Reckless At Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels Book 3)

by Callie Hart

  Inhaling a steady breath, I cross my arms, letting my chin rest on my chest. “I want her to fly, Cam. I’m never going to clip her wings. Being married—” Shit, why is that so hard to say out loud to him? "—won’t mean she can’t chase down her dreams. I’m never going to stand in the way of the things she wants.”

  “Easy to say. But twenty years down the line, when you’re both turning forty and all you’ve done is get by, then what? Are you gonna do something stupid and have a fucking affair? What then?”

  Oh…

  Damn.

  This isn’t about Silver and me. Scratch that. I suppose it is about us…but it’s more about Cam. He married Silver’s mom right out of high school. They were kids themselves when they had Silver. He told me himself, back when I lived in the trailer, that he’d packed his bags and nearly moved across the country the very same day she was born. But he’d stayed in the end. They’d been happy. And after it all, Silver’s mom had destroyed their marriage by sleeping with another man. She’d grown bored of her safe, comfortable, predictable life and she’d done something that had hurt Cameron in the worst way possible. From his point of view, it’s happening all over again, only this time it’s Silver giving up her freedom too soon and too young. It’s Silver who’ll be hurt down the line when I grow frustrated with our safe, comfortable, predictable life, and now he can’t bear to watch.

  So, he did something about it instead. He got me in his car, punched me in the face, and now he’s holding me hostage at the school for some reason. “Cam. Come on. I’m not going to do that to Silver. Ever.”

  “You’re seventeen, Alex. You don’t know what you’re going to do next year, let alone in twenty.”

  Fuck him for that. I don’t like hearing the accusation or the condemnation in his voice but losing it at him isn’t going to prove anything. Instead, I manage to keep a cool head. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m going to do next year. I don’t know if I’ll go to college, or if I’m gonna get a job, or…I don’t know. But what I’m certain of is Silver. If she goes off to Dartmouth, I’ll be sitting in the car right next to her with all my shit packed up, too. She wants to disappear off into the Amazon? I’ll take my malaria pills like a good boy and make sure she doesn’t get eaten. And, shit. If she decides she wants to be a fucking astronaut and go into space, I’ll figure that out too somehow. Whatever direction she decides to head in, and for as long as she wants me by her side, I will be there, taking every step with her. And our life won’t be safe, or comfortable anyway. She’s full of music, and laughter, and light, Cam. How can anything ever be predictable with Silver around?”

  Inside the school, a light goes on in the main hallway. Cameron clenches the van keys in his fist, loosening his grip and then tightening it again. We both sit for a while, staring at the rectangle of light coming from inside the school, cutting through the dark, and I wait for him to say something.

  It takes a long, long time.

  Finally, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls something out. He turns it over in his hands—the small maroon box with the gold fleur-de-lis embossed in gold on the top—and then puffs out his cheeks, slapping it into my chest.

  “What’s this?” I ask even though I know precisely what it is; the box feels like a burning hot coal in my hands.

  “It was my grandmother’s.”

  “I can afford to get her a ring, y’know. I have plenty—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you do,” Cam interjects grumpily. “But this was supposed to go to Silver when she got engaged. It’s special. During the war, my grandfather helped to pass messages through the Dolomites to the allied forces. He bought that ring in Switzerland and he carried it with him for three years until he could get back to my grandmother. It has a good story. There’s a happy ending attached to it. It’s the kind of ring that should be worn. Better than some soulless new piece of jewelry from Zales.”

  “I have better taste than Zales.” It’s offensive that he’d even suggest such a thing. I may be a guy, and I may have neck tattoos and look like I could give a shit about women’s jewelry, but I’d never walk into a chain store and buy a generic ring for the woman I wanted to marry. I would have bought Silver something that reflected her—something unique and one-of-a-kind.

