The Golden Boys: Chapter 17

Thank you, Dr. Pryor. Thank you so freakin’ much for making me join journalism club.

Insert sarcasm here.

I like the lady and all, but this has to be the worst fit she could’ve ever chosen for me. It’s bad enough the other students have no sense of time, accounting for our half–hour, afterschool meetings turning into a full hour most days. But Mr. Dansk assigning me to cover sports this quarter is going to be the death of me.

I had to bail on Uncle Dusty to be here, taking stupid pictures at Cypress Prep’s first home game of the season. Friday nights are our busiest at the diner, but he assured me he can get by without me. Doesn’t change the fact that I’d much rather be there, waiting tables, than sitting here on these cold bleachers.

Jules and Scar, on the other hand, love it. Scar even dragged Shane out here to watch. From the looks of it, I’m the only one who’s miserable. Nothing like enduring the chilled rain and being forced to snap pictures of my nemesis to kick off the weekend.

Thank God I listened to the forecast. First thing I did when I rushed home between school and the game was grab one of Mike’s oversized jackets from the closet. Which is when Scar and Jules begged to come watch King Midas and crew likely bring in another win.

These are difficult waters to navigate. So far, I’ve successfully hidden the true nature of my dealings with West. The last thing I need is Scar and Jules intervening. Not when I’ve worked so hard to stay off school administration’s radar. This may stem from some deep-seated trust issues with authority, but I could see it now. I turn West in, his parents strike back, next thing I know I’m finishing out the year at some random, alternative school for troubled children. Goodbye college plans.

Long story short, I’ve settled on suffering in silence for the remainder of my time here.

It only helps that West seems resigned to let the world believe Pandora’s ruse—that there’s some sort of romantic involvement between us. Although, for his own reasons, I imagine. Most likely because he knows how the idea of it sickens me. In fact, aside from setting the girls loose on me, no one else seems to know about the toxicity between us. This reminds me of a statement he made last weekend. The one about my only response to being told to “jump” should be “how high”. With how the girls haven’t spread the truth around school, I can only imagine they’d given in to that twisted rhetoric.

But I digress. Apparently, I’ve got pictures to take.

West snaps a pass across the field and I capture the image with my phone just as the ball leaves his hand. We’re deep into the fourth quarter and I hate to admit it, but he’s managed to impress me tonight. Although, not nearly as much as he’s impressed Jules and Scar. Both will be hoarse by morning with how they’ve screamed for the team.

For West, in particular.

Ugh … traitors. Even if they don’t have a clue that I hate his guts.

My phone buzzes and, glancing at the screen to see who’s texted, I stare at a snippet of the tenth message Ricky has sent in the last hour. Without opening it, I’m certain it has nothing to do with me having Shane in my care. Because, if it is about that, he’d text him directly. This is something else.

Like, the same conversation he’s been trying to have with me for weeks.

I’m jarred from my thoughts when Scar jumps to her feet, screeching in my ear. Dane—who I’ve come to learn is wide receiver extraordinaire—has been on fire tonight. The throw West launched was plucked out of the air so gracefully the whole thing played out like a choreographed dance. They’re graceful and yet fierce, in tune with the game. In tune with each other as they move across the field. It’s no wonder they went undefeated last season.

“Do you think you can get the Golden boys to sign my t-shirt?” My sister, the turncoat herself, asks. “I mean, since you and West are basically a thing,” she adds. “Their autographs will definitely be worth something one day. Just look at them out there!”

She’s trying to gut me. She has to be.

Jules catches my gaze and cracks up, but Shane isn’t nearly as amused by Scar’s newfound obsession with the triplets. If I’m not mistaken, he looks a little bothered by it. Poor kid.

When Scar turns to face the field again, I don’t miss that those stars are back. The ones I’ve seen in our mother’s eyes over the years. The ones that make me worry Scar will fall victim to some of the same snares.

The crowd explodes in a deafening roar when Cypress Prep scores another touchdown, bringing the final score to an embarrassing forty-eight to twelve.

Well, embarrassing for the other team, that is.

However, our guys aren’t celebrating like I would expect. Instead, they’re surprisingly subdued as the stands empty and fans rush to the sidelines. And the center of their attention seems to be QB-1. West.

For the sake of my role with the paper, I focus the lens of my camera on him, zoom in, and snap a picture just as he flashes a smile at some kid who’s brought his football to the field to be signed.

“See? I’m not the only one!” Scar pleads. “Even that kid knows we’re witnessing history in the making.”

I barely get to roll my eyes when another message comes through. This time, I open it and Jules must see my expression shift, because she speaks up.

“Everything okay?”

I don’t answer right away, because I’m suddenly distracted by the roar of a motorcycle engine. Ricky revs it when he spots me from the parking lot, letting me know the text stating that he wasn’t afraid to show up here if I didn’t answer hadn’t been an empty threat. Guess he wasn’t in a mood to be ignored today.

Jules lifts a few inches out of her seat, just enough to see what I see—a very frustrated Ricky Ruiz pulling off his helmet, likely headed toward these bleachers to speak his piece.

“Um … need me to keep an eye on these two while you take care of that?”

Frustrated, a heavy sigh leaves my mouth. “Please.”

The next second, I’m storming down the bleachers, but not without King Midas taking notice. Amidst a sea of his adoring fans, his gaze is set on me. Already pissed and wondering who Ricky thinks he is showing up here, I take it out on West by giving him the finger. Of course, the bastard finds it funny, lowering his head when a smirk touches his lips.

