Before (A Betwixt Novella #0.5) (Betwixt Series) Page 3

  I ignore his perplexed expression as I weave my way out of the house. Man, I feel dirty. I don't know why. It was only sex, right? But the fact that Luis had a piece of the same pie makes me want to hurl.

  I should be reveling in this glorious moment. I'd just had sex!!

  Why am I feeling like this?

  "Finnigan! Hey, Finn."

  I don't want to stop, but turn at the sound of Mason's voice. He's running down the street after me. I wait while he catches up, and then continue walking. Mason slaps me on the back. "Where you going, man?"

  "Just walkin'." I shrug.

  "Decompressing after the big event, huh?"

  I frown.

  "It's cool man. Carly told me what you guys got up to."

  I roll my eyes and grimace.

  Mason laughs. "You know she's really into you."

  "I hear she's into a lot of guys." I scoff.

  "Nah, you're different. You didn't see her face when she walked out of that room tonight. She really likes you, man."

  This news should make me happy, but I still feel gross, so I shake Mason's hand from my back and pick up my pace. Mason catches up and matches mine. He doesn't say anything for a minute, and that makes me slow down a little. Then he pulls out a packet of cigarettes and offers me one. I gratefully slide one free and lean towards his lighter. I'm now down to a saunter.

  Mason takes a drag and slowly releases it. "You should be proud, Finnigan. You scored with an older woman."

  "How old is she?" I can’t help asking.

  "Eighteen. Wait a sec..." Mason grabs my shirt and forces me to stop. "How old are you?"

  I cringe. "I told her I was seventeen, but I'm actually fifteen."

  There's this long pause and then he bursts into laugher, slapping my shoulder and throwing his head back with a loud whoop.

  "Finnigan, you are the man!"

  This makes me feel a touch better. I put the cigarette in my mouth and start walking again. Mason continues beside me in silence. The lack of conversation doesn't seem to bother either of us, and we stroll along quite content until we round the corner and spot a lush Corvette.

  Mason whistles as we slow down and stand beside the dark-red vehicle.

  "Damn, that is sexy." He runs his hand over the glossy paint, looking completely enamored. I get why. The car is gorgeous.

  I drop my cigarette butt on the ground and grin. "Imagine driving this beauty. It'd be such a sweet ride."

  Mason nods, raising his eyebrows with a chuckle. His fingers drum over the roof of the car as his eyes narrow slightly. "So, Mr. Fifteen. You ever driven a car before?"

  I shake my head, suddenly feeling like a young squirt beside him.

  Clearing his throat, Mason looks over his shoulder and hitches his pants. "Want to learn?"

  I glance up, surprised. "In this?"

  Mason's smile is crooked. He runs his tongue up the inside of his cheek. "Yeah."

  An instant caution pulls my chest tight, and I take a step back from the vehicle.

  "Oh come on, we'll just take it for a little spin, teach you a few moves. It's not like we're stealing it. It'll be right back here within an hour."

  I shake my head. "I can't—-I can't steal a car, man."

  "We're not stealing it. We're borrowing it."

  "But what if the owner calls the cops?"

  "He probably won't even notice it's gone."

  I look behind me at the house the owner is most likely sitting in. The TV is up so loud, I can practically hear every word of dialogue. With that and the thumping music down the street, the owner probably won't even hear the car leave.

  My nerves clang together like church bells. I can't do this. I shouldn’t do this.

  Mason's thrown his cigarette away and is now leaning down, examining the lock. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a metal device. It looks like a bobby pin on steroids. Placing a thick ring over the lock, he shoves the "key" into the lock and gives it a jiggle. With the ease of a pro, he pops the lock and gently opens the door. He tenses for an alarm, but there's not even a beep. He chuckles and looks over at me.

  He can obviously see how reticent I am and lets out a short sigh.

  "Finnigan." His eyes are serious, his voice deep. "I don't pass by luscious girls or beautiful cars. You don't want to get to the end of your life with a bunch of sad-sack stories about how you ticked every box and followed every rule. People like that are boring. Wouldn't you rather be a legend that everyone talks about at parties?"

