I shoot her a wide-eyed look. "What was that even about?"
"That, my gorgeous friend, was Alek Johnson. Buckle up, buttercup. I have a feeling he’s about to make things very interesting for you."
"No way," I snap. "He can’t. I don’t want him to. He can take his cocky attitude and those cringe-worthy pick-up lines somewhere else, because I refuse to be his next victim."
I can't.
"You don't have to be, Charlie. But if you want Keaton to leave you alone until graduation, then what better way would there be than having a fine as fuck wall standing in front of you?" Her smile is a little naughty. "Or behind you."
"Nope. No way. Not happening," I growl, snatching up my salad bowl and marching it over to the trash.
Those damn warning signs. You’d think by now I’d know better than to ignore them.
Like the one buzzing in my hand from where Alek touched me.
The Consequences of Betrayal
Keaton | The Past
Itossthetennisball skyward, my hand poised for the sharp sting as it slaps back into my palm. Each bounce fills the silence while I wait for my mom to pick up.
Today, my STD test results are due, and though I hate to admit it, I crave my mother’s steady hand to anchor me when they arrive.
"Keaton, is everything okay? Is it Charlie?"
"Ma?"
It's the wobble in my voice that alerts her. "What is it, hun?"
Man up, Keaton. You screwed this up, so stand on your own two feet and stop reaching for someone to steady you.
"Nothing. Just wanted to call and see how you and dad are doing."
From the few seconds of silence before she answers, she knows that I just lied to her, but she won't call me out on it, which I'm thankful for.
"Dad and Martin are gone fishing. Truth?"
"Yeah, always," I reply, grabbing the ball when it drops and squeezing it tightly.
"I don't think they know how to deal with their anger and disappointment. Your dad has been struggling, trying to figure out where we went wrong."
I flare my nostrils, wind up, and hurl the ball. It slams the wall with a thunderous crack, dropping to the floor and leaving a jagged dent in the sheetrock.
"No. None of this is on you two. It's not on anyone else either. You all taught me better. I'm the one who lost my way somewhere. The fault lies at only my feet."
"And Rianna," mom mutters, shocking me with the unfamiliar, nasty tone.
"And her, but ma, I'm the one who cheated. I'm the one who was in a relationship with Charlie."
"Why did you do it, son? Were you and Charlie having issues? Fighting? Sex? I'm just trying to understand."
I blow out a breath and yank my fingers through my hair, hating the lost tone in my mother's voice. "Hell, Mom. So am I. Nothing was going on between me and Charlie. We were as happy as always. No fighting and um...yeah." I rub the back of my neck. "Our...um...sex life is—was great. Everything was perfect."
But is that what happened? Did it becometooperfect?
No. Fuck that. There's no way that is the excuse I'm going with. I need to figure out the true reason, not one I grasp because it's convenient.
Perfect was never our story. Ours was a love that sparked and burned, tangled with laughter, arguments over nothing, and dreams spun late into the night. We loved each other fiercely, almost to the point of obsession.
