SAVAGE: Rosewood High #3

by Lorraine, Tracy

  I panic when he reaches for the door. “Ethan?” I hate how pathetic and weak my voice sounds, but I can’t help it. I wasn’t under the illusion that he’d lie down beside me and pull me into his arms. I didn’t expect for this to heal everything that’s so broken between us, but watching him just walk out without even acknowledging me? Well, it fucking hurts.

  He halts, hearing his name, but he doesn’t turn back.

  A little strength bubbles up from somewhere, my need to have the last say getting the better of me. “We’re done now, Ethan. You got what you wanted. You stripped me bare. Now leave me the fuck alone.” My voice cracks on the final sentence, and I know he doesn’t miss it. His shoulders tense as the words hit him, but still, they’re not enough to pull on the decent part of him that I know is inside somewhere.

  He doesn’t say anything. He just walks out through my bedroom door with his head slightly hanging in defeat. My first sob erupts long before he’s closed the door behind him, and once they start, they don’t stop.

  26

  Ethan

  Forgetting the fact I’ve got half the school in my house, I run down the stairs in my need for a drink. I need to drown out what I just did.

  I fly around the bottom of the stairs and collide with a body, sending her scattering back on the wooden floor.

  “Fucking hell,” I moan. Am I going to fuck everything up tonight?

  I step up to the barely-dressed girl and hold my hand out to help her up. It’s not until she’s standing before me that I register who it is.

  “Does your cousin know you’re here?”

  Poppy’s lips press into a thin line. “I don’t know. But this is a school party, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I go to Rosewood.” She places her hand on her hip, waiting for my response, but I don’t really care.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Jake might have a fucked-up family but he’s protective as hell over Poppy. He’ll flip his lid when he spots her dressed like a fucking whore.

  I push past her and head for the kitchen. The bottles of whiskey that I know are there are too much to ignore.

  I can see my prize, but fucking Zayn gets in my fucking way.

  “How’s it going with your dark horse?” he slurs, getting in my face.

  “Back the fuck off,” I bark, my palms connecting with his chest to push him away. I don’t want to think about her right now, let alone talk about her.

  “Or what, asshole?” Zayn’s eyes are wild with the amount of alcohol he’s consumed, and it seems to make him think he can take me. Fucking idiot.

  Pulling my arm back, landing the punch I was desperate to plow into the dickhead’s face earlier. I hit him square on the jaw, but it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near e-fucking-nough. Grabbing onto his shirt when he starts to stumble away in shock, I throw another and another. His nose explodes, blood pouring down onto his top, but even the sight of that isn’t enough to stop me. Pain sears up my arm, but I welcome it. I need it. I deserve it.

  “Ethan, what the fuck are you doing?” Jake hollers when the screams and cries for help around us alert him to the ongoings in the kitchen. “Fucking hell.”

  His arms wrap around my upper body, pinning mine to my sides to stop me from throwing any more punches. The rest of the team descends. Some help Jake move me to the other side of the room while others tend to Zayn, who’s now rolling around on the floor in pain.

  Everything around me blurs. All I can focus on is the anger that’s consuming me. I thought taking it out on her was going to get rid of it, but I realize it’s not her I’m angry with. It’s me. Everything I’ve done. All the shit I’ve pulled.

  “What the fuck, Savage?”

  “He was in my way.”

  “Then ask him to fucking move.”

  “What the hell?” Mason asks, coming to a stop in front of me.

  “Whiskey,” I groan, holding my arm up, hoping someone will place a bottle in my hand.

  “Fine,” Jake says seconds before the cold glass hits my fingers. Fucking heaven.

  I twist the cap and down as much as my throat can handle.

  “Can you and Camila get him the fuck out of here?” Jake asks, but I ignore him, happy to drown myself in whiskey. “Take him to mine. I’ll finish things here. We’ll meet you there after. This needs to end.”

