Like You Care: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 1)

by Kaydence Snow

  There was no point in arguing with Donna when she set her mind to something.

  “As long as you promise not to tell our parents or my teachers, and you don’t do anything to make my life worse, yes, fine, help away.” I sighed and dropped back against the pillows.

  When Donna and I managed to drag our asses out of bed around eleven the next morning, Amaya was already gone, and Harlow was still fast asleep. We made our way downstairs and had breakfast with Auntie Em, then Donna drove me home in relative, comfortable silence. The windshield wipers swooshed rhythmically for the entire twenty-minute drive as a Sunday chill playlist softly drifted through the speakers.

  Donna didn’t bring up any of the crap we’d discussed ad nauseam the night before until she pulled up next to my building.

  “You don’t have to deal with this alone anymore, Mena. We’re here for you.” She gave me a serious look, and I leaned over the console to hug her. She squeezed me tightly, then smiled as I pulled back. “I love you.” She looked away.

  I appreciated that more than she could know. I knew how hard it was for her to show emotion most of the time.

  “I love you too, Donna.” I moved to get out of the car, but she reached over and gripped my forearm.

  “Let me drive you to school tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question. It was practically a demand.

  I laughed. “Don’t you have to go to school?”

  “Yeah but . . . just let me, OK?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

  She rolled hers. “Mena.”

  “OK. Fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She finally released my arm. “Great! See ya then.”

  I got out of the car, and she drove off.

  Once she was gone, I trudged up the path toward my building. I’d put my work uniform on to go home, and I didn’t really care if I got soaked—it was covered in milkshake anyway.

  As I rounded the corner, I paused, my heart flying into my throat.

  I hadn’t expected to see Turner until tomorrow at school, had maybe even planned to avoid him a while longer. But there he was, sitting on the entryway steps and blocking my way. He had his baseball hat on, his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees.

  As if he could feel me looking at him, he lifted his head and spotted me. He stood up, his movements lithe and quick, and came down the stairs, out of the cover of the entranceway and into the softly falling rain.

  I set my shoulders, lips pursed, and focused on the door, fully determined to walk right past him.

  “Mena.” He reached for me as I passed. Why did his voice have to sound so rough, so broken?

  “Don’t touch me.” I leapt out of his way, off the path and onto the patchy grass.

  He stepped back immediately, his breathing hard, almost frantic. His hands flew to his head before dropping once more to his sides.

  Why did he have to look so good? His gray sweatpants hung loose and low on his hips, and a black tank was stretched across his defined chest, the gray hoodie over it left unzipped. I wanted to lean into him, push my hands under the hoodie and around his waist, rest my cheek against his strong chest. How was I supposed to stay mad at him when all I wanted to do was put on my own sweats and find a couch so we could cuddle and listen to the rain?

  That rain was now plastering my hair to my face; wet patches were gathering on Turner’s shoulders.

  I raced up the steps, but he was right on my heels.

  “Wait, wait, wait. Mena, please.” He sounded so desperate. I hated myself for stopping.

  I turned to face him and crossed my arms. “What?”

  “I . . .” He looked lost. I could only just make out his eyes under the hat—they were watching me intently, flying about my face. “Fuck. I’ve been sitting there for hours, running through what I’d say to you, and now it’s all just . . . gone.”

  Hours? “Why have you been sitting in the rain for hours?”

  He took a deep breath. “Waiting for you. I waited for you last night too. But then you left with those girls, and . . . I just want to make sure you’re OK.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. That’s why you called and texted last night then? To make sure I’m OK?”

  He hung his head. “I wrote and deleted dozens of messages. I was up all night, trying to think of something to say that . . . nothing seemed like it was enough. I . . . I had no idea where to even start.”

  “A simple ‘Are you OK?’ would’ve been a good start.”

