3. The Past
3
THE PAST
TYLER
My arms burn as I finish another set of bicep curls and drop the weights onto the bench, the crooning voice of Dan from Imagine Dragons blasting through the speakers. As I grab my bottle and gulp water, something crashes elsewhere in the house. I flinch.
Then, ignoring the crash and hoping like hell that nothing bad is happening, I check the whiteboard leaning against the back wall. I have another set to do and then I’m onto tricep dips.
I wrap my hands around the barbells and lift them into position, grimacing when the rough metal rubs against the calluses on my palms. I inhale slowly, relishing the tang of sweat that’s always present during a good workout, and begin pumping iron again.
The door beside the whiteboard bursts open and Dad strides through, his phone clasped in his hand. Without a word, he switches off the Bluetooth speaker and brandishes the phone at me.
“What’s this?” he demands.
I peer at the phone screen, confused to see my biology teacher’s email address at the top.
“An email,” I mutter because I’ve learned that failing to answer my father never leads to anything good.
“I can see that,” he snaps, and jabs his finger at the text below. “How the hell did you fail a major assignment?”
My heart sinks. I should have known someone would tell Dad about the ‘F.’
“I don’t know.” I look down at my feet. The truth is, I’m just not great at science, and I’m not interested enough to put in the effort it would take to do well.
“You can’t afford to fail.” He pockets the phone and steps toward me menacingly. “If you’re going to go to Princeton, you need top grades. Being a great hockey player won’t be enough.”
I bite my lip to stop myself from telling him I don’t want to go to Princeton. Any decent hockey college would do.
It won’t matter what I have to say. He’s been claiming I’ll play hockey for Princeton every year since I started high school, and he’ll be humiliated if I let him down.
When Dad is humiliated, he’s dangerous. But he won’t take it out on me. He’ll take it out on Mom and Soraya.
“I didn’t have much time to work on it,” I mutter, edging away from the weights in case he decides to throw one.
He puts his hands on his hips. “You had the same amount of time as everyone else.”
Not true. But as soon as I open my mouth to protest, I close it again.
“Didn’t you?” he demands, his voice rising.
“I’ve been busy with extra training since Shaw was injured,” I say, knowing even as the words emerge that I should have kept quiet. Dad won’t care if I’ve had to get a new winger up to speed. In his mind, I should be able to do that while getting straight As.
“You know I have trouble with biology,” I add defensively, hoping to distract him from my guff.
Dad taps his chin, his expression cold as the Arctic. “You know who else has trouble with biology?”
I tense. This isn’t good. I don’t know what’s coming, but I can tell I won’t like it.
“Me.” He grins, as if it’s all a big joke. “In fact, I’m so bad at biology that I might forget how frail your mother is if I see anything beneath a ‘B’ from you again. Wouldn’t it be a shame if something were to happen to her?”
I grit my teeth. My fists clench at my sides. I wish I could plant them in his face, but even though he’s older than me, he’s still just as strong—and a whole lot meaner. There’s a reason I don’t fight back. The few times I tried, it didn’t end well.
“I’ll work harder on the next biology assignment,” I say.
“Fortunately for you, I’ve already spoken to your teacher, and he’s agreed to allow you to write a new essay and resubmit it.” He sounds smug. “I’ve also hired a tutor to help you with it, but she won’t write the essay for you.”
I barely manage not to wince. If Dad has gotten me a do-over, chances are it was because someone within the school administration put pressure on Mr. Harding. He’s absolutely not the type to let people start over.
As for the tutor… Knowing Dad hired her makes me nervous. She’ll probably be reporting back to him on my progress, which means I can’t stretch the truth.
I stride to the squat rack and start loading the ends of the bar as dread swirls in my gut. I can’t be benched from the hockey team, but I don’t understand why Dad cares if I just pay someone else to do my assignments. Half the guys on the team do that.
“Are you listening?” he snaps.
“Yes, sir.” I finish loading the bar because I can’t bring myself to face him.
“Good. I expect you to do your best. It took a lot of doing, but I managed to persuade the top student in class to tutor you.”
Translation: he shelled out a lot of money.
“Thank you,” I say, knowing it’s expected of me.
Then the rest of what he said sinks in. The top student in class. I have no doubt who that is, and I hate the idea of her learning that I’m stupid enough to need help. He probably told her about the ‘F’ too.
“Aren’t you grateful?” he demands.
“Of course.” I turn and contort my face into the closest thing I can manage to a smile around him. “I appreciate you looking out for me.”
