DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE The Golden Boys: Chapter 28
King Midas in a crown? Seems fitting.
I’m not even aware I’m smiling until Jules nudges me.
“Something you want to fill me in on?”
Her eyes bounce toward the platform where West stands beside Joss—the crowned queen—and then back to me.
“I’m all ears if you wanna tell me what happened when he dragged you off, caveman-style.” She teases.
To contain the huge, stupid smile that breaks free, I bite my lip.
Don’t let him get inside your head. You still hate him. He still sucks.
The pep talk brings a small measure of reality back to me, but it’s hard to cling to with him staring at me from the stage. Like he’s still ready and willing to finish what we started if I just say the word.
And, wow … I’ve never wanted to give in to anyone as badly as I want to give in to him. But there’s a principle I must uphold. What kind of girl would I be if I let my enemy have his way with me?
A pitiful one.
…A satisfied one.
I’m a freakin’ lost cause.
Jules is still smiling at me in my peripheral, but I’m saved by the bell. Glancing down at my phone, an unknown caller pops up.
“Be back,” I say to her, and then run out of the gym as quickly as I can in heels. I make it out to the hall just before my voicemail picks up.
“Hello?”
There’s silence on the other end at first, and I plug my ear to listen harder while making my way toward the school exit. Maybe reception is bad in this area.
Cool air sweeps over my legs when I make it outside and lean against the brick.
“Hello? Someone there?”
This time I hear something. And it sounds like crying. Right away, I’m on high alert, thinking the worst.
“Scar? Are you okay?”
My heart’s racing a mile a minute, especially with what Hunter shared this morning, but she should be fine. I texted an hour ago and she was safe at Uncle Dusty’s.
“It’s not Scar,” a familiar voice says. “It’s me.”
A rush of air leaves my lungs, and with it, my ability to process words.
“It’s Mom, Blue-Jay.”
Music from the gym is faint but serves as a soundtrack to this surreal moment. It’s been months—months—since she’s called. So, why now?
“How are you, sweetheart?” she asks, speaking through her sobs.
I envision the state she’s probably in right now—disheveled, pathetic.
“How do you think I am?” I snap, feeling my throat tighten with emotion. “Where the hell are you?”
Her voice shudders on the other end and I’m guessing my tone has upset her, but who the hell cares? ‘Upset’ has been my default setting for quite some time now.
“I’ve been around,” is the lame answer I’m given. “But, Blue-Jay, I can’t talk long. I need … a little favor.”
And there it is. This call has nothing to do with wanting to know how the children she brought into this world are faring without her. She’s calling because she needs something.
“What?” I ask flatly, sounding every bit as frustrated and disgusted as I feel.
She holds back for a few seconds, but then gets to her point. “I could use some cash.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say mostly to myself. Her request has me pacing.
“I’m not asking for much,” she insists. “Just a couple hundred bucks. I swear I’ll get it back to you by next week.”
A laugh slips out. “I’m sorry, but do you have any idea what I could do with a couple hundred dollars right now? For starters, I can make sure I feed your daughter something other than bologna and ramen five days a week. Oh! And I could’ve paid to keep the electricity on myself last month. And I wouldn’t have to work so many hours that I’m failing at being the parent you were supposed to be to Scar. Do you need me to go on, Mom?”
There’s silence on the other end, like I knew there would be. She sniffles in the background and I’m panting like I’ve just run a mile.
“It’ll just be for a little while,” she repeats, as if she heard nothing I said.
Despite wanting nothing more than to have some small piece of my mother to cling to, I end the call.
My breath puffs in the chilled air, but I hardly notice I’m cold. At the moment, the only thing I feel is empty, void of everything.
Because I’ve made a habit of giving away everything I have to give, but no one ever thinks enough of me to repay the favor.
West
A set of stiff, fake tits bob in my face as Sandy … or Sara … whatever the hell her name is, rides me hard and fast. The headboard slams the wall like she’s trying to ram us into the other room and, while I should be enjoying this Stacey girl, I can’t get another out of my head.
Outside the window, screams from the pool distract me. As far as after parties go, it’s a lively one, but I’m not enjoying any of it.
Any of it.
“Get off me.”
A confused glare meets mine through the dark. “What?”
“You deaf? I said get the fuck off me.”
Sydney scoffs when she slides onto the mattress and grabs her clothes, then slams the bathroom door behind her to make sure I know she’s pissed. Not realizing I couldn’t care less what she’s feeling. She’ll be forgotten by morning. Already is.
Which begs the question why one, in particular, is stuck in my head like a bad song.
Or … a good one.
Damn.
I’ve rationalized it a million times, a million different ways. Reminding myself why she’s off limits. Reminding myself why I should be disgusted by the mere thought of touching her, but it doesn’t work. Every time I close my eyes, I see that face.
That one face.
Now, with what she claimed tonight, she’s gotten even deeper inside my head. She could’ve said anything. Could’ve lied and said she was a virgin. Could’ve lied and said she’d been with a few. But instead, she told me about Ricky—that he’d been the first and only. A very specific response.
One that would blow my entire theory out the water if it were true.
However, because of that seed of doubt being planted, I can’t even think straight.
She said something else that stuck with me. The joke she made about my “hit list” being too long to share in a night. While I make no apologies for how many chicks I’ve been with, I’m not proud of everything I’ve done. The reminder prompted one ghost, in particular, to resurface. One that haunts me despite her being alive and well, despite there not actually being bad blood between us.
