One Eighty (Westover Prep Book 1) Page 6

  My entire body is shaking. This has to be another one of his sick games. This is Dalton Payne, and there are no boundaries for his cruelty.

  The heat of his body and the gravel in his voice are unfamiliar. My pulse skyrockets with his proximity, but I can’t find the words I need to speak right now. Terrified like a mistreated dog, I just stand there and shake, praying with each second that passes that I’ll eventually make it to my room unscathed.

  He presses against me harder, the erection straining in his jeans an unspoken threat against my stomach.

  “Piper,” he whispers again.

  “P-please,” I beg, the tremble in my voice as clear as his cruel intentions.

  Before he can threaten me, a door closes somewhere, and it’s enough of a warning to make him step away from me.

  “See you tomorrow, Piper.” His tone doesn’t hold the warning it normally does, but his history of depravity speaks for itself.

  When he’s far enough away, I shove past him and race up the stairs.

  I lock my bedroom door for the very first time in my life.

  Chapter 9

  Dalton

  The growl of my stomach is the only thing that pulls me from my bedroom. I didn’t race downstairs when the doorbell rang, and I didn’t bother plastering my ear to my bedroom door when the sound of Piper’s voice managed to make it up the stairs.

  She hates me. That much was clear last night when I met her in the hallway. Actually, it was clear long before that. It was in the look on her face when she opened the door, and in the attitude she barely managed to cover when she helped me at the dinner table.

  I may have lost my memory, but my ability to read social cues seems to be fully intact. The thing I don’t know is if she hated me before the accident or hates me because of it.

  I wanted to talk to Peyton about it when we got home last night, but she doesn’t seem to be my biggest fan either. I’m a popular guy which I discovered after accessing my social media platforms a couple of days ago. I’m tagged constantly in posts, and even though I didn’t seem to post much myself, all of the things I did share showed me surrounded by smiling faces. I’m the captain of the varsity baseball team. I was nominated to homecoming court last year even though I don’t seem to be a football player.

  Yet, even with all of the social proof that I’m popular and a fun guy to be around, not one person has stopped by. The messages in my inbox are either from people wishing me well that I’ve never messaged before or are stagnant leftovers from before the accident. There wasn’t one single message thread between Piper and me. I knew that when I went to dinner last night, but it didn’t keep me from hoping that we were closer than the need for messages. I’d looked her up online before going over there, hoping that the sight of her would bring back memories from our accident. I wanted a little more understanding of the girl I nearly killed. Apologizing for something I can’t remember strikes me as insincere for some reason, but the dated pictures on her mostly unused profile didn’t force any memories.

  Peyton and Piper are both leaning over some worksheets spread out on the kitchen table when I make it into the room. Neither looks up at me as I walk by even though I make sure to make enough noise to be noticed.

  I grab an apple and sit on the opposite side of the table. Being avoided by family members is one thing, but being ignored by Piper strikes a different chord with me. I actually hate it. Her indifference settles in my stomach like acid, and I’m pretty sure I’d do just about anything to have this gorgeous girl look up at me without contempt in her blue eyes.

  They discuss a few more problems, and even when Piper sets a timer on her phone and Peyton works against the clock, the girl doesn’t look up. She busies herself by flipping through a math workbook and tearing out pages they’ll work on next.

  The timer goes off just as Peyton’s phone rings. When my sister stands to take her call, Piper leaves the table as well. I watch her as she moves around the kitchen, pulling bread, butter, and slices of cheese from various places and placing them all together on the counter. She still doesn’t look at me when the first sandwich hits the skillet she’s heated on the stove.

  I’ve had enough. Enough of being ignored. Enough of having no memories. Enough of not knowing where I stand with her and why.

  She doesn’t respond to me when I stand from the table, but the same tension that was in her body last night tenses up her shoulders when I step closer to her. I don’t press against her or touch her with the fingers of my casted hand like I did last night, but I’m close enough that I know she can feel the heat from my body.

  She doesn’t ask me to step back, but she doesn’t close the distance between the two of us either. Her breaths are ragged and quick, the only form of acknowledgment.

  “I thought about your lips all night,” I whisper, and it’s the damn truth. Even when I tried to close my eyes to think of something else, it was the top curve of her cupid’s bow that infiltrated my mind. It must be one of the downfalls of not having anything else inside of my head to pull from. “And the scent of your hair.”

  My nose brushes the curly strands of her hair hanging down her back as I inhale. I’m straining in my jeans, and even though I have no memory of ever touching a girl, I also somehow know that making it to seventeen without doing so is highly unlikely. My cock jerks like it’s well aware of what it’s missing.

  “Unless you’re going to help, leave me alone,” she hisses.

  “Kiss me, and I’ll leave you be,” I bargain.

  I also have no memory of pressing my lips to anyone before, but deep in my gut, I feel like it’s something I’m probably good at, and there’s only one way to find out.

  Instead of turning to face me, Piper scoops the grilled cheese from the pan, slaps it on a plate, and walks away.

  I’m staring at her retreating back when Peyton walks into the kitchen.

  “What the hell have you done now?” my younger sister spits.