  When I open the box that Cameron thrust at me, the ring inside is exactly that. The stone isn’t a diamond. It’s a blushed color of pink, clear and bright, and it catches what little light there is in the van, refracting it beautifully. The design isn’t as traditional as I thought it was going to be. It’s feminine and truly special, but… “The setting’s silver?”

  Cam grunts. “There was a war on. Precious metals and stones were rationed just like everything else. Even in Switzerland. My mother asked if she could get it remounted for my grandmother back in the seventies, but that idea went down like the Hindenburg. My grandmother turned to her and said…” Cam turns to me, echoing the woman’s words, “This is the ring I said yes to. I wouldn’t change it for the world. As far as I’m concerned, silver is far more precious than gold.”

  Huh. Too apt to be a coincidence. Silver’s an uncommon name for a person. I get the feeling that a little piece of her great-grandmother’s story was passed down to Cam’s daughter when she was gifted with that name. I nod, snapping the box closed. Silver is far more precious than gold.

  “You’re not going to try and stop us, then?” It could be the recent head injury, but I’m completely confused.

  Cam laughs down his nose—one doleful, resigned huff of breath. “You’re never gonna hurt her. You’re never gonna cause her pain. Not even for a minute.”

  These are statements, not questions. Still, I respond as though they are. “I’d rather fucking die.”

  “Then, no. I’m not gonna try and stop you. What would be the point? It’s too late for any of that. I swore I’d always give Silver the life she wanted, and she’s made her decision. She’s chosen a life with you. And at the end of the day…a song can’t be unsung, can it, Alessandro?”

  I grimace down at the box, a little twisted up inside over the sound of that name coming out of his mouth. He’s done it to rile me up a little. He knows only Silver can call me Aless—

  “Alex.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t care. You can call me whatever you—”

  “No, Alex!” He hits me in the top of my arm, and a low growl builds deep in the barrel of my chest.

  “I swear, man. That was your last free shot. If you hit me again, I’m gonna fucking—”

  He grabs me by the arm and shakes me. “Shut the fuck up. Look!”

  Shocked by the urgency of his tone, I look up as commanded, following his wide-eyed gaze out of the windshield, back toward the school. The light’s still on in the hall like it was before, but…now there are three people standing on the steps that lead up to the main entrance—the figures of three men.

  I lean forward, squinting into the dark. The identities of the three men become apparent all at once, and a cold, vile sensation descends on me. “What in holy fucking shit is this? Can I borrow your glasses?”

  A deep, throaty rumble fills the car; in the driver’s seat, Cameron growls like a feral dog that’s just cornered in a cage. “They’re broken,” he replies. “They have to be. Because I cannot be seeing this right. That’s Principal Darhower. And that motherfucker from the DEA. And that—” Cam says, choking on the words, “Is someone who should not be breathing free fucking air.”

  25

  SILVER

  Orange chicken doesn’t even take an hour and a half to cook from scratch at home. I know from many, many experiences (no, I am not proud of myself) that it takes less than twenty minutes to order, wait for, and collect said dish from the Imperial Dragon over by the post office, so I begin to get a little worried. I try to call Alex, but his phone’s sitting dead on his bedside table. He was going out to get his charger when he suddenly came back into the apartment, talking about supplies and Chines
e food, and then he left without even plugging it in to power up.

  I’m getting ready to call over at the diner—maybe Alex went there to pick up the guitars and all of the gear we just left sitting there after our performance—when he creeps in through the apartment door like a criminal trying to sneak past a guard dog.

  From the kitchen, I peer out into the hall, folding my arms across my chest. “Alex, what are you doing?”

  “Figlio di puttana!” He puts a hand out, bracing himself against the wall. His dark, wavy hair looks like he’s run his hands through it a thousand times, and his eyes are…wait…

  “Alex, why the hell do you have a black eye?” I rush toward him, reaching up for the swollen, bruised contusion on the side of his cheekbone. “Oh my god, your eyebrow’s split open. What the hell happened?” Less than two hours. He’s been gone less than two hours, and he still manages to find trouble.

