Whatever the reason, the two of them did me a solid.
They gave me a place to stay.
They fed me.
They bought me shit.
They paid for my college tuition, allowing me to save the rest of the money and the property left to me by my parents so that I’d have a head-start in life. They didn’t want me to have to sell my childhood home to pay for school. They wanted me to have a solid foundation when I graduated, a place to live scott-free. A leg up from the other people my age, if you will.
Bottom line: They cared.
My uncle took me on as an additional duty on top of the fuck-ton of responsibilities he already shouldered; he’s the town mayor, has been for years. When I bring up my uncle’s position of power, it’s not to brag, or to say, I’m important; my family is important. It’s not to show, that in our small southern town, the Hudson name is practically royalty—even though all that shit is true.
The women around here have gone to great lengths in trying to play matchmaker for me and whichever young lady in their family is closest to my age. All of that’s inconsequential though. I’m trying to show I respect them—my aunt Marlowe and Uncle Randall—both infinitely. I’d do anything to make them happy, starting with attending the school they chose for me; even going after one of the career paths they pushed for.
Needless to say, when it comes to doing things that will hurt them, I avoid them at all costs.
With one exception, and it’s one that I try to my damnedest to hide.
The Hudson’s hate the Knightley’s.
I should hate the Knightley’s.
Sometimes it works for me, sometimes I’m able to convince myself that I do, but not always. When you lose someone you love unexpectedly, in a tragic accident no less, you need someone to point the finger at.
One rainy night Charles Knightley collided head-on with my family’s sedan, taking away everyone I loved in the blink of an eye. And although I was the only one of the Hudson’s who remained, I can’t remember jack shit of the incident. Bits and pieces come in bursts like confetti, not making much sense and always leaving me frantically grasping at air, searching for answers and coming up short.
Charles Knightley is by far the easiest, and most convenient person to blame. He was behind the wheel. After his wife died, he often drank in the evenings. Hell, I had seen him drunk on more than one occasion myself, which is how I know those whispers of him having a clean Blood Alcohol Content level on that night, are all bullshit.
And he’s not the only Knightly I hold accountable. Gray chose to skip town when his mom died instead of stepping up to the plate, so he’s another easy target. The fact he came back home to help out after the accident, taking on all the duties of his father, is just too little too late. The deed was already done.
But Lyra…she was the most innocent in all this. A young girl who had no control over her father—a grown-ass man’s actions. The emotional side of me will always resent her for the whole guilty-by-association notion, and the rational side of me realizes the unfairness of that. Then, there’s a piece of me where those two sides overlap, and confusion ensues.
I hate her; it’s true, I do. And not for the reason that most makes sense—not because of her last name—but because she stirs something deep inside of me that I can’t seem to harness or control, much less put a name on.
Lyra is magnetic, and I’m drawn to her against my will. Always have been; always will be. It’s an unchanging fact. Just like the moon is constantly orbiting the earth, we’ve constantly been orbiting—dancing around each other in one way or another—our entire lives. It started out as a youthful friendship, but it evolved into a messy clusterfuck of feelings I didn’t even know how to begin sorting out as a teenage boy.
They’re apparently one hundred times worse as a man.
I can still remember the first time I realized my affections toward her were changing…
~XoXo~
Nash, Summer before Ninth Grade
Swinging my leg over the sturdy wooden fence bordering my Grandpa’s property, I cross over onto the neighboring Knightley land. I finished my chores for the day, even got up at the ass-crack of dawn before Pop’s was awake, just to get everything out of the way and clear my schedule.
I haven’t seen my friend Lyra since we graduated the Eighth grade a month and a half ago—her Nana Rose insisted she take a summer vacation out to see some relatives of theirs who live out of state. This is by far the longest we’ve ever went without hanging out. Hell, we haven’t even spoken since school ended.
Thank fuck Mom forgot to grab toilet paper the last time she went to the store and had to make an obligatory run back out, or else she wouldn’t have ran into Miss Rose out in town. The old lady was sure to inform Mom that she’d just dropped Lyra back off at home, and Mom forwarded the bit of information to me.
Within an hour of hearing she was back, I’d talked my parents into letting me stay a few days with my Grandpa, and here I am now—jogging through the Knightley’s pasture, overly eager to be reunited with my friend.
I know what you’re thinking…guys my age don’t hang out with a girl unless they’re interested in her, but that isn’t the case with us. I’ve known Lyra since we were in Kindergarten—Hell, technically even longer than that, but my memory doesn’t stretch back that far. She’s just a friend, plain and simple. The idea of my liking her—of wanting her to be my girlfriend, or even just wanting to kiss her—is laughable.
Not to make fun of my pal, but she’s lanky. Neon green braces and glasses could be described as her signature style—although she mainly just wears the glasses when she’s reading and sticks to contacts the majority of the time.
She’s only just begun to go through puberty, which means she’s lacking in the tits and hips department…nothing at all like the chicks I like to check out in the Playboy magazines I keep stuffed under my mattress.
Don’t get me wrong, Lyra is adorable, but it’s in that nerdy and awkward kind of way. Endearing like a stray mutt you take in and grow attached to.
