Ruthless Love Read online

  Logan and I got out of the car to the sound of a small, but enthusiastic round of cheering.

  “Tristan fucking Blackwood!” Roared a thin, tall guy I didn’t recognize.

  I walked up to him. “Go home.”

  He smiled, clearly confused. “Thought there was going to be a rager tonight. Right?”

  “Not for you. All of you. Fuck off and go home.”

  The group of kids shifted, like they weren’t sure if I was kidding. So, I gave the thin guy a hard shove that sent him stumbling backwards. “Go. The. Fuck. Home.”

  That apparently sent the message, so they all walked off like scolded puppies toward the gate. I thought about what Logan had said in the car—about how I seemed to be going celibate on him.

  “Not you two,” I said, catching the attention of two girls wearing short dresses near the back of the group. “You two come with me.”

  One of the girls bulged her eyes excitedly at the other, and they started coming my way.

  Before they reached me, Haisley walked up and slapped me across the face. My head turned with the surprising force of the blow. I was in a sour mood, but the sting of her palm almost felt good. It didn’t take much to calm myself and show her a casual smile. “Didn’t see you, Haisley.”

  There were two general varieties of hot girls in high school. Type A, which was the type that tries to weaponize their femininity. They’re hot in a “I’ll suck your dick behind the bleachers and brag about it to my friends,” kind of way. Then there’s the Type B girls, who never seemed to belong in my world. They tended to be nice people. They usually wanted to wait until marriage to have sex or they just hadn’t met the right guy yet.

  Haisley was a Type B, and until the end of last school year, we’d been as close to dating as I got—basically meaning I put a pause on any physical activity with other girls for her.

  “That’s probably because your eyes were glued to their asses.” She held up a hand, stopping me before I could reply. “I didn’t show up to fight again. I just wanted to tell you that I’m still willing to try. It was good with us, and I don’t get why you suddenly started trying to push me away.”

  “Like this?” I asked, taking her shoulders and turning her to walk her back down the path with everyone else.

  She spun on me with tears in her eyes. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

  “Good,” I said, voice completely empty of emotion. “Remember that next time you think it would be a good idea to get back together.”

  She half ran down the path. Somewhere in the place my heart should’ve been, I felt a distant pang of guilt.

  Logan blew out a long whistle as he threw on a shirt from his book bag. “You’re fucking ruthless, man. Remind me why we’re friends, again?”

  “Because you know my arm is your best shot of getting your poor ass a scholarship.”

  “Oh,” Logan said, following me inside with the beers in tow. “Right.”

  3

  Kennedy

  I sat at the kitchen table, watching my mom scramble to find all of her things for work.

  I tried a few positions while she wasn’t looking, searching for the one that looked like it was absolutely dripping with casual energy. I settled for resting my chin on my knuckles. “Hey.” I wasn’t sure, but it almost sounded like I hadn’t been strategically planning when and how I’d ask this question for weeks. “With your new schedule, it would be so much easier for you if we just skipped the homeschooling thing.”

  “Your brain would rot out of your head.” She sounded distracted as she was digging through boxes for something.

  “No.” I tried not to let the disappointment bleed into my voice. “I mean I could go to regular school. It’d be my senior year, and I could at least get to feel what it’s like to have a little bit more of a normal life.”

  Unfortunately, that got her full attention. “Out of the question. You know I’ve done everything I can to keep your father from finding us. Do you really thinking slapping your name all over the internet on class rosters and God only knows what else would be a good idea?”

  I’d expected that response and had prepared an argument. “I won’t join any teams or whatever. Just… normal stuff. At worst, my name would be in maybe one place, and I won’t show up for picture day. I looked it up, if they try to reschedule your school photo too many times and fail, they’ll just leave you out of the yearbook. It would just be a name on the internet. No face, no details. Please, mom.”

  She finally found what she was looking for and rushed toward the door. I wheeled my chair behind her, waiting for a response while I held my breath.

  “No. It’s too dangerous. And spending all day away from the house with your condition? No,” she said again, shaking her head as if to herself. “It’s impossible. I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ve got to go.”

  I waited until I heard her car pull out, then I went outside. A few hours ago, I’d started hearing the faint thumping of music in the direction of the gate, and I wanted to get a closer look.

  Getting my chair across the grass and up to the dirt road that led back to the gate wasn’t exactly easy, but my arms had grown strong from all the time I’d been spending in the chair lately. There were dozens of cars parked outside the gate, but I didn’t see any sign of people.

  I decided I could at least get a little closer, so I made my way up to the gate itself and saw that the doors were wide open.

  If they didn’t want people to come in, they would keep them closed, right?

  I made my way down a winding path flanked by tall, dark forest on either side. I was getting close enough that I could hear loud voices and distant splashing now.

  I thought I was almost to the source of the noise when I heard the sound of footsteps coming from just ahead of me. In a moment of dumb panic, I tried to ease my chair off the road and into the softly sloping underbrush. I lost friction and went sliding a few feet until one of my wheels caught on a rock, sending me flying from the chair and into a bush.

