Bad Intentions (30 page)

“Is that you Adaley? How are you honey?”

“I’m coming home,” I blurt out.

“Well, I’ll put a roast in the crock pot. About what time should we be expecting you?” It’s like nothing has changed.

“I just left campus, so it will be awhile.”

“I’ll call your father—he’s at the church working on this week’s bulletin. Drive safely, my heart.”

I haven’t heard her say that in ages.

Hitting the open road with nothing but the clothes on my back and a duffle bag beside me is oddly familiar. I seem to recall a similarity to a movie I caught my mom watching on Lifetime once. I even think the woman in that movie got her heart stomped on too. The ridiculousness of it all doesn’t stop the tears from starting.

By the time I hit the interstate, I have no more tears left to cry. Maybe I’m in denial. Maybe I should have seen it coming and chose to ignore the signs because I was so infatuated with him. Maybe I’m the one to blame for this entire situation. I did come looking for a bad boy, after all. It was practically written on some pathetic, imaginary list that I had been checking off. I asked for my heart to be broken, too.

So far, I’d taken one semester of college and accomplished everything I’d wanted. It doesn’t feel as good as I had expected, though. Mark was right. I’m crawling back home – to place I should never have left.

I drive in silence. It’s probably not a good idea, because I’ve caught myself drifting off a handful of times now. But, the thought of listening to the radio and hearing someone else’s dismal, sappy story is enough to push me to my breaking point. So I listen to nothing but the hum of the car, knowing that every rotation of the tires brings me closer to home.

M
y dash clock reads five o’clock a.m. by the time I pull into my parent’s driveway. I could have made it sooner, but a pit stop to Waffle Palace was calling my name, and then I spent another thirty minutes in their bathroom throwing my money up. Nerves, a broken heart and a starving stomach do not mix well.

I inhale a deep breath, unsure of exactly what I’m walking into. I may get the wrath of hell or a sugary sweet good morning served with a side of fresh bacon. The thing is, although both of my parents are super religious, they’ll still be adept at dealing with what they perceive to be an unruly daughter.

Dragging my mistakes behind me, I unlock the front door with my tail hung between my legs and prepare for the worst.

“Adaley! Oh my God. I am so happy to see you. I knew you’d come home.” The soft, familiar scent of pine mixed with clean linens fills my nostrils seconds before being folded into Mark’s arms. Unable to keep a strong hold on both my bag and him, I let the bag drop to the floor. The loud thud is startling, and I feel him tense up.

“I assume you’re the only one on the welcome committee?” I ask, looking over his shoulder into a very empty living room.

“Your mom called me last night and said that I should come crash in the spare bedroom so I could be here when you arrived.” His arms loosen their grip, giving me enough slack to pull away from his hold. “They woke me this morning to tell me that Mrs. Pendleton had another stroke. This time, it doesn’t look good. They’re at the hospital with her.”

“That’s…” Odd. Did aliens abduct my parents? I had to have missed something here because they’ve only ever invited him to stay the night once in my entire life, and that was under extenuating circumstances. Maybe they think his presence will lure me home for good? “That was nice of you to come all the way out here just for me. I hope that Mrs. Pendleton is okay.” She was my elementary school teacher, and she was truly a saint. If anyone deserves to pull through something like this, it would be her.

As he grabs my bag and hoists it on his shoulder, I notice his broad chest is covered in a black V-neck T-shirt. What is it with men and V-necks? Men are automatically sexy as soon as they slide one over their heads. This version of Mark is definitely an upgrade from the punier one that I dumped and left on a whim.

Wow.

Pull yourself together Adaley, you delusional butch.

“I’m sure you’re exhausted. Why don’t you go get some rest, and we can catch up when you wake.”

A giant yawn answers him for me. “Can you point me in the direction of where I’ll be sleeping?” I don’t want to sound like the spoiled little brat who went off to college and came home only to throw a fit to learn her room is now Craft Central. But come on. I’ve been gone all of one semester. You can’t blame me for being a little bitter if indeed my room resembles an episode of Hoarders.

“Are you kidding?” Mark takes a step toward me. It’s then that I notice the denim hugging what looks to be muscular thighs. He was always taller than me, but he looks like he’s grown another foot or two or five. My mind is so preoccupied with his much more masculine appearance, that I forget he asked me a question. Rough hands cup my face. “Your room is exactly how it was before you left. You left us, Adaley remember? It wasn’t the other way around.”

A wave of sorrow takes refuge in my chest. I deserve it though, and he’s right. “I know I left. Trust me. I know.” I turn around and stalk off to my room. With a twist of the knob, I inhale.

Much to my surprise, my old trophies are still lining the walls and haven’t been packed away. There’s no dust built up on the frames that rest on top of my dresser, and my bed has been turned down. No doubt by my mother’s hands.

I walk over to my bed and fall onto it backwards. Laying my head against the soft pillow, the smell of home surrounds me. I should have done this sooner. Visited. I vow to do it more often—that is, if I even go back to Braxton.

My eyes, now overflowing with tears of exhaustion, close heavily, and I drift off to sleep clutching my quilt as if it will protect me from all of my problems.

“Adaley, honey. Wake up. You can’t spend all day in bed now. We want to visit with you.”

I groan and wave my mother off. Too tired to even speak. I hope she gets the hint.

“Come on now, don’t be juvenile.

“Mom, please. Another hour? I drove all night.” It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours, and I already feel like I’m being suffocated.

