Feuds and reckless fury, p.4
Feuds and Reckless Fury, page 4
“Don’t call me that,” Canyon hisses.
Ryan’s lips purse together, and he gives him a sharp nod. “So, uh, track, huh? Why the sudden change?”
Canyon’s grin is crooked and handsome but so fucking evil. Naturally, it’s directed my way. “Alis inspired me.”
Dad clutches my shoulder and squeezes. “He is pretty amazing.”
Canyon can barely hide his disdain for me, but I shoot Dad a wide smile to distract him. It doesn’t feel as though Dad will kick me out on my ass when I graduate, but I’ll be damned if I take any chances. I sure as hell won’t let Canyon start making a mess of my carefully held-together life.
“Did Alis tell you we’re in all of the same classes too?” Canyon asks, his stare still on me, hard and unyielding.
“You’re taking AP classes?” Ryan utters, shock in his tone. “No shit?”
“My other classes were boring last year. Now that I’m not playing football, I can do it.” Canyon shrugs as though the explanation is simple. As though he isn’t really doing all this shit to terrorize me.
“I’m…I’m really proud of you.” Ryan smiles and shares a secret look with Dad. “How’s Carrie doing?”
As Canyon fills his father in on Carrie’s progress, I swallow down the dread that’s building. Whatever Canyon is up to has the potential to ruin everything. I’ll need to be two steps ahead of him because it’s obvious I’m the center of his focus of destruction. Why? I have no fucking idea, but my guess is it’ll inadvertently piss off his dad.
When Ryan and Dad get back on the subject of wedding plans, I tune them out and pin Canyon with a challenging stare.
Try it, motherfucker.
I dare you.
The curl of his upper lip says he’s going to take that dare.
Unbelievable.
Canyon
I manage to make dinner awkward as hell, which pleases me to no end. Seeing Alis all flustered was better than the tacos Quinn made. It has me wanting to poke at him even more.
After dinner, Alis disappeared, leaving me to help our dads clean up. No one offers where he went, and I’m too stubborn to ask. I’ve just loaded the last plate into the dishwasher when Quinn answers my question without me having to ask.
“He’s in his studio.” Pride washes over Quinn’s features lighting up his green eyes and revealing a wide smile. “He won’t mind if you go take a look.”
Curiosity gets the better of me. I give Quinn a nod and then follow him through the house to a door. Quinn doesn’t enter but instead gestures for me to go inside alone. As soon as I step into the space, it’s as though I’ve gone someplace different altogether. The rest of Quinn’s home is massive and sleek, something I already noticed—at least from the living room—the few times I’d been forced to come here before I knew Dad was fucking him. Every detail of the house is meticulously designed and decorated to match the only room I’d ever really been in.
Not here.
In this room, the lights are bright, and it’s fairly sparse when it comes to furniture, but it’s littered with projects, both finished and unfinished sculptures. Standing in the middle of the room with his back to me, Alis is hard at work on a clay piece that looks to be a man’s torso. He’s bent over as he closely inspects it. The familiar beat of “Still Be Friends” by G-Eazy, Tory Lanez, and Tyga plays in the background.
I expect to get a nasty look from Alis, but he’s in a zone, focused on his work. There’s a stool in one corner, and I silently slide onto it so I can watch him. He uses a metal tool to carve along the clay, adding more definition to the right pectoral muscle on his sculpture. I let my stare roam across the various pieces in the studio. They’re all incredibly detailed and intricate. If I didn’t hate the guy, I’d be impressed with his talent.
But I do hate him.
I stiffen at the reminder.
“The shoulder is wrong,” I blurt out, announcing my presence.
A metal tool clatters to the table, and Alis’s body goes still. Slowly, he turns his head, an annoyed glint flickering in his deep brown eyes.
“It’s not finished.” His tone is defensive. “Go away.”
“Don’t be like that, bro,” I sneer at him, pleased as hell to throw the word that dug into me all day like a knife back at him. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help.”