  “Fuck. Yes. You’re right. It just seemed so . . . inadequate. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

  “For what exactly?” I tilted my head, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. This was breaking my heart. He clearly cared. He wouldn’t be standing in front of me, looking as torn up as I felt, if he didn’t. But I couldn’t just let go of the hurt. I wanted answers. Maybe it was unfair to lay all my anger with the world at Turner’s feet. But I didn’t care what those other assholes had to say—they couldn’t hurt me as he could.

  “All of it. For what you’ve had to deal with. For not saying anything last night. For not doing more. For . . . fuck . . . everything. If I’d known it was you all those times, I would’ve said something. I would’ve done more. I . . .” He swallowed, faltering, but I still wasn’t satisfied.

  “That’s your reasoning? If you’d known it was me, you would’ve done something? So, it’s not OK that they treat me like shit, but it’s OK if they do it to other people? Is that the standard, Turner? People you care about should be protected, but fuck everyone else? That’s a pretty messed-up morality system. It’s not OK. Whether it’s me or some other desperate loser whose name you don’t know, it’s not OK to treat people like shit. And it’s not OK to stand by and watch it happen and do nothing,” I ground out and swiped at the angry tears now streaming down my face.

  He made a pained sound and reached for me again.

  “Don’t.” I stepped out of his reach, pressing my back against the chipped metal railing.

  He turned away, his body radiating tension, and gripped his head with his hands. He took his hat off, ran a hand through his soft blond hair, and put the hat back on backward before turning to face me again.

  I had an unhindered view of his face now—could see the dark circles under his eyes, the pain in his dark gaze.

  “You’re right. It’s not OK. You have no idea how badly I want to call them all out on their shit. I don’t even fucking like Jayden. He is such a douchebag.”

  “Then why are you friends with them?” I huffed. This was what it came down to. This was why I’d been so afraid to tell him from the start. I was terrified he’d choose popularity, image, over something real. Because I no longer doubted what we had was real. I could see it in his desperate eyes, hear it in his pleading voice. He felt as strongly about me as I did about him. But was it enough? Was I enough?

  He growled and looked up to the ceiling before focusing his gaze back on me. “I don’t want to be friends with them. I swear.”

  “So, stop. We have each other. We’re both seniors. School will be over in a few months anyway, and none of this will matter.”

  He sighed and looked away. “I wish that was true. God, you have no idea how badly I wish that none of this mattered.”

  My heart splintered.

  I wasn’t enough.

  Fresh tears trailed down my cheeks. I tried to swallow them down, but that just made me choke on my own heartache, so I took a shuddering breath.

  Turner’s eyes got watery too, and his voice wavered as he spoke. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just walk away. It’s not up to me.”

  I chuckled darkly and shook my head. “What does that even mean?”

  “I don’t know how to explain without . . . it’s not . . .”

  “It’s not going to work,” I finished for him, dropping my gaze.

  “What?” He stepped toward me again, and a sob tore from his throat. “No. That’s not . . . just give me a couple of weeks. I need s
ome time to sort it out, and then I’ll tell you everything. I can explain all of this. I . . . we can just keep doing what we’ve been doing. No one has to know. I just need a little time.”

  He was pleading with me, but it just sounded like more excuses. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He wanted to be the gorgeous popular guy everyone liked while still having his piece on the side. Well, I was no one’s side chick.

  “Fuck you, Turner.” I wish I’d said it firmly, with anger lacing the words. But it came out on a sob, sounding weak and hurt—sounding exactly the way I felt.

  I wrenched the door open and ran up the stairs, not waiting for the elevator.

  He didn’t follow me.

  On Monday morning, for the first time, I didn’t go out to the balcony and wait for Turner to leave—it didn’t matter if he saw me anymore.

  Donna’s BMW was waiting for me in the same spot where she’d dropped me off the day before. I was honestly glad I wouldn’t have to walk to school in the light, unremitting rain.

  As soon as I opened the passenger door, I was met with a cheery “Good morning!” that made me cringe. Amaya and Harlow were in the back seat, and all three of them had yelled the greeting. They looked amazing in their Fulton Academy uniforms—teal tartan skirts and matching ties, dark gray blazers over crisp white shirts. I looked down at my skinny jeans and black sweater and sighed.

