Feuds and reckless fury, p.5
Feuds and Reckless Fury, page 5
Orchestra.
And it’s my one opportunity to fuck with him while he’s not watching.
A smile tugs at my lips at the thought of getting to him through his sister. It’s almost too easy. I’m surprised I didn’t think about it until now.
Canyon glances back at me, his own self-assured smile fading as he takes in the determined look on my face. His glare hardens, and his jaw clenches. We spend the entire hour of trig staring each other down. Unlucky for him, I can multitask like a motherfucker. His empty notebook won’t be doing him any favors, whereas my mental notes will be there come test time.
The school’s dumbest jock should know better than to fuck with a genius.
It’s only a matter of time before Canyon realizes his place in my life.
Behind me and in the shadows.
I will not let him take one goddamn thing from me, especially my dad.
Carrie Voss is the spitting image of her brother. Just smaller and softer. They have the same sharp, sapphire eyes that can slice through you without effort, and a smile, when genuine, that’s bright enough to light up the room.
She’s a great violin player, but her mind is too busy to be the best. Last year, she tried desperately to get better because apparently, she’s as competitive as her brother, but she never came close to taking first chair.
That would mean knocking me off my pedestal.
Not going to help her do that.
But I could help her improve. When I graduate in the spring, she could easily be a shoo-in for this seat next year. Helping her won’t come without payment, though.
I need to understand Canyon.
All his weaknesses.
What drives him fucking insane.
I’ll exploit it all, of course, because it’s only fair. The shithead has been doing the same to me. It’s time to play dirty.
Carrie approaches me warily. I must look a little too eager to see her. Quickly, I tone down my devious glee at making her brother suffer and force a friendly smile instead.
“Canny Jr,” I say as she sits down. “How’s life treating you?”
“Don’t talk to me, loser.”
Damn, she’s as bitchy as her brother.
I’m so lucky to have these people joining my family.
Not.
“Says the girl who’s not sitting in this chair.” I flash her a smug grin. “Do you mind if I call you Junior, Junior?”
“Fuck off, Alis.”
“You sound just like big bro when you say that, so the nickname fits perfectly.”
She ignores me to pull her instrument out of her case for class. Several of the students are already warming up. I lean back in my chair, angling my body toward hers so I can scrutinize her form.
“Straighten your back,” I order, earning a nasty glare. “Now, Junior.”
She purses her lips but does improve her posture. Her brows are furled as though she’s pissed off at the world. Thoughts are distracting when the music wants to flow through you.
“Stop thinking about it.”
Her blue eyes cut to mine. “About what?”
“Whatever it is that has you scowling. It’s distracting. Think about Bach.”
She runs the hair of the bow along the strings, listening as she tunes the instrument. I reach over and tug at her hair.
“Don’t tilt your head,” I chide. “Head and neck need to be straight.”
Her eyes roll, but she obeys. When I tap her shoulders, she lets out a loud exhale. “What now?”
“Tense, Junior. So tense. Relax your shoulders.” I squeeze her shoulder, giving it a little massage until I feel the muscle relax. “Elbow over toe. Wrist straight. Good. Now relax your right arm. Good. Now let’s hear it.”
She plays a few notes, and I explain to her how I would do things. Her irritation is still evident, but she’s less hostile. We carry on until Mrs. Weston arrives.
“Everyone, quiet down,” Mrs. Weston says in greeting as she hurries into the room, her white hair coming loose from her tight bun. “I want to run through Fauré’s Pelléas et Mélisande, Op. 80, a couple of times before we’ll allow Alister to do his solo.” She winks my way and then brings order to the room.
We play through the music—easy for some and challenging for others—until it’s almost the end of the hour, and Mrs. Weston motions for me to do my solo. When she told me about it yesterday, I listened to it on the way home from school. After working on my sculpture, I practiced a bit. My memory is incredible when it comes to music, so hearing it a few times was all I needed to feel the piece she wanted me to play. Of course, I keep the sheet music in front of me, but I rarely look at it.
