Bad Boy Next Door: A Small Town College Bad Boy Romance

by Hunter Rose

  “You were six? And you remember?” she asks.

  “Every second of it. It looked like he broke something inside my mother. I guess in a way he had. She told Bree she had been the good wife. She was beautiful without being so much that she overshadowed him. She was quiet and respectful, never calling attention to herself or trying to push herself into any situation. She didn’t rely on the servants but cooked and cleaned for him. She was a gracious hostess. The ideal type of woman to be seen by his side. She made him look strong and stable.”

  “It’s hard to imagine someone like that being Bree’s sister,” she says.

  I nod. “That’s the thing; she wasn’t like that. Not always, anyway. I remember her having so much life in her. She was passive and demure when she needed to be seen in public with my father or had people over at the house. But when it was just us, she was funny and loved to laugh. Everybody knew my father wasn’t the biggest fan of Bree, but she came over anyway. Nothing was going to stop her from spending time with her sister and me. We had so much fun together, and Mom always looked so happy during those days. But the more I saw he pulled away from her, the more it chipped away but who she was.”

  “But if she was such a perfect wife, why would he cheat on her? Especially for so long?”

  “He told her she was a great wife, but he needed more in a lover. That my mother was a good image, but boring in the sack. Her best friend was sexy and exciting, not dragged down by keeping up appearances and the responsibilities of being a wife and mother. She could just have fun and make sure he was having fun, too, which was what he deserved. He said it right in front of me. Like it was a lesson I needed to learn as a man. I guess I did.”

  She lets out a long breath.

  “Yeah.”

  “After she found out, my mother tried even harder to get his attention. Just so desperate to have this perfect marriage and a husband who adored her. She turned it completely on herself. My father loved it. He was so cold and dismissive to her but would parade his girlfriend around in front of her. It was like he was testing her. Like he was seeing just how much she would take. He didn’t realize she would take all of it. She’d seen too many families get fractured, and too many women and children end up destitute because they left a powerful man. She wasn’t going to let that happen to me. So, she stayed. She died when I was nine. She never got over the betrayal from either of them.”

  “I can imagine that’s not exactly something you can put behind you easily,” she says. “What happened when she died? Did he marry that other woman?”

  “That’s the interesting part. He did. After all that crowing about her being the perfect girlfriend and not needing to marry her because he already had a wife, he went ahead and married her. They lasted six months. Now wife number three is pregnant. He’s ready to have a whole new family. As if my mother never existed. Tonight he told me he feels like his life is just starting, that everything in the past was a mistake, and now he gets to actually have the life he should. I got too much of my mother, according to him. He doesn’t come right out and say it, because he’s too spineless, but he always thought she was beneath him. I just didn’t get enough of his class, apparently.”

  “I can’t see Bree just sitting by and letting something like that happened to her sister. How did she not convince your mother to leave him?” Wren asks.

  “I don’t think my aunt knew the extent of it. My parents were exceptional at keeping up appearances, and my father’s mistress, if nothing else, was discreet. Obviously, Bree knew my mother’s marriage wasn’t the happiest marriage in the world, but a lot of people experience that. She focused a lot on me. She’s the only person in my family I care about. And the only one who really cares about me.”

  Wren moves over on the bed and lifts the blanket. I take off my boots, but before I get in beside her, I reach in my pocket and pull out a book of matches. I light one and let burn for a few seconds, then blow it out. I show it to her.

  “I’ll be back for this one day,” I tell her.

  She nods, and I set it on the nightstand, then lie down beside her. We stare at each other for a few seconds before her eyes slowly close, and her breath relaxes in sleep. I move my head closer to hers.

  “I’m afraid I’m too much like my father,” I murmur, then let myself fall asleep.

  21

  Wren

  I wake up with the smell of Talon still in my lungs, but he’s gone. I open my eyes and stare at the empty space in my bed. It feels strange looking at it and feeling so lonely. I’ve never had someone sleep beside me. Never shared my bed with anyone. But now that space feels strangely cold. I reach over and run my hand across the pillow, where his head rested as he slept. My fingers feel something hard and I lift it up to look at it. My heart trembles at the sight of the single safety-pin embedded in the pillowcase.

  I carefully pull it out, resting the pin on my palm and looking down at it. I know Talon thought I was asleep and didn’t hear him when he made his confession last night, but the words are still with me.

  I’m afraid I’m too much like my father.

  The words make my heart ache as I set the pin on my nightstand next to the burned match he left there. I never expected him to open up to me like he did last night. The hurt he holds inside him gives more meaning to who he is and everything he’s done. But it’s not an excuse. I feel like there’s more he didn’t tell me like he glossed over some of it. Maybe someday he’ll tell me the rest. I don’t know if I want him to.

  It’s still early, and I have the time to stand in the shower much longer than I usually do. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, letting the hot water stream down over my face and through my hair. I think of Talon’s eyes just before I closed my own to go to sleep. Intoxicating blue against the sharp contrast of his inky hair. There’s more in the depth of those eyes than I think I’ve seen in any other person in my life. I don’t always know what it is. I don’t always like it when I do. But I can’t stop looking.

