Reckless Hate: A Bully High School Romance (enemies-friends-enemies-lovers-enemies) (Westbrook Blues Book 1)

by Thandiwe Mpofu

  Definitely not my mother and my father is hardly ever here to care about the type of furniture in this huge house.

  I close up that door and make my way down to the next door and this one is some kind of living space that overlooks the backyard and right up to the house—no, the monstrosity of a mansion—at the top of the hill. The King’s mansion.

  I try my best not to look up at the house. I quickly leave and make my way down the hall but there are no more doors. So, I go down the stairs. I don’t care how huge this place is, I will find my brother’s room but I have to be smarter than that.

  What kind of room did George like to have? Before this house burned down, both our rooms where on the second floor—we only had two floors back then—but now my room is on the third floor and by the looks of it, my bedroom is the only one the third floor of this wing. Yes, the huge ass mansion has wings. Eye roll.

  I always liked to be closer to where I was able to look up at the stars in the sky or to watch as planes fly over in the dark sky.

  George knew that, which is probably why he had Emmett design that room for me. I can tell the little touches that are Emmett, he’s so fucking talented at that shit.

  The view from my window overlooks the mountains and I can just about see a little section of the King’s mansion. When I go out to the balcony, I swear, I can see a significant portion of their house and that’s it. Beyond that it’s all nature—the mountains, the stars beyond and the fresh air.

  That’s me, but George was different.

  He liked to be somewhere with vibrant energy, somewhere he could feel connected to the pulsing beat of life.

  So that means his was probably somewhere facing the rest of the estates and maybe with a little peek of the houses down in the valley.

  With that knowledge in mind, I quickly go down the stairs and turn left to the left wing of the house on the second floor. If my room is at the end, George’s room might also be at the very end.

  I have no idea where my parent’s room is and don’t want to know. They probably don’t even share the same bed.

  Goosebumps and shivers attack my body but I don’t take any of that to mind. I’m not going to think about that, not today and not here. I won’t ever think about it or allow myself to actually revisit what happened here four years ago.

  As I walk, I see a set of double doors at the end of the hallway and I pick up my pace. The doors are painted in a type of grey shade—George's favorite color. Yes, that’s it!

  I almost run towards the doors. As soon as I’m about to reach for the doorknob, I hear a clearing of a throat from behind me.

  Oh, fuck me.

  “Miss, can I help you?”

  I turn around and there he is, the constant shadow that lingers and floats around this house like a damn ghost at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft. This is not Harry Potter and Trumbull is not some damn ghost.

  “Hey T, how are you today?” I question with a forced smile on my face. Can he just go away? “Nice weather out there, isn’t it?”

  “The weather is still wonderful as we enter fall, and it makes me happy. Can I help you there, Miss?” He questions as he remains stoically posed in the middle of the hallway. I know that tone in his voice, his question is not poised to help me with my quest no, he wants me to go away.

  Why though?

  “No, I’m good, thank you for asking.” I say and then proceed to turn around and face the door. If I can just open it, I know I’ll be able to get in before he is able to reach me.

  “Miss.” Trumbull says but I ignore him and quickly reach the doorknob and then twist. But nothing happens.

  “Miss.”

  I completely ignore Trumbull and instead concentrate on the strange door in front of me. I try to turn the knob again but it doesn’t give an inch. Maybe it’s stuck? But how can that be, it hasn’t been a full fortnight that my brother has been gone. How can the door be stuck?

  I try again and then realize that the door is locked. Huh?

  Why is his door locked? Is that a thing that happens when one has lost a family member? Do other people lock up that person’s personal space and pretend as if their loved one never existed?

  “Miss.”

  “Why is this door locked?” I question as I quickly spin around to look at Trumbull who is still standing in that very same position, an impassive stoic expression still on his wrinkly face.

  “Miss, the car will be ready in twenty minutes. Your mother has requested that you be ready before hand.”

