Mom and Dad didn’t even complain, bringing me food and coddling me between bouts of sleep. Turner came over a few times, and I heard Dad apologize for assuming the worst of him. He even thanked him for “taking care of his little girl,” and I’m pretty sure they hugged—I heard that telltale thumping that indicated a man-hug in progress. Then he went and ruined it by threatening to break Turner’s legs if he broke my heart.
It wasn’t until Sunday afternoon that I started to come out of the cocoon of denial and think about what would happen next. Technically, I had school the next day, but as I dragged my butt into the shower, the only thing I knew for sure was that I was not going back there. I was done with that place and those people.
My aunt and uncle arrived with the girls while I was in the shower, and they all rushed in for hugs when I came out. Amaya held me the longest.
We avoided the elephant in the room and ate an early dinner. It was nice to have them all there, hanging out, talking.
“Anyone want tea?” Dad headed into the kitchen to boil the water as Harlow and Donna cleared the table.
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I don’t want to go to school.”
Everyone paused. Mom patted my hand gently. “You don’t have to. Take a few more days off. We still need to get you to a doctor. And the police have called twice about taking a statement. Your father and I will go there tomorrow.” Her eyes had gone hard, her lips in a thin line.
Dad leaned on the counter as the water started to percolate behind him. “They’re not going to get away with this, Philly. Not anymore.”
“Once we’ve sorted everything out, then you can go back.” Mom gave me a smile.
I frowned and shook my head. “No. I don’t want to go back at all. And I don’t want to talk to the police or the school. I just . . . I’m done thinking about this and worrying about it and having it consume so much of my energy. I just want to put it behind me.”
Mom’s gaze filled with pity. “Sweetheart, you have to go to school. It’ll be fine once we speak with the principal. I’m going to demand that those kids are expelled. We’re going to press charges.”
She was making decisions for me, not listening to what I wanted. I’d spent my whole life trying not to be a bother to my family, trying to grit my teeth and bear it. But something had broken inside me that night—and something had broken out. Maybe it was a backbone. I pulled my hand out from under hers and shook my head again. “No. I am not stepping foot in that school again. I’m done.”
“Philomena,” Dad jumped in. “You can’t just not go to school, and there’s nowhere else that’s close enough.”
My aunt cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “She could go to Fulton Academy.”
“It’s an excellent school. We could make some calls on your behalf tomorrow,” my uncle quickly added. A little too quickly, making me wonder if they’d discussed this already.
Donna and Harlow stopped in the middle of making tea for everyone, the looks on their faces hopeful. Amaya gripped my knee under the table. I could practically feel the excitement radiating off her.
But I couldn’t let it spread to me because . . .
“Emily, you know we can’t afford that,” my mom gritted out.
“We’ll cover everything.” Aunt Emily’s eyes were pleading as she leaned forward on the table. “Fees, uniform, books, excursions, anything else she needs. It’s your money anyway, Eleanor.”
“No, it’s not.” Mom folded her arms. “Our mother disowned me for marrying the man I love and then left all her money to you. I don’t want a single cent of it.”
“Well, she’s dead now and it’s my money, and I want to give it to you.” Emily threw her hands up.
I sighed, sharing a look with Donna and Harlow. Our moms had this argument often.
“I don’t want it. Why are you doing this?”
“Because I love my niece!” my aunt yelled, clearly frustrated. “Because I want to do all I can for her. Because I love you, you idiot, and I want to help. Why are you letting pride get in the way—”
“Screw you. This is not about pride.” Mom got up and leaned on the table. If previous fights were anything to go by, this was headed downhill fast; one of them would be storming out soon, both of them in tears.
Frustration bubbled up inside me. I brought both my hands down on the table with a bang, making everyone turn to me in shock.
“Shut up!” I yelled. “God, aren’t you sick of having the same fucking argument already?”
“Language.” Dad pointed a reproachful finger at me from the kitchen.