“Lunch is on the table, and your father and Mark are starving.” She shows no signs of relenting anytime soon.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, as I lift my head from my pillow. “Give me ten minutes.” Marching to the bathroom, I glance in the mirror. A girl I don’t even recognize stares back at me. She has circles under her eyes, and her once full smile is set into a flat line. Pitiful is exactly what I look like. I guess it’s a good thing that’s exactly how I feel, as well.

I go back into my room and grab my bag. Sliding out of my clothes, I turn on the shower and prepare to wash my worries down the drain. My mind fights me though. It’s as if Ryle is a permanent fixture in my brain and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake him.

Every thought I have about Braxton contains
him
. It’s funny, because I even cherish the initial misconceptions I had about him. I wish he could have just been the true definition of a bad boy and screwed my brains out and then left me high and dry the next day. But he isn’t just any bad boy
.
He’s a man with a troubled past and a tattered heart. I can’t blame him for putting up a wall with me at first. I’m just upset that Naomi was the one with the chisel in her hand, and that I was the fool who was simply knocking on his door asking him to invite me in.

She won.

She got the guy.

I’m sure she’s doing a victory dance without me in the picture, or even on campus. I’m no longer a threat to her little scheme.

Just the thought of Ryle with her—touching her like he did to me—makes me want to hurl. Hot tears get mixed with the steady stream of water that hits my face and cascades down my numb body. I can’t do this. I can’t pretend like I’m okay out there, and make nice over a plate of muffins. Sliding down the shower wall, I sit in the bathtub with my legs drawn as close as possible to my chest, and I cry.

I cry for being so naive.

I cry for allowing myself to get my heart crushed in the first place.

I cry because I went to Braxton with nothing but bad intentions.

It’s my fault. All of this is my fault.

There’s a hard knock on the bathroom door. It startles me and yanks me from my self-loathing. I feel like I only
exist
in this giant world right now. The living part is debatable at this point. I’m sure it’s just my mother begging me to come out and paint a fake smile on my face. Her motto has always been to stay positive and give your troubles over to the Lord. Right now, I don’t even have enough energy to pray.

“If I have to barge through this damn door, so help me I will.”

Zoe?
It can’t be.

“You have thirty seconds to open it. One, two, three…”

“Hold on! I’m coming.” In a mad rush to wash the remaining soap from my body, I stand up and almost fall on my ass. That’s the last thing I need—a bruised heart, ego and rear. “I’m coming.” I holler repeatedly, before I wrap my towel around my frame and open the door.

I expect her to pop off with some snarky remark about how I look like hell or something. That’s Zoe. She always says what is on her mind, regardless of how it affects others. But that’s not what happens. She steps forward into the steam-filled room and wraps her arms around me. I lean in and lay my head on her shoulder and, for the umpteenth time in the last two days, I cry. And she lets me.

“How? Why did you come here?” I pull away after a good five minutes.

“I flew, and the why is kinda self explanatory. My friend needed me.”

I want to laugh at the fact that she flew here, but then I remember that her parents are loaded, and how can I laugh at someone for flying across a handful of states just because of me? I also don’t recall ever giving her my parent’s address, but that’s moot. “Thank you for coming here. I’m sorry that I left so abruptly and without much explanation.” I pat the corner of my towel under my eyes.

“None was needed. Trust me. After Tank got word of Ryle and Naomi together, he tried to beat the shit out of him.”

“Always thinking with his fists. Did he…did Ryle hit him back?” I clamp my jaw shut and wait for an answer.

“No he didn’t. He just let Tank wail on him.”

Disoriented from the news, I sink to the floor. Zoe mimics my movements and sits in front of me on the titled bathroom floor.

“True love always prevails, Adaley. No obstacle is too big for love to overcome.” Zoe reaches forward and grabs my hand. “I’m just…” she trails off. “I’m just am scared that you think he’s your Romeo, and you’re not his Juliet.”

I shoot off a hostile glare, but she’s right. “I think it’s pretty evident that I’m not his Juliet. Naomi is.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, babe. After Tank rearranged Ryle’s face, a rumor started going around that Naomi was pregnant with the dean’s baby! I mean, I believe it. I’ve heard it before that they were secretly messing around.”

I simply stare at her tongue-tied, unsure whether to believe what she is saying. “If she is knocked up, it very well could be Ryle’s.” My stomach, already in knots, tightens as those words leave my lips.

“It’s not his baby. It can’t be,” she scoffs.

I wring my hands together. “Even if it’s not his baby, there are bigger issues than that. Ryle found my pills and accused me of being a druggie.”

“He what? Doesn’t he know that you have that condition? Spindle…”

“Lumbar spondylosis.” I correct her and then blurt out the rest. “And I thought that I had been clear on several occasions. I had an accident. I tried to tell him that I need them to function sometimes, and not because I was an addict, but because my body would fail me, and I would be huddled up on my bed in severe pain without them.”

“This is all so fucked up.”

I simply nod my head in agreement.

“Why don’t you get dressed and let’s go out? Your parents have been sitting at the table waiting on you to eat lunch, and it’s sort of freaking me out. Your mom has that whole Joan Cleaver thing going on.”

My nose wrinkles. “I look like shit. I feel like shit. I’m not in the mood to go anywhere.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to lie. You do look like death but luckily, I can help in that department. The feeling like shit part—well alcohol can help take care of that, and I happen to know how to score some in this town.”