Eclipsed: A High School Bully Romance (Del Sol High Book 3)

by McKayla Box

  I take a deep breath, then exhale slowly. It does nothing to calm my racing heart.

  He pushes a yearbook toward me. It's gray with the silhouette of a torch on the front and Canyon High School embossed beneath that. There are several yellow sticky notes sticking out of the side of it.

  “I marked his senior photo and the football picture,” Ricky says.

  I nod and lift open the cover, flipping to the senior section Ricky marked. The photo is down in the far right corner.

  Jay Rogers.

  He's barely smiling in the photo. His dark hair is cut in a flat top and he’s wearing a dark suit jacket and tie. There's a very small dimple in his chin.

  And it's impossible to not notice that he looks like me.

  Or I look like him.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper.

  “You look like him,” Ricky says. “I noticed it right away. Look at the football picture.”

  I give his senior photo one more long look, then flip to the other page Ricky marked.

  Jay Rogers is in the top row in the middle. Number eighty-two. Same haircut, but no smile in this photo. He has that mean-looking expression that football players try to put on when they get their picture taken. Most of the other players are wearing some form of that same expression.

  It’s impossible not to notice the resemblance.

  “Oh wow,” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” Ricky says. “It's even more noticeable there. At least, I thought it was.”

  I put my finger on the page next to his face. If he's not my father, it would be a remarkable coincidence, given his looks and the other details.

  My stomach knots and I look at Ricky. “This really might be him.”

  Ricky nods. “Yeah. It really might be.”

  I flip back to the senior photo. It's not quite like looking in a mirror, but I can see myself in his features. And it's just weird.

  “Nola,” Ricky says.

  I look at him across the table.

  “I think you're still missing something,” he says.

  “Missing what?” I ask. “His name is Jay. The year and school line up. He played football. And I fucking look like him. You said so yourself.”

  He shakes his head. “Not what I mean.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  He gives me a long look. “You really don't know who he is?”

  I look at the photo again, then back to Ricky. “No. Should I?”

  He takes his cap off and runs a hand through his hair. “Jay Rogers.”

  I wait, but he doesn't say anything else.

  “Jay Rogers,” he says again. He puts the hat back on and tugs on it for a second. “That's Heath Rogers's dad.”

  Chapter 26

  I look down at the photo again.

  Then I look at Ricky. “You have to be kidding me.”

  “I'm not,” Ricky says, shaking his head. “I Googled him and found his Facebook. It's Heath's dad.”

  I push the yearbook away like it's radioactive. “No way.”

  He nods. “Yes way. And I don't know what went on with you two at the beginning of the year, but I got wind that something happened at a party. And Heath has...a reputation.”

  I immediately flash back to that night at Archer’s house and then the car ride with him and him trying to have sex with me. It was all so gross and awful and it has creeped me out ever since. I can't stand the sight of him.

  And now I might be related to him.

  My stomach lurches. “I feel like I'm gonna throw up.”

  Ricky leans back from the table. “The bathroom is up near the front desk.”

  I suck in air, deep breaths that probably make me look like I’m hyperventilating, and try to calm my nerves. My heart is racing. I swallow a couple of times.

  “Are you okay?” Ricky asks.

  I nod. “I think so.” I hesitate, then reach for the yearbook again and pull it back to me.

  Now it's like Jay Rogers is looking at me.

  And I want to rip the page out of the yearbook and set it on fire.

  “I'm sorry,” Ricky says. “I know this is weirder than Mercy's dad. At least, I think it is.”

  “Oh, it definitely is,” I say. “I can't believe this. Did you find anyone else who matched?”

  He shakes his head. “Not really. The next step was going to be to see if we could figure out if any of these guys went by the nickname Jay.” He points to the yearbook. “That's it.”

  I look down at the photo again.

  I can't change it.

  The only thing I can do is confirm that it's him.

  “Okay,” I finally say.

  “Okay?” Ricky echoes.

  I nod. “Yeah. If it's him, it's him.”

  “So what are you gonna do?” Ricky asks.

  I look down at the photo one last time, then at Ricky.

  “I'm gonna go talk to him.”

  Chapter 27

  I can't concentrate for the rest of the afternoon. I alternate between thinking about cutting class and going home and cutting class and going to the beach. But I know if I do that I'll just create more headaches for myself. So I sit through my classes like a zombie, unable to think about anything other than Jay and Heath Rogers.

  I'm immediately worried that Jay will be like his son. That his son learned all of his awesome behaviors from his dad. And that whole concept makes me think I've made a massive mistake in trying to find out who my real father is because I think the idea of not knowing who he is versus knowing that he's a complete asshole sounds like the much better of two evils.

  But I want to know.

  I can't unlearn what Ricky found. I can't make that leave my head. I can't make it go away.

  So I need to know.

  When the final bell rings, I head to my car. The easy thing to do would be to go home and call my mother. Tell her what I know and demand answers. But I'm afraid she'll lie about it or tell me something that makes me start doubting everything all over again. That’s what she’s always done.

