P.S. I Hate You: A High School Bully Romance, page 22
By the second round bell, I’m silently praying for Jace to fall to the mat and stay there. The coach is screaming to get his head in the game. They blot the blood from his mouth, and it’s time for round three.
Troy’s tired of dicking around. He swings his arm, then catches Jace in a hug and jams his knee into his face. The crowd erupts, a splattered mix of cheers and jeers reverberating around me.
My breath recedes to a shallow pant. I teeter on the edge of my seat, waiting for Jace to fall, but in a gasp-inducing move, he yanks Troy’s leg out from under him. Troy hit the mat hard. Jace wraps an arm around his middle and threads a leg between his. A swift punch to the ribs, the face, the kidneys …
Troy takes control. He hooks his leg behind Jace’s back and flips the script. Now on the bottom, he slides across the mat with Troy on his chest. He holds him down, jabbing into his chin while Jace grasps at his neck and head. The ref steps forward. This is it. The moment of truth. Jace’s first loss, Troy’s huge victory.
His name floats from my lungs, a plea, a promise. I clamp my hands to my mouth to shove it back in, but it’s too late. The weight of Jace’s one-second gaze locks me to my chair. He slips his legs around Troy’s middle and rolls backward. Once again, Troy’s on his back, but Jace is done playing games. Up on his knees, he whales his fists without mercy. A fountain of blood pumps from Troy’s nose as Jace slams with all his might.
The ref jumps between, prying them apart. He lifts Jace’s arm in the air. “Winner!”
Troy kneels in the center with his head hung low as Jace skips along the perimeter. He grabs the chain link. Howling like an animal, he climbs to the top, his arms raised in a V as he celebrates his victory.
Undefeated.
I run to meet him as he exits the ring. Fans and crew swoop in. They huddle around him, everyone wanting a few seconds with the champ, but he’s looking for me. “Ellie!” he cries.
I push through the wall of people as my name rings out a second time. Through the horde, I see him reach for me. I take his hand and let him pull me through until I’m pressed against him.
He buries his face in my neck. “I couldn’t do it.”
“It’s okay.”
“I'm so sorry. I ruined everything.”
I lean back and rest my hand on his cheek. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Jace. Nice work.” Jimbo’s voice drives a wedge between us. “For a second, I thought we were going to lose our champion.”
Jace smiles, but the sadness in his eyes doesn’t waver. In winning the fight, he runs the risk of losing much more in return. “Wait for me,” he says as Jimbo takes him away.
The crowd thins the longer I wait. Jace disappeared into the back over an hour ago and has yet to emerge. I glance at the time on my phone, then into the black maw of the locker room opening. What the hell’s taking him so long?
I step over the threshold with a tentative creep. “Jace?” The low sound of my voice is greeted with a grunt. My heart stops. Bloody carnage mars Jace’s face. Robbie and Peter hold him by the arms, a crucifixion on metal, with Troy at the helm.
“Troy!”
They swing their heads toward the sound of my shriek. Green flames of hatred burn in Troy’s eyes. “Get out of here, Ellie. This doesn’t concern you.”
My heart sinks at the realization there is nothing I can do. This is my fault, and I can't fix it. I should have listened to Jace from the beginning. I should have trusted his warnings. He was right about everything. Troy McNamara is just another ruthless monster.
Before I can stop myself, I fly toward Jace. I'm met by a hard body and slam to the floor. "Seriously, Ellie? Are you that fucking stupid?"
“Let him go, Troy.” My voice is stronger than I thought it would be as I look up at the grinning bastard.
"I don't think so. This is unresolved business. You need to back away and leave."
“Or what? You’re gonna have your guys hold me down so you can beat me up, too?”
"If that's what it takes to get my point across, then so be it. Your worst mistake was following your lover boy in here. This isn't going to end well for you, either."
A whimper bleeds off my tongue as Robbie grasps my arm. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't want to be the one to do this."
His hands tug on my jeans as Troy saunters toward me. "I'm going to finish what I started, Ellie. Jace can't help you now bitch."
