Dear Ava by Ilsa Madden-Mills

7

I’m giddy when the text comes in from Trask that there’s a place for Tyler at the elementary campus and he’s arranged for me to meet with the headmaster there this afternoon. Apparently one of their scholarship students transferred at the last minute when his parents moved. Do I believe it or did Trask buy my threats? I don’t know, and shit, I don’t care how it happened, but it did! As I walk down the hall, several students give me wary looks, and I just smile. Yes, yes, yes! My baby brother will be one block away from me during the day, and I can maybe even jog over there during lunch and—

No, I can’t just walk into the school and watch him. They have rules. He’ll be okay, he will, and he’ll be getting the best services in the state. I giggle. I can even go to his parent-teacher meetings and soccer games.

I let out a deep breath as I step outside the entrance of Camden.

DAY ONE IS DONE!

LIFE DOES NOT SUCK!

All those good feelings deflate when I see Louise is sitting cock-eyed in the parking lot. Most of the cars have left since I stayed in the library for an hour studying until the crowds had dispersed. Dammit.

I walk up to the Jeep, and the left back tire is decidedly flat. I lean down and inspect it.

Well crap.

I eyeball the spare on the back and let out a sigh as I whip off my blazer and toss it inside along with my backpack.

Five minutes later, I’ve found the jack and have placed it in the right spot on the axle—according to the dusty manual from my glove box I briefly perused.

An idea hits, the memory of that letter left in my locker. I tug it out of my backpack and reread it again.

If you need anything, I want to be there for you. Ha! From a Shark. Let me tell you about a bridge I have for sale. Brooklyn Bridge? It will only cost you a little. Right, right.

I have to admit, it makes me curious. Oh, trust me, I don’t buy for a second that a Shark might actually be my secret admirer—utter bullshit—but color me intrigued.

Showtime.

I type the digits into my phone and send a text.

Shark, got your letter. Who are you? How did you know my locker number?

The reply is immediate, and my hands clutch the phone.

Ava. I can’t believe you texted me.

Wonders never cease. You left me your number, dumbass. WHO ARE YOU?

I saw you today and you took my breath away.

I blink rapidly.

LIAR. This is all a joke. A stupid one. Fuck off.

I believe you. About the party.

Not going there.

I fire off another text.

Well, Mr. Shark, I have a flat. I wonder who’s responsible? I got new tires this summer. You think this is just a coincidence?

No reply.

I stuff my phone back in my blazer and run my eyes over Louise. Anger makes my fists curl as I inspect the tire. I expected the name-calling, the sneering glances, even Jolena getting in my face, but to damage my property—oh, good grief, Ava, this cannot be unexpected. You knew when you agreed to this that the people you’re dealing with believe they are above the law with their money and status—one of them got away with rape.

A few minutes later, I’m turning the jack’s rotatable clasp counterclockwise and lifting the deflated tire off the ground. It’s hot as hell and sweat drips down my face.

“Trouble again, Tulip? It seems to follow you wherever you go,” says the deep voice behind me, and I imagine what I must look like to him: butt high in the air, my body straining to turn the jack.

I keep working, never pausing. “Keep moving, QB1. Nothing to see here but a girl who knows how to change a tire. Quite fascinating for you, I’m sure.” I blow at a piece of hair that’s gotten in my eyes. “In fact, I’m quite unusual in your world, am I right? I’m nothing like those girls under the bleachers.” I twist on the jack, still refusing to look at him. “I don’t fuck guys under bleachers. I only sleep with guys who care about me, who want me in spite of where I come from.”

I close my eyes in exasperation, glad he can’t see my face.

What is it about him that pushes me to make these remarks?

Please leave. Just go away.

But he doesn’t.

“How do you know about the bleachers?”

I heave out a curse word. Me and my big mouth.

He bends down next to me, looking at me, but I refuse to return the favor. I stare at my tire.

