But what is there to say about Peyton? We work together. She drives me absolutely mad, in the best ways. Her body is stellar, and I bet she isn’t all fire and claws. Although, I like those aspects of her.
Hanging out with my sister and friends and talking about a woman I work with seems… wrong. Inappropriate. It feels like hair salon gossip. But if I keep my mouth shut, she will spend the next few hours in my face. Then she will pay a visit to Roar. Ogle my every move as Peyton and I work behind the bar. That is the last thing I need.
“You are a pain in my ass,” I say.
She sticks out her tongue. “And you wouldn’t want me any other way.”
I inhale a deep, methodical breath and speak on the exhale. “Her name is Peyton.” Shelly jerks back as her brows pinch together. “What?”
“Peyton?” she asks and I nod. “Has to be a weird coincidence.”
“What are you talking about?”
“In high school, there was a girl. Peyton. She was a year ahead of Cora—and me, if we’d gone to the same school. Anyway, I remember Cora saying she was super nice, but half the school bullied her. I heard all of the horror stories secondhand, but…”
A fist wraps around my stomach, squeezes and twists. Bile rises up, up, up in my throat.
No. No, no, no.
“Do you remember her last name?” I croak out.
Five seconds feels like five hours as Shelly looks to Cora, then back to me, tilts her head and stares. Written all over her face is you seriously don’t remember and how did you not recognize her. I bite the inside of my cheek until tangy iron hits my tongue.
“Alexander,” Cora answers.
I bolt up from my seat and dash around the corner of the house to vomit in the yard. But seeing as I haven’t eaten in hours, making room for the feast here, I spend more time dry heaving than actually expelling stomach contents.
A gentle hand rests on my shoulder. Soft floral, citrus, and earthy notes hit my nose. Shelly. As only a sister would, she rubs small circles on my back and remains silent. When I stand up, she hands me a napkin and bottled water.
Without a word, she guides us back to where we sat. The moment I return, I expect everyone’s eyes on me. But my friends don’t embarrass me with daunting stares and endless questions. When I stepped off, and Shelly followed, they sparked new conversations.
Now that I have returned, though…
“So, I assume you don’t remember her from school?” Shelly asks for clarification.
I shake my head before taking a sip of the water. The cool liquid soothes the residual burn in my throat. “No. How do I not remember? People don’t change that dramatically from high school to early thirties. Do they?”
Shelly turns her attention to Gavin. “You said she’s blonde?” Gavin nods as he lifts a beer to his lips. Shelly faces me again. “That’s it.”
Dear, sister. Please elaborate for the rest of us who cannot hear your thoughts. Sincerely, brother. “What’s it?”
“Sorry.” Shelly smiles, then taps her temple. “Cora, correct me if I’m wrong. In high school, Peyton wasn’t blonde. She was a goth chick. Black hair, black clothes, black everything. It’s why…”
The way she trails off sends a chill up my spine. I flashback to high school, some of the best and worst years of my youth. Frame by frame, I search old memories. Try to see Peyton with dark hair and clothes. But I didn’t pay attention to girls like Peyton. At least not the type of girl she was then. My preferred type has always remained the same.
Looking through four years of memories will take longer than tonight. Maybe Cora and Shelly will do me a solid and jog my memory with more specifics.
“I hate it when you leave me hanging, Shell.” She winces. “Just lay it out. I’m a man. It’s why what?”
Shelly finds every means to procrastinate. One small sip of water after another. She eyes Cora, who shrugs and flaunts the might as well face. Argh! Any second, I am going to lose it if someone doesn’t speak up.
“It’s why she was bullied,” Shelly says. That wasn’t so hard now, was it? “By you.”
Wait, what? “Come again.” I glance around to my closest friends. The ones I spent time with during those years. And they all nod at me.
When the hell did I bully Peyton? Pain scrapes my throat as I swallow. I chug half the water as I think harder. When the hell did I bully anyone? My hand fists my hair, tugging at the strands until pain shoots down my neck.
“It happened the year before we started high school,” Cora chimes in. “Think she was a year behind you. But the rumors ran wild during my freshman year too. Girls wrote on bathroom tiles with Sharpie, Peyton Alexander is a slut. Never stayed on the tile long, but was up again within a day or two. Guys whispered, Micah Reed called her a slut, and with your popularity status, people believed. From what I heard, you called her names in the cafeteria in front of half the school.”
The nightmare of that day rolls in like an evening thunderstorm—angry and violent. My friends and their lighthearted chatter disappear. A second-by-second replay of the day flashes through my memory.
Mercedes and her bitch friends were annoying the hell out of me that day. Coach had been pressing me to push harder on the track. And Mercedes found me at the perfect moment to verbally bash some unknown girl. Peyton.
All Mercedes ever wanted was to be seen and heard. My popularity on the track team attracted her. But there was nothing about her I deemed attractive. She was a bitch. Through and through.
That day, she pranced over to me and I wouldn’t give her the time of day. So she riled me up. Told me the girl in the corner had been eye fucking me for days. Then she told me the girl had slept with half the baseball team and was slut-shaming the guys. In my hazing thoughts, I thought this bitch isn’t messing with any jocks at this school.