He turns back to his sculpture, dismissing me. As if I’d actually leave. It’s like he still doesn’t understand my level of dedication to the ruination of everyone who lives in this house.
“Still here?” he snaps.
I bark out a laugh. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
He ignores me, his focus once again on his project. I can tell the moment he forgets I’m here because his body goes from being tense to loose again. Quickly, he carves and pokes and smooths the brown clay. His finger dips into the navel of the sculpture. The delicate way he rubs inside of it has me lifting an amused brow.
“Don’t mind me,” I say as I slide off the stool and approach him. “Keep making love to him. I’m into voyeurism.”
He pretends not to hear me, though I do notice the way his neck muscle ticks. I have the urge to run my finger along the skin there to see if it feels as tight as it looks.
I try not to read into that desire as anything more than curiosity.
“This should curve in more,” I tell him, teasing my finger along the shoulder muscle on his project. “It’s too flat.”
“It’s not too flat,” he argues back, his deep, empty eyes like bottomless pits of hell. “Get the fuck out of my studio.”
I reach behind me to grab the material of my shirt and pull it up over my head. He goes from pissed to shocked in half a second. His gaze sweeps over the muscle in question, the artist side of his brain taking over the sane part of him. He studies my flesh with critical eyes that bring warmth dancing across my skin.
Which is stupid.
As if I care about what he thinks of me.
My body is not just defined, but it’s solid with hard-earned muscles, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of, even if he is frowning hard. I slightly flex my triceps, making the muscles pop just as the sculpture should be. With his stare flying back and forth from my body to his clay piece, he seems to forget that he hates me and uses me to perfect his art.
I shouldn’t be helping him.
But the thought of him seeing me anytime he looks at this artwork is enough to have me holding still. It’ll be a sweet sort of torture. The gift that keeps on giving. A monster for a muse.
I’m not an idiot. I know Alis finds me attractive. Using that against him is a temptation I can’t walk away from.
I’ll slice into Alister Sommers with any weapon I can.
This one might hurt the worst, which has me grinning.
“Your evil smile doesn’t intimidate me,” he mutters, brown eyes briefly finding mine before they’re back on his art. “But if it makes you feel better, go ahead and believe it.”
“Does my dick intimidate you?” I taunt, pretending to reach for the button on my jeans.
“If I add that to my piece, I’m going to need more clay.” His challenging smirk rattles me for a moment. “Remember, I felt how big your hard-on was in the kitchen.”
Fucker.
“I wasn’t hard for you,” I snap back, taking his stupid bait and letting him win this round.
“Oh,” he says, feigning surprise. “If that was you soft, I can’t begin to imagine what you’d feel like hard.”
His words have a flood of embarrassing heat rushing down to my dick. To my utter disbelief, my cock thickens in my jeans. I’m frozen in horror, but he’s once more distracted by the clay. I let out a relieved breath of air that he didn’t witness what his stupid words did to me.
“We don’t have to be enemies,” he murmurs, his brows furrowed in concentration. “In fact, it would benefit us if we could find a way to be civil to each other.”
I clench my jaw, raking my gaze over his stupid bleached hair that doesn’t match his dark eyebrows. My eyes settle on his pink bottom lip that’s slightly swollen from the way he tugs on it with his teeth when he’s focused.
“I much prefer this arrangement,” I murmur, my words coming out husky for some reason.
His lips kick up on one side in a teasing grin. “You half-naked and alone with me?”
Explosive anger detonates inside me. I grab hold of the front of his shirt, yanking him across the table beside his sculpture. He grunts as the edge presses into his stomach. The deep, dark windows into his wicked soul bore into me far too closely for my liking.
Fuck.
His scent floods my nostrils—lime and coconut. It’s an odd scent that has me curious. He doesn’t smell like a typical guy. He smells like pie.
“Why do you smell like that?” I demand, distracted by the way his hand, stained by the clay, grips my wrist.