  I get out of the shower and dress. I stare into the mirror for a few seconds, and my eyes drift behind me to the nightstand beside my bed. Before walking out of the room, I tuck the match away in the drawer and bring the safety pin with me. His motorcycle is already gone by the time I go outside. I must have spent more time standing in the shower then I thought. Climbing behind the wheel, I look at the pin in my hand again. Flipping my wrist over, I slip it into the fabric of my thin pink sweater. I fold both sleeves up in the cuffs, concealing the pin in the fabric. I know I want it close to me but also hidden. It’s unspoken, something I probably couldn’t put into words even if I tried. But having it there, knowing it is so close to my pulse, gives me a greater sense of peace than I’ve felt in a long time.

  After school, Isaiah meets me outside my last class of the day, and we walk to our lockers. He stops at his and I go the few feet further down the wall to mine. Samantha steps up beside me just as I open the door. She lets out a deep sigh, and I laugh.

  “What’s that all about?” I ask.

  “I didn’t get my history project finished, and even though I asked nicely, that hard-ass Larkin won’t give me an extension,” she tells me.

  “Didn’t you get that assignment before spring break?” I ask.

  “Yes, little miss perfect,” she teases. “I got that assignment before spring break. But I’ve had a lot on my mind. Things have been distracting me.”

  “Is everything okay? I know we haven’t talked as much recently. Is something going on?” I reach up into the locker to put my books away and pull out the binder I need for tonight’s homework. Samantha doesn’t answer. I turn to look at her. “Samantha?”

  Her eyes are locked inside my locker, her jaw set. I look in and see my hand grasping the binder, the sleeve of my sweater over it. The cuff I folded into it this morning has fallen loose, and I didn’t fix it. Talon’s pin rests against my hand, fully visible. I open my mouth to say something, but Samantha reaches into my locker and grabs my hand, pul
ling it to her.

  “What is this?” she asks. But she’s not actually looking for an answer. She knows exactly what it is. “It’s you. It’s been you this whole time. You’re the reason he won’t have anything to do with me.”

  “Samantha, you need to listen to me for a second,” I start, trying to keep my voice as calm as I can.

  “What’s going on?” Isaiah asks, coming up behind me.

  “Do you want to tell him or should I?” she demands.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I say.

  “Tell me what?” Isaiah asks.

  “Samantha, let go of me.”

  She grabs the pin out of my sweater and stomps down the hallway. I chase after her, Isaiah close behind me.

  “What’s going on?” he asks.

  Talon comes toward us down the hallway and stops when he sees Samantha rushing at him. She shoves the pin in his face.

  “What is this?” she demands. “You tell me you’re just too busy to see me, that you don’t date, you don’t want a relationship. But then Wren parades in here wearing one of your pins?”

  “Where did you get that?” Talon asks.

  “You were wearing one of his pins?” Isaiah asks from behind me.

  “Where did you get it?” Talon raises his voice.

  “It was in her sweater,” Samantha says angrily. “So, tell me, Talon. Did you put it there, or did she?” She whips around and descends on me, her eyes red and her teeth clenched. “How could you? It’s not enough that you have everybody eating out of your hand. You have the perfect grades, the perfect future, the perfect boyfriend. You couldn’t stand Talon was giving me attention, and you had to take him, too.”

  “I didn’t take Talon,” I protests.

  “What is she talking about, Wren?” Isaiah pleads.

  “Then what is this?” Samantha asks, shoving the pin toward me. “This should be mine. Not yours. I’m the one he chose first.”

  Talon’s hand shoots out from behind her and clamps down around her wrist. He uses it to turn her around to face him and yanks her hand toward him. His fingers pry the pin from out of her hand as he stares angrily into her eyes.

  “Who do you think you are?” he asks, his voice low, like gravel in his chest. I’ve never heard a sound quite like that. It’s terrifying. “Don’t you dare touch her ever again. You are nothing to me. Do you understand that? Nothing. I don’t date. Never have. You’re not going to change that. You never had the potential to. This is Wren’s. I left it for her this morning. Now, get out.”

  My mouth falls open, and tears spring to my eyes. Around me, people line the hallway, whispering, typing wildly on their phones. At least one records the moment. I turn to face Isaiah and see the shock and fury etched across his usually gentle face.

  “What was he doing at your house this morning?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I tell him.

  “Don’t lie to me, Wren.”

  “I’m not lying to you. Nothing happened between us. We’re friends, Isaiah. He needed somebody to talk to.”

  He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Right. He’s just so deep and sensitive. I’m sure he just needed someone to pour his feelings out to,” he says.

  “Yes,” I nod.

  “I’m tired of your lies, Wren. What happened to you? You were never like this before he got here,” Isaiah frowns.

  Talon touches my wrist, trying to pull me away from Isaiah. “Come on, Wren. You don’t need to listen to him.”

