Bad Boy Next Door: A Small Town College Bad Boy Romance Read online

  A picture of his taxi follows and then suddenly, a picture of a beach. It looks like sunrise. The sky turning purple over the horizon, ridding the world of the dark blue and washing out the stars. I can nearly hear the tide coming in and the warmth of the sun beginning to creep in. The next few are from the same spot as the sun rises gradually overhead. At first, a few people fill in in front of him, laying out blankets on the beach. Then more, and more until the second to last picture seems to be the middle of the day, and the water was completely obscured by people, the beach turned into a party.

  The last picture is from a beachside porch, bare feet resting on the railing, the sun returning to the horizon and the blue claiming the skies once again. In the forefront is the book, opened to the middle, and a bookmark resting in the spine. The bookmark is just a white piece of paper, and in big block letters is written a single phrase.

  “Who are you?”

  I put the envelope down and grab the camera off my nightstand. It’s time to introduce myself.

  19

  Talon

  Looking through her pictures is such a departure from the life at the beach, but at the same time, it feels like I am back there when I see them, living the slow Virginia life through her eyes. I pick up the latest picture from the stack, finding the best place to poke a hole that won’t obscure anything, and I pin it to the wall. I step back to look at the entirety of my week-long project and shake my head.

  It’s a ridiculous concept, to send each other physical photos from cheap cameras, but the intimacy of it is what appeals to me. No one else has these snippets of her life but the two of us. There are moments of her riding in the car with a friend, hair blowing in her face, and sunglasses obscuring her eyes. Moments of her church group meeting to go over community outreach plans and do Bible Study. Moments from her point of view as she sits on a couch in pajama pants watching TV.

  I glimpse into her life for a few more moments before taking the pictures down and carefully packing them into my suitcase. The red-eye I am going to catch will get me back in town just early enough to drop my bags off at home and head to school. I take out my sketchpad and pencil case and keep it loose. It’s a several hour flight back home, and I will likely end up sketching most of the time.

  Reaching into my pocket and pulling out my wallet, I throw a stack of twenties on the table and walk out. That should cover the holes in the wall and then some. The driver I called for is already in the lobby when I get there, and as I leave the hotel, I drop off one last package to go out in the morning. Like all the others, it is a first-class overnight package, and one last roll of images from my point of view.

  I round the corner, passing by the gym and heading toward my locker when I hear a familiar voice coming from a few yards away. I look up and see Wren’s back to me as she clutches a book in both arms. Her backpack hangs from one shoulder. I stop and watch her for a moment, reconciling the girl standing in front of me with the girl in the pictures. I have seen through her eyes now, and she has seen through mine. I wonder what she thought of my account of spring break. Our pictures were never accompanied by notes or letters, just an overnight package with photographs.

  I put my bag down on the ground and open my locker. Tossing in the books I no longer need; I grab my sketchbook and rifle through the pages to the one I want. Tearing it carefully out of the book, I fold it and close the locker, turning toward Wren. She has now been joined by Isaiah. I bristle. Impulsively, I march over to them and tap her on the shoulder. When she turns, I hold up the folded paper and keep my eyes focused directly into hers. I can feel Isaiah burning holes into me, but I don’t care. This isn’t about him.

  “I drew this on the plane,” I tell her, handing her the drawing.

  “Are you kidding me?” Isaiah fumes from behind her, but I ignore it. I keep my eyes focused on Wren. She opens the paper and smiles.

  Isaiah squares his shoulders to me. “When are you going to learn to back off?”

  “I don’t have to do anything you say,” I growl at him. “You might have forgotten, but Wren is her own person. I can be near her whenever I want to if she wants me to. And I will, even if I have to walk over you to do it.”

  “Talon, don’t,” Wren says, her voice nervous and strained.

  “What’s with this guy, Wren? You’re on his motorcycle, and he’s bringing you up to a bedroom in the middle of a party. What’s going on between you?”

