The Rivals

by Allen , Dylan

  I need a really good story that explains how that window got broken. Otherwise, my whole plan is shot to hell and I can forget this sliver of freedom I carved out. I glower at the yawning hole in the glass and curse the little delinquent and my irrational instinct to protect him. As angry as I am with him, it’s clear that the kid has enough problems without adding Owen Wilde to them.

  That little shit may have escaped my grandfather's wrath, but he won’t escape mine.

  Chapter 2

  I Want To Fight

  Regan

  "Come on, gimme a kiss, Regan. You used to like it, remember?” Billy, aka Mr. Boring Enough to Make my Mother Happy, leans across the center console of my car with his eyes closed.

  I roll my eyes skyward and lean as far away as the small interior of my Ford Mustang will allow. I don’t remember if I liked kissing him or not, and I have no intention of refreshing my memory.

  In the distance, a bell rings and I put a hand on Billy’s chest and imbue my voice with regret. His eyes pop open and confusion creases his brow.

  “I don’t want to make you late.” I glance at my watch meaningfully.

  “That was just the warning bell, we’ve got time. If you want that schedule, it’ll cost you.” His smile is smarmy, his voice heavy with entitlement as he grabs my wrist and tugs me forward to close the space between us.

  His eyes drift closed, and I let him draw me closer while I keep my eyes on the piece of paper he’s holding as ransom. He should have been holding it out of my reach.

  I snatch the paper from his distracted, slack grasp and yank my wrist free.

  “What the fuck?” he snaps, shoving away from me with a huff of disgruntled annoyance.

  “I’ll just take this and skip the kiss,” I say with a tight smile.

  “Aren’t you even going to say thank you?” he asks, peevish resignation in his voice.

  Even though I didn’t engage them when he got in, I hit the switch on the door locks for the sound effect. “Thank you,” I deadpan, and eye him impatiently.

  His expression crumbles and he pouts. That little kid has more backbone than him. “Aww, come on, Regan. At least let me see your titties.”

  I level him with a disgusted glare. “Get out of my car before you piss me off and force me to tell Tyson about this.”

  He pales and draws away. “For fuck’s sake, I was just kidding.”

  With a churlish flash of his middle finger, he climbs out of my car.

  Tyson’s pain in the ass obsession with scaring my dates has finally paid off. Even though he’s four years younger than me, he’s bigger than most of the boys my age and the last boy who tried to coax a kiss out of me on our doorstep got a black eye for his trouble.

  My grandfather bought my story about throwing the stool in fright because I thought I saw a mouse. But he was still docking my pay to cover the cost of repairing it. Tracking this kid down and holding him accountable for the trouble he caused was an all- consuming compulsion when I woke up this morning.

  So, I called Billy under the guise of returning a book that a kid wearing their school uniform left in the bakery.

  As soon as I said kid, he laughed and said “What the fuck is Stone Rivers doing in Rivers Wilde? Isn’t your family like... his family’s enemy or some shit?”

  I’d been stunned silent. That little boy is Stone Rivers? But...how could the son of one of the richest and most powerful families in the entire state of Texas be beaten up, bloody nosed and have no one to turn to?

  Gripped by a burning curiosity, I threw caution into the wind and told Billy I’d meet him if he could get me his schedule. In his eagerness to agree, he didn’t even ask why I needed it.

  My gut knots as I recall that his father, Jason Rivers died recently and that Hayes, his older brother, was sent to Europe to live with an aunt. That explains his tears. But it doesn’t explain the busted lip.

  I scan his schedule. He has study hall in the library next. I hurry from my car, find the library on the campus map and walk over to wait. I perch on a bench outside of a building with the words Rivers Hall etched into the marble. I take in the perfectly manicured grassy quadrangle that is flanked by four brick buildings with a gothic façade. Their piss-poor security aside, Blackwell is one of the most elite boarding schools in the country. Only the brightest students gain admission.

