All For You (Boys of the South) (5 page)

***

When I pull up to
her house at five ‘til six, I frown. McKenzie’s waiting
for me by the curb, red cowgirl boots and short denim skirt making it
almost impossible for me to park.

Does she really
think I’m going to let her hop in my car, without paying
respect to her dad first?

One: My dad would
shoot me.

Two: Her dad would
cut off my nuts.

Three: I’m not
that stupid to let her win the first round.

Before she can open
the passenger side door, I make sure it’s locked and get out.
“Is your dad home?”

She sighs, letting
go of the handle. “Yes. He’s inside watching the game.”

I start for her
house. Behind me, the heels of her boots click loudly on the paved
driveway. McKenzie lives in a nice working-class neighborhood. The
lawns are neat, the houses small. Three of them would fit inside my
house with room leftover.

“Where are you
going?” she asks as I follow the curving sidewalk.

“To the front
door.”

“Why?”

I stop and turn,
barely stopping her from running into me by grabbing her upper arms.
The wool coat she has on keeps me from feeling the skin underneath
but not the firm muscles.

“Because when
a man asks a woman out in the south, it’s proper to speak to
her parents first.”

Her mouth forms a
little O. “But this isn’t a real date.”

It is for me. “Stop
worrying so much. I’m great with parents.”

“I bet you
are.” She scowls at me. “If my dad knew the truth about
what you did to me, you wouldn’t be allowed in my house.”

“Tell him,
then,” I challenge. “If Ted wants to beat the shit out of
me for what I did to his little girl, I won’t stop him.”

She jerks out of my
grip, running ahead of me and tossing over her shoulder, “It’s
Mr. Walsh to you.”

In less than five
minutes, I exchanged small talk, have my manhood threatened, and open
the car door for McKenzie while Mr. Walsh watches, beer in one hand
and shotgun in the other.

He waves it at us as
I back out of the drive.

All in all, a
pretty good first meeting as McKenzie’s date.

“I should have
told him,” she grumbles.

“Probably.”
I shift gears and turn up the music at little.

“He might have
actually put bullets in his gun.”

I glance at her. “It
wasn’t loaded?”

“Did you see
him point it at you?”

“No.”

“Then it
wasn’t loaded. You only aim at what you plan on killing,
remember?” she says, like I should know anything about guns.

“Sorry, they
didn’t teach that in my
Guide
to Guns for Gangbangers
.”

A sharp intake of
breath and her hand actually covers mine. “I didn’t mean
to imply that because you’re… you’re—”

“I was
kidding.”

“You were?”

“Seriously,
McKenzie, drop it. I thought you meant it as an insult to my lack of
red neck, not my ethnicity.”

This time McKenzie
snorts. “Well, you are a city boy.”

I brake for a red
light and turn to her, leaning over the console in the middle. “Baby,
there are lots of things this city boy could teach a country girl
like you.”

“Like how to
speak Spanish?”

I slip the pad of my
thumb over her bottom lip. “What would you want to say?”
Please
be something really dirty
,
I silently beg.

“The light is
green.”

“Oh yeah—”
My nose scrunches up on one side. “Huh?” That’s not
dirty at all. A car honks its horn behind us and she busts out
laughing.

I hit the gas,
unable to keep the grin off my face, because if she’s laughing,
she’s having a good time… and that means I’m
winning.

***   ***   ***

McKenzie

I’m actually
having a good time with West as we drive through downtown
Forrestville.

“Where are we
going for dinner?”

“Where ever
you want.” He shifts from second to third, and I sink back into
the leather seats. It feels surreal to ride in his car, to be with
him on a date, no matter how fake I think it is. He’s so
casual about it, while I can’t stop thinking someone will
spring from the back of his car and throw me out.

“Tanaka’s.”

I watch his reaction
carefully. A small smile plays on his sexy mouth, and if I could see
the other side, his dimple would be visible. “Sounds great.
I’ll call ahead.” While he makes the call, I turn to
stare out the window. His answer wasn’t what I expected. I
thought he’d say no and pick a different place.

Besides having no
privacy, because we’ll be seated with at least six other
people, Tanaka’s is one of the most popular restaurants in
Forrestville. Everyone goes there.

The Japanese
Steakhouse has been open for as long as I’ve lived here, and
there are three more in Charlotte. Of course, one of West’s
friend’s parents owns it, and of course, they live in the same
neighborhood. All but one of West’s friends lives in The Oaks.
It’s like rich, preppy kids attract other rich, preppy kids.

Maybe it’s in
the water. Whatever it is, I’m not drinking or buying anything
West’s offering.

“You look
good,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts. “I like the
boots.”

I glance down at my
shoes. “They’re my favorite pair.”

“Why’s
that?”

Oh crap. I’ve
just entered small talkville. I do not want to make small talk with
him. Small talk leads to later-in-the-night inside jokes. Despite our
earlier flirting that was saved by the green light, I don’t
want any of this. I don’t trust him.

Worse, I don’t
trust myself.

“McKenzie?”

“Red’s
my favorite color.”

“What a
coincidence, mine’s blue.”

I make a face.
“How’s that a coincidence?” Then it hits me, the
little jokes have already started. “Very funny.”

“So funny you
forgot to laugh?”

I exhale, once again
wishing I’d never agreed to this. Wishing I’d told my dad
what happened, wishing I’d told Julia about my date tonight and
brought her along as a third wheel. God, that would have been
perfect.

But no, instead I
got all nervous, excited, and embarrassed about tonight.