  “It’s too early for that level of enthusiasm,” I grumbled as I slid into the car. It also made me slightly worried. When they were this coordinated and excited, it usually meant they had something up their sleeve.

  “Shut up and caffeinate.” Harlow handed over a large takeaway cup.

  I moaned before I even tasted it; I could already smell the caramel syrup. They were driving me to school, and they’d gone out of their way to bring me my fave complicated coffee I could in no way afford to have more than once a week. True friendship!

  “I’ll give you money next time I see you. Don’t have my wallet,” I mumbled around the cup.

  “No, you won’t.” Donna took off. They always refused to take my money, and I refused to stop offering it.

  We chatted about nothing important and listened to music, but it was a short drive. I didn’t notice the other cars until they were pulling up next to us.

  Another pang of anxiety spiked.

  “Shit. What did you guys do?” I bugged my eyes out as a black Lexus pulled up on our left. I could see another shiny, very expensive vehicle beyond. They’d all parked on a diagonal right in front of the school, blocking half the parking lot and taking up space as if they owned it. Who knows, one of them probably did.

  I may not have noticed the cars until it was too late, but there was no missing those extravagant vehicles in front of a public school in this area of town. Something was up, and the students wanted to know what. They were slowing down to look, abandoning their trek into the school. Some had even turned back.

  “I told you I wasn’t going to sit back and do nothing. We’re taking care of it,” Donna announced.

  “Fuck. What did you do?” Panic laced my voice. I loved Donna for how fiercely protective she was being, but I worried she was about to make my life even worse.

  “I remembered who I was and what I do best,” she said, not explaining anything. “Harlow did her creepy online stalker thing to get me the info I needed, and Amaya mobilized the troops. Now it’s time to remind them who you are.”

  “Mobilized the . . . guys, this isn’t a war.” I was fighting to remain calm and failing. No one had gotten out of the fancy cars, and a crowd had started to gather. Hopefully the security guards hadn’t noticed the commotion.

  “Life is war. And I refuse to lose a single battle.” With that final unhinged comment, Donna smoothly got out of the car.

  As if they’d been waiting for her move, all the other car doors opened, and suddenly a large group of teal-and-gray uniforms were congregating in the parking lot. Drew, William, and the rest of the crew that had been at the diner the other night were all there, along with what looked like half the Fulton Academy football team.

  “Fuck my life.” I groaned, took another sip of my sugary coffee, and stepped out of the car.

  Several of the Fulton Academy crew waved at me, Nicola gave me a fist bump, and a couple of others gave me hugs. They were just standing in front of the cars and chatting, acting casual—as if it were completely normal for them to be in front of my school twenty minutes before the first bell on a Monday.

  “Well . . . uh . . . thanks for the ride, you guys.” I kept my voice low, speaking only to the girls. “And the escort, I guess. I’ll see ya?” It came out like a question, but I turned to leave anyway.

  “Nope.” Donna stepped into my path. “We haven’t made our point yet.”

  “What exactly is the point?” It felt as if my heart were trying to shatter my ribcage. So many people were staring, and I hadn’t gone unnoticed—the only Devilbend North High student in among all the pretty rich people.

  “Just chill.” Harlow took my backpack off my shoulder and lowered it to the ground as she and Amaya pulled me back to lean on the hood of Donna’s car, positioning me between them.

  For lack of anything better to do, I took more sips of my coffee.

  “Excuse me.” Donna sounded sweet, but I knew that disingenuous tone in her voice. She had her sights set on a freshman, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “Yes, you. Could you please run along and find Madison and Jayden?”

  The kid nodded and sprinted toward the school.

  Shit, shit, shit. What the fuck was Donna up to? I was dying on the inside. On the outside, I tried to act as cool as they were. “Just those two? I mean, you’re here. Might as well get the whole gang together.”

  “The others will follow.” Amaya’s face was in her phone, as always, her free hand resting behind me on the car. “It’s what they do.”

