1
KNOX
It’s a funny thing, how weed, beer, and good company can make all your problems fade away. Zayn and Gage sit beside me, laughing as Stone tries to balance an empty bottle on his head. He’s so high that he doesn’t even realize when it falls onto the floor and shatters, continuing his attempt to remain completely still, his eyes rolling in his head as he tries to look at us.
“You moron. Clean that shit up,” I tell him, and only then does he notice the mess he’s created.
“Oh, shit. When did that happen?”
Zayn chugs the rest of his can of light beer—such a pussy—and throws it at Stone. “Balance that, bitch.”
Like a monkey doing tricks, he glares at him but then picks up the can to do exactly what he was told. I sigh and rub my forehead. I really need new friends.
Rapid pounding on the front door pulls my attention from the circus act in front of me. I groan, standing up and walking toward it. Another set of harsh knocks come just before I get there.
“I’m coming!” I shout. Jesus fucking Christ.
I pull the door open with a scowl on my face, but as soon as I take in the sight in front of me, it’s gone—along with my high. Grayson Hayworth—Pretty Boy, as I like to call him—is standing on my porch. His clothes are stained a deep red, blood covering almost every inch of him. Fury radiates from his body in waves as he grips at his brown hair. He may be a lot of things, but weak is not one of them. Whoever put him in this chaotic mental state should take cover if they’re not already lying in pieces somewhere.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
He shakes his head. “I need your help.”
I jolt awake, panting heavily and drenched in a cold sweat. My eyes search around the dark bedroom as my breathing starts to calm. The lack of light shining through the window tells me it’s still the middle of the night. Of course.
Slipping out of my bed, I make my way into the kitchen, ignoring my mom as I grab a beer from the fridge. Concern is etched across her face, and I can already tell she’s battling between minding her business and asking questions. She goes with the latter.
“Still having nightmares?”
I shrug. “Something like that.”
The fact that it’s so much more than a bad dream isn’t something she needs to know, nor does she need to know what it’s about. Hell, the only damn reason she’s aware something is wrong is because this house is small as shit and sometimes she can hear me yelling in my sleep. Thank fuck she hasn’t been able to figure it out.
Since I was younger, it’s only ever been the two of us. My dad ran out on us when I was two, and, despite the many times she’s tried dating, my mom has always been a single mother. She does her best, I’m sure, but making minimum wage at a diner has never provided us with anything beyond bare essentials. As for our relationship? It’s about as strong as this house—might crumble with a light breeze. I’ll always appreciate everything she’s done for me, but after the fifth time she disappeared with a new boyfriend and left me to fend for myself at the age of eight, I gave up on hoping she would ever become the mother I needed.
I pop the cap off the beer and take a large swig. The ice-cold liquid helps cool my body, allowing me to put that dream, that night, into the back of my mind–where it belongs. I put away two-thirds of the bottle in only a matter of seconds then retreat to my room. I probably won’t be getting any more sleep tonight, but at least behind a closed door I don’t have to deal with my mom’s half-hearted attempts at being parental.
THE SNOW-COVERED GRASS and the frigid January air are a harsh reminder of my least favorite season. I shiver in my black ripped jeans and long-sleeved shirt. A part of me wonders if I should go back inside to get my jacket, but as Stone pulls up, I decide against it. I jump off the porch and walk around to the passenger side.
“Took you long enough, asshole.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fuck off. I’ll make you ride your motorcycle in the damn snow.”
“Nah, you wouldn’t.”
“And why’s that?”
I pull the joint out of my pocket and wiggle it between my fingers. “Because then you wouldn’t get any of this.” The corners of his mouth raise, but as he goes to reach for it, I pull away. “Aye. Eyes on the road.”
The school isn’t far from my house, so it only takes a couple minutes to get there. Just before we pull into the parking lot, I eye all the douchebags in uniforms. Haven Grace Prep is the private school across from mine, though I’ve always said HGP should stand for Hoes, Gays, and Prostitots. It’s full of a bunch of rich snobs in a constant war of my dicks bigger than yours.
“Look, it’s your best friend,” Stone quips, nodding toward one particularly obnoxious shithead.
Carter Trayland. He’s had it out for me for years, since I made starting quarterback of the North Haven football team as a sophomore. Our team has wrecked his every single year. He was sure with their new quarterback, they would redeem themselves this year. Unfortunately for him, the game was rained out and never rescheduled. It didn’t make a difference to me either way, but he was royally pissed.
I watch as the blond douchebag acts the way his entitled ass always has—like no one in the world can touch him. Although, I guess no one can, being as his dad is the district attorney. He’s tried fighting me a few times, but there’s no doubt in my mind he’d have the book thrown at me if he actually got a mark on his pretty face. While my criminal record isn’t exactly squeaky clean, it doesn’t have any felony charges on it, and I’ve done things I’m not proud of to keep it that way.
Carter’s eyes meet mine and narrow instantly. I chuckle, flipping him off before looking away. I may be his number one most hated person, but he’s always the last thing on my mind.
“You know, one day you’re going to have to kick his ass, just to put him in his place,” Stone points out.
I hum, acknowledging he’s probably right but being completely aware it’s a bad fucking idea.
As soon as he parks, the two of us get out of the car and go to join the rest of my idiotic friends behind the school. Zayn, the closest thing I’ve had to a brother since kindergarten, leans against the wall. His black hair is spiked, and he’s puffing on a cigarette. Gage and Easton are next to them. Their identical black leather jackets are always good for a joke at their expense. What kind of guys go shopping together for matching clothes? I mean, other than the mega-cunts across the street.
“What’s up, fuckers?” I greet them, plucking the cigarette from Zayn’s fingers and bringing it to my lips.
Gage smiles deviously and hands me a phone. “E was just showing us pictures his girlfriend sent him. She’s a hot piece of ass.”
I take the device into my hands and thumb through the images. For the past few months, Easton has been dating Tessa Callahan—one of the trust-fund brats from across the street. At first, I was completely against it. After he practically forced her on all of us, however, I’ve grudgingly come to tolerate her. I still think it’ll never work out between them, but they insist they’re only having fun. And Gage is right—she’s pretty hot. Psychotic as fuck, but hot none the less.