My older brother, Hayes, loves poking fun at the fact I’d rather hang out with a girl than my group of teammates—I play about every sport there is to play, and in a small town like ours, it’s basically the same guys on every team—but I don’t let the teasing bother me. I’m content with our friendship. I know where we stand, and fuck everyone else who doesn’t. Besides, she’s funnier than all the guys on my team combined, and she doesn’t go around trying to one-up me like there’s an ongoing competition in everything we do. That’s how the dudes on my team are, constantly trying to exude who’s the leader of the pack. I can’t be myself around them…not like I can with Lyra.
Other people have tried to accuse us of dating, and it’s gotten so old I don’t even bother to correct them. If it keeps a bunch of unworthy losers from trying to date the coolest chick I know, then so be it.
I rap three times at the door, surprised that it swings open only moments later. As soon as I see her face, I wrap my arms around her, lifting her in the air and spinning in circles. Melodic laughter fills the air.
“You’re back,” I exclaim, as I continue whirling her around, not giving a shit that it makes me look like a pansy of epic proportions.
“And you’re about to be covered in throw-up. Put. Me. Down.” She gives an angry tone her best shot, but I can still hear the smile in her voice.
I comply with her demands—but only because I’ve grown dizzy myself and don’t want to drop her—sliding her slowly back down until her feet touch the wooden planks of the porch. I take a step back, attempting to stabilize the obscured image of multiple Lyra’s staring back at me. My palm smacks against the doorframe for support as I deliver the plans for the day.
“Go get your suit on. I’ve got snacks packed already and we’re going swimming.”
Her hand lands at her hip. “Oh?” Well she certainly doesn’t like the fact I made plans for us, without including her in the planni
ng process. Glad to see she hasn’t changed much in her absence the past six weeks.
“Aww, come on, Stars. I haven’t seen or heard from you in six weeks and you’re going to turn me down? You’re seriously gonna act like you don’t want to hang with me after you disappeared for that long? I thought we were friends…” I tsk.
“Hm.” An amused noise escapes and she gives a slight twist of her lips. “We are,” she agrees, clearing her throat. Then her voice takes on that scolding tone she sometimes gets with me. “But that doesn’t mean you get to boss me around, dipshit. Suppose I didn’t want to swim today? Or maybe I already had plans? You don’t get to just barge over here and make demands. I know your Momma taught you some respect. You ought’a think about using sometimes.”
I let out a deep sigh, my shoulders rising then slumping through the process. “Fine. Lyra, will you please spend some time with your best friend today?”
“Mmmm.” Her fingers drum against her chin as she pretends to contemplate her answer. “Since you decided to ask nicely, yes. I’ll hang with you today.”
I smirk. “Sweet. Now go get a suit and a towel and whatever else you think you need. It’s a hundred degrees today.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Not quite, but I’m not gonna argue a nice swim. Where we goin’ anyway?”
Now it’s my turn to scoff. “You even have to ask? To our spot.”
Her lips tip up on the sides. “Good answer. Be right back.” She abruptly spins on her heel, darting up the stairs inside her house. I let myself in, hanging around the foyer as she gets ready.
“Five minutes,” I yell, knowing how long she can take in getting ready, although I’m never quite sure why she makes the extra effort when it’s just me and her going off to do a whole bunch of nothing most of the time.
She doesn’t even bother to respond, but five minutes later she’s changed out of the baggy pair of track pants and loose-fitting tee she was wearing when I first showed up, and skipping down the steps in…Hot damn. I do a double-take.
Then, a triple-take.
I have to force my jaw not to fall slack and hit the floor.
Her cut-off denim shorts ride high up her slim yet toned thighs, and I take a moment to appreciate the golden summer tan she’s got going on. That vacation did her well.
She must catch my apparent gawking because she stops right in front of me, a slight frown settling on her lips.
“What?” she asks, voice filled with worry and brimming with insecurities.
I shake my head. “Nuh,” I have to clear my throat because my tone sounds pathetically squeaky. “Nothing,” I repeat more gruffly. “Not a damn thing.” Then, I award her a smile so she’ll believe me.
We make the ten-minute walk to the river, cutting down the off-beaten path, across the pasture, then through the copse of trees. Eventually the roar of the current reaches our ears. When our tree comes into view, Lyra turns to me with a cheesy grin only to take off running seconds later, following a zigzagged, uneven path.
“What the hell,” I mumble under my breath, but stop to enjoy the sight. These moments of unrestrained happiness are few and far between after her mom passed away. And that sway in her hips…I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something different about her. Not just in looks, but in the way she carries herself, and it’s hard to tell whether I like it or not just yet.
“You comin’ or what?” She gazes back over her shoulder, arching a brow.
I slowly shake my head, forcing my feet to start moving again as I set out toward the old oak tree that houses our rope swing. The body of water running beside both my grandfather’s and the Knightley’s property can hardly be called a river, still, it’s not quite as small as a creek either. But there’s this one spot—our spot—where the waters run calmer and smoother, gliding overtop a swimming hole so deep our feet have yet to hit bottom when taking the plunge off the swing. I’m pretty sure Gray and some of his buddies worked to clear out the rocks and make the place for their own personal enjoyment back when he was in high-school, but Gray hasn’t been around for a while—something I know kills his little sister—so, he’s lost his rights.
