Chapter 8 #4
“Get inside, Mr. Underwood!” I heard Principal Stine snap.
It was a stark difference to the chummy, friendly man I had met just minutes ago.
“You stay in there. Don’t even think about leaving.
I need to go sort out that mess you made.
Do not leave. I’ll know. Trust me, I’ll know! You’re not good at being quiet!”
“That’s not true,” the other voice said. The boy.
I didn’t want to look like I was eavesdropping, so I kept my eyes ahead of me, my legs crossed and my posture probably a little too straight.
Whoever Principal Stine had dragged inside the office kept mumbling something under their breath, a mixture of “fuck” and “that guy was fuckin’ asking for it” and yet another “fuck” there in the air.
Their footsteps were heavy as I kept looking forward, and then that sound came to a stop, and I could see him from the corner of my eye. For a while, he just stood there staring, and I couldn’t help but feel heat creep up from my neck to my cheeks.
Turning my head ever so slightly, I saw who was responsible for all that mess and chaos—who was also staring at me too. My breath hitched in my throat for a second as I got sight of him.
Tall and looming, dark hair a mess, like he had run his hands through the strands far too many times or hadn’t actually touched it at all since he rolled out of bed in the morning. Both options were oddly appealing to me.
His clothes looked ever so slightly worn and torn.
Just a gray colored band T-shirt and some blue jeans with several rips in them.
The boys I usually interacted with were all polished and too overly put together, but the one standing before me had a devil may care appearance I hadn’t ever really experienced.
His bruised, slightly red knuckles really cemented that fact.
But it was those eyes that really captured me. Deep, deep ocean blue. The color of every ocean I hadn’t ever been able to see or feel.
“You’re at the wrong school,” he said, a gravelly tone to his voice. “You lost?”
Throat clearing, I blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Slowly, he dropped into the seat next to me on the bench, slumping down all slow and lazy and uncaring. His legs sprawled, his knee brushing up against mine. “Your uniform. You’re at the wrong place. We don’t wear that here. Cute skirt, though.”
“Oh.” Blushing, I flattened my skirt. “We’re here on a field trip.”
The boy snorted as he pushed a hand through his already unkempt hair. “They brought you here?”
“Mhm.”
“Why?” he asked, his eyes not leaving mine, and was it weird how that was making me blush? How he was making me blush when I barely knew him? There was just something in the way he was looking at me. A flicker of something that I really liked.
“Well, it’s more like an opportunity to interact with other schools in the city,” I said, fidgeting a little in my seat. It was his gaze making me do that. His eyes. All deep and blue. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen.
He frowned. “They picked this fuckin’ dump?”
I shrugged at him. “I don’t think it’s a dump.”
“I promise you it is. What’d you do to get in here?”
“Get in where?”
“You in trouble too? You seein’ the principal?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m not in trouble.”
“You look like the kinda girl who gets into trouble.”
“I do?” I asked with a smile I couldn’t fight back.
“You look like you smoke behind the bleachers.” His voice was low and teasing as he rested an arm on the back of the bench. “Can I borrow one?”
“I don’t…” My voice trailed off as more laughter hit me. “I don’t smoke. Sorry.”
“You look like you beat people up for their lunch money. I’m a little scared.”
Laughing louder, I kept shaking my head. “I don’t do that either. I’m here because I’m waiting to see what student I’m assigned to. Every school we go to, we’re assigned a student to buddy up with, and we get to learn about them and their lives.”
“Sounds boring,” he mumbled. “What school do you go to?”
“Stonebridge Academy.”
“Like, a boarding school?”
“No, no. We don’t live on campus.”
“Stonebridge Academy,” he repeated, voice low. “Sounds fancy.”
I blushed, eyes avoiding his for a second.
I had honestly had much more fun at Rushville than every minute I had ever spent at Stonebridge.
It was a cold school. Boring, clinical, claustrophobic most of the time despite its size, but that was because I knew what it was: training for whatever else came next in my life.
Boring, beige expectations. But this boy was fun.
He was chaotic and silly and messy—and I really liked mess.
I didn’t realize it until that moment, but I liked boys who were messy too.
“It’s… It’s not that great, actually,” I finally said.
“Where do you live?”
