“You think I don’t think about him?” I snarl, pounding my fists against my chest. “That he’s just some memory that occasionally pops into my mind?” I drop my head, my fists deciding to connect with the table this time around. “If so, then you’re wrong. There’s not a minute that goes by that I don’t think about that kid. He was my baby brother, for fuck’s sake! I might be the reason he’s gone, but you’re not the only one who loved him! Not the only one suffering over his loss!”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she continues, sniffling as though I didn’t just bleed my heart out in front of an entire restaurant filled with mortified onlookers. “The only thing I know for sure, Brock, is you’re a filthy reminder of what I’ll never have ever again. One I can’t stand to look at.” The last part’s whispered as she picks up the bottle of wine, tossing back what remains of it.
Broken to pieces, I watch as she gets up, throws on her sunglasses, and stumbles out of the room.
Bile churns in my stomach as the pain of what our lives have turned into crushes me. I want to run after her, get as far away from the questioning looks I know are being aimed at me from Amber’s parents—from the hate getting tossed my way from my own father.
I look at Amber, my only safe place, her expression mirroring my torment as she laces her fingers through mine. I know she gets the level of dysfunction ripping through my world, tearing it to shreds. Maybe that’s the reason I’ve felt this burning connection to her, this insatiable need to have her in my life.
We’re two different people who share one common link—our blood families are fucking nightmares.
“Don’t listen to her, Brock,” Brittany says, anger assaulting her features. “The only thing this is about is her being a drunk. You can’t blame yourself for something you had no part in.”
I can’t talk, the pain pulsing through my core so strong, it feels like it’s choking the life right outta me.
“I don’t know what the hell all of that was about,” Mark says, his words strong, unwavering, as he watches, from the corner of his eye, my father toss a couple hundred-dollar bills onto the table. “But your sister’s right, Brock. What just happened appears to have very little to do with you.”
My father tucks his wallet back into his dress pants, shaking his head at Mark’s comment but saying nothing as he looks up at the rest of us.
He’s not about to make this worse than it already is. God forbid someone he associates with is watching and the word gets out to his circle of friends.
“It was nice meeting you all,” he finally says, his face hard as stone, his tone formal, presentable. “I apologize for the way the evening turned out.” Without a single look in my direction, he pivots and breezes out of the room.
I scrub an exhausted hand over my jaw, a breath locked in my windpipe as my sister walks over to me.
Sadness digs into the planes of her face as she cups my cheeks, whispering, “I love you. Don’t let their issues turn your life upside down.” She pauses, concern, along with tears, edging her eyes. “I want you to remember something. Mom and Dad are not a reflection of you. What they think isn’t who you are as a person. I know who you really are, and you’re a smart, good young man who I’m proud to call my brother.”
She stares at me a moment before turning to Amber and her family. I see the Cunningham come out in her, the survival skill she mastered a long time ago—the ability to smooth out a situation, manipulating it to not seem as bad as it was. “I’m sorry tonight didn’t go as planned. But it was so very good to meet you all.”
“Likewise,” Cathy says, her hand on her throat, tears welling up in her eyes. It’s easy to see she’s never witnessed anything like what just went down.
Amber, on the other hand, has seen much worse than this unfold in front of her.
“Thank you for coming, Brittany,” Amber says, a sad, haunting smile touching her lips. “It was nice to meet you.”
Brit nods, her gaze remaining apologetic. “I’m sorry for what my mother said, Amber. It’s hard to control crazy. Please don’t let her comments offend you. It was the wine talking.” A shake of her head as she grimaces. “Not that that made it okay for her to say or act how she did, but it’s all I have to go on.” She casts me a look that speaks a thousand words, none of them audible, before looking back up to the group. “I’m going to head out now. Please have a safe trip home.”
Brittany grabs her purse and disappears around a corner. Once she’s out of view, I find it hard to look into anyone’s eyes, Amber’s included. I feel like a dick, shame cloaking me in a heavy, suffocating blanket.
