by Nicole Snow
“Jeez, look, I don't know him. Honest. I'm not who you're looking –“
“Shut up! Stop covering for his fucking ass, little girl. He put me out for three weeks when his sorry ass got caught smoking what I sold. Nobody does business and then fucks me over, understand? No one!”
My nerves are on needles. His nostrils flare, and the muscular fingers digging into my arms are starting to hurt. “Sorry, I'm new here. I don't think I can help you,” I try to tell him, cool as I can manage. “I really don't know Hugo.”
He sucks in a long, ragged breath and then shoves me away. He pushes me hard. My shoulder impacts the locker with an oomph, and I'm left leaning against it, wide-eyed and staring at the mess of a boy fuming next to me.
Scourge twists the knob on his locker for the combo, nearly rips the door off when he opens it, and slams it with a deafening bang after staring inside for a few breathless seconds. He looks at me. “Consider this your only warning. I find out you lied to me, I'll spend coin getting even, bitch. Already had two suspensions this year. Not afraid of a third, and you look like you're dying for someone to pull up that skirt and throw you against the nearest wall, teach you some fucking respect.”
I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't stop my thumping heart from making me light-headed.
“Maddie, come on,” Chelle says, tugging at my arm. “Get away from him.”
I let her numbly lead me away to the school cafeteria. As soon as we've grabbed lunch and sat down, I start asking questions. It's the best way not to breakdown and cry after one of the scariest encounters of my life.
“What's his deal? Why do they let him stay?” I can't stop thinking how Cal used that name – doll –
as if I'm the misfit at this school. My chicken tenders and chocolate milk comfort me with the slightly-better-than-average charm school cafeteria food has. The academy's selection is nothing amazing, but it's filling and just tasty enough.
“Special protection. Principal Ross wants to run for school council next year, haven't you heard?” Chelle smiles sadly. I shake my head. “Well, guess whose father just happens to be a major shaker in Seattle politics? Ever heard of Alex Palkovich Sr., the councilman?”
“Oh, God.” I wrinkle my nose. “You mean he's Scourge's dad? He used to show up for fundraisers and inspirational speeches at my dad's company.”
“Yep, the apple falls pretty far from the tree this time. It's banged up and rotten.”
“Who does he think he's convincing, anyway? I mean, the scary ink, the piercings, the punk bomber jacket...amazing he doesn't get called out for breaking dress code.” I look down at my own soft blue blouse and plaid skirt, frowning.
Chelle just laughs. “Girl, you've got a lot to learn about how backs are scratched at Maynard. He's gotten in trouble tons of times. Scourge never gets suspended unless he's done really bad. Hugo got caught by his pastor smoking the roaches he bought off that kid. Gave up his source pretty quick, and they had to do something this time because the police were involved.”
“Yeah, Hugo, I keep hearing that name. Where the heck is he?”
“You don't get on Scourge's bad side and get away without catching hell,” Chelle says, wagging a finger. “Hugo's folks were smart. They pulled him out and transferred to Jackson High the next county over. Heard he begged them for it. It's not as good, of course, but it's better than spending the rest of his high school career waiting for the knife in his back.”
I'm worried she means it literally. Could it be that bad? I knew this boy was bad news, but I didn't know he was a total loon.
“And what's with the name? Scourge?”
Chelle opens her mouth to answer, but another voice cuts her off behind me. “Scourge of God, doll. It's from one of those dumb death metal bands he listens to. He only says it about ten times a week to remind us what hot shit he thinks he is. And don't you know he's got an Uncle in the fucking Grizzlies?”
When I spin my chair around, Cal stands there with a twinkle in his blue eyes, his hair tossed in a subtle, delicious mess. He's just come from gym, still wearing his black lacrosse shorts and grey jersey with the school's royal crested M.
“I wasn't asking you.” I turn, pointing my nose in the air. I'm not in any mood for his games after what just went down.
“Heard you had a little run in with our pal. Move over, Emily.” He takes her seat without even acknowledging the blonde sophomore next to me who looks like she's just been kissed because he remembers her name.
