Consider Me: Chapter 25

DO you ever have the distinct feeling that everybody around you is talking about you? Like you’re the hot topic of conversation? All eyes on you?

That’s how I feel today. Maybe I’m being paranoid—about what, I don’t know—but the whispers that halt the second I look in their direction, the gazes that follow me through the hall right now as I head back from the staff room after my first break are pretty telling, and there’s a pit of unease growing inside me.

I make a pit stop in the bathroom to check my outfit for the third time this morning in case there’s a hole or a giant stain I keep missing but come up empty-handed.

“Miss Parker.”

I swivel outside the bathroom door, smiling at the biology teacher/football coach. “Hey, Mr. Bailey.” I swat his hand away when he ruffles my hair. He thinks it’s hilarious that I’m five foot one and teach high school fitness to a bunch of boys that tower over me. I think it’s hilarious that he’s balding at twenty-eight.

“How was your weekend?”

“Great. Fantastic. Awesome.” I could probably stop but my mouth keeps running. “It was super fun.” I got nailed so hard I felt it in my soul. “How was yours?”

His smirk is more irritating than Carter’s, only because it’s lacking the sexy. “I bet it was. Have a good day, Miss Parker.” He winks before disappearing up the stairs.

“All righty then,” I mutter, pushing through the gym doors. I’m kind of lagging behind today because, as I’ve said, I got fucked straight into the ground last night. Literally, Carter dropped me on my ass after he broke his wall. Then he fucked me on the floor. So, anyway, my legs are achy with a side of jelly, which means my senior boys are already dressed and waiting for me.

And they pounce on me the second I stroll in.

“Miss Parkerrr, you’re late.”

“You left us waiting.”

“Are you limping? What kind of freaky shit did you get up to this weekend?”

I swat the ballsy little shit in the shoulder and shove my finger in his face. “Watch it.” Sinking down to the bleachers, I kick my heels off and swap them for my runners. Wincing at the pain that runs up my right hamstring, I curl over my knees and grip my calves. “Fucking fuck me,” I grumble under my breath. “That freaking hurts.”

“Feeling sore, eh?” Brad grins down at me. “Musta been a killer weekend.”

“Mind your business,” I hiss, but take his hand when he offers it to me, pulling me off the bleachers. I clap my hands together. “Okay, let’s get—” I don’t finish. Instead, I plant my fists on my hips and shoot a glower at all my boys, snickering behind their hands. “Are you seriously whispering about me while I’m standing right here?”

It’s Travis Duke that has the balls to step forward, phone out. “Miss Parker, is this you?”

“Is what me?” My own phone starts vibrating in my back pocket, and for some reason, my mouth is suddenly the Sahara; swallowing is impossible. I lean into Travis, so I can get a look at—

“Holy-fuck-shit. Oh my God.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and my hands fly to my lips. I don’t know if it’s to keep more words from spilling out or because I might vomit. Maybe both.

I rip Travis’s phone out of his hands.

“They’re great pictures. You look hot.”

“No wonder your legs hurt today. That guy’s fucking massive.”

“And you’re so tiny. Probably wrecked your—”

I slap a palm across the mouth that’s still talking, because please don’t finish the sentence. My phone is going crazy in my pocket, my heart is a jackhammer, and I can’t formulate a single thought other than oh fuck.

I tear my phone out of my pants, ready to hoof it across the gym, but instead I swipe across the screen and accept the call just to get it to stop fucking vibrating.

“I didn’t take you for a puck bun—”

“Don’t you dare,” I growl, reeling on Brad. He backs himself up against the wall, shaky hands in the air as I step into him. An entire foot taller than me and this boy is scared of me right now. “Finish that sentence and see what happens, Brad, I dare you. I may be small, but I will put you in the ground and bury you six feet deep. Nobody will find you, Brad. Nobody.”

A husky yet anxious chuckle is the only sound echoing off the empty gym walls right now, and it’s coming from my phone, which has somehow found its way on speaker. “Uh, Ollie?”

I hit the speaker button and slam it against my ear. “Carter?” Spinning away from the boys, I throw my magical finger up over my shoulder, because I sure as shit don’t miss the whispered words. Miss Parker, Carter Beckett, and fucking are seemingly the favored ones based on the number of times they’re repeated.

“Hey. Hi. It’s, uh…yeah, it’s me. Carter…Beckett.” He breathes out a quiet fuck me that somehow manages to tip the corner of my mouth despite this entirely fucked up situation right now, because he’s so adorably sweet when he’s nervous. “Are you okay? I’m guessing…I mean, did you see the, um…pictures?”

Did I see the pictures?

“There’s an article too,” I think out loud, scanning Travis’s phone screen. I’m rendered speechless by the sight before me when I swipe up. Me and Carter, from about twenty-five different angles, knee-deep in a rigorous game of tonsil hockey out front of the restaurant yesterday.

