“You could put a stop to this, you know,” Cole grits out.
His entire body is rigid, his jaw set as he pins me with his stare.
“Why would I? She’s tougher than she looks. Isn’t that what you’ve all been telling me—that she can handle herself?”
His eyes narrow into thin slits as he throws down the controller. For a second, I’m certain he’s going to tear into me, but he stays seated, he’s fiery glower returning to the pool table across the room. We both watch with rapt attention as Violet takes a shot, sinking one then another before Chad takes his turn. By the time it’s her turn again, I’ve moved my focus back to my video game.
Then I hear the assholes laughing, followed by Violet’s raised voice. “Yeah…that’s not going to happen.”
My head whips in her direction, my blood molten as I watch a now shirtless Jared prowl toward Violet. She stands her ground like the stubborn brat she is, shoving the pool cue into his chest. My eyes slide to Cole, who’s already edging off the couch, but I stick my arm out to hold him in place.
He pushes me away with a growl, his eyes lit up with rage. “I’m not going to sit here and let them fuck with her. If you don’t do something, I will.”
“Give it—”
“Come on, take your bra off and we’ll let you keep your shirt,” Chad hollers, cutting me off and sending both of us to our feet.
Before we can reach Violet or the assholes harassing her, Arwen steps in, swiftly kneeing Jared in the balls before pushing him to the ground.
“Argh…what the hell, Ari,” he whines. “What did you do that for? We were only playing a game of strip pool.”
“Violet didn’t want to play your fucking game, asshole. Do you need a lesson in what the word no means?”
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Chad chimes in. “What’s a couple tits among friends?”
Arwen takes a threating step in his direction, and he cowers. “If you don’t want to join your friend on the floor, I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”
When he does as he’s told, she turns her thundering glare to Cole and me, grabbing Violet’s hand before stomping over to us.
“And what the hell were you two asshats doing?”
“I tried to stop it,” Cole answers, his tone laced with regret. “He wouldn’t—”
“Hey, she’s the one who said she didn’t need or want my protection,” I interject, my words void of the emotions swirling in my gut.
I want to wither under Arwen’s disappointed glower, but I keep the smug express on my face as I cross my arms, too ashamed to chance a glance in Violet’s direction. Without another word, Arwen storms off with Violet in tow.
“Are you fucking happy now?” Cole hisses.
“Not in the least. You might not understand it, but I refuse to be responsible for that girl’s broken heart. Things can go back to the way they were, and she’ll be safe. Now, please escort those assholes out of my house before I catch a charge and make sure the girls get home safely.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond before I storm out of the room to my bedroom. The second I step inside, I know she’s been in here. Her sweet scent is still lingering in the air, and a part of me wishes it would stay forever. Once my door is locked, I make my way over to the window to watch for Violet. It’s raining, more than a drizzle, but not a complete downpour. Luckily, Arwen only lives a few blocks away.
The dim light and rainy view make it harder to see, but I still spot her the second she steps into view. Violet holds up her hands as if welcoming the cold, wet rain on her skin. She begins to spin, tilting her head back until the rain hits her face, combing her fingers through her drenched hair. Arwen laughs as she rushes over to Violet, steadying her.
Cole joins them, hooking his arm around her shoulders before attempting to lead her down the driveway. Violet shakes her head, shrugging him off before turning to face the house again. She looks up, her eyes scanning the house until they land on me. Her hands slip under shirt, reaching behind her back before moving from one shoulder to the next. By the time I realize what she’s doing, her bra is off, swinging from her finger as she continues to stare up at me. My eyes bulge out of my head as I step closer to the window, silently begging her to cover up. Her white, rain-soaked shirt isn’t doing much to hide the contents underneath.
My blood is both hot and cold by the time Arwen grabs ahold of her again, pulling her down the driveway as Violet flips me the bird. As they walk away, I’m not sure whether I want to laugh or punch a wall.
Chapter Twenty-Five
VIOLET
By the time Monday morning rolls around, I’m still feeling the burning sting of embarrassment from my actions Saturday night. Sadly, I remember all of it very vividly. Right down to me dancing and shouting the words to “Singing in the Rain” at the top of my lungs, my bra swinging from my fingertip as we walked back to Arwen’s house.
At least the rain had hidden the tears I couldn’t stop from streaming down my face. I’d never felt that kind of white-hot hurt and disappointment before. I couldn’t believe Thatcher stood back while that asshole tried to force me to take my shirt off. All so he could prove he was right. It backfired on him, though. I made sure of it when I took my bra off right there in his front yard as he watched with horror on his face.
He wants to believe I’m fragile, but there was no way I was going to let stupid drunk high school jerks break me, and I’m not about to let fucking Thatcher Michaelson do it either.
Arwen has been on the warpath since Saturday night, and poor Cole hasn’t stopped apologizing to me. He blames himself, and Arwen didn’t do anything to make him feel better. Thatcher wasn’t completely wrong, though. I’d told him to back off. The assholes at Westbrook High need to know I can handle myself, otherwise I’ll always be prey to them.
