Page 5 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

“Can you go the fuck away? Waiting for my ride to work in peace would be better, and your voice is like fucking razor blades.” I scrub my hand over my face, regretting it because it still stinks from being inside my gloves. I can’t with this guy. It’s obvious he wants nothing to do with me, but it’s also clear that there is something going on a little deeper than a high school annoyance. This must have nothing to do with me.

Ready to settle in, I let my backpack slide down my arm and plonk on the sidewalk as well, stirring my hockey bag. My stick jostles and clangs as the blade smacks against the concrete. The movement chips it as if I couldn’t prove his hatred of rich people any damn better.Great. Now I’ll need a new stick, and the ones I use are about two hundred and fifty bucks a piece.

“You work?” I ask, annoyed and surprised that I said anything. I couldn’t imagine working on top of trying to keep up with my grades. His face drops, his eyes falling shut as his nostrils flare. He lets out a deep groan of frustration that has my belly heating when it shouldn’t. I should not have that reaction to a guy that told me to fuck off.

“Not everyone has rich parents.” Riggs nods to my bag on the ground. There’s a reason hockey is “the rich person’s sport”. Gear is expensive as hell.

“Obviously. I’m not that dense. Why do you hate rich people so much?”

“You’re relentless, aren’t you? I don’t hate rich people. I just can’t see how they can justify being so rich with millions or more in the bank when people are suffering. If I gained a billion dollars today, I would barely be a millionaire tomorrow. Not a single person I know would suffer or any people that I could help with that money,” he explains.

I start to say something, but the words die before they’ve formed. That is the most honest thing I think I’ve ever heard anyone say. He doesn’t have a grudge against a rich person, no one did him wrong. His reasoning makes perfect sense, and dare I say, I admire him for it. It’s how I view most of my peers as well, though I see how hard they all work for their money, so I’m inclined to justify it, even if only marginally.

But what the hell does that have to do with me? I can’t control my parents’ money, only what I do with what they give me, and I do a lot of good with that money.

“The people who fund this school, people like my parents, work their asses off for their money. They earned it. It’s not given to them,” I argue, knowing that my minutes of honesty from him are counting down. I can see it in his posture. He’s more than had enough of me being here.

He sees my bet and raises me. “And what will be your excuse when it’s handed down to you?”

With that maddening statement, I curl my fingers around my bags and launch them up over my shoulder once again. Jensen Tucker’s Lexus RC pulls in, the tires screeching when it reaches a stop at the curb.

I wonder what Riggs has to say about his bestie’s daddy being a billionaire.

Anger coursing through my veins and once again needing a rough workout to get Riggs out of my system, I march to my SUV and toss my bag in the back. I drive my stick through the center of the Jeep to keep it secure.

Jensen’s voice carries through the parking lot as Riggs pulls the door open and drops into the car, tucking his long legs into the footwell. He mumbles something to the curly-haired, big-guy, then tosses his chilling eyes over to me one last time before he closes the door.

I huff a breath, mumbling nonsense to myself about how he can be so crude and judgmental when he doesn’t even know me or my parents. I’m glad I have the weekend to work off my anger towards him, because come Monday, I’m not saying a damn word to the kid again. Clearly, he has it out for me and isn’t interested in seeing the person I am.

Again, why do I care? I guess I don’t know.

CHAPTER4

RIGGS

I yankon the ends of my hair, trying to distract myself from the anxiety creeping in and triggering my PTSD. I’m not sure what it is, but something has got my mind going. It can’t be the financial strain of my bike not starting. It might drain my savings, but I have the money to fix it, and I only missed a few hours of my shift at the bookstore yesterday. Still, something is eating away at me, and if I don’t get out of this apartment soon, I’m going to lose my mind.

Besides, it’s Saturday. I don’t have any plans with J, though I’m sure we can make some. He’s always down to hang out and smoke.

Rolling over, I toss my legs to the floor and sit upright, rubbing at my groggy eyes. The pits of hell seemed to have opened up because it’s hot as fuck. It’s already hard enough to breathe, so the heat isn’t helping my situation.

Gramma won’t be a distraction at all. Seeing her so sickly and knowing how limited her time is, only makes it worse.

She took me in after the deaths of my parents, but now, even she is going to leave me. We’re not sure when, but it won’t be long. She has cancer and we—I—can’t afford her treatment. Not like she would let me pay for it, anyway. She said that she accepts her fate. That she is ready to go.

Jensen tried to pay for treatment stating that he didn’t want money to be a reason she wouldn’t try chemo. She flat out refused that option. I couldn’t blame her.

Turning him down all the time for things is what I do.

I wanted to argue with her, and I did. I begged her to take the treatment, but I also know that’s unfair. We are too much alike. I wouldn’t take his money for treatment, so how could I expect her to?

I had a moment of selfishness because I know it’s not what she wants, and I was desperate to keep her around as long as possible. I still am. Her doctors already told her its likely chemo won’t work, and she made a valid point. Why would she have someone else give up their hard earned money to help her and want to spend the rest of the time she has sick just for a few more months of life?

Debt to anyone is of no interest to me, so I can see where she is coming from.

I don’t need my best friend to provide anything. All the bullshit I already put him through is enough. The only thing I ever let him get away with buying me was my new bike, that was already a decade old when he bought it. That was him trying to respect my wishes because he knew I’d feel better about taking it if it wasn’t brand new.

I dropped my last bike, totaling it and with nothing to drive and no money saved up to buy something, he insisted. After I did my best to sway him against spending that kind of money on me, he settled on it being a gift and bought me one anyway. Thankfully, being older, it was cheaper, so I could pay him back every single cent in a timely manner. Now, nothing about it is weighing on my conscience.

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