I struggle against Robbie, fear clouding my judgment. I look toward Jace, and he lifts his head enough I can see his eyes turn fierce. It triggers something within me. A power that’s been welling up inside me.
I throw all my body weight back and jab my elbow into Robbie’s throat. He releases his grip, his hands springing to his neck. Turning, I jam my knee into his groin, and he goes down. "You fucking bitch," he croaks out as one hand holds his junk and the other balls in a fist.
I turn my head quickly as I hear movement behind me. "I'm going to enjoy this." Troy grabs me by the scalp and drags me backward. He yanks at my jeans as he looks up at Jace, still bound in Peter’s hold. "You’re going to fucking watch every last minute of this." His malicious grin causes bile to rise in the back of my throat. “And as soon as I’m finished with you, I’m going to make sure my father cuts off your cheap whore of a mother next. By the time I’m done, I’ll have fucked all three of you.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
Troy freezes. “Dad. What are you doing here?”
Mr. McNamara stomps farther inside the room. “How dare you threaten these people?”
“I can explain.”
“Oh, I think I’ve heard all I need to hear, but this is what’s going to happen. You’re going to drop the charges against Jace, you’re going to keep your distance from Ellie, and as far as me cutting off Cindy, well, the only person I will be cutting off is you.”
Troy blanches. “What? You can’t do that!”
“I spoiled you. I gave you everything you ever wanted, and in return, you cast a blight on the McNamara name. I’m done cleaning up your messes, son. You’ve gone too far. From this moment forward, you’re on your own.” He turns his angry glare on Robbie and Peter next. “I’m sure your parents would love to hear about this little stunt, too.” The pair hangs their heads in shame. “Go home. Troy, wait for me in the car.”
“I have my own car.”
“Not anymore.”
When Troy and his friends schlep away, Mr. McNamara crouches beside us. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“Nah.” Jace sweeps the blood from his face with the back of his hand. “Thank you.”
“If he bothers you again, Miss Cartwright, you come see me.”
“Yes, sir.”
He rises to a stand. “If both of you are fine, then I must go take care of my own business.”
Alone, I touch the oozing gash on Jace’s cheek. “Your poor face.”
“Don’t worry, I was born with it.”
I roll my eyes and help him rise on wobbly legs. “So … that was weird.”
He breathes out a humorless laugh. “Just a regular day in Hell’s Bend, Texas.”
I clean his wounds as best as I can with a wet paper towel. “I guess this is what they call a mega happy ending.”
A pfft sound floats off his tongue. “I bet you think I’m gonna kiss you now,” he snaps, his lips curling into a sneer.
“Aren’t you?”
“Please. Like I’d ever wanna kiss some spoiled brat princess.”
My jaw falls in mock horror. I shove his shoulder. “Well, you’re nothin’ but an asshole redneck bully, and I don’t want to kiss you either.”
“I hate you.”
I click the roof of my mouth with my tongue. “I hate you, too.”
He wraps me in his arms, his heart beating against mine as he pulls me in. “Then I guess it’s settled,” he says before pressing his lips to mine.
Epilogue
Reply to: ellie.coltrane@gmail.com
Subject: I hate you. When are you flying in?
Ellie,
Here’s my travel itinerary. I’ll be coming into JFK next Tuesday, and I can’t wait to see you. Seven months is way too fuckin’ long, but it will all be worth it once we’re together again. I’ve been working like a dog, saving all my cash for the big move. Hope New York is ready for me.
To answer your question, Mom’s okay with me leaving. I mean, she’s sad, of course, but she knew how hard it was for me to say goodbye. She misses you. I told her we’d try to visit after the spring semester. That seemed to make her happy.
Oh, and Dusty gave me some shit to bring to you. Some old pictures of your mom he thought you’d like to have. He knows you’re trying to distance yourself from all that, but picking up Coltrane doesn’t make you less of a Cartwright, I guess. I’m just looking forward to the day you become a Wilder. And don’t roll your eyes—it’s gonna happen. You’re never getting rid of me. We got that forever thing going on.