I hate causing so much tension between the three of them. It feels like I’m the Yoko Ono to their Beatles. They were best friends long before I came into the picture, and I don’t want to be the reason that changes. Whatever goes on between Thatcher and me shouldn’t impact Cole and Arwen’s relationship with him.
From now on, they both need to be Switzerland. Which is what I made them both promise me yesterday. I don’t want them giving Thatcher the cold shoulder on my behalf. It should be interesting to see how things go today.
My stomach is in knots as I get out of my car and head inside the school. No matter how much I tell myself it’s only my imagination, I can’t help noticing all the smirking stares and pointed fingers. Most of them hadn’t personally witnessed my little wet t-shirt contest moment, but it didn’t matter. Gossip travels like wildfire in high school.
Relief washes over me when I see a friendly, familiar face. I let out a long exhale as a grinning Joey steps up beside me.
“Hey.” I tug on the straps of my backpack as I offer him a smile.
“Hey there, I heard you had an interesting weekend.”
“Oh god,” I groan. “It’s not—”
My words get stuck in my throat when I feel Joey’s hand on my ass. My steps come to a halt as he gives it a squeeze.
“I knew you had a wild side waiting to break free. What do you say you and I explore that a little more this weekend?”
My mouth hangs open as he waggles his eyebrows. Removing his hand from my body, I hiss, “What the hell are you doing? Don’t put your hands on me. And, no, I do not want to explore anything with you. Go find your girlfriend, asshole.”
I try to storm off, but Joey jerks me back with a tug of my arm. His face is contorted in anger and disgust, his probing eyes taking me in as if I’m the piece of trash.
“Don’t act like you’re better than me, you fucking tease. The entire school knows Thatcher is done playing with you, and if he’s had a piece, it’s likely the other two have had a taste as well. You should be grateful I’d even consider touching you.”
Tears prick my eyes. It feels like the wind has been kicked out of me as I scan the crow
d starting to form around us. I yank my arm from his grasp, my breathing heavy as I try to keep my tears at bay. “Go to hell, Joey.”
People hoot and holler with laughter as I jet down the hall, my tears burning like acid as they roll down my face.
Thatcher was right. The wolves have descended—even the ones in sheep’s clothing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
THATCHER
My anxiety kicks into overdrive when the bell rings and Violet isn’t in her seat. Arwen and Cole are barely speaking to me. Apparently, I had Violet to thank for them speaking to me at all. Both refused to talk to me about her. Some shit about Switzerland.
I’ve been going out of my mind worrying about my little saint. There was no doubt in my mind her stunt outside my house would become this week’s gossip topic. All the ugliness I’ve been trying to protect her from is coming at her full force.
Everything in me wants to shield her from it, but I can’t be her savior. I’m not any better than the rest of these fucks.
When Violet comes stumbling into Spanish two minutes late, my heart seizes in my chest. She has red steaks down her face, her eyes puffy. My vision blurs from the volcanic fury bubbling inside me as she makes her way to the seat in front of me. I’m going to find out who did this to her and make them bleed.
She ignores me as she sits down and takes her things out of her backpack. My eyes scan the room when I hear snickering, and I realize she isn’t snubbing me—she’s trying to avoid stares and whispers from the entire freaking class. I give them all a threatening glare before turning my attention back to Violet.
“What’s the matter, Saint? Did you get bit playing with the big dogs?”
I curse myself the second the words are out of my mouth. A normal person would’ve asked if she was okay. Instead, I basically said whatever happened was her fault.
Violet swivels in her chair to face me, her eyes glowing with anger, and for the second time, I’m blindsided by her. “Leave me the fuck alone, Thatcher!” she shouts.
My eyes go wide, and Mr. Branson turns away from the board as the entire class gasps in unison. “Senorita St. James, please refrain from using that kind of language in my class or I’ll be forced to send you the principal’s office.”
Violet comes to her feet, her fiery glare turning to Mr. Branson as she points to me. “That’s bullshit! He’s the one harassing me. Why don’t you send him to the fucking principal?”
A flustered Branson wags his finger as his face goes beet red. “That’s enough, young lady. You take yourself down to the principal’s office right now.”
“Whatever,” she seethes, snatching her things off her desk and backpack off the floor. “I don’t want to be in this damn class anyway.”
Everyone is quiet as she exits the room, all eyes landing on me the second she’s out the door. I slam my book closed and stand.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Branson huffs.
“To tell my side of the story.” It’s a lie, and a bad one, but I don’t care. I’m going after Violet one way or another.
“Saint!” I call out from behind her before she turns down the next hallway.
Her feet move a little faster. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why can’t you leave me alone? You wanted me to believe you were the big bad. Fine. You win. I believe you. Now, just…stop.”
My steps slow, and I almost do as she requested, until I hear her sniffle. I’m at her side in seconds, pulling her into my arms. Her body trembles as she buries her face in my shirt and begins to cry.
“Violet…what happened? Please tell me. Did someone—”
She catches me off guard when she shoves me away, and my back slams into the lockers.
“You!” she shouts, wiping her face as she heaves in deep breaths. “You happened.”
