My Sweet Bully Page 5

  I'm not sure where on the stretch of beach he might be, but I know I'll be able to spot him from the top of the dunes. Pushing through the tall grass, I feel the sand as it trickles into my sneakers.

  Ignoring the discomfort, I lift a hand over my eyes to block the sun as it's setting. The orange globe is mirrored on the still surface. It sparkles under the light ripples of waves, and seagulls caw overhead.

  Standing on the crest, I look down and find a group of people in orange vests, poking the ground with spikes and stuffing garbage into trash bags. My eyes scan the faces until I spot Max a few hundred yards off the shore.

  The sand kicks up against the back of my legs as I make my way down the other side of the dune and across the beach. There are a few random people jogging and walking their dogs, but the beach is fairly quiet for the most part.

  A guy in a police uniform is leaning against the lifeguard station, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, but his head is moving between the group of people.

  With firm feet I move across the beach, when the cop calls out to me. “Hey, what do you—” he cuts himself off as he grabs my wrist and pulls his glasses off his eyes. “Wait, you're Greg's niece, right?”

  “Yeah, Prairie Westmin, that's me.”

  He smiles and takes a step back. “What are you doing here? You're not part of this group.”

  “No, but a friend of mine is. Is it all right if I. . .” Holding up the water and snacks, I give him puppy dog eyes and a pouty smile.

  “I'm not supposed to because these are court ordered hours, but I think I can make an exception this one time.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it.” Passing him a small bag of cashews, I give him another smile. “Here, one for you too.”

  He takes the package and opens it, popping a handful of cashews into his mouth as he turns and looks the other way.

  Max's head is down as he spears garbage, unaware that I'm coming up behind him.

  “Hey,” I say, tapping him on the shoulder.

  Jerking his head over his shoulder, he peers at me surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, pausing for only a moment before going back to stabbing trash.

  “I come with a peace offering.”

  Looking at my hands, he drops his head and stuffs a disfigured bottle into the bag on his side. “I'm good, thanks.”

  “Please, just take it.” Holding out a bag of cashews, I bat my lashes and push out my bottom lip. “I came here to help, not fight.”

  “You think some water and a bag of nuts fixes all of this?”

  “No. I think it fixes right now. You're going to tell me you're not hungry?”

  “I didn't say that,” he says, scanning the ground.

  Walking beside him, I hold out the bag again. “Then I'm right. I thought I heard your stomach.”

  His eyes jump from the food to mine and back again to my hands. Taking the package slowly, he gives me a head nod. “Thanks.”

  “You're welcome.”

  “But don't think this changes anything. I still hate you.”

  “Fair enough,” I say with a half-smile. Tipping my chin into my chest, I look around. Bending over, I'm about to grab a piece of garbage off the ground when he stops me.

  Yanking me upright by my shoulder, he snaps, “Don't touch that with your hands.” Digging in his pocket, he pulls out a pair of latex gloves. “Put these on first.”

  Smiling, I slip the gloves on my hands and pick up the trash. “Can I. . .” I let my voice trail off as I point at his garbage bag. Max nods and opens it for me. “So this is how you spend your afternoons?”

  “Not by choice.” Poking a crunched can, he lifts it up. “I would have picked something with a little less sun.”

  “Mm,” I say with a nod. “You do have that pasty skin color. Let me guess, you don't tan, you just turn red like a lobster?”

  “Wrong. I also peel.” Max chuckles lightly, his eyes steady on the ground.

  Smiling, I look over at him. He takes a second to look up, giving me a faint smirk before going back to the ground.

  My heart skips inside my chest when our eyes meet. His smile is real, it's not fake. And that smile does things to me.

  The blood in my veins percolates under the skin. My stomach explodes with a million butterflies all buzzing around. It makes me smile from ear to ear, exciting me in a way I never would have expected.