Carter sighs. “Yeah. The article. I mean…it’s…you look beautiful,” he tries. And fails. Because that doesn’t help, not right now, not really. Another sigh. “Are you…are you okay?”

I’m too busy reading this ridiculous gossip article to answer him.

“Oh my shitfuck.” I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore as I shove Travis’s phone back into his chest. With one hand buried in my hair, I spin around, because I’m not sure what the hell else to do. Is Olivia enough? What the fuck? Stupid tears sting my stupid eyeballs as Carter’s patient voice reminds me that he’s still in my ear.

“Olivia? I’m sorry I’m not there with you for this. But it’s…it’s different, right? It’s not the same as…as before. Even the article said so.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and press a shaky hand to my mouth. The article said I might not be enough, that’s what it said.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Talk to me.”

“I have a class right now, Carter. I have to go.” I rub my eyes as my throat closes. “I’ll call you later, okay?” I end the call as soon as he gives me the okay, then turn back to my boys. “Uh…do a…sit. Just sit. Five minutes. I need five minutes.” I need more than five minutes to get a handle on myself, but it’s a start.

Shutting myself in my office, I pace back and forth. I’ve got over twenty text messages and half of them are from Cara. The one that rolls in right now is a picture of me and Carter and our dueling tongues, except Cara’s drawn a heart around us and written hubba hubba across the top. I wish I could find the humor in this situation, but right now I’m struggling. It’s ridiculous, I know. I was there yesterday; I knew pictures were taken.

Four texts from Carter come in rapid succession, and not even the ridiculous name he gave himself in my phone last night does much to ease the anxiety unfurling in my chest and stomach right now.

One more comes, because Carter’s relentless and it’s like he won’t settle until he makes me smile. This one succeeds.

But the next text message has that sense of dread sliding right back, sinking low in my stomach.

The tension at this dinner table is more palpable than the steak I’m currently hacking apart.

I glance up from my plate to find my brother’s glare locked on me. I scowl right back and keep on sawing, maybe a little more aggressively than necessary, because I want him to think he did a shitty job cooking these bad boys up. He didn’t. My steak is perfect.

“Overdone,” I murmur, just to piss him off.

“Like hell,” he scoffs, those brown eyes never leaving mine, only flickering when his wife snickers.

“So,” my sister-in-law, Kristin, starts, eager to ease the hostility.

“Daddy’s mad at you, Auntie Ollie,” Alannah says matter-of-factly. “I donno what for. Carter Beckett is everything.” She sets her fork down and starts ticking his excellent qualities off on her fingers. “He’s rich, he’s the best skater, he scores, like, a thousand goals, and he’s, like, the cutest boy in the whole world.”

I point my knife at her. “He’s funny, too, and his favorite cookies are Oreos.”

I’m just fueling my brother’s fire at this point. That much is clear by the deep, jagged breaths he’s sucking in from across the table, the way he’s gripping his steak knife like he might stab it into the wooden table if this conversation doesn’t end pronto.

Alannah gasps, slapping her palms down on the table. “Those are my favorite cookies!” Folding her hands together in prayer at her chin, she pouts. “Will you please tell your boyfriend that we have the same favorite cookies?”

He’s not my boyfriend, but I flash her a smile and nod. “Of course.”

“Does he like to dunk ’em in milk like me? Does he eat ’em whole? Or does he twist ’em apart and lick the icing off?” She twirls her ponytail around her finger, staring dreamily into space, eyes twinkling. “I wonder…”

“Well, you’ll never find out, because you’ll never meet him.” Jeremy pushes back from the table, picking up his plate and mine, even though I’m not finished yet. I lunge for it, but he spins away. “Auntie Ollie is breaking up with him.”

A loud, disbelieving, that’s-fucking-hilarious laugh escapes me. “I’m absolutely doing no such thing.” First of all, I think Carter would literally knock my door down if I tried to end things. Secondly, no. No freaking way. I like him, I have him, I want to keep him.

I should probably tell him that. Carter, not Jeremy. Because I was kind of stuck on freak-out mode all afternoon, had to have Cara talk me off a cliff about pictures and meaningless articles, and then came right here. We haven’t had a chance to talk, and I know he’s worried about me.

Jeremy loads the plates into the dishwasher and slams it shut. It bounces back open and I snicker. The glare he shoots me from over his shoulder is a nine out of ten on the menacing scale.

Kirstin touches my hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him hurt you.” Her voice drops. “And Carter Beckett is so sexy. I need all the gory details.” Her blue eyes bulge and she pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “All of them.”

“Kris!” Jeremy’s booming voice has us jumping. “Come on! No! You’re supposed to be on my side!” His arms are all flail-y. He looks desperate. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“I’m always on your side, honey.”

“Thank y—”

“But there are no sides here,” Kristin continues. “Olivia’s an adult. She can date whomever she likes.”