  For a few seconds, all I could do was try to focus on calming the dizziness, so I didn’t throw up all over myself. Once it started to subside, I realized the people I’d heard were all standing on the path, squinting down toward where I’d undoubtedly just made several very loud noises.

  “The fuck was that?” Asked a guy with a deep voice.

  “Probably a bear,” said another guy.

  The group of people were just silhouettes to me in the faint moonlight. I could tell from the broad frames that four of them were guys. Two girls were leaning on either arm of one of the guys.

  “Yo,” one male voice said once they seemed to get bored of staring into the darkness toward me. “I saw there was a shitty car parked out front of that shack in front of your house. Looks like you got yourself a new neighbor.”

  “Yeah. Some girl in a wheelchair. I saw her out back with this weird fucking spear thing. She was covered in sweat, too.”

  They all laughed, and I felt my face burning. I hadn’t quite considered how crazy I must’ve looked with my makeshift weed-cutter. No wonder he had sped off.

  “Oh, shit,” one of the guys said. “It was in my pocket the whole time.”

  “Dumbass,” laughed someone.

  Three of the guys and the two girls headed back, but one stayed on the path.

  “You coming, Tristan?” Asked a voice from the group.

  “In a minute,” he said.

  I recognized the voice. So the guy I’d seen in the car was Tristan.

  My heart felt like it shrank in on itself when he turned his attention back to where I’d fallen and took a step toward me. Oh shit. Had he seen me? The time for waving my hand and casually explaining what had happened was long gone. Now I was the creep who sat, tangled in a bush and eavesdropped on his conversation.

  I was trying desperately to think of a way to explain myself when a girl came from the other direction.

  Tristan turned to look at her, giving me a moment to breathe a s
igh of relief.

  “I thought I was pretty clear, Haisely.” He spoke so coldly to her it made me want to shiver.

  “You were. And I am pissed at myself for being so stupidly desperate that I can’t just let it go. But… What we had was special. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel that, too. I mean, it was like a switch flipped one day and you—”

  Without warning, Tristan stomped through the undergrowth toward me. I tried to hold my breath, but it didn’t work. He dug in the bush and yanked me out, tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  “Hi,” I whispered.

  He carried me back up to where the girl was and gave me a slap on the ass. I jumped, eyes bulging. Did he seriously just—

  “Actually,” he said. “Gotta head inside, so if there was nothing else—”

  “What the hell?” The girl named Haisley shrieked.

  Tristan shrugged, rocking me dizzying on his huge shoulder as he did so. “I was saving this one for later, but your constant begging left a bad taste in my mouth. So, I think I’ll have her tonight.”

  I lifted my head to look at the girl he was talking to and saw she looked as confused as I felt. She was gorgeous, though. It shouldn’t have surprised me. The little glimpse I’d had of Tristan behind the wheel of his car was the stuff to inspire vivid, dirty dreams. All I could see now was a way-too-close view of his broad back as he carried me toward the house.

  “Put me down,” I yelled suddenly, slamming two fists that seemed ridiculously small against his back.

  “I will. Once we get to my room.”

  I got the upside down, nauseatingly dizzy view of the party as we moved across what I assumed was the front lawn. I saw people holding red cups, entire liquor bottles, and cans of beer. Several raised them at us when we passed, like Tristan was some kind of ancient god claiming his virginal sacrifice for the night.

  As much as I wanted to fight and squirm my way out of his grasp, the way my head was swimming had me doing everything I could not to puke. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on trying to overcome the urge.

  He took me inside, through a room where more people talked and laughed, up a flight of stairs, and into another room. He plopped me down on his bed like he was throwing off his book bag after a long day.

  I put my hand to my mouth, squeezed my eyes shut, and willed myself not to blow chunks all over his bed.

  Tristan sat down against the far wall, leaning his head back with his forearms resting on his knees.

  I got my first real look at him then, except it was all a slight blur without my glasses, which were gathering dirt somewhere in the woods along with my wheelchair. He had messy, dark hair with full lips that I knew hundreds of girls must have dreamed of kissing. I watched while he sat there with his eyes closed, thinking about God knew what. Based on what I’d seen of him so far, I imagined he was probably fantasizing about squishing bugs or making someone cry.

  He was dressed like a movie star, with a set of black, fraying bracelets on one wrist, and a shirt that looked like the kind of thing rich people paid a lot of money for, even though it was basically just a shirt. His dark jeans hugged long legs that looked like they were made for more than just walking.

  I had to admit he was something else, especially when my real-life experience with boys was depressingly limited.

  “Is this what you do?” I demanded. “You throw girls on your bed and, what? Brood them to sleep?”

  Tristan cracked his eyes open to regard me. His tone was so casual and detatched I could’ve almost thought he was talking to himself. “You’re the girl who lives in the shack.”

  “It’s a house. Two stories, fifteen hundred square feet. It’s hardly a shack, and my mom—”

  He waved his hand dismissively as he stood. “I’m going to go back to the party for a while. I’d tell you not to go anywhere, but it looks like you’re short a couple wheels, aren’t you?”

  I glared up at him. I was really, really tempted to get up and charge him, just in hopes that I’d get to see the surprised shock on his face. In all likelihood, I’d only end up running face first into a wall or falling over, so I stayed where I was.

