Our Secret: A College Bully Romance (Golden Crew Book 1)

by Belladona Cunning

  "I-Is that what I think it is?" she asks, pointing. I can tell by her tone, she's not quite trusting her eyes and wants validation.

  I nod. “He just turned two.”

  “Is he …?" Her eyes flick between him and me several times.

  Tears gather in my eyes, and I fight to swallow the emotion gathering in my throat. “Yeah. He is. That’s why I had to leave my sophomore year.”

  I wait for the anger. I wait for the fury of lying to her this entire time because I know it's coming. Jenna just had her entire college experience turned on its head, and it’s all my fault. I’m such a shitty human being. And it’s all because I didn’t want to take the risk of her walking out. Having my son here is amazing, but having another adult here, to have actual conversations with without scrutiny, is just as amazing.

  However, none of what I feared happens. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. Instead of anger, all I get is quiet and unequivocal understanding. Like she knows the exact reason for my deception without me even telling her. Even though she doesn't know what happened all those years ago, and I'll probably have to explain it all, she understands.

  “You poor thing!” she whisper-cries, then tip-toes over to my side of the bed quietly, carefully pulling me out of bed and into a much-needed hug. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry,” I release on a sniffle. “But I couldn’t. The only reason I’m back in Golden Oaks now is because they have a daycare program I got Maverick into starting January. Nowhere else would allow me to have a toddler on campus while being on financial aid.”

  Her brows furrow. “Financial aid?” But her mouth rounds in understanding. “Oh, fuck. Hunter doesn’t know, does he?” I shake my head. She licks her lips, eyes flicking to the tufts of dark hair under the covers, then back up to me. “Are you going to tell him?”

  “I—Eventually,” I admit.

  I expect her to rage at me, but surprisingly, Jenna releases a sigh of repressed exhaustion. “Even though I’m pissed at you for keeping this a secret, I guess I kinda understand why.”

  What? My eyes round in shock.

  I sputter, "Y-You're not mad?"

  She holds me at arm’s length, looking at me like I'm nuts. "Why would I be mad?"

  "For ruining your college experience with a toddler hanging around," I murmur, looking down at our feet in embarrassment.

  Her gasp echoes off my walls, startling me into looking up at her. She’s so laser-focused it’s scary. "Later, I'll slap you for that. But for now, I guess I can understand why you'd think that."

  “So, you’re really not mad?” I hedge, cringing slightly when her stare turns lethal and dark.

  We're both quiet for a moment, trying to settle into a new version of normal—with there now being a toddler around—but then, all of a sudden, Jenna takes me off guard when her grip on my biceps change, becoming tighter. Her faraway look puts me off a little, and I’m about to ask her what that’s all about.

  She gasps at some realization, and proceeds to hop up and down, whisper-squealing. “This makes me an auntie, doesn’t it?! Oh, my goodness!"

  I cover her mouth quickly, glancing down at the bed as Maverick moves underneath the covers, grumbling in his sleep. "Shh! If you wake him up, he's the devil."

  She ignores me, releasing a rasping laugh as she pulls my hand off her mouth. "I don’t even care. Just tell me when and where I can babysit because I miss looking after kids. I used to do it all the time when I was in high school. Remember the Jersey triplets?” I did. Thoroughly. It’s a miracle they didn’t kill each other growing up or set Jenna’s hair on fire more than twice. “I babysat them on Fridays. Not a scratch on my track record."

  “How about we get through a first meeting first, okay? Maverick is super picky and super verbal, about who he’s around.”

  She gives me a knowing look. “Just like you know who, huh?”

  I roll my eyes, finally feeling that pressure lift off my shoulders. “You have no idea. Seriously, they’re twins in almost every way. But, if everything goes okay, maybe you can watch him for a few hours later this afternoon?” I ask. “I’ll need to find a job or something that works with my schedule. I have enough money saved up for us to live on if he wasn’t here two months early. But since he is, I need to get some extra money to pay for daycare until financial aid kicks in.”

