K.C. bolted up the stairs to Tate’s house and rang the doorbell like a legion of zombies was after her.
My chest shook with the mental image as I crashed back to the ground and closed my eyes.
The afternoon sun was waning, and the peaceful lull between the nine-to-fivers getting home and eating dinner had commenced. I loved this time of day.
The light to the west created a kaleidoscope of oranges and greens behind my eyelids, and I absorbed the delusion of this neighborhood that I existed around but not in.
Madman licked my hand, and I returned the gesture with a scratch behind his ears. Tate opened her front door, muffled voices. Lawn mower sounded down the street. Cars passed by. Kids called into dinner.
And I let myself be a part of it for a few moments.
I loved our street and always would. Every little house had its secrets and that’s what made it so perfect. I could laugh at Mr. Vanderloo across the street, because he snuck out to his garage every night and smoked pot after his family went to sleep. Mrs. Watson, three houses down, liked her husband to dress up as a UPS man and deliver things to her door. And then he’d deliver her to the bedroom.
Even Tate’s dad had a secret.
Over the time we spent together while she was gone, I discovered that he still ate at Mario’s every Thursday night by himself. I remembered Tate saying that the Italian restaurant was where her parents had had their first date. I didn’t know if she knew that he still did that.
My leg vibrated, interrupting my musings, and I reached into my pocket to grab my phone.
Narrowing my eyes in irritation, I touched the screen and answered.
“Yes?” No need to be polite. I knew who it was.
“Hello. I have a collect call for you from an inmate at Stateville Prison. Will you accept?”
No.
“Yes.”
I waited for the operator to switch over, feeling like I had been pulled out of Neverland and was now surrounded by a dozen soldiers trapping me in at gunpoint.
I knew why my father was calling. He’d only called once before, and it was the same fucking reason this time.
“When you come up tomorrow…put money in my account,” he told, not asked.
I took a deep breath. “And why would I do that?”
“You know why,” he growled. “Don’t act like you have a choice.”
I didn’t have the money to give him. I may not have a choice, but I had a problem.
“Then I’ll need to earn it, and I can’t do that until tomorrow night.” It was too late to get in on a race tonight. “I’ll be up on Sunday instead.”
And he hung up.
I closed my eyes and squeezed the phone, wanting it to be his face, his heart, and his power.
The money I gave him—to stop calling Jax—was supposed to be a one-time thing. But it hadn’t been.
He’d give Jax a break, but he always called again.
And I kept paying, just so Jax could have that break.
Don’t act like you have a choice. His words pierced my ears as if I could still feel the pain of that day. They were the same words he said to me before he shoved me down the basement stairs.
Right before I’d found Jax with them.
Sitting up, I looked around my street.
Goddamn him.
Trying to bring back the calm, I focused on the neighborhood view again. The square, green lawns looked jagged around the edges now, the green less vibrant. All of the houses seemed dead, and my breathing started scaring me.
And then I looked up.
Tate’s feet, propped up on the railing outside her French doors, sat angled, and I focused on her. The rest of her was hidden, but I watched her anyway. Knowing she was there. Feeling the energy that always rolled off of her. Call it hate. Call it lust. It wasn’t love, though.
But if was enough, and I needed it.
The breath leaving my body got quieter and quieter. It started pouring in and out like water instead of syrup, and I finally stood up and headed back into the house.
Dialing up Zack Hager, who organized the races at the Loop, I clenched and unclenched my fist, trying to get the needles out.
“Hey, can I race tomorrow night?”
“Well,” he paused, “I’ve got three races going already. But Jones just backed out, so Diaz needs an opponent.”
“Put me on the roster then.” I’d need the money. After I bought the car with the money from my grandfather’s house, my mother had made good on her promise to tie up the rest of the money in a college account. The only cash I had was what I made from my job, and that wasn’t enough to keep Thomas Trent in his cigarettes and extra snacks.
After I hung up with Zack, I texted Madoc to get a party together at my house for that night and pulled my car out of the garage to double-check the oil.
Since I didn’t have anything else to distract me until the party started, I drove out to Weston to get my brother. His new foster parents were pretty cool about letting him spend time overnight at my house, so I brought him up for parties and races sometimes.
“Look at baby Jared!” Madoc shouted as we climbed out of the car. Madoc had arrived at my place early to set up, and from the looks of it, the party had already started.
Jax rammed his shoulder into Madoc’s chest, laughing. “Yeah, I hear you like young boys.”
“Only if they’re as pretty as you, princess.”
And I rolled my eyes as Madoc wrapped his arms around my brother and dry humped him from behind.
I had no idea why Madoc called Jax “baby Jared”. It had nothing to do with our looks. Our eyes were different, our hair styles were different, and we both had different personalities. Jax was wild, never afraid to smile and seize the moment.
We were almost the same height, though. He was a little leaner, but he was still only sixteen.
I’d better enjoy the female attention while I could, because, next to him, women weren’t going to even notice me in the room in a few years.
Not that I cared. I wanted Jax to have everything, because he deserved it.