“Are you fuck—” his eyes slide to his daughter, whose wide gaze is bouncing between the three of us, “—freaking kidding me? She’s gonna get hurt.” He waves a hand over me. “I mean, literally, your, uh…thingie is gonna be hurting. He probably gave you gonorrhea or something.”

I cringe, sinking a little lower in my seat. I can’t blame Jeremy for thinking that. I sure as hell said the same thing when Carter and I first met. I’m about to tell him that Carter’s clean, but then I realize I don’t need to justify anything to my brother.

“I’m not going to stop seeing him because you disapprove, Jeremy.”

Pushing away from the table, I pull my nephew out of the contraption he’s bouncing around in and hug him close. He’s such a chunker, always hungry; see the fist he’s currently trying to stuff into his mouth.

“Want me to feed him?” I ask Kristin. Pulling Jem’s shirt up, I tickle his pudgy belly before giving him a big, wet raspberry. He giggles like crazy, spit bubbling from his mouth.

“That’d be great, Liv, thanks. His bottle is in the fridge if you wanna—”

“No.” Jeremy rips Jem from my grasp and deposits him into Kristin’s lap. She couldn’t look more irritated, and when he turns away from her, she slices her finger across her neck while glaring at the back of his head. I love her. “You’re not using my son to distract from the fact that you’re dating the world’s biggest manwhore.”

Alannah’s nose scrunches. “What’s a manwhore, Daddy?”

“That’s what Auntie Ollie’s boyfriend is, sweetheart.” His patronizing smile is directed at me, and he pats Alannah’s head.

“He is not.” I throw my arms across my chest. “Not anymore. He’s different.”

Jeremy laughs. It’s one of those exasperated laughs, like he can’t believe he even has to have this conversation with me as he drags both hands down his face in slow motion. “You can’t honestly believe you’re the girl Carter Beckett is going to change for.”

The snide remark pierces right through my chest cavity. His intentions may be harmless, but that’s sure not how it feels. Because right now my own brother is backing up that article. The one that wondered if I’d be enough for Carter, the one Cara only just managed to convince me was a load of crap.

I clear my throat and reach for Alannah’s head, kissing her hair before I move toward my nephew and sister-in-law. “Well, as much fun as it is to listen to how my own brother thinks I can’t possibly be good enough for a man like Carter Beckett, I think I’m gonna get going.”

“Aw, Liv, come on. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You meant it exactly like that,” I say quietly, trying to mask the hurt.

Kristin stands with Jem on one hip, gripping a fistful of Jeremy’s shirt. “You’re being an asshole right now. Apologize to your sister or find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

“You can sleep with me, Daddy!” Alannah shouts excitedly. She frowns and plants two fists on her hips. “But only after you say sorry for hurting Auntie Ollie’s feelings.”

Jeremy follows me to the front door, his big, stupid feet clomping behind me. “Ollie, come on. I didn’t mean that you’re not good enough.”

“That’s what you said. And that’s what the article said too.” My bottom lip quivers without my permission. Jeremy’s never been good with tears. That’s why his arms go up, all frantic, because he’s desperate to stop them before they start.

“No, no, no, no! Olivia, no. You’re enough! You’re too much! Too good!” He throws his head back and groans at my watery eyes. I won’t lie, I have the power to stop them in this particular scenario now that I see him crumbling, but I let them come, just to get some slack. “Ollie. Fuck.”

His arms come around me, pulling me into him as he rocks us side to side. I hide my victorious grin in his chest.

“He makes me happy, Jer.” Pulling back, I wipe the theatrics from my eyes.

“I want you to be happy. I do, Ollie. But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” I 100 percent cannot handle it, not if he hurts me. But I’m learning to trust him, trust that his intentions are pure.

“Are you sure you like him? Like, if there’s even a shred of doubt—”

“I like him. A lot. No shreds. Not even one.”

His gaze sweeps my face before he nods. “Yeah, okay. Fine. I’ll give him a shot.” He takes my hand, tugging. “Now quit this fake I’m-leaving bullshit. Your nephew needs to be fed.”

Giggling, I skip back through the living room, scooping Jem out of Kristin’s arms and kissing his cute little nose.

Alannah throws her arms around my waist. “I can’t believe my aunt is dating Carter Beckett. All the girls on the team are gonna be so jealous.”

She stays up way later than a seven-year-old should to watch the hockey game, and when Jeremy walks me to the door later he hands me his Vipers jersey, the one with Carter’s last name on it.

“What the hell do you want me to do with this?”

He looks at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck while he grumbles something I sure as hell don’t make out.

“Pardon?”

Jeremy throws his hands in the air with an exasperated exhale. “I said can you get your stupid boyfriend to sign my stupid jersey!”

There’s no hiding my smirk at this turn of events, and the last thing I see before my brother slams the door in my face is the mega roll of his eyes.