“I agreed to
one date, but I didn’t agree to talk to you, or laugh at your
lame jokes.” I’m a shrew. A harpy, even. But I can’t
care, because there’s no way I’m going to make the same
mistake twice with him. I refuse to give him a second chance. He’ll
just have to deal with it.

“So I’m
wasting my time.” His mouth tightens and his knuckles turn
white against the steering wheel. “Damn it, McKenzie, that’s
not fair—”

“Not fair?”
I snap. How dare he take a self-righteous tone with me or complain
about the way I’m acting or not acting. “What’s not
fair is the way you treated me. What’s not fair is the way you
slept with me, lied to me about how special I was to you, how sorry
you were for everything, and then acted like I didn’t even
exist the next day.” My voice is rising and he’s pulling
into the parking lot of Tanaka’s and parking away from the
other cars. “What’s not fair is that for the first time
in three years, I wanted you to make fun of me, to call me lawn girl…
anything
.”

My voice breaks and
tears are running down my face. All I want to do is run from him, but
I can’t, not until I get it all out.

He stares at me, his
face drawn tight, but not saying a word. How can he say a word? How
can he possibly defend himself?

He hasn’t
,
a voice inside my head reminds me.
He’s
done nothing but own up to what he did to you.
I ignore the weak part of me, that seventeen-year-old girl who wants
nothing but answers and love from the boy who broke her heart.

“But you
didn’t. You saw right through me. Worse, you told Charlie and
all of your crew. Then they took over. I was cornered, assaulted, and
called names worse than you could ever dream up while you just stood
there, like a coward, doing nothing.
Nothing
.
I didn’t even go my senior prom because of you. I stayed at
home, acting like a bitch to my dad because he couldn’t
understand why I wasn’t going and I couldn’t tell him.”
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I fling open the passenger side door, grab my
purse, and get out. “So excuse me, if I have no sympathy for
our
date
not going how
you
envisioned.”

I slam the door, the
tightness in my chest squeezing in on me. I can’t breathe and
have to lean against his car. Sobs burst from me, my entire body
racked with them. I’m tired of being strong, of telling no one,
and the one person I confessed to is my former tormentor.

I barely register
the sound of his door opening, the crunch of his boots against the
pavement. All I know is that in my next heartbeat, he’s pulling
me into his arms and holding me, not saying a word. Not asking for my
forgiveness or giving me excuses.

“I hate you,”
I sob. “I hate you for making me trust you. I hate you for
making my life miserable.”

His response is to
only hold me tighter, mold me against him and stroke my back, my
hair, and… just hold me.

“I hate you,”
I whisper into his chest. “And I hate myself even more for
allowing you to do it to me.”

He crooks his finger
under my chin, gently pulling it up so I have to look at him. The
lights in the parking lot are so bright that I can see the harsh
beauty of his face. I can see the fullness of his lips, his high
cheekbones, and the tears in his eyes.

I blink up at him
through wet, spiky lashes. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m
not, but I’m pretty fucking close to losing it,” he says
gruffly. He takes my face in both his hands and leans his forehead
against mine. “You’re so strong, you know that?”

“I’m
not. I weak,” I disagree. “I’m on a date with the
guy who tormented me for years and—”

“No, baby, you
are so strong. So damned strong I’m in awe of you.” He
lifts his head, staring off into the distance. “You want to
know what started all of this? What really lit a fire under my ass to
make things right with you?”

I do and I don’t.
I don’t want his pity, but I do want to know what compelled him
to be here.

“There was
this guy, a freshman. His name was Brian Locke. I’d talked to
him once or twice. Right after Fall Break our resident advisor found
him in his room. He’d—he’d hung himself.”

“Oh my God,”
I whisper. I’m equal parts horrified and sad for Brian and his
family.

“That’s
not the worse part though.”

How could someone’s
life, gone in an instant, not be the worst part? “It’s
not?”

“No one
noticed until his… room began to smell.” He fixes his
gaze on me. “For six days, no one noticed he was missing. Six.
Days. He’d left a note behind, and it practically chronicled
his entire childhood of being bullied. But what made him feel like he
had no way out—his ex-girlfriend told his parents that he was
gay before he could.”

Our breaths mingle
together. White puffs of air in the silence.

“After that,
one of the Christian groups on campus joined up with the LBGQT group
and held a vigil for Brian. I went to it, McKenzie, and I stood there
and listened as person after person talked about being bullied, what
it did to them, and how they were coping. And each time, all I saw
was your face up there, your words being spoken, your tears…your
heartache, and I knew I had to do more than just apologize. I had to
make sure you were okay, because I couldn’t have that on my
conscience anymore.”

“I’m
okay,” I say, more for my benefit than his. “But I’m
not going to lie to you and say that I never felt like Brian—that
by the end of our senior year never waking up again seemed like a
really good option.”

His face pales, eyes
widening a fraction, before he lets out a stream of curses.

I press a finger to
his lips, my entire being, my soul, and my heart softening toward him
and his obvious pain, even as heat leaps between us. “But I
didn’t,” I remind him. He gently pulls my finger away.
“And I can’t say why I didn’t and why Brian did.”

“Yeah, but I
made your life hell.”

I can’t
have that on my conscience anymore.
Suddenly
it hits me—West didn’t come here because
I
was hurting. He came here because
he
felt bad.
He
felt guilty. Going to Brian’s vigil had given him a conscience
that he’d never had before, or at least never listened to
before now.

This wasn’t
about me. It was all about Weston Diaz.

Just like always.

Chapter Six

West

“Ready to
eat?” McKenzie says brightly, as if I didn’t just pour
out my heart to her. As if we hadn’t just shared a moment while
she’d allowed me to comfort her, even as she sobbed out her
hatred of me.