Balls: A Bully Romance (The King of Castleton High Book 4)

by Ellie Meadows

  Tarryn doesn’t speak immediately.

  I have to keep rubbing the dampness from my face. The tears won’t fucking stop and the void between us only makes them fall faster.

  “I’m sorry I pushed you to talk to me. It wasn’t fair,” I eventually say, filling the silence, because if it is quiet one second longer, I think I will die.

  She doesn’t move.

  And she still doesn’t speak.

  That voice I hate stretches wider.

  And wider, until I think it is the better option to fall into the chasm between us and be done with things. Let her be free of me.

  The tears finally stop.

  And I think about the pain I carried around after Lane. The jagged glass of our ill-fated relationship always revisiting to cut me, over and over again.

  I won’t be that pain for Tarryn.

  “I won’t bother you again, okay? And I’ll stay out of your way here. I want you to enjoy yourself.” I speak clearly, politely. I try to show her that I mean the words, even though each syllable is killing me.

  But this is right.

  It’s what I should do.

  She still doesn’t move.

  When she finally opens her mouth, I wait for the last nail in my coffin. Because Tarryn is too smart to be taken in by me again. She’s not like the other girls I’ve strung along in the past. And, of course, the irony is that I don’t want to string Tarryn along at all, even if she was like other girls and would let me manipulate her and have my way.

  What I truly want is to root myself beside her and grow in her sunlight. I have been insane for so very long, blind to what was good in life.

  I see more clearly now. Is that what really caring about someone does? Clears your focus … forces you to grow up and think about tomorrow, and how your actions today affect the people in your life. The people that matter.

  Tarryn matters.

  She matters to me.

  “You did have a choice.” She reaches up with a shaking hand and cups my face. It is still slightly damp, and I want to cringe away from her touch. I’ve put her through enough. I don’t want to guilt her with the evidence of my self-created sadness. I brought us here, to this grief.

  But when I try to shift, she curls her fingers more firmly around my jaw and cheek. Her hand is small, soft as silk against my skin.

  “Tabitha blackmailed you. I know that. I’ve always known that. But when something like that happens, you don’t have to deal with it alone. You reach out to your friends. You tell your girlfriend … if that’s what we were.”

  “I’m not good at relying on people, Tarryn. I’m used to handling my own shit. And getting my parents or grandmother involved is never my choice. They only swoop in when they think I’m embarrassing the Castleton name.”

  “But I’m different, right?” she asks, gaze steady on my face.

  “Yes.” I should have known she would understand about the photos, was what she meant. I should have known that she’d rather have the photos released than have me give in to Tabitha. I should have known she wouldn’t judge me.

  “I think you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. You didn’t trust that I wouldn’t blame you. And you thought I’d--” Her hand drops away, and I immediately feel the absence of her touch like physical pain.

  “Break up with me over it,” I complete the thought for her when she pauses. “And look what happened. We broke up anyways.”

  “I wasn’t sure if I should say ‘break up’. I keep going over it again now. Our relationship and how things started. Your deception with Aiden. Homecoming. The fight. Lane coming back into your life.” When I open my mouth, she holds up a hand to keep me from talking. “I know she was just back to sell her house. I get that. But her showing up spoiled the waters. And we went to the lake right after. You wanted me then, but wasn’t I just a bandage? Something to keep the pain at bay?”

  “No, Tarryn. It wasn’t like that. I wanted you before Lane came back into town. I still want you. It hurt to see her, yeah. It brought up a lot of bad shit that I thought I’d buried so deep I’d never have to face the feelings again. But you are separate from that. You make me better. You’re not a distraction from my past, or the crap in my present.”

  “I don’t know, Drake. I think we’ve been bad for each other from the beginning.” She moves a little away from me, crossing her arms and leaning back against a tree. More people are walking the trail now, marveling at the lights and oblivious to the war of feelings happening in the woods nearby.