  “Don’t worry about that, I—” She starts to say, but I cut her off with a not going to happen look. Respectfully, she nods, still practically buzzing with infectious happiness. “Sure, I can do that!”

  A smile graces my lips. Maybe I should have been more verbal with Maverick's existence. I hate that I kept thinking the worst about Jenna because she didn't deserve that. She may have changed since high school, but that soft heart of hers is still intact. And I should’ve known she would eat up Maverick’s presence around here. Damn, I’m a terrible friend for thinking the worst.

  However, it’s hard not thinking the worst when that’s all everyone you’ve associated with has shown you.

  Then again, the longer I think about it, the more I know that my silence was the right thing. If Jenna knew about Maverick before today, it would only be a matter of time before Hunter found out. While that may be okay now, since I'm older and smarter than the naive sixteen-year-old with a new baby, it wasn't okay back then. Hunter and his family could have taken us to court for custody—they still can, it will just be harder now—and back then, I didn't have a leg to stand on.

  Now, I do. I have my financial savings, a college with a daycare, a babysitter whenever Jenna can swing it, and I’m about to try to find a job to pay for Maverick’s off-campus daycare. I'm prepared, and until it was smack dab in my face, I didn't piece it together. But I'm glad I did now. Things may finally look up from here.

  Shifting easily, I say, “When he wakes up, I’ll introduce you two properly.”

  She nods at the same time my phone goes off with a text. Shifting forward, I grab it out of my bag and silence it quickly, looking down at the screen. It’s a text from Duncan, and I can’t help but feel a pang in my heart.

  Dunc: I’m sorry, Lo. Please, don’t hate me.

  CHAPTER 25

  My lungs feel like they're about to rip out of my chest cavity. But instead of focusing on the pain, I focus on each mile, putting one foot in front of the other. I run on the treadmill another monotonous mile, and still, it does absolutely nothing to distract me from the mess cluttering my mind.

  I'm all in my head, thinking and wondering where Harloe ran off to last night. When I got up this morning to come to practice, I couldn't stop the incessant need to go by her place. So, I did. I went by her place, and there was her car parked in one of their designated parking spots as if it never moved to begin with.

  I know I'm not going crazy. Easton took Jenna out last night, and when he did, Harloe wasn't there. He texted and told me himself because he knew my plans for breaking in. From what Jenna let slip, when he oh, so casually asked for me, the last she'd seen of her was when Traven picked her up for their date.

  Something must have happened between then and when she left campus altogether, and I hate the fact I don't know what it was. Nor do I particularly like the fact that I don't have the right to.

  Unlikely, she'd tell me anything, even if it were. Harloe is a largely private person, besides being a hellcat. She used to keep to herself, and from what I've noticed, she still does. The only people she goes out of her way to talk to have been Jenna, and sometimes that douche Traven.

  Goddammit, I hate the coil of need twisting in my stomach. Harloe has me tied in knots, and not knowing where she is or even if she's okay, has me fucked. Even if I shouldn't, I can't help it. Worrying about Harloe, whether we're on good or bad terms, is tattooed into my very flesh. The ink has run to my bones, marking me forever. I will always worry about her, whether she gives me a second thought or not.

  I just have a shitty way of showing it if my past actions have anything to say about i
t.

  "Come on, you bunch of pussies!" Coach yells, banging his fist against his open palm. "Opening season is four months away, and you all are lifting like little girls! Put some fire under your asses, or you'll be running bases until you puke! Go! Go! Go!"

  "Yes, Coach!" Everyone yells in unison. Our grunts and gasps are the only things reverberating off the walls besides the rhythmic clink, clink, clink of metal weights.

  When I see Coach walk back into his office, I slide my Bluetooth earbuds back into my ears and up the speed on the treadmill. “We Dem Boyz” by Wiz Khalifa starts playing at random, and I find myself getting lost to the rhythm, my feet pounding the machine in time with the bass. I see nothing in front of me, completely spacing out.