  I’ve no idea if he directs that final statement at me or not, but I ignore him anyway.

  I’m none too gently pushed to my feet, and Camila and Mason drag me from the house. It’s not all that much of a feat for them because being here, under the same roof as her, is the last place I want to be.

  “Get the fuck in,” Mason barks, pointing to Camila’s Mini, and I do as I’m told.

  He hops in the passenger seat while she drops into the driver’s seat, and we almost immediately start moving.

  I don’t look out the window, my only focus the bottle in my hands and the relief it can give me from the memories that are rolling around in my head.

  My legs barely work when we pull up outside Jake’s aunt and uncle’s house. Seeing as he’s still suffering with his ribs, Camila ends up being the one trying to support me as I make our way to Jake’s trailer.

  “Fucking help, will you?” she fumes. “I’ll happily just dump you here if that’s what you want.”

  “Oh, Mase. Is she this feisty in the sack?”

  “Shut the fuck up, asshole, or I’ll let her dump you and not look back.”

  He doesn’t mean that. Does he?

  We eventually make it down to the trailer, and before I know it, I’m on Jake’s couch finishing off the bottle in my hands.

  “Did you think to grab me another?” I ask the couple who are staring at me like I’m a green alien who’s sprouted two extra heads.

  “No, asshole, we didn’t.”

  “Fucking bullshit. Jake must have—” I try to stand but Mason, being sober, beats me to it and is in my face in seconds.

  “Move,” I demand, keeping my fists out of it this time.

  “No fucking chance.”

  A growl sounds out around the trailer, but it doesn’t register that it comes from my throat.

  “I need—”

  “No. You don’t need whiskey. Or beer. Or fucking weed. What you need is to start talking. We can’t fucking help if we don’t know, motherfucker.”

  My fists curl, not knowing another way to deal with his demands. Like fuck am I talking.

  “Go on then. Hit me, if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “Mason, no,” Camila says in a rush, coming to stand at his side protectively.

  “It’s fine, Cami. Sit down.” She looks between the two of us locked in our stare off but eventually does as she’s told.

  “Sit,” Mason demands, his hands hitting my shoulders just enough to have me falling to the couch.

  I watch as he walks into Jake’s little kitchenette and grabs three bottles of water from the fridge.

  “Drink.” He shoves it under my nose and leaves it there until I have to take it if I want him to go the fuck away. “Great, now talk,” he says, falling down beside Camila and pulling her into his side. The sight of them has my stomach turning over. So fucking happy and content with each other. It’s sickening.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Nah. You fucked her though, didn’t you?”

  Our eyes lock, a million words passing between us. We’ve been friends for too long for me to hide shit from either Mason or Jake.

  “None of your business.”

  “It is when you’re trying to drown yourself in a bottle of whiskey. You can do this now, or you can do it when Jake and Amalie get here, makes no difference to us. But get one thing straight. You are damn well fucking talking.”

  My teeth grind as I try to figure out a way to explain what I’ve done. How I’ve treated her.

  “Fine. I fucked her. Happy?”

  “I’m assuming I can safely say that she’s now not out of your system.” The fact he
’s almost amused by this situation pisses me off even more.

  “No… I… Fuck.” I sit forward and hang my head, running the events of the night through my mind.

  I have no idea how long the three of us sit there in silence, but, eventually, there are footsteps outside and then the door’s opening.

  “Sorry. Took fucking ages to clear out,” Jake says, walking straight up to me and slapping me around the head. “You sorted this waste of fucking space out yet?”

  No one says anything, but I can imagine the looks that are passing between them.

  “Amalie tried to see Rae, but she refused to speak, let alone answer the door. What the fuck did you do, Ethan?”

  Things that I’ve said to her over her short time here run through my head. The things I’ve made her do, tonight included. My need to hurt her, to escape the constant anger that’s always threatening to boil over was too much, and I took. I took what I wanted without any thought for her. That’s not how I do things. That’s not fucking cool.