Ignoring him, I stood up and pulled my shoulders back. “Aunt Emily, Uncle Richard, thank you, I’d love to go to Fulton. Mom, Dad, either it’s this or I don’t go.”
My mom turned her anger on me. “You are not dropping out of school.”
“Would you rather I keep coming home with bruises?” I yelled into her face, holding my raw wrists up. “Would you rather I don’t come home at all one day?”
She reeled back, eyes wide, but I was on a roll. “I’m not going back there. You can’t force me. I’ll be eighteen in a few months anyway. I’ll get a job and move out if I have to.”
“Of course I don’t want you to get hurt.” Mom sounded tired now. “But things will be better once we talk to the school and the police. Maybe we can move . . .”
She looked to Dad, who was leaning on the counter, his head hanging between his shoulders. He sighed, then walked over to wrap his arm around her. My heart constricted in my chest. He was going to side with her—this was their “united front” position.
“Philomena will be going to Fulton,” he said, surprising us all. “Thank you so much, Emily and Richard. We really appreciate your help.”
“Brad.” Mom tried to shrug him off, but he held on.
“It’s what’s best for her, Eleanor. You need to let this past resentment go. Look at her.”
They both looked at me. I fidgeted with my sleeves but didn’t back down, meeting their gazes head on.
My mom’s shoulders slumped, and she nodded.
Donna, Harlow, and Amaya all screamed in excitement and enveloped me in hugs. I hoped seeing how loved and supported I was by them would help Mom see that this was the right decision.
“The police are still going to want a statement about why you went missing, honey,” Dad said. “That’s going to make it hard to avoid the full story.”
In the end, I conceded to reporting the whole awful thing to the police and agreed to let my parents go down to the school and raise hell—as long as I didn’t have to go.
With Turner backing up my story and with the evidence online, the police were able to press charges, and the school board expelled the students involved. Kelsey caved in to pressure (that I was pretty sure came from Donna) and turned on her friends, taking a slap on the wrist in exchange for her statement.
It took a couple weeks to sort out my late enrollment at Fulton and get my uniform and supplies, but my first day had finally arrived.
With one last deep breath and a final check of my hair and makeup, I grabbed my blazer and brand-new backpack off the bed. The backpack was a new school gift from my aunt and cost more than I made at the diner in six months.
“Oh my . . .” Mom covered her mouth with her hand, then dropped it to give me a watery smile. “You look beautiful, Philly.”
“You kind of look like your mom when we first met. The uniform hasn’t changed much. You look lovely, Sweet Chilly,” Dad added. They’d both taken the morning off to be there for me on my first day. I’d drawn the line when they’d tried to insist on driving me themselves.
“Thanks, guys.” I smiled and pulled on my shoes.
My new phone—a top-of-the-line new school gift from Donna and Harlow—vibrated in my pocket.
“I gotta go. The girls are here.” I slung my expensive bag over my shoulder as giddy excitement mingled with nervousness in my gut.
“You haven’t even had
breakfast,” Dad chastised.
“I’m too nervous to eat.” I waved him off. He huffed, but they let me leave after kisses and lingering hugs.
The girls were waiting for me at the curb, all three leaning on Donna’s car and looking stunning in their perfect uniforms. Amaya’s skirt was the shortest, although it might have just been her ridiculously long, smooth legs making it seem like that. Donna looked as if she owned this town and everyone in it, big dark sunglasses framed by her short, sharp blonde hair. Harlow had her hair in two messy buns, her massive white headphones hanging around her neck. She was the first one to spot me.
She grinned and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Woohoo! You look hot!”
I laughed and looked away, embarrassed but also flattered. Donna and Amaya joined in, and they all started catcalling me worse than a construction site full of unsupervised apprentices.
“Work it!” Donna pumped her fist in the air.
“Shake that ass!” Amaya turned sideways and started shaking her own, the movement of the pleated skirt making the action even more obscene.