Nobody knows what to do or say, so I suggest getting the bill. Everyone agrees, eager to break free from the filth of the last hour. Over Mark’s objection, I hand my credit card to the waiter. I know there’s money on the table—my father’s way of trying to look cool—but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let the asshole pay for jack shit.
Amber grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly, as I lead us out to my Hummer. Everyone seems preoccupied, still trying to wrap their heads around what just transpired as we all get in. It’s just as well. I can’t think of anything fucking coherent to say anyway. I’m so goddamn pissed off at my parents, so fucking hurt, but the more I think about it, I’m just as angry with myself. I knew it would come to this. I bite back a laugh as I ease onto the busy highway, realizing I’m the one who caused this shit. I should’ve stuck to what my gut was saying, insisting to Amber that it just wasn’t a good idea.
In the midst of trying to get my head outta my personal problems, I pick up on Mark telling a story about how he got Amber into fishing, and something about her being afraid of the dark—which I didn’t know. I knew my girl was scared of very few things, but the dark? She’d kick the dark’s ass.
After a few much-needed laughs, we drop Cathy and Mark off at the hotel, promising to pick them up after class tomorrow to go take them out for some crabs. Excited, they walk away, both waving as they enter the lobby.
I pull out of the parking lot and head toward my condo, my mind a Molotov cocktail of emotions as I weave in and out of traffic. Amber stays quiet, rubbing her thumb along my knuckles, letting me have my space but, at the same time, letting me know she’s here for me. If nothing else comes of this night, at least my girl sees the evil that’s created the monster I’ve turned into.
Once parked in front of my place, I cut the engine, pluck a joint from the glove compartment, and light it up, taking a long pull as I turn to the angel at my side.
She gives me a wide smile, swiping the mood enhancer from my fingers after I’ve hit it a few times. “God, I’ve been waiting for this.” She hits it once, twice, her body noticeably relaxing as she blows out a ring of smoke, handing it back to me. “No kidding. Tonight was—”
“As crazy as I told you it’d get,” I interrupt, pulling one last, long hit into my lungs.
Amber nods, her smile disappearing as I stub out the joint, slipping what remains of it into my wallet.
I lean over the center console, cupping her cheeks. “I’m not a good man, Ber,” I whisper, searching her face. “I have my share of inconsistencies, but I own them, wake up to them every morning, go to sleep fighting them every night.” I touch my lips to hers, praying nothing she witnessed will have her running from the twistedness that is my life. “But even though I’m not good through and through, I’ll always give you everything I am. Take care of you to the best of my ability.” I kiss her slowly, ingraining this moment into my memory, hoping this isn’t the last time I’ll get to. “So please, just chill with me a while, okay?”
Another nod, this one as she places her hands over mine. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, sincerity clinging to each word. “I promise, so stop worrying.” It’s her turn to kiss me, her cherry-flavored gloss, and little moans causing my heart to beat faster than a drum.
Kiss slowing, we get out o
f my ride and step into the elevator. As the doors part, I pull Amber into my embrace, praying that any kind of feelings this girl’s developing for me, if any at all, will keep her hanging on to her promise.
Keep her hanging on to what could very well cause her some of the most confusing hurt she’s ever been through.
Me . . .
CHAPTER 9
Amber
“THAT’LL BE FOUR dollars and fifty cents,” the barista announces.
Standing in a Starbucks just off campus, I dig through my purse for my wallet. No luck. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I mumble. “I don’t have any cash or cards with me.” Exhausted, I bring my eyes to hers, an embarrassed smile on my face. “Can you put it to the side while I go . . .” I trail off, realizing the barista is my mute roommate, Madeline.
Considering our boyfriends are in business together, we’ve been forced to hang out here and there, but other than that, we haven’t spoken to each other since the night she told me about Brock.
It’s safe to say that the last two months have been nothing short of awkward.
“There are people who have jobs to get to,” some douche barks from the line behind me. I glance at him from over my shoulder and watch him stretch out an annoyed arm, impatiently checking his watch. “Can we get moving here?”