I scanned the neighborhood as I walked up the driveway and took in the glow of life and noise around me. When my father had called earlier, the pulse of the street had decayed before my eyes. Everything looked sick.
But now, looking up at Tate’s window, seeing her light on, the thump in my chest carried me higher.
“Hey, think we’ll see some action tonight?” Madoc wrapped his arm around my neck and jerked his chin over to Tate’s house.
He was referring to the last time she broke up my party.
I smiled, looking up at her window. “I think she’s out of tricks.”
And we strode into the loud frenzy of underage disorder known as my house.
“Oh, man you know how to kiss,” she gasped out as I left her mouth and kissed a trail to her neck.
This girl—she’d said her name was Sarah—seemed sweet but completely corruptible. Thankfully, no one had invited Piper, so I was left alone tonight to enjoy everything the party had to offer.
I pressed her up against the back of the bathroom door, and I was feeding like I wouldn’t ever be satisfied.
I didn’t know her. She showed up as a friend of a friend and went to school two towns over. Her hair was soft, her lips were softer, and she acted like she had a brain.
I’d spent about an hour getting drunk and catching glimpses of her moving to the music in her hot, strapless black dress, when I’d finally decided to make my move. It didn’t take long to get her in here, and I wasn’t in any hurry to get out, either.
My lips caressed her neck, sweet-smelling and smooth, as my hand glided down her slim body. Her nipple hardened as I lightly brushed it on my way down to her tight stomach.
I ran over her hip bone and reached behind to take a handful of her ass, pulling her up to meet my cock as I kissed her slow and deep. The taste was good. She wasn’t drunk, and she didn’t smoke.
“I’m not a
slut,” she said softly, and I held my head up to look at her.
Yeah, I was used to this part. Girls usually felt guilty about being “too easy,” like there was some fucking double standard that a guy could enjoy sex but not girls.
And what’s worse? Girls were the ones who perpetuated this standard. Guys didn’t use the word “slut”. We didn’t judge. She didn’t need to reassure me of anything.
She looked up at me thoughtfully. “I just…want to get lost for a while.”
And then she dropped her gaze, like some story was going to break through her eyes that she didn’t want me to see. I knew how she felt. I didn’t want anyone to know mine either.
“I’m good at getting lost,” I offered. “Come here.”
Our lips came back together again, and my hand dipped slowly between her legs, losing myself in the moment I wanted. The story behind my eyes that I didn’t want anyone else to see.
“Jared?”
I hear her whisper in my ear, and want to crawl up inside of her voice.
“Jared?” She takes my hand and guides it up her thighs to her heat. “Do you feel me?”
God, her whisper is desperate. She’s raspy and breathless, as if she’s lost all control and will spill over the edge. Like the tiniest thread holding desire and tears at bay, because at any moment she will break and beg for what she wants. The ache is torture.
I open my eyes and see the blue ones I was hoping for, wanting me. Her lip trembles and a light sheen of sweat makes her face glow. She is fire and need in the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.
“Tate?” My voice cracks, not believing she’s letting me touch her like this.
“Do you feel how much I want you? You. Always you, baby,” she pleads and rests her forehead on my chin, and I close my eyes, my blood boiling violently with the need to live in this moment forever.
My skin feels electrified as her hand rests on my jeans, over my dick that I can’t seem to get to stay down around her.
“You want me, too,” she moans, the tip of her tongue leaving a wet, hot trail over my jaw. “I can feel it. Don’t ruin us, baby. I love you.”
My eyes snap open, and I thread my fingers through her hair and hold her head up to face me. “You love me?” I ask wildly.
She doesn’t love me. She can’t.
“Always you. Always yours. Now, take it,” she orders.
I can’t stand the hunger anymore, and I seize what’s mine. I eat up her sweet lips, and we melt in sweat and heat and want nothing except to dive into this dangerous urgency for each other.
I want it all. All of her.
“Are you okay?” a voice, strong and clear, broke through.
I blinked and found myself still in the bathroom, forehead resting on the shoulder of another girl. My eyelashes felt thick, and there was a blur.
What the fuck?
Was I crying?
Jesus Christ. Motherfucker!
“Are you okay?” she asked again.
Standing up straight, I looked down at the girl I’d been about to have sex with. Brown eyes stared back at me.
Nausea rolled viciously through my stomach, the alcohol shifting my body from a pleasant fog to agony.
“No, I’m not okay,” I muttered and turned to grip the sink ledge. “Just go on out. I feel sick.”
“Do you want me to get someone?”
“Just go!” I shouted, and she slipped out the door quickly, while I closed my eyes and hardened every muscle in my body, willing the sickness to disappear.
But after a few seconds, I was fucking done. Here I was, holed up in the bathroom, practically in fucking tears. And why?
Out of control. That’s what I was. Always out of control.
Picking my toothbrush out of the holder, I jammed it down my throat and emptied everything I’d eaten today into the toilet. Most of it was the alcohol of the last four hours, and it burned like hell as I gripped the sink to the side and leaned over, wrenching.
“Jared, you okay?” someone burst in.
