Page 15 of Bedding Rose
He’s a bastard … just like Gunnar.
But I used to be blind, just like Daisy is right now.
Hell, even just a few weeks ago, I was dumb enough to think that my blackmailer was perfection personified.
I recall the first time I ever saw Angelo—six years ago—when I was just fourteen and foolishly believed heroes actually existed.
Mom’s talking with the mayor and a bunch of construction guys about the site of the new Balloon Fiesta facility they are putting up. Every October, nearly a thousand hot air balloons blot the sky, a rainbow of thumbprint shapes, dragging in thousands of visitors tooohandahhover them while sipping overpriced hot chocolate.
Of course, everyone’s hoping a new venue will bring even more cash in.
“This project is long overdue …” The mayor gives a toothy grin as the other grown-ups chatter among each other.
Blah, blah, blah …
Their words fade as I meander away around dormant construction vehicles. I’m bored, annoyed mom’s dragged me to one of these things yet again.
Where the hell is Quique? At nineteen, he should hate this shit even more than I do, especially since Mom’s making him play chauffeur. But he hopped out of the car all excited, like this wasn’t going to be another mind-numbing experience.
“Walker Construction is doing this project? Is Angelo here?” He’d darted over to a cluster of guys in hard hats and now, I’m going to suffer through this meeting—which will no doubt last a couple hours (they always do)—alone. There goes my hope of bribing him to take me for ice cream if I pay.
I squint at the harsh afternoon sun as I retrieve a hair tie from my jeans pocket. I toss my annoying black curls up into a ponytail to get them out of my face. Wishing I had sunglasses to protect my light green eyes does me no good, so I turn my face back down to the piles of gravel and dirt.
There are entire miniature mountains of the stuff here, piled and waiting to be moved around, perhaps to make a gravel parking lot. With nothing else to do, I begin to climb one of the piles of dirt, but it slides under my feet, packed too loosely—so I quickly give that up. Instead, I use a two-by-four lying on the ground as a balance beam, humming and singing bits of “Heathens” by Twenty One Pilots as I walk across it, debating a cartwheel but deciding against it.
Maybe I could get out of here.
That thought spurs me to shoot off a text to the Wild Flowers, hoping Daisy or maybe Violet will answer. Lily’s at cheer, and probably has a date tonight, too—but maybe one of the other girls could swing by with their parents and take me away from this misery. Violet usually has eighty-thousand family events with her huge Irish family … but Daisy just has her mom. She’s usually able to hang. And her mother, unlike mine, actually enjoys doing fun shit. Like bowling.
I think Mom posed with the mayor once for a bowling picture, but that’s about it. Ever since the divorce, she’s been all work, work, work.
I sigh when no text bubbles appear on my phone. The Wild Flowers must all be busy.
I glance back over at the adults, but they’re animatedly speaking. I give myself a twenty percent chance of getting out of this place before the sun goes down.
Waiting. Life’s nothing but waiting around with Mom. It’s always one more meeting. One more phone call. One more minute.
I get she’s trying to make a name for herself. Set a good example. But … I sigh. Daisy says I’m just sensitive, that I take things as slights when I shouldn’t. Maybe she’s right.
I spy a trench off at the edge of the property near some trees. Trying to ignore the brutal heat of the afternoon sun, I meander near the edge, peering over to see how deep it is. It can’t be more than six feet. Hmm … I kick a little pebble over the edge and watch it smack the other side and tumble down.
“Metaphor for my life,” I mutter. Freshman year sucks. It doesn’t matter that I got my braces off or finally got boobs … I still wander the halls and I’m fucking invisible. No one sees me.
“HEY!” A deep male voice startles me and I spin around to see a man barreling toward me, a tall guy with long black hair and a neon yellow construction vest, running faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. “Get the fuck away from—”
The end of his sentence is cut off because the earth shifts underneath my feet and my knees buckle. My heart flies up and smashes into the roof of my mouth. The dirt beneath me collapses, and the entire ridge lining the trench appears to liquefy, rushing like a waterfall into the gap. A cloud of dust chokes me as my body tumbles backward.
Holy shit. Holy shit.
A scream doesn’t even have time to rip from my throat as the weight of all that soil starts to cover my feet. It feels like a car is driving right over them—so heavy. Who knew that dirt weighed so much? I kick out, trying to avoid it as I fall, not to let it cover me but I can see it gliding like a wave, coming for me.
SMASH.
The stranger’s shoulder smacks into my solar plexus and I go flying backward through the air. My back slams into the ground hard and weight presses down on me—the air compressed from my lungs. When my head hits, my vision blinks red and then black.
Blind, unable to make out a single shape or color, I feel fingers dig roughly into my shoulders, and then I’m rolled roughly across the ground again and again—under and over this stranger—rocks biting and scratching at me as I drag in shallow, painful breaths.
Finally, we stop with my body pinned beneath his.