I take a deep breath, my muscles trembling from lack of sleep as I focus on trying not to lose my shit. I decide against telling him to fuck off, rolling my eyes at him instead. Before I can note his reaction, I bring my attention back to Madeline and she’s . . . smiling.
Not a you’re screwed smile, but a genuine, understanding, sneaky half smile.
“It’s on the house,” Madeline whispers. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Aww. She doesn’t have any money,” a familiar feminine Southern drawl says, its overly sweet tone hitting my ears like acid rain.
I straighten and turn around, locking eyes on Hailey Jacobs. She casts me a snake’s smile. I don’t return it. Just seeing her after her most recent attempt to drive me insane makes my blood boil. Why bother pretending?
“Now, now, Madeline,” Hailey continues, the canny thrust in her words holding the proper amount of malicious amusement. With her hand buried in a Gucci purse—which I’m sure cost more than my car—she steps from the line, produces a leather wallet, and plucks out a ten-dollar bill. “You wouldn’t want to lose your job by lying for Amber, would you?”
Her statement comes out loud enough, making Madeline’s manager whip around, his brows furrowed in concern. Madeline’s face freezes, Hailey smirks, and I have a sudden overwhelming need to smack the bitch. With her fiery eyes promising retaliation, Madeline snatches the bill from Hailey and rings up my order.
“No!” I croak over the grumbling sighs in the background. “I don’t want her paying for me.”
“Just let her,” Madeline implores. “My boss is watching, and there’s a shitload of people waiting.”
Is this what I’ve been reduced to? Hailey Jacobs—an overprivileged snarky bitch who’s been stalking me since I started dating Brock—paying for my four-fifty Frappuccino?
I look at Madeline’s worried face and determine that, yes, I have been reduced to this. I grit my teeth, my scowl aimed in Hailey’s direction.
Hesitation burns my hand as I take the Frappuccino from Madeline and mouth, I’m sorry.
Madeline mouths back, No problem.
The reassuring look in her eyes tells me I haven’t done too much harm. Still, it doesn’t stop me from feeling bad. I turn, pathetically ducking past the line of aggravated, caffeine-crazed patrons. I’m sure the mob is about to pounce on me.
I feel Hailey’s wicked presence on my heels as I locate an empty table in the back corner. I take a seat, pull out an essay for biology class, and begrudgingly take a sip of my Hailey-Jacobs-bought Frappuccino.
It tastes sour.
As I scan the drivel I’ve composed, I can sense the snake-with-tits’ eyes on me. It’s making me uncomfortable. I can’t help but wonder why I’m not used to it by now. In the several schools I attended, I stumbled across her type more times than I care to remember.
Hailey’s the girl who’ll pledge you her undying friendship, then fuck your boyfriend behind your back. The kind of girl who’ll use your weaknesses to her advantage, making you feel beneath her when she’s truly the pathetic one. The kind of girl who’ll smile pretty in your face, but the second you turn around shove an axe into your spine, slowly exposing every secret you’ve trusted her with. Rotten to their decaying cores and traveling in hungry packs, girls such as Hailey Jacobs are scattered throughout every school across the globe . . . axes tight in their grips.
A split second before I decide to go somewhere else, Hailey approaches the table and slides into a chair across from me. My chest tightens.
“Amber,” she says, twisting her lips into a pout, “why can’t we just be friends?”
“This is a joke, right?” I swivel my head, looking for hidden cameras.
She gives a casual shrug. “Why would it be a joke?”
“Let’s see,” I say, trying to sound unaffected by this bitch’s vile attempt to gain anything from me. I cross my arms, my head dizzy from the list of reasons she’s not to be trusted. “Where should I begin? Let’s start with I know it’s you whose been slipping those love notes under my dorm door. What was it you called me? Hadley’s queen whore?”