My heart cracks in two as I gape at her, too shocked by her words to move or speak. Then she’s gone, running down the hallway and straight into the principal’s office.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
VIOLET
My parents laugh like I’m telling a bad joke. Honestly, I don’t blame them. It does feel that way. I’ve never been this reckless. Out of the three of us, I’m the most mature and responsible one.
“In-school suspension.” Mom places a hand over her stomach as she quiets her laughter. “Good one, Vi.”
“Don’t forget the part where she cussed at her Spanish teacher,” dad chimes in.
My parents have never made a big deal about “curse words.” They believe words have the power you give them. Still, I was taught not to say them in school or around other children because of the social construct behind using “bad” words.
All they ever had to do was explain something was a rule, and they knew I would follow it. I’ve never so much as gotten my name written on the board for bad behavior at school. In fourth grade, I got an award for being the teacher’s pet. And my parents have never been asked to attend one single parent conference. So, I can see why they’re having a hard time believing I got four days of in-school suspension for cussing at another student and my Spanish teacher.
I pull the form out of my back pocket, unfold it, then hold it out for my mom. Her face falls as she takes it, her free hand covering her mouth as she reads it. With a sigh, she hands it to my dad.
“Well, shit…”
“Shit!” Austin repeats.
“Great.” Mom giggles, scooping him up and giving him quick kiss on the cheek before setting him back down. “Daddy, you and Austin should go play in his room before I end up with two kids in trouble for cussing at school.”
Dad nods, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before taking Austin to his room.
“What’s going on, Vi? This isn’t like you at all. Who’s this student you were yelling at in the middle of class? Is someone bothering you, sweetie? You can still talk to me, you know.”
Guilt coils in my gut. I want to tell her everything, but I don’t know how. It’s stupid. I know my mom would understand. She’s always told me she’d never punish me for being a kid and making dumb choices.
“Sometimes the best way to learn is from our mistakes, Vi.”
But everything seems so screwed up. I don’t want her to be upset with Arwen, Cole, or even Thatcher. As easy as it would be to blame him for everything, we’re all responsible for our own decisions. He tried to warn me.
“I know, Mom. It’s not like that, I swear.”
Her features harden as she crosses her arms. “Then tell me what it is like. I know my daughter, and I’m not blind. Something has been going on with you lately. You haven’t been yourself. There have been some positives to that. I love that you’ve been letting loose a little and having fun, but clearly there are some negatives too.” She holds up the slip of paper in her hands. “If you don’t talk to me, if you refuse to tell me what happened, I’ll be forced to ground you.”
“Ground me? You can’t be serious.” Being grounded is a foreign concept to me. Something that happens to kids in movies and on TV shows.
My mom worries her lip for a second, looking a little uncertain too. This is unchartered territory for us both. By all accounts, I’ve been an easy kid. My parents have never had to fight me on anything.
“I’m dead serious,” she states, straightening her posture as if that makes her more authoritative.
“So, the first time I get in trouble in my entire life, you’re going to bring down the freaking hammer? That isn’t fair. I’m a good kid, mom. Isn’t the in-school suspension punishment enough?”
“You are a good kid, Vi. This isn’t like you, that’s why I need to be stern here. You can either talk to me about what’s going on so we can work through it together, or you’re grounded. Maybe then at least you’ll be separated from whatever is causing all this. I don’t like it either, but if you won’t talk to me, you’re forcing my hand. I have to do something to make sure you’re safe.”
“Wow…just wow,” I seethe as tears prick my eyes. “H
ere’s a little parenting advice for you, Mom. Since you’re clearly still trying to figure that one out. You can’t force your kids to talk to you with threats. They need to be willing. Which I’m not now. Go ahead and ground me.”
My mother looks like I slapped her. I guess in a way I did. I’ve never defied my parents. Never raised my voice. And certainly never been so disrespectful. Maybe all this shit with Thatcher has changed me.
“Fine. Have it your way. Give me your phone.”
“What?” I screech. “No way.”
“Yes way! And your car keys. You can ride the bus to and from school.”
“You’ve officially lost your mind.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you. Now, unless my daughter is still in there and would like to have a civilized conversation, I’m going to need your keys and phone.”
I stand there for a minute, anger laboring my breathing as we stare each other down. If there’s one thing I know about my mother, it’s once she digs her feet in about something, there’s no changing her mind. My grounding has officially been written in stone. All I can hope for now is a short sentence.
With one final groan of protest, I turn on my heel to go retrieve my keys and phone. Damn you, Thatcher Michaelson.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
THATCHER
Cole and Arwen have been avoiding me all day, and there’s been no sign of Violet. She wasn’t in any of her classes and her car wasn’t in the parking lot. I’m going to hate myself if I got her suspended. This is the kind of shit I didn’t want for her. I didn’t want her to be tainted by me.
Arwen’s steps slow when she sees me waiting by her locker before our last class, her face twisting in anger as she sighs dramatically. “What do you want, Thatch?”
It’s not like I never had disagreements with Cole and Arwen before Violet came into our lives, but things have never been this strained before. I might be a little more hurt or angry with them, if I wasn’t so grateful the two of them have Violet’s back the way they do.
When the Saint Falls: a high school bully romance (Westbrook three Book 1) Page 12