I get into position, and my eyes flutter closed as Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst’s Grand Caprice on Schubert’s “Erlkönig” begins to play from my violin. When I play music, much like when I sculpt, my mind goes to a numb, quiet place. Nothing exists except soft colors and warmth. I often wondered if it was what people called a “happy place,” but that wouldn’t be true. I’ve come here before when not at all happy. I think it should more aptly be described as “my safe place.”
A few parts of the song require me to glance at the sheet music, but only to reiterate what I already know. I play through the entire song easily, even after the bell rings. No one in class moves as they allow me to bring the song to completion. As soon as it ends, I stop abruptly and pack away my instrument.
The class claps, but I ignore them to focus on gathering my things. Carrie stops me with a hand to my arm.
“Hey, Alis,” she murmurs. “That was really good.”
“Thanks, Junior.”
She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, as though she’s considering her next words, before exhaling sharply. “Do you think you could show me more techniques?”
“Sure thing, sis,” I tease, earning an eye roll from her.
“See you around then.” She waves her fingers at me before scurrying off through the front door of the classroom.
I grab my bag and case before giving Mrs. Weston a nod on my way toward the back classroom door. The hallway that leads to the gymnasium is darkened. As soon as I step out, I sense his presence.
His condescending words don’t come like I expect. “That sounded complicated.”
“It wasn’t.” I shrug, trying to keep my eyes off the way his T-shirt stretches across his sculpted chest. Enemies aren’t supposed to be hot.
“Too complicated for them.” He nods toward the orchestra room. His thumbs move up and down beneath his backpack straps in an almost nervous way that also sets me on edge.
“I’m not them. I’m better.”
He barks out a laugh. “Not for the next hour you won’t be.”
I bite on my tongue as I start down the hallway toward the gymnasium. Canyon falls into step beside me, assaulting me with his stupidly delicious scent. I try to ignore him, but he makes my blood run hot for a multitude of reasons.
“Your arrogance can only get you so far,” I grumble to him.
“That’s rich coming from you.” He flashes me a sardonic grin. “Mr. Big Head.”
“How did you know my dick was big?” I ask, feigning astonishment. When he grunts out a curse word and flips me off, I say, “You just leave yourself open for these things, don’t you? They’re perfectly served up for me.”
He grabs the door to the gym and opens it, allowing me to go first. My heart foolishly skips in my chest at the gallant, gentlemanly way he opened the door for me. I don’t think he even realized he did it. I’ll be damned if I call him out for that, though, since I clearly enjoyed it a little too much, and that could be used against me.
“I’m not intimidated by your flirting and sexual innuendo, Sommers.”
I bite my bottom lip, winking at him. “Then I’ll have to dial it up a few notches, bro. When you’re begging for my dick between your lips, remember this moment. You started this war. I’m just going to win it.”
Canyon
I was right.
Without my cleats and gear, I am faster.
What I wasn’t expecting was for Alis to up his game. The bastard can run faster and harder than anyone on my football team—ex-team now—and that includes me. Since I beat his time yesterday, I haven’t been able to do it again.
Doesn’t stop me from trying.
We’re both panting and dripping with sweat by the end of practice. Coach Davies calls it for the day, but Alis and I are nowhere near finished.
“Again,” I rasp out.
Alis grimaces but nods. We find our marks and count down together. On “go,” we both tear off down the track. With everyone gone and no one to time us, we just race. Over and over and over. Even after the sun disappears behind the bleachers as twilight chases it away. My quads and calves are on fire, but I’m not giving up.
Unfortunately, neither is he.
It’s not until it begins to truly get dark and my lungs feel like they’re collapsing that I realize we’ve been out here for hours. There’s a person in the stands watching us. When I glance up and see Naomi, I cringe.
Fuck.
“Babe,” I croak out, but my throat is too dry to make the sound carry.