“Tulip? Have you…seen me? Or just heard rumors? Girls like to talk, but you don’t really socialize with our crowd.” There’s a hint of embarrassment in his words; I expected gloating.

Curiosity makes me finally set the jack handle down and face him. His hair is damp from football practice and sticking up in all directions as if he left quickly without showering. He’s standing with his legs apart, his muscled arms crossed, wearing a white vented jersey with the number one on it and tight red football pants.

“Please. Word gets around, Knox. We all know how you like it, but yes, I saw you—twice after a game, and once in the freaking middle of the school day when I went to the field to pick up my poms I’d left.”

He frowns. “Three times? Shit.” His body tenses. “I think the odds of you catching me three times are quite low.”

Uh…

He studies my face, and I feel it getting warm. His eyes widen. “Did you look for me?”

“No! Stop it. That’s just gross.”

And it’s also the truth.

After I saw him the first time, I slipped under the bleachers after a game on purpose just to see if he’d be there, and oh boy, was he. He was hot, his head thrown back, still in his uniform, sweat dripping down his face, his lips twisted as he plowed some girl from behind with the grace of a powerful animal, barely leashed and close to veering out of control. Wild. Intense.

He bites his lips, a red blush rising up from his throat to his cheeks. “Fuck.”

I gape. “What? I’m shocked you’re actually embarrassed. By the way, is it true you only do it from behind?”

He glowers at me as his hands clench, and a fissure of triumph runs through my body. I finally got to him.

“Ugh, you saw me!” His hands tug at his hair.

“Uh-huh.”

He blows out a breath. “Look, erase that from your head.”

Not likely.

“Just the thought of someone like you…seeing me like that…” He grimaces and scrubs his face. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

“Who is someone like me?”

“No one. You’re no one here.”

Huh. Is that right?

I laugh bitterly. “Today when I said you’d peaked in high school and you’re going to end up alone and crying and addicted to porn? I forgot to mention you’ll probably spend most of your time drunk-dialing skanky ex-girlfriends and hookers. You won’t ever play football in college. No one will want you. You suck. You can’t even win a state championship, and trust me, this school demands one. The rumor is I really screwed up last year’s season. Not sorry.”

I expect him to get pissed.

“Actually, you did get in my head pretty good this morning.” He sighs. “But if you tell anyone that, I’ll call you a liar.”

I do a little clap. “Ohhhh, I screwed with the great Knox Grayson. This moment is sweet! Do I get a medal? How about a mention in the yearbook? Oh, how about an honorary sash to wear? I’ll have it say Beat Knox At His Own Game.”

He opens his mouth and then closes it.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“What?” I snap.

He grimaces. “You really should stay away from me, Tulip. You shouldn’t have sat next to me. I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Huh. You offered, remember? Walk away then. Get on with it, Shark. I didn’t ask you to stop and talk to me. Shoo.”

He studies me, unmoving. A gust of wind catches his hair, moving it over his scar, and he brushes at it, never dropping those smoky eyes from my face. The silence and tension builds between us, and I…I find that it’s more than just disliking him. It’s electric, thrumming through my veins.

I shrug it off. “Besides, I’m not afraid to sit next to you. I’ve done self-defense training recently, and honestly, I can hurt you if I want to. Groin area. Throat punch. There’s even a special headlock where you pass out.”

My words bother him, and he grimaces then looks away from me. “I didn’t hurt you that night.”

I know. He wasn’t even there. He left early with Tawny.

I’ll kill him with my bare hands.

But his brother…

He reaches down and rubs his hands across the rubber. “Slow leak?”

I pause and wipe at the sweat on my brow. “You think? Or did someone do it on purpose?”

His thumb presses against a spot on the tire, his eyes studying the wheel as if it’s a puzzle. “Puncture, and not a nail. Looks like someone sliced it.”

I exhale. I already saw the cut. “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. It doesn’t matter. Besides, I have a spare, and I know how to change a tire.”

“Let me do it.”

