I found my way to one of Dad’s tall chairs next to the fireplace.
Delaying the inevitable, I didn’t open the first letter immediately. I pulled the ribbon off gently, wrapping and unwrapping the red satin around my index finger. If I didn’t read Lane’s words, I could stay blissfully ignorant.
After an hour of just sitting there, contemplating whether or not to open my dad’s second-best bottle of scotch, I started feeling stupid. They were just letters. The sentences inside meant nothing now. She was gone. It was over.
I liked to lie to myself when I was nervous.
It took me forever to open the letter. I got a goddamn papercut.
And when I saw her beautiful cursive, I almost started crying. I didn’t fucking cry. I hated crying
Mr. Castleton,
The baby is fine. Growing well. There are some concerns, but the doctors are wonderful. I guess I should thank you for that. Without my teaching job, I couldn’t afford proper care. I know you didn’t have to offer me any money. You didn’t have to care about what happened to me. God, I guess it’s not me you care about… I’m doing my best to be a good mother. I’m eating right, taking my vitamins.
I’ve considered the proposal in your last letter, but I want to be this child’s mother. I need to be. Maybe if I can do right by it, I can make up for the things I’ve done.
Please tell Drake how sorry I am. Please tell him I hated to leave like that, but I always told him that it couldn’t last. That it was wrong.
I’ll write with another update next month.
Thank you,
Lane Angeles
There were blurred areas of the letter. Tear marks. It made my chest hurt so fucking bad. The next six letters were more of the same. My dad… did more than I ever expected him to, not that it excused the way he’d separated us. Not that it excused what a bastard he was. I kept reading until I got to the last letter. I’m not sure why this one instantly made me feel nauseous. I hadn’t even opened it yet.
Mr. Castleton,
I’m sorry to write this. I can barely put this down on paper. I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know what to do. I shouldn’t write what I’m going to here, but I have to. Drake made me feel seen. He made me feel loved. I was beaten by my husband. It took years to escape him and divorce. Never in a million years would I expect to find a connection with a student. A child. I know he was a child. I know how it looked to the rest of the world.
I have nothing left to lose now. Nothing to keep me from saying the words you didn’t want to hear so long ago.
I did love your son.
Even if it was a mistake.
I’ve lost the baby. A boy. He was tiny, but so beautiful. I named him Sebastian.
I don’t expect your support anymore. I never deserved it in the first place. Please don’t contact me again. I’ll be moving soon.
Lane Angeles
The letters spilled from my hands, falling with a barely-audible swoosh to fan out across the Persian rug. Dampness filled my eyes. Seconds later, hot tears ran tracks down my cheeks. I felt like I was breaking. Felt like I was back in those first days after Lane was ripped from me. I’d built up this new persona for so long… it was my shield against the startlingly-bitter pain.
Looking down, vision blurry, I saw something black and white sticking from one of the envelopes. I’d missed something.
I bent over, picking it up.
The image was grainy, hard to make out.
The print at the top wasn’t.
Angeles baby. 12 weeks.
I dropped the ultrasound image back to the floor and I stood, feeling wild.
Sebastian.
Sebastian.
I ran from the office towards the bathroom, dropped to my knees, and heaved into the toilet. I vomited until I passed out. When I woke up it was dark. I don’t know if my dad had seen me when he came home, but he’d not woken me or tried to help me. I knew this, because he was asleep in his study—the letters now neatly stacked on his desk.
I had to leave the house. I had to get out of here.
It was the middle of the night. No one would be awake. I didn’t want mindless sex. I didn’t want to fuck the pain away.
I wanted to see someone who’d call me on my shit. Who’d listen. Who was the biggest goddamn square in the world.
And that’s what I needed—
a solid shape, four sides, steady and intractable.
I drove to her house, taking it slow because the demon in me wanted to floor the gas pedal and scream across town. Her house was dark. It was selfish of me to wake her up.