  The school boasts two former presidents, a Vice President and a slew of ambassadors, CEOs, United States Senators, and visionary inventors as alumni.

  That Stone is here at the tender age of ten means he’s something more than bright. Another bell rings, and the doors of the classrooms that line the corridor arc open in near perfect unison and liberate streams of teenagers. They fill the quiet with a cacophony of shouts, laughs, and curses.

  The library is set apart from the rest of the campus and I have a good view of the students as they make their way into the big grass covered quadrangle. Nerves assail me as I start searching the crowd for my quarry. The throng clears without any sign of the tiny human who should stick out like a sore thumb.

  And then, I hear it. That raucous, collective laugher that, when made by a group of unsupervised teenage boys, is a universal signal that they’re up to no good.

  I head toward the sound, filled with an inexplicable certainty that those laughs are the reason Stone hasn’t made it here yet.

  I round the corner of a building and find myself in a service alley that’s lined with garbage dumpsters. All the way at the end of it, four boys stand in a huddle with their backs to me.

  One of them is holding Stone up against a wall, his spindly legs dangling, while the other three seem to be trying to undress him.

  He doesn’t make a sound or move. His eyes are closed, his expression devoid of emotion. Like he’s playing dead.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I call out and the outrage burning in my chest turns my voice into a menacing growl. Stone’s eyes pop open and he blinks a couple of times before he seems to believe his eyes. He stares in stupefied amazement as I prowl toward the group of boys who have all turned around. The one still holding Stone watches me over his shoulder, wide-eyed with surprise and suspicion.

  “Get your fucking hands off him,” I snarl.

  He relinquishes his quarry with a sadistic smile that I want to wipe off with my fist. Stone lands on his feet, stumbles slightly and steps away from his tormentors He straightens his uniform and keeps his eyes trained on me.

  “Are you okay, Stone?”

  Instead of returning my attempt at a friendly smile, he glowers at me like I’m the one who was holding him against the wall. “What are you doing here? And, ho- how do you know my name?”

  The boy who was holding him against the wall shakes off his fear, puts on a cocky smile and crosses his arms over his chest as he steps into my path and blocks Stone from my view.

  He’s an inch taller than me and tries to look down his nose at me. But I’m not scared of him. Bullies are the lowest hanging fruit. So pathetic and easy to take down once you recognize them for the cowards they are.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “You don’t get to ask me questions, motherfucker,” I growl.

  One of his friends snickers and he shoots him a quelling glare before he returns his smug gaze to my face. “This is a private campus. Stone doesn’t know you, and so you better leave before we call security.”

  I laugh, but my eyes harden, and I enjoy watching his self-satisfied smirk disappear when I pull my phone out and hand it to him. “Go ahead. I can’t wait to hear you explain why you were trying to undress a boy half your size.”

  He scoffs. “Our word against his and his...nanny or are you his maid?” The boys share a round of chuckles that stop abruptly when I join in.

  “What’s fucking funny?” the ringleader barks.

  “Your joke,” I say, wide-eyed with feigned bemusement.

  “What joke?” he demands.

  “The one where the scho
ol takes your side over the one of the boy whose family’s name is on that building.” I point back to the library.

  For all the academic smarts these boys have, they’re remarkably lacking in common sense.

  He tries to stare me down, and only lasts two seconds. “Whatever. This is lame, We’re outta here. We’ll see you later, Rivers,” he tosses the thinly veiled threat over his shoulders and shoves past me.

  I grab him by the collar and drag his face to mine. “No, you fucking won’t see him later. If you look at him again, much less touch him, I’ll be back, and I won’t be alone. And what my friends will do to you, will make you wish you’d been expelled,” I warn through gritted teeth.

  His face pales he yanks his collar out of my grasp and scowls at me while he smooths it back into place. “We were just fucking with him. This is high school. If he can’t handle it, he should go back to the baby school.” He shoves past me and his friends, who I’ve named Pathetic and Predictable, follow him.