  No, I need to find out for myself.

  So I'm going to Heath's house.

  Ricky found me the address and texted it to me during last period. I punch the address into my phone and the directions tell me it's a six-minute drive.

  Great.

  Not much time to change my mind.

  The directions point toward the beach and then to a neighborhood to the north of where we normally surf. I turn off before I hit the street that takes me up the hill to Archer's house and instead turn into a neighborhood that doesn't look all that different from the one my grandparents live in. Long, sprawling ranch homes. Green lawns. Expensive cars in the driveways. Palm trees that loom over everything.

  His address is at the end of the block and I slow as I approach, then pull my car to the curb. My hands are shaking on the wheel and I grip the leather tighter, as if trying to anchor myself to it. The last thing I want to do is get out.

  But I need to know.

  “Come on,” I say to myself. My attempt at a pep talk is pathetic. “Just get it over with.”

  I sit there for another minute, working through all the reasons why I shouldn’t walk up to the front door and all the reasons I should. I remind myself that this is what I wanted.

  What I needed.

  That does the trick.

  Sort of.

  I slowly get out of the car and make my way up the long, curving driveway. The lawn is a picture-perfect green, neatly manicured, and the flowers along the house are pink and yellow and look like they were painted rather than planted. I hesitate at the three stairs that lead to the front door, then march up them and stick my finger on the doorbell before I can think better of it. The bells chime on the other side of the door and I wait.

  Seven seconds later—I know it's seven because I'm counting—the door front door opens.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Heath Rogers snarls at me.

  He's wearing a red T-shirt with the sleeves cut off a
nd a pair of black basketball shorts. His feet are bare and sweat glistens on his forehead.

  Then he smiles. “Oh, I get it. Archer cut you loose and now you decide you need a little something, huh? Is that right?”

  “Little's probably right, but no,” I tell him, glancing pointedly at his crotch. “That isn't it.”

  His smile grows and he steps closer to me. “Come on. We never got to finish what we started, Nola. Like I told you before, you’ll love it.”

  “No, I won't,” I tell him. “And that's not why I'm here. Is your dad home?”

  He stares at me for a couple of seconds. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Is he home?” I ask again.

  “Like that's any of your fucking business,” he says, frowning. “Why?”

  “Like that's any of your fucking business,” I tell him. “Is he here or not?”

  He folds his arms across his chest. “So, what? You here to tell him what happened that night? Think you can get me in trouble or some bullshit like that?” He shakes his head. “That ain't gonna happen, honey. That was a long time ago. And who do you think he's gonna believe? Me or the girl who the whole fucking school already knows is a liar?”

  I feel the heat rush to my face. I hate that he gets to me the way he does. I hate him, period.

  “No,” I tell him. “I just want to know if he's home.”

  “Fuck off,” Heath says. “Literally. Fuck. Off. I don't want you here. And he's not home anyway.”

  I stand there. “You sure? I mean, I can call him at work. Rogers Development, right?”

  Now, it's his turn for his cheeks to flame red, and I'm so grateful Ricky sent me the little bit of information he was able to pull on Jay Rogers.

  “You're right,” I say, backing away. “I'll just call him at work. Be easier to talk to him there anyway. I'll let you go inside and finish jacking off or whatever you were doing.”

  “Hey,” he says. “What do you want from me?”

  “I don't want anything from you,” I tell him. “I want to talk to your father.”

  He glances over his shoulder, then pulls the front door closed behind him. “What do you want?”

  “Do you have a hearing problem?”

  “You want money?” he asks. “I can get you money.”

  “I don't want your fucking money,” I say. “And I thought I was just a liar who no one would believe?”

  He runs a hand through his hair and grabs the back of his own neck. “Look, I can't have anything...fuck me up. I have a scholarship for next year and I can't have anything—”

  “I don't give a shit about your scholarship,” I snap. “I’m not here to ruin your life. You'll handle that on your own, I'm fucking positive.”

  “Then what the fuck are you here for?” he asks.

  I throw my hands up. “You are seriously the dumbest fucking person alive. Never mind. I'll just call him.”

  I turn to walk back to my car.

  And then I hear the front door open.

  “Heath,” Jay Rogers says. “What's going on?”

  Chapter 28

  Jay Rogers is a little taller than his son, maybe six feet two, with broad shoulders and dark hair. He's wearing a navy blue golf shirt and tan shorts. He doesn't look that much different from his yearbook photo, save for a little gray in his hair and a day's worth of stubble on his chin and cheeks.

  He comes through the front door and onto the brick steps next to Heath. He notices me and nods. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” I say. A giant knot forms in my stomach and I look away because I don’t want to be caught staring at him.

  He looks at Heath. “What's going on?”

  “Uh...nothing,” Heath says. “This is...a friend from school.”

  His dad holds up a hand. “I'm Jay.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I mean...hi. I'm Nola.”

  He smiles and nods again, then looks at his son. “Am I interrupting something? Should I mind my own business?”

