HAZED
A Novel
Brittany Butler
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright @ 2016 by Brittany Butler
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Also by Brittany Butler:
Forever Careless
Forever Reckless
Shealee,
No one can handle my crazy quite like you
Hope,
Your encouragement means the world
Prologue
I always dreamed of getting out, packing up and moving away where nobody knew me from Adam. In school I would sit with my face resting in my hands, dreaming of the day I would have a story to share. The other kids made it seem so simple. They went out on the weekends, and dated who they pleased. I sat gawking at them like an outsider, a freak, occasionally one of them would ask about my social life as a joke. Eventually I started laughing with them as my mother advised me, and the teasing subsided.
During my last week of high school, I watched the in crowd file in, hung-over from their weekend. This time I didn’t look at them in longing. I laughed, thinking to myself, here comes the group that piqued in high school. And I was right; most of them are still in our home town. Some are pregnant, some are married, and some are drunk.
And none of them experienced Hayze Clarke. That was the day that fate gave me a swift kick in the ass. The angry tornado that ripped through my life, destroying every plan I made for myself. I craved one thing when I left home: freedom. That was the single thing that controlling bastard couldn’t promise me. Well, besides my sanity and virtue. I never intended to fall in love my first semester of college, but now that I look back on it I wonder if I ever loved him. Maybe I was hoping he could save me, and in return he would be saved. Is this pain a result from the real thing or is it a representation of simply wanting what I couldn't have?
I was running from my past and he caught me, promising to make it better. Once I stopped running I realized that my past had caught up with me and was now shoving me back into place. It was like I was pushing against a freight train. I knew nothing would change and now history was repeating itself. The swirling anxiety deep within should've been my first clue, but instead my hopeful, optimistic view of him cost me and I lost a part of me that I will never get back.
Some days I want to yell and scream. I wonder how I could’ve been so stupid, so naive? But on those days I remind myself that even the devil once disguised himself as an angel. I promise myself I’ll be that girl again. After all, history doesn’t repeat itself a third time.
One
Every fiber of my being yelled that I didn’t belong here—my hand falls numb from pressure, I realize I’m using my gear shirt as a security blanket and release my hold. The adjacent porch advertises beer and a rusted truck harnessed with an improvised tow, bounces from the lot with a car. The entire scene playing before my face is the very one I spent my Sunday mornings hearing of. They crammed hatred into my ears like a scolding, hot branding iron.
Don’t fall into that lifestyle. It’s the devil’s trap.
Now I sit in my car, crumpled newspaper ads in my hand, starring at the bar, anticipating my ticket to hell upon arrival. My father’s voice rings through my head; I can almost feel his hard glare, the stern shake of his head as I glance at the newspaper then back at the building.
“Am I sure?” I ask aloud, hoping someone would answer.
But I know the answer to that. I’m more than sure. This job will allow me the freedom I so desperately crave. One short weekend stands in the way of my first semester in college. I kill my car, and my thighs peel from the leather seat. East Texas is baking again. The thermometer in my shiny, red Volkswagen reads over one hundred degrees. The heat wave hasn’t allowed the temperature to drop under ninety this week.
The grim bar sits in front of me with promises of money and freedom. Tugging on the hem of my shorts, I stand on the porch, inspecting the new angle. I fuss with my auburn hair, raking my fingers through the chipped ends before I open the heavy wooden door.
The bar is bright—not what I expected. Signs decorate the dark walls. The black marble bar top is shiny and clean; chairs are stacked neatly on the tables. It’s so…quiet. I have never seen the inside of a bar in the day, so I take my time looking over the sights.
Well, if I’m being honest I have never seen the inside of a bar, period. Unless you count movies, but that’s just how it is where I’m from. My hometown hosts less than a thousand people, allowing each of them access to personal information. Being the daughter of a preacher, I’m under a watchful eye. Every member of the community spilled into my dad’s church every Sunday morning, they were either living by the bible or making sure you were. But all of that is about to change. I moved an hour away to Nacogdoches into a dorm on campus, and this job is the missing piece. Aside from holidays, I now have absolutely no reason to go back to that place—my own personal hell.
“Taylor Thompson?” I turn to see a dumpy gentleman holding a clipboard. The lighting casts a glare on his bald head, his cheeks sag into a deep scowl. His handkerchief wipes down his face, removing the beads of sweat from his shiny forehead.
“That’s me,” I say, smiling.
“Let’s do the interview in my office,” he says, turning from me.
“Randy! Miller tap needs to be refilled!” A deep voice booms from the kitchen.
“Gotcha,” he replies.
I follow him into the cramped, unruly office located behind the kitchen. He takes a seat in a chair, motioning for me to take the other. He lifts a cup from the desk and pulls my application out from underneath. With a brush of the paper, he pulls glasses on and skims over the details.
Clicking his tongue, he says, “I read over your application. Basically all I need is to confirm your availability.” He tosses the paper on the cluttered desk and leans back; folding his arms on his stomach, using the plump article as an armrest. His head leans down and peers at me above his glasses.