  “Nothing,” I lie. Well, as far as I see it, I’m lying. I didn’t do anything to her, but maybe Piper really does hate me. “I was trying to talk to her, and she just walked off.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Peyton mumbles before taking her seat back at the table.

  “What’s her problem, anyway?”

  “You,” my sister says without pulling her eyes from the worksheet in front of her.

  Her response floors me.

  “When I said you were an asshole?” She looks up at me. “You were worse with Piper.”

  “So, I ignored her like I did Preston?” Like I don’t have enough guilt for being an absentee brother.

  She huffs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “You tortured her. Like going out of your way to be mean to her. Pranks, tricks, and insults were some of your favorite things.”

  “I thought we were dating,” I mumble, still looking in the direction Piper disappeared to.

  “Hardly. That girl is way too smart for that.”

  “We were in my car together,” I remind her.

  “She was probably there against her will. I can’t imagine any other reason for her to want to spend time alone with you.”

  “That stings.”

  “It’s the truth.” Peyton taps her pencil on the paperwork. “Now get lost so I can study. I’m already behind.”

  I don’t answer, just nod my head and turn to walk away.

  “If you want to know what your life was like before the accident, maybe ask your best friend. Spend a few hours with Kyle, and then you’ll easily see how things really are.”

  Her suggestion is ominous, but I’m desperate for answers, so I shoot Kyle Turner a message as I leave the room.

  Instead of hanging out downstairs, I head back to my bedroom to hide. When I see Piper coming out of Preston’s room, I merely nod my head and move to the far side of the hall so she can walk past. I can’t confront her or say another thing to her until I have answers.

  It takes him twenty minutes to respond, bu
t we agree to meet in a few hours so he can answer some questions. There’s no way I hate her. It doesn’t make sense, but it also doesn’t stop the dread from settling in as I wait to meet Kyle. I don’t think Peyton has any reason to lie to me. She seems to be the least worried person that I lost my memories. I don’t think she’d have an ulterior motive for telling me what she did downstairs.

  All I know is no matter what has happened in the past, I plan to make Piper see that I’m the best decision she could ever make.

  Chapter 10

  Piper

  “I need you to run to Corner Street Diner and pick up dinner,” Mom says as soon as I step inside of the house. “We’re running late. Still playing catch up at the office.”

  Of course, she guilts me first. My mom is a nurse at my dad’s office, and since they both missed tons of work while I was in the hospital, I can only imagine what chaos they went back to once I was released from the hospital.

  “Cash is on the counter,” she adds as she walks past me to head to her bedroom.

  I don’t even have time to argue before she disappears down the hall. Corner Street Diner is over five miles away, but Mom walks back into the room several minutes later after changing her clothes to find me standing in the entryway, figuring out how I’m going to walk the whole way there and make it home before the food gets cold.

  “We discussed this,” Mom says with a sharp sigh.

  “I can’t. Why don’t we go there together?”

  Even riding in the car from the hospital was enough to make me want to ask for Prozac for my nerves. She’s asking me to get behind the wheel and actually drive myself there.

  “I have a ton of charting I have to do,” she counters. “You’ll have to get comfortable in a car one day. That day might as well be today. Go on. I’m sure the food’s ready.”

  She shoves the two twenties from the kitchen counter into my hand and ushers me out the front door.

  This has to be some form of child abuse. She could’ve easily ordered something to be delivered to the house.

  My hands are trembling, much like they did the night of the party, when I climb behind the wheel and crank the car. I’m taking a few deep breaths, convincing myself that I’ll be fine when my phone rings. The sound is so abrupt in the silent vehicle that I screech.

  “H-hello?” I say when I finally manage to press the connect button on the dash.

  “Piper?” Frankie sounds far away, but it may just be the pounding pulse in my ears that makes it difficult to hear her.

  “Hey.”

  “Do you have me on speakerphone?”

  “I’m in the car,” I answer.

  “I’ll let you go.”

  “Don’t,” I snap.

  Not including the last time I drove, I have an otherwise spotless driving record, and hands-free phone calls have always been a part of my experience when I’m behind the wheel.

  “Talk to me while I drive,” I beg.

  I don’t speak my fears out loud, but I know Frankie will understand.

  “I can do that. I was calling to see how the first day of tutoring went.”

  “That’s not why you called.” I chuckle as I put the car in reverse and back down the driveway.

  “It is,” she insists.

  “You wanted to know what it was like at the Payne’s. Don’t be afraid to ask.”

  “You got me. So how was it?”

  “It was fine.” I smile when she huffs.

  “And how is Dalton?” Going straight for that is exactly what I expected when her name flashed on the dash, but when it happens, it makes a chill settle in my bones.

  “The night that we wrecked, Dalton told me that you helped plan the trick with Vaughn.”

  “Piper, I would never do that.” Her voice is filled with conviction, and I feel bad for even considering the possibility. “He’s spiteful. He’s gorgeous, but he’s evil incarnate. I’d never do anything to hurt you, but more so, I’d never do anything to help that piece of shit.”

