But most of all, I’d hurt Vandy.
I’ll never forget the way she looked on that gurney, bloody and frightened, as they loaded her into another ambulance. Later, at the hospital, they wouldn’t let me see her. I don’t even remember much from that night—all the sharp details lost in the haze of shock and desperation—but I remember running through the triage, so out of my mind from the adrenaline that my own injuries barely registered. I remember fighting, even though my wrist was fractured. I remember the look on her face when I finally found her, all strapped down, tubes and wires everywhere, the way her eyes were wide and wet and full of fear. I remember feeling like I could take every one of them down if it meant making that wild terror in her eyes go away—if it meant protecting her. Pretty ironic, seeing as how I was the reason she was there to begin with.
That was the last time I saw her.
I look
at her again, trying to wash that bitter, gasoline-tinged memory away with this new image. The girl in the photo is older now, nothing like the awkward and gangly neighbor I used to know. She’s grown up, no longer someone’s kid sister. She’s pretty much a woman now. Gorgeous, if I’m being honest.
It’s a different look than Afton and the other hot cheerleaders. Vandy’s beauty is all natural. She’s wearing almost no make-up and has that same fresh, innocent face. Rosy cheeks. Flawless skin. Her smile is a little lopsided, her full lips furled to the side. She obviously came into her body, thin and curvy in all the right places. There’s a hint of something going on underneath the conservative outfit, something just out of reach. Ah. There it is. The skirt that ends just above the knee, giving only the slightest peek at the creamy thighs beneath.
I jerk back, loudly clearing my throat.
Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? Obviously, years of sexual deprivation have turned me into a fucking degenerate. That’s the only excuse.
I shift my shoulders, feeling the tight pull of puckered scarring that covers most of my back. Guilt isn’t something that usually comes naturally to me. I take what I want—get what I can. But what happened to Vandy was different. It was the one thing I’d never wanted to take. I pled guilty, because that’s what I am. I didn’t even fight when I was released from juvie only to be instantly sent away to Mountain Point. Point A to Point B. One prison for another. And I never expected to come back here.
But I guess shit changed when my mom left my dad for her personal trainer. I figured I’d just stay at the academy, but Dad called two weeks ago saying I had to come back home. My mom was taking him to the cleaners for his own ‘indiscretions’, and the legal bills were mounting. When he told me I was coming back to Preston Prep, I was beyond reluctant. It would have been easier—more just—for me to remain at the academy. Not that military school was a bed of roses, but coming back to Preston? I don’t deserve it, and neither does anyone else.
I’d outright asked him, “What about the Halls?”
He’d explained, “I talked to Rob and Denise, and they understand our predicament. They’re very forgiving people, Reyn. The biggest thing is that you follow the rules and don’t give anyone a reason to question the second chance you’re being given.”
I step back outside into the early fall air and think, Here I am. Deserving or not, I’m getting my second chance.
I have very little faith that I’m not going to blow it.
“I’ll admit, when your father called me, I wasn’t sure that your returning to Preston Prep was a good idea.” Headmaster Collins sits behind a large desk, brass nameplate facing out. Next to that is a Devil’s head, expertly cut into crystal. I drag my eyes away from it and see him nodding to the man behind him. “But Coach Morris came to your defense and said he’s talked to your coach at Mountain Point. I’m told that you’ve done well there and have been an asset to their athletic program.”
Ah. Of course.
Suddenly, everything clicks. Apparently, the Devils need a wide-receiver at the same time my father needs financial aid.
How auspicious.
Headmaster Collins continues, “That being said, I was still skeptical. In the past year, we’ve taken a hardline stance on inappropriate behavior at this school. We’re zero tolerance on bullying and any kind of student harassment. I’ll be honest, Reynolds, your history of pranks and petty theft do not fall into the current atmosphere of Preston Prep.”
I blow out a hard breath. My dad had made this sound like a done deal. “So, what am I doing here, then?” I tap a rapid rhythm on the arm of the chair. “I can’t take any of it back, and I think an apology would get some pretty bad mileage.” After a beat, I tack on a habitual, “Sir.”
“Stealing that car was bad enough, but when you took that girl with you, it became very clear you were not only a risk to yourself, but other students, as well.”
I do nothing but nod, even though I’m absolutely boiling inside. I don’t have anything to prove to this guy. What’s he looking for? Does he want me to prostrate myself before him? There are, at maximum, ten people who deserve to see that.
This dude isn’t one of them.
Collins leans back, his large frame making the chair creak. “But, the Halls are a very generous, very forgiving family. It is only because of them and your record at Mountain Point that we’re allowing you back on this campus on a probationary status.”
And because of the football season, I want to add.
I don’t.
“I understand, sir.” My words are rehearsed and spoken a smidge too flatly to pass my own muster, “My behavior freshman year was unacceptable. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on the choices I made that day and the severe consequences of such a short-sighted, irresponsible act.” I dare a look at Coach Morris. “It would be an honor, not just to be readmitted to Preston Prep, but to also earn a spot on the team.”
Some of the tension in the headmaster’s face eases as I give my speech of contrition.
God, I had this idiot pegged.
Prostration, it is.