Doomsday Love: An MMA & Second Chance Romance (2 page)

Drake looked up. I heard people whispering around us and when I turned my head to look with him, I noticed all the other students staring at us.

I narrowed my brows at some of them, but Drake had his fists balled again, brows furrowed. “Hate it when people stare at me,” he mumbled.

“They’re just jealous they can’t be you,” I said as quickly as possible, hoping it would smother some of that fire in his eyes.

Surprisingly, it did. He stared at me briefly before snatching his gaze away and rushing forward to join the line.

I caught up with him, stepping into the classroom and following him to our table.

He took a seat, and I grabbed the chair beside him, sliding it out, picking up my backpack, and then placing it on my lap. Digging through the side pocket, I stuck my tongue out, concentrating on getting the object.

“What are you doing?” he asked beneath his breath, looking around nervously.

I didn’t answer him. Instead, when I came across the shiny silver item in my bag, I pulled it out.

Dropping the backpack, I placed the silver cross on the table and ran my fingers across the edges. Drake watched how I stroked the cheap metal.

I smiled, remembering just where it came from.

“My brother gave this to me when I had to go to summer camp two years ago. I was afraid, but he told me there was nothing to worry about. He believed in Jesus, and he said Jesus would always protect me. And he also told me that
he
would always protect me.” I slid the cross across the desk, in Drake’s direction. He frowned down at it.

“Why are you giving it to me?” he probed.

“Because I want you to know that you aren’t alone. I’m your friend… if you want me to be. I don’t think you’re a freak or any of that stuff people call you. I think you’re nice and if you want, we can hang out everyday during recess. That way we won’t be alone. That way we can sort of be… friends.”

I displayed an awkward smile as Drake studied me with hard, cold eyes. They were dead, as if all of his life had vanished right before his very eyes.

I felt so sorry for him, but I knew he hated sympathy just as much as I did. I picked up the cross, holding it out to him, urging with my eyes for him to accept it.

To my surprise and satisfaction, Drake reached up and took it, his throat working hard to swallow. “You should keep it.”

“No.” I shook my head as Mrs. Pots called for the class to calm down. “I think I’m okay now. I know Mitchell and Jesus are watching and protecting me. Maybe Mitchell can watch and protect you to… maybe even your mom.”

Drake dropped his gaze, allowing it to linger on the cross. He studied the metal. It was just a cheap little thing, something Mitchell won in a vending machine at an arcade, but he had loved it. It took him hours to win it in the claw machine. He had it hanging in his room on the wall. He looked at it every day and took it with him everywhere for good luck.

He gave it to me because he trusted me to take care of it. And now, I was trusting Drake to protect it. “Just make sure you bring it to recess everyday, okay?” I asked, my face now serious. “You have to take care of it. It’s very special.”

Drake nodded, lifting his hips to slide the cross into his pocket. “I will,” he promised. “I won’t mess it up. I swear.”

Drake kept the cross as a keepsake. He kept his promise as well.

He brought the cross to school everyday, and everyday we’d sit on the swing, keeping one another company.

He still didn’t like to talk much about himself, so to keep things from being awkward I talked about my life.

I talked about how I wanted to be a singer when I grew up, and what my favorite books were. I talked about what my favorite color was, and how I loved jelly on my biscuits, and really cheesy macaroni.

Drake didn’t mind getting to know me. He always listened, and he’d always ask questions… but only about me. He never spoke of himself—not as much as I wanted him to.

Whenever I asked something about him, he’d be afraid to answer. Whenever I kept asking about his bruises, he wouldn’t respond. He’d changed the subject.

I figured he would tell me when he was ready to. He never did. But he did tell me one thing about his mom that truly shocked me.

The first day he decided to swing with me was the date that she died due to an accidental suicide. Overdose. It was May 17
^th
. He promised his mom that he would do something nice for someone at least once a week before she died. Well, when she died he made it a once a year thing to do something generous.

It all made sense.

As we got older, and I went onto Lake Lane Middle, I still saw him outside of school on some days. He most likely couldn’t afford the private school I attended, but during my car rides home, I’d see Drake getting off his bus.

I don’t know how he knew it was me in the car—maybe he remembered seeing it when Sue dropped me off in the mornings in elementary—but he’d watch until I disappeared.

He watched me come and go, and one day he even held up Mitchell’s cross, smiling faintly until I could no longer see him. I smiled and waved before I lost eye contact.

What we had was simple, really.