“You’d better, after the lengths I went to for your worthless ass.”
Some people might flinch if their father called them worthless to their face, but it’s not even the first time he’s said it this week.
“Nothing less than a ‘B’,” he says, echoing his earlier words. “You start tomorrow.”
I nod, and he pivots and stalks out of the room.
A shiver ripples down my spine. I’ve always considered the home gym to be my sanctuary. Any time he enters, it puts me on edge.
Crash!
I jerk at the unexpected noise and bite my tongue. The metallic tang of blood fills in my mouth. I glance at the ceiling, listening carefully, but apart from muffled voices, nothing seems amiss.
I rinse my mouth out to get rid of the bloody taste.
Please let no one be hurt.
My instincts scream at me to go and check, but I can’t. If I do, it will only be worse. So instead, with my insides tangled in knots, I take the weight of the squat bar on my shoulders and lift it off.
My thighs and ass burn as I perform the reps. I’m on my second set when there’s a light knock at the door.
“Come in,” I call.
My sister appears around the corner. Her usually golden skin is waxen, and a furrow is etched between her eyebrows. I position the bar over the rack and slot it back into place.
“He’s gone,” Soraya says, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Thank fuck.” The house is always a better place to be when he’s not here. “Is everyone all right?”
She rubs her lips together. “Yeah. He just smashed one of the vases on the shelves in the foyer.”
“Typical. How’s Mom?”
Her upper lip curls. “She’s already cleaned it up. She’s shaken, but you know how she is.”
I grunt in acknowledgement. I love Mom, but sometimes I want to grab her and demand to know what’s going on in her head. I don’t understand why she stays with Dad. It’s sure as shit not for us. If she cared about us, she’d have gotten us out of here years ago.
“So, you’re getting a tutor?” Soraya asks, dropping her arms to her sides as I position myself beneath the squat bar again.
“Seems like it.” I’d rather not think about it. I suppose I’ll have to soon, since she’ll be here tomorrow.
“Who?” she asks.
“Dad said it’s the top of the class, so I’m guessing Echo Dean,” I reply.
She bites her lower lip and her forehead crinkles. “The scholarship girl?”
“Yeah.” A pint-sized super-brain with holey jeans and threadbare sweaters. Cute, but wary of me and my friends from the hockey team—especially our first-line winger, Eric, who’s been low-key pursuing her for months.
“I mean, at least he chose someone who could use the money,” Soraya says.
“I’m pretty sure she’s scared of me,” I admit.
I’m also pretty sure I’ve done nothing to alleviate that. Girls like her and guys like me don’t mix. It’s best that way.
ECHO
I clutch the textbook to my chest as I walk down the drive toward the Kinseys’ massive house. All of my instincts tell me I shouldn’t be here—nothing good comes of contact with the school’s elite—but I need the money.
Apprehension tightens my chest as I approach the imposing front door. There are windows everywhere and the back of my neck prickles, telling me that someone is watching.
Or maybe I’m just paranoid.
After all, keeping my head down is how I’ve managed to get through three and a half years at a school that prioritizes wealth and social connections above all else. It’s bad enough that Eric Weston has started harassing me—I don’t need to be on anyone else’s radar.
Shuffling the textbook to one arm, I raise my hand and knock. There’s no doorbell, and I can’t help wondering whether anyone will actually hear me. I almost hope they won’t.
Unfortunately, a moment later, a lock clicks, and the door handle turns and moves inward. The woman inside has to look up to me—not something that happens often. A furrow forms between her eyebrows and she tucks a lock of salon-blonde hair behind her ear.
“Mrs. Kinsey?” I ask.
“Oh, yes.” Her voice is breathy, with a thread of surprise. “You must be here for Tyler.”
“I’m his tutor,” I say, bouncing the textbook meaningfully. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m here for anything else. That’s how rumors get started, and rumors draw attention. All I want is to get through this year unnoticed so I can focus on college.
“Of course.” Her frown makes it clear that it hadn’t crossed her mind I might be here for any other reason. I’m tempted to be offended, but instead, I decide to be an adult and chalk it up to the fact that Tyler isn’t allowed to have serious girlfriends—a well-known fact he takes advantage of to sleep around without commitment.
Mrs. Kinsey steps aside. “Please come in.”
She lowers her eyes, and I study her surreptitiously. She has angular cheekbones and hollow cheeks that suggest she hasn’t eaten enough for a while. I suppose she’s pretty, in a fragile kind of way, but her sunken eyes and defensive posture speak volumes about the type of man her husband is.