“Goddammit!” I yelled. “Can’t people just leave me the fuck alone?” I spit up the rest of what was coming up from my stomach and looked over at whoever was at the door.
Shit.
“Jax,” I started but couldn’t finish. He was shrinking away.
He didn’t speak again. Only looked away and backed out of the bathroom, closing the door.
And in that moment, I was no better than our fucking father.
I knew the look on his face. I’d seen it before. Hell, I’d even worn it myself. Too scared to meet my eyes. Leaving as quietly as you came. Trying to remain off the radar of the drunk lunatic.
I gargled some mouthwash, yanked off my T-shirt, and collapsed against the bathroom wall to rest. I needed to calm down before I apologized to him. He couldn’t see me like that again.
I stayed there a minute or two, trying to get my head straight and my stomach to settle.
But as I stood up to leave the room, the entire house went dead. Lights out, music off, and all I heard were the loud barks of pissed off partiers.
“What the hell?” I felt my way out the bathroom door and to my bedroom.
Stumbling over the shit on my floor, I found a flashlight in the bedside table and switched it on.
It wasn’t storming out, and we paid our bills on time. Why the hell was the electricity out?
Walking over to the window, I saw the Brandt’s porch light on, so I knew it wasn’t the neighborhood.
And then I saw Tate.
No. I zoned in on her like a bullet.
Her silhouette was behind her curtain, and I knew. I fucking knew what she did.
Powering down the stairs and through the drunken assholes falling and laughing around my house and yard, I darted out the backdoor, hopped on the AC unit and jumped over the fence.
The key her father left me to watch over the house was still on my key ring, so I dug it out of my pants and charged through the back door, not caring if she heard me.
She’d find out soon enough that I was in the house, anyway.
God! I can’t believe she cut the fucking electricity to my house.
My blood swirled like a cyclonic wind inside of me, but believe it or not, it felt easy. This was where I was strong.
Was I supposed to be in here? No. What would I do or say when I got to her? I had no idea. But I wanted this fight.
Swinging myself around the bannister, I barreled up the stairs and caught sight of Tate darting back into her room.
Was that a bat she was holding?
Yeah, that was gonna help. She wasn’t safe from me, and now she knew it.
I swung her door open in time to see her try to make her escape through the French doors. “Oh no, you don’t!”
Turning around to face me, she tried to raise the bat, but I was on her before she even got ready to swing. Snatching it out of her hands, I charged into her space, hovering but not touching. Wave after wave of heat washed over me from the inch of air between us.
She was pissed, too, from the look in her eyes. But her breathing wasn’t hard and deep. It was fast and shallow. She was scared.
“Get out! Are you crazy?” she tried to dart around me to get out of the room, but I cut her off.
“You cut the electricity to my house.” I kept my voice low and even. I didn’t want her afraid of me. It’s not like I would hurt her. But she had to know that one good turn deserved another.
“Prove it,” she snipped.
Oh, baby. My face relaxed, and I orchestrated a very fake and creepy smile. She did not want to play with me like this.
“How’d you get in here?” she snapped. “I’ll call the police!”
“I have a key,” I responded, enjoying her crestfallen face.
“How do you have a key to my house?”
“You and your dad were in Europe all summer,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Who do you think got the mail? Your dad trusts me. He shouldn’t have.”
; James Brandt, I was pretty sure, knew next to nothing about my relationship with his daughter. Tate didn’t go whining about the state of affairs between us, because if she did, I was sure I’d be missing a couple of limbs.
“Get out,” she ordered, disgust and ire written all over her face, and I clenched my fists.
Advancing on her until she was backed up against her French doors, I hovered down and let her know who was really in control here.
Lesson one, Tate. I don’t do what I’m told. “You’re a nosy bitch, Tatum. Keep your fucking ass on your own side of the fence.”
She met my eyes, not blinking. “Keeping the neighborhood awake makes people irritable.”
I almost laughed at her spunk. She was trying to prove what a fighter she could be, and I plastered both of my hands on each side of her head, letting her know that she wasn’t even in my weight class.
Why she didn’t squirm out from under my arm, I have no idea. I half-expected her to. She stayed her ground, and unfortunately, that was hard on the both of us, I think. Eye to eye, nose to nose, tasting her breath, the room was crowded with tension or hatred. Maybe both, or maybe it was something else.
Thank God, she was the one to look away first. Her eyes dropped, and for a moment I thought I had her.
Until…her eyes started roaming over me, and I fucking stiffened.
Everywhere.
I watched as her heated gaze blazed a path over the lantern tattoo on my upper arm and down to the script on my torso, over my bare stomach and up my naked chest.
And goddamn, her eyes felt good.
What the hell are you doing, Tate?
Images from my daydream in the bathroom poured in, and my own gaze started to fall down over her uncontrollably.
I enjoyed a great view down her black tank top and over the tops of her perfect breasts. I liked that I could see a sliver of her stomach where the waistband of her little boxer shorts was rolled over. I loved thinking about what she’d sound like moaning my name.
But I hated that looking into her eyes was the best view of all.
She saw me, the real me, and it was the only time I actually felt like I existed.
But she also saw all of the ugliness and confusion.