“I heard about those.” She snorts, her smile smug. “I also heard the student board doesn’t know who it is because your perpetrator’s been dressed from head to toe in black every time one was left. Whoever’s been doing it is pretty smart too, since they’re using a stamp and not actually writing anything. Seems they have a few ups on everyone.” Her periwinkle eyes narrow as her smile widens. “I have beautiful penmanship, which I love to show off, and not even for you would I be caught dead in black. It’s not my color.”
“You think I’ve never been called a whore?” I lean forward, my eyes hardening. “Try being original, bitch. Think of something new the next time you give me one.”
“Oh, I’m more than positive you’ve been called it several times, and if we’re being honest, there’s no way to be original when it comes to whores like you. You’re all the same.” She mimics my pose and leans across the table, obviously amused. “Anything else you feel like blaming on me?”
“Yeah, there is,” I grit out, trying to maintain my composure. “You running me off the road.”
“I did no such thing,” she huffs, her perfectly waxed eyebrows rising. “I’m offended you would think I’ve done any of these hideous things to you.”
“You’re full of shit,” I hiss, my tone doubled up in anger.
Being that she’s the only student at Hadley sporting a custom cherry-colored Range Rover, there’s no mistaking it was her. Not to mention I caught a glimpse of her golden locks as my car all but careened into a ditch on the side of I-95 the night it happened. I wanted to bang my head against the steering wheel when I failed to catch her license plate.
“Well,” she says, screwing her mouth into a sneer as she stares at her bloodred nails, “without proper proof, I’d say all of your accusations are worth not an ounce of anyone’s time.”
Though I’m shaking with adrenaline, I close my eyes, forcing myself to think of unicorns, puppies, and happy shit like that. Not the best coping mechanism, but if I don’t do it, I’ll be spending the night curled up on a wooden bench in the local precinct for attempted murder.
I open my eyes and take a deep breath, determined not to let her get to me any further. “What do you want from me, Hailey?”
She rests her elbows on the table, her voice sugary sweet. “So how are things going with you and Brock?”
“That’s none of your business,” I point out, convinced the girl is bipolar.
“Why not?”
/> “Do I really need to explain that?”
“I’m just trying to make friendly conversation.” She twirls her hair between her fingers as she leans back. “Considering it’s almost October, and he’s never been known to stay with a piece of ass past a couple of dates, one must assume things are going well. Still, a girl as naïve as yourself may find his . . . employment somewhat difficult to handle. I just want to make sure you’re happy.”
“You want to make sure I’m happy?” I laugh, so over her act. “Enough with the bullshit. I have a paper to finish. What the fuck do you really want from me?”
“I want to get to know you, Amber. Really know you.” She glances at her nails a second time, her voice sliding into huntress mode. “You come from a very tragic past, and I can’t help but find myself curious about a girl who’s seen such terrible, horrifying things.”
My every muscle goes taut, all concerns about spending the night in the slammer vanishing from my brain. “How do you know anything about me?”
“I have my close . . . sources.”
On a shaky breath, I spin over who could’ve said anything to her. Only Brock, Ryder, Lee, and Madeline know about my warped history. Brock may have told Ryder, but they’re best friends, and I know with everything in me that Brock would never say a word to this nut about my life. Never. I’m the guilty one who told Madeline and Lee. In a drunken stupor, I dished out my shit one night when I stumbled into our dorm room. Still, I can’t see either of them saying anything. They’d gain nothing from it.
However, Ryder would. Not once in the past month has he made a move on me, looked at me in a suggestive way, or spoken his usual smack. If anything, he’s been a total douche, ignoring my presence every time we’ve been around each other. Still, I thought I’d seen struggle in his eyes, felt it when we got too close. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
This must be his twisted way at getting back at me.
Hailey continues her mental fuck as she leans across the table, her tone dropping to a whisper. “So what was it like? Was there tons of blood everywhere? What was running through your mind when they closed their eyes for eternity? I’m thinking about doing a case study on sick psychos and their grieving little spawn. I figured you and your father would fit the bill perfectly.”