“I don’t need you to help me, okay? I can save myself. Been doing it all my life.”

“I know you can save yourself.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” I sigh, frustrated. I don’t want him here. “Why are you being nice, Knox? You don’t want to be my friend!”

His eyes meet mine, searching my face. “Do you need a reason right now—in this heat?”

A bead of sweat slides down my throat. His eyes watch it.

“Fine,” I say. “You want to take the spare down from the back? Also, do you happen to have a lug wrench in your car? I do, but mine’s all rusted and…”

Before I can finish, he’s already jogging over to a black Mercedes-Benz SUV, popping the back, and riffling through it. He holds up a sparkly new wrench and runs back over. I try really hard to not notice how gorgeous he is.

He bends down next to me. “First, let’s get the nuts off.”

I almost say That’s what she said, but then I remember who he is—not my friend—and stop.

Bending down with him, I watch as he removes the last nut, slips the tire off, and puts the spare on, the tightly roped muscles of his forearms straining as he lifts and secures it. He glances up, catching my eyes. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m smirking in a condescending way—big difference. Just enjoying the sight of Cold and Evil doing hard work.” I grab the flat tire and attach it to the back of my Jeep. He stands, and I feel the heat of his gaze watching me.

Knox Grayson never paid me much attention in the years I went here, and the truth is, I’m a bit discombobulated by his nearness—in class today, in the office, and right now.

I turn and we’re just…staring at each other. More of that stupid tension rises.

A prickle of awareness goes down my spine, as if somehow he knows what I’m thinking.

He’s the first to break our concentration. With one step, he’s closer to me. Reaching out, he fingers a piece of hair that was in my eyes and puts it behind my ear.

First I freeze.

Then I take a step back. “Don’t do that,” I snap, frowning.

“You touched me in class. I owed you.”

I put my hands on my hips. “I can’t figure you out. I keep seeing and talking to you today.”

He shoves at his hair. “You interested in me? Get in line. Every single girl here knows what I’m about.” His eyes capture mine and he drags a finger down his scar. “They’re either repulsed by this or they’re fascinated. Which are you?”

I squint at him, waiting for that tiny bit of fear I felt from him last year to come back. It doesn’t. “Love ’em and leave ’em, right?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, and my eyes follow the movement of his broad shoulders.

“How’d you get that scar anyway?”

His face tightens, and I see a glimpse of pain before it disappears so quickly I wonder if it was ever really there.

“It’s not jagged. A nice, clean cut, almost like a knife. Did you do it?”

“No!” He flushes, glaring at me. “Just shut up about it.”

Ah, the pain of that scar still rankles.

One more thing to file away in the Knox Grayson dossier.

“Fine, it’s a secret. I have one on my inner thigh from a fork. Got it from the only foster home I stayed at. There was an older girl who didn’t want me sleeping in her room. I was ten. See?” I slightly lift up my skirt, showing him the stretched-out mark, which is about the size of my pinkie. “I slept with a rock under my pillow after that.”

He moves his gaze up slowly, landing on my face. “Did she ever try it again?”

“No, but I was ready. I would have done whatever it took to keep her away from me.”

“Fierce little thing.”

I snap my teeth at him and his lips twitch.

“Don’t laugh at me unless you want me to go into more excruciating detail about your sad, sad future.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Damn. Can’t help it. You’re—”

Whatever he was about to say is cut off.

“Knox, you look like a mechanic with that wrench in your hand. Nice. Let me snap a pic for posterity,” says a voice behind us.

My breath hitches. I flip around and chills dance down my spine. It’s Dane who’s spoken, and with him are Chance and Liam. Dane takes his phone out of his pocket and takes a picture of us.

Chance has that stricken look on his face again, like this morning.

Liam laughs and I focus on the big footballer. His white hair is still long in the front with those stupid swooping bangs. He smirks at me, meeting my gaze, and I shiver. It’s the first time we’ve come face-to-face all day, and I’m extra glad our schedules don’t overlap.