  Something about his speech inspires me. Maybe it's the following every rule part, or maybe it's the word legend, but I know for a fact, I don't want to turn out like my stuffy parents who never have any fun.

  Before I can process any more thoughts, I run around to the passenger door. Mason grins and slides into the driver's seat.

  Pulling a few wires free, Mason shows me how to hot-wire a car. I am completely focused in spite of the fact I never intend to steal another car again. I hold my breath as the engine rumbles to life, and we ease away from the curb. As soon as we're down the end of the street, Mason gives me a wicked grin and accelerates into the traffic with a loud whoop.

  I can't help but join him.

  The guy's right. Less than an hour ago, I hooked up with an eighteen-year old hottie and I'm about to learn how to drive a damn nice Corvette. This night is legendary.

  Chapter 6

  The night Mason taught me how to drive was a total rush. Since then I've personally taken at least four other gorgeous cars for a spin. Not to mention all of the other joy rides I've been a passenger for.

  In the past two months, Mason has taught me how to pick locks, hot-wire cars and dodge alarms. I don't feel bad about it, because we always return the cars exactly where they were, and in the same condition as we found them. We're not stealing…we're just borrowing. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

  Tonight I've roped Jack and Hugh in with me. Jack's dad has been sent to Afghanistan, so his son is now free to do what he wants again. His smile is a mile wide as he speeds us around another corner. He's loving the rush as much as I do.

  I laugh as we cruise down a narrow road, and accelerate out of Glendale. We're heading back to Burbank to drop off the car and go to Mason's place. Choosing a convertible was another one of Hugh's genius ideas. The top is down, we're blasting the music, and we feel like free men—invincible.

  We're in Burbank before we know it and Jack slows down to get his bearings.

  "Where'd we find this car again?"

  "It was Andover Drive, wasn't it?" I lean down to try and figure out how to raise the top again. We have to leave the car just as we found it.

  "Nah, it was Hilton, man," Hugh said resting his elbows between the two front seats.

  I look back at him and shake my head. "It wasn't Hilton. Mason lives on Cambridge, we walked south, not east."

  "Okay, Mr. Nav-Man." Hugh raises his hands and slumps back in his seat.

  "I'm sure we'll recognize it when we get closer," said Jack as he accelerates around the corner, taking a right.

  I try to look for street signs, but miss the one we just passed.

  "Slow down, dude. I can't read the signs."

  Jack laughs. "No way. The rides nearly over, I don't want to waste it."

  I can't help grinning. I know exactly how he feels. We pass another street sign, and I strain to read it. I think we're on North Bel Aire Drive, so we must be getting close. Jack seems to sense this as well, and picks up his pace even more. We screech around another corner, the car fishtailing slightly.

  "Dude, seriously, slow down."

  The fish tail thing obviously freaks Jack a little, because he does ease off the gas, but he's looking at me when he does it. Idiot.

  "Stop!" I brace my hand on the dashboard as Jack looks back to the road and slams on the brakes. The car swerves. The tires let out a high pitch scream as we skid towards the curb, crashing into a line of trash cans. They clang together, two of them
rolling to their sides, and spilling garbage everywhere. The air smells like burnt rubber. I hold my hand under my nose and look at Jack. His eyes are wide, and breaths are snorting out of his nose. He's clutching the wheel so tight I think his arms might snap. I can't help laughing.

  This sets Hugh off and soon all three of us are in wild hysterics. It only gets worse when a neighbor two houses down pops her head out the door and starts screaming at us to pick up that trash.

  We jump out of the car and make a run for it. Her curses chase us down the street as we jostle each other. Our laughter, most likely spawned from fear, keeps us going all the way to Mason's place.

  The music isn't as loud as normal as we bustle up the front steps. We walk in to find a much smaller gathering than usual. They're all sitting in the lounge, downing beers.