  “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, Tarryn.” I walk towards her. “Please believe that.”

  I stop to stand in front of her. We’re closer to the trail now. The Christmas lights blink and send a parade of color into the forest.

  “I want to believe you, Drake. But I don’t want to be the stupid girl that gives the bad guy another chance.” She looks up at me, and it's her eyes that are watering this time. She’s on the precipice. Any second, she’ll teeter off of one edge or the other. And it’ll either be the very end of us, or a new beginning.

  I forget all my determination to let her go. To be what she needs me to be.

  Gone.

  But I raise my hand and touch ever so gently against her brow, tracing fingers down the curve of her face until it's my turn to cup her cheek.

  “Please believe me. You make me better. In every way. I’ll never lie to you again. I’ll tell you everything, even if it’s uncomfortable shit.”

  “Drake,” she whispers my name, and it is the nail in the coffin.

  But not in the way I’ve imagined.

  It’s Tarryn that closes the gap between us and rises on tiptoes, reaching for me. Her lips search for mine.

  And when we make contact, mouths fitting like they were always meant to be together, I felt a settling in my heart.

  I move to wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her as close as humanly possible.

  We sink into the kiss.

  Two boats that have chosen to drown in a storm instead of float to safe harbor.

  12.

  T A R R Y N

  [first person, present tense]

  God, what is wrong with me.

  Why am I kissing him?

  And it was my choice! I kissed him first!

  But I melt against him, all the familiar feelings of the past flooding through my body like a drug.

  Stupid girl.

  Dumb girl.

  His arms curve around me, pulling me closer. I press against him, wanting more.

  Stupid girl.

  Dumb girl.

  His tongue pushes into my mouth. He tastes like the hot chocolate. Warm. Laced with spice. I could kiss this boy forever.

  Because I’m a stupid girl. Without a brain in my head. And he’s got a beautiful mouth filled with silver words that could win the world over in a heartbeat. A charm that could sell water to the ocean. Looks that could make the most faithful woman stray. I hate Drake. For making me want him so damn badly.

  I pull away from him, breathless.

  “Are you okay? I’m sorry.” Drake puts some space between us, but he doesn’t let go of me.

  “Why are you sorry,” I almost laugh. “I’m the one that kissed you first.”

  “And I kissed you back, when I knew you probably weren’t ready.”

  As if to prove that I am ready, that it is my own choice and not some product of the romantic woods and wild emotions, I rush against him, lips finding his again.

  And I drink him in.

  I push past the point when I can no longer breathe. I push past the point that is comfortable. I lock my mouth against his like I am a thousand feet underwater and he’s my air supply.

  His lips feel so soft, and I worry mine are rough from being out in the cold. I should have stuck a lip balm in my pocket just in case...

  Of course, I hadn’t known Drake was going to show up out of nowhere. If I had, I certainly wouldn’t have worn the awful Christmas sweater, baggy and
faded from being worn and washed so often. And I’d have run a wide comb through my curls and scrunched them a little, so they were waves and ringlets of pale brown. I’d have taken time, to look something other than my plain ‘normal’.

  I pull away from him, suddenly self-conscious. I run my hands down the sweater, trying to smooth out wrinkles, and then I try to tuck in the front hem to hide the bleach splash that had ruined the coloring. I’d forgotten about that spot. There’s nothing I can do about the bulky flannel lined jeans or the clunky boots.

  Drake watches me fiddle, messing with my outfit.

  “You look perfect you know,” he says, reaching a hand behind me and twirling the end of my ponytail until all the strands come together to form one giant curl which he pulls over my shoulder to trail down the sweater.

  “I thought you weren’t lying to me anymore.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Reindeer sweaters and lumber jack boots do it for you then?” I tease.

  “So, you admit that they’re reindeer? Interesting,” he teases back, winking.

  “They’re not reindeer,” I insist, irritated that I made the mistake. “You just put that idea in my head, and it slipped out.”