  I turn to Stone, who is standing there looking like he wants to kill someone, and I sigh.

  “Did I just make things worse for you?” I ask

  “Hello, Captain Obvious, good to see you haven’t changed.” He quips, no hint of gratitude or camaraderie on his face.

  I bark out an incredulous laugh, “Wow, is that the thanks I get for saving you?”

  “Thank you. Now, why are you here?” He adjusts his rucksack on his shoulders and taps his foot like I’m keeping him from an important appointment.

  “You broke the window last night; did you think I was going to let that go?” I cross my arms.

  He rolls his eyes. “You shouldn’t have tried to lock me in.”

  My neck almost snaps off when I lurch backwards in surprise. This kid… “Huh? Have you forgotten that you broke into my bakery and then fell asleep after you cried all over me?”

  His cheeks flush red with embarrassment, but he doesn’t let it show anywhere else. His eyes are calm, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans, his smile the picture of devil may care. “I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked. And I only cried because I wanted to leave, and you wouldn’t let me.”

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “The door wasn’t unlocked.” But I allow him his pride, and don’t push back on the rest. “However, you got in, you shouldn’t have been there at all. Are you going to tell me why or are you going to force me to turn you in?”

  “You can’t prove I was there,” he pushes.

  “We have video surveillance,” I lie.

  He crosses his arms over his bird-like chest and gives me a long assessing look, like he’s trying to decide if he can trust me and then sighs in resignation, his shoulders slumping like the weight of the world just landed on them. “I study there. I don’t touch anything, and I don’t make any trouble. I won’t be back. If you tell how much the window costs, my family accountant will send you whatever you need.”I shake my head in grudging respect. He’s a little shit, but he’s braver than that group of boys combined.

  “Oh, you’re going to pay me back alright. But it’s not going to be as easy as calling Jeeves. You’re going to keep coming to the bakery. And when I’m done with my work, you’re going to clean up. You’re going to work until you’ve done enough hours to pay the insurance deductible on that window,” I inform him and wait for the outrage.

  It doesn’t come.

  Instead, his shrewd little eyes glitter with interest. “You mean, like baking?”

  “No. I mean like cleaning up, sweeping, wiping stuff down. You can study while I bake and when I’m done, you can clean up.”

  “Oh.” He frowns and his eyes narrow and I can practically hear his brain rerouting itself.

  “What time do you want me to come by?” he asks, and I smile, impressed with how quickly he made up his mind. I expected he’d do like my brothers whenever they have to help in the kitchens – kick up a fuss and whine.

  “I’ll be here to get you at 8pm.”

  His smile disappears. “You’re gonna come get me?”

  I fold my arms over my chest, assuming a stance of authority. “I don’t know how you got to the bakery yesterday, but you’re too young to be going anywhere that time of night alone.”

  He balks. “I rode my bike like I always do. It’s fine.” His somber expression reminds me of all of the things he’s recently lost. I relent.

  “Fine, but when we’re done, I’ll throw your bike in the back of my car to bring you back. That’s the deal.” I add when he opens his mouth to argue. “You get to study while I work, and then you help me clean up. When you’ve worked enough hours to earn the $500, you’re free to go.”

  “Okay,” he croaks out. He looks sharply at the ground, but not quickly enough to hide the tears that well in his eyes.

  My heart squeezes in empathy.

  I hate for people to see my tears, too.

  I walk over to him. I bend so we’re eye level and grab his chin and turn his face up to mine.

  “I’m sorry about your stepfather.”

  He blinks up at me in surprise. “Sure, thank you.” His eyes mist and he blinks to clear them and gives me a heartbreakingly brave smile. I run a hand over his hair and it’s not my imagination when he nuzzles against my palm before stepping back.

  “I know it feels like the entire world is too small to hold your hurt, and there’s no shame in crying. if you need to talk, I won’t mind listening.”

  His tongue darts out and he licks his lips and then bites the lower one. They’re very swollen still. My fists curl in on themselves itching for a chance to punch those boys square in their stupid, smug faces.