  Carly spots me straight away and jumps up from the bean bag. As soon as she reaches me, I pull her into a tight embrace and kiss her. I don't care that everyone's watching. My body is pumping with an adrenaline high, and I need to release it somehow. Our tongues dance as our hot lips crush together. She grabs a handful of my hair and pulls away from me long enough to whisper, "I want you now."

  I don't hesitate as she pulls me to a vacant room.

  This time we don't even bother undressing. She slips her panties off and raises her skirt while I unzip my jeans. The bed is in sight, but we don't make it. She pulls me to the floor, and I go for it.

  It's a hot, passionate rush, and over in what feels like an instant.

  I roll to my back, out of breath. She giggles, sitting up to search for her underwear.

  "Wow, you must have had a good night."

  Licking my lips, I turn to look at her. "You just made it an epic night."

  She loves it when I say stuff like that. Now that it's over and the hot blood is cooling in my system, I start to feel bad that our encounter was over so fast. The searing intensity was awesome, but once again has left me feeling empty. Over the past few weeks, Carly's been teaching me how to make our interludes better. I've learned where to touch her, how to make her writhe beneath me. It makes me feel like a king being able to do that to her. I've enjoyed our sessions together, but I can’t shake the empty feeling when it’s all over.

  "Get cleaned up. I want to hear about your night." She slips out the door and leaves me to it.

  I lean up on my elbows and eye the wooden door. She never stays. After it's over, she's always out within a couple of minutes. Why does that bug me so much? It's not like I really want to snuggle. But, it's like we want to get away from each other as quickly as we can; or at least she does.

  Was it supposed to be like that?

  I take my time doing up my pants. I hate the numb feeling that follows sex. Scratching my head in confusion, I slump back into the party. Carly is on the other side of the room laughing as Jack retells our escapades. She's leaning against Mason's legs, sipping her beer, nearly spilling it when Hugh cracks a joke at Jack's expense. Everyone bursts into laughter, and I manage to slip out the front door unnoticed.

  Catching the bus home takes forever, and basically sucks, but I had to get out of there. The time alone gives me a chance to start feeling really guilty about stealing that car. It isn't borrowing when you crash it and run for your life. I hate that I feel so bad for the owner. I shouldn't give a shit, but I do. Those thoughts lead me back to Carly and our frantic interlude. I suddenly realize I didn't even use protection. Was that my fault? She usually dealt with that side of things. Crap, what if she got pregnant? The thought makes me want to puke.

  I stop at a drug store on the way home and purchase supplies for next time. I don't even know if I want there to be a next time, but I don't know how I would get out of it either. I can't deny the spiral effect I sometimes feel. I am the polar opposite to my sister. When she was fifteen, she followed every rule my parents gave her. She went to church, she said her prayers, and she did her homework. I still couldn't fathom how she'd been such a happy person. My parents had been trying to enforce all of those rules on me for years, and I always felt totally suffocated.

  I reach my front door and look at my watch. At least I'm home on time. I have school tomorrow, and although my grades are starting to suck big time, I don't want to ditch. Getting into another fight with my dad before bed is not how I want to play it. I look at the paper bag in my hand and frown. I’m not so keen on explaining this purchase to my parents. I tear into it and rip the plastic off the condom packet, shoving them into my pockets and scrunching the leftover cardboard up. I walk around the back of the house and bury the evidence in the bottom of the trash can.

  I sniff my filthy hands and grimace, thinking a scalding hot shower might be in order.

  I saunter through the kitchen door and proceed to wash my hands with three generous squirts of liquid soap. Shaking off the water, I dry my hands on the neatly hanging towel, grateful I haven't been drinking tonight. One less battle to face.

  My parents aren't in the living room, which surprises me. They usually expect me to check in.

  Since my grounding, I've managed to stay within their boundaries enough to avoid further punishment. I've been telling lie after lie, fooling them into thinking I've made new friends. They probably don't buy it, but they haven't said anything so far.

  Maybe they're worried that if they try to punish me again, I'll just rebel even more. Well, good, because that's exactly what I'll do.

  I creep up the stairs and notice their bedroom light is on. I'm tempted to keep walking and not tell them I'm home, but that won't win me any favors, so I pause outside their door.