Fighting giggles, I gave in and played along, dancing on the spot and flicking my hair.
A loud wolf whistle sounded from behind me, and a deep male voice joined in. “Work that tight body, baby!”
I startled, my heart flying into my throat before I realized it was Turner.
The girls all cracked up laughing. I flipped them off, then turned to give my boyfriend a smack on the shoulder. He chuckled and gripped my hips, flashing me that mesmerizing smile of his.
“You scared me,” I scolded but melted into him, wrapping my hands around the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry.” He leaned down and nuzzled my nose. A chorus of “awws” came from the peanut gallery, and I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore them. Turner lowered his voice. “Wanna come over to my place after school? And leave that uniform on. I’ve always wanted to defile a private school girl.”
“Dammit, Turner, now I’m gonna be distracted all day.”
“Excellent.” He grinned and closed the tiny distance between us, giving me a firm, languorous kiss. His tongue swiped my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth to him on a sigh, completely forgetting we had an audience. One of his arms circled my waist, drawing me tightly against him, as his other hand went to my neck, his thumb tracing my jaw.
My eyes flew open, and I broke the kiss, pulling his hand away from my face. “You’ll ruin my makeup.”
“You don’t need it.”
I frowned. Today was my first day of being who I really wanted to be; maybe I needed to make a statement about this. “I don’t wear it just to look pretty for you, Turner, or anyone else. And I don’t wear it to hide my birthmark. I wear it because I like it, I enjoy putting it on, and it makes me feel confident.”
He blinked once, surprised at my outburst, then smiled. “I know. I didn’t mean it like that. You look beautiful with the makeup on, baby. But you look beautiful without it too. You are beautiful, and I love you.”
I melted at his words. “I love you too,” I told him before going in for another kiss.
An exaggerated gagging sound from the direction of the apartment building had us pulling apart again.
Jenny was sticking her finger in her open mouth, making the universal sign for disgust. “You guys are so gross.”
This time, we laughed along with the girls.
“Don’t you worry, Jenny baby,” Amaya called. “There will come a day, very soon, when you think kissing boys is the exact opposite of gross.”
“Or girls!” Harlow chimed in. “Whatever you’re into.”
Turner gave them a murderous look. “No, she won’t. Shut up!”
It was adorable how protective he was of his little sister.
In the days after everything exploded, Turner had needed to have some difficult conversations with his family too.
Simon was shocked and deeply saddened when he found out his wife was dead. He’d wanted Turner and Jenny to have their mother and their father in their lives. On top of his own grief, it crushed him to accept they would never have that again.
Turner was absolutely devastated. He’d spent years missing his mom, fantasizing about seeing her again, working to make that happen—and now he had to mourn her absence in his life for good.
Two nights ago we’d been sitting on his balcony together when the electricity had gone out again. In the silent darkness, he told me the worst thing about it was that he never got a chance to say goodbye. His shaky inhale right after made me tear up too. We held each other long after the electricity hummed back on.
Short of taking Jenny and going on the run for the rest of his life, there was no way for Simon to avoid speaking with the police to clear everything up. Due to the fact that Jenny was Simon’s actual daughter and adamantly wanted to stay with him, CPS allowed them to remain together. Jenny also told the police how she’d seen Boyd throw her mom down the stairs, that it wasn’t a tragic accident, as he’d reported at the time. Boyd had been taken into custody and was awaiting charges. Jayden was too, for the part he’d played in hurting me, but he had no other family here, and it looked as if he’d be sent off to live with an uncle in Wisconsin when everything was settled.
BestLyf had been very quick to release a statement severing all ties with Boyd Burrows and condemning his actions. They weren’t being very cooperative with police though, and apparently it was proving difficult to get warrants to search Boyd’s office at work.