“Like what?” His brows furl in confusion. “Clay?”
“No. You smell…”
“What?”
“Sweet,” I growl. “Like pie or the beach or summer or some shit.”
His grin is wide and victorious. “Why don’t you have a little taste and see for yourself?”
I release him, jerking my hand back as though he burned it. The smugness clouding around him is cloying and toxic. I don’t like verbally sparring with this little fucker.
I’d rather beat his ass the good old-fashioned way with my fist to his face.
“Watch your back tomorrow,” I snap, storming toward the door.
“Oh, brother, doggy style is so much fun,” he croons in a taunting way. “How did you know I prefer to bottom?”
“Fuck you, Wonderland.”
“One can certainly hope.”
The fucker winks at me, and it’s all I can do to hightail it out of that house before I get my ass landed in jail for stabbing Alis Sommers with one of his stupid sculpture tools.
It’s after midnight when I hear the front door open.
Unbelievable.
I fling off my blanket and storm through the house until I find my sister. She’s trying to sneak in, but I’m ready for her.
“What the hell?” I demand as I take in her disheveled appearance. “Where have you been?”
She rolls her eyes, which grates on my nerves. “None of your business because you’re not my dad.”
I get a whiff of beer, and it takes everything in me not to go off on her. Sure, when I was sixteen, I had already started drinking sometimes with my friends, but it doesn’t mean it’s okay for my little sister to do the same.
“Want me to call Dad?” I threaten, crossing my arms over my chest.
“As if you’d actually talk to him.”
“I had dinner with him tonight,” I throw back at her.
Her lashes blink hard as she considers my words. “You had dinner? With Dad?”
“That’s what I said.”
“What about Mom?” she snaps, waving angrily toward Mom’s room.
I let out a harsh breath of air, shrugging. “It’s not like she cares anymore anyway.”
My words may as well have slapped Carrie because she stumbles back, holding her hand over her mouth as tears fill her blue eyes that look just like mine.
“She’s depressed, asshole.” She swipes away a tear that escapes before poking me hard in the middle of my chest. “But that’s what the men in this family do, huh? When shit gets tough, they bail.”
“Carrie, that’s enough—”
“You’re right. It is. I’ll find my own ride tomorrow.”
With those words, she storms into her room, slamming the door behind her. I wait for Mom to get up to see what the commotion is about, but the house is silent.
I walk down the hall and peek in on our mother. She’s sleeping peacefully in the same position as before. Bending over, I plant a kiss on her head and turn off the television.
“Night, Mom.”
“Night, Canny.”
I cringe as I stand in the dark and listen to her soft breathing. Did she hear Carrie’s and my argument? Does she think I’m a traitor too?
Guilt is a stifling cloud around me. I suck in a sharp breath and bolt from her room. It isn’t until I’m lying face down on my bed that my heart and erratic thoughts begin to calm. By one in the morning, I realize I haven’t messaged Naomi to tell her good night.
But then I think about what an asshole I was to her earlier today. She’s still pissed, hence why there’s no text waiting for me. With a heavy sigh, I toss my phone away from me. My thoughts drift from the girl who deserves better than my moody ass to someone else.
Taunting, dark brown eyes mock me from behind my lids as sleep overtakes me.
Fucking Alister Sommers.
He may not have been the one to start this shit—that’s on Dad and always will be—but it’s him who will end it because I’m committed to destroying him.
And once I’ve broken them all, I can fix Mom.
Carrie too.
Maybe even me.
Alister
Today, I’m ready for him.
I’ll be damned if I let this guy catch me off guard ever again. He thinks because he’s bigger than me and king of the school that he’ll waltz right into my life, fuck it up, and move along on his merry little way.
Fuck that.
And fuck him.
I’m waiting by the door of our first hour, eager to poke the bear like he spent all day yesterday doing to me when my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and frown to see the unknown number again.
Unknown Number: Won’t be long now.
