A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary's Rebels 2)

My legs wanted to go to him.

I wanted to go to him.

And apologize.

Yeah, I wanted to apologize. How silly. For destroying his Mustang.

The only thing that he loved.

Then I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hit him and punch him and demand to know why he did what he did.

Why did he break my heart? Why was he so cruel?

Why did he betray me for a sport, for soccer?

Why wouldn’t this hurt go away?

Why, why, why?

I wanted to ask him all that.

But before I could go to him, a group of his friends descended on him, taking away the opportunity, and I ran away. Thank God for that.

I took a detour to get to Ledger’s truck and that was that.

That was the last time I saw him; he never showed up to his graduation and I never saw him around town.

That was the last time I saw the guy who broke my heart and whose car I stole in order to get back at him.

And who pressed charges against me and wanted me to go to jail for it.

For doing that. For stealing his car.

But never mind that right now.

I have bigger problems.

Problems like he’s here.

What is he doing here?

What the fuck is he doing here?

Great, Callie. Just great.

One sight of him and I’m cursing again.

One sight of him and my whole world is off-kilter.

My whole world is shaken.

Shouldn’t he be in New York City? Living the life of a soccer star, being fought over by agents and recruits? And what about college? Doesn’t he go to college?

It’s September! People go to classes in September!

I take a gulp of my whiskey, trying to calm myself down.

I can’t believe I’m drinking, whiskey no less.

I’m not much of a drinker and I hate whiskey.

But I needed something.

Something strong.

Something punchy, and whiskey is the only strong stuff I know; I have four brothers whose drink of choice is whiskey.

As soon as I saw Reed and he saw me, I took off and made a beeline for the bar because I needed alcohol and also because I needed to get away from my friends.

Who had also seen him and were asking all kinds of questions.

I never told them anything, see.

About what happened in the past. About how I ended up here.

I mean, except for the fact that I stole a car from a guy named Reed Jackson and drowned it in the lake.

They don’t know that he was Roman to me once.

They don’t know that I loved him and that he broke my heart. And that I was supposed to end up in a juvenile detention center instead of at a girl’s reform school.

And neither do they know that I sneak out every week on Thursdays to practice ballet, to chase my dream.

Not that they would object. In fact, I think they’d be super supportive about it.

But all of this is so ingrained in my past, so ingrained in him that I never had the courage to tell them.

And now suddenly, he’s here and oh my God, I can’t handle this.

I can’t.

That asshole.

That fucking asshole. That fucking asshole bastard. That motherfucking…

A long shadow falls on me then.

A black shadow.

I’m standing outside the bar, propped up against the brick wall, drinking my whiskey. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him. I couldn’t stand to dance.

Not where he could watch.

So I stole my whiskey from Will and ran outside to calm myself.

But of course he’s here as well.

Of course he’s chased me down. Like he used to two years ago.

Nothing has changed.

Nothing.

And he’s walking toward me.

His boots are thudding on the ground and I feel those thuds in my chest. I feel them in my heart. Like he’s stomping on it with every step that he takes.

And all I can do is stand here, stuck to this spot, letting him do that.

Letting him stomp on my heart with those boots.

Black with a shiny metallic buckle on the side.

When he stops, I’m somewhat surprised to see that there isn’t any blood on the ground, rivering from under his killer boots. The boots that just crushed and broke my heart all over again.

Okay.

Okay, I need to relax.

I need to calm down.

I need to take a deep breath and I need to look away from his boots.

I need to look at him. So that I appear strong and calm.

Even so, I can’t.

I can’t look at him. Not yet.

So I look at other things.

Things over his shoulders, his leather-jacket-wearing shoulders.

The jacket that I’m seeing after two years and it takes my breath away for a second.

Because he was wearing it that night.

The night he told me the truth for the first time. The night he told me that everything else up until that point had been a lie.

I’ve had dreams about that jacket in which he breaks my heart over and over again.