  “Have you lost someone?” he asks.

  “Huh?”

  “Last night, you said something that made me think maybe you lost someone, too,” he elaborates. “Why are you looking like that?” he asks when I just gape at him.

  “Just that, I thought you’da been too busy scheming to have heard anything I said.”

  He rolls his eyes again, but an embarrassed blush colors his cheeks and a shy smile dances on the corners of his cherub’s mouth. I chuckle, utterly charmed by him. He’s guileless and brave, but he needs someone looking out for him. “I did lose someone, a long time ago, yes.”

  His gaze sharpens. “Who?”

  “My dad.”

  He nods absently as if he’s processing my answer. “And…you’re okay now?” His voice is innocent, but his expression intent, like my answer, is the most important thing in the world to him.

  So, I answer with a candor I only share with a few people. “Most of the time…yes. Life goes on. But the first thing you have to decide is whether you’re going to let grief rule you or if you’re going to fight for every morsel of joy you can squeeze out of life.”

  “I want to fight,” he says with a fierce light in his big eyes. “It’s better than being a chicken,” he challenges with an up tilt of his stubborn, surprisingly strong little chin.

  I raise an eyebrow in response. “Not every battle is worth fighting. It takes courage to walk away from those, too.” I hold a finger up to stop whatever rebuttal he’s prepared.

  “Just trust me on this one, okay?"I know you’re smarter than everyone else in this place, but there are some things only time can teach you.” I cringe inwardly at how much I sound like my mother.

  He casts me a dubious glance and nibbles the corner of his lip, but his eyes don’t lose the gleam of determination. “Can I start tonight?”

  Relief courses through me, relaxing the muscles I didn’t realize I was tensing. I don’t know why this matters so much. The smart and safe thing would be to let this all go. But it’s more than him paying for what he did. This child needs someone. And I’m compelled to be that person.

  “Yup. At fifteen bucks an hour it’s gonna take you a while to earn it—"

  “It’ll take approximately thirty-three hours. If I work 2 hours a night, we’ll be square in as few as 17 days.”

 
I blink in surprise. “How did you do that so fast?”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “In my head, Captain Obvious.” He taps his temple.

  “Very funny. The answer only seems obvious because you’re answering the wrong question.”

  He shakes his head. “You asked me how I did it. That’s a very specific question. You should have asked how I did it so quickly. But seeing how I'm 10 years old and in high school, that’s got a pretty obvious answer, too.”

  I open my mouth to retort and shut it again when I realize that he’s right.

  His cheeky smile widens to a grin at my deepening scowl.

  Outwitted, I scowl. “No one likes a know -it -all.”

  I regret my quip when his eyes fall to his shoes and mutters a barely audible, “I know.”

  What is it about this kid and the way he tugs heartstrings I didn’t know I had?

  “No one, but me, that is,” I add in a voice devoid of sympathy. The unexpectedly joyous smile he beams up at me feels like a trophy. I smile back and ruffle his mop of dark brown hair. I catch a glimpse of the time on my wristwatch and start backing away.

  “I’ll see you tonight. Come in by the front door. I got that back door fixed,” I inform him with a meaningful look before I turn to hurry back to my car.

  “Uh, Regan?” he calls. I turn to find him running toward me.

  “I didn’t tell you my name.” I raise an eyebrow in suspicion. He stops a few inches shy of bringing us toe to toe and gazes up at me with hopeful eyes.

  “You didn’t have to. You’re exactly like everyone describes you.” He shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose and clears his throat. His cheeks flush flame red and he drops his gaze to the ground.

  “And how’s that?” I ask, not sure if I should be flattered or concerned that “everyone” is talking about me.

  He shrugs, and looks up at me through his lashes, but his gaze is direct and intense light in them.

  “That you don’t look like anyone they’ve ever seen… and really pretty.” He drops his gaze again and I’m grateful.