Yet, I parked and found a few pebbles, moving towards what I was pretty sure was her bedroom window.
13.
T A R R Y N
Friday Evening, 6:45 PM
He was early, parked on the curb, sitting in his convertible. He’d checked his hair at least a dozen times in the few minutes he’d been sitting there.
Drake Castleton.
Nervous?
If you’d told me a few weeks ago that he’d be waiting outside my house, at my behest no less, I’d call you a darn liar. And if I told anyone the entire story behind my relationship with Drake… they’d call me completely insane.
He did what?
And you’re going on a date with him?
Yes. And yes.
And yes I know I’m certifiably crazy. Just sign me up for a permanent spot at the loony bin.
“Early?” I like punctuality in a boy. My dad ambled up beside me, tossing an arm over my shoulders. “You didn’t really talk about him after the dance. Mom and I assumed you weren’t… what’s that thing the kids say? You weren’t that into each other? You didn’t jive?”
“We don’t say jive.” I elbowed him gently and he winced playfully.
“Hey, I’m still a cool cat.”
“You’re always cool, Dad.” I turned around and hugged him. “Even if you are a giant dork who works too much and won’t buy cell phones for the family and drives an ancient car.”
“The apex of coolness,” he said, swiping his hand against the side of his hair, channeling a James Dean vibe. “And here he comes. Go get him, kiddo.” I glanced back out the window, finding Drake strolling up the walk, jacket held back by his hands shoved into his pockets.
“Oh, lord. You go hide in the kitchen. And this isn’t a dance,” I quirked my eyebrow at him, showing I meant business, “so no cameras.”
“But isn’t this your first real date that isn’t a dance? Isn’t that photo-worthy?”
“To the kitchen!” I commanded, pushing him gently just as a knock sounded against the front door.
“Is that Drake?” Mom’s voice piped up from the kitchen.
“Yes, and I’m getting it. And then we’re leaving! No parental interaction necessary!” I didn’t hesitate and contemplate my relationship with the door this time; I swung it open quickly, scooted out, and reclosed it before my mom could argue.
My sudden appearance surprised Drake who stepped back too fast and nearly lost his footing on the top step. I grabbed for his jacket lapel, pulling him towards me sharply. I overcompensated. He fell into me, pushing me back against the door, our bodies pressing together.
“I knew you were excited about our date, but now I’m thinking all’s forgiven?” His voice was warm and wispy, a far cry from his usual cockiness-soaked tone.
My hands were flat against his chest, my arms pinned between us. “Hardly,” I said, applying pressure to move him away. He didn’t budge. “Drake, we can’t go on our date if we stall out at the door. Could you… please?”
He stared at me for a moment, his Antarctica-silver blue eyes full of so many things that he wanted to say, but he didn’t. “Always so rational, Square.”
“Always so impulsive, Castleton.”
He stood away from me, smoothing out his jacket. “You can’t live a full life without a little impulsivity. It’s a prerequisite. Unless you want to stay in a one-horse town your
entire life.” He held his hand out to me. I looked at it, but crossed my arms instead of letting my fingers lace with his. It was too early for that. I hadn’t made up my mind… or my heart. I hadn’t forgiven him yet. Holding hands was too close.
Sure you haven’t made up your mind about him, girl. Admit it… ever since he showed up that night and talked to you, told you about the teacher, showed you some honesty, you’ve been interested. You’ve softened to him. Big. Fat. Liar. It’s like the big bad guy in every book you’ve ever read. The suffering antihero, the antagonist turned ally. And those characters are always so good looking. How is that fair? What chance does the heroine have to resist him and choose the right guy? The real hero?
She has no freaking chance. It’s always going to be Bad Boys R US.
“So… where are we going this time?” We were sitting in the car. And it was complete homecoming déjà vu with my parents pretending not to spy from their positions at the window.
“A few towns over. It’s a surprise.”