I know I haven’t said it, but I’m really proud of you, El. You’re kicking ass at school, you’re killing it on Etsy, and you’re making a name for yourself out there in the city. You’re doing everything you set out to do.
Anyway, I guess that’s it. I’ll be seeing you soon.
Love, Jace.
P.S. I hate you. ;)
***
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Can Darla Burke be redeemed?
Or will Dylan Masters give her a taste of her own medicine?
Read on for an exclusive look at P.S. Lose My Number, coming 2023
P.S. Lose My Number
Rain pelts on the roof of our trailer in a rhythmic pattern. Unusually cold for Texas, I pull my robe tighter and cinch the thin satin with the sash, slamming my fist down on the vent. A desperate puff of heat dribbles out, a death rattle.
“Fuckin’ piece of shit,” I grumble, under my breath.
The kitchen connects my room to the living area. I step out slowly and reach for the kettle on the stove. Mom doesn’t bother to look up. Her fried hair is all you can see of her curling above the back of the lounge chair that separates the space between us. A burnt out cigarette dangles from her spindly fingers, the smoke curling around her yellowing fingernails. Believe it or not, she used to be almost pretty. Now, she’s half a corpse staring at the television as my tea begins to boil.
I hear the toilet flush seconds before the accordion door slams open. The hair on the back of my neck rises along with my shoulders as Ray shimmies past. His finger hooks on the edge of my robe. Luckily, I’m quick and grab the tie before he pulls it open. “This little thing is almost see through,” he grumbles.
I elbow him off and he stumbles back. “Get the fuck away from me.”
“Hey,” he snaps, his furry fingers taking hold of my bicep. The stink of booze wafts off his breath and permeates his ratty ribbed tank. He wrenches me closer just as the lights go out.
A gurgled gasp escapes my mom as the three of us are drenched in darkness. “What happened!” As my eyes adjust, I see her stumble to stand and stagger toward us. “Didn’t I give you money to pay the bill?”
The sound of her voice opens Ray’s hold. Just like the time he “accidentally” found himself in my room instead of hers. “I must’ve forgot.”
“Forgot? What’d you do with my money?” she slurs, pulling open the dead fridge. Glass bottles ting together. She takes the vodka from the shelf and thumbs open the cap. “Can’t even pay a fuckin’ bill. Lazy, good for nothin’ –”
Ray’s palm makes contact with the back of her head. She lurches forward, catching herself on the counter. “Who you callin’ lazy, bitch?”
She lashes out and pounds on his thick chest. This is where it starts. They’ll brawl in the dark and tomorrow I’ll go down to the electric company and pay the stupid bill to have the lights turned back on.
If I don’t get out of Hell’s Bend, I’m going to end up just like my mother. Drunk and old before my time, with a piece of shit husband who offers nothing to my life except leering eyes and a disgusting beer gut that hangs beneath his sweaty shirt. She threw her life away and I’ll be damned if I’m going to follow in her vodka soaked footsteps.
I flop on my bed and open the dating app on my phone. I’m starting a new job tomorrow. The responsible thing to do would be to stay in and rest, but I’m not in the mood to sit in the dark listening to them bicker all night. Maybe I can find a guy to offer a distraction from this hell on Earth I call my life. Worst case scenario, at least a free meal.
I swipe left on any guy posing with a fish or a deer carcass. I never understood why men do that. Do they think dead animals are some kind of weird aphrodisiac for women? Because I’ll tell you right now, unless it’s on my plate, I don’t need to know about it.
Left on Mr. I’m Standing Next To My Mom to Show How Sensitive I am.
Left again on Mr. This is a Close Up Photo of My Junk in Sweats.
Left on Mr. Your Profile Pic is Clearly 10 years old.
Left on Mr. I Don't Need a Guy with Nicer Eyebrows Than Mine.
I’m about ready to give up when I finally land on a worthy contender: Dylan, 23. Long blonde hair and soulful eyes, he stares up at me with a lazy grin cocked on his handsome face. His profile doesn’t say much, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’m not much for talking, anyway. He looks like a bad-ass. I’ve always been a sucker for a tough guy. Someone who will keep me on my toes and fight for what he wants. That kind of broody arrogance makes my panties damp. I get off on the chase. What can I say? I’m a little fucked up.
