Cruel Boy Read online

  I’m conflicted by the emotions clashing in my heart.

  My inability to answer makes him laugh, and he leans away again.

  “Don’t laugh,” I say.

  He rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m not. I’m just amused.”

  “It’s not funny. None of this is,” I reply.

  He looks up. “I know.”

  Now I’m even more confused.

  The pointy end of the knife is right against his index finger as he spins around the knife. “Tell me what you know. What you saw at the beach.”

  “I …” Can I really talk about that without being in danger?

  “Go on …”

  “Not until you put away that knife,” I say.

  “Oh, this?” he muses, looking at it. “You think I’ll hurt you?”

  I lick my bottom lip. At this point, I don’t know anymore. He’s flip-flopping around so much that it’s giving me whiplash.

  “My life is on the line. You know that, right?” he says.

  “That doesn’t justify murder.” I swallow.

  “Murder?” He narrows his eyes, nodding a couple of times. “Is that what you think I did?”

  I frown, rubbing my lips together. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s right. You don’t know. You don’t know the full story,” he responds.

  “Tell me the full story then,” I say.

  He looks at me like I just spoke literal sin.

  “I wish I could.” He shakes his head and looks down at his hands, the knife resting there as if he’s about to drop it.

  “I won’t tell a soul, I promise,” I say, inching down so I can look him in the eyes.

  Even though he’s been an asshole to me just so he could get his hands on the pictures I took, I don’t think he wants to be like this. And though I don’t know why, it hurts to see him this way.

  “If you say you’re innocent, I’ll believe you,” I add, cocking my head too.

  He looks up at me, the desperation settling in his eyes.

  But then he lunges toward me, grabs my face, and presses his lips to mine.

  The knife drops to the floorboard.

  I’m stunned, completely frozen in my seat as his lips consume mine. His kiss is hard, rugged, unfathomable to my heart, which practically beats out of my chest. Time feels like it doesn’t exist anymore. My mind is numb from the way his lips connect with mine. When they briefly pull back, I suck in a breath. Another kiss follows, but my brain can’t process this information, so I shove him away.

  Seconds feel like minutes in the awkward silence that ensues. My lips are red and swollen and so are his, but there is a hunger in his eyes that’s almost irresistible … and scary.

  What the hell just happened?

  I don’t know what to think or what to say, but when his lips part, I immediately press the unlock button of the car and rush out. I run off without thinking, without even knowing where I’m going. All I know is that I need to get away from … that.

  Temptation.

  Filthy kisses under the night sky.

  And a bad boy whose dangerous gaze would make any girl’s heart crumble.

  I can’t fall in love with him.

  Anyone but him.

  Chapter 18

  Nate

  I don’t know what I was doing or what I was even thinking when I kissed Sam.

  No, scratch that, I wasn’t thinking at all.

  Clearly. Otherwise, I would’ve never done it.

  But I just can’t resist her. I can’t get enough of that face, that smile, those eyes, and those goddamn delicious lips. I want it all. But she’s that girl. The girl who knows all my secrets and could ruin me with one click of her finger.

  And maybe she already did.

  Who knows, she could’ve been lying about not going to the police. Maybe it was her all along, and she’s just playing me to get away with it. How would I know? No one would ever try to tell me the truth; not when they know the police are looking into me.

  I’m the suspect, the boy who did all the bad things.

  No one knows shit. They all think they do.

  I shake my head and finish my cigarette before getting out of the car. Dad must be worried by now. I’ve been avoiding home for a long time, but I can’t stay away forever.

  Man, I should’ve gone after Sam. Maybe I could’ve gotten some answers, something … anything would’ve been helpful. Now I’m left in the dark with nowhere else to turn except my dad.

  I close my door and throw the cigarette on the ground before I go inside the house. It’s dark and quiet except for the light in the kitchen. I go there not because I want to but because I know he’s waiting for me.

  But my eyes still widen when I go in. Not because of my dad, but because there’s someone else, a guy in a suit, sitting on a chair with a giant briefcase in front of him.

  “Son?” Dad scoots back a chair. “Sit down.”

  “Who’s that?” I ask.

  The man closes his briefcase and places a whole stack of papers on the table while my dad never takes his eyes off me.

  “My name is Todd Cook. I’m your lawyer.”

  Cook?

  As in Sam Cook’s dad?

  A lawyer?

  I hesitate for a moment. Maybe I should run back out again, take the car, and flee.

  Would it save me from this possible doom?

  No, it would only make it worse.

  I swallow down my fears and sit down in front of the lawyer. I stare him down with all I’ve got to give.

  “To begin with, tell me everything you know,” he says.

  I look up at my dad who’s right behind me, and he clutches my shoulders, and says, “Tell the truth, son. He’s here to help you.”

  I curl my fingers together and glare at the guy again.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I say.

  The guy frowns, then snorts. “That’s what they all say. But please, do tell. I can only help you if you’re truthful with me.”

  My dad’s fingers bury in my shoulder. “Nate … please don’t disappoint your mother any further.”

  It’s not the lawyer’s words that hurt me; it’s my dad’s.

