Page 3 of College-Virgin & Dark Bully Next-Door

In this moment, I know exactly how he felt.

I put the second-hand Mustang in park and breathe a deep sigh, letting out the anxiety for what I’m about to do. There’s no escaping it. I have no other choice. Life has whipped me even harder than that dog whipped Charlie.

The front door flies open as I emerge, and a petite, dark-haired woman sails out, her arms open wide. “There you are! Finally!”

She throws her arms around me. I hug her back, resting my chin on the top of her head, and she gets lost in my embrace. She has lost some weight since the night I last saw her two years ago. Not enough to make me worry. She still looks amazing.

“Hi, Mom,” I mumble.

Mom pulls back, beaming. “It feels good to hear your voice, especially since it’s not over the phone. Welcome home, my angel.”

I almost smirk at the remark. If she knows exactly what I’ve been up to in San Francisco, she’d know I’m definitely no angel. I’m not interested in ruining that illusion for her, though. I give her another hug, then kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Well, if it’s not the prodigal son returning home,” a dry murmur comes from behind me.

Dad.

He and Mom have always been like night and day, never seeing eye-to-eye on things but making it work, anyway. Their contrasting personalities couldn’t be any clearer now. Mom smiles like she just won the lottery, while the iciness in Dad’s green eyes could freeze boiling water. He’s definitely not happy that I’m here. After our last conversation, I can’t blame him, either.

“Hello, Dad.” I was almost tempted to say, “Sir,” since his scowl reminded me of my high school boxing coach.

He tilts his head to my car, the curls of his dark hair bouncing from the movement. “Need help with your stuff?”

“No,” I reply, surprised by his offer. “It’s just a couple of bags. Thanks anyway.”

Dad harrumphs, then looks me up and down. With a loud scoff, he turns and heads back inside. I watch him go, seeing another contrast. Unlike Mom, he’s put on some weight. Only it’s pure muscle. Running a construction firm has definitely kept him in shape.

“Give him time, sweetie. He’ll come around,” Mom assures me as the door closes behind him. “He’s still in shock, too. After the way you stormed out that night, no one thought you’d ever want to set foot back in this house.” She grimaces. “Well, those were your exact words.”

And I meant them. Every word.

When you’re nineteen years old and don’t know a thing about what’s out there, you say shit. Stupid shit. Back then, I felt invincible. The world was my oyster. I had plans to dominate the boxing industry, one win at a time. I did well back in high school, led the team to several championships, and I knew—or thought that getting to the big league would be smooth sailing.

But it wasn’t.

Which is why I’m here with my tail between my legs like good ‘ol Charlie.

I open the back door and remove my luggage, a duffel bag, a backpack and a large, hard side suitcase I’d ‘borrowed’ from an old flame. It reminds me that I’d promised to let her know when I was safely home. Pulling the phone from my pocket, I do just that, keeping my text short and impersonal. I don’t want Laura to get any ideas. I saw the hope on her face when I picked up the suitcase yesterday morning. The last thing I want to do is hurt her.

Again.

“Let me take that bag for you,” Mom offers, reaching for the duffel bag. Before I can stop her, she lifts it, then staggers with a groan. I unburden her quickly, my muscles tightening from the effort. A flash of pain shoots across my shoulder. The bag makes a thumping sound when I drop it on the brick-paved driveway.

“What do you have in there, a dead body?” she asks with a huff, earning a chuckle from me.

“Nope,” I reply, swinging the backpack over my shoulder and grabbing the other luggage.

She leads the way inside, and I’m amazed how nothing has changed in the last two years. They haven’t even moved the furniture around. The three-piece, brown couch set stands in that same circle, with the wooden coffee table in the middle. Dad and I bought that fifty-inch flat-screen TV on Black Friday, three years before I left. The walls are still painted off-white. Even the yellow curtains haven’t been changed. Or maybe they have. Mom loves yellow, and I don’t know shit about curtains. They might not be the same ones.

“Where’s Peter?” I ask as Mom leads me upstairs. “I thought my little brother would’ve rolled out the red carpet for me. He’d been riding my ass to come back home.”

Mom sighs, turning the handle of my bedroom door. “He’s somewhere with his friends, up to no good, I presume. I’ve gone hoarse trying to keep him in line. Your father insists that I should let him be. Boys will be boys,” she ends in a deep tone, and I assume she’s mimicking Dad.

Peter was always Dad’s favorite, so I’m not surprised at his response. What surprises me is that my brother still hasn’t grown out of his childish ways. He’s eighteen, for fuck’s sake.

I quickly scan the room. Like everything else, nothing has changed. Except the sheets, I think. The queen bed, that dark oak dresser, the futon couch I’d begged Mom to buy when it was on sale five years ago and my study desk sitting by the closet.

“I sure hope he’s not harassing poor Sky. God knows she’s going through enough.”

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