Laughter distracts me from the message. I follow the sounds to see Canyon walking toward me. His phone is in hand, and he’s smiling at it. Naomi walks beside him, a frown marring her face. He doesn’t notice when she speeds up, leaving him by himself.
“Really?” she mutters as she passes me.
I bristle at her judgmental tone. I’m not the one who started this shit. It was her beastly boyfriend. Naomi Young can look down at me all she wants, but I refuse to be the bigger man while her asshole boyfriend stomps all over me.
She disappears into the classroom, and Canyon finally realizes Naomi is nowhere in sight. The smile on his face is wiped away, and he pockets his phone. As soon as his blue eyes notice me, his blank expression turns into a dark scowl.
“Trouble in paradise?” I say in a chipper greeting. “Did you tell her about last night?”
His face burns bright red, which only serves to make me laugh. I knew this would work. I just didn’t know it would be so easy.
“Nothing happened last night,” he bites back, his voice low.
“I meant the fight with your dad.” I lift a brow at him. “I didn’t mean the part where you took your shirt off for me and let me use you for my art.”
As expected, he goes off.
His massive hands grab my shirt, and he shoves me against the wall. Electric blue eyes sear into me. I’m taken aback by his scent—a cologne I’ve salivated over one too many times when I’ve gone to Hollister at the mall. Come to think of it, Canyon is a poster boy for that store. He should really look into modeling.
“I know what you’re doing,” he growls. “You’re flirting with me to piss me off.”
“It’s working beautifully.”
His nostrils flare. “It won’t work.”
“It already has, bro.”
“No,” he murmurs, his voice going husky and making all the hairs on my arms stand on end. “All it does is make you look like a desperate queer aching for the dick of someone he can’t have.” The fury melts away as he gives me an arrogant lift of his chin. “Imagine how disappointed your daddy would be in you if he knew you were trying to get into my pants.”
I tense at his words but wisely keep my mouth shut.
“That’s what I thought.” He winks at me. “You’ll do anything to please Quinn. I wonder why that is. It’s almost as if you think—”
“Voss. Sommers. Is there a problem here, boys?” assistant principal, Mr. Martin, asks as he approaches.
Canyon’s evil face transforms into a smile that is charming enough to convince anyone of anything. “Just giving my brother a pep talk. I heard someone beat his time yesterday. He’s kind of torn up about it.”
Mr. Martin’s eyes narrow as he darts them my way. “What’s really going on here?”
I playfully shove Canyon away from me, adopting the same deceptive smile he’s wearing. “My humble brother here failed to mention he was the one who beat me yesterday. The football team sure is going to miss him.”
Mr. Martin shakes his head and huffs. “You two do realize you’re not brothers yet, right? And I’m not an idiot. There’s some animosity going on with the two of you, and I won’t stand for it.” He lifts a brow, pinning me with a firm stare. “Do I need to call your fathers?”
“No,” I bark out. “We’ve come to an agreement. He’ll stay in his lane, and I’ll stay in mine. Everything’s fine, Mr. Martin.”
“Then get into Garrison’s class before the bell rings, or I’ll pull you both in for detention.”
Getting detention is not an option.
Dad would be disgusted with me.
“Yes, sir,” I grit out and dart into the classroom. “Sorry.”
Canyon ambles behind me, chuckling under his breath. This motherfucker is going to make me lose my shit. The only two places open are two desks beside each other. I take the one behind Leon, and he sits behind Naomi. Maybe she’ll distract the idiot long enough for me to regroup.
After the bell rings and the trig lecture begins, I pull out my phone and save the unknown number in my contact list as “Brother Lover.”
Canyon’s smugness is almost gag-worthy, and I avoid his constant smirks. If he continues to pay more attention to me than his studies, I won’t have to worry about him in all my AP classes too much longer. He’ll get his ass tossed back into regular ed so fast his head will spin. Now I just need to focus on a way to destroy him in track, too, so he can go back to tossing the football around and stay out of my sport.