Whatever.

I swear, I’m beyond fed up with the cocky, domineering men in my life.

Ricky’s eyes are on me the entire time I trudge across the grass, and his glare hardens when I make it to him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Didn’t you get my messages?” he snaps.

Sighing, I fold both arms over my chest. “I was busy.”

Something I say makes him scoff, looking out toward the field when he tips his chin.

“Yeah, I bet.”

It isn’t until I follow his gaze that I understand what that means. Apparently, not only do we have West’s undivided attention, but he’s trudging this way—drenched in sweat, toting his helmet in hand.

“Not that. Not … him,” I say softly. “I had a school thing and …wait. Why am I even explaining this to you?” I ask, remembering that I have zero obligation to Ricky whatsoever. Haven’t for a long time.

West draws closer and I’m holding my breath, unsure what his intentions are as he approaches, but then he passes by like a storm I narrowly dodged. However, I don’t miss that deadly glare in his eyes. Only, he doesn’t cast that look at me.

It’s for Ricky.

It isn’t one of those looks that comes and goes quickly. It lingers between the two until West makes it to the fieldhouse and slams the door behind him.

It doesn’t come as a surprise when Ricky’s shoulders square with tension. I see it through his dark t-shirt, in the way the veins on his arms protrude, in the tension held in his jaw.

He won’t even look at me now.

“I didn’t come here for trouble,” he states first. “Just thought you should know Hunter’s getting transferred. They’re moving him upstate.”

My eyes widen with the news, as a flash of sadness shoots through my chest. No, I haven’t found the courage to visit since he got locked up, but there’s some small measure of comfort in knowing he’s not so far away. But to move him upstate? That feels like having him taken away all over again.

I’m aware of the emotion bleeding through my expression, so I correct it before Ricky might notice. Because, truth is, this changes nothing. Hunter’s still gone, I’m still doing this all on my own, and I’m still not ready to see him like that.

“Okay,” I finally respond. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Ricky’s brow draws together as he takes that in. “Thanks for letting you know? That’s all you have to say, B? Thanks for letting you know?”

“What more do you want from me?” I snap.

“I want you to stop being selfish!” Those words hit me square in the chest, like a searing hot knife, breaking skin.

“… Selfish?” I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. “Name one thing in my life that’s completely about me?”

When his expression softens, I imagine he regrets his choice of words, but they’re out there. No taking them back.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. You do a lot for Scar. I only meant that—”

“This isn’t your business,” I remind him. “Nothing concerning me, or my family is your business. You’ve done enough already, haven’t you?”

My words seem to have struck him, like how his hit me.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

A group of girls cackle as they walk past and I hold my tongue until no one’s around to hear.

“It means you were the one who got Hunter into all this. You were the one who linked him up with your Uncle Paul, got him started on this path.”

I’m fighting tears, but I’m not so sure I’ll win.

“That’s what you think?” Ricky snaps.

“All I know is, Hunter used to be good,” I remind him. “Once upon a time, he was responsible, and then he got caught up with you and—”

“That’s what you think happened?” he interrupts again. “First of all, I’ve known your brother since we were little, Blue. So, your logic doesn’t even add up. I didn’t just come into the picture the day before Hunter started getting into shit.”

There’s a familiar pain in my chest and I know it well. It’s the ache of abandonment. The sting of loneliness.

“Now, I’ll be the first to admit I’m no angel,” he continues, “but I’ve only ever looked out for Hunter. He’s as much a brother to me as Shane.”

Guilt. It slams face-first into me, because I know what he’s saying is true.

At the first sign of water pooling in my eyes, I turn to walk away, but halt. In part because of the sudden, light hold Ricky now has on my wrist. But I’m also frozen in place because West is back, and his eyes are laser-focused right where Ricky’s got a hold on me.

Still sporting the all-black uniform with his number embossed in gold, right in the center of his chest, he doesn’t move. My guess is that he’s heading back toward the field where some of his team still lingers. But now, the only thing he’s aware of is me.

Something’s clearly sparked anger within him and I admittedly don’t understand. Is it because he wants to stamp out any sign of happiness in my life? And, in his mind, Ricky is a potential source of happiness for me? Something he needs to kill before I get too high and mighty, thinking I can have one single thing in this world without him screwing it up?

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

I’m lost in thought until Ricky’s hand slips down from my wrist, linking his fingers with mine. Cool gray eyes lock me in place, and I push aside thoughts of the brute seething behind me.

“I’m not saying Hunter was never good. All I’m saying is, I’m not the one who turned him bad,” Ricky declares. “Might want to look a little closer to home if you need someone to blame.”

I’m not quite sure what that means, but neither my pride nor my pain will let me ask. There’s a stretch of silence between us and when his gaze flickers over my shoulder, I know exactly who he’s staring at.

Frustration sets in and I snatch my hand from his, using it to wipe the tear that’s escaped.

“I need to go check on Scar and Shane. Anything else?” I ask, forcing my tone to go cold.

He’s quiet, like there’s something more he wants to say. “Nah, just tell Shane I won’t be home when he gets there. I have things to take care of.”

I nod but don’t say a word.

More than aware of both sets of eyes locked on me, I refuse to look at either. Ricky’s bike thunders when he climbs back on and revs it. Then, he leaves just as quickly as he swept in. I’ve already made up my mind to call and apologize later, because I know he catches the bulk of my bitchiness, but my emotions have to settle first. Even knowing he always means well, I’m honestly starting to resent him coming around. Simply because he never seems to bring any good news.

Ever.