“I thought the Grizzlies cleaned up their act. That's what mom says, anyway. She used to ride with them sometimes in her wilder days, before she settled down with dad.” I'm frowning, trying to figure out why he's decided to give me his precious attention today if it's not for his own amusement.
“They did. The uncle he makes sure everybody knows about has been in jail for years. One of the turds they flushed before the club started making money off clubs and bars from what I hear.”
“Always so eloquent,” Chelle says, sticking her tongue out.
“Did I invite you to this conversation?” he asks, scorning her with a glance, before turning back to me. “Shame about your mom, though. Good times are underrated. Sure hope the wild streak is hereditary. You look like you could use some fun and take your mind off this crap, doll.”
I'm blushing, and I hate it. Especially because it's all too easy to imagine the good times he has in mind.
There's no hope. I'm more like every other girl in my class than I care to admit: smitten, shaken, and yes, completely fascinated by this tactless jerk with an angel's looks. He's bad, thoughtless, and more than a little annoying. But he's safe in a way Scourge isn't, despite how easy his teasing becomes insults.
He also gives everyone on his side a certain amount of protection from what I've gathered. Hugo never got close to Cal, and he became easy prey.
“Seriously, don't be scared of him, doll. Do stay out of his way. Tried to warn you when you got here. I can help.”
Great. So he's come to impress me by playing hero. No thanks.
I'm also done being a doormat for anyone today. Walking out and giving him the cold shoulder feels like an easy way to replenish the self-esteem I've hemorrhaged with the bully.
“Tell me if you change your mind, doll. We'll work something out.” His eyes aren't moving when they lock on, and the flush invading my skin just keeps growing.
I have to get out of here.
It's my turn to do the eye roll. Without saying anything, I pick my tray up, and pause just long enough to share another look with him before the blood rushes to my cheeks. “I'm old enough to take care of myself, thanks. If I ever need your advice, Cal, I'll ask.”
He doesn't say a word. But he watches me the entire time as I throw my trash away, drop the tray off, and head out for my evening classes. I resist the urge to turn around until the very end.
Of course, I do. How could I resist?
I'm just in time to see Chelle kick him under the table. He gives her a dirty look, stands, and heads back to his crew of jocks across the cafeteria.
Like I need this weirdo treating me like a damsel in distress, I think to myself, smiling for reasons I can't pin down as I head off to Pre-Calc.
I wish I'd taken more time then to appreciate the smiles we shared, however small. Months later, after the train wreck everyone took to calling 'the incident,' it's a miracle I ever learned to fake smile again.
II: Backup Son (Cal)
If I still had it in me to give a fuck, I'd mourn my father.
I've watched the surly, balls-to-the-walls lion who raised me waste away into a hyena for months. Today, he barely lifts his head when I step into his room, fighting the burning sensation in my nostrils from a hundred medications in the air.
“What do you want?” he snaps, once his dimming eyes focus, and his drug blasted brain remembers who I am.
“Came to keep you company, dad. It's Sunday.” I round the space to the front of his bed, taking the ch
air next to it. I run my fingertips along his nightstand. There's a ghostly dust coating on my hand when I hold it up to the light. “You've been telling the staff to stay the hell out again, I see.”
“No point in wasting precious resources on a dead man,” he growls, grunting as he lifts himself up with his hands, finding his back support in the headboard. “What'll it be today, Calvin? Hoping for a deathbed confession? The last minute change of heart where I crack, tell you what a good son you are, how it's finally high time we put the bad behind us?”
No. I've stopped expecting miracles a long time ago.
“Or maybe you're just here to taunt me?” he says, giving me a sideways glance.
“Wrong.” A wry smile pulls on my lips. “I've met someone, dad. Wanted you to be the first to know. The doctor says you've got a few weeks left, yeah? Should be plenty of time to introduce you to my new fiancée.”