I follow her inside, through a foyer with a high ceiling and polished wood floors. My worn-out runners slap against the wood, and I cringe. I probably should have taken them off.
Mrs. Kinsey stops in the doorway of what looks to be some kind of living room, decorated in shades of brown and gray. It doesn’t look like it would be to her taste. She seems more the type to prefer pastels.
“Take a seat,” she says. “I’ll get Tyler.”
“Thank you.”
I remove my shoes before stepping onto the carpet, which is lush and soft beneath my toes. I carry my textbook to the corner sofa and sit, nerves stewing in my gut.
I don’t want to be here.
In fact, I’d prefer to me almost anywhere else. Especially since Eric is bound to find out I’m tutoring Tyler and he’ll somehow use it against me. Ever since he decided he wants to sleep with me, he’s been alternately pursuing me so doggedly it makes me uncomfortable and then tossing insults when I turn him down.
But Mr. Kinsey offered me too much money to refuse the tutoring job. When you’ve scraped for every cent like Mom and I have and know how it feels for hunger to gnaw at your insides because you haven’t eaten, it’s difficult to turn down lucrative offers.
Even if I’m certain I’ll end up regretting my choice.
There are footsteps on the stairs and then Tyler appears in the doorway, his handsome face twisted in a scowl. He looks about as pleased to see me as I am to see him.
“You’re here already?” he asks.
I glance at my phone. “Your Dad said to be here at two. Was that wrong?”
“No.” He doesn’t elaborate, but he does slowly make his way over to me and lowers himself onto a cushion far enough away that I can’t help wondering if he thinks being poor and nerdy is contagious. I stiffen, not used to being even this close to him.
“So, you’ve been given the chance to redo your biology essay on animal reactions to external stimuli and how they regulate their environments,” I say to distract myself. “Have you been assigned a particular animal for the do-over?”
The way he stares at me makes me uncomfortable, so I drop my gaze to my hands.
“Mice,” he says gruffly.
“Okay, great. We can definitely work with that. So, what you need to do is find a particular stimulus that interferes with, or forms part of, a mouse’s natural patterns, then explain their reaction.”
He snorts. “We can’t do anything if you won’t even look me in the eye. I’m not that terrifying, am I?”
With difficulty, I raise my eyes and meet his gaze. “I’m not scared of you.”
He cocks his head. “Then why are you so fidgety? You’re like a cornered cat with its fur puffed up.”
My nostrils flare. “First, that’s an insulting comparison, and second, I get enough of being pushed around at school. I don’t need it on the weekends too.”
One of his eyebrows arches in a way that’s absolutely infuriating.
“You get pushed around?” he asks, his tone slow and deliberate. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Every part of me wants to fold in on myself but I keep my back straight. Somehow.
He watches me, his pale eyes unreadable. “By who?”
“Everyone.” I roll my eyes. “It’s not like I get beaten up like some people do, but pushed around? Yes. Both physically and otherwise. You wouldn’t believe how many rich assholes at school try to get me to do their homework, run their errands, or—like your buddy Eric—sleep with them when I’ve made it clear I’m not interested.”
“Huh.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised by his confusion, which seems to be genuine. He’s probably never paid the least bit of attention to me.
“Okay.” He intertwines his fingers and rests them on his lap. “How’s this? If you help me pass this assignment, I’ll make sure the hockey team leaves you alone.”
“Including Eric?” I don’t see how he can control his friend, but I’d love for him to try.
“Yeah.”
I study his face. His expression doesn’t give much away, but I think he means it.
“All right, then.” I make an effort to hold his gaze and smile. “Let’s do this.”
An hour later, I have to admit that I’m impressed. Tyler is a better student than I expected. He’s made a solid start on the assignment and, unless he goes off the rails, he should have plenty for me to review next time I’m here.
He walks me to the door, although I get the feeling it’s more to make sure I don’t go wandering around his house than out of politeness.
“Remember what I said,” he says as I step outside. “If I pass with at least a B, I’ll talk to the guys.”
I nod. “I’d appreciate that.”
He closes the door. I turn and start down the drive, carrying my textbook. I’m halfway to the street when I hear raised voices and glance over my shoulder. I freeze. Two figures are silhouetted in one of the windows, and as I watch, one shoves the other.
I draw in a ragged breath and close my eyes for a moment. When I open them again, the figures are gone.
I hesitate. If someone is hurt, they need help, but they were there and gone so fast, I can’t be certain of what I saw.