Chapter 2
NATE (SENIOR YEAR, HIGH SCHOOL)
Islam the front door shut and hurry out of my house before I take a swing at that repulsive motherfucker. The resounding crash of connecting wood rings loudly in the air, signifying the promise of a debt I’ll have to pay later.
My eye will already be sporting the restitution for my C minus in physics, another injury I’ll have to blame on football.
I learned pretty quickly not to hit back.
I can take that asshole down in seconds, but it will only send him into a rage equivalent to a nuclear explosion.
That type of anger isn’t safe for my little sister to be around.
Better me than her, always.
I’d never let him touch her, so I’ve been taking the brunt of his wrath since I was old enough to stand up to him. I stopped fighting back the day he pulled out his Smith and Wesson and held it to Emmy’s head.
She was six.
I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.
I know his rage will transfer back to my mom after I leave, but I can’t seem to find any fucks to give.
Especially considering she doesn’t seem to have any for me.
She can leave if she wants to. She can show the world exactly who the man she married really is.
She can choose her kids for once. Instead, she chooses the lifestyle he provides.
My only concern is Emmy. After I leave, who will protect her? I vow to come back for her as soon as I graduate college. I will take that piece of shit down the second I am out from under his thumb. Something my older brother never bothered with.
I remember the day Wes left. I couldn’t believe he would leave me behind to face our father alone. The fact that he never came back to check on us, on me, felt like a punishment worse than death. One day he was my protector, the next he was just…gone.
After taking his spot as heir to the family shit-show, I understand why he shunned the Westin legacy and abandoned this life.
I’m on track to do the same, but I won’t leave Emmy in the ruins of my departure.
I’ll come back for her, but once I walk across that stage, I won’t be coming back for anything else.
Once I walk across that stage.
Yeah, if I get my physics grade up. I need to keep my scholarship if I want to have an expense-free college experience and cut my father off like the life-draining tumor he is.
It’ll be the talk of our small town. Both of Nathaniel Westin’s boys cut off from the family fortune.
They’ll wonder what is wrong with us, of course. Not with the Nathaniel Westin.
From the outside, we look like the average high-class family. A nice, manicured lawn, a wife dressed to the nines, and well-behaved children involved in all the extracurriculars.
Charity events.
Banquets.
Fundraisers.
Drunken fists.
Broken noses.
Black eyes.
The colorful hydrangeas provide a nice distraction from the blood-stained carpets.
All of my injuries can be explained away with high impact sports. It’s why he stopped hitting my mother and started beating his children. There aren’t many reasons for a stay-at-home socialite to end up with a broken arm or a black eye.
My father is a highly decorated district attorney with far greater aspirations. Perfect career record. Perfect family. Perfect at hiding his busted knuckles. He’s on the path to a prominent political career, vying for a seat as a federal judge.
Nathaniel Westin didn’t want children. He needed children to maintain his ideal image. The illusion of a doting family man tosses dirt over all of his skeletons, while commanding a misguided level of trust.
Wes was supposed to be his predecessor, not me.
He couldn’t just name his first son after himself.
He had to pack a punch. Thus, Wes Westin was born to continue the family legacy.
Little Wes made it clear right from the start that he’d cause trouble for our family name, so Nathaniel rounded up the best doctors—and petri-dishes—money could buy and ensured he had another son.
His namesake. And his biggest failure. He just doesn’t know it yet.
I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I drive away from the dreams he has for me.
The dreams he has for himself.
I pull up to the high school, my anger from our fight starting to dissipate with the thoughts of escaping this place.
I’d arranged to get a physics tutor so that I can bring up my grade before midterms. Nine months to go until I toss my cap in the air, jump in my car, and drive to Ohio State University with a full scholarship and a severed connection to Nathaniel Westin.
I hope the tutor the school provided knows his stuff because physics does not come easily to me.
I’m going to need some kind of miracle worker here.
Senior year just started, and I am already falling behind.
I usually do pretty well in school, but Nathaniel has kept me busy as his right-hand for all charitable event work lately.
It’s election year, so he needs to con everyone into thinking we are a strong, united family.
That kind of hard work doesn’t leave a lot of time for studying.
You’d think he would promote the importance of maintaining good grades considering I’m expected to go to law school like him, but he probably plans to bribe my way into an Ivy League. His disappointment of a son couldn’t possibly get accepted without the promise of a new faculty building.
I walk toward the school trying to think of who I might be paired up with as my tutor.
I don’t exactly hang out with the honor roll crowd, so I’m sure I won’t even know who this guy is.
As captain of the football team, he will definitely know who I am.
I just hope this person isn’t a pain in my ass.
There is no need for small talk or friendship.
Teach me the shit I need to know and then move along.
I don’t need a single connection to this town.
My superficial friendships are easy to leave behind.