  Mom … I’ve disappointed her so many times now, I’ve lost track. Drinking before eighteen, driving while intoxicated, bullying a girl I like just to get her to do what I want, failing my grades and my future career … and watching an innocent girl die.

  It’s all part of my resume now, and no matter how hard I try to scrape off the stain on my soul, it only becomes bigger and bigger until it’s one gaping hole. An abyss I’m staring into with eyes wide open.

  And now, more than ever, do I wish she was here to pull me back out again.

  * * *

  Sam

  Weeks ago

  The last day of summer is always the hardest, but none have been as cold or harsh as this one. I stare at the casket as it’s being lowered into the hole. Friends and family are hiding their tears behind tissues and sunglasses while the rest of us look on in sorrow.

  Grief is a strange emotion to witness as an outsider. I never know whether to offer a hug or stay away and let them be. These tears don’t stop. Even when we manage to quit crying, our soul continues to weep. Grief is all-consuming and all-encompassing, always pointing a dagger near the heart.

  Grief is everywhere, but it’s hidden all the same. People never talk about it, never speak another word about the pain they feel watching a girl my age being buried underneath mounds of sand.

  A bright girl with a promising future cut away from life as though she never existed. But the fear, doubt, and heartache remain in those left behind. And it’s hard to look at them. To watch them throw pink poppies all over the grave to signal the end of her journey.

  These flowers will shrivel up and blacken until there’s nothing left but mush.

  Just like her … just like me, one day.

  I shiver at the thought.

  Death is such an indescribable thing. An intan
gible threat looming over us every second of our waking life. Control is an illusion. All we can do is hope life won’t end too soon.

  Unlike Nina’s.

  This funeral, my very first, is one I won’t forget anytime soon.

  Because when I turn my head, there is one other person who can’t look at the pile of sand hiding a body. Nate Wilson. And his eyes, filled with inner turmoil, don’t let go of mine.

  And I know then and there that he won’t ever let this go.

  * * *

  Now

  I wake up covered in sweat. The whole bed is soaked. Damn.

  I get up and take my temperature, but everything seems fine. Must’ve been a nightmare.

  “Oh, Sam, have you got any laundry—Wow, you’re soaking wet!” she says, immediately barging into my room even though I’m dressed in only a teeny tiny shirt and underwear.

  “Mom, I can do that myself,” I say as she takes off my bedding and sheets and stuffs it into her basket.

  “Are you feeling okay?” she asks, placing her hand over my forehead.

  “Yes,” I reply, leaning away. “I feel fine, Mom.”

  “Well, you’ve been acting so strange lately.”

  I raise a brow. “Me? Strange?” I take in a breath. I know where this is going, and I don’t like it one bit. “If you wanna talk about your boyfriend again, I’m not interested.”

  I walk into the bathroom and lock the door behind me before she has a chance to berate me again.

  “Sam, we need to talk about this,” she says.

  Oh God, not this again. I thought I had made my point clear after the last time I ran from the house, but I guess not. “No, we don’t need to talk. He needs to leave our house.”

  “Sam, you can’t just ask me that,” she says.

  “Yeah, I can. I’m your daughter.” I start brushing my teeth, hoping the noise will drown her out because I really don’t want to think about the situation between me, my mom, and her boy toy right now. I don’t have time for this. I need to get to school.

  “And he’s my new … lover.”

  I almost choke on my toothpaste.

  “Mom!” I shout.

  That’s the last word I thought I’d ever hear coming from her mouth.

  She sighs. “Look, I want what’s best for all of us.”

  “You mean for you.” I spit into the sink. “None of this is good for me.”

  “Well, it could be.”

  I make a face at myself in the mirror. “How? In case you forgot, he’s my archenemy’s dad.”

  “Archenemy?” Mom laughs. “Really, Sam?”

  “Yes, really. She’s a bitch.”

  “Sam …”

  “She is. You don’t know her, Mom.”

  “Who, Layla? She was always such a nice girl back when—”

  “No, she wasn’t. She’s always been a bitch.” Mom thinks she knows her from way back when we were still young. But things change … Layla’s changed. “She just knew how to hide it before, and now she doesn’t care.” I wish she would just stop talking right about now, but I know this’ll end in another fight just as usual.

  “I think she does. You two just need to find a new common ground.”

  Common ground? Gag. “Trust me, Mom, the only thing we’ve got in common is our hate for each other.”

  “Hate? Well, that’s a harsh thing to say.”

  “Life’s harsh, Mom. You of all people should know that.”

  I pause and look at myself in the mirror. It’s quiet, too quiet, and I know why.

  Opening the door, I find my mom standing there with tears in her eyes. Shit.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  Mom raises her hand. Then she turns around and walks downstairs, leaving me be … complete with the misery I caused because I couldn’t keep my shit comments to myself. Fuck.

  I slam the door shut behind me and shove my disappointment on a neat little shelf in my brain and pretend it doesn’t exist as I put on my clothes and get ready. I run downstairs and grab a banana. When I turn around and head toward the door, I hear their voices coming from upstairs. Mom and Randy are in the bedroom arguing.