I sweep my finger to the right and smile when the app tells me we’ve matched. A chat room opens instantly.
Dylan: Hi.
I bring my knees up and lean the phone against my thighs.
Me: Hi.
Dylan: How are you?
I hate these monotonous chats. I doubt this guy really gives a shit how I am, why bother asking? Get to the point and shut up. But I play it cool and respond like I have a little class.
Me: Fine, thanks. You?
Dylan: Alright. Can’t complain.
I roll my eyes. This guy has the conversational skills of my grandpa.
Dylan: What are you doing?
Me: Nothing. Just sitting at home.
My stomach rumbles. I press my palm to my belly button to calm it down when his next reply comes in.
Dylan: Do you want to meet for a drink?
Me: Sure.
We exchange a few more messages and finally decide to meet at a bar over in White Tail Creek. The only bar in Hell’s Bend is The Great Notch Inn, and – aside from the fact that I work there – my fake ID wouldn’t get past Cindy Wilder anyway. I grew up with her son since preschool. The aforementioned “tough guy” that used to rile me right the fuck up … until he took off with that fucking east coast Barbie. But I digress. That’s one of the things I hate most about living here. Everyone knows everything. There are no secrets in a small town.
I get myself ready by candle light, then steal Ray’s keys and head out the door. I weave through frigid drops falling from the sky. My damp skirt sticks to my thighs in the dusty old cab of his Ford F150. I start it up and ease through the trailer park, swiping the fog off the windshield with my palm before hitting the road.
Slater’s Mill is a little place off the beaten path. A converted barn that arcs up into the clouds and thumps with a thick bass I feel pounding in my chest as I go inside. I shake my hair out with my fingers trying my best to rejuvenate my rain wilted curls as I slide onto a barstool.
“What can I get ya?” The bartender meanders over and throws a coaster down in front of me.
“Tequila.”
His heavy brows pull together. “You got ID?”
I roll my eyes, then dig through my bag to find my wallet. Butterflies swirl in my gut. I hand over the card and he holds it out, squinting to see the tiny lettering in the dark. A few seconds later, he gives it back with a curt nod, then wanders off to make my drink.
“Darla?”
When I turn toward the sound of my name my heart fucking stops dead. Long blonde hair frames his steel jaw, his eyes piercing in the neon lights. A hardcore mix of silver and leather wrap his wrist as he extends his hand. “I’m Dylan.”
Fuck yes you are.
“Hi.” I reel in the stupid grin splitting my face. He looks like a rock star. All ripped denim and long chains over his tight black tank. Usually, you meet a guy on Tinder and he looks nothing like his photo. Either they’re older than pictured or clearly photoshopped. But this guy went the other way. Photos do him no justice.
He nods his chin toward the glass as the bartender sets it on the coaster. “What are you drinkin’?”
“Tequila.”
He lifts a brow. “I’ll have the same,” he orders, waving his hand between us. “And start a tab.”
His tongue slides across his perfect, plump lips and I find myself thanking a God I was starting to doubt existed before he showed up. He doesn’t even need to talk. I could just look at him and fall deeper into lust the longer I sit here.
“So where you from?” he asks. I hate the usual first date chit chat. Where you from? What’s your major? What do you do for fun? Blah blah blah It’s all so benign and boring. I want to jump past all of that and get into the meat and potatoes of a person. Don’t tell me what you do for a living. Regale me stories of the most embarrassing moments of your life. The nitty gritty details that make a person who they are. I may bluster like a violent wind, but deep down I’m looking for the same thing any other young person is looking for. A connection.
“Hell’s Bend.”
I almost see him scowl but, like a true gentleman, he holds it in. I don’t blame him. It’s a blight on this great state. A white trash mecca where hope goes to die. No one leaves Hell’s Bend. It’s quicksand under our feet. The harder we run, the faster we sink.
