Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series Page 16

  I whip around just in to time to take in the triumphant smirk on his face as he shrugs. “So… I gave her the D. And guess what? She gave me the V. Girl was a fucking virgin.” He pelvic thrusts the air a few times as the other boys hoot and holler like he’s suddenly way the fuck up on the totem pole. My vision goes red, tinging with black fury. “Fuck. Makes me want to go in search of someone else to deflower, cuz that pussy was tight.”

  Several people high-five him, except Billy, who shakes his head. Good. At least someone else here has some sense.

  “Dammit man,” Billy says as he reaches into his back pocket for something. “I don’t have money for this shit. I thought it was a safe bet.” He tosses two twenties and a ten at Tommy, who holds them up for everyone to see. “It’s that damn hair of yours. Bitches can’t resist it.”

  “What was a safe bet?” I grit out, butting into the conversation.

  Billy turns to me now, irritation settling over his shoulders. “Shit.” He swipes his hands down his face. “A while back, I bet Rogers twenty bucks that he couldn’t get Lyra to fuck him before graduation. I said if he did it on prom night, I’d raise the stakes to fifty.” He delivers the words like they’re nothing, like the only bad thing to come from them are the loss of a few bucks and not the loss of something that was precious to an innocent girl who was deceived.

  “Now I got my fifty, and I can drop that bitch like she’s yesterday’s trash and start searching for someone else. I’m telling you, boys. There’s nothing like that fresh, Grade A, Prime virginal pussy. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm.” He bites down on the bills he just earned and jerks his head from side to side as he makes the noise of satisfaction, and it takes everything inside me not to cause I scene. I hope there’s some deadly disease on those bills and he just got it all in his mouth. Right now, I feel like murdering Tommy Rogers for fucking with Lyra like this, and I want to bust my friend Billy’s head up for instigating it all.

  Then, I want to smack myself upside the head for feeling jealousy that this scoundrel piece-of-shit got to take someone so fucking special to prom, and that she gave him a precious piece of herself that he’s clearly taken for granted.

  “Hell, you say that now. I bet you’ll hit it a few more times before you quit it…” Billy eggs Tommy on.

  “That’s a swell idea.” A look of defeat crosses his face. “It’d take a good amount of groveling though, considering I ghosted her for several days now.” He waves his hand nonchalantly, apparently brushing Lyra off to the side. “Too much effort. On to the next it is.”

  I sling my bag over my shoulder, stalking out of the locker room even as Billy calls out to me. I can’t beat the shit out of these two clowns like they deserve.