  “Nothing,” Wren says. “I explained what happened at the party.”

  “Just like Valentine’s Day. Somebody had to be there for her. It certainly wasn’t you,” I point out.

  “Valentine’s Day?” Isaiah frowns. “What is he talking about?”

  “Nothing,” Wren says, but it’s too late. I can feel the electricity in the air and know that there are precious few moments before my fist is going to be buried in his face.

  “You didn’t tell him?” I ask.

  “Talon… “

  I look bluntly at Isaiah. “She passed out because of her heart on Valentine’s Day. That seems to be happening a lot recently. I wonder what could be causing her so much stress.”

  “Don’t worry; all her stress will be gone come graduation. You’ll finally be gone, and we’ll be in Boston. Once we get married, she’s never going to have to worry about anything.”

  The faintest hint of a cocky smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and I decide I need to wipe it off. I lunge at him, landing a couple of shots to his cheek, and he stumbles backward into the lockers. I barrel into him, and he reaches for me, trying to grapple with me to the ground. I wrap my arm around his head and start wailing on his back as we tumble to the floor.

  Students in the hall start yelling, some in fear and surprise, and some in the antagonistic way that kids have when they see a fight break out and want to continue the entertainment by calling for more. A chant breaks out of the word ‘fight’ repeated over and over as Isaiah and I roll around on the ground, each trying to get a position of dominance.

  Finally, I feel like I have him, and I shift my weight so that I can trap his body from moving. I rain my fist down into his eye. As soon as my arm reaches back again, it is caught by someone, and I am pulled away by several adults. A few more jump down onto Isaiah to keep him from scrambling back up to continue the fight, and we are finally separated. I’m shoved into an empty classroom by several male teachers.

  In my rage, I didn’t recognize any of the teachers that were pulling me away, but now in the room alone, pacing to let out the energy, I start to become dimly aware of who else is in the room. A trickle of blood slides down my neck from my ear, and I wipe it away, realizing that the ringing sound now has a source. Coach Stefanco is glowering at me from his position guarding the door. He must have been the one to grab my arm. Another teacher who I don’t recognize has his hand on the wall, looking out in the hall through the thin rectangle of glass in the door. Occasionally he looks back to me and then whispers something to the gym teacher. Finally, Coach Stefanco walks away from the door and up to me.

  “Are you calm?” he barks in the no-nonsense way of gym teachers everywhere. I nod, and he looks me over. “Got a busted ear, and you’re gonna have a shiner, son. I’ll get a first aid kit and be back here in a second. Don’t go anywhere until I get back.”

  With that, he walks away and out the door. The teacher I don’t recognize lets him out and then quietly shuts the door behind him. When the Coach returns, Principal Striker is with him. I know what that means. As he enters the room, he looks me over and then lets the Coach get to work wiping off the blood. When I am sufficiently bloodless, he simply motions to me to follow him, and we head out toward his office.

  As I get into the hall, it is almost entirely empty. All of the audience moved on to other things, and now there is only Wren, a guidance counselor, and the Assistant Principal near her, blocking her from view, nodding and speaking quietly. I don’t make eye contact with her as I walk, and only see a glimpse of her face, a
fleeting moment where she looks back at the counselor and nods her head. In her hand is the balled-up drawing. I wonder if she will keep it.

  Before I have a chance to see any more, Coach Stefanco’s hand presses into my back to keep me moving. We walk down a back hallway I barely recognize. It must be mostly freshman lockers, as I have only a vague concept of where we are. Then a turn later and I see where we are going. The doors of the library swing open, and I follow them through the doors and straight to one of the small soundproof rooms with the giant windows, the library keeps for students who want to study or practice instruments.

  I sit heavily on the plastic chair and cross my arms. Principal Striker and Coach Stefanco come into the room and close the door behind them quietly. For a long moment there is silence, aside from a bewildered and angry sound Striker makes as he tries and fails to start speaking. Finally, he seems to gather enough words and looks down at me over his thick-rimmed black glasses, his tall, wiry frame and hooked nose coming just a foot or so from my face.