  That’s his only response. He is not even bothered at all by the shock on my face or the disbelief I have. I remember the day I arrived and Emma wouldn’t tell me where my brother’s room was and now, Trumbull refuses to acknowledge any of my questions?

  What is happening here?

  I have so many questions but I know for a fact that Trumbull is not going to answer any of my questions so I look at the door once more—I know this was George’s space, I can feel it in my core. My brother spent time behind these doors. Now why are they locked?

  “Yes, thank you.” I say but Trumbull doesn’t go away. I realize then after a few silent moments that he is waiting for me to leave so, I do as he expects me to do. I leave, but I’ll be back.

  Running up the stairs and back to my living space, I quickly get in and shut the door behind me then I go over to my desk, right where Ace was a hours ago.

  His strong, masculine mouthwatering scent lingers right there and I pause for a second to breath it in. His scent is delicious in a way. I know I would recognize it anywhere—after all, I know for a fact that it was made specifically for him. I was there four and a half years ago—before my life was shattered into shambles of nothing—when he chose it.

  Ace.

  I sit down at my desk and pull out my diary—a gift that came along with the pendant three years ago. It wasn’t a birthday gift, and George would deny it each time I brought it up that he sent me the very things that I didn’t know I needed until I opened the blue box back in my room in London. But, I know it was George.

  This very diary and the pendant have saved me from the sinister thoughts that have swirled in my mind for so long. I have found reprieve within the pages of this diary and some of the details in here—I'm glad Ace didn’t see it.

  I haven’t entered any details in this diary since London but now, my thoughts are scrambled and I need to put down my questions. Beginning with the most prominent question at the forefront of my mind.

  What happened to George?

  Because I know deep down he didn’t just get involved in some kind of accident.

  What happened between George Ace, Noah and Emmett?

  I know for a fact that those four were inseparable. They were practically glued to each other, did everything together until two years ago?

  What happened two years ago?

  Who is Dereck and how did he end up being my brother’s friend?

  Why is George’s bedroom door locked?

  Why was my brother buried at the Estate’s family burial site?

  What’s with this dinner at the King’s mansion next Friday?

  I look down at the page in my diary and I reread the questions that I’ve just jotted down over and over again until they are ingrained in my mind.

  Reaching into my jacket, I pull out my phone and as I unlock it, I know Ace has been through it but I don’t care. I check for anything extra but there is nothing, not even a newly downloaded app.

  Smart ass.

  I take out the paper that Kim gave me and I shoot both her and Dereck a text.

  “Yes. To the party.

  x. Raea.”

  I’m not much of a tech person and my history with parties is. . .

  But, here goes nothing.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ASTRAEA

  THE THING ABOUT WESTBROOK Blues is that it’s a huge area but it’s really exclusive.

  The relative household income for most of the families that live in the
valley is pretty much what other people would consider a well-off lifestyle. Needless to say, the tax bracket here is higher than most people in the country, hell even the rest of the world.

  I mean, the houses in the valley are mostly very expensive and their owners have great government jobs or great professional status that affords them the luxuries that Westbrook offers. It’s this reason that all the restaurants here are top notch and exclusive, really hard to get a reservation kind of places. And ridiculously obnoxious. In fact, it’s hard because anyone who wants to be close to the Kings, the Easton and the Montreal’s is always here to try and get their attention one way or another—after all they do run the entire town.

  So, it comes as no surprise that the restaurant is packed at lunch when I arrive but I don’t even have to say anything or give them my name because as soon as I step in the cool interior, the hostess, in her tight but long dress greets me by name.

  “Miss. Fields, your mother is waiting for you. Please, this way.” She says as she looks me up and down.

  And for good reason too because I didn’t even bother to change into what is considered to be the appropriate attire for such fine dining. Can’t wait to see my mother’s reaction.