“Branmore.”
A sharp whistle left his lips as he sat up a little straighter. “You’re not just rich then, huh, princess? You’re rich rich.”
“My parents are rich.” I rolled my eyes. “I just live in their house…”
“Is it a house or a mansion?”
“Depends on what you classify as a mansion.”
“Anything with more than one story is a mansion to me.”
“I see…”
“So, who’d you get assigned to?”
“Um.” I eyed the sheet of paper Mrs. Elroy had given me. “Kylie Mathers.”
A grin spread across the boy’s face, all crooked and mischievous. “Oh, that’s me.”
“That’s you?” I asked with a giggle.
“Uh-huh.” Slowly, he slid across the bench, making his way to me so that our thighs were touching. “I guess we have to hang out now.”
“I have a hunch that’s not you.” I couldn’t get the smile off my face.
It was a big wide one that made my cheeks hurt.
I didn’t miss the way the boy had moved in closer.
The way our thighs just barely touched. He smelled too good.
Cheap cologne with a hint of cigarette smoke that I wanted more of.
I was supposed to stay away from boys who smoked.
From boys who looked like the one in front of me.
“I swear it is,” he said.
“You swear?”
“I swear.”
“Your name’s Kylie?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Not completely.”
“It totally is my name.”
“Bridger Underwood!” Principal Stine suddenly snapped from behind us so loud it made me jump, but the boy stayed still, unblinking, like he was used to getting screamed at by teachers. “First thing in the morning and you’ve already gotten into two fist fights! Is that a record for you?”
“Those guys were askin’ for it!” Bridger—not Kylie—snapped.
Principal Stine approached the bench, hands on his hips as he shook his head. Then his eyes landed on me. “Why can’t you be more like the students who came to visit us today? Like the one you’re sitting next to? I promise you she’s never gotten into a fist fight in her life.”
Bridger turned to me. “That’s not what she told me.”
“Oh, and what did she tell you?” Principal Stine asked.
“She said she was gonna beat me up if I don’t give her my lunch money. Said she’d take me out back and hit me.” The boy waggled his brows at me. “Didn’t you?”
“I don’t recall saying that,” I said, still smiling.
“I was so scared, sir. You came back right in time.”
Principal Stine rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. In my office. Now. Leave the young lady alone, Bridger.”
Bridger held a hand to his chest. “My name is Kylie.”
Principal Stine placed a firm hand on Bridger’s shoulder, hoisting him from his spot on the bench. I sat there watching as Bridger looked over his shoulder at me, long hair all tussled and a few strands in his eyes.
“See ya around, princess,” he said lowly, one eyebrow raising before the principal yanked him away and slammed his office door shut.
I waved, the sound of that nickname on his lips ringing in my ears. That voice… So deep, so gravelly. I was left wishing we had a few more minutes to get lost in that conversation we had been having.
It was silly and light and it made me want to talk to him more.
Bridger Underwood looked like bad news, and if what Principal Stine said earlier was right, then he very much was bad news.
How had he managed to get into two fights already?
And why did I find the thought of him throwing fists so intriguing?
But I didn’t have much time to find out. Mrs. Elroy was back with my partner in tow, and I was dragged out of the office and into the hallways. Kylie was sweet and warm, her voice bright as she linked her arm with mine and apologized for being so late, but I didn’t mind at all.
And I was left far too curious if I’d ever see Bridger Underwood again.
I found myself smiling against my fingers at the memory, but I forced it away as quickly as I could.
He’d never get a smile like that out of me again.
Never. He would never be able to earn it, because there weren’t any words in the English language he could use to get me to forgive him.
I thought about my bag. That precious, pink Chanel piece.
He had probably spent all that cash by now.
Dinner finally ended and Gordon paid for the check, and then me and my parents shared a cold, awkward hug goodbye.
I slipped into the car, just about to blow out a relieved breath when I felt it. Those short fingers that had been on my throat earlier were suddenly in my hair, yanking so tight my scalp burned. Gordon tugged again, forcing a wince out of me, my hands desperately reaching up to pull his off.
“Stop!” I cried out. He was heaving at my hair so tight he was almost pulling me out of my seat and into his lap. “Gordon, stop it!”