  It isn't until my earbuds are being jerked out of my ears that I see one of the underlings on the team staring at me expectantly. Cocking a brow, I hop onto the side of the treadmill and give him my attention. If he's stupid enough to get all in my business while I'm running, then he must have some important shit to say.

  When he says nothing but continues to stare at me, I get irritated. "What?"

  His eyes flick down to my phone, then back up at me, like he wants to say something but doesn't know how. We're not supposed to have cellphones in the gym. Walkman or something that plays music is fine, but no cell phones because Coach wants us to focus on our regimen.

  Stopping the treadmill all together, I round on him. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, my chest rises and falls with heavy breathing. My calves and upper thighs scream from the gruesome punishment I put them through. My body always gets the short end of the stick when I'm stressed or pissed. Because I usually run or workout until I can barely walk.

  "Coach know you have a phone?" he finally asks.

  Ah, so he's one of those.

  I shift slightly, so as not to embarrass him in front of everyone. It seems this kid came into the fold after I became Captain. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

  He shrugs, uncaring. "Coach said no phones at practice."

  I bark out a dry chuckle, knowing full well the two guys right next to me lifting weights have stopped their reps all together to watch the show. I do hate people that can't mind their own business.

  Licking my bottom lips, I lean in conspiratorially, wagging my finger at him to do the same. The stupid fool does. “You want to know something?"

  "What?"

  That's all he gets out before my fist meets the side of his face, and his ass meets the rubber floor. His hand rises to his cheek, face expressing astonishment, as it slowly blooms with color. He stares up at me with pure shock, like he can't believe I put hands on him.

  Baring my teeth in a feral smile, I completely ignore everyone as I get off the treadmill and hunker down into the new guy’s face. I reach forward, grinning wider when he jerks away from me in anger.

  "I should probably warn you, new guy. I don't do well with people getting in my business."

  "Dude ..." Some guy, I think his name is Derrick, crows with laughter by the bench press machine. He's looking at the guy lying spread out on the floor, eyes glimmering with amusement. "Jordan, I told you to step the fuck off Prince, but did you listen? No."

  The guy I laid out jumps to his feet, nostrils flaring in fury. "He didn't have to punch me. Damn."

  "You got in my bubble," I say with a half-shrug.

  He turns to me. "You're a fucking asshole."

  That makes me chuckle. Like I don't know. Very few people get the side of me that doesn't come filled with my assholery.

  Derrick bends over with laughter, holding his stomach. "Being an asshole is Prince's default setting, you loser. Now, dust your ass and bruised pride off, and get the fuck back over here, we have reps to finish."

  Jordan grumbles under his breath, staring at my cell phone and then back up at me before he takes off across the gym to Derrick. The latter meets my eyes, shaking his head as he laughs. I don't know him, but he knows of me. The second we stepped foot in the gym for tryouts, he already knew to stay out of my way.

  He was also the first guy who voted for me to become team Captain. Because he knew no one from any opposing team would be able to run over me. I'm an asshole, with reason, and that just helps when it comes to shitty, arrogant pricks who believe they can get one over on other teams they play against.

  As I get back up on the treadmill, I chance a look at my cell phone. We're really not supposed to have them, so the rookie was right. But I'll be damned if I allow him to know that. I also don't give a shit what Coach says. He's too afraid of pissing off my old man, so he won't say or do anything when it comes to putting me back in line.

  Staring at the screen, I see a missed call from my older brother. It reminds me that I still need to make it back home and have a conversation that seems to be long overdue between us. It won't be pretty, that's all I know.

  Also, seeing his name on my screen fills me with a level of rage I haven't felt for quite some time. I was pretty pissed when Harloe showed up, but it wasn't the end of the world. The anger I feel punching my gut now? It feels like I could obliterate the entire world with no problem.

  I absolutely hate being lied to. That's why Harloe and I got along so well when we were younger. She hated lying, thought it was a waste of time. Her words were, "If you have to lie, then you don't need to be doing it in the first place."