  “No antlers. Female deer.”

  “Reindeer. Deer.” Drake shrugs. “All I know is that if I don’t kiss you again right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”

  His body presses against mine again; I stagger back against the nearby tree, back pushing into the bark. We stare at each other, and time stops moving. The lights stop blinking. The people on the trail next to us fall away into nothingness. We’re alone here. Just Drake and me.

  Things would be so much simpler between us, if we could truly cut the world away.

  Just me and him.

  No muddy pasts. No present complications.

  No Aiden. No Tabitha. No Castleton Industries reigning over River Valley.

  Just a boy and a girl.

  In love.

  “Are you giving me another chance, Tarryn?” His face is so close to mine that all it would take is a centimeter forward to be lips against lips again.

  “Maybe,” I sigh out, desire floating between us like incense, filling the air with a noxious odor that lulls us into peace. I can pretend that nothing happened before these moments in the woods. We can start anew. “Probably,” I admit.

  Stupid girl.

  Dumb girl.

  Buying another ticket to heartbreak, because the ride was so damn good the first time.

  I don’t know how long we kiss. His hands run up and down my body, grazing against the sides of my breasts gently, but not taking more liberties than that.

  I’ve made the decision, resolutely in my mind, to try again. To give him what he wants. No, what I want. What I want.

  “What time is it?” My brain is filled with fog. There are no more people walking the trails enjoying the Christmas lights. Things are quiet and cold.

  We’ve been caught in a sphere of warmness, holding one another as the fire burned between us.

  Drake, as emotionally drunk as I am, fumbles in his pocket until he pulls out his cell. It glows to life.

  “After eleven.”

  “Crap. I should be back at the cabin by now. Hopefully Sasha covered for me, or her parents are going to call my parents and it’ll be Armageddon.”

  “Don’t worry, Cinderella. We’ll get you back before pumpkin time.” He reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together. We step back onto the trail, and into silence yet again. But this time it is a comfortable quiet. It doesn’t bother me at all. I am content to walk with Drake, our hands entwined, and say nothing.

  “Where’s your car?” The question pops out bluntly as he leads me towards a black four-door sedan. It’s posh, but absolutely nothing like his green convertible.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t notice at school. I’ve not had the convertible in a while.”

  “Why?”

  “The photos. My dad was... disappointed in me.” He snags the keys from his inner jacket pocket, hitting the unlock button and then the remote start. The engine purrs to life. No rumble and shake like his sports car.

  “They weren’t your fault, Drake.”

  “They were in his mind. And in my mother’s, and in my grandmother’s... hell, basically everyone blames me for once again staining the great Castleton reputation. At least Grandmother Birdie is practical about it. She’s the one with the private eye sorting through my trash and somehow making shit clean again. And instead of tossing me to the wolves, she gave me her car to use and she’s still supporting me.”

  “I thought your Grandmother was...”

  “A proper pain in the ass? Yeah. I mean, she used to be. But I think that had more to do with her relationship with Dad than it ever had to do with me. Last time I saw her, she seemed almost, I dunno, human.” He opens the door for me, but he seems reluctant to let go of my hand. I lift my arm, shifting his along, and I kiss his knuckles gently.

  “You can let go. I’m not going to run away.”

  “Are you sure?” His tone is joking, but his eyes hold no laughter. He half expects me to turn and race away from him the second he lets go.

  “Positive,” I lower our hands from my lips and press them against my chest, over where, just a few inches beneath skin and rib cage, my heart beats for him.

  He smiles, gentle and kind and without any concealed feelings, and then he flexes his fingers, letting me pull my own away. I slide into the car; the leather is butter soft and the car still has that ‘new from the sales lot’ smell. Drake closes the door softly; it clicks closed and I am alone for a second.

  Alone with my emotions.

  Alone with my decision.

  And I feel okay.

  Who cares if I’m a stupid girl? Who cares if I’m a dumb girl?