“Not a surprise as in- ‘look, a restaurant my family owns where I can show off my money bags ways’?” I tried to sound funny, but I ended up sounding sarcastic.
“Nope, definitely not a place my family owns. Absolutely no Castleton connection at all.”
“Lovely. I like it already.” I gave him a half-smile and then turned to wave like a fool at my parents. They disappeared from view, but it was seconds later before my mom was peeking again. They were really terrible spies.
Neither of us spoke for a while, letting River Valley melt away as we passed the town welcome sign. The evening air was chilly with the top down. I was smart this time, wearing mom’s jean jacket again and this time borrowing her cute gingham flats. No dirty lake party to ruin them. Beneath the jacket was my favorite skirt, my lucky one with the daisies, and a white tank top.
“You look pretty,” Drake glanced over at me, not taking his eyes off the road for long.
“Thanks,” I mumbled awkwardly, trying to shove flying strands of hair behind my ears.
“I should have put the top up.”
“It’s okay. The air feels nice.” The air feels nice. Way to be lame.
“I hate putting it up. It makes me feel claustrophobic.” He shrugged casually.
“I get that I guess.” I fiddled with the manual controls on the side of my seat and tilted the bucket seat back. The sky was clear, stars twinkling, the moon a smiling crescent. “It’s a pretty night.”
“Perfect for our purposes,” he commented, hitting the turn signal which clicked happily.
“And our purposes are?” I poked.
“You’re an impatient one,” he teased.
“I’m incredibly patient.”
“Says the girl who gave into a date with her would-be torturer after only a brief battle with her better senses.” Drake was smirking.
“My would-be torturer? There’s nothing would-be about it, Drake. You signed, sealed, and delivered the bully deal.”
His face fell, and I instantly felt bad for dampening the mood by bringing up our history. God, our history. It wasn’t long enough ago to be freaking history. It was practically yesterday in terms of how long I’d been alive.
Yesterday, Drake Castleton had treated me like shit.
Today, I was in his car going to some secret location… and my gaze kept flicking to his perfectly-gorgeous lips and wishing he’d pull the car over so I could kiss him.
History?
Focus on the present, idiot. Because if you start going rational square, you’re going to really recognize how screwed-up you are.
“Here,” Drakes’ voice pulled me back to the moment. His face was neutral, maybe still holding onto my mention of his bullying bad boy plot to bag the new girl. He steered the car into a driveway, past rows of posts covered in twinkling lights. After about twenty shining light ‘trees’, a neon sign announced ‘Sunny Lane’s Drive-In Theatre, Established 1955’.
“Oh,” I breathed out, taking in the sight of the antique car displays, the gigantic viewing screen playing retro advertisements, and the little speakers set up at each parking spot. “I love it.”
His expression changed, a genuine smile spreading his lips as his eyes twinkled. He was clearly pleased with himself. “I knew you’d love it.”
“Don’t get cocky. I’m mildly impressed.” I sounded completely unconvincing. “You’ve got one less negative brownie point, but the pile’s still a mile high.”
“Sounds like I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“We have time.” And now I sounded like a hormone-raging teenager who’d never had anything between her legs save for a tampon…
Ha. That’s exactly what I was.
As soon as Drake pulled into a spot and shifted into park, I got out of the convertible and turned around in a circle, taking it all in. I loved every inch of the place. I loved the sound of popcorn popping from the nearby snack stand. I loved the smell of butter and cotton candy and ice cream and humanity strolling about enjoying the sparkling starlight evening.
My date moved around the convertible and leaned against it, watching me act like Annie walking into the movies for the first time whilst Daddy Warbucks made magic happen. After my second twirl, I came to a stop, daisy skirt swirling a while longer and brushing softly against my legs.
“I take back the pretty thing,” Drake said seriously.
I was hurt for a second, imagining how idiotic I must look dancing around like a five-year-old seeing something sparkly. “Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” he said quickly, stepping forward and away from the car. “I was going to say—I take back the pretty thing. You’re beautiful, Tarryn. Mouse brown hair, giant puppy dog eyes, quirky weirdness and all. You’re fucking beautiful.”
The butterflies inside flew into a riot, colorful happiness streaming through my senses like a parade of rainbows. In that moment, we were just a boy and a girl, nothing in the past, no hard feelings a barrier between our bodies. Like before, I was the one who leaned forward and closed the gap between us. And, like before, he didn’t respond immediately when my lips touched his. I didn’t wait for him to answer the call-to-action. I walked, driving him back towards the car until I felt him softly thump against the passenger door. I threaded my arms beneath his, wrapping them around his waist and lacing my fingers behind his back. He stopped hesitating. His lips moved gently, tongue darting into my mouth with soft, experienced movements.
His hands stayed by his sides for longer than I’d liked. But soon his arms lifted and his fingers found their way to my hair. He tousled it gently as we kissed.
This wasn’t the womanizer.
This wasn’t the jaded boy who once loved a woman far too old.
This was the Drake I could fall for, the Drake he should have been all along—save for circumstances in his yesterdays.
I felt aroused, not just by his body’s proximity, but by the lights twinkling around us and the delicious nearly-carnival smells, and the chatter of people having a good time. I wasn’t having a good time. I was positively blissful. And I knew I shouldn’t be. There was that kernel of doubt in my head calling me a stupid girl. But, God.
I kissed a boy and I liked it.
He tasted like…everything. A hint of cigar smoke, maybe clinging to him from home. Warm peppermint breath. Sandalwood, cedar, sage, coming from his hair. Is this how boys smelled?
Or is this just how Drake smelled?
I didn’t have enough experience. Barely any experience. So it was all so new, so intoxicating.
His hands ventured from my hair to the back of my neck, then lower to the middle of my back. He pulled me tighter to him. We couldn’t get any closer. His lips left mine and I whimpered in protest. But seconds later he was kissing my neck. “Where have you been?” he murmured. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”
“I hated moving here. Hated it,” I breathed out. “And you made it worse, Drake. But now…I feel like I’m betraying myself. An
d I love it. I love every second.”
He lifted his head to look at me. Our eyes locked for so long that I knew he was seeing past the surface, down to the marrow. Down to the piece of me that meant who I was at a cellular, dissected level.
I read too many books. I was romanticizing this.
It’s what happened to girls who spent more time reading books and running races and avoiding the trappings of childhood than trying to live and be ‘normal’.
For a second, Drake was every guy I’d mooned over in every piece of literature and cinema I’d ever devoured.
The euphoria faded just enough that I could clasp onto a modicum of better senses. I stood away from him, from where our bodies had been leaning at an angle against the convertible. Any more angled and we’d have found ourselves on top of each other, dumped into the front of the car.
I cringed a little when I realized that didn’t sound totally unappealing.
Hello, my bully. Let’s get it on.
I’ve apparently lost every fraction of self-preservation I ever had.
It’s all gone.
And all I see are those lips…
The rogue golden curl lying against your forehead…
The face that looks boyish and innocent right now…
I shook my head, trying to clear it. Drake was standing there, not smiling but also not frowning. He seemed like he was trying to process the moment. Maybe he had his own internal war going on. Trying not to be the predator he’d learned to be after Lane.
“Snacks?” I said, voice high and girly. Stupid voice.
“Snacks.” He nodded, getting close enough to place his hand against the small of my back and lead me forward.
Even through the clothes.
I felt electricity.
14.
T A R R Y N
Two bags of cotton candy, a bucket of popcorn, and two large sodas later, and we were sitting on the hood of his car atop a Houndstooth-patterned blanket. Drake had taken the wired speaker from its stand and set it against the windshield between us.
Brat: A High School Bully Romance (The King of Castleton High Book 2) Page 10