  “I fucked her,” I repeat quietly.

  “Right. And it was so bad she sent you running to a bottle?” Jake laughs.

  “I…” Fuck. “I’m not sure she was totally up for it.” I fall back and tip my face to the ceiling, squeezing my eyes shut so I don’t have to look at their disapproving faces. The girls gasp but otherwise no one says anything as the reality of the situation presses down so heavily on my chest that I struggle to suck in a fucking breath.

  “I’ve been a fucking asshole since she arrived. Demanding she do shit. I just… I was so… fuck. I don’t even know who I am right now. I fucking hate myself. But she… then her… FUCK,” I shout, unable to even vocalize what it is I’m feeling, how fucking hurt and angry and fucked-up I am.

  “You need to sober the fuck up and talk to her,” Amalie suggests after the longest fucking silence of my life. “You were drunk before you even went up there, you might not be seeing things clearly.”

  “Even if I’m not. All the other stuff. Fuck.” I think about the day I made her strip. I watched her body tremble in fucking fear, yet I kept pushing. I remember the other night with her up on the fucking balcony. One wrong move and she’d have gone down. So what she was wet as fuck and begging for me? I made that happen. She didn’t. All she did was turn up. She doesn’t deserve any of what I threw at her.

  “She’s stronger than you’re giving her credit for, Ethan. If she didn’t want something, I’m pretty sure she’d have just told you.”

  I think back to her biting my fingers in Aces’ bathroom. Amalie is right, but she doesn’t see what it’s like when it’s just the two of us together. It’s like she hands me the control she always keeps a tight grip onto everywhere else. Why? What stops her kicking back more?

  “Get some fucking sleep. Sober up. Then tomorrow, talk to her with a rational head. Maybe apologize for being an epic douchebag since the moment she arrived. The four of us sitting here are proof that asshole actions can be forgiven and things can turn around.”

  I lie back on the sofa. If the four of them say any more, then I don’t hear it because the numbness from the alcohol drags me under.

  * * *

  The trailer’s still in silence when I wake with a raging hard-on from the dream I was having about being inside Rae yesterday. The tingling of desire lasts all of three seconds after I come to before reality slams into me right before the headache that’s pounding at my temples hits as well.

  Fuck. I’m a mess.

  Regret. Shame. They both threaten to swallow me whole, and I can say with absolute certainty that the bright light of day has not brought me any clarity on the situation. If anything, without the whiskey fueling my thoughts, it’s fucking worse.

  The guys’ advice from last night hits me.

  Talk to her.

  I drag my cell from my pocket, and my stomach drops when I see I’ve got a message. Only it’s not from her.

  Needing a distraction, I swipe it and see what she's sent.

  Chelsea: Thank you for thinking of me. That means a lot. Hopefully I’ll get to see you soon x

  I sigh. If Chelsea of all people is attempting to get her shit together then I guess I’d better make the effort too.

  I almost change my mind and curl back up on the couch when I push the door open and am blinded by the almost midday autumn sun. My head swims, and last night’s whiskey threatens to make a reappearance. I’ve no idea what time the guys left me last night, but seeing as it’s almost lunchtime and Jake and Amalie are still in bed, they couldn’t have called it a night too early.

  I pull up my Uber app ready to order a car to get me home, but at the last minute, I cancel the order in favor of walking. The headspace and fresh air might do me a bit of good. Give me some fucking clarity with regards to Rae and everything’s that happened. And everything that might happen next.

  I scrub my hand down my face as I allow the realization that I don’t want what happened with Rae last night to be a one-off to settle. The bullshit that got us there aside, it was fucking mind-blowing and I’m now craving to be inside her again, to feel her body against mine like I never have anyone else. Not that I deserve to feel any of that again after how I’ve treated her.