Chance sends an angry look at Knox, his jawline grinding. “Dude, we’re going to The Coffee Bean to hang. Aren’t you coming?” he asks, his voice accusatory, his attention bouncing from me to Knox.

Chance looks almost…

Acting out of instinct, I flip my hair out of my face, and his eyes follow the movement, a hungry look there.

I straighten my shoulders, adjusting my white shirt, which is noticeably sticking to my skin in the heat. And, guess what—Chance’s gaze goes there too, lingering on my chest.

Well, well.

My anger stirs. He has the nerve to look at me as if he wants me, yet he called me a slut? Out of everyone here, he should have believed me.

“Yeah, unless you’re too busy helping her,” Liam adds snidely.

Knox gives me a glance then looks back at them. “Nah, I have studying to do. You do too, Dane.”

Dane sweeps his eyes over me, a knowing smile on his face. “Got to admit, this moment is priceless though. Knox and Ava. Ava and Knox. How does that sound, Chance? Has quite the ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Chance flushes red.

“Shut the fuck up,” Knox says sharply.

Dane pulls his hair out of the manbun he has it in and shakes it out, the strands brushing his jersey. He points those eyes that are so much like Knox’s at me. “Wanna join us, Ava? I’ll buy you whatever you want if you don’t have the money.”

Oh, what a little prick. My hands fist.

“What the hell, Dane?” Chance says. “Be serious!”

“Yeah, babe,” Liam adds. “Maybe we can talk about that video of you dancing. Do you remember that? You’ve got some sweet moves on you, I’ll give you that—”

“That’s enough!” Knox roars.

There’s silence, and my heart races.

There’s an undercurrent of tension between them all, and part of me senses it may not just be about me—but maybe it is? Shit, of course it is. Last year their team sucked and they all blame me.

I lick my lips nervously. Here I am, alone in a school parking lot with four of the football players who were at that party, and as much as I want to be cool, my hands tremble—

“Yo, Ava! You good?”

I start when Wyatt pulls up in a souped-up black Chevelle with a hot pink stripe down the hood, rap music blaring and the motor so loud I’m surprised I didn’t hear the vehicle approaching.

We all turn to look at him. He’s wearing a Camden baseball hat and a wide grin.

Maybe it’s something he sees on my face, because he turns his car off and gets out, sauntering over to us.

He tosses a casual arm around my shoulders as if we’ve been friends forever. “You doing good, locker neighbor?” Locka neigbah. He scans his eyes over the group and lingers on the jack I still haven’t put away. “You need a ride?”

“I’m good, just had a flat. Someone cut my tire. Knox helped me change it.”

Liam laughs, quickly covering it with his hand when Knox scowls.

Wyatt narrows his eyes at Liam then looks at me. “Heard you got into Arlington Dorm. Saw your name on the resident list when I checked in after school. Looks like we’ll be living together—well, on different floors. They tend to keep the boys separate from the girls, although you are welcome to drop by my room any time. I make a mean bowl of popcorn.”

“Yeah, I haven’t had a chance to check in. I still have some errands to run.” I keep my eyes on his face because panic flutters, lingering just under the surface.

His arm tightens around me. “I’ll help you move in. It’s furnished already, but for the love of God, bring your own sheets ’cause theirs are rough as hell.”

“Yeah, okay.” I bet my sheets would horrify him too. “I have to drive back to Nashville and grab some things then meet someone, so I’ll be there later.”

“I’m out of here,” Chance growls, his shoulders tight with tension as he stalks off toward an Escalade several spots away.

“Yeah, I’m bored already,” Liam adds before following him.

Dane makes to follow them, but Knox grabs his jersey and snaps him back. Dane doesn’t put up much of a fight and I hear Knox muttering under his breath, words I can’t hear. Dane settles for staring at the ground.

Chance and Liam get inside the black Escalade and peel out.

Relief hits me. Two down.