His eyes widen, and then he scoffs. “You, married? I'm not going to my grave a fool, kiddo. Forget it. Spare me a meeting with whatever sugar baby escort you've hired to confuse an old man into thinking you give a damn about anything except getting my money.”
He's got me there, minus the escort part. Hell, even after all these years, I can't imagine doll fucking anyone else.
My cock is the only one she's ever had in the stroke fantasies sustaining me for years. Naive, sure, but mental masturbation always is.
I didn't mention those thoughts when I sent her the note in the little black envelope last week, but now I wish I had. Just for fun.
That piece of paper and the twenty carat rock had to travel halfway around the globe. Almost a shame I decided to keep it short, sweet, and boring. I can't believe she's in China. Easily the biggest sign yet the Maddie Middleton I'm dealing with today is a far cry from the scared, helpless little girl I took a bullet for seven awful years ago.
I haven't even heard from her yet. I'll be calling the number I dug up with a lot of connections and detective work tonight if I don't get an answer.
I won't be disappointed. Because if there's one thing I know, despite what's changed on her end, she won't let me down. She'll wear the ring, by God, pretending she cares about her loving fiancé every time we make eyes.
A nurse comes in and walks to my dad's IV while the icy silence between us stretches on. The grandmother clock in the corner ticks on. I fold my hands, watching as she adjusts the dose of whatever painkiller keeps him from screaming in mortal agony. We're both quiet until the woman smiles gently, and finds her way out.
I have to try this again. As much as I don't fucking want to.
“I'm a changed man,” I say. “It's hard as hell for you to see, I get it. You're too sick to read about the extra billion in revenue my marketing strategy brought the firm, and you don't take calls from Mr. Turnbladt anymore –“
“I don't care if Turnbladt thinks you can turn water into wine. I'm out of RET forever,” he says, turning over. He stops turning propped on a pillow, his back to me, a human manifestation of the proverbial wall I talk to every time I'm stupid enough to come here. “Keep raking in the money, though. It'll do the charities getting it some good once I'm gone. Or else the partners, whenever they decide to stop fucking around and buy your share out, I suppose.”
It's my stake in Randolph-Emerson-Turnbladt he's talking about. Mine, which he controls. He has it set up in his trust to cockblock me from ever truly owning it, the dividends going to feel good groups he hasn't even bothered to vet.
“That's all you really care about, old man? Making sure I get jack squat while working my fingers to the bone, dragging your company kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century?”
He's quiet for several seconds. Then I hear his low, infuriating voice, a poison whisper. “Things don't always go according to plan, Calvin. Make your fortune elsewhere, like your grandfather did, or settle for your measly $200K salary like an ordinary corporate grunt. You're never getting my share. I'll lose it all before I let you become the public face of anything at RET after what you did. The board feels the same way.”
I'm ready to spit nails. “Then why include the amendment in the trust at all? Your lawyer slipped over too many drinks at the last Christmas party. Told me everything. He said there's a section for rehabilitation. If I prove myself I'm worthy with good deeds, family, a woman –“
“I had to give you some kind of carrot to shape up, didn't I? The offer stands, son, but we both know the clock is running out fast. You've got a better chance of making a miracle before my eyes than proving me wrong. Show me a woman worth marrying, one you aren't bribing to lie to my face, and anything is possible. Until then, we both know what's in the cards doesn't include you controlling my firm. Not since John –“
My hand shoots up, and I hold it in the air. “We both know what happened. Why waste more words?” I pull out my phone to check the time. It's getting late. “I have to go. Get some rest.”
“You always were the backup son after everything that happened. It should've been John filling your shoes, and we both know it.” Dad isn't backing down from his parting shot. “This isn't personal anymore, Cal. It's circumstance. Stop thinking I don't care.”
Care? The asshole has a funny way of showing it.
He's only stealing my future, killing my career before it goes anywhere. I have to get out of here now.
I'm able to resist punching holes through the brittle old walls of the seaside mansion I grew up in until I'm in my car. My fist bangs the steering wheel once before I start the engine.