“Afternoons during the week and free all weekend,” I say, sounding more like a robot than a peppy college student. He murmurs something inaudible as he presses his pen to the paper.
“Can you start tomorrow?” He asks, writing the information on my application.
“Yeah!” I say eagerly. His face is neutral, not showing any sign of happiness, so I contain mine. He probably has dozens of students come and go, moving from job to job. But none of them are like me. Their parents are thrilled to hear the news of their employment, whereas my dad would disown me.
He rises and sticks out his hand. “Driver’s license and social,” he says.
With the authority in his bored voice, I yank the cards from my wallet and place them in his hand with a grin. He walks to the dated copying machine and it roars to life, when his thumb mashes the light green button; each copy is a stark protest.
“What’s the best number to reach you?” He asks. He clicks the pen to his chest and scribbles the numbers down as I call them out to him. He sits and rolls over to the dusty filing cabinet. After rummaging around, he tosses me a black shirt. I hold it at arm’s length to inspect it.
“Here’s the shirt you will need to wear every night. See you tomorrow,” he dismisses me. I thank him again and leave with a grin on my face.
I walk through the kitchen, with a new purpose. I follow the path that I was le
d, when I reach the bar, it’s no longer empty. My legs seize movement as I watch the stranger as he hustles around the bar. I take a step to introduce myself to my new colleague, but then I stop and watch him. He shoves a box on the floor and stands with his back to me, polishing glasses. As if he senses me, he stops and turns. My eyes linger up his hard chest to find an amused face. I know my face heats but I don’t look away. I rack my brain thinking of something to say, anything at all. I look like a freaking creeper as I stand here, watching him.
His dark brown hair is spiked, but not the cringe-worthy, gelled spike the boys at my school did. This is what I assume is straight out of the bed, sex hair. His intense eyes captured mine; I stood still, like an animal trapped in headlights. His high cheeks elevate at the end of his confident smile. He wore a white shirt, tattoos bellowing from his right sleeve. The light stubble lining his jaw was the perfect touch.
“You got the job?” He asks. His face lights with a quick smile, his dimples peek at me. I immediately recognize that voice from before.
“Yeah, I did,” I say, afraid to elaborate anymore. The last thing I want to do is say the wrong thing and embarrass myself. Well, even more than I already have.
“Awesome,” he says, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m Hayze Clark, the bartender. Are you going to ETU?” His amber eyes hold mine, out of habit I shift uncomfortably.
“I’m Taylor. Starting my first semester,” I say, nodding robotically. I notice a scar above his left eye and the tattoos on his wrist as he offers his hand.
He walks from the bar and comes to my side. Bending down, he hands me a shirt and I look at him, confused. “You dropped this,” he says.
“Oh, right, I was about to grab it…On my way out,” I say. I grab the shirt from his hand and back away from him with a wave.
“See ya around, Taylor.” He smiles, showing off a row of perfect teeth. I walk off, exhaling when I reach the door. I always thought my high school boyfriend was the most handsome guy I would ever see, but I was wrong. Dead wrong. Hayze seemed…nice, but I know I should stay away from him. He’s exactly what the rebellious side of me thrives to go after, and that scares the shit out of me.
I walk from the bar, shielding the blinding sun from my eyes. My red Jetta lights with excitement as I press the clicker. I slide in and point my car in the direction of my dorm. I find a parking space, and pull in while checking my time. Nine minutes, and that’s with all of the traffic lights that plague this college town.
I grab my shirt and hug it to my chest while climbing from my car. The crowd is thick in the lobby; I shove through a group equipped with suitcases, and weeping parents as I walk to my dorm. Lea, my roommate, is lying on the bed when I enter. She snaps her head up and props on her elbows. Her baggy sleeves slide down her arm, revealing bright art work displayed on her forearms.
I literally ran into her after freshman orientation. With my map shoved in my face, I slapped into her and spilled my coke down her shirt. Fast forward a week and I can still feel anxiety bubbling in my stomach as I saw her for the first time. She wore a white tank, exposing her right arm that’s covered in a sleeve tattoo. Her jagged blonde bob has streaks of faded blue highlights. The sunlight caught her nose ring as she turned and smiled, I could almost hear my dad yelling for me to run, screaming in the opposing direction. Instead, I stuck my hand out and introduced myself. I was drawn like a light to her no nonsense, fuck off attitude. I learned over coffee that her roommate filed for a transfer. We hit it off and bunked together. She’s a returning sophomore, and so far it’s working in my favor. I would be lost without her showing me around.
Our small room is divided in the middle. My side holds a lavender comforter neatly tucked on my bed and a shag rug to the side. The few decorations I have are strategically placed without clutter. Lea’s side is utter chaos. Her bed is never made, blankets are tossed across it along with clothes, dirty and clean. Posters hang above her bed. Her desk is where clothes come to die.
“Any luck with the job search?” She smiles, her deep set dimples appear.
“Yes! I got a job at my first interview,” I say. Her eyes light with enthusiasm.
“Awesome, which bar?” She asks, flipping her straight out the box, blonde bob to the side.