And that ghost’s name is Casey.
That One slip up in judgment would make me a shit candidate for holding anyone’s sins against. Only, where my mission with Southside is concerned, it’s never been about me. It’s been about the only one who’s truly innocent in all this—my mother.
“Just so you know, I’m gonna tell everyone you couldn’t even get it up, asshole,” Sharon shouts at the back of my head on her way out of the room.
Say whatever you want. My reputation in bed precedes me, bitch.
She isn’t worth the breath it would take to say these words aloud, but they’re true.
I stand, get rid of the wasted condom, then find my pants on the floor. After zipping them, I grab the half empty beer I set on the nightstand, then walk to the end of the hallway where laughter flows in from an open set of French doors.
“Did I miss anything good?” I ask, leaning over the balcony rail to stare down at the pool. We’ll pay for having yet another party here at the Bellvue house, but it’ll be worth it.
“Nope,” Sterling says with a sigh, slouching lower in his seat, a total of three girls surrounding him. Two perched on the arms of his chair, another in his lap.
If something did happen, he would’ve missed it.
Turning away, I smile.
“What about you?” Dane asks with a grin.
I face him slowly, still pissed with the stunt he pulled a few hours ago at the dance. Not to mention, my wallet is now $500 lighter.
When my only response to his question is to look away, he laughs.
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Joss hiccups.
I turn again, just as she drops down into Dane’s lap. If I didn’t already know she was drunk, I would now. She never lets her guard down with him, never blurs the lines for fear of where it might lead.
He’s tipsy, too. So, when he bites his lip with lust heavy in his eyes, then begins to slide a hand between Joss’s thighs, I save him from himself.
“Joss, we’re calling you an Uber,” I offer. “Your dad’ll be pissed you’re drunk, but more than that, he’ll be happy when you make it home alive.”
“Good idea,” Dane cuts in, seeming to come to his senses.
I grunt when I bring her to her feet with little to no help on her part. This girl is drunk drunk.
Dane follows behind her, already arranging her ride from his phone when they leave me and Sterling out on the balcony.
“Our last Homecoming at CPA. You ready to leave all this behind next year?” he asks, sounding sentimental like Mom. I’ll ream him for it later. For now, I just shrug and stare out at the crowd below.
“It’s time to move on, lay claim to a new kingdom,” I tease.
He laughs at that. “I feel you on being ready to move on, but if I’m being honest, it’ll be so much sweeter with one last championship under our belt. You know, assuming South Cypress doesn’t steal it.”
“Fuck Southside.”
There’s silence for a bit, and he sounds suspicious when he speaks again. “Are … we still talking about football?”
I don’t answer. Because I’m not so sure myself.
“Mind giving us a sec, ladies?” he asks, prompting the harem surrounding him to stand and leave.
He leans forward in his chair and I brace myself. It must be serious.
“I overheard something tonight,” he starts. “And take it for what it’s worth, but I thought you’d like to know.”
I’m intrigued, so I drop down into the seat Dane left empty. “What is it?”
Sterling sips his drink first, letting it dangle between his fingers after. “I was out getting some air and Southside walked out to take a call.”
Hearing him explain, I remember seeing her rush for the exit right after Joss and I got crowned. Now, I guess I know why.
“She didn’t notice me, but I heard her conversation,” he explains. “From what I could gather, it was her mom on the line, but … I got the impression her life’s pretty screwed up.”
My jaw tenses. “What’d you hear?”
He sighs and keeps his eyes trained on the pool below. “Sounded like her mom was asking for money. Then, Southside got triggered, started talking about how she can hardly pay bills and provide for her sister as it is. They went back and forth like that for a bit, before Southside finally got fed up and ended the call.”
I don’t say a word, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel every single thing he just said to me.
“But anyway,” he pipes up again, “just seemed like the kind of thing you should know.”
I see right through him. This isn’t an act of loyalty toward me, to my cause. This is an appeal, a one-man intervention with hopes that I’ll go easier on her.
Of course, he’d want that because he doesn’t know what I know about her. Doesn’t know how our lives are connected to hers.
With that thought, her words creep inside my head again and I hate that I’m not so sure anymore. Hate that she’s made me doubt what I had been so certain of not so long ago. But I can’t unsee that pic in my dad’s phone. It isn’t something I just dreamed up; it’s real and there’s only one explanation for it being there. And while I may not know Southside all that well, I sure as hell know Vin Golden.
Sterling stands and slaps my shoulder before taking the balcony steps by two. Then, he pulls off his shirt and dives headfirst into the pool, leaving me here with my thoughts.
I refuse to feel for that girl. She doesn’t deserve our sympathy, no matter how pathetic her life is. The only thing Sterling has done here is expose Southside’s motivation, the likely reason she attached herself to my father.
It’s simple.
She needs cash, he has tons of it.
My father has a knack for sensing people’s weaknesses and exploiting them. This is no different from every other stunt he’s pulled.
Anger fills me, but I’m shaken by where it’s stemming from. It’s not even aimed toward Southside this time, but my father. For manipulating yet another person just because he can. And, as much as I don’t want to sympathize with Southside … I do.
Because I’ve been in her shoes before. No, not the same situation, but bound to my father because he’s good at what he does—negotiating deals.
Despite myself, I can’t help but wonder if she simply got entangled in something she didn’t see a way out of with him.
God knows I could relate to that.
On so many fucked up levels.