  “I don’t get you, Talon. But my job isn’t to understand every student or why they do the ridiculously dumb things they do, but to protect them and guide the ones I can. You are throwing your life away, young man, and I, for one, am severely disappointed. We have called your aunt, and she is on her way in to pick you up.”

  I look up at him as he mentions my aunt. I consider explaining myself, but then I shut that down and ask the only question I care about.

  “Is Wren in trouble?”

  Isaiah’s words still stab through me. I can’t stop seeing her eyes when I realized she never told him about me helping her on Valentine’s Day. But I still want them to know she wasn’t involved and shouldn’t be punished.

  “No,” he says, standing again and pushing his glasses back up his nose. “But you are. You are suspended. Two weeks. We will send your work home to you through email. And if this ever happens again, I will not hesitate to expel you.”

  With that, he leaves the room, and Coach Stefanco sits down in silence. We wait that way until my aunt comes, and I endure another long, tense silence before getting home and immediately stepping into a shower. I wash the blood away and then sit on the bottom of the shower, drowning my thoughts and emotions, until the water runs cold.

  20

  Talon

  Everyone is asleep. Of course they are. It’s after midnight, and in the perfect little world they’ve created, that means reality has shut down. Nothing exists after midnight. That’s when everything that sleeps hides from everything they pretend isn’t there. But I am. I’m awake, and I’m angry, and all I want is Wren.

  I got into her room before. It’s not difficult. Despite the struggle, she had the first and only time she snuck out, going from the ground up to the roof of the wraparound porch and into her window is so easy it’s almost like the house was designed for that specific purpose. I crawl up and peer into the window. She has it open, letting in the night breeze, and I easily slip inside.

  Sneaking into and out of places isn’t new for me. I’m adept enough at it that I can land on the floor without her even rustling in her bed. I rise up and walk over to stand beside her and look down at her peaceful face. She’s so beautiful it makes something ache inside me. Maybe it’s not because she’s beautiful. Maybe it’s because of something else. Right now, it doesn’t matter. I just want to be close to her.

  I reach down, aching to run my fingertips along the curve of her jaw. To touch her collarbone. But I hesitate, keeping myself perfectly still above her. She moves slightly in her sleep, letting out a sound somewhere between a groan and a coo. It makes my body react, and my anger spikes a little bit more.

  I don’t want to scare her, so I knock lightly against the windowpane to wake her up. The tiniest sound, but it’s enough to make her eyelids flutter. I crouch low and try to announce myself as gently as I can.

  “It’s me, Little Bird. Wake up,” I whisper.

  Her wide, stormy eyes open and meet mine. Her eyebrows pull together, and she looks something between confused and afraid.

  “Talon? What are you doing?” she asks.

  I rest my finger over my lips.

  “Shhhhhhhh. It’s just me.”

  “Is everything alright? What’s wrong?”

  “My father called me today,” I tell her.

  She nods. “That’s good.”

  I shake my head, turning to slide against the side of her bed, so I sit on the floor, my head back against her mattress.

  “No, it’s not. It’s the first time I’ve heard from him since I moved here, other than the few times he’s sent money into my account. He hasn’t called or emailed. Anything. But then he finds out I got in a fight and was suspended, and he hops right on the phone.”

  Wren pulls herself up, so she’s sitting. “Was he angry?”

  “According to him, he was just disappointed. Somehow that’s worse. It’s like I don’t mean enough to him to work up the energy to be angry with me. I can scream and rage and rip him apart, and all he does is let out of these deep, withering sighs and tell me how disappointed he is. It’s never that he’s disappointed in what I did or in my behavior. Just that he’s disappointed. What I know he means is that he’s disappointed he has me at all.”