After my asshole behavior yesterday, I promised to take Nae out to dinner after school since it’s her only day off.
I’m such a dickhead.
“Goddammit,” I mutter as I wobble over to my empty water bottle.
“Did you forget something?” Alis doesn’t sound one bit winded, unlike me, which only adds gasoline to my fire.
I glance at where he motions to Naomi. As though I’d forget about my damn girlfriend.
“Go home, Wonderland.”
“Maybe your daddy will read me a bedtime story.”
My fist flies through the air before I can even think. I expect to connect with his jaw, but Alis ducks just in time and shoves me. Stumbling back, I fall hard on my ass, making my teeth snap together painfully. He launches at me, his features twisted with rage, as he straddles my stomach.
“Don’t. You. Ever. Hit. Me!” he screams, his fingers gripping the front of my soaked shirt and yanking me toward him so our noses nearly touch. “Ever.”
The storm of fury and shame and fear in his bottomless dark eyes catches me off guard. All I can do is stare into his haunted gaze. I sit up more, which basically forces him into my lap. We’re both panting and boneless from our running. It probably looks bad the way he’s sitting on me, but the only witness is Naomi, and she knows better than to think there’s anything wrong about it.
“Your dad hit you?” I blurt out as though I care. I don’t.
He recoils as though those words are the most ridiculous ones he’s ever heard. “No.”
I study him for a beat. His bleach-blond hair is soaked with sweat, matted down against his forehead. Perspiration drips from his jaw. I note that his sweet scent remains—lime and coconut—but it’s a little salty too. Like maybe he bathes in margarita mix or some shit. I lick my lips, catching some of my own salty sweat on my tongue. His brown eyes are suddenly warm as they track the movement. The heat that burns in every muscle, bone, and lungs now travels to my groin. An uncomfortable twist in my stomach has me gasping in shock. As my dick thickens in my shorts—and he can clearly feel it—his eyes widen, and his pink lips part.
“Are you going to kill each other or what?” Naomi’s voice cuts the tension like a hot knife.
Alis slides off my lap as I scuttle backward away from him. My dick is hard and obvious as hell. Thank fuck it’s getting dark.
“Stay away from me,” I croak out at him, pointing an accusing finger his way. “Just because you like dick doesn’t mean you can try and force yours on me.”
“Right,” Alis throws back in a sarcastic tone. “That was all me. I’m a monster. What the fuck ever, Voss.”
He trots away like he didn’t just run his ass off all night. Before he gets too far away, he looks over his shoulder and shakes his head.
Naomi offers her hand to me, and after a second, I take it. Once I’m on steady feet, I lean in for a kiss, but she evades it.
“No.”
“No?” Shame creeps through me. “Why not?”
Did she see what happened? That I got fucking hard over that guy?
“Because,” she snips out icily. “You’ve lost your damn mind. That’s why.”
I rub my palm down over my face and let out a ragged sigh. “I can explain.”
But I can’t.
I don’t know what just happened.
One second I wanted to knock his head off his shoulders, and the next, my body reacted to the way he straddled me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I…” I trail off, my features falling.
“You can’t explain, but I can. You’re so damn angry that your dad is marrying Alis’s dad that you’re consumed by your hatred for him.”
Hatred.
Yes, that’s it.
I hate that fucker.
“Babe—”
“You don’t see it,” she snaps back, stepping away from my outstretched hand, “but I do. Ever since your dad left your mom last spring, you’ve been distant and emotionally detached. I’ve put up with it because I love you. This summer, though, it was worse. You were pissed off and out for blood. Now? You’re out of control. Don’t you see?”
I cross my arms over my chest and scowl. “I’m not out of control.”
“You’re stalking him!” Tears race down her cheeks, and a sob escapes her. Her voice is soft when she says it again. “Canyon, you’re stalking him.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
Fuck, I so am.
But it’s because I want them to pay!