Simon and Turner were disappointed that BestLyf’s involvement in their wife and mother’s tragic situation—all the manipulation and deceit—would likely never be proven, but they were at least satisfied her murderer would be brought to justice. I didn’t really know what to think of their adamant belief that BestLyf was a cult. Had his mom really been brainwashed? Or had she found herself in an abusive relationship with a controlling, manipulative man who just happened to work for them? Perhaps it was a combination of the two. I didn’t see the point in dwelling on it—Simon and Turner were just happy it was all over.
They were ecstatic to have Jenny back, and they both doted on her. At first, Simon had considered taking his kids and leaving, getting far away from this place. Turner and I could hardly even talk about what that would mean for us, but thankfully, Simon quickly abandoned the idea.
Jenny was at the start of a long road to unlearning all the negative things that had been put in her head about her father, to healing from all that she’d seen and experienced. But her new therapist had suggested moving could be detrimental. She had friends here, familiar surroundings, teachers she liked. Plus, her mom was buried in the Devilbend Memorial Park, and they wanted to be able to visit her. So they stayed.
I’d nearly choked up with relief when Turner told me. The thought of losing him was unbearable.
I was in therapy too. We all were. So. Much. Therapy.
“Good morning, Jenny.” I extracted myself from Turner’s arms and smiled at his little sister. She beamed back and gave me a tight hug. We’d formed a deep bond oddly fast—shared trauma tended to do that to people.
“You look really nice in your uniform, Mena,” she told me.
“Thanks. You look beautiful too.”
“Thanks! Turner, let’s go. I don’t wanna be late.” She tugged on his arm, and he rolled his eyes at me, but there was no missing the affection there.
It was their first day back at school too. Part of me wished I could be with them, walk there together, spend my days with him. But I knew going to Fulton was the right move—it was the best move for me.
“Have a good first day, baby.” Turner gave me one last peck on the lips before letting his kid sister drag him down the street.
“I will. Bye, guys!” I waved after them, then walked to my friends.
They each gave me a hug and put their sunglasses on. It was a ridiculously bright morning—not a cloud in the sky. Harlow pushed a caramel-flavored cup of diabetes into my hands as we pi
led into Donna’s car.
“And I know you haven’t eaten.” Amaya thrust a small paper bag at me from the back seat. I took it and peeked inside.
“The best croissants in Devilbend,” Donna informed me as she pulled into traffic.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I took a massive bite, then paused to moan around the soft, flaky, buttery goodness. “Fuck. This is the best croissant in Devilbend. Maybe all of California.”
“Told you,” Donna sang from the driver’s seat.
“Hurry up and finish it.” Amaya smacked my shoulder.
“No,” I mumbled around another bite. “I wanna savor it.”
“Ugh! Here!” Harlow leaned forward and yanked the drink and paper bag out of my hand. I just barely managed to snatch the rest of the croissant back and stuff it into my mouth with a glare. She just grinned back.
I chewed, and when my mouth was free enough to form words, I turned to face the back seat. “What the fuck—”
“Here!” Amaya thrust a rectangular box with a big bow on it at me. I took it reflexively and frowned. “It’s your new school gift. I know the others already gave you theirs.”
I sighed and smiled at them all. “You guys don’t have to keep buying me shit. I’m happy just being able to hang out with you every day.”
“We know,” they chorused.
“Open it.” Harlow waved her hand at me.
I let excitement win against the uncertainty. They were just being generous and loving on me—this was not about pity for the poor girl.
I ripped the paper off and opened the box.
Inside was a pair of sunglasses with a label I’d never dreamed I could afford. They were dark, like all of theirs, but had a slight point at the corners, reminding me of winged eyeliner. I tried them on and looked in the mirror.
“They’re perfect. I love them. Thank you so much,” I said and meant every word.
Amaya squeezed my shoulder.
We pulled into the parking area not long after. Before we could start walking toward the building, Donna dropped her bag and pulled out her phone. “We need to commemorate this moment.”
Like You Care: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 1) Page 17