  We walk side by side down the beach, gently brushing shoulders and arms as we pick up litter. I want to ask him so many questions, but I don't. I don't want to ruin this moment, whatever this might be.

  Max is calm, relaxed, his shoulders back and muscles loose. It's nice to know he isn't always a giant ball of tension, ready to explode at any point in time. Then again, what the hell do I really know about him?

  Nothing.

  I know he's a senior at Burton Ridge High School. I know he's good at basketball. I know he has an older brother and isn't well received by other kids at school. And I know he doesn't make the best choices. But that's it.

  Wiping his hands on his pants, he ties the garbage bag. “Looks like we're done. You can go home now. Your good deed for the month is finished.”

  “I didn't do this as a good deed. I'm not asking for any recognition for being here.”

  “Well, whatever it was that made you come, it's over, time to go. I appreciate the company; it was better than the other times I've been here.”

  “Wow, did you just give me a compliment?” Cocking my head, I curl my lip into a smile.

  “No, that's not what that was.”

  “Yeah it was. You basically just said I'm awesome. You're being so nice right now.” Giggling, I give him a playful shove with my shoulder.

  Shaking his head no, he wags a finger. “Don't get confused. I have to be nice because of G.I Joe over there.” Tilting his head in the direction of the officer, he purses his lips.

  “You know what I think?” Tapping a finger against my chin, I smirk.

  “Please, enlighten me.”

  “I think you're not as mean as you want people to believe.”

  “Oh yeah, is that right?” Rolling up his sleeves, he carries the bag over to a garbage bin and drops it in. “You think you got me all figured out, huh?”

  “No, I didn't say that. I just think there's a lot more to you than you want people to see. I think people put you in this box—the bad boy, the troublemaker, the bully—and you just go along with it.”

  “Well, look at you, a modern day Nancy fucking Drew.”

  Laughing, I point a finger at him. “Yeah, but I have a nicer ass than Nancy Drew.”

  “And a prettier face,” he says quickly with a smile and a wink.

  My cheeks flush and I can feel the heat radiate down my neck. I know I'm turning red, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

  Biting my bottom lip, I smile back and look at him from the corner of my eye. “You need a ride home?”

  Max cocks his head, and glances around. The officer gives him a nod, so Max starts taking off his gloves and dropping them into the garbage. Looking at the parking lot, his sexy lips thin as he crooks his jaw to the side. “I was going to walk, but yeah, I could use a ride.”

  Tugging my keys from my pocket, we head in the direction of my car. “I'm over here.”

  “I know which one you are. I remember from this morning.”

  “Right, right, I forgot about that.” Looking off, I run my hand through my hair, and pick up my feet as I walk.

  Unlocking my door, I climb in and hit the button. The passenger door lock clicks open and Max drops in beside me. A wave of salty ocean air mixed with his cologne sweeps across my face.

  I inhale a long slow breath instinctively, drinking in that scent. I smelled him when he caught me at school, and now all I want is more. My mind locks away bits of this moment, saving them for later.

  Max looks down at the footwell at the collection of garbage, and then looks at my backseat, also covered in trash. “You ever clean this thing out?”

  “I know, it's a mess. But,” I say, putting the key in the ignition, “I keep up on the oil changes and stuff.”

  Turning the key, I expect it to purr like a well-oiled machine. It doesn't. It gags and spits like it did this morning, stuttering and dying out with a gasp.

  With closed lips I smile and turn the key again. The engine fumbles and shakes, only to collapse on itself.

  Max chuckles and shakes his head. “Pop the hood,” he says as he climbs out of the car.

  Doing as he asks, I pull the hood lock and it jumps open. Max pushes it up, burying his head so I can't see what he's doing.

  He's under there for a couple minutes, then leans back and says, “Give it a try now.”

  Turning the key, it starts instantly, sounding smooth. I'm stunned, shocked that he was able to fix it so easily.

  Getting back in, his hands are dirty, but he doesn't care, he wipes them on his jeans. “All set.”