“Mystic Tavern, have you been to that one?” I pull the strap of my purse from my shoulder and lay it on my desk. She snorts and I turn to see her watching me, amused.
“Oh yeah, many times,” she said, grinning. “I have a… friend that works there. We went to high school together.”
“Who is it?” I pull my brows together and sit on my bed.
“Hayze, he’s the bartender.” She stands and walks to her desk. With a flick of her arm, clothes scatter on the floor. Once she’s satisfied, she dumps the contents of her makeup bag on the dusty surface.
My eyes widen. “Oh,” I say. I considered telling her about my encounter with him, but after that I decide against it. I pull my bottom lip in my teeth, anxiously chewing. I hope he didn’t notice how weird I was being, and even more than that, I hope Lea doesn’t find out. The last thing I want is to have high school happen all over again.
She laughs once. “Yup, that’s the friend. Good luck,” she grins. I ignore her, but the sinking feeling in my gut tells me she means more than the job.
“Oh, your brother dropped that off!” She exclaims as she points to a box on my side of the cramped dorm. I grab the heavy box and throw it on my bed. It’s labeled as mine but I can’t place it.
I frown, “Which brother?”
“There’s more than one?” She asks, wagging her eyebrows. “Scott,” she muses when she sees I’m serious.
“Scott and Sean, they’re twins,” I said, shuffling through the cluttered box he dropped off. It consists of pictures and decorations I left home. When I spot a homecoming picture, I close it and shove it under the twin sized bed.
“Are they sportin’ the bible belt, too?” She laughs as she dramatically lines her eyes with makeup.
I laugh, “Sean is, he’s my dad made over. Scott’s your best bet. But don’t come crying to me when he cheats.” I shove my finger in her direction.
“Noted,” she grins. Her face twists in deep thought as she peers at me through the mirror hanging on the wall. “Hey, do you have a fake ID?” She asks and places her right hand on her hip, the other hand points at me through the mirror.
“Uhh… No.” With my brows bunched, I cut my eyes at her.
“You are getting one. Here, check this out.” She tosses me an ID. I catch it and hold it up to inspect it.
“Looks so real,” I say, impressed. The picture is Lea, but the information, name included, is someone else.
“So will yours. So, school starts Monday, what are we doing this weekend?” She asks. I hand the ID back to her and she tucks it safely in her wallet.
“I start work tomorrow…” I say and her face falls into a frown.
“I will fill you in on everything you missed,” she said. With a stroke of gloss, she pops her lips and throws the container in her bag.
“Gee thanks,” I say and roll my eyes.
She laughs and disappears into the hallway. Voices flood the hallway; students buzz by my door. While I’m left bored and fending for myself on my first Friday night in the dorm. I grab a textbook and flip through the pages. I didn’t leave my childhood home for this, next weekend I’m going out.
The followingday I report to the bar by three. I was a little ambitious today; I spent extra time and curled my hair. After a coat of mascara and flirty, pink gloss, I left my car and walked into the bar. Randy, the manager, sits at the bar top, reading. The bar is dim and I scan the room, finding no one else in sight. I nudge a chair to get his attention. His head snaps up with a soft smile.
“You’ll be with Shea tonight. She’s in the back,” he says. He quickly loses interests in me and sets his eyes to the book in front of him.
“She doesn’t know where the back is.” Hayze wal
ks up and motions for me. “C’mon Taylor. Lazy fucker,” he whispers and shakes his head.
He shows me to the back, the walls are a grimy yellow, and the gray tiles are slick from water. A small, industrial kitchen is to my left, but Hayze leads me further. A tall girl, with wavy blonde hair, is pouring ice into the bin when we walk up. I look up to her impressed, she stands at least six foot tall. She stops, wipes her hand on her dark apron and offers her hand.
“I’m Shea. You must be Taylor,” she says. Her bright green eyes shine as she speaks. Her smile is contagious. I can see her becoming a close friend.
“That’s me,” I say.
“Finally, another girl in this place, I’m training you tonight!” She places the cover over the ice bin and walks to the front.
“First things first,” she said, collapsing into a chair. “The menu,” she said. She brings it over her mouth, peaking at me over the top. “Luckily, we don’t sell a lot of food. Just alcohol, and of course, that’s easy to memorize.”
“Of course,” I say, trying to sound convincing. No one I’ve met, aside from Lea, knows the extent of my innocence. The only time I ever had a drink was when I visited my Nana alone. She swore to me wine was good for her blood and insisted I had a drink with her. Of course she could’ve stopped at one glass and not finished off the bottle. But I had fun with her, we shared moments that no one else in my family had with her. She always sent me off, making me promise to not tell my dad.
She hands me a paper copy. I fold it into a perfect square and tuck it into my back pocket as she moves from the seat. She skips to the bar, stopping in front of two guys I don’t recognize. The taller one has long, black hair. The guy to his right is shorter, stockier with a buzzed head.
“Eric! Jace! This is Taylor, our new waitress.” I shake their hands. Eric the tall one smiles and welcomes me, while Jace waves from a distance.
Hazed (Hazed & Unfazed #1) Page 1