Branded Read online

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, staring off into the shop.

  I don’t like it when he talks to me like that. It makes me feel as though something’s wrong with me, but there’s not. I’m just bored. Have been ever since we moved to this town. There’s nothing to do here, especially not when you have a limited number of friends. Hanson’s it, mostly. And he ain’t always around to do shit with.

  The rest of the townsfolk … they don’t like people like me and my papa. With our long black hair and dark eyes, we stand out in a crowd of mostly blond-haired people. Sometimes I like to call them rednecks, but my papa usually smacks me in the back of the head if he catches me saying that word.

  But they call us names too.

  Indian.

  Redskin.

  I’ve heard all the terms, and my papa just ignores them. It’s like he doesn’t even care, and I don’t understand why. All he cares about is berating me for my choices. And for being friends with Hanson. As if he’s the worst friend I could have.

  “You’ve been acting out ever since you became friends with Hanson,” Papa mopes. “Is he pressuring you?”

  “What? No. Of course not,” I reply. “I’m just … bored, I guess.”

  I don’t even know what to say. Part of me wants to explain it to him and tell him how I feel, but another part of me feels like he wouldn’t even understand.

  I don’t like it here. This town, Springhaven, it’s like redneck central, and the people here …? Well, let’s just say they don’t like us very much. We’re outsiders. Even though I’ve lived here since I was a little boy, I still feel like I’m missing out on something.

  “Papa, can’t we go to the reserve?” I ask. “I wanna visit Hanson’s place.”

  “No.” The stern look on his face makes my skin crawl. “Absolutely not.”

  I don’t understand why he hates that place so much. Why he doesn’t want me to interact with our own.

  “But you’re all about tradition, right?” I ask as he opens the register and sorts the money as if he didn’t just do that ten minutes ago.

  “Yes, and I try to teach you everything I know. I don’t need the reserve for that, and you don’t either.” He gives me another stern glance, ending the conversation.

  This is how it always goes. I ask questions about our life before we came to Springhaven, and he shuts me off. It’s as if it’s taboo to even mention the place.

  “What you need,” Papa says, pointing at me as if that will make me wise up, “is to get back to work.” He grabs a box of water bottles from the counter and shoves it into my hands.

  At the same time, the bell above the door jingles, and we both turn our heads to see who it is.

  It’s Dixie Burrell … and Derek Cooper is right behind her.

  They’re holding hands.

  I almost drop the box right there and then.

  I fumble with the bottles of water while staring after her. Luckily, neither of them noticed me making a mess.

  I swallow. I know Papa wants me to put these away, but I don’t wanna run into … her.

  At least not while I’m doing stupid shit. And not with Derek around.

  That motherfucker always tries to get under my skin. One of these days, I’m going to ram his face into a brick wall, and I don’t want it to be in my papa’s shop. Because if he sees me lose my shit, I won’t be able to sit on my ass for the next two weeks. That’s how mad he’d get.

  However, the moment Dixie’s eyes fixate on me, I forget everything I was doing.

  She lets go of his hand.

  The few seconds our eyes connect seem to last an eternity.

  “Got some cash on ya, doll? I forgot my wallet,” Derek asks Dixie, breaking the spell.

  She clears her throat and looks away. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I guess.” She hands him some pocket change, after which he saunters off toward the fridge and takes out an energy drink. He stops at the rack filled with camping stuff and picks up one of the many Zippo lighters we carry.

  He flicks one open and lights the flame. “Cool,” he murmurs. Then he puts the Zippo back after looking at the price.

  Meanwhile, Dixie’s casually sifting through the shirts we have. Most of them have a Springhaven logo printed on them or some other catch phrase. We don’t sell a lot of them, but my papa keeps them around because he likes to stay in the town’s good spirit. Whatever the hell that means.

  My papa sighs out loud. “Never mind. I’ll do these.” He snatches the box out of my hands. “You do the register.”

  “Yeah … okay,” I say, completely out of it because I’m still gawking at her.

  I don’t know what it is about Dixie that makes it impossible for me to look away. With her ombre hair and her pristine green eyes, she stands out of the crowd but blends in perfectly too. But that smile … God, that fucking smile.

  I wish I could see it up close.

  But she’d never smile like that for me.

  At least, not the way she smiles at Derek.

  I don’t know when that happened. One minute, she hates his guts, and the next, they’re kissing in the cafeteria at school. I guess that’s what happens with raging teenage hormones all around.

  Not for me, though.

  I’m the outcast. The weirdo who likes to play with matches outside on the benches in the school yard.

  Let’s just say, I’m not a people person. I stick to myself.

  Besides, I’ve been burned too many times to ever try again.

  Derek suddenly interrupts my train of thought by plopping his can of Red Bull on the counter.

  “The fuck are you looking at?” he barks. “C’mon. Work for your pay, boy.”

  Fuck, I wanna smack his face into the counter. That, or smash his teeth in. They’re just as ugly as the rest of his mug anyway.

  “Are you deaf?” He snaps his fingers when I don’t respond quickly enough.

