The Golden Boys: Chapter 19

Scratch marks down one arm.

A huge bruise on her shoulder.

What the hell is going on with this girl?

She notices me staring and adjusts the strap of her bathing suit. Sure, like that’ll hide it.

Hard fail.

I’m so distracted by the deep, purple mark she’s sporting, I hardly hear Mrs. C.’s short lecture about pool safety and being mindful of our surroundings. Even when she dismisses us to jump into the pool, I’m one of the last ones to move.

The only one more hesitant than me is Southside. Likely because of last week’s incident that resulted in her nearly drowning.

“Up for this?” Mrs. C. asks, approaching me from behind. I glance at her and then follow her gaze back to Southside. “She’s gonna need a lot of work, but you’re probably the strongest swimmer I have.”

I wipe the concern from my expression and nod. “It won’t be a problem.”

Mrs. C. offers a tight grin. “Good. Today’s your first day on the job.”

She turns and leaves me to it, and I’m aware of what a huge opportunity this is to further get under Southside’s skin, but for some reason, I’m not feeling it today. Maybe it’s the bruises and cuts she’s wishing desperately to hide. Whatever the case, I can’t shake the notion that she’s probably had enough hell over the weekend.

As I approach, she casts a weary gaze toward me. One that spurs a feeling I wasn’t quite expecting.

Guilt.

There’s real fear and mistrust in her eyes and I did everything in my power to put it there.

“Not today, West,” she groans. “I know what Mrs. C. said, but I’m just going to walk the pool for the hour, so you’re relieved of your duties.”

My eyes are on her as she descends the steps, wincing as the cold touches new parts of her skin. As a closeted admirer of her figure, I notice when the chill reaches her tits, hardening her nipples beneath her bathing suit.

Focus, asshole.

“Not my call,” I answer, hiding all traces of sympathy and lust from my tone. “I’m not failing one of the easiest classes I have because you don’t feel like putting forth the effort.”

Her stare darkens as I join her in the water, keeping a fair amount of distance between us. Mostly to make sure I’m not tempted to eye-bang her like I just did a second ago.

“So, how much do you actually suck at this?” I ask. “Can you at least float?”

She’s full-on glaring at me now. “Hmm … let’s see. Did it look like I could float last week? You know, when I practically drowned?”

A smirk slips. She’s sassy, and in a world where everyone puts on their best face to make sure they stay in my good graces, it’s surprisingly refreshing. She keeps it real when no one else has the balls.

“Smart-ass,” I mutter.

“Dumb-ass” she shoots back.

She’s fighting it, but one corner of her mouth tugs up. She wants to smile, even if pride won’t allow it.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she says with a sigh. “What do I do first?” Her tone is cold and indifferent, but I have reason to believe she’s anything but that.

“Well, seeing as how you have the skillset of an infant, we need to start with the basics. You’ve gotta get comfortable holding your breath underwater.”

A look of sheer terror fills her expression.

“That … gonna be a problem?” My brow quirks with the question.

There’s a brief moment where she doesn’t speak. Then, a sharp breath leaves those full, pink lips I hate that I still think about from time to time.

“It’s fine,” she concedes. “Just explain what I need to do.”

I suppress a laugh. “There’s nothing to explain. Just breathe in deep, hold it, then lean into the water until your face and ears are submerged. I’ll count to ten, then you come back up.”

That distrust in her eyes grows.

“No funny shit, West. I mean it. If I feel you trying to hold me under, I’ll junk punch you so fast you’ll—”

“Relax, Southside. My grade depends on this, too, remember?”

She doesn’t give in easily but, eventually, she calms down a little.

“Ten seconds,” she reminds me. “Not a second longer.”

“That’s the plan.”

Another of her death stares and she does as instructed.

I count her down as promised and she pops back up, drawing in a dramatic breath like she’s been under for minutes, not seconds.

Trying not to laugh at her is going to kill me, I swear.

“Relax,” I say to her again. “You’re fine.”

Without thinking, my hands are on her waist, trying to remind her she’s safe and isn’t alone. However, the second I realize what I’ve done, I pull back.

“Try it again.”

I’ve earned myself one of her familiar ‘Are you crazy?’ looks and nod at her.

“Come on. This time we’re gonna double the time.”

She’s already shaking her head before I even finish. “No way. I barely made it ten seconds,” she protests.

This girl who’s, literally afraid of nothing, is terrified of four-feet of water? Something’s up.

“What is it? You fall in your pool trying to reach one of your Barbies as a kid?”

I’m laughing, but she isn’t. And judging by the scolding look she just passed my way, I’m guessing there is a story. And it isn’t nearly as funny as I just assumed.

“You’ve seen where I live and you’ve met my dad, so if you think there’s anything but weeds and a couple broken lawn chairs in my backyard, you’re sadly mistaken.”

That usual sassiness is there, but it’s buried now, beneath a ton of emotional baggage. Her walls have never been low enough for me to notice before, but I see her now. Enough to know she’s a girl who carries a lot and doesn’t have much to show for it.

