Saint-Rock High Book 1: When Bitter & Sweet Meet

TORY

In my childhood room, I lie on the floor still in my wedding dress, crying until there isn’t a single drop remaining. How could he? How could she? How did I not see this before?

I hear a knock on the door. “Honey, are you okay?” comes my mother’s gentle voice.

Okay. I don’t even know what that word means anymore. I was okay until this morning when I thought I would marry…him. Great, I can’t even say his name now.

“Honey? Tory?” my mother persists.

“Leave her be, Rose. She’ll come out when she’s ready.” That’s my father, always to the rescue.

“I’m worried about her, John. I just want her to be okay.” Their voices fade into whispers, and I can just see my father guiding my mother away, telling her I need some time.

I look at my bed, and the memories of our first night—the night I lost my virginity—come back to me as if it were yesterday. After prom, I sneaked him into my room, letting my teenage rebelliousness dictate my actions. I never did such things before.

I look around once more with the memory still fresh. Why did I come back here? To dwell on the past? To cry more? What? Why? I slap myself mentally and reach for a dry pillow amidst the hoard of soaked ones.

My mother’s voice returns. “Honey, I drew you a bath. It will make you feel better.”

I’d forgotten how persistent she can be when she wants to be. Hell, she’ll probably stay outside my door all day just to make sure I’m breathing.

I love my mother, but right now, she’s annoying. Better get it over with.

“Okay, Mom,” I call, wincing at how broken I sound. “Thanks, I’ll…I’ll go.”

I get up and look at myself in the mirror. Ugh. Stupid dress. I reach back to unzip, panic flooding my skin when I can’t reach the zipper. Get. It. Off. I don’t want it touching my skin.

“Mom. Mommy, help!”

The door flings open, and she’s upon me a second later.

“Take it off, Mom,” I sob. “Take it off.”

A second later, the white folds of my dress fall to the ground. I stumble forward, crumpling the material as I fall into her arms, crying freely. I don't care that I’m only in my underwear. All I need is her. That’s the reason I came here. Deep down, I knew I needed her. Needed them both.

“What’s going on?” Suddenly, my father’s voice joins us, and the panic returns. “I heard Tory screaming.”

“DAD!” I yell at the same time my mother barks, “JOHN!”

“Sorry, sorry!” He backtracks, swinging the door closed.

So embarrassing. I rest my head on my mother’s shoulder and breathe again, hoping to calm my galloping heart.

“You’re all right, sweetie,” she whispers, running circles along my back. “You’ll be all right.”

I cling to her words, unable to speak. It feels so far from the truth that I can’t even imagine being okay after this. Maybe one day, but right now, I can’t see it.

Then, a threatening thud echoes downstairs. My mother releases me. I wipe my cheeks and follow her gaze as another sound follows.

Was that my father yelling?

I yank on a pair of pajamas and run downstairs, leaving my mother behind. As I near, the two voices turn distinct, and my foot nearly slips on the bottom step. Not him. Please, not him.

“Get off my property. She doesn’t want to see you.”

“Mr. Summer, with all due respect—”

“Respect? Boy, you don’t know the meaning of that word, not after what you did to my daughter.”

“Maybe not, but if you think she does after the little stunt she pulled, then you’re crazy,” Davis snaps back. His eyes flash to me as I walk forward, and my father turns.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, but I talk over him.

“Dad, it’s okay. It’s okay,” I repeat louder when he still sputters.

“You heard her,” sneers my ex-fiancé.

My father doesn’t even look at him. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen,” he says, placing a kiss on my forehead.

I turn back to Davis, who looks more sure-footed and at ease with my father gone. Who was I kidding? I’m not ready to face him.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

My heart is beating so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

It’s time to get this over with.

“What do you want, Davis?”

He lifts a bag. “I brought your stuff.”

That strange feeling resurfaces. The feeling that I never quite know how Davis will react, kindly or angrily, tickles me.

“I asked Judy to bring it, but thank you—” I reach for it, but he pulls away, a grim smile on his face. Treacherous bastard.

“Not so fast,” he dares say. “I want an apology first.”

“An apology?” I echo incredulously.

“For embarrassing us. Me and Katy up at the altar.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” I hiss, blinking back tears. “But if you ask me, you deserved it after embarrassing me at what was supposed to be our wedding.”

“It was a mistake,” he replies coldly.

Whatever’s left of my heart shatters. I stare at him, dumbfounded, barely registering the threatening crack of his knuckles.

“No,” I whisper, unable to hear myself over the rushing blood in my brain, “we weren’t a mistake. But you two are.”

“Us?” he laughs. “I love her, Tory. I need her.”

“Need,” I scoff. “I don’t care what you need.”

His face twists into a familiar ugly grimace. “I can see the apology isn’t coming,” he says, throwing the bag at my feet. “Here, take it. What am I gonna do with your stuff? But—” he adds warningly as I pick it up—“this isn’t over. What you did wasn’t cool, Tory.”

And yours was? I want to spit back in his face.

“Maybe not, but at least I’m not threatening physical violence.”

“You would if your tiny body could do anything,” he retorts.

“Wow.” I give him a single sarcastic clap. “That’s it, that’s your big speech? Let me tell you one thing. Fuck you. Fuck both of you.”

His hand clenches into a fist, but he merely turns around, flinging the words, “Enjoy life alone,” before he gets in his car and drives away.

I shut the door and slide down against it, sobbing. My life is over before it ever started.

“Dad,” I cry.

His arms are around me the next second. “Sweetheart, what is it?”

“I…I need your help.”

He kisses my temple. “Anything.”

“Can you get me out of here?”

“Out…?” He rests his chin on my head and rocks me back and forth like a child. “Sure, sweetheart, sure. Let me make a call.”

His voice flits in and out of my brain, asking questions that I don’t respond to. I don’t care where I go. Only that I leave and never look back. I don’t want to be here when their baby is born. I don’t want to walk through town and stumble into the three of them together.

I have to start fresh, and it doesn’t matter where. Anywhere is better than here.