  The lady keeps staring at me as if she can’t believe that I’ve shown up dressed like I’m about to go to the gym—bite me, please. I clear my throat after an awkward pause and give her a pointed look to get it moving. Ain’t nobody has time for any of this anyway.

  “Oh, my apologies. Right this way.” She starts walking.

  As we walk, I can feel multiple pairs of eyes on me. I know I stand out with my outfit but for God’s sake, it’s lunch time. These people are dressed as if they are about to walk the red carpet or something.

  I do my best to ignore the vulture like eyes trained on me but I can hear the whispers as I pass by. As we pass one table, I’m almost certain I heard my name but I only straighten my shoulders and follow the hostess.

  We are soon away from the ‘general’ floor as we go up the stairs. I’m not so sure where we are going but as we rise to the higher level, I soon realize we are in the exclusive space. Judging by the large floor length windows that are overlooking. . .yes, you guessed it—the mountains.

  The space is open and inviting. It actually smells like old money and pretentiousness. I guess I’m going to have a light lunch with a side of snobbery with my somewhat stuck up parents.

  I notice that there are a lot of people, business people by the looks of it, engaged in low murmur of conversation. Everyone in here seems to be of some importance and I’m sure they all feel that way.

  I scan the area for my mother and I spot what seems to her—by the length of her styled hair—at the very back of the space. She is faced away from me, looking out at the splendid view.

  Give me strength today.

  “What’s the name of this restaurant?” I question the lady as she continues to lead me towards my mother yet I could very well do that by my damn self.

  Rule number three, always know where you are. Know where your exits are and always face them if in doubt.

  “Oh, it doesn’t have a name.” She answers with a glance over her haughty shoulders. I have eating problems sure, but ole girl here needs some meat on those bones as soon as humanly possible.

  What?

  “A place without a name, does it suffer from an identity crisis?”

  The words are accompanied with a loud laugh as a heavy arm is suddenly draped over my shoulders and I’m suddenly crushed into the side of a solid, strong body.

  I immediately still mid step, my entire body freezing.

  “I mean, who thought it was a good idea to not name a place as snobby as this?” Noah says again with a laugh, his entire body laughs along with him. Even though I know it’s him, I still don’t want to be touched.

  “Uh, Mr. Montreal, I wasn’t aware that you would be coming in today.” The hostess says with a bit of shock as if she can’t believe that Noah Montreal is here, but as soon as the realization sinks in, I watch as she raises her chest and bats her eyelashes.

  “Can I get you a table?” She questions.

  “Oh no, Cindy baby. I’ll be dining with my best friend in the entire world. Right, Raea.”

  Cindy baby? How did I not see this before? Of course, the manwhore Noah has fucked Cindy, even if she does look much older than him. I roll my eyes as I try to shrug away from Noah. Cindy has actually forgotten all about me by now, all her attention focused solely on Noah who refuses to let me go, squeezing his arms around me instead.

  “Let go of me.” I grit out in a low voice but I’m sure he heard me.

  “What, you don’t greet old friends anymore, Raea? That’s the second time you’ve wounded me, baby blue.” He says but his voice is tight, strained and I know all of this is for show. But who is watching? And why is he creating a scene in the first place?

  Noah might be many things but he is not stupid. There is a reason why he is here at the same that I am.

  “She did say she wasn’t our friend in sixth grade, after punching you in the face.” That’s Emmett’s deep voice and I turn my head to watch his large gait come closer, not making a sound on the perfectly tiled ceramic floor of the restaurant.

  With his usual serious stoic expression on his face, he looks intimidating and definitely stands out like a gladiator in the restaurant, speaking in low, soft cadence that would sooth his prey and weave a false web of security.

  But that look in his eyes, dark and calculating is nothing at all like safe. Sometimes I think the guy is made out of granite and nothing else.

  Where the hell did these two come from? I never noticed them when I was coming in but they obviously saw me. If they are here, then it must mean that he is here. . .