We’ve swooped in and claimed the little slice of paradise as our own.
By the time I reach the tree, she’s already got her belongings strewn about on the ground. Her towel is laid out in the grassy area, nice and neat like she plans to tan. Hate to tell her, but she’s not going to be laying around and sleeping when we have shit to catch up on…like the fact she wasn’t here to give me advice when I finally scored a sweet date to the movies with Amy Swanson, and she snuck off with me mid-way through the showing and we slipped upstairs to the janitor’s closet.
That’s right, I finally touched on some real titties—but that’s not all. I finally got my first blow-job, and didn’t even get to share the news with the one person I wanted to tell. Sure, the guys from my football team hounded it out of me, mostly because they’d already heard since Amy can’t keep a secret. It didn’t feel near as good as listing out my accomplishments to the one person who gets me would have.
I might play sports and all, but it’s only because it’s expected of me. My family is important to this town…my uncle just got elected mayor two years ago, both my parents hold important jobs, but my older brother Hayes is the real all-star. Everyone thinks he’s going places—myself included.
When I drop my backpack to the ground, unzipping it to retrieve my own towel, a rustling sound to my left grabs my attention. I look up, and this time, there’s no controlling my reaction. My jaw drops. My mouth goes dry as a bone, and damn it, my dick is doing the exact opposite of what I want it to be doing.
Down boy. This getting older, going through puberty and having no control over my body or my johnson is going to be the death of me.
I quickly tuck the fucker up through the waistband of my swim-shorts since it’s choosing to ignore the earlier command. Stand down soldier.
Like some peeping-Tom little creepster, I watch as my best friend in the entire world yanks the white tee-shirt over her head, revealing a crimson red bikini top with just two teeny triangles covering her tits. She slowly peels the cut-off shorts down her thighs. I sigh in relief when I realize her bottoms aren’t matching in the level of skimpiness as her top—until she turns her back to me, shimmying her hips and I realize the curves of her ass-cheeks hang out the bottom just the same as they would if it were a string bikini.
When the Hell did she even get tits and ass?
Or hips, and soft curves that fall in and out at her waist?
And even more absurd, how in the world did I miss it? There’s no way it happened all at once, but since I see her almost every day, I didn’t see. I didn’t notice her transforming right before my very eyes, a sweet metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly. Or in this case, from awkward and goofy to bam! curvy and appealing.
I stare at Lyra, blinking rapidly a few times as if there’s something fucked up with my eyes and it might help kill the illusion. It’s only been six weeks we’ve been apart, but it may as well have been two years.
I think back to groping Amy Swanson a week and half ago as I continue to stare, but that short-lived notion of triumph I felt about the hook-up no longer seems to live up to the hype I’d made it out to be.
When Lyra points her toe, elongating her leg, to kick her shorts to the side, I can’t help myself. A groan escapes my lips.
“Talk about a late bloomer,” I grumble in frustration.
She spins around, pinning me with a glare.
“What’d you just say about bloomers?”
I burst out laughing, happy she didn’t catch what I was getting at…because—friends and all. Not messing that up, no matter how much my horny teenage hormones are screaming for me to pin her up against our tree and press her lips to mine.
Bros before hoes…Well, shit. That phrase doesn’t apply at all, but you get my drift. Friends before happy-ends…Or endings that is. Shit, th
at isn’t right either. She’s fucking with my head.
I hold up my hands like I’ve got a gun pointed at me, when really, it’s her evil-yet-suddenly-sexy glare.
“Didn’t say nothing,” I lie. Her eyes narrow, and I give her another quick perusal because I’m a dude and can’t help myself.
And of course, she catches me. She cocks her head to the side, squinting, this time in question.
“What’s wrong with my bathing suit?” Fidgeting, she hooks her thumbs under her top and wiggles her body to adjust it, then pulls at the hem to her bottoms as if it might somehow help the tiny bit of fabric from riding up her ass.
I hold my hands up a little higher, still in that surrendering position. “Nothing.”
“Then why’re you staring so hard for?”
I shake my head lightly. “Just…you look so different.”
“Okayyy…” she says slowly, hesitantly.
“Not in a bad way, Stars. Just, you’re turning into a woman. Like, you got tits and ass now.”
She rolls her eyes at my eloquent words. “Shut up, Nash.”
I smirk, knowing the fact she just cut me off means I’m making her nervous for some reason. Maybe even kind of similar to the effect she’s having on me today.
“Last one in,” she screams, running and leaping in the air to grab the rope at the last possible second, “has to pay for ice-creeeeaaaam.”
She sails through the air, landing with a subtle splash—just like a lady would do. I run full force to follow her, jumping and catching the rope not unlike Tarzan would… in perfect timing just as it swings back toward the tree. My splash is more like a giant gorilla landing in the water than a graceful swan, sending a wave that hits her square in the mouth just as she comes up for air.
She coughs, sputtering a barely understandable, “asshole,” as she glares at me.
“Sorry. Guess it’s payback for cheating me into paying.”
Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series Page 9