The Best Chance (The Amherst Sinners Series Book 4) Page 13

  He didn't inspire better behavior; hell, we were the original Sinners. Everyone was dying to break some morals to catch up. I'm sure none of them were on purpose... not like our sins.

  Something about our sins followed us like a bad shadow, a bad hangover, a bad fuck not satisfying anything but your annoyance. Even if we repented, it wouldn't have helped. We weren't just sinning... we were Sinners.

  Toby-fucking-Montgomery was pulling books out of his locker like someone asked him to evacuate. I guess stepping into the hallway was enough to make his blood pressure rise and urgency to take over. He was making messing with him too easy with his old Air Force ones and pretending not to exist among us. I had been teasing him since fifth grade, and honestly, it was the only consistency I managed in my life.

  I crashed into his locker door with so much intentional force I could feel the metal vibrate as his books fell to the floor. I stood over him like the asshole I was