  I scan the item, but I don’t take my narrowed eyes off him. I want him to see the hatred and realize it’s all because of him and his behavior.

  “What are you looking at, redskin?” he sneers, smacking some money onto the counter but still holding it like he doesn’t intend to hand it over.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing … redneck,” I retort.

  This gets his blood boiling, for sure. His face is turning red as a beet, and he’s grinding his teeth. Just the look on his face gets me all riled up.

  “Derek …” Dixie deliberately bumps into him, shoving him with her hands. “Stop acting like a douche and just pay up.”

  “All right, fine,” Derek says, throwing up his hands. “I’m just messing around.”

  He snatches the Red Bull off the counter but not before throwing me a filthy glance. “Better stay out of my sight at school, kid,” he says.

  Yeah. As if I haven’t heard that one before.

  Before he leaves, he smacks Dixie’s ass so hard she jumps. “Ow! Derek!”

  Just the sound of his palm on her pants makes my stomach turn. I wanna punch him in the face, but that asshole has already made a run for it.

  Dixie rolls her eyes and shakes her head, sighing out loud. “Sorry … he can be such a dick sometimes. Just ignore him.”

  “No worries,” I reply with a smile. “I definitely will.”

  My response seems to perk her up a little bit because I get a genuine smile back. And fuck me … it’s gorgeous, just like her. I wish I could look at it all day long. Fuck, I’d do anything to keep her from ever losing that smile.

  But she has other plans.

  She places some hardware, like a detachable socket and shell, a cord set, a finial, and a detachable harp on the counter. Probably buying them for her papa, I reckon.

  But she also adds the shirt she picked out. Then she fishes her wallet from her pocket.

  When I pick it up and read the slogan, I laugh a little. “Nothin’ like Springhaven,” I say, scanning the shirt.

  “Yeah, I just grabbed something off the racks …” She
chuckles. “I didn’t wanna leave the shop without buying something for myself. It didn’t feel right.”

  I smirk. “That’s awfully nice of you.”

  “I can be nice sometimes,” she says, winking. “Especially when I have to compensate for someone else.” She raises her brow and casually looks over her shoulder at Derek, who’s leaning against the wall outside, smoking a cig.

  So she doesn’t like him? “Why do you even hang out with him?” I ask.

  I regret it the moment I blurted it out, but it’s too late to take it back.

  She pauses and takes a big gallop of air. “I … I don’t know, really.” She shrugs. “It just kinda happened. I guess.” She laughs it off like it’s no big deal. But to me it is.

  How can a girl like her be the girlfriend of such a douchebag? She deserves so much better than the likes of him.

  But I’d never say this to her face. It doesn’t feel right.

  Man, girls are complicated as fuck, that’s for sure.

  “Can I ask you something?” She rubs her lips together.

  “Of course,” I reply, putting her items in a plastic bag.

  “Why do you let him treat you like that?”

  I look up, still holding the bag. “I don’t know. The whole town does, so I’m used to it.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t let them,” she says, cocking her head. “You deserve to be treated with respect.”

  I smile. She’s got me there, but the same applies to her. “Same goes for you.” And then I casually throw a glance at Derek. He should be treating her like his princess. Not like some doll he can use.

  “Touché.” She places the money on the counter. Guess she understood the hint, judging from her lopsided grin. I don’t wanna be an asshole, but I’ll gladly be one to him if it means she’s finally gonna get treated better.

  I take some of the money and leave the rest. “The hardware’s on the house.”

  “Really?” Her face lights up. “Thanks so much!”

  Man, I could live just from seeing that smile every single day.

  Forget oxygen, forget food.

  I don’t need any of it … if only I had her.

  “You’re welcome,” I say with a big-ass smile as I tuck the bills into the register.

  Man, I really should get a grip on my feelings.

  I clear my throat and hand her the bag, saying, “Have a nice day.”

  “Thank you, you too,” she says as she walks off.

  But in the middle of the shop, she comes to a stop and turns around again to say, “Hey … would you like to hang out sometime?”

  Wait. Did she actually ask me to spend time with her?

  Is this really happening? Yes, it fucking is, and I’d be a fool to say no to a girl like Dixie Burrell.

  The grin that appears on my lips could not be any bigger, though I try to play it off like it’s no big deal. “Sure.”

  Even though it damn well is.

  Because she’s the girl I want … The girl I’ve craved since I was only a boy.

  I’d do pretty much anything to make her mine.

  Chapter Three

  Brandon

  My eyes are glued to her body as she walks out of the shop. I won’t say it out loud, and I won’t admit it to anyone, but I’m pretty smitten with that girl. Have been ever since we were little.

  She’s the only one who doesn’t look the other way when she sees me. The only one who thinks my obsession with fire is cool instead of scary.

  I like her.

  But she has another boy who likes her too. An asshole who doesn’t appreciate what he has.

  “Stop drooling, boy,” my papa suddenly says, breaking my train of thought.

  I clear my throat and fetch a new box filled with beer cans, ready to be shelved.

  “I was only saying bye, that’s all.”

  “Right … course you were,” he says, rolling his eyes at me. “What’s her name?”