My black Tesla screeches down the long driveway to the front gate, which the servant in the guard shack has already opened for me. I make it home to my condo in record time, loading my car onto the ferry waiting to take us across the Puget Sound. It's a nice place worth seven figures where downtown Seattle meets the waterfront.
Nice, yeah, but it'll never morph into an unfathomably posh estate surrounded by the mountains, the sea, and centuries old forests. I won't be building any castles I choose while I'm being robbed of my birthright because I'm nothing more than a reluctant Plan B in my father's eyes. A 'backup son' he won't even trust to earn a full partner's stake because that means media, which in turn means reminding every client, fat cat, and blue blood our illustrious company deals with that I have a felony record.
Backup? Where the fuck does he get off?
I don't know, and I try to forget my rage when I'm home. I head for the balcony, pouring myself a glass of good wine. For a second, I slow when I pass by the photos on the mantle, staring into John's long dead smiling face.
My older brother is still the favorite, despite being gone for almost six years. Paid the ultimate sacrifice for his country somewhere outside Kandahar, where an ambush by the Taliban ended him.
It seems like a lifetime ago.
When I'm in my ivory chair outside, overlooking the evening lights beginning to twinkle on in the hills across the water, I check the calendar on my phone.
It's been six days since I sent my little package to Doll.
She's taking her sweet time getting back to me. I decided when I sent it off I'd give her a few days, roughly a full week after it reached Beijing. It's the least she deserves for the hand grenade I just threw into her life, commanding her in not so many words to bring her sweet ass home to Seattle, and pretend she's my blushing bride.
Desperation does evil things to a man. If I could've let her go without another word, I would.
Hell, I did for all these years, seven and counting. I stayed away.
It was the humane choice. Never forgot how bad she hurt just looking into my eyes the last time I saw her, when she was down on the ground in tears, slapping the pavement like she wanted to drum up mercy for me from God himself.
Her words are branded in my brain.
Wait, wait! Don't take him away. Please, you can't this is wrong.
It's not over, Cal. It can't end like this. I'll be here. I'll do anything to help.
Anything!
I close my eyes, stuck on how loaded the last word she ever said to me was when it came out, hoarse and true. Sometimes, the emotional bomb planted in my memory goes off. Everything returns, rushing through me like the lava replacing my blood whenever those memories hit.
The sacrifice, the humiliation, the dirty mistake I made for her because I didn't have a fucking choice. Because it was the right thing to do.
It went further than any act of chivalry ever should.
I'm lost in the past when my phone rings. There's an international area code on the screen. A smile tugs at my lips before I punch the accept button.
“Took you long enough, doll.”
“Cal...how are you?” Her voice is soft, slightly huskier than I remember, warm honey to my ears.
“Alive. Making money. Doing whatever and whoever the fuck I want, when I want them,” I say, taking a pull off my wine. “All the best in life. What are you doing in Beijing?”
“Contracts for Sterner Corp,” she says, ignoring my edgy introduction. “My Mandarin studies paid off, and so did the JD. I never wasted the second chance you gave me – I couldn't. Thank you again.”
“You're doing better than eighty percent of our class, and earning it honestly, without special connections. Congratulations.” I pause, remembering I'm not here to catch up. This isn't happy hour, or even a sales meeting. It's cold business of the most personal kind. “I won't keep you long, I hope, calling in the favor. Just be here by Thursday, wear my ring, and put on your best act.”
“Hope you're right. I kind of have a life now,” she says, quiet and unsure. It's like I'm able to hear the guilt sticking on her tongue, thick as chewing gum. Her voice wavers like the fire she readied to hurl my way just had cold water poured over it. “That's why I called. I wanted to talk before pulling up stakes, before we do...well, this.”
Marriage. Or at least a pretend engagement.
She can't bring herself to say the unspeakable. Fair enough. It's not like I'd expect the shiest girl I ever met to handle this fake fiancé thing with a laugh and a song.
I only need her to follow through. My brow curls because there's some reasonable doubt creeping into her tone. I never fucking liked second guesses.