Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

“Talk about what?” Shawn asks, ignorant to the embarrassing scene that played out between Zeke and me.

“She’s got boy problems,” Rowdy offers, but he doesn’t go into further detail, protecting my fragile heart.

I know they’ll talk about it later when they’re alone, but I’m grateful that they don’t hound me for more information.

We fill the next hour and a half with small talk and safe subjects, but I can still feel the disappointment from Rowdy. As my friend, I’m sure he isn’t happy with the way Zeke treats me, and I know he’d be livid if he had all the details about what happened in the haunted house.

Eventually, their scrutiny fades as Shawn animatedly talks about one of his coworkers, and I find myself smiling and laughing with them. The dread of seeing Zeke again dissipates some, and even as we say goodbye in the parking lot, I feel lighter and grateful for having them to soothe my aching soul for a while.

I still have a smile on my face when I park Zeke’s truck on the backside of the barn so Nan can’t see it in the morning. I’ll never speak a word of what happened tonight to her and parking directly in the driveway would only bring a round of questions I want to avoid.Chapter 21Zeke

Tapping my fingers on my knees, my frustration grows by the minute. I’ve been waiting for Frankie to return home for two hours, and she’s just now pulling into the driveway. I fight the urge to rush to her and demand an explanation of why it’s taken her so long to get here.

I don’t bother to hide the knowing sneer from my lips when she pulls around the barn, effectively keeping my truck out of sight. Even after the shitty way I treated her tonight, she still doesn’t want her grandma to know how I’ve been treating her.

After several long minutes, Frankie rounds the barn and an unexpected grin plays on her gorgeous face, and for a single moment, a tiny slip of time, I forget that I hate her. I forget what she symbolizes. I forget that I’ve hurt her over and over and will probably continue to do so because she allows it so readily.

Then I remember that she’s not supposed to be happy. She’s supposed to be distraught and heartbroken after I rode away with friends and a girl on my lap only moments after making her come on my fingers.

She should have tears staining her rosy cheeks and a tremble to her hands.

The grin and bounce to her step only serve to antagonize me more.

“Where the hell have you been?” I snap, taking a little joy in the way she jolts in surprise.

I purposely hid in the shadows, needing the element of surprise, or the ability to hide from her if the pain in her eyes when she got home was too much for me to bear. Even in my head that sounds beyond brutal. I’m worried about her pain when I’m the one who caused it. I’m worried about the way her pain cuts me too.

Instead of answering me, she shoves my truck keys into my chest before attempting to walk around me. Unable to allow her to step past me, I grab her wrist, caught up in the moment and uncaring if I cause her physical pain. She needs to go inside, but I can’t let that happen. I don’t have the strength to let her walk away.

“Where have you been?” I ask again, enunciating each word to keep from raising my voice. I only barely hide the emotion that’s zipping through my body.

She glares at my hold on her arm, but she doesn’t try to pull away. I hate how closed off she is and the slow sneer marking her beautiful face even though I know I’m the reason it’s there.

“Let me go.” She says the words just as slowly as my own demand, but I don’t release her.

“Frankie,” I warn.

“I found a couple guys who didn’t mind spending time with me.”

Her words hit me like a sledgehammer.

I wanted to make her mad, wanted to hurt her when I left with Paul and Jason, but I never considered the possibility that she’d be allowed to do the same to me with one simple sentence. That ability gives her power, and my angry reaction translates into squeezing her arm tighter. When she flinches, her eyes scrunching in the corners from the pain, I ease up some.

“I never took you for a whore,” I seethe.

“Says the boy smelling like cheap perfume and liquor.”

I won’t argue with her about it. I cringed every time the wind blows and I catch a hint of Cheryl’s perfume, and I did drink a beer with my friends before deciding I didn’t want to be in a crowd tonight.