  But I can think of a million other scenarios to exact revenge on her behalf.

  ~~~

  The next morning, I’m walking through the hallway on the way to first period, and I catch sight of Lyra standing at her locker. Her dark hair hangs to one side in a messy braid, the end curling at the curve of her breast. A tight pair of yoga pants cling to her, showcasing her ample ass. My eyes linger at the gap between her thighs, just at the apex of her legs, and all I can think about for a moment is bending her over and fucking her from behind.

  Damn it to hell. I jerk my eyes back to her face as I draw closer. She’s tired—weary and worn down. Not that I watch too closely, but I haven’t seen her smile once in the past few days and I wonder if it has something to do with her best friend moving away seemingly out of the blue…It certainly fits with the timeline of when she started with the depressed and down-on-her luck vibes she’s been giving off lately. Honestly, I don’t think the whole giving some moron asshole her virginity only for him to break up with her after would cause her to be this stressed.

  The fucked up thing about it, is that the dark and twisted part of me—the sick part that was born the night Hayes, Mom and Dad were taken—licks it’s ugly lips, watching with satisfaction as Stars experiences loss and hurt. Sloane is gone, no longer a part of her life. Now, Lyra is alone again. Just. Like. Me. I might be surrounded by people who give the impression of being my friend, who claim I can do no wrong and act like I shit out gold and am destined to be the president of the United States, but it’s all an act. On the inside, I’m unaccompanied. I don’t know how she does it—lives through the scorn of half the county, yet still shows up to school determined to graduate. She’s stronger than I am.

  I’m staring at her harder than I should, especially considering someone might notice. Her long lashes are narrowed, her pouty lips twisted. She’s so fucking beautiful it makes my chest squeeze painfully, like I can’t catch my breath and it would just cause more suffering to try. It’s torment because I can’t have her, and it stings because I shouldn’t want to.

  Just as I’m about to avert my eyes, I realize she’s watching someone, so I trail my gaze in the same direction. Tommy’s standing at his locker, tucking some freshman or sophomore chick’s hair behind her ear as he flirts with her. I don’t know how he can stand it—the way Lyra’s glaring at his back has to be burning holes in his letterman’s jacket. I bite back a grin. The dark creature within might enjoy seeing Lyra upset and unsettled, but the decent guy who’s still locked away somewhere deep inside is fighting to retain his place. Tommy Rogers is a rat bastard, and he has no idea what’s coming his way…

  A couple of hours later, I’m shoving my stuff from my locker room locker—only Varsity players get one—and into my duffel bag when something startles me.

  “WHAT THE FUCK?!!!” I hear someone bellow from the shower room, and I know exactly who that someone is. I school a look of concern on my face as those of us who are done showering drift back in that direction to see what’s going on.

  “My goddamn hair is falling out,” Tommy shrieks like a little girl.

  Satisfaction has never felt so damn good. Everyone just stands there in shock, taking in the clumps of his long hair—he had well-managed hair that could be worn in a man-bun, which all the chicks would swoon over, saying it was his best feature. Now it’s all on the shower floor, save for a few stragglers defiantly clinging to his scalp. Fuck. He looks like something off of Wrong Turn or The Hills Have Eyes. I’ve just done society a favor—or at least the innocent and naïve young girls of Central Valley High. Before, when he came on to them, all they could see was the sexy soccer star with the man-bun. Let him try to pick someone up to deflower now…

  While everyone else’s attention is on the scene unfolding right now, I grab the phone out of the side-pocket of Billy’s bookbag. I carefully type in the code I’ve watched him enter time and time again, quickly pulling up his Picture and Video Gallery and scanning for the video I’m searching for.

  It doesn’t take long. It’s the only one he has locked.

  I send it to every single girl on his contact list. I don’t discriminate—I don’t even take the time to unclick his relatives and I know for certain Mom was on that list. Kind of hard to miss the all-caps, three letter word.

  When it shows as having gone through, I delete it, so he’ll be puzzled about all the buzz it’s sure to create. Seconds later, ping after ping alerting him to text messages begin to come in.

  I don’t even want to know what good ol’ Mom thinks about the video capturing her son as he fucks her friend, but man would I love to read the texts from the girls at school. I’m just itching to hear their opinions of his little bitty shrimp dick.

  His prospects for getting laid the rest of the year have been diminished with a single text message.

  Modern technology—gotta love it.