  I’m his girl.

  Sasha would laugh at me and say I’m defining myself around a boy. But she has Steve now, and she is just as prone to the pitfalls of being in love with someone.

  In love.

  I love Drake.

  None of us are perfect, I think as the driver’s side door opens and he slides in beside me. Some of us are stupid and dumb. Some of us do bad things even though we’re not essentially bad. Doesn’t it matter more that you’re trying. Trying to do the right thing, treat people better. Even to myself, the thoughts felt like a string of justifications. A mirid of hypotheticals to wash away any lingering doubts over what I was doing.

  Maybe this. Maybe that.

  Trying to do the right thing is as good as actually doing the right thing.

  My paternal grandmother, when she was ragging on my mom before we moved to River Valley, would often say ‘the road to hell is paved with your good intentions, Tish’. And she’d make that comment over stupid things, like Mom trying a new twist to a recipe she knew my dad loved. A recipe that he grew up with, so of course my grandmother was hypercritical.

  “It was good intentions to change it up and use Gochujang chili sauce and sesame oil instead of the tried-and-true Worcestershire and vegetable oil that my son is used to, Tish, but this Korean inspired pot roast tastes like the devil’s work. Best follow the recipe exactly in the future. You know, when you actually do cook for your family.”

  My mom didn’t have a flare for cooking, no natural talent for spices and sauces. Takeout was more typical in my house if she was in charge and not dad. But when she did try in the past, I feel like maybe I should have opened my mouth more and praised her, rather than letting my grandmother’s negativity be the rule of the hour.

  People need nurturing even when they’re grown.

  And if that is the case, then we especially need love and nurturing when we’re still children, still clawing through the muck and the mire to find our places in the world.

  Drake has never had that.

  From the start, he’s had parents who would rather ignore him or hold him to impossible standards. And you can’t seesaw like that. You can�
�t pretend your children don’t exist whilst you jet around the world for business or pleasure, and then the minute your children screw up, turn the full force of your attention and disappointment onto them.

  Parents can’t have both.

  It’s damaging.

  It pushes kids like Drake down a broken path, a path that leads them to falling into a relationship with the wrong person, because they’re so damn desperate to find a parent figure. To feel love.

  He’d found Lane, and he thought he’d found some stability.

  And then she’d left him too.

  It was all wrong, teacher and student and not to mention so freaking illegal. But she gave him something he’d been denied. The nurturing.

  God, no wonder he’d gone off the deep end. Shallow connections. Sex without feelings. If he acted that way, if he never got attached, he couldn’t be hurt again.

  We are driving now, the Mercedes winding around the mountain soundlessly, the ride so comfortable that I barely feel the vibration of the road beneath the wheels.

  “I don’t think I told you that I’m seeing a therapist now.” Drake’s voice floats to me unexpectedly, breaking into my thoughts.

  My gaze snaps to him, surprise blossoming inside me. “You’re what?”

  “I mean, it started as something to appease my grandmother after the photos. To prove to her that I wasn’t a complete fuck up, but...”

  “But?”

  “I feel better,” he admits, steering the car deftly into the cabin’s driveway. He knew which one I was staying in; I’m not surprised. Sasha probably told Steve. The car slows to a stop and he shifts into park, hands falling from the steering wheel and resting against his thighs. Sasha’s car is here already.

  “I’m glad for you.” I reach across the center armrest and pat his nearest hand gently.

  “If you’d told me a few months ago that I’d be in therapy and wanting to be in an exclusive relationship, I’d have laughed in your face.” He looks over at me, ice blue eyes serious. “But I feel more centered than I have in forever. It’s not that the temptations are gone, but more that I can deal with them because I get where they’re coming from now. I think I started realizing that I was losing control at the homecoming dance when I picked a fight with Aiden. I couldn’t stop hitting him. It felt good to hurt him.” He sighs. “You better get inside before they send out the search party.”