Chapter 9
Scott was different than my mother.
Where my mother would’ve let me off the hook after a night, Scott kept with it.
Whenever I messed up back home, my mother would be pissed, sure, but it never lingered or lasted long. Scott’s anger hung in the air for what felt like minutes that turned to hours that turned to days. Instinctively, I knew not to test his patience on the status of being “grounded.”
Did I question if he were actually my father?
Absolutely not. I didn’t need a DNA test when it was clear where I got my anger and temper from.
On the surface, Scott Stanley was friendly and happy-go-lucky, but when pushed, he proved he could and would go there if need be.
Hell, he’d probably kick René’s ass if it came down to it.
I went on a hunger strike, refusing to leave my room.
Scott didn’t pay this any mind when he was home.
He went about his day, enjoying his meals alone, and kicking back with a beer as he watched whatever sports he liked on TV.
He didn’t even check in on me. It was like he knew I was home and not out against his wishes.
That was my weekend, consumed in the aftermath of Scott’s wrath. Monday I was prepared to skip school, but Scott wasn’t having that.
Four hard raps to my door woke me up Monday morning at exactly 6:30.
“I’m on my way out.” Scott’s voice told me on the other side of my door. “From now on, I arranged for Dreux to take you to and from school.”
That got me up.
I shot out of bed and marched clear across my room and practically ripped my door open. Scott was waiting for me on the other side expectantly.
“What the hell did you just say?” I demanded.
Scott rolled his eyes. “You heard me, and another thing, watch your language. I’ve about had it with your filthy mouth.”
“I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter, Scott. Especially not the golden child.”
I was really pressing Scott’s nerve now. “Dreux lives next door, and I trust him to bring you to and from school.”
“And you don’t trust Larry?”
“Again, Dreux lives next door.”
Deep down, I knew there was more to it than what he was saying. He was probably going to have Dreux St. Angel keep an eye on me at school too.
Hell no.
“Dreux’s a creep,” I said.
“No, he is not.”
“I’ve seen him watching foot fetish movies in his room.”
Scott’s face deadpanned, calling me on my bullshit. “Saylor Leigh.”
Oh no, not the dreaded middle name. Gag me.
I folded my arms and stood my ground. “No.”
Before me, Scott’s nostrils flared. “I’m not having a negotiation with you. I’m telling you how it’s going to be from now on. And another thing, you will be working at Angela’s salon every now and then when needed, too.”
“Excuse me?” Oh, he was actually insane.
Scott turned on his heel. “You heard me. I’ll see you at three.”
Without another word, he went down the steps and out the front door.
He had to be fucking kidding me.
Scott hadn’t been kidding. A text from Cameron confirmed that I was to ride with Dreux to school.
After showering and getting dressed, I found a packed lunch for me down in the kitchen fridge.
Despite our fighting, Scott didn’t leave me hanging.
No, he wasn’t petty, he was a father first and— He had never been a father to me.
Fuck him for coming into my life and thinking he had rights and a say so in anything.
Begrudgingly, I took off for next door, aimed to get the inevitable over with.
Angela was just leaving the house when I came up their front porch steps.
She took one look at me and appeared smug.
Seriously, with parents like Dreux’s, it was a wonder the kid was such a saint. I’d be pissed at the world with an asshole father and an ice-cold mother.
“Dreux is my son,” Angela spoke up.
Something about her told me not to respond with sarcasm. “Okay.”
“And if you disrespect him, I will have Scott understand that you can walk to school for all I care. Got it?” Angela’s steely gaze dared me to say something back.
I simply nodded, hating the situation even more.
She sized me up, still not satisfied with me. “You can start your shift later today when Dreux goes in to help his uncle. See you then.”
She left their front door open for me to let myself in. For a moment, I debated on hightailing it out of town then and there. I had enough funds in my bank account for a plane ticket back to LA. Trouble was, none of my boys were speaking to me, leaving me with no place to run to.
I was just preparing to sulk when I found my way to the St. Juliens’ kitchen, where Dreux was sitting at their breakfast nook eating a Pop-Tart and downing a glass of almond milk—of course the golden child was a fan of the stuff too.
He was mid-sip of his milk when his eyes locked with mine. As always, that unreadable expression took Dreux’s face as he stared at me from across the room.
It was hard to place the look, almost as though he were tolerating me at some points, and at others, it was as though he was assessing me, studying me for an important quiz he didn’t want to flunk.
I hated this kid.
“Let’s go,” I demanded.