  This was a low blow. Not my usual style at all. But with what they did to Lyra, fucking with her feelings and her self-confidence, I don’t feel an ounce of remorse. Friend or foe, stranger or comrade, I still fucking care about the girl. And the fact I care for anyone after losing everyone is enough to make me pause for thought.

  ~XoXo~

  Nash

  “Nash, why did Jenna leave?”<
br />
  Ari’s little voice is heavy with sleep when he asks the question. He knows I’m his father, but we just aren’t at that point in our relationship where he calls me the title on a regular basis. And that’s okay, because I’d rather earn it from him anyway.

  The question seems to echo through my mind. How do I even begin to answer that? I sure as fuck can’t say, because she didn’t want kids. He might be four, but he’ll still interpret the fact kids translates to him.

  She didn’t want him. That’s the truth of it, plain and simple. How the hell did I think I was in love with her?

  I was enchanted by a nice set of double D’s and a bubbly ass. I was completely entranced by the fact she wasn’t afraid to give road-head and she had some mean BJ skills—her skills revolved around the more technical and methodical side than enthusiastically being in the moment, but I wasn’t about to complain about the fact she’d studied that shit. Who the hell would?

  The fact of the matter is—killer curves and expert-level blowie skills aside, it was all about the lust. It took the disagreement over my decision to step up to the plate and be a father, for me to realize there was no love lost when we went our separate ways. She was never going to accept Ari—distancing herself from him from the start, not making an attempt to get to know him, pushing for a DNA test even though I didn’t need one. He’s nearly the spitting image of me at that age, save for a few attributes that more so remind me of my brother Hayes.

  Needless to say, the Hudson genes overpower his mother’s. I knew it the moment we locked eyes, a feeling deep in my gut that he was mine, it just took my head a little longer to catch up.

  Usually, when answering kids, I’ve found the plain and simple version is typically the best version to give. Not in this case, though. This version will need to be a well drawn-out and elaborate white lie. He’s a smart one—takes after his dad there.

  “Jenna left because she was more concerned with her career. She cares more about becoming a model, of taking pictures that will be put in big magazines, than being a wife. If she would have married me, she would have had to do wife things…”

  He interrupts, “Like cooking and cleaning, and bringing you a beer when you’re watching your show…”

  I swipe my hand over my face, allowing it to settle over my mouth so he can’t see the smile that’s fighting to break free. Like I said before, he’s too smart for his own good.

  “Exactly, son. Jenna wants to travel around, and while she may have loved living with the both of us, she has her own dreams too.” I fluff up his hair playfully, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “I have dreams.” He slides up in his bed eagerly, his eyes lighting up.

  “Oh?” I arch an eyebrow. “You want to tell me about them?”

  He gives an animated nod of his head. “Sometimes I dream about my mommy. She’s an angel with a real halo. She doesn’t ever say anything, though. She just stands there smiling at me.” My throat constricts, but not because Ari seems upset. It’s because he’s finally talking about her and he sounds genuinely happy. He’s hardly spoken a word about his mother since he came to live with me, even when I’ve tried asking him questions. To me, this is a big step in helping him move on.

  “It sounds like she’s happy in heaven. I bet she watches over you while you’re sleeping every night.” I’m not sure how I feel about heaven and the after life, my views faltered considerably after my own parents died, but I try my best to sound convincing.

  Ari stares off thoughtfully, a ghost of a smile spreading across his face. “Yep. I dream ‘bout her every night. She is always there.”

  I pull the blanket further up him, hoping I can coax him back to sleep. We were so close when he thought to ask about Jenna.

  “Should I read you another story?” I ask, holding up Where the Wild Things Are. It’s my go-to, tried-and-true book for bedtime. We read it nearly every night.

  “Yesss.” He makes a fist and pulls it toward himself in a show of victory. “Wild things!” He cheers excitedly.

  Not needing more than an glance here and there to pace myself, I let him man the book and turn the pages for me, starting with the words I know by heart.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lyra

  I’ve just set a Guinness-worthy record. Yep, me—this girl here—just set the world-record for longest and hardest waitressing shift, and I literally walked through the door about ten minutes ago. Don’t judge my descriptors… I’m still in the midst of my dry spell. I’ve got long and hard on the brain, apparently.

  My first act to congratulate myself for my praise-worthy work-ethic is done by pulling the tumbler from the cabinet beside the sink, sloshing some pineapple juice inside with a small bit of OJ before pouring a generous amount of rum into the mix. I take a sip, squinting. Nice and strong. The perfect ending to a not-so-fantastic day at work. Thank the lord my weekend is about to begin—Grace is closing for a few days to go on vacation and using the time to hire someone for maintenance to the building.