Perfect prey for a man like my father.

A spark of sympathy tries to ignite within me, but I don’t allow it. There’s no excuse for getting involved with a married man. Not even having a piss-poor life you’d do anything to escape.

“Again,” I command coldly, remembering exactly who she is and why I can never forget it.

She rolls her eyes and groans, but does what I told her to. The twenty seconds pass quickly and, like I said, she didn’t die.

“Better,” I admit. “Now, let’s try getting you to float. Then, maybe we’ll have time to try some kicking and arm movements.”

Her gaze shifts down to the water then, but she doesn’t immediately protest, which isn’t like her.

I’m already feeling frustrated with her lack of cooperation. “What now, Southside?”

Her eyes flash toward my chest when I cross my arms over it.

“Nothing,” she forces out. “I just … I did something to my shoulder, and I can’t really move it all that well.”

Half-surprised she even mentioned it, my eyes are drawn there. Although the bruise isn’t visible from this angle, I haven’t forgotten. Nor have I stopped wondering how it got there.

My gaze flickers to hers when I have a flashback to Friday night, when I spotted her in the parking lot with that dickhead with the motorcycle. He was all over her at the block party, so I can only guess there’s something going on between them.

“Your friend do that to you?”

Confusion flashes in her gaze. “What friend?”

My brow quirks. “The one who seems to make it a point to be wherever you are.”

Damn … I sound bitter as hell. Check that shit.

When it takes her a few seconds to answer, I’m starting to think she read more into my tone than I meant for her to.

“You mean Ricky?”

“Fuck if I know his name,” I snap. “The asshole who grabbed your wrist when you were crying after the game.”

She seems shocked that I remember the details so clearly, but I ignore what that probably implies. Instead, I maintain my cold expression, waiting for her to answer.

Her eyes close and stay that way a few seconds. “No, Ricky would never lay a finger on me.”

What about his dick? Does he lay that on you sometimes?

I catch myself before letting those very words leave my mouth, choosing instead to stick to the script.

“If not him, then who?” I ask. “Because you and I both know you didn’t do this yourself. So, before you feed me some bullshit about slamming it on a cabinet or falling down the stairs, know I’m not buying it.”

There’s a standoff between us. One in which I find her incredibly hard to read.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, pushing strands of her drenched hair behind her ears. “We both know you don’t care what happens to me one way or another. So, why is it so important that I answer you?”

My chest moves steadily with the deep breaths I draw in. This conversation has left me feeling exposed, like I’ve let her see the man behind the mask. This realization is the perfect opportunity to correct my own wrong, but I forego it to ask another question.

“Your dad. Was it him?”

There’s a measure of surprise that briefly fills her expression and I didn’t miss it. It’s enough to leave me thinking I just hit the nail on the head. And to drive that point home, she didn’t jump to his defense like she did this Ricky guy.

“He do shit like this often?”

She rolls her eyes before answering. “It wasn’t him,” she insists. “Now would you just drop it? Please?”

I study her for a long stretch, wishing I had already unearthed her tells, the signals she gives when she’s lying. But I don’t know her like that.

“So, thirty seconds, right?” she asks, trying to shift the subject back to her swimming lesson. She passes me an impatient look and I hold back from asking anything else.

“I’ll count,” I say instead, mulling over the sparse details as Southside goes under.

The conversation did nothing to expose her secrets, but it’s shined a light on several of mine. Like, how I’m a little too concerned with what happened to her over the weekend. As the one who swore I wanted her to suffer by my hand, why is it so hard to let this go?

I should be ecstatic that someone else is making her life a living hell, picking up the slack when I’m not around, but I’m finding it hard to get off on her misery today. Which I had no problem with just one short week ago. Somehow, I’d let her get under my skin, and I hate it. With a passion.

She pops above the surface of the water again, doing that same ridiculous gasping routine as before. As I watch her overreact, and nearly smack some unsuspecting nerd girl in the face as she swims by, I’m aware of the damn soft spot forming for the one I swore to ruin.

It was never a secret that the sexual tension between us was blistering hot, from that first time I laid eyes on her at the bonfire. But what comes as an unwelcomed surprise is that I find myself drawn in by more than just her looks. Even the dorky mess I’m staring at now gets to me.

Something about this girl … it makes me want to pull her close and block out all the bad things she seems to draw to her like a magnet. People like me, her dad.

My dad.

Don’t get distracted. This changes nothing. She’s still the enemy.

The short pep talk I give myself brings me back to my senses. I chose my side weeks ago, when I found the pic in the safe. I decided then that I’d find and destroy her. It’s a means to righting my own wrongs from the past, starting with being too young to do something about the first affair I found out about.

If being attracted to Southside is the only thing that stands between me and making things as close to right as I can—without simultaneously tearing my mother’s world apart—I can manage that.

From now on, I’m keeping the blinders on. Her problems are just that. Her problems. Including me, the biggest, most resilient problem of them all.

And as God is my witness … I’m not going anywhere.