  “What do you want me to do about it?” the guy says.

  “Well, maybe you could talk to her. Ask her to be nice to Sam.”

  “You don’t know my daughter if you think that’s gonna work.”

  “You could at least try,” Mom says.

  “No. I’m not getting in the middle of this. It’s not my problem those two fight.”

  I can’t see them, but I can tell he’s as stubborn as always, probably throwing his hands up in the air too.

  “She’s my daughter. You should care about this.”

  “Look …” He sighs. “I’m just here for you.”

  “No, don’t touch me,” she says. “Not now.”

  “C’mon, let’s not talk about this.”

  “We need to talk about this. You know my daughter’s not in a good place right now with her father—”

  “Can we not talk about that schmuck? He left you for a reason.”

  I can’t believe they’re talking about my dad.

  “Excuse me?!” Mom shouts.

  “I mean, he cheated on you and then ran off! Who cares what he thinks?”

  “This isn’t about you! Or him! But he’s still her father, and she’s still his daughter, and that whole situation is already difficult enough as is,” Mom says. “And you’re not helping out here.”

  “So what are you saying? You think I’m a burden? Is that it?”

  God, I hate him, always playing the victim role.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying, but you could be … you know … a little more helpful. More involved.”

  “Eh …” Something squeaks, so I hide behind the stairs and pretend to be eating a banana. “I’m not sure I want to be,” Randy says.

  Ouch. That’s got to hurt.

  “I think we should have this conversation another time,” he adds.

  After a few more seconds, the guy comes pounding down the stairs. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even acknowledge I exist even though I’m sure he noticed me standing here since he went into the kitchen to grab his briefcase and turned around to walk toward me. But he keeps going right past me straight for the door. No matter. The devilish smile is still cemented on my face. Thank fuck that asshole is gone. Let’s hope it stays that way.

  I grab my coat and put it on.

  “Sam.”

  I spin on my heels. Mom’s standing at the top of the stairs with tears in her eyes. The vicious glee growing in my heart pops like a bubble. I’m gutted.

  “Sam … I …” She walks down the stairs, a little unsteady on her feet. She’s trying to keep it together but falling apart all at the same time. And I catch her at the bottom as she wraps her arms around me.

  Sometimes, it’s the mother that needs the consoling instead.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter.

  She wipes her face. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay. What I said was wrong,” I say, swallowing away the impending tears. “I hurt you.”

  “No, you spoke the truth,” she says. “It just took me a while to realize it.” She leans away and smiles a fake smile just to make me believe she’s okay. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, raising a brow.

  “No,” she adds, and she licks her lips. “But I’ll be fine. I’ve always been fine. I get through it. As we all do.”

  I nod. “You’re a fighter, Mom.”

  “Just like you,” she says, and she plants a kiss on my forehead. “So kick some ass today.” She leans back, grabs my shoulders, and stares into my eyes. “And if she’s such a bitch, you give that girl hell.”

  I smirk. “Oh, I will.”

  Chapter 19

  Nate

  At school, everyone looks at me as though I’m a criminal. A convict. A monster.

  Maybe they’re right, and maybe I am. But it
still stings.

  I feel ostracized ever since I had that conversation with the police and my lawyer. My friends don’t talk to me anymore, and my teammates give me the cold shoulder.

  Even though I didn’t tell anyone what happened at the beach last summer, everybody seems to know. Gossip always travels like wildfire, but I never thought I’d be the subject.

  I wonder who told them, and what everyone knows. If they think she died by drowning, or if they think I murdered the girl.

  No one knows. They just think they know.

  I walk through the hallways, trying to ignore the people whispering behind my back. It’s as if it’s everywhere around me, and the noise just won’t quit.

  No one understands what I did. What I had to do.

  And in the end, it was all for nothing.

  My scholarship is probably not happening anymore.

  My dad’s disappointed, and my mom … I can’t face the shame.

  Only one thing can fix all of this—Sam Cook and her photos—but she won’t give them to me without a fight.

  I pass her painting class again, and lo and behold, there she is. I pause. Of course she’d be here. Where else would she be? Painting … photography … she has a thing for creativity. And I have to admit, she does it well.

  Watching her paint is like hearing someone sing. Her movements are fluid and erratic, poignant and violent. Beautiful in its chaotic nature. The longer I stare, the more words come to mind—so many I could even write a song about it.

  Fuck, she could be my muse.

  I smile to myself.

  Lyrics are just that … lyrics. They’re not the road to a scholarship, to my dad’s pride, to my reputation. Sam is. She’s the one who holds my freedom.

  I go inside and take a closer look. Not only the way she paints is beautiful … she is too. Even though I’ve told myself again and again not to feel when I’m around her, it overwhelms me, consumes me. Greed and lust rise to the surface when I watch her flick the paint onto the canvas, and it makes me wish I could flick my tongue against her body in the same way.

  Shit. I’m fucking messed up. Everyone knows.

  Even Sam …

  I wish she hadn’t seen what she saw, that I could take the memory away and keep it all to myself, but no one can change history. All I can do is make sure the future isn’t ruined as well.