At least there’s one place he can’t reach me.
Ryan’s lips purse together, and he gives him a sharp nod. “So, uh, track, huh? Why the sudden change?”
Canyon’s grin is crooked and handsome but so fucking evil. Naturally, it’s directed my way. “Alis inspired me.”
Dad clutches my shoulder and squeezes. “He is pretty amazing.”
Canyon can barely hide his disdain for me, but I shoot Dad a wide smile to distract him. It doesn’t feel as though Dad will kick me out on my ass when I graduate, but I’ll be damned if I take any chances. I sure as hell won’t let Canyon start making a mess of my carefully held-together life.
“Did Alis tell you we’re in all of the same classes too?” Canyon asks, his stare still on me, hard and unyielding.
“You’re taking AP classes?” Ryan utters, shock in his tone. “No shit?”
“My other classes were boring last year. Now that I’m not playing football, I can do it.” Canyon shrugs as though the explanation is simple. As though he isn’t really doing all this shit to terrorize me.
“I’m…I’m really proud of you.” Ryan smiles and shares a secret look with Dad. “How’s Carrie doing?”
As Canyon fills his father in on Carrie’s progress, I swallow down the dread that’s building. Whatever Canyon is up to has the potential to ruin everything. I’ll need to be two steps ahead of him because it’s obvious I’m the center of his focus of destruction. Why? I have no fucking idea, but my guess is it’ll inadvertently piss off his dad.
When Ryan and Dad get back on the subject of wedding plans, I tune them out and pin Canyon with a challenging stare.
Try it, motherfucker.
I dare you.
The curl of his upper lip says he’s going to take that dare.
Unbelievable.
Canyon
I manage to make dinner awkward as hell, which pleases me to no end. Seeing Alis all flustered was better than the tacos Quinn made. It has me wanting to poke at him even more.
After dinner, Alis disappeared, leaving me to help our dads clean up. No one offers where he went, and I’m too stubborn to ask. I’ve just loaded the last plate into the dishwasher when Quinn answers my question without me having to ask.
“He’s in his studio.” Pride washes over Quinn’s features lighting up his green eyes and revealing a wide smile. “He won’t mind if you go take a look.”
Curiosity gets the better of me. I give Quinn a nod and then follow him through the house to a door. Quinn doesn’t enter but instead gestures for me to go inside alone. As soon as I step into the space, it’s as though I’ve gone someplace different altogether. The rest of Quinn’s home is massive and sleek, something I already noticed—at least from the living room—the few times I’d been forced to come here before I knew Dad was fucking him. Every detail of the house is meticulously designed and decorated to match the only room I’d ever really been in.
Not here.
In this room, the lights are bright, and it’s fairly sparse when it comes to furniture, but it’s littered with projects, both finished and unfinished sculptures. Standing in the middle of the room with his back to me, Alis is hard at work on a clay piece that looks to be a man’s torso. He’s bent over as he closely inspects it. The familiar beat of “Still Be Friends” by G-Eazy, Tory Lanez, and Tyga plays in the background.
I expect to get a nasty look from Alis, but he’s in a zone, focused on his work. There’s a stool in one corner, and I silently slide onto it so I can watch him. He uses a metal tool to carve along the clay, adding more definition to the right pectoral muscle on his sculpture. I let my stare roam across the various pieces in the studio. They’re all incredibly detailed and intricate. If I didn’t hate the guy, I’d be impressed with his talent.
But I do hate him.
I stiffen at the reminder.
“The shoulder is wrong,” I blurt out, announcing my presence.
A metal tool clatters to the table, and Alis’s body goes still. Slowly, he turns his head, an annoyed glint flickering in his deep brown eyes.
“It’s not finished.” His tone is defensive. “Go away.”
“Don’t be like that, bro,” I sneer at him, pleased as hell to throw the word that dug into me all day like a knife back at him. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help.”
