but notice his fists balling up at the mention of his father.
“Definitely not around.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He finally turns to make eye contact. “You know, my family’s nothing like yours, Rayne. My parents had me when they were young, too—early twenties—but the similarities stop there.”
I turn my body sideways in the seat, facing him head-on as he continues.
“My parents met when they were twenty-one at some gala function my paternal grandparents were throwing. My dad comes from money and my mom doesn’t, but she wanted to be a part of that world more than anything. She was working service at the event, ended up chatting with my dad, and they fell for one another immediately. Within a few months of dating, she was pregnant with me. A couple years later, they had my sister, Sydney.”
“Honestly, I don’t think either of them wanted to have children. Ever. At least I hope that’s the case, because they were really shitty as parents. Neither was willing to give up their lifestyle to raise kids. My dad was partying constantly while my mom threw herself headfirst into the lush lifestyle she’d always wanted. They hardly spent any time together, and I don’t even know why the hell they stayed married.”
He frowns at the memories.
“We pretty much grew up with nannies and babysitters. My mom traveled all the time, zipping from one luxurious island to the next. When she was around, she’d ship us off with relatives if she wanted the house to herself. I don’t think the woman has a motherly bone in her body. She acted as if my sister and I were inconvenient annoyances as opposed to her own bloodline.”
“That’s horrible,” I comment, trying to imagine what it’d be like to have parents who didn’t give a shit. It’s hard to even fathom.
He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Some good came out of it, though. She signed Sydney and I up for soccer to get us out of her hair, throwing endless amounts of money at skills camps and private training. We probably wouldn’t be the athletes we are today if she hadn’t forced us into the most time-consuming sport she could find.”
“Where was your dad during all of this?” I question softly.
His jaw ticks.
“In and out of our lives from the day I was born. He had an obvious drug problem, going on month-long benders before showing back up at home claiming he was sober and ready to step up and be a dad. I can’t even remember how many times he made that damn promise.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “And I believed him each and every time. It hurt like hell when we’d wake up and he’d be gone again. You’d think we would’ve become numb to it after a certain point, but nope. Always fucking stung.”
I reach over and give him a comforting squeeze, trying to keep the surprise off my face. I had absolutely no clue his upbringing was so awful and complicated.
Vaughn turns, gazing out the window down the dark street.
“Let’s take a walk. I wanna get out of this car.”
I nod. In a matter of minutes, we’re walking hand-in-hand down the concrete sidewalk, the street abandoned and eerily quiet as Vaughn continues his story.
“When I got to high school, I started acting out. I’m not gonna bullshit you, babe; a lot of what those papers said about me was true. I partied every weekend, didn’t give a shit about showing up on time or what my coaches thought, didn’t give a damn about anything, really. I had no parental supervision and did whatever the hell I wanted. I knew it was wrong, but I was still performing at an elite level and wasn’t failing classes, so it wasn’t like I was fucking anything up.”
“Everything was falling into place my junior year. I’d been training with the U17 National Team, received full scholarships to a shitload of schools, including my top choice: UCLA. I had a pretty solid future career laid out in front of me. On top of that, my dad showed up during the spring swearing he was here for good this time, clean and sober. And he was there for five entire months—the longest he’d ever stuck around—coming to all my games and eating dinner with us, acting like an actual dad for once in his life. Even my mom seemed to travel less during that time. Sydney still didn’t trust him one bit, but I was just freaking ecstatic to finally have a father figure in my life, so I didn’t listen to her numerous warnings.”
We come to the end of the cul-de-sac, and Vaughn starts leading me down a narrow dirt path towards a small playground. When we get there, we both take a seat on neighboring swings.
“So what happened?” I ask as we slowly sway back and forth.
“The summer before senior year, I was driving to a friend’s house when I got pulled over for speeding. For some fucked up reason—probably because I’d had my fair share of run-ins with the local cops—the police officer decided to search my car. I thought it was annoying, but I didn’t have anything to hide, so whatever. When he opened the glovebox, there was a shitload of drugs inside. I still don’t even know what the hell half of it was. I may have been into partying, but I didn’t mess with any of that shit—not ever. I tried to tell the cop that, but he wasn’t having it.”
Vaughn rubs the back of his neck, rage simmering behind those beautiful blue eyes.
“He drove me home, and the entire time I was trying to figure out which of my dumbass friends left their stash in my fucking car. But when the officer took me up to the door and my dad answered, the moment I saw his face I just knew they were his.”
An abrupt rush of shock and disgust soars through me.
“He told the cop that, right?” I question, anger already lodged in my throat because I know what he’s going to say.
“Nope. Once the cop gave me all the legal shit—court date and all that crap—my dad pulled me inside and took me to his office. He went all guilt-trip on me, saying he must’ve hidden those in there forever ago and forgot about them. He encouraged me to take responsibility since I was a minor and it wouldn’t be as big of a deal. At first I told him no, but then he started spewing shit like he needs me to take the blame so he can stick around and we can continue to be a family. He literally looked me in the eyes and asked ‘Do you want to send your own father to jail?’ like the manipulating bastard he is.”
He frowns and shakes his head. “Then he went on and on about how they could hush it up, seal whatever small charges there were against me, how it wouldn’t affect my soccer career. And, like a fucking idiot, I believed him. I believed everything, so I took full responsibility. Within one week of taking the fall for him, he fucking bailed.”
Vaughn’s nostrils flare at the memory. I can feel the hatred radiating off of him—off of both of us.
How could his own dad do that to him? What kind of horrible, disgusting man would do that to his son? Just hearing about it has my body trembling with fury.
“My mom came back into town to help me deal with it, more pissed that she had to cut her Maldives trip short than the fact that her kid just got a freakin’ drug possession charge. Luckily, her connections kept me from any major punishments, and we did manage to keep things under wraps for a little while. But the National Team found out eventually, followed by UCLA, and both of those opportunities were gone within a moment’s notice. My mom worked her magic to keep them from r
evealing the reasons why I lost my spot, but that didn’t stop the other schools from following suit, letters and emails coming in everyday revoking my scholarships and acceptance letters. Even got kicked off my high school team.”
“Why didn’t you come out and tell people what really happened at that point?” I ask, fingers forcefully gripping the swing chains.
“Too late. I’d already claimed the drugs as mine, and nothing I said after that was going to change anything. It’s not like I had any proof, you know? He put them in my fucking car. If anything, it’d look like I was the bad guy in the situation, trying to blame someone else. My partying reputation wasn’t exactly helpful, either; it wasn't too difficult to assume I was into all that shit.”
He lets out a long breath.
“Not to mention it would’ve become a whole thing with the media, and that was the last thing I wanted to deal with on top of everything else. I already spent the majority of my high school years trying to get them the hell out of my personal life. This would’ve been way too much. I mean, shit, they still tried to talk about it for years, and they didn’t even know the half of what went down. All I wanted to focus on afterwards was soccer, and that’s it. There was nothing I wanted to do more than move on.”
“Have you heard from your dad since?” I ask curiously. A huge part of me would love to hear that he saw him again and knocked his freaking lights out.
Vaughn lets his feet drag against the wood chips below. “Nope, and I hope I never hear from his sorry-ass ever again. I’m done with him. With both of my parents, really. The one and only reason I keep in contact with my mom is to get updates on how my sister’s doing.”
I frown. “You guys don’t talk anymore? Why not?”
“Nah, we haven’t spoken since any of that went down. She refused to talk to me during my last year of high school, and I haven’t even seen her since I left for college.”