  I shake out of his grip and take a step toward Isaiah. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Isaiah returns my gaze, angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

  “You’re doing things you never would have before. You’re showing up at my house in the middle of the night. Riding on motorcycles. Going to parties. Now you’re going behind my back and wearing a stupid safety pin because it belongs to him? I barely recognize who you are, and it’s because of this guy. You know what his kind of people are like, and you’re letting him drag you down. I told you to stay away from him. I expected you to listen to me, but you just refused and look where it’s gotten you.”

  “My kind of people?” Talon practically shouts, but I hold up a hand to stop him.

  “I rode on his motorcycle one time, so I wouldn’t be late to school, and I went to one party. I didn’t even do anything at the party.”

  “You just ended up with him stretching you out on a bed,” Isaiah says accusingly.

  “Because that Mark guy was crawling all over her and she passed out,” Talon growls. “I helped her.”

  “She’s not yours to help. She’s mine, so keep your hands off!”

  I feel like my head is going to explode. Something inside me suddenly snaps. My hands shoot out to my sides, pressing into the chests of both guys, so they step back from each other and from me.

  “Enough! Both of you. I don’t belong to anybody.” I face Isaiah. “If you think I’ve changed, then it’s because I’m finding out who I am. If you don’t like it, that’s something you’re going to have to deal with. I don’t like who you’ve become, either. This angry, suspicious, controlling person isn’t the guy I’ve always known. I don’t know who you think you are, but it’s not up to you to tell me where I can be or who I can associate with.”

  I look between both of them, shaking my head. “I’m done. It’s over between us, Isaiah. I may not be who you thought I was, but that doesn’t mean you get to try to force me into a mold. I’m just… done.”

  Not even bothering to close my locker, I push away from both of them and run out of the school. I drive around to the sound of my phone ringing incessantly for the next few hours. The sun is down, and the sky’s dark by the time I get home. Waving away dinner, I tell my parents I just want to go to sleep. They don’t argue with me. I climb the stairs, feeling like weights are dragging me down by my ankles.

  When I get to my room, I notice the window is slightly more open than when I left this morning. Glancing at my bed, I find a small pile of pins on my pillow. I wrench open the drawer in my nightstand, sweeping the pins angrily inside, then drop down onto the bed and scream into the covers.

  22

  Wren

  I’m supposed to feel better now that all this is done. I’m supposed to feel freer and more relaxed now that I can think only about myself and not have to worry about any attachments or responsibilities. Only I don’t. I feel sick to my stomach and even more confused than I did before.

  It’s been more than a week since I broke up with Isaiah, and in a lot of ways, it still doesn’t feel real. We never really argued when we were together. Even though our relationship was almost five years long, there were no moments that stand out to me as being real fights. We would disagree over things, but it was over usually within a few hours, even if it lasted that long. Part of my brain is telling me that this is all those fights we never had piled up on top of each other. It’s really not as bad as it seems. Maybe it didn’t happen at all.

  Then reality hits me again, and I remember every second of that argument. In my head, it stretched on indefinitely, torturously. But I know it was only a few minutes. Everyone knows it was only a few minutes. The video someone took on their phone has made its rounds, and it seems like everyone in the school has seen it at least once. By this time, probably people stretched out across the country have seen it. I don’t regret it. I did exactly what I needed to do for myself, and I know it was the right thing. No matter how hard it was and how much I’m still struggling to wrap my head around it. It was what needed to happen.

  That’s what I continue to tell myself as I face off against Isaiah across the party. It’s amazing how much my perspective of the world around me has changed in just the last couple of months. It’s like I was living with blinders on, not really aware of everything going on. I was so stuck on my own path, accepting what I knew at face value and not searching for anything else that I missed so much of what was actually happening. The parties ar
e just one example of that. They apparently happen all the time, and I just didn’t realize it. Now I have no reason not to go to them.

  Except I’m not enjoying it. I don’t even know who’s hosting this one. Angela invited me, wanting to get me out of the house to stop me from thinking about Isaiah and Talon and the video and whatever is in front of me. That backfired almost immediately. Talon was already here when I arrived, stretched out casually across the couch surrounded by people like he’s holding court. They stare at him with admiration in their eyes. Some with lust, some with envy. All of them oblivious to his complete disregard. He’s managed to hang on to a few of the friends he made while serving on crew for the play, but none of them are here tonight. Instead, it’s girls salivating over him and guys trying to figure out what they can do to replicate his appeal.

  I’ve managed to avoid them. We made eye contact for a fleeting second, but I left the room before he could come toward me. Now I’m only a few yards from him, staring at the one face I never expected to see at something like this. Isaiah’s only a few feet inside the door, the expression on his face telling anyone who looks at him just how he feels about the situation. He doesn’t want to come any further in, don’t want to be near the people drinking and dancing, kissing and gradually undressing.

  But I’m not going to give him an easy pass. If this is some kind of statement, some kind of demonstration he wants to make as an appeal to me, he needs to work harder. Just finding out where a party is and stepping inside the house isn’t enough. His eyes widen with expectation, and one hand gestures slightly behind him like he’s waiting for me to come over. I stand exactly where I am. I’m not moving, not reacting to him.