He turns back to his sculpture, dismissing me. As if I’d actually leave. It’s like he still doesn’t understand my level of dedication to the ruination of everyone who lives in this house.
“Still here?” he snaps.
I bark out a laugh. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
He ignores me, his focus once again on his project. I can tell the moment he forgets I’m here because his body goes from being tense to loose again. Quickly, he carves and pokes and smooths the brown clay. His finger dips into the navel of the sculpture. The delicate way he rubs inside of it has me lifting an amused brow.
“Don’t mind me,” I say as I slide off the stool and approach him. “Keep making love to him. I’m into voyeurism.”
He pretends not to hear me, though I do notice the way his neck muscle ticks. I have the urge to run my finger along the skin there to see if it feels as tight as it looks.
I try not to read into that desire as anything more than curiosity.
“This should curve in more,” I tell him, teasing my finger along the shoulder muscle on his project. “It’s too flat.”
“It’s not too flat,” he argues back, his deep, empty eyes like bottomless pits of hell. “Get the fuck out of my studio.”
I reach behind me to grab the material of my shirt and pull it up over my head. He goes from pissed to shocked in half a second. His gaze sweeps over the muscle in question, the artist side of his brain taking over the sane part of him. He studies my flesh with critical eyes that bring warmth dancing across my skin.
Which is stupid.
As if I care about what he thinks of me.
My body is not just defined, but it’s solid with hard-earned muscles, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of, even if he is frowning hard. I slightly flex my triceps, making the muscles pop just as the sculpture should be. With his stare flying back and forth from my body to his clay piece, he seems to forget that he hates me and uses me to perfect his art.
I shouldn’t be helping him.
But the thought of him seeing me anytime he looks at this artwork is enough to have me holding still. It’ll be a sweet sort of torture. The gift that keeps on giving. A monster for a muse.
I’m not an idiot. I know Alis finds me attractive. Using that against him is a temptation I can’t walk away from.
I’ll slice into Alister Sommers with any weapon I can.
This one might hurt the worst, which has me grinning.
“Your evil smile doesn’t intimidate me,” he mutters, brown eyes briefly finding mine before they’re back on his art. “But if it makes you feel better, go ahead and believe it.”
“Does my dick intimidate you?” I taunt, pretending to reach for the button on my jeans.
“If I add that to my piece, I’m going to need more clay.” His challenging smirk rattles me for a moment. “Remember, I felt how big your hard-on was in the kitchen.”
Fucker.
“I wasn’t hard for you,” I snap back, taking his stupid bait and letting him win this round.
“Oh,” he says, feigning surprise. “If that was you soft, I can’t begin to imagine what you’d feel like hard.”
His words have a flood of embarrassing heat rushing down to my dick. To my utter disbelief, my cock thickens in my jeans. I’m frozen in horror, but he’s once more distracted by the clay. I let out a relieved breath of air that he didn’t witness what his stupid words did to me.
“We don’t have to be enemies,” he murmurs, his brows furrowed in concentration. “In fact, it would benefit us if we could find a way to be civil to each other.”
I clench my jaw, raking my gaze over his stupid bleached hair that doesn’t match his dark eyebrows. My eyes settle on his pink bottom lip that’s slightly swollen from the way he tugs on it with his teeth when he’s focused.
“I much prefer this arrangement,” I murmur, my words coming out husky for some reason.
His lips kick up on one side in a teasing grin. “You half-naked and alone with me?”
Explosive anger detonates inside me. I grab hold of the front of his shirt, yanking him across the table beside his sculpture. He grunts as the edge presses into his stomach. The deep, dark windows into his wicked soul bore into me far too closely for my liking.
Fuck.
His scent floods my nostrils—lime and coconut. It’s an odd scent that has me curious. He doesn’t smell like a typical guy. He smells like pie.
“Why do you smell like that?” I demand, distracted by the way his hand, stained by the clay, grips my wrist.
“Like what?” His brows furl in confusion. “Clay?”