“Why did you embarrass me like that?” he asked with gritted teeth.
“What?” Eyes closing, I felt that stinging sensation in my scalp worsen as he tugged harder. “Stop it! Get off me!”
“Why did you go and say all of that stupid shit in front of Graham? In front of my boss’ brother? Not to mention your father. In front of the men I respect. Are you stupid, Juliette? Because sometimes you act like you are. You know better than to talk back to me, especially in front of people.”
“Gordon, let go.” Humiliation hit me as my eyes began to water. I hated begging him for anything. I knew how much he liked it. No, he loved it. Loved seeing me be his weak little wife. “Stop. Please, stop.”
Letting out a growl, he finally released my hair, shoving me away from him so hard it made my head spin a little. “Look at you,” he spat. “Look at how pathetic you look.”
My hand reached up, trying to soothe my burning scalp when something else stole my attention.
A knock on the door. On the driver’s side window. The sound was so sudden that it made me gasp, already on edge. It was my father there at the window.
He was leaning down, eyes darting between the two of us, and my heart raced at the fact that he might have just caught Gordon in the act. It made the tears flow some more for some reason, my cheeks wet and stained and my lips trembling.
I looked into my father’s eyes, waiting, hoping, begging for him to say anything, to show me that all his years of coldness and distance could be pushed aside after he caught his daughter’s husband putting his hands on her.
Gordon hissed next to me and straightened up in his seat, hitting the button to lower the window. “Walter,” Gordon said, chuckling uncomfortably. “Is everything alright?”
My father held up a leather wallet. “You forgot this.”
“Ah,” Gordon said, looking over at me with a fake, strained looking smile. “Where’s my mind? Thank you, Walter. I appreciate your help.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Um… About what you saw.” Gordon pushed a hand through his hair, a few strands uncharacteristically hanging loosely there against his forehead. “If you saw it, I mean. I mean, what you… Look—”
“I saw it,” my father said, curt and short.
“We were just joking around,” Gordon said, his voice small. “Me and Juliette, I mean. We were just…”
My father looked my way, our eyes locking, and I was expecting that to be the moment. He’d say it. Whatever it was, he’d say it. He’d help me. He might have been cruel and callous my whole life, but surely what he just witnessed should have had his blood running cold.
And then my father broke out into a deep, low laugh as he slapped Gordon’s shoulder through the open window. “Sometimes you have to rough ‘em up a little to show them who’s boss, don’t you?”
I breathed out, the sound shuddered. There it was: my father’s blessing for Gordon to do whatever the hell he wanted to me. I shouldn’t have expected anything less than that. I could literally hear Gordon letting out a sigh of relief next to me as he joined in on the laughter.
“Exactly,” said Gordon. “You get it. Try telling her that.”
My father’s eyes flickered to mine. “You have to keep her in line. That’s what’s best for her.”
Like I was a dog. Like I was a pet. Like I didn’t want to run out into the parking lot, escaping into the dark, wishing I had just left home that day they told me I had no choice but to marry Gordon without my clothes or a place to stay or a single dollar in my hands, because at least I would have had my freedom.
“I do my best. She’s not always so obedient,” Gordon said.
“She’s the kind of girl who needs structure. Don’t be afraid to give her that.”
“Trust me, I’m not.”
I was on the verge of vomiting as my father tapped the top of the car, gave Gordon a wave, and turned back around and walked away. My brain was going into total overdrive, a million thoughts hitting me all at once.
I had never told anyone about Gordon’s abuse, mostly because there was no one to tell. And to finally have someone know and that be the response? I could have sobbed right then and there as Gordon turned the engine on to drive us back home.
My lips stayed pressed together as I said nothing, my scalp burning and my eyes hot with tears and my brain wishing I could think up ways to just travel far away from Gordon with a click of my fingers.
I slumped down in my seat at the thought of the only person who had ever made me feel safe and warm, and that was Bridger.
Part of me wondered what he would say or do if he knew what my husband put me through.
Would he offer a helping hand? Would he try and pull me out of my misery?
Would he save me the way I had been trying desperately and hopelessly to save myself?
He had never been afraid to get his hands all bruised and bloody for me before.
I wondered if he’d still do the same.