Dreux lifted a brow. “Good morning to you, too.”
He didn’t react to my lack of a response as he cleaned up after himself before grabbing his jacket and backpack.
Silently, he led the way out to his Bronco.
“I’m not listening to your shitty music in your car either,” I told him.
Dreux stopped walking. He turned and faced me, narrowing his eyes. “What do you assume I listen to that’s ‘shitty,’ Saylor?”
I could feel heat rushing to my cheeks at the implication my words could’ve caused. Internally, I kicked myself for the way I’d lashed out, for the ignorant statement I’d made as regret set in.
I focused on the freckles on the bridge of his nose instead of his reprimanding gaze. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“And I did?” Dreux shook his head and locked up behind us. “Scott asked for a favor and I said yes.”
“Could’ve said no.”
“You don’t think I regret taking this on?” Dreux gestured from me to him. “It’s like you got permanent PMS, and of all the things I gotta deal with, I don’t have time for that.”
Typical male, blaming my attitude on my period. With or without my period, I was angry. Half the time I didn’t know why.
We got into his car and as if to piss me off, Dreux set the radio on a rap station. The loud, demanding lyrics for me to “pop that shit” made me scowl at the stereo system.
Dreux looked my way, smirking, as if to rub it in.
He set the car into gear and backed out of the driveway, leaving the horrid song to serenade us.
The doors locked and I remained with my seat belt unfastened. I started feeling antsy and trapped, even if I was just in a car, and Dreux of all people wasn’t a threat.
It dawned on me as Dreux was taking what appeared to be a scenic route to school, driving a long stretch of road under a tunnel of reddish-orange leaves on tall trees, that I had no control.
My life back home with my mother was filled with my freedom and ability to do whatever I wanted, and now it’d been snatched from me, leaving me powerless in Scott’s grasp. Not only that, I now had a chauffeur and a job I did not want.
My skin felt as if it were on fire and I needed to scream.
“Stop the car,” I said.
Dreux looked at me as if I were crazy and kept driving.
I slapped the dashboard. “Stop the fucking car!”
The car came to a halt, and before Dreux could fully turn and face me, opening his mouth to speak, I shot out of the car and took off running.
We were on the back side of town where nothing was around but the woods on either side of me.
I ran down the road, feeling my feet hit the pavement hard as my lungs began to swell.
When I could take no more, I stopped, planting my palms to my knees as I bent over gasping for air.
And then I screamed as loudly as I could.
I would rather die.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ever cried, but right then, I felt it coming.
I was stuck here, against my will, and I had never felt more alone in my entire life.
Pavement or not, I sat down right where I was and I stared ahead of me at the road, paralyzed by my plight.
No other cars were driving by, but if they were, their passengers would probably see a poor girl in the middle of a breakdown.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat with my knees pulled to my chest before Dreux came around me, staring at me impassively.
He tugged nervously on the hooped earring in his ear, watching me with caution. What I didn’t catch when I looked up into his eyes was sympathy. “Get up.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Just leave me here.”
“Quit being dramatic,” he told me. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“Fuck you,” I breathed out.
Dreux rolled his eyes. “You have such an expansive vocabulary.”
“Fuck you.”
“My point exactly.”
He didn’t get it, and of course Mr. Perfect St. Julien didn’t.
“I don’t belong here!”
“Do any of us belong anywhere?” Dreux drawled.
I lifted my gaze to his. “What?”
He shrugged. “Life sucks, get over it. From the moment you got here, all you’ve done is walk around pissed off. Being pissed isn’t going to solve anything.”
I didn’t need anything solved. I had every reason to be pissed off. And now I just wanted to be left alone. “I don’t need anyone!”
Doubt crossed Dreux’s face. “Yes, you do. We all need someone, even when it feels like everyone is walking away. No one is meant to go this road alone.”
“You don’t know what it’s like.” What, his issues were consumed by a broken heart by a girl named after a witch, and then he had an asshole father who at least shelled out for a nice car?
Dreux squatted down to my level, not even flinching when a car drove by, seeing our chaotic scene before them. “I’ve got shit, everyone’s got shit, but it’s what you do with it that counts.” He gestured to my hand, or really my anchor tattoo. “Sink or swim?”
“It feels like I’m sinking.” I felt my voice break, but I did not cry.
Dreux frowned. “It’s not hard to sink when you don’t even swim.” His dark eyes met mine. “Keep swimming, no matter what bullshit comes your way. Don’t let the waves take you.”