  I frown when my best friend cusses. Vulgar language seems to be ever-present with most teens our age, but we were never fond of it. My grandmother once told us that people who use foul language do so because they aren’t intelligent enough to use different words. She told us more than once that classy women don’t speak like that. We wanted to be classy when she told us that over ten years ago, and it sort of just stuck with us.

  “He’s still gorgeous,” I mutter.

  “What was that?”

  “Even with the bruises on his face,” I clarify. “He’s still very good-looking.”

  “That’s—complimentary.” Wariness fills her tone, and I bite the inside of my cheek as I pull up to a red light halfway to the diner. “Did something happen that’s making you not so anti-Dalton?”

  Please tell me you’re mine.

  His words from last night echo in my head, but confessing that to Frankie will never happen.

  When I don’t answer, she uses a different tactic. That’s the thing about best friends, even over the phone she can tell there’s something going on.

  “Has he gotten any of his memories back?”

  Last night, I was certain that he remembered everything and was just waiting until the right time to spring the truth on everyone. For Dalton, he’d wait until the truth would have the biggest impact on my life. This morning, when he watched me from the other side of the table, all I could feel coming from him was hunger and not the kind that accompanies predator and prey.

  He had every opportunity to confront me in the hallway after I took Preston his lunch, but he just walked right past me without a word.

  “He doesn’t remember anything,” I finally answer. “Not even his little brother or any of his friends. I don’t think he remembers how he treated me.”

  I’ve been mulling over that possibility since last night as well, but this is the first time I’ve said as much out loud.

  “What does that even mean? Is he treating you differently?”

  “He’s—nicer. He hasn’t insulted me once. Not last night, and not earlier today at his house.”

  “Don’t fall for that crap, Piper,” Frankie warns. “The guy has amnesia. He didn’t have a personality transplant. He’s been vicious since the day he was born. A bump on the head didn’t change that. He’s the same person he’s always been.”

  I don’t argue with her. I don’t try to describe how even his eyes seem different now. They don’t quite sparkle, but they also don’t seem to be filled with malice and ill will any longer either.

  “Give me a second, Frankie. I have to switch you over to my headphones.”

  As I pull my headphones from the glovebox, I cringe, noticing Kyle’s truck parked down the block. It would only be wishful thinking to hope that he wasn’t at the diner, but since this is the only establishment on the block, I know he’s inside.

  Maybe the accident will somehow garner goodwill from the second biggest jerk in our class?

  “You still there?” I ask after pushing the buds in my ears.

  “Still here.”

  “I think Kyle is here,” I murmur.

  “Kick him between the legs if he says anything to you, or better yet, smack him upside the head with your cast.”

  “It’s a soft cast,” I remind her as I open the driver’s side door and step out. “It would probably just hurt me more.”

  “Then go for the nuts.”

  I chuckle, tucking my phone into my back pocket before heading to the entrance.

  “Oh fuck,” I mutter when I first step inside.

  “What is it?” Frankie doesn’t chastise me for the slipped cuss word. She sounds nervous for me.

  “He’s here,” I hiss.

  “Kyle?”

  “Dalton,” I correct, and it kills a little part of my soul to see the boy I had let myself imagine had changed just a little sitting across the diner with the same group of jerks he’s always been around. Vaughn is even at a table adjacent to his with a
wide smile on his face as he watches Kyle act out some stupid story.

  “Looks like things are back to normal,” I grumble as I turn toward the counter.

  We frequent the diner so often; the owner has my food waiting for me once I reach the pay counter. The transaction goes smoothly, and I’m certain the guys in the back corner haven’t noticed me as I leave, but my luck never works out like that.

  “You looking for me?” Dalton asks just as I step outside on the concrete.

  “Hold on, Frankie. Let me get rid of this jerk.”

  “Frankie?” Dalton asks, his brows drawing together in confusion.

  “Is that your boyfriend?”

  “Tell him to suck a bag of dicks,” Frankie urges in my ear. “Or kick him in the sac!”

  “Yes,” I answer, but I don’t honestly know if I’m answering Dalton or agreeing with Frankie that I should do either of her raunchy suggestions.

  “You have a boyfriend?”

  “He really has lost his memories, hasn’t he?” Frankie whispers like if she speaks at a regular tone, he’d be able to hear her.

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  The news should make him back up, but it doesn’t. If anything, he inches closer.

  “How about you stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours?” I suggest.

  “That’s the last thing I want,” Dalton says as he manages to step even closer.

  His voice is doing that same husky thing it did last night and earlier in his kitchen. I don’t like it, but I can admit in my own head that I don’t hate it either. After years of him yelling and insulting me, it’s actually a nice change.

  “What is he doing?”

  “Don’t,” I tell him when he leans in closer, his mouth parted like he’s going to kiss me.

  His eyes are laser-focused on my mouth, and the attention makes them tingle.

  “I don’t know where your lips have been,” I add.

  “Is he trying to kiss you?” Frankie screeches in my ear. The hysteria is almost loud enough to make me rip the buds from my ears. “I bet he’s an amazing kisser.”

  Jesus, whose side is she on? And how in the heck does she go from hating him to opinions about his kissing skills?