  Well, that was . . . true, but no less terrifying or panic inducing.

  Within a few minutes, excited murmurs rippled through the growing crowd, and a path cleared down the middle. My pounding heart jumped into my throat. I lowered my gaze and hunched my shoulders, taking another sip.

  Amaya’s hand wrapped around mine. “Head up, Mena. You no longer bow to these vermin.”

  Her cool, disinterested mask stayed firmly in place, but there was no denying the rage in her tone. Harlow looped her arm through mine, and I took a deep breath and lifted my head. It went against every instinct I had around these people, on these grounds, but I felt stronger with the girls at my side.

  Jayden sauntered out of the crowd first, Madison beside him; the others followed close behind, just as Amaya said they would. My gaze scanned their faces, and I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when I didn’t see Turner with them.

  “I hear I’ve been summoned.” Jayden laughed, raising his voice for the crowd, putting on a show. “Color me intrigued. What the fuck do you want?”

  Donna smirked at us, then schooled her features into a hard mask, turned to face my tormentors, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Jayden, I’m guessing? And this must be Madison?”

  Picking up on Donna’s hostile vibe, Madison crossed her own arms and pursed her lips. “And who are you, bitch? What makes you think you can just roll up here and summon us like we’re your subjects? This is our school. You don’t own Devilbend.”

  “Don’t I?” Donna sounded amused. “I’m Mena’s cousin, and I thought it was time we had a little chat.”

  “Who the fuck is Mena, and why should we care?” Jayden chuckled, but his gaze landed on me. They knew what this was about.

  “How about you get daddy to buy you a few brain cells and fuck off?” Kelsey snarled, and the girls snickered.

  I was screaming internally, not sure if I should be more worried about my safety or Jayden’s and Madison’s. But I kept my expression smooth, drawing strength from Amaya and Harlow on either side of me.

  “You sound and look rid
iculous,” Bonnie added. “This is the real world. You look like a bunch of preppy losers in those stupid uniforms.”

  “Our uniform looks better than that tragic Kmart outfit any day.” Amaya eyed her up and down.

  Bonnie flipped her hair and frowned. “Kmart isn’t even a thing anymore. What are you, stupid?”

  Amaya just raised her brows and gave her an amused, challenging look, waiting for Bonnie to put two and two together and understand the implication that her outfit not only looked like shit but was outdated.

  I could see the exact moment Bonnie figured it out. The smug smile fell off her face, and her nostrils flared, her hands clenching into fists.

  “That’s enough of the pleasantries.” Donna waved a dismissive hand. There was nothing pleasant about her tone—or any of this, really. “Let me put this in a way your subpar-educated, underdeveloped minds will comprehend. My cousin Philomena is—”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Madison’s raised voice cut across Donna’s, but whatever she was going to say died on her tongue.

  As one, the entire Fulton Academy crew dropped their casual demeanor. They all pushed off the hoods of their cars and took a menacing step forward, shoulders tense, expressions stony.

  My whole body went rigid, ready to spring into action, run away, do something when all hell inevitably broke loose. But Amaya and Harlow tightened their hold on me, keeping me in place. Donna didn’t even flinch. The four of us were the only ones who didn’t move.

  As Donna’s crew stepped up, the assholes from my school reflexively stepped back, eyes wide in surprise and fear. Some even went into a slight crouch, ready to throw down. The other students gasped, but no one left, too enthralled in the spectacle, the drama. If I hadn’t been freaking out, I might have been entertained too—this was better than an episode of Real Housewives.

  Donna spoke again, her voice clear and firm. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking.”

  She stood still for a beat, letting the silence get heavier.

  That’s when I noticed Turner. He walked up from the direction of home, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his other hand stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. About halfway into the middle of the crowd, he paused. Every fiber of my being was aware of him in my periphery, but I refused to look directly at him. Plus, I was worried if I took my eyes off Donna, she was going to go full terminator on these fuckers, and that really would complicate my life.