“No. You smell…”
“What?”
“Sweet,” I growl. “Like pie or the beach or summer or some shit.”
His grin is wide and victorious. “Why don’t you have a little taste and see for yourself?”
I release him, jerking my hand back as though he burned it. The smugness clouding around him is cloying and toxic. I don’t like verbally sparring with this little fucker.
I’d rather beat his ass the good old-fashioned way with my fist to his face.
“Watch your back tomorrow,” I snap, storming toward the door.
“Oh, brother, doggy style is so much fun,” he croons in a taunting way. “How did you know I prefer to bottom?”
“Fuck you, Wonderland.”
“One can certainly hope.”
The fucker winks at me, and it’s all I can do to hightail it out of that house before I get my ass landed in jail for stabbing Alis Sommers with one of his stupid sculpture tools.
It’s after midnight when I hear the front door open.
Unbelievable.
I fling off my blanket and storm through the house until I find my sister. She’s trying to sneak in, but I’m ready for her.
“What the hell?” I demand as I take in her disheveled appearance. “Where have you been?”
She rolls her eyes, which grates on my nerves. “None of your business because you’re not my dad.”
I get a whiff of beer, and it takes everything in me not to go off on her. Sure, when I was sixteen, I had already started drinking sometimes with my friends, but it doesn’t mean it’s okay for my little sister to do the same.
“Want me to call Dad?” I threaten, crossing my arms over my chest.
“As if you’d actually talk to him.”
“I had dinner with him tonight,” I throw back at her.
Her lashes blink hard as she considers my words. “You had dinner? With Dad?”
“That’s what I said.”
“What about Mom?” she snaps, waving angrily toward Mom’s room.
I let out a harsh breath of air, shrugging. “It’s not like she cares anymore anyway.”
My words may as well have slapped Carrie because she stumbles back, holding her hand over her mouth as tears fill her blue eyes that look just like mine.
“She’s depressed, asshole.” She swipes away a tear that escapes before poking me hard in the middle of my chest. “But that’s what the men in this family do, huh? When shit gets tough, they bail.”
“Carrie, that’s enough—”
“You’re right. It is. I’ll find my own ride tomorrow.”
With those words, she storms into her room, slamming the door behind her. I wait for Mom to get up to see what the commotion is about, but the house is silent.
I walk down the hall and peek in on our mother. She’s sleeping peacefully in the same position as before. Bending over, I plant a kiss on her head and turn off the television.
“Night, Mom.”
“Night, Canny.”
I cringe as I stand in the dark and listen to her soft breathing. Did she hear Carrie’s and my argument? Does she think I’m a traitor too?
Guilt is a stifling cloud around me. I suck in a sharp breath and bolt from her room. It isn’t until I’m lying face down on my bed that my heart and erratic thoughts begin to calm. By one in the morning, I realize I haven’t messaged Naomi to tell her good night.
But then I think about what an asshole I was to her earlier today. She’s still pissed, hence why there’s no text waiting for me. With a heavy sigh, I toss my phone away from me. My thoughts drift from the girl who deserves better than my moody ass to someone else.
Taunting, dark brown eyes mock me from behind my lids as sleep overtakes me.
Fucking Alister Sommers.
He may not have been the one to start this shit—that’s on Dad and always will be—but it’s him who will end it because I’m committed to destroying him.
And once I’ve broken them all, I can fix Mom.
Carrie too.
Maybe even me.
Alister
Today, I’m ready for him.
I’ll be damned if I let this guy catch me off guard ever again. He thinks because he’s bigger than me and king of the school that he’ll waltz right into my life, fuck it up, and move along on his merry little way.
Fuck that.
And fuck him.
I’m waiting by the door of our first hour, eager to poke the bear like he spent all day yesterday doing to me when my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and frown to see the unknown number again.
Unknown Number: Won’t be long now.