  She tips over, so she lies down with her head close to my shoulder, curled on her side, so she’s looking at me.

  “I don’t think that’s true. He’s your father. He loves you. He might not understand you, but you admit you’re not exactly the same as the rest of your family,” she says.

  I turn burning eyes to her. “So, it’s my fault? You’re blaming me for my father tossing me aside and not wanting anything to do with me?”

  “No, Talon. That’s not what I’m saying. Your father does everything he can to let you be who you are without interfering. Maybe he doesn’t know who that is or what he supposed to do for you. He thinks he’s making the best decisions, and just doesn’t know how they affect you,” she suggests.

  “No. That’s not my father. He doesn’t know who I am because he never made any effort to. He acts like he’s perfect like he’s never done anything wrong. It’s like he thinks if he smiles his big fake smile and gives money to all the right charities, people won’t know who he really is. Like every philanthropic endeavor he does, or every impressive meeting he makes erases a time he chose to screw somebody over. People don’t realize even if that was true, he would have to live three lifetimes doing good in order to begin to make atonement for the past.”

  She slides slightly closer to me. I can feel the curve of her body and her thighs inches away from my shoulders and the back of my head. Her head rested on her arms is close enough that if I turn to the side, our noses will brush. She’s enveloping me, and I feel the comfort and reassurance of it start to chip away at the walls I’ve kept up.

  “Why do you say that?” she asks.

  “My whole life, ever since I was little, I don’t remember my parents ever showing each other any affection. Not just that they were disinclined to hug and kiss in public or hang on each other or anything. I mean, even when we were at home. They would walk past each other in rooms and not even acknowledge the other one existed. They could go for days without any contact. Not even a touch on the back or kiss on the cheek in the morning. Nothing. It wasn’t that my mother didn’t try. She cooked for him and played the perfect hostess at every party and event. She tried to reach out to him as much as she could. She changed how she looked, how she dressed. She did everything to get his attention and make him love her. But he was too wrapped up in his affair.”

  “He was cheating on her?” Wren asks.

  “Yeah. By the time I found out, it had been going on for years. It wasn’t even like she was just some woman. He could have been a cliché and dated his secretary or picked up some gold digger in a bar and kept her. But he didn’t. He went after her best friend. My mother was a Cinderella story if there ever was one. It’s a story that could seem really cute if you don
’t know the end of it. They actually met at a bus stop. My father was having a meeting in the city, and a car smashed into a fire hydrant. It completely flooded a whole intersection and made the police shut down the street. His car couldn’t get to him, and my father had a lunch meeting across town. The only choice he had was to get on the bus.”

  “That doesn’t strike me as something he’s done very much in his life,” Wren notes.

  I let out a short, mirthless laugh.

  “No. He’s always been rich. His money comes from his father, and his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father. All the way back pretty much since my family came to this country. He’s never done anything but have the entire world at his feet. Not that he doesn’t work. In fact, that’s pretty much all he’s ever done. His career is his entire existence. The day he met my mother, she was going on an interview. She was just looking for an entry-level position, mailroom, anything. She needed to help her parents and was willing to work as hard as it took to do it. You probably know what happened next,” I say.

  “He gave her a job?”

  “It lasted six months. By then, they were married, and he said his wife wasn’t going to work. Aunt Bree told me everything. He was wonderful when they first got married, but she wondered how much of it was actually my father being wonderful to her and how much was her relief at not having to be afraid or struggle anymore. She was able to take care of my grandparents until they died. When I came along, my father was just happy to have a son he could pass the company along to someday. That’s how he saw me. From the day I was born, I was an heir, not a child. He didn’t spend time playing with me when I was little. I’d go to the office with him, and he would try to teach me about the business. I went to private schools. I had tutors. My mother spent every minute with me she could, but he would pull her away to go to parties or smile on his arm at events. That’s when the nannies would come. I was six when she found out he been sleeping with her best friend since before they even got married. I’ll never forget that.”