Just smiles. Quick waves. A good ol’ friendly vibe…

Until the end of my senior year.

Until
we
happened.

Until Drake Davenport became the love of my life.

D
uring the middle
of my dreadful high school years, I officially decided private school wasn’t for me.

I kept my mind open, choosing rather foolishly to wait it out and hope it would get better.

I stuck it out for as long as I could. Unfortunately, things never got better. If anything, they’d become worse.

So when I reached the end of sophomore year I was finally ready to put my foot down.

The high school I attended, Lake Way Christian, was a load of horseshit. No one took it seriously. Everyone was too consumed with other people’s opinions to ever be genuine.

Of course, they pretended to play polite.

I hated it.

I was a nice person. I never felt the need to be someone I wasn’t. I guess I was one of the few like that. Perhaps that was the reason I wasn’t very likable and constantly judged.

I hated private school. The prim and proper facade. The way every girl talked shit behind each other’s back, and then would smile right in your face like they were your best friends.

And don’t get me started on the boys who would hook up with a girl and then brag about it over a dull game of croquet or tennis.

It was exhausting and, honestly, every time I set foot into Lake Way Christian, I wanted to gag. I felt smothered by the fakeness—the lies.

There was nothing
holy
or
sacred
about the place. The girls there were ten times worse than girls in public school when it came to sex. Every week, someone was exposed on social media, sucking a small dick or included in some slutty video of a threesome.

Like I said,
exhausting
.

My parents hated that I wanted to drop out of a school they paid over ten grand for. I didn’t see much of a choice. I wasn’t happy at all.

I wanted to attend Lake Lane High, where there weren’t people pretending to be Christians. Where there were actually girls I could hang out with without feeling judged.

Like my best friend Kylie Miller.

I met her the first day of my junior year at public school and instantly fell in love with her personality. I sat at the desk right beside her in geometry class, feeling totally out of place as I sported my expensive red polo dress and white Nike’s.

Kylie got a kick out of it, and the first words she said to me were,
“Listen, I don’t care what anyone in this shitty school says. You are fucking hot, and we are definitely hanging out.”

I smiled, and for the first time that day I didn’t feel so out of place. She helped me with the study guide and even invited me to her house after school.

On the very. First. Day.

But best of all, Kylie had great parents that understood her. When I showed up at her house, they warmed me up with hugs, freshly baked cookies, and chocolate milk.

They joked around with her and each other. Her dad spanked her mom on the ass right in front of us without a care in the world, and her mom even talked boys with us.

They were everything my parents weren’t and, woefully, would never be.

I can still remember the day my parents were debating about me going back to public school.

I had my backpack on the floor beside my chair at the dinner table. Mom and Dad sat in their usual spots across from each other, leaving me at the end, right in the middle where they could see me at all angles.

I drummed my fingers on top of the hard oak as they argued in heated whispers with one another about possibly sending me to a “less Christian” private school.

Yeah, like that was gong to solve the problem. All of the private schools were the same.

I needed to settle this for them.

“Listen, Mom. Dad.” They stopped discussing the nonissue immediately, gazes directed to me. “I want to go to Lake Lane High. Lake Christian isn’t for me and it never has been. Have you noticed that I have
never
brought any friends home from that school? Everyone there is so…fake.
Blech!
” I pretended to gag and Mom’s eyes expanded.

“Jennifer Roscoe!” Mom gasped, dropping her hands on top of the table. I crossed my arms, rolling my eyes. “It is not that bad there. I went there myself!”

And look how well she turned out.

Wearing expensive pearl and diamond earrings with every designer outfit, no hair astray on her bed of silky brown hair. She looked perfect, but she wasn’t.

She could play the part, but that’s all she was. An actress in a shitty film.

Dad straightened his tie. Realizing she was being a bit dramatic, he told her to calm down and then cleared his throat, shaking his head.

“Jenny… is this really what you want to do?” he asked. “You will get so much more out of life if you stay at Lake Christian—so many more opportunities, especially with that voice of yours.” He pointed my way as if my voice was sitting right beside me. “The choir director loves you. He wants you to lead for the rest of the school year.”

I straightened my back, focusing on the crinkles that formed around his eyes. For Dad, I always felt some sort of sympathy. Not that he was any better than Mom in his expensive suit and tie, leather shoes and perfect, wavy hair. He never missed a haircut… or a meeting for his job as CEO of Roscoe Waffles.