  “Dixie Burrell.” Her name rolling off my tongue gives me a high.

  His face immediately turns sour. “Burrell? As in the Burrell family?” he asks, carrying more boxes from the back. “Oh, no. Not happening.”

  I frown and stop lifting one of the boxes. “Why not? What’s it to you?”

  “That family is bad news all around.” He walks off again, so I follow him into the back.

  What the fuck is he going on about? “How’d you figure that?”

  “I don’t have to figure. I know. For sure. Along with anyone else who does business with the people on the reserve.”

  I don’t get it. The Burrell family owns a large corn farm, and they’re good members of the community. Or at least, that’s what I see. They always arrive at charity events with lots of food, and the people in this town genuinely look up to them.

  But not my papa. It’s as if he hates literally anyone who doesn’t live in this town. Or basically, anyone who is even remotely connected to the reserve.

  “What is it with you and the reserve?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, so I keep asking. Giving up isn’t an option.

  “Papa, we used to live there. I remember,” I say.

  He looks up at me but still doesn’t respond.

  “Why do you hate that place so much? Is that why we had to move?”

  “Part of it, yes.” He sighs. “But it’s not the place I hate, nor the people. Just the decisions they make … I don’t wanna be a part of any of that.”

  Picking up more boxes, he stacks them, then carries them to the front of the shop again. I tag along, still trying to get more out of him. “But what did they do? And what do the Burrells have to do with it?”

  He holds up his hand as if he wants me to stop. “Look. It’s complicated,” he says. “I don’t wanna—”

  “But you said you’d tell me,” I interrupt. “You said ‘someday.’ When is it ‘someday’?” I make quotation marks with my fingers. “I’m tired of waiting around for answers.”

  “I … No. We’re not doing this now.” He shakes his head and returns to the back again. As though he’s fleeing the conversation.

  “Papa!” I shout. I’m not having it. “I’m having my ass handed to me every day in this place. I don’t like it here. This whole town seems to hate us.”

  “They don’t. There are just a bunch of ignorant little kids running around. There are plenty of those in other towns too.”

  “Yeah, but at least the people on the reserve get us. We’re like them.”

  Suddenly, he turns around and almost stabs me with his index finger. “We’re nothing like them. Nothing.”

  The deadly stare he gives me makes me shudder.

  What’s gotten into him? It’s like he finds it the ultimate insult to even be considered related to the reserve, our people, or their ways.

  “Papa? Why do you dislike them so much? Did something happen?” I ask, but he looks away.

  “Don’t,” he says, holding up his hand as if to shush me. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “But I wanna know,” I say, letting out an exasperated breath. “I need to know.”

  He licks his lips, the pause in the conversation deafening.

  “Maybe someday …” He nods. “Maybe. But not now.”

  And then he turns around and walks away, leaving me standing in the shop, dumbfounded, with more questions than answers.

  Like always.

  * * *

  Dixie

  Age 15

  After an entire afternoon of hanging around the local bar like Derek always wants, he finally lets me go home in peace. If I don’t do what he wants, he’ll berate me for it, and I’d rather not be yelled at in public. Besides, it’s not as if I hate it. The bar has good music, and it’s fun to watch people get drunk and dance like idiots. Derek and his buddies only wanna be there because one of them is old enough to buy liquor and then they split it behind a dumpster in an alley.

  I think it’s bullshit and so immature, but they think it’s cool.


  Whatever. I’m not interested in alcohol. I only wanted to spend time with Derek, but he’s being such an asshole lately that I’m not even sure I still want to hang out with him. Or be his girlfriend, for that matter.

  When I finally get home, I immediately go into the workshop behind the shed on our farm. It’s where my dad keeps all his tools. It’s also the only place where I can calm down after a night out.

  I throw the plastic bag I bought at the Locklear Stop & Shop on the table and get to work right away. It’s my mom’s birthday soon, so I’m making her something special. A homemade lamp designed and created by Dixie Burrell. I’m not much on the actual designing part, but I do my best. I love fiddling with technical stuff. When a household appliance breaks, I’m usually the one to repair it. Or, at least, I try to before my dad finds out.

  He doesn’t like it when I fix stuff around the house. He always says that’s a man’s job, and that I’m taking his work away from him, but I just like helping out, that’s all. Besides, work on the farm can get kinda boring. Plowing, planting, harvesting, rinse and repeat. It’s always the same tedious work. And here in my dad’s workshop, I can let my creativity run loose and make whatever I want. The sky’s the limit. One tutorial is all I need to watch to know exactly how to do it.

  I grab the items from the bag and throw them on the workbench. Then I fetch the rest of the tools I need; some leftovers from my dad’s stash. Some bolts and nuts, and of course a lightbulb.

  The items I got at Brandon’s dad’s shop lie scattered on the bench, ready to be used. A massive smile spreads on my face. It was so nice of him to give those to me for free. I don’t think he knew why I wanted them, but he didn’t even ask.

  He’s not like the other guys I know. He doesn’t judge and always minds his own business.

  I wish I had more friends like him.

  Derek could learn a thing or two from his generosity.

  And his friendliness.

  Like that smile.