Something real means something to let go of or walk away from.
It means letting someone see behind the mask that I have perfected since middle school.
Letting someone get to know the real me and not the self-absorbed-rich-kid-without-any-ambition part that I play.
Having a real friendship means being vulnerable.
It means exposing my life for what it actually is rather than the fairytale my parents pretend we are living.
I make my way into the library, where the school counselor said my tutor would be waiting, but I don’t see him.
Figures I’d get assigned to the one nerdy kid who doesn’t get to school early.
I scan the room, looking for a table, and realize my options are unlimited.
The school library isn’t exactly swamped on a Saturday… or ever.
There is only one person here, a girl in the back corner. She sees me notice her and lifts her hand in a shy little wave.
She’s fucking gorgeous. Definitely not in my class.
My feet begin to move without my permission, making my way over to her table. The tables are clearly better on that end of the library, right?
Her beautiful green eyes rise to meet mine and I swear my heart skips a whole damn beat. Jesus Christ. Who am I? Shakespeare?
Her full pouty lips lift on one side, giving me a half smile as she tucks a piece of her dark auburn hair behind her ear.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I’ve never had this reaction to a girl before.
It’s like I’m gasoline and she’s a match; I’m drawn to whatever dangerous fire is about to burn between us.
I feel this invisible string pulling me closer, while my common sense is yelling DANGER! No connections!
I try to pull myself together before I open my mouth and start spitting sonnets instead of game.
This is ridiculous. She’s probably as fake and self-absorbed as every other girl I’ve messed around with at this school.
I know exactly what she sees when she looks at me.
My dad’s money. My future money. My last name.
She’d happily entertain the rich football captain who doesn’t have a proper thought in his brain, she’d probably prefer it that way.
After that little motivational speech, I feel the allure slip away and I veer left instead of right, heading in the opposite direction of her. I don’t need any distractions right now. No matter how “mesmerizing” her eyes are.
I hear the girl clear her throat before she nervously calls out to my retreating back, “Um, Nat-Nathan?”
“Yeah?” I don’t bother turning around to look at her, but her sweet voice wraps around me like a warm blanket. I want to hear more, but I’m not flying into her web again. I already lost my senses with a single look.
“I, um…well, I mean, we can sit wherever. There is just usually less distraction in this corner.”
Less distract…
No.
She’s my tutor?
She is my tutor.
Well, this is just fucking fantastic. The girl that just made my fucking heart jump out of my chest is my damn tutor. Which means she’s smart…and that puts her a thousand leagues above the other girls I was just comparing her to.
I turn around to face her and I’m smacked in the face with her beauty. Less distraction? She’s a distraction.
Shit.
Maybe I can request a new tutor.
“Um, Nate…did you want to sit somewhere else?”
“Nate,” I repeat slowly, trying it out. I walk over toward her, suddenly forgetting my plan to get a new tutor.
“Nathan. Sorry, I…I don’t know. You just look more like a Nate. It, uh…fits you.”
“Yeah, no. That’s…fine. Call me Nate.” Only her. For some reason that I can’t even begin to explain, I just want that to be for her. “Now that we’ve established my name, you want to give me yours?” I give her my most charming smile.
Just because I don’t want any complications doesn’t mean I can’t flirt a little.
“Oh, I’m Ellison. Sorry! Of course you don’t know who I am, duh.
” She lets out a little laugh, and I decide I want to hear more.
More of her little laughs. I feel like I might even want to be the reason for them.
“My friends call me Ellie, though.” She stands up to give me her hand and the top of her head stops promptly at my shoulders.
“Nice to meet you, Pip,” I say as I take her small hand in mine. It fits perfectly. Her hand lingers in mine for a few seconds longer than necessary before she pulls away. I immediately want to take it back.
“Pip?” she asks, awkwardly clearing her throat. It’s cute. Everything about her is just…endearing.
“You have a nickname for me. Only fair that I get to have one for you.” Her cheeks turn the most delicious shade of pink. That too. I want more of that.
“But why Pip?”
I give her a very exaggerated once over—being sure to show my appreciation—then I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t know if you realize this, but you are kind of…little, Pipsqueak,” I say with a wink.
“Pipsqueak. My nickname is Pipsqueak!? Can’t you just call me Ellie like everyone else?” she asks, clearly mortified.
“Maybe I don’t want you to see me like everyone else.” It slips out beyond my control, having a much deeper meaning than I am willing to share or explore right now. “Besides, no one else calls me Nate. That’s yours. Pip, is mine.”
Her blush is two shades darker this time, and it does something to my chest. I want to see her turn that shade of pink under very different circumstances. For very different reasons.
It wouldn’t involve tutoring.
Something tells me that as much as I don’t want any connections tying me to this town, I unknowingly stumbled right into one.