  “She did not punch me.” Noah scoffs as he stands up tall as if to puff out his already solid chest.

  “I’ll do it again if you don’t let me go.” I say as I grit my teeth together. He does as I say but he doesn’t step away no, he just stares at me. Actually, both of them stare at me—including Cindy baby. But I ignore them and make a move to walk towards my mother, but Noah and Emmett step with me, as if to go with me.

  “Uh, what do you think you are doing?” I ask but I keep walking.

  “We are going to have lunch.” Noah answers with a tight smile on his face.

  “Uh, okay but stop following me.” I shoot him an annoyed look from the corner of my eye. I once knew these boys so well. The way Noah’s shoulders are set and the way Emmett keeps scanning the place, it’s almost as if their being here is no coincidence. They are not here to just have lunch, Emmett literally hates posh places like this—or he used to from what I remember.

  “You are not having lunch with my family and I.” I declare as we come to an abrupt stop. This pausing is pissing me off and wasting my damn time in the process. I don’t want to be here and I certainly don’t want to spend any time with Noah and Emmett, as far as I know, they did something and unless I go to the party tonight, I won’t really know anything valuable.

  “Oh, but Amanda is already waving at us. Look at that huge smile.” Noah says, ignoring me completely he closes the distance between where we stand and where my mother has risen from her seat, watching Noah approach.

  “What the actual fuck?”

  “It’s just lunch.” Emmett responds to my low mumble and it’s then I realize he hasn’t left my side and has been watching me with those pale green eyes of his. He used to wear specs but now, he doesn’t. I used to know him so much, I used to feel closer to him in some ways than I did to my own twin. So much has changed now.

  “When is it ever?” I say as I look away and walk towards the table. I have no idea what Noah and Emmett think they are doing but I will play their game, but I’m going to teach them how to play it. Asshats.

  “Astraea, you didn’t tell me that you were bringing guests.” My mother questions with a huge smile on her face. She is happy to see Noah and Emmett but I
know her inquiring gaze is searching for the one person I can’t bear to be around. Not right now. “Your childhood friends no less.”

  I scoff as I take a seat, that faces the way we came from. I just want to get this over with.

  “They were George’s friends. Oh, they used to be.” I say with a hard note in my voice that is so obvious to me. I look at Emmett’s clenched jaw and watch as Noah looks back at me, his dark gaze shooting glares my way.

  Oh, you are going to hate me.

  “Oh yes, that’s right. Are you boys having lunch here?” My mother questions.

  “No, they were just leaving.” I quickly say but my mother, ever so oblivious to what’s right in front her, waves a hand in dismissal of my words.

  “Don’t be so rude, Astraea. That is so un-lady like.” My mother chides and Noah smiles, given an opening. I’m so done with these crash courses in social etiquette. Nothing pleases her at all.

  “Yes, Mrs. Fields. It is unbecoming of a young lady to be so rude.” Noah says with a laugh then proceeds to pull a chair nearby and takes a seat right beside me. And just like that, Emmett takes a seat too.

  The hell?

  “How have you been, Mrs. Fields?” Noah questions, ever the talker.

  “Oh, I’m doing alright. Better now that Astraea is home.” I roll my eyes and scoff. She shoots me a glare. I ignore her and reach over for my menu. I don’t want anything here, just want to be busy with something—anything.

  “Yes, Raea is back home.” Noah says with a nudge to my shoulders.

  “How is your father, Emmett?” My mother questions the silent, brooding force seated to my left. I tense at my mother’s question and I swear, Noah sucks in a breath.

  Emmett looks at my mother and I watch as she gulps on swallow then reaches over for her wine.

  “I’m sure he is doing just fine wherever he is.” Emmett says and then dismisses the rest of the table.

  My mother blinks several times like a damn cartoon character. I know she can feel that Emmett is not one to be trifled with and isn’t one to antagonize. Why he is here though, I have no idea.