Wyatt’s giving me directions to the dorm and tips on parking when Knox’s voice cuts in, his tone soft. “Ava, if you’re okay, I’ll go.”

I glance at him, trying to maintain a neutral expression. “I’m fine. Thank you for the help.”

He’s still holding his wrench, and his face…it’s not shuttered this time. In fact, it’s layered in emotion as he watches me with Wyatt. “Take care of her at that dorm, will you?” he says to him.

“She’s in the best of hands,” Wyatt murmurs.

He and Wyatt exchange a long look, then Knox nods and gives me one last glance, his face back to stone.

He and Dane walk over to his car, their heads close as they talk.

Once they’ve pulled out, I turn to Wyatt, who’s now inspecting my new tire. He tells me I’ll need to get a new one because the spare sucks. Yeah, I know.

“You know the football players well?”

He shrugs, a meh expression on his face. “I play baseball, and jocks tend to hang out. We’ve been to a few parties together, but I ain’t like them, see. I’m no Shark.” Shak. He breaks out another grin. “Stupid name, right? I mean our mascot is the Dragons. I’m still considered new here, and they don’t like outsiders, but when you’re me, you don’t give a fuck.”

I study that eyebrow piercing, the sleeve of tattoos on his forearm, a mix of hummingbirds and roses intermingled. Recognition hits.

“Oh my God! You’re Wyatt Carrington! Your dad—your dad’s the lead singer of the Snowballs, right? Indie band from Boston? Started his career as a model and switched to music back in the nineties?” Serious drug problems, lots of rehab…

A slow blush starts up his neck. “Most people don’t recognize me until I tell them—”

“No, you look just like him. Geeze. I love their music. How did you end up in Sugarwood?”

“My mom’s originally from Nashville. She went here. My parents divorced and I came with her last year when she moved to Franklin, Tennessee. It’s about an hour from here, so I was able to get a dorm.”

“Ah, I’m sorry about your parents.”

He shrugs. “Dude, my dad was a serial cheater—and the drugs? I’m shocked he’s still alive. I don’t blame her.”

“So are you in cultural shock here in the South?”

“I don’t miss the cold weather, but the southern accents crack me up.” He smirks.

“Have you listened to your accent?” I laugh. “Hey, thanks for being nice to me this morning. I wasn’t ready for it. First day jitters.”

He gives me a fist bump. “We’ll be friends if you tell me you’re a Red Sox fan? Yes?”

“Is that the sport with a long stick? I don’t know jack about baseball.”

“I can live with that. Just don’t ever bring up the Yankees and we’re golden.”

I laugh, then my eyes follow Knox’s flashy car as it pulls out onto the highway. I chew on my lips. “Hey, what do you think about Knox Grayson?”

Wyatt follows my gaze then grins wistfully. “I think he’s hot. That tight body and those guns on his arms… If only he went that way. Damn shame.”

My eyes bug out. “Wait…what?”

He chuckles then gets going with a full-blown laugh, slapping his leg. “Ava, you should see your face. I’m gay. Everyone knows.”

I shake my head. “But…you’re so…”

“Masculine? Athletic?”

I giggle. “Yeah, okay, sure, all that. I didn’t mean to stereotype. My bad.” I pause. “Thanks again for stopping.”

He strikes a pose, bending his wrist and totally putting on airs. “Ignore those assholes, darling, because we’re going to be great friends.”

A new friend.

“Also, I can’t find you on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—nothing. Where do you social?”

I roll my eyes. “I deleted everything when I got tagged in a ton of negative comments about the party.”

He takes that in, mulls it over. “Fuck that. Forget them.”

I smile. “Hey, you got any musical talent like your dad?”

“I play guitar like a madman.”

“I sing. Wanna teach me how to play sometime?”

“Oh, yeah, locker neighbor.” When he grins, his face is open and full of sincerity, and a warm feeling grows in my chest.

It’s not a bad end to the day at all.

But tomorrow will be here soon, and I’ll have to start all over again.