  To this day, that's my fucking life motto.

  Deciding to call him later, I go to put my phone back into my armband, but it rings before I can get it in place. Since the music isn't playing, the call doesn't go unnoticed.

  Seeing it's Emmerson, I decide to answer. Pushing the green phone icon, I hear the line connect in the one bud I left in my ear. Crackling static greets me before it levels out, and I hear him on the other line.

  "'Sup, bro."

  Stepping onto the treadmill, I snap my phone back into my armband, reprogram the treadmill, replace the other earbud, and start easing into a slow jog once more.

  "Please, tell me you didn't know," he says by way of greeting, which takes me completely off guard.

  "Know what?" I ask, getting back into my rhythm.

  Emmerson is quiet on the other end, probably trying to see if I'm playing around with him. But I'm not. I really have no idea what he's talking about. I know a lot of things. He has to be a bit more specific.

  "Oh, fuck. You really don't know, do you?" his voice is nothing more than a rasp, quiet and sad, instantly putting me on edge.

  "Know what, motherfucker?" My jaw tics as I have to repeat myself. Emmerson knows I hate when I'm forced to do that.

  Finally, he says, "What are you doing right now?"

  "Baseball practice. We're training for the season," I reply.

  Like I should have to tell him this. He is obsessed with GOU baseball. He knows beforehand what the GOU team is doing, where they're going to be, and who they're playing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Emmerson is the one who makes the schedule we go by.

  "After practice, what are you doing?" he pesters.

  Of all the times Emmerson calls to bother me, it has to be now. When I’m going through this shit? I don’t have time for it. Nor do I want to fuck with whatever he has up his sleeve. For all I know, Emmerson could be playing some elaborate prank, and he’s using this tactic to throw me off.

  Emmerson has been known to cause a bit of a ruckus, and I’m just not having it. There’s too much going on in my life right now—a lot of questions and not enough answers. I know the easiest way to get those would be to go talk to Owen, but I can’t bring myself to do that yet. I’ve spent the last three years, allowing my hatred to burn freely, and it just doesn’t shut off overnight.

  It didn’t with Harloe, either. The only thing that broke me out of that bottomless pit of anger was her almost dying at the hands of Cassandra. By drowning of the toilet, no less. My stubbornness to do what Emmerson begged me to was forcefully pushed to the side at that exact moment. I saw what I didn’t want to see
and the reason I still felt anything toward her.

  I still love that girl with every fiber of my being.

  Even with the way she did me, I found myself wanting—needing—to forgive her. Bunch of bullshit, but I couldn’t help it. Every time she looks at me. Every time she says my name with that sensual husk rattling her voice, I fall prey to it.

  And now, Harloe has turned my entire life on its head. Saying she never cheated on me with Owen. That they never got together. I’ve barely been able to focus on my classes due to her allegations that he’s lying. Why would he lie about fucking my girlfriend? What would he have to gain?

  Nothing. That’s the point. Owen would gain absolutely nothing from admitting to tarnishing our relationship.

  But her eyes …

  The way she sounded completely aghast at just the thought …

  I’m so fucking confused. Goddammit, I don’t know what to believe anymore.

  All I know is … he was supposed to be my brother, my blood. The family was always before everything with us!

  All the while, my brother expects me to sweep it under the rug. And every time I tell him to get fucked, he has the gall to appear like I offended him. Like, I should forgive him for his sins because he’s my brother.

  No, it doesn’t fucking work like that.

  You can’t expect someone with pieces of themselves missing to make you whole again.

  How can you do family like that, man? How can you rip apart their very existence, then expect to come back asking them to put it behind them like it never happened? How can he expect everything to go back to normal?

  What is normal? I haven’t felt a semblance of normal for the past three years. Not until Harloe walked back on campus and the very sight of her fucking shocked me straight.

  Now, I’m stuck trying to catch my breath, and I’m here to say just the thought of doing that is hard. It’s hard because it’s something I’ve long since forgotten how to do.