  “What was wrong?”

  “One of your battery terminals was loose.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Yeah, yeah, it was nothing.” Pointing a finger toward the exit, he adds, “Take a left when you leave, my house is off of Burton Creek.”

  Following his directions, we make small talk to his house. I ask him if he's lived here all his life, he asks me where I came from. There's nothing serious or debatable, just normal conversation.

  I learned he moved here when he was three, and his father took a local job at as a mechanic. He hates red sauce, except on pizza, and he can't eat seafood.

  We turn down a quiet road, the houses are spaced far apart. There are fields between the worn down and forgotten homes. The grass is tall, the driveways are unpaved, and the roofs look like they've been hit by a tornado.

  “I'm up over here, number twenty-eight.”

  Rolling up to the front of the house, I park the car and look out his window. The house is dark, too dark for dinner time. The windows are black, not a hint of light is coming from the home at all.

  “Is anyone else here?” I ask.

  “I doubt it.” His eyes are on the house, but his voice sounds distant, like he's with me, and at the same time, he's not. He looks off, beyond the windows, beyond the walls, beyond anything that has to do with his house.

  His mind is gone, rolling with thoughts that I don’t understand.

  Tapping the steering wheel, I ask, “You want some company? I can come in and hang out until someone else gets home.”

  Closing my eyes, I bite my lip and squeeze the steering wheel. I sound desperate. He's eighteen like me, and probably not afraid to be home alone. But, I ask him like he's a kid who needs a babysitter.

  Max slowly shifts his eyes to mine, his mouth razor thin, his expression flat. “I'm serious when I say you need to watch yourself around me. I'm not someone to mess with.”

  “Oh yeah, and what's that supposed to mean exactly? Because from what I saw today, I saw a guy who actually gives a shit.”

  “You saw wrong.” Gritting his teeth, he gives me crooked smirk. “I'm not your fucking friend. . .” Leaning in, his face is close, so fucking close I can see the stubble on his jaw.

  My pussy throbs as I imagine him gripping my hips and forcing me back in my seat. I want his face buried between my thighs; I want to feel his breath against my aching pussy. Tingles race through my belly, making me wet instantly.

  Stop, Prairie!

  “I'm your fucking enemy,” he finally says.

  A tingle runs down my spine as his breath spreads across my face. His lips are so close to mine, I can imagine the way they would feel.

  They're right there. Inches away. They look hard and soft, rough and smooth. They look like hurt and pleasure all in one.

  Kiss me. Just fucking kiss me.

  I don't say it out loud, I don't whisper it, but I'm hoping he can hear the words inside my head.

  He licks his lips, leaning forward, forcing me to back my head against the driver side window. Even though I want him to kiss me, the look in his eyes is enough to make me hold my breath as a sliver of fear scrapes across my chest.

  My uncle's words race through my head. 'Stay away from him.' And right beside his warning is the devil's voice inside my ear. He's telling me not to listen to anyone else. He's telling me we want this, we need this, we have to have this.

  No. No. No. Max is bad. Period.

  Don't be fucking stupid, Prairie!

  “Enemies don't play well together, you understand that, don't you?” He licks his lips, eyes running all over my face, and pausing on my mouth before moving back up.

  I hold his eyes with mine, and a flicker of anger bubbles. We're only enemies because he's saying we are. We're only enemies because he wants us to be. But he's wrong.

  “We don't need to be enemies. You're making us that. That night—”

  “That night—” His arm comes up and slams the window behind my head. “That night wasn't for you to change. You altered an ending that wasn't yours to rewrite.”

  “I saw it in your eyes that night, Max, and I can see it now, you aren't that person.”

  Lowering his lids, something in his face changes. The tension is still there, but it's different. It's not anger or hate, it's lust and defiance. It's need and resistance.

  Biting his lower lip, his eyes drift. They move down my face, over my throat and across my breasts. The very tip of his tongue tempts the opening of his mouth, causing me to suck in a ragged breath.