Roscoe Waffles originated in Fox River, where my great-great-grandfather got the big idea to sell his amazing, homemade waffles that were made with a secret recipe no one could figure out.

Business was great for the family. Everyone wanted Roscoe Waffles.

I guess it was the whole
daddy-daughter
bond thing that made me feel the sympathy. Dad was more lenient than Mom when it came to certain things, mainly because he always wanted to please me and make his only little girl happy.

“Dad, I really want to do this,” I said, boosting my words with a whine. Mom rolled her eyes. She knew I’d win him over with the baby voice and puppy dog eyes. “Yes, I realize I’ll be losing some opportunities away, but they have a choir program at Lake Lane, too! I can join, maybe even get leading roles for their concerts as well.”

Mom shook her head. “That voice is a gift and you’re just going to throw it away.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. Right into thin air.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” I said evenly. “I have plenty of time to make something of myself. It’s only high school. I still have college to work things out.” Shaking my head, I pushed from the table, picking up my backpack. “I’m sure you guys need to discuss this further, so can I just go to my room?”

“Sure. Go ahead,” Dad sighed.

“No,” Mom snapped at the same time he spoke. Dad whipped his head to look at her, bewilderment in his eyes, just as my gaze pinned on her too.

Mom stood from her chair and then walked around the dining table made for ten.

When she met up to me, she quietly said, “I hope you realize what you are doing, Jennifer. You are way too smart to be at some—some
public
school! You’re going to make us all look like fools!” She waved a hand in the air, as if the mere thought of her offspring at a public school gave her hives.

“Mom, you’re overreacting. I’m pretty sure I will be okay.”

Her head shook swiftly, her brown curls bouncing, and then she marched around me, her high heels clicking across the marble floor.

I watched her disappear before looking at Dad.

He stood from his chair as well, coming in my direction. When he was only a step away, he said, “I will talk with her, but in the meantime I want you to truly think about this, Jenny. This school is good for you and you only have two more years to go.”

His eyes went soft. Compassionate. It was clear Dad was the one that used to have all the fun when he was my age.

He understood me, but he simply wanted the best for me, like any good father would. Rubbing my shoulder and planting a kiss on the center of my forehead, he walked around me, calling after his dramatic wife.

When they were far out of my sight, I went to my bedroom, blasting Sam Smith and Adele. I wanted to drown out all sounds, and especially Mom, who purposely walked by my bedroom door, shouting at Dad, asking him how they ended up raising such a
spoiled, selfish brat
.

Let’s just say that after two days, Mom had no choice but to give in. She refused to have me transferred, and since she wanted to be childish, I played along with her petty game.

I skipped class. I missed one of the biggest music concerts of Lake Christian. She wasn’t pleased about me not showing up for the concert.

In fact, her anger had her flying up our two flights of stairs and barging into my room, shouting at me for being disobedient and wasting their time and hard-earned money.

Apparently she and Dad had gone to the concert to see me. The show ended up being cancelled because the lead singer wasn’t there and the back-up singer was sick. I was the lead singer.

I would have felt bad, but the choir director, Mr. Leo, was a dick anyway. He deserved to be embarrassed.

“Fine! If that’s how you want to be, go to your
shitty
school, Jennifer!” Mom shouted the night of the concert. “I don’t care anymore! You want to ruin your life, hang out with kids that are clearly going nowhere, then so be it. I will let you fail on your own. You’ll be just like Mitchell!” Her face was red, body vibrating with all-mighty fury, but then she went completely frozen after my brother’s name spilled from her fuming lips.

Her only son.

Her firstborn.

She swallowed thickly, the rims of her eyes now red and wet as she clutched my doorknob.

Grief swamped her damp eyes, the regret clear. I remained silent.

At first I was ready to snap back, but his name made all words lodge in my throat.

Before any tears were shed from her eyes, she was out of my room, slamming my door behind her and causing me to flinch from the quake of the walls.

When she was gone, I sat there for nearly two whole minutes, trying my hardest to collect myself—gather my shit.

It didn’t work. It never did. I wasn’t as strong as I seemed. I wept in the hollow solitude of my bedroom, curling up with the cold side of one of my pillows.

I wasn’t crying because she’d shouted at me—I’d become accustomed to that—but because she always blamed Mitchell instead of blaming herself. And also because I missed Mitchell, and needed him at times like this.

If she’d done something to help him, she would have understood why he never wanted to live up to what she wanted him to be.