  “Can you please just take me back home? If I’m not back before my mom, she’s going to murder me.”

  He stopped with his hand on the door. “You didn’t see? Your chair was busted to shit. It sounds like you’re dead either way, to me. So, what’s it going to be, Wheels? You wanna die tonight, or in the morning?”

  “Neither?” I tried, feeling desperate. Was he seriously planning to leave me here? “We could—”

  He flashed a grin that was so wicked it made my skin prickle. Blurry vision and low light or not, I knew in that moment that Tristan was not a good person. “There’s no ‘we.’ You’re a problem I intend to solve. So, I’m going to go have fun, and when I come back, we’ll chat about why you’re going to keep your nose in your own fucking business from now on. Understand?”

  “Next time you don’t want someone in your business, try leaving them in the bush you find them in,” I half-shouted at the closing door.

  I closed my eyes and let my head flop to the pillow. Leave them in the bush you find them in? I groaned and waited for him to come back, wondering how many people would come to my funeral. Probably just my mom, I decided.

  Then again, maybe murdering somebody was an automatic un-invite to the funeral.

  * * *

  I sucked in a surprised breath and sat upright. A lock of hair was plastered across my mouth and cheek by saliva. I cringed, trying to peel it away while my brain played catchup.

  Boy stuff.

  Black, evil prince sheets.

  Pile of football pads and a helmet by the bathroom door that probably stank.

  My heart pounded. Shit. I’d fallen asleep. I pulled myself out of the blankets I didn’t remember getting into and looked for the shoes I didn’t remember taking off. I found them sitting on the nightstand, along with my socks. I gave both a curious look, then decided I must’ve just forgotten going to sleep.

  I instinctively reached for the pill bottles that would’ve been beside my bed and felt my stomach drop.

  My medications. It was all at home, and I hadn’t even taken the ones I was supposed to have before bed last night.

  It felt like I was going to hyperventilate. Without trying to, my mind started running through all the things my mom said could happen if I missed my pills. I checked my arms for hives, then took a deep breath and tried to sense if I was having trouble breathing. I felt my pulse and scrunched up my face, listening for anything strange.

  I decided it didn’t matter. I was close enough to my house that I just needed to get the hell out of here and get home. Mom could kill me later, but if I didn’t get those pills, one of my conditions would probably do the job for her.

  I heard Tristan shout something downstairs—except, no. That wasn’t his voice. It was deeper, and different somehow. I guessed that maybe people had stayed all night from the party. Or more likely, he had been caught by his parents. I wondered if he’d expected them to be out of town and they came home without warning.

  Curiosity compelled me to give standing a try. Listening to Tristan get grilled by his parents felt like a small, much needed dose of mental catharsis after what he put me through last night. If I could just brace myself all the way to the door and then the hallway beyond, I could probably fight through the dizziness. Hell, who was I kidding? I was so curious I’d get on my belly and slither to the hallway if I had to.

  But when I stood, I was shocked to find that only a slight bout of lightheadedness hit. I took a few cautious steps and barely had to support myself to walk. I wondered if it was just the adrenaline.

  Once I got to the stairs, I made out the tail end of what the man was shouting about.

  “…last fucking straw. Do you understand?” It was that deep voice I was now sure belonged to an adult.

  “Yes.” Tristan’s voice was quiet, but not the cold a
nd uncaring way I’d heard last night.

  I moved down the hallway, hoping no floorboards would creak on the way. I got to the staircase and could see Tristan now, as well as the man standing in front of him. I couldn’t be sure, but the handsome features of the man made me wonder if it was Tristan’s father.

  “What do you tell them?” the man asked in a mocking, cruel way.

  “I don’t…” Tristan was speaking so softly I could barely hear him. His head was hanging, like he couldn’t bear to look the man in the face.

  The man scoffed. He took a step toward the door, then a thought seemed to occur to him. He walked back to Tristan and gave him a hard shove that sent him staggering out of my view. “Clean this fucking place up.”

  I stared in disbelief as the man walked out, slamming the door behind him. I felt overwhelmingly guilty for eavesdropping on that, and my guilt made me walk as quietly back to the bed as I could.

  I lay there, squinting up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what pieces of the puzzle I was missing. Everything had made sense, except when he asked Tristan ‘what do you tell them.’ No matter what context I put it in, nothing felt quite right.

  I still hadn’t figured it out when I heard him coming upstairs.

  He stood in the doorway, looking nothing like the person I’d just seen hanging his head and getting screamed at downstairs. If anything, he looked even more in control than he had last night.

  Tristan approached the bed, showing no hint of the conversation I’d overheard in his expression. “Time for you to die.”

  I screamed at the top of my lungs, scooting back and holding my hands up.

  Tristan paused. He was looking at me like I’d lost my mind. “Not literally. Jesus. You said your mom was going to kill you.”

  I grinned, laughing a little nervously. “Got you.” I blasted him with double finger guns, internally wincing at how awkward I could be.

  Tristan ignored me and went to scoop me up from the bed. He stopped, then noticed my socks and shoes were on. “What did you hear?”