  “You have no idea who the hell I am. You'll only ever see, who I want you to see. You'll only ever know, who I want you to know.” Throwing the door open, he jumps out of the car, and slams the door shut. Storming up the walkway, he disappears inside.

  I hear the windows rattle on his house as the front door crashes closed. A light pops on behind crooked curtains, and I'm left sitting in a puddle of arousal.

  My panties are soaked, and I'm sweating profusely. It's dripping down the back of my neck, tracing my spine. My heart is hammering inside my chest, and my lips tingle.

  Reaching up, I touch my mouth. Letting out a slow breath, I start to cough for air. I've been holding my breath and didn't even know it until my lungs started burning.

  Glancing up at his house one last time, I throw the car into drive and pull away.

  He's angry with me, and that's all right. I can see a side of him no one else can and I think it makes him uncomfortable. I don't feel bad for it, and I won't let myself, either.

  Because people can be a lot of things. They can be good. They can be evil. They can be upright and docile and even go astray.

  But there's one thing people can never be. . . And that's without light.

  We can all be led in the wrong direction.

  But we can all find our way back home.

  Sometimes, people just need a little help getting there.

  5

  Max

  The bus doors open, and I stand on the top step for a second, looking up at the sky. I step out under a cloud of gray and a light drizzle. It's misting, the water is cold as it hits my face, making me shiver slightly.

  Adjusting my jacket, I look right and left before crossing the street. My feet are heavier than usual, and there's a tightness in my chest I can't get rid of. It happens every time I come here. Visiting my brother never gets easier.

  The long driveway to the prison always gives me the fucking creeps. I hate the walk up to the doors, and I hate the walk into the building. There's a cloud of dread that weighs down on my shoulders.

  I feel like I'm behind bars too. I have no control over my life, just like my brother has no control here. Without my brother, life hasn't been the same.

  At least when we're together, I don't feel so alone. He understands me, he understands our life, our past—everything. I don't need to explain a damn thing to him. But with him in here, I have no one.

  My feet crunch over the gravel, echoing in the silence around me. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I force myself forward one foot at a time. My eyes drift up the wall that's keeping people in, and in a way, probably keeping people out too.

  The walls are brick, double fenced on the inside, and lined at the top with barbed wire. Guards are peering out from two towers at the corners, while the front of the prison is speckled in two foot by three foot square windows, with ghostly faces begging to be set free.

  I can't see much, no defining features, nothing to really identify the person inside, but the eyes. I can see each set, their gazes like ghosts.

  I can't fucking believe my brother is here.

  It's her fault, it's all her fault.

  Clenching my teeth, I crook my jaw in frustration as I approach the front the gate. It angers me that he's here. It angers me that I'm here. It makes me so fucking mad that this is my life right now.

  As if either of us haven't already been through enough. Now, we have to deal with this.

  Not once have I ever felt like I've had any control over my life. It's always been in someone else's hands, being led by someone else's decision.

  The giant gate buzzes, gliding open as I approach. I go through the motions. Dropping my stuff into the small tray as I walk through the metal detector, the guards pat me down, and I wait for them to check my shit. Grabbing the pen, I sign my name in the book, same as I have for the past two months.

  I take a second to check the register, quickly running my eyes over the names, but I don't see anyone else I know. It's habit at this point, I check every time I come. I don't know why, it's like I keep expecting to see our father's signature.

  It's stupid. He's never going to come.

  I shouldn't be surprised, I already know I'll never see our father's name in this book, no matter how many times I search for it. I'm the only person who ever comes to see Harlow. Just me.

  We really only do have each other.

  Another buzzer goes off, and another barred gate slides open. I'm ushered into the visitors’ room, busy with wives and kids as they talk to their loved ones or wait their turn. Some women are crying, others are yelling, the sounds blocked by thick glass partitions.