I can see in his expression that he means that, and that’s just tragic. My hand lifts, as if of its own accord, and cups his cheek.
“No, it sucks, and you’re allowed to feel angry about it.”
He covers my hand with his and squeezes my fingers gently. A low growl of frustration escapes his lips, but I know it’s not directed toward me. At least, I don’t think it is. He drops his hand, pulling mine down with it, but doesn’t release me.
“I really do hate my father,” he confesses softly. “Really, truly, despise him.”
It’s a shocking thing to say, but it doesn’t necessarily surprise me.
“Why?” I make my voice gentle.
He looks out over the water as he speaks through gritted teeth. “I hate the way he conducts his business. He’s a cutthroat bastard, and he’s not different in his personal life. I also hate how oblivious my mom pretends to be about it all. So long as he keeps bringing in money, she doesn’t give a shit how it happens, or how unethically it was earned.”
“Has he always been like that?”
“No.” Saint shakes his head. “At least, not from what I’ve heard. When he was working with his old business partner, he was different. Better. He’d be nowhere if it wasn’t for Benjamin Jacoby.”
“As in Jacoby House?” I ask with a shift of my eyebrow, remembering that it’s the luxury girls dorm where Laurel lives.
“Yep. They were best friends in high school, and my dad latched onto his buddy’s success to make himself something … more. Something better than just an Angelle.”
For some reason, his words make me think of that old photo of his dad and friends in the trophy case back at the school. Something painful tugs at my gut, but I’m not certain what, or why I seem to care so much.
Still, I’m curious. “What happened to your dad’s business partner?”
There’s a strange look in Saint’s gaze that unnerves me. He seems distant, somehow, even though he’s standing right in front of me.
“He died. And then my dad got the whole company. Lucky him, right?”
His words are weighted with a heavy sorrow and resolve. I don’t know what to say to him to even begin to make him feel better. The silence that stretches between us is awkward as hell, and the longer it goes, the more clueless I am as to how to break it.
It’s Saint that eventually speaks first, but he asks me a question I’m not really prepared for. “Were you serious earlier? About your mom?”
My eyes widen and I’m momentarily paralyzed with panic. I consider denying it, saying it was just a way to make him feel bad, but that feels so wrong after his apology. With a sigh, I decide to tell him the truth, at least in part.
“Yeah, I was,” I murmur, though the truth about my mom is really only skimming the surface of my fucked-up life.
“Fuck,” he breaths. “I’m … I’m sorry, Mallory.”
I roll my eyes. “Please, don’t pretend you give a fuck about some drug dealer from Rayfort. I know you better than that, Saint.”
His expression turns thoughtful for a moment, and then he nods.
“You’re right, I don’t give a fuck about your mom.” He grabs me around the waist and yanks me toward him, making me gasp. “But you, on the other hand…”
My heart races as I stare up at him in disbelief. Those aren’t words you throw around casually with someone you’re sleeping with. Those are words you say when you actually care for someone.
Does Saint care for me?
“Saint, I—”
“Why don’t we go back inside and get shit-faced so we don’t have to think about our shit parents for a few hours?”
In that moment, that sounds like a fantastic idea, so I simply nod and allow him to lead me back up to his family’s house.
28
Saint and I spend the majority of fall break together at his family’s home having sex, getting drunk on his parents’ expensive booze, and talking. As great as the sex and booze parts are, it’s the talking part that I end up enjoying the most. We actually get to know each other in those few days together in a way I wouldn’t have dreamed possible. I’m careful about what I reveal, steering clear of the accident and James, but since he knows about my mom, I’m able to tell him more about my childhood. It’s such a relief to be able to open up to someone, at least partially, after going so long guarding my past with every ounce of strength I possess.
I almost regret having to return to school because that meant popping the little bubble Saint and I had built up around each other. I briefly worry that once we’re back on campus with the other students, he’ll somehow revert back to his old, horrible self. To my relief, he doesn’t do that, though there is some distance that grows between us. That’s more of a result of our conflicting schedules than anything, especially as I train for my first swim meet and begin preparing for finals before winter break.
He still comes to my room every night, or I go to his. I’ve noticed he’s grown somewhat quiet and seems distracted, but I don’t pry. If he wants me to know what’s wrong, he’ll tell me. I don’t want to do anything to upend the balance we’ve found with each other.
It’s feeling more and more like we’re in a relationship, and I’m not sure exactly how I feel about that. We’re spending nearly every night together, and he’s been eating multiple meals with me each day. It’s confusing, to say the least, and I need a little headspace just to sort out what I’m feeling and thinking.
When Loni invites me to a charity fight her dad’s participating in in Pomona, I eagerly accept, thinking an evening away from Saint would be good for clearing my head. Plus, no way in hell would I pass up the chance to watch an MMA fight in person.
Loni’s dad sends a car to the school to take us to the fight, and when we arrive, we have front row seats.
“Holy shit, Loni,” I murmur, gazing around and taking in the bright lights of the venue, which is packed full of spectators eager for the fights to begin. “This is fucking incredible.”
She grins. “Right? I always thought I’d get used to the craziness someday, but I never have. These events are madhouses, and they’re so fun.”
We settle in our seats, talking excitedly, letting ourselves be overwhelmed by the chaos around us.
All of a sudden, Loni looks over my shoulder and her eyes bug.
“Holy fuck,” she murmurs.
I frown. “What is it?”
I turn around to look before she answers me, and I freeze. Liam and Gabe are walking toward us, and their own gazes go wide when they spot me. I’m surprised to see Liam in a black t-shirt, his tattoos on full display, but of course we’re not on school grounds so he has no reason to hide them.
They come to a stop next to us, and it’s only then that I notice the two empty chairs next to me.
Oh, shit.
“Hey guys,” I say in a voice that is embarrassingly squeaky. “What’re you doing here?”
“Are you kidding? We wouldn’t miss this,” Gabe answers with a wide grin. “Fucking love MMA.”
“Yeah, big fans.” Liam nods, and I’m surprised by the lack of venom in his tone. We haven’t spoken since before fall break, so I was expecting icy silence at worst and sharp barbed speech at best. Right now, he sounds almost civil.