  He grimaces when I touch my fingertips to the cut just above his left eye, sucking in a sharp breath. “Well, the black eye’s courtesy of your dad.”

  I can’t have heard him right. “What? My dad?”

  “Turns out he’s really fucking good at putting two and two together. Did you know that about him?”

  “I spent most of my childhood trying to pull the wool over his eyes unsuccessfully. Yeah, I know that. What are you talking about?”

  “He knew I asked you to marry me. And he wasn’t very happy about it.”

  I step back, covering my mouth with both hands. “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeeaahhhh.”

  Quickly looking him up and down, I scan for any other injuries. If Dad figured out what we did tonight, then he wouldn’t have left it at a black eye. He would have gone for castration, no doubt about it. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Then…what’s with the sneaking in? And what’s with the weird look on your face?” He really does look weird, like he’s holding a swarm of bees inside his mouth and they’re stinging him repeatedly, but he can’t let them out.

  “I thought maybe you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “It’s nine-thirty and you promised me Chinese food. Why the hell would I be asleep? Alex? Hey, what’s going on? What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

  The look on his face is really beginning to freak me out now. He was smiling when he left the apartment, but now he looks like the world went ahead and ended on him. My nerves are shot to hell when he reaches out and takes hold of my hand, guiding me into the bedroom.

  “Alex?”

  “Sit down, Argento.”

  “Why? God, just spit it out. I’m about to have a goddamn nervous breakdown.”

  “Just sit down a second. I need to think.”

  He looks like his nerves are fried. Pacing up and down the bedroom, he chews on his thumb nail, breathing heavily. I sit on the bed, pulling my legs out of the way of the path he’s wearing into the area rug, tucking my knees under my chin. The waiting is fucking killing me but rushing him isn’t an option.

  Following him with my eyes from one side of the room to the other, my mind races. Something’s happened. Something terrible. I can’t figure out what, though. Sadly, the worst things that could ever happen to Alex actually did happen recently. His brother fucking died. He can’t be trying to brainstorm a way to break up with me; he only asked me to marry him four hours ago. Hopefully it’s going to take a long longer than that for him to get sick of me. Which means this can’t be about him. So that means…

  Oh.

  It must be about me.

  A sharp pain begins to throb behind my right eye—forewarning of an epic headache. For Alex to be this wound up, whatever this is about has got to be bad.

  “Is it Dad?” I ask quietly. “You were just with him. Is he hurt or something? Sick?”

  Alex shakes his head, eyes briefly meeting mine before he looks away again. “No. No, Cam’s fine. Well…he’s pretty worked up, but…”

  “About us? Getting married?”

  “No. Christ.” He stops abruptly, dropping into a crouch in front of me at the end of the bed. His hands are like ice when he reaches out for me and threads his fingers through mine. He’s wearing that look that people get when they know they’re about to say something that’s going to shatter someone’s world into pieces. “Cam’s upset because…he drove me to the school. He wanted to talk. When we were done, we realized there were people standing on the steps outside.”

  “Okay. Sometimes they have teacher training after the students leave, right? Or a janitorial crew might have been—”

  “It was Darhower,” Alex says, cutting in. “That DEA prick was with him. And so was…” He blows out, hard.

  “If you don’t spit it out, I’m gonna scream. For real. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Jacob.” His voice cracks on the name. “Jacob was with them.”

  I blink, and then I blink again. Alex is out of focus. My vision sways and warps like someone just dosed me with acid. “I’m sorry. Did you just say Jacob was outside the school? Jacob Weaving?”

  Alex nods, worry pulsing off him in waves. “I had to wrestle your dad back into the car and drive him home. That’s why I was gone so long.”

  “Dad got out of the car?”

  “Yeah. I think he would have tried to kill him if I hadn’t grabbed him first.”