“Babe—”
“No,” she hisses. “You’re going to stop this right now. Tomorrow, you’ll get your schedule changed back and talk to your coach about getting back on the football team—”
“I can’t!” I roar, throwing my hands in the air. “I can’t fucking do that, Nae!”
I shudder with barely contained anger. Not at Naomi. At them. This is all because of them. Dad. Quinn. And Alister.
“I see.” Nae forces a smile. “Then take me home. We’ve said all there is to say.”
A ball of anxiety forms in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like the sound of her voice. So resigned. As though…
“Are we breaking up?” My words come out shaky and soft. “Nae, baby, I—”
She hugs me even though I’m drenched in sweat. I squeeze her tight and kiss the top of her head. All my worries seem to dissipate until she pulls out of my embrace.
“Yeah, Canyon. I think we are.” She starts walking toward the gym. “I’ll wait by the car while you shower.”
“Naomi,” I call out, defeated. “Please.”
She whirls around and waves a hand in the air. “Are you going to quit all this?”
We have a silent stare down in the near dark. My heart rate has slowed from the running, but I’m sick to my stomach now. For so many reasons. Mainly, I think I’ve ruined my relationship with my girlfriend. Worse, because I won’t do what she wants to fix it.
Because this is more important.
Nae is my girlfriend, but this is for my family.
Mom and Carrie.
For me, dammit.
“That’s what I thought.” She swipes at a tear. “I hope you get help.”
“I don’t need help. I need to get even.”
“Which is why I can’t be with you. You’re not the guy I started dating a year ago. I’m sorry.”
“Nae…”
“Shower, Canyon. I’m tired and have a lot of homework to do. Please, let’s just go already.”
I prepare to say goodbye to the only girl I’ve ever really cared about.
The house is quiet when I get home. After inhaling a sandwich, I peek in on Mom. She’s fully dressed, still in her bakery uniform, lying on her bed. I bend down to kiss her forehead and then remove her shoes.
“You hungry, Mom?”
“No,” she murmurs, not opening her eyes. “Just tired.”
“If this job is too much, you should quit,” I offer. “Dad pays you alimony and child support. You have the money.”
She flinches at my words. “It’s not about the money, Canny. It’s about my self-worth.”
“I think you’re pretty amazing.” My words sound childish and lame, but it’s true.
“Thanks, baby.”
She doesn’t offer any other conversation, so I leave her be. I walk upstairs and sprawl out on my bed, scowling at my phone. I must be a glutton for punishment because I scroll through the pictures on my phone, agonizing over the fact I just broke up with Nae. It’ll be news all over the school tomorrow. I’m surprised Carrie hasn’t found out already through Paige and reamed me for it. Once I’ve looked through enough happy pictures of Naomi and me to make my chest physically hurt, I try to channel the pain into anger.
This is Alister’s fault.
I find him on Instagram fairly easily enough. Someone tagged him in a video from orchestra class today. Once again, I’m stunned speechless at the incredible skill he possesses. If I didn’t hate him so much, I would’ve told him that today after I overheard him flawlessly playing the solo.
I exit the video to nose through his pictures. He makes a lot of flirty, corny faces that make my gut churn with discomfort. Ever since high school started, he’s been bleaching his hair. I think it looks kind of dumb and obvious he’s not a real blond since he always has inch-long dark roots. There are pictures of him in middle school, where he had brown hair. He looks more withdrawn in those pictures. I don’t remember much of him because he didn’t hang out with my crowd of people. The times I did see him when our dads hung out, I played games on my phone or watched episodes of Mubōna Ikari. I certainly didn’t talk or pay attention to him.
There are several pictures of him and his dad—on vacation in Mexico and California and even on an Alaskan cruise.
Spoiled brat.
I ignore that Dad took us to Europe last summer when we were still a family because we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about Alis.
When I click on his story, I see a selfie of him in the locker room after our death match. He’s red-faced and grinning. The caption says, “Still the best.”