  "He's been home on time every night this week," my mother says.

  "That's not the point, Mary. He's not telling us the truth...and I hate not being able to keep a closer eye on him. Where is he going each night? He should be studying in his room."

  She sighs, "I know. I guess I'm afraid if we call him on it, he'll just run further away. I don't want to lose my baby."

  I hear the shuffling of sheets and a light kissing sound. I guess Dad is wrapping my mom in a hug and kissing her forehead the way he often does. His sigh is deep and heavy. "We put these rules in place to protect him. We can't have him running wild. We don't want him to make the same mistakes we did."

  I frown. The same mistakes? What the hell is he talking about?

  "We were hardly wild, Charles. We were in love and couldn't resist each other. We weren't going out and getting drunk on the weekends. I would have married you at sixteen if I'd been allowed to."

  My dad chuckles. "I know. I was gone the second I saw you."

  The softness of his voice makes me smile.

  My mom sniffs. "When I got pregnant, everything fell apart."

  I frown. My parents had always told me they got married really young...straight out of high school.

  "I know. I can still feel the pain. The day I found out you'd been sent away..." He sniffs. "I never thought I'd see you again."

  "Ten years of living with my grandparents and raising Rachel under their judgment nearly killed me. I thought of you every day."

  "As did I."

  What the hell? I frown. Are they seriously saying what I think they're saying?

  Why had they never told me this? Ten years! Rachel would have known too! Anger flashes inside me at the realization that I've spent my life being lied to.

  "It was so awful, Charles. I don't want my kids to ever suffer the way we did."

  "I know. I just wish Dale would understand that."

  Well, maybe if they'd told me!

  My mom sniffs, and I wonder if she's crying. My insides squeeze with instant sympathy, but the feeling doesn't last. How could they keep this from me? I feel betrayed by my entire family, and it makes me want to smash my fist through the door and yell at them.

  "Rachel was always so good. She never resisted anything. Dale's been pushing boundaries forever, but I never expected this. Half the time I don't even want to know what he's been up to. I'm scared,
Charles. I'm scared he's going to throw his life away."

  "Well, we'll just have to tighten the reins even more. I want to protect him, Mary. I say we stop letting him go out. He can attend church and youth group, but other than that, he needs to stay home."

  "Like a permanent grounding?"

  "We'll ease up the reins eventually, but we should have kept them tight after his last grounding. He has to learn to fall into line."

  "Or what?" My mother sounds afraid.

  Dad sucks in his breath and holds it, obviously knowing that his wife won't like what he's about to say. "Or we consider sending him to live with your grandparents for a while."

  Screw that!

  Like hell I'm going to be sent to those two Mussolinis.

  I don't bother checking in. I don't even want to look at my parents right now. Instead, I let them know I'm home by slamming my bedroom door as forcefully as I can.

  Chapter 7

  I haven't spoken to my parents since last night. Dad tried to open my door, but I jammed it shut so it wouldn't budge. I even sat on the floor, leaning against it in case he tried a little harder. I was steaming big time. Finally, Dad gave up with a sigh and whispered, "I don't know what's going on right now, Dale, but I want you to know I'm praying for you."

  Whatever!

  It was all such hypocritical bullshit. I didn't want his holy behind praying for me when he has been lying to my face my entire life.

  I went to bed in a black haze, hating the entire world. I didn't even bother with breakfast this morning. I wasn't ready to sit down and spew my wrath at them. They can just keep waiting for all I care. They did it to me! I mean, I'd been wondering about Mom's age for a while now. I figured she must have been a really young mother. I wasn't stupid. But, when I asked her about it, she said she got married straight out of high school. She totally failed to mention the fact she actually got knocked up before she even graduated and was shipped up north by her disgusted parents.

  Why had everyone at the table just gone along with that lie? If I think really carefully about the moment it happened—I was eight—everyone at the table looked a little awkward and sketchy. I should have questioned them further, but when you're eight years old you trust your family implicitly. Grown-ups didn't lie.