  Everything is so muffled, like wads of cotton wool are blocking my ear canals. I can’t quite… seem to understand…

  Frowning, I narrow my eyes at Alex. “That’s not possible, though. Jacob’s in prison. They took him away. They have so much evidence. Your witness statement. The photos of Zen. All of the charges they slapped him with for helping his dad. It can’t have been him. It must have been someone else.”

  Alex winces. “Cam made a couple of calls as I drove him back to your place. Sheriff Hainsworth said he couldn’t discuss the matter, but one of his deputies called back a couple of minutes later. She heard the Sheriff and said it wasn’t right, what was happening, and that we…that you deserved to know what was going on. Apparently…” Alex looks off to the left, staring, his mouth slightly open, as if he doesn’t really know how to proceed. “Apparently the DEA are dropping the charges against Jake. His dad cut a deal with that Lowell fucker and said he’d give them the names of five big drug smugglers if they lessened his sentence. Jake won’t be held responsible for anything he did while working for Caleb. The rape charges still stand, but they’ve let him out on bail until his hearing.”

  Unwittingly, my hand moves to the base of my neck. Fuck, the rope is still there, tightening around my throat, cutting off my air supply. “What about the attempted murder charge?”

  Alex lets out a tight, scathing sound. “Dropped. They’ve replaced it with an assault charge instead, which is absolute fucking bullshit. You dad thinks that they lowered that charge as part of Caleb’s deal with the DEA as well.”

  I hug my knees even tighter, staring at the floor. “So…that’s it. They just let him out?”

  Alex huffs, his head hanging low. “Yes.”

  “And…if he was at the school, then what does that mean? They’re just gonna let him come back? Like nothing fucking happened?”

  “I don’t know. Darhower yelled across the parking lot, but I didn’t exactly get a chance to stop and speak to him. I was too busy trying to get your dad to calm his shit.”

  “I can’t imagine that,” I say numbly. “You trying to calm him down. I’d have thought it’d be the other way around.”

  “Believe me, Argento. I wanted to peel the bastard’s fucking face off the moment I laid eyes on him. Darhower and Lowell were there, though. It would have been a one-way ticket to jail for me if I’d even spat in their direction. They can’t watch over him twenty-four seven, though. He’ll find himself alone at some point, and when he does, I’ll be ready and fucking waiting for him.”

  This is so, so bad. Alex’s rage is unparalleled. He’s simmering with it—it won’t
take much for him to bubble over. We’ve been through this already. If he hurts Jake, it’ll be the end of the line for him. And he won’t just hurt him this time. He’ll kill him. And then what? I only get to see him a couple of hours a week? For the next thirty fucking years? He’ll be fifty by the time he’s released from prison, the best years of our life together gone. Jacob will still have fucking won.

  I’m not stupid enough to tell Alex not to hunt him down, though. It’d be a waste of breath. He saw me hanging from that rafter with a rope around my neck, and I saw the fear and the pain on his face when he thought he was going to lose me. Jacob has to pay for what he did, and Alex won’t rest until he sees it come to pass. But there has to be another way.

  Slowly getting to my feet, I sniff, surprised to discover that I’m crying.

  “Silver?” Alex whispers.

  I step around him, picking up my bag from the floor by his bedroom door. Inside, I hunt down the small card, still tucked into the zipped interior pocket. It’s a bit rumpled and dog-eared on one corner, but the number’s still perfectly legible. I hand it over to Alex, knowing that I’m handing over a piece of my soul with it—a piece I will gladly sacrifice if it means that Jake finally gets his just desserts.

  Alex scans the card with quick, assessing eyes. “What’s this?”

  “The doctor who treated me…I think her boyfriend might be the kind of guy you pay to make people disappear.” The words don’t sound real coming out of my mouth. They sound like something someone else would say, reading off a script in some kind of movie. Things like this don’t get spoken about in real fucking life. I barely feel any connection to the statement at all. Instead, crazed laughter bubbles up the back of my throat, spilling out of me in bursts, like deranged hiccups.