  It may only be Thursday night, but for all and intents and purposes, it’s my Friday. Nearly a week has passed since the whole bar fiasco, and while I haven’t had any run-ins with Nash since then—his presence is everywhere. Just this evening, as I drove through town on my way home from work, I happened to notice one of the storefronts had a large banner draped across the awning. When I got close enough to read the display, shock flooded my system.

  Coming Soon: The Office of Nash Hudson, PI.

  Talk about really putting the strain on my already exhausted brain. He’s back for more than just an extended visit. There’s only one reason for him to move his business here. He plans to make his and Ari’s home here, and I’m going to be forced to deal with it. It’s great for him that he has a family support system around to aid in the whole newly single dad thing, but it sucks for me seeing as how it’ll probably really stir up the townspeople’s behavior toward me.

  And thinking of behavior reminds me of the shitty shift I had today. I had the honor of being forced to serve Amy Swanson. When I saw her sitting there at my table, I whispered up a prayer that maybe, just maybe, she’d grown up the teeniest little bit and gained a little humbleness, grace and humility about her. Even if it’s only been a few days since I’d last seen her.

  I’m sad to report back—she never really got the memo everyone graduated and moved on. She made the snottiest comments, whispering loudly to her parents about how their server must have gotten in a fight with a box of crayons. Bitch.

  Thinking about the immature act has me chugging my beverage then downing another one back-to-back. Is this the life I’ll be subjected to by deciding to stay in my own hometown?

  I pick up my phone and hook the Bluetooth up to my light/speaker combos I’ve installed throughout the house, jamming out to a playlist mostly consisting of the girlish essentials—Halsey, Sia, and Vérité. I swing my hips and wiggle them to the beat of the music, and everything kind of hits me all at once. I never really registered when the crossover from chasing a good buzz to being full-on drunk occurred, but it’s obvious from the way the room is swaying back and forth right now it did, in fact, occur at some point in the last thirty minutes.

  Suddenly, the music switches over to “Constant Crush,” by Vérité and I groan, both loving and hating the song at the same time. It has always made me think of Nash. I can relate to the damn lyrics wholeheartedly.

  I storm over to where my phone is laying on the counter, flipping to the settings and turning off the Bluetooth feature.

  “Ugh. Always on my mind,” I whine like there’s someone else here to hear it.

  Drunken Lyra means all filters are gone, no shits are given. Drunken Lyra doesn’t care much for consequences, so long as they won’t endanger other people’s lives. So, we’ll blame it on drunken Lyra tomorrow when the next actions I’m about to partake in backfire.

  Skimming through my contacts, I find the number I’m seeking and hit send without hesitation.

/>   A rough voice answers after three rings. “Hello?”

  I bite my lip, suddenly losing a little bit of that liquid courage spell I was just under.

  “Hello?” The voice repeats.

  “Oh, um, is this Nash?” I try to sound surprised, but I’m pretty sure the act falls flat.

  “Lyra? What’s wrong?” All the sleep evaporates from his voice in an instant.

  “Nothing. Nothing. I accidently dialed you. Myyy baaaad.” Shit. That sounded pretty intoxicated.

  And fuck if he doesn’t notice. “You’re drunk,” he accuses.

  “Perrrhaps.” Perhaps I suck at this drunken conversation stuff. Why the hell did I call again?

  “Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need a ride?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m cool. I’m at my house and no, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  He’s silent for a few seconds before clearing his throat.

  “Who’s with you?” His tone is still stern.

  I take another sip from the watered-down mixture in my tumbler. “By myself,” I slur. Then I wince, because that sounds lonely and pathetic. Oh, hey Nash. Sorry I accidently called you for no reason when I was drinking by myself and thinking of you. “But I had just invited over this guy I met online, and I was calling to see why he isn’t here yet. I accidently called you instead. His name is Nate, so you can see how the two names would be close on my contact list. I got to go.” Before I embarrass myself.

  I swear I think my mind is playing tricks on me, because it sounds like he growls.

  “Where do you live now anyways, Stars?”

  There goes the use of that name again…Why does it make me melt every time?

  “I built a little place on my family’s property. Ironically, our spot is right in my back-yard.” I wince a second time, not sure why I brought up our old, washed-up friendship that couldn’t even stand the test of time.