Laughter distracts me from the message. I follow the sounds to see Canyon walking toward me. His phone is in hand, and he’s smiling at it. Naomi walks beside him, a frown marring her face. He doesn’t notice when she speeds up, leaving him by himself.
“Really?” she mutters as she passes me.
I bristle at her judgmental tone. I’m not the one who started this shit. It was her beastly boyfriend. Naomi Young can look down at me all she wants, but I refuse to be the bigger man while her asshole boyfriend stomps all over me.
She disappears into the classroom, and Canyon finally realizes Naomi is nowhere in sight. The smile on his face is wiped away, and he pockets his phone. As soon as his blue eyes notice me, his blank expression turns into a dark scowl.
“Trouble in paradise?” I say in a chipper greeting. “Did you tell her about last night?”
His face burns bright red, which only serves to make me laugh. I knew this would work. I just didn’t know it would be so easy.
“Nothing happened last night,” he bites back, his voice low.
“I meant the fight with your dad.” I lift a brow at him. “I didn’t mean the part where you took your shirt off for me and let me use you for my art.”
As expected, he goes off.
His massive hands grab my shirt, and he shoves me against the wall. Electric blue eyes sear into me. I’m taken aback by his scent—a cologne I’ve salivated over one too many times when I’ve gone to Hollister at the mall. Come to think of it, Canyon is a poster boy for that store. He should really look into modeling.
“I know what you’re doing,” he growls. “You’re flirting with me to piss me off.”
“It’s working beautifully.”
His nostrils flare. “It won’t work.”
“It already has, bro.”
“No,” he murmurs, his voice going husky and making all the hairs on my arms stand on end. “All it does is make you look like a desperate queer aching for the dick of someone he can’t have.” The fury melts away as he gives me an arrogant lift of his chin. “Imagine how disappointed your daddy would be in you if he knew you were trying to get into my pants.”
I tense at his words but wisely keep my mouth shut.
“That’s what I thought.” He winks at me. “You’ll do anything to please Quinn. I wonder why that is. It’s almost as if you think—”
“Voss. Sommers. Is there a problem here, boys?” assistant principal, Mr. Martin, asks as he approaches.
Canyon’s evil face transforms into a smile that is charming enough to convince anyone of anything. “Just giving my brother a pep talk. I heard someone beat his time yesterday. He’s kind of torn up about it.”
Mr. Martin’s eyes narrow as he darts them my way. “What’s really going on here?”
I playfully shove Canyon away from me, adopting the same deceptive smile he’s wearing. “My humble brother here failed to mention he was the one who beat me yesterday. The football team sure is going to miss him.”
Mr. Martin shakes his head and huffs. “You two do realize you’re not brothers yet, right? And I’m not an idiot. There’s some animosity going on with the two of you, and I won’t stand for it.” He lifts a brow, pinning me with a firm stare. “Do I need to call your fathers?”
“No,” I bark out. “We’ve come to an agreement. He’ll stay in his lane, and I’ll stay in mine. Everything’s fine, Mr. Martin.”
“Then get into Garrison’s class before the bell rings, or I’ll pull you both in for detention.”
Getting detention is not an option.
Dad would be disgusted with me.
“Yes, sir,” I grit out and dart into the classroom. “Sorry.”
Canyon ambles behind me, chuckling under his breath. This motherfucker is going to make me lose my shit. The only two places open are two desks beside each other. I take the one behind Leon, and he sits behind Naomi. Maybe she’ll distract the idiot long enough for me to regroup.
After the bell rings and the trig lecture begins, I pull out my phone and save the unknown number in my contact list as “Brother Lover.”
Canyon’s smugness is almost gag-worthy, and I avoid his constant smirks. If he continues to pay more attention to me than his studies, I won’t have to worry about him in all my AP classes too much longer. He’ll get his ass tossed back into regular ed so fast his head will spin. Now I just need to focus on a way to destroy him in track, too, so he can go back to tossing the football around and stay out of my sport.
At least there’s one place he can’t reach me.