  “Well, yeah, kinda,” Heath says. “She, uh, just wanted—”

  “No.” The knot in my gut is icy and jagged now. “You're not interrupting. I actually came to talk to you.”

  Jay looks confused. “You came to talk to me?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “And I promise it won't take long. I just need a couple minutes of your time.”

  He looks at his son, then back at me. “Okay. How can I help you?”

  I start to say something, but Heath is still standing there, glaring at me. I don't want to have this conversation with him there.

  “Can we talk in private?” I ask. “I swear it won't take long.”

  Jay sets his hands on his hips, clearly confused by what I'm asking. “Uh, well, sure.” He looks at Heath. “Son, why don't you give us a minute, alright?”

  Heath doesn't move, looking from his dad to me, then to his dad again. “Well...I...”

  “Just give us a minute,” his dad says. There is a note of finality to his voice. “I'll be in in a minute.”

  Heath gives me one more glare, then turns, opens the door, and closes it behind him.

  I take a deep breath and let it out.

  Jay comes down the steps to where I am in the driveway. Then he holds out his hand. “It's nice to meet you.”

  I hesitate then shake his hand. “Yeah. I mean, yes. It is.” I take a deep breath. “This is sort of awkward.”

  He laughs and smiles. “Well, I have to say, it is a first. Usually when girls come to the house, they are here for Heath and not me. But there's a first time for everything, right?”

  I try to laugh, but it comes out weird, like this strangled, choked off noise. “Yeah. Yeah.”

  “So,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. “How can I help you, Nola?”

  The knot in my gut is growing by the second and now I'm doubting myself.

  But I'm here, so I need to get it over with.

  No matter what the consequences are.

  “My last name is Murphy,” I tell him.

  He looks at me, then nods. “Okay.”

  “My mom was Colleen Murphy,” I say. “Is Colleen Murphy…”

  Something flashes through his eyes, but he doesn't say anything.

  “She's from here,” I tell him. “She went to Del Sol. Did you know her in high school?”

  Something again passes through his expression and a small smile spreads across his lips. “Wow. I haven't heard Colleen's name in quite some time.” He nods. “Yeah, I knew your mom. I went to Canyon, but we...we were friends.”

  “Were you more than friends?” I ask.

  He tilts his head to the side, then gets this funny smile on his face. “Am I being filmed? Is this for some hidden cam reality shows or something?”

  I shake my head. “No. I swear it's not.”

  He studies me and the smile fades. “Are you okay? You look upset. I was just making a joke. I'm sorry if I upset you.”

  I shake my head. “No, it's not that at all. I know this is weird. I'm sorry. I just need to know how you knew here.”

  “Is she okay?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

  “Mostly,” I say, because that's the most honest answer I can think of.

  He considers that, then nods. “Okay. Yes, I absolutely knew Colleen. And, yes. We were more than friends.”

  Chapter 29

  Jay Rogers shuffles his feet against his driveway, his leather sandals scuffing against the concrete. “I liked your mom quite a bit, actually. We met down at the beach. I don't think it was anything special. Just a bonfire night.” He smiles. “Pretty sure you know what those are.”

  I nod, but don't say anything.

  “So, we met at a bonfire,” he continues. “I think one of her friends knew one of mine. And it wasn't like it is now. All of the schools sort of hung out together and it wasn't a big deal. I know now you guys are all rivals, but it was a little friendlier back then.” He nods to himself. “Actually, yeah that's what it was. A girlfriend of hers knew a guy I pl
ayed football with. That's how we got introduced.”

  “Football,” I say.

  He smiles. “I played, but I wasn't very good. Heath is worlds better than I ever was. I just liked pretending I was good and putting on the helmet and jersey.”

  I nod, but stay quiet.

  “So that's how we met,” he says. “I wasn't sure if she liked me or not, but I definitely liked her. She was pretty and funny and had a bit of an attitude.”

  I remember the pretty and the attitude parts about my mother, but I couldn’t recall her ever being funny.

  “I asked her out and she said yes,” he says. “I was a little surprised because she was kind of being aloof with me, but she said yes, so I was pretty happy. So we went out a couple times and we had a pretty good time. Or, at least I thought we did.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask.

  “Because she ditched me,” he says simply. “I think you guys say ghosted now. But whatever you want to call it, she clearly had no more interest in going out with me because she wouldn't return my calls and I couldn't get her to even talk to me.” He shrugs. “Just one of those things, I guess.” He scratches the top of his head. “Was always curious about why, though. Don't get me wrong. I eventually met my wife and all is good. Wouldn't trade any of it for any reason.” He smiles. “But you always have those unanswered questions when you get to my age, I think. More curiosity than anything else.” He shrugs. “Anyway, that was sort of it. Next thing I heard, she'd moved to Florida to go to school or something. Life goes on.”

  “So she just stopped talking to you?” I ask. “That was it?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I finally gave up trying to get ahold of her. I don't even remember how I heard she'd moved. I think it was sometime later in the summer before I left for college?” He shakes his head. “I honestly don't remember.”