  I grab some breakfast on the way when I’m confident my stomach can take it, and it’s almost two hours later when I walk up the driveway toward the house. It looks exactly like it did before the party, almost as if last night never happened. There’s just one difference. Dad’s car is here.

  Motherfucker. So not only do I have the grovel of my life ahead of me with Rae, but I’ve got to deal with him.

  I don’t see any sign of life as I walk into the house. I stop by the kitchen for a bottle of water before making my way toward the stairs. I figure that I’d rather deal with Rae than I would my father, which is really saying something. However, I don’t make it to the stairs, because as I approach the family room, their voices ring out and I’m powerless but to stop when I hear Rae’s name mentioned.

  “I can’t believe she just blanked you like that after not seeing you for over a week,” Dad says softly to Ash.

  “It’s fine. I’m used to Rae’s temper. She was always such a placid child. If I wasn’t so stupid then maybe…” Ash’s voice breaks, and I see through the crack in the door as Dad leans toward her.

  “Maybe what?”

  She blows out a breath. I know I shouldn’t be listening in on their private conversation, but it’s clear that Ash knows more about Rae than any of us, and hell knows I could use a little light shedding on her before we talk.

  Her shoulders shake, the tension surrounding her obvious even from out in the hall. “It was all my fault. I thought he was God’s gift. He was so sweet. The perfect boyfriend. Little did I know he—” She sniffles, and it cuts off her words.

  Every muscle in my body is locked tight as I wait for what’s to come.

  “He what, Ash?” Dad asks, his own voice rough and full of emotion. He’s clearly having the same thoughts—fears—as me right now.

  She sobs, and I damn near march inside the room to demand she finishes that fucking sentence. But when she does say the words, all the fight leaves me.

  “Only wanted her. She was only thirteen when he—”

  I stumble back, unable to comprehend what she’s saying. Refusing to accept it. Everything I’ve done to her. The way I’ve treated her. And she’s been… no, no.

  On shaky legs, I drag myself up the stairs. I need the truth. I need to know if I’m just one in a line of men who haven’t treated her as she deserves.

  I throw her bedroom door open the second I’m in front of it, the weight of the regret I feel pressing down on me to the point I can’t drag in the air I need.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but the second I look up and find only an empty room, disappointment floods me. I need to talk to her. I need her to tell me what I just overheard isn’t true, even though every fiber of my being knows that it is.

  My
eyes settle on her bed. It’s covered in her diaries, the ones she’d hidden from me. No wonder she looked so terrified when she discovered me reading them.

  Fuck. It was him. The asshole I was reading about. The one who was treating her to everything she wanted.

  Racing over, I rummage through them until I find the one I was reading. I flick through for any sign for where I should look. All of a sudden the pretty pink writing stops and a more rushed, scratchy handwriting starts. I stare down at the pages, flipping through and picking out important words. In places, the ink has run where she’s spilled water on it, but it’s not long before I realize that they were probably her tears.

  27

  Raelynn

  I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night despite the party finishing not long after Ethan ran from my room. I can only assume he pulled the whole thing to an abrupt end after what happened between us. He wasn’t in a good place when he first appeared in my room; I can’t imagine he left any better.

  Every time I drifted off, he appeared. I’d spent months thinking that he was the best thing that ever happened in my life. That for once, Mom had got it right. Oh how wrong I was. He wasn’t treating me like the daughter he never had. It took months for me to accept after the event, but all he was doing was grooming me. Putting in the legwork to ensure I’d trust him when he thought the time was right.

  And fuck did I trust him.

  I didn’t bat an eyelid when he told me he’d run me a bath one night when Mom was working late. Yes, I thought it was odd when he suggested he join me, but he soon soothed my concerns when he reminded me how Mom couldn’t afford for us to waste water.

  A shudder runs down my spine as I revisit that night. I was so young. So naïve. If I had any idea what he was capable of, I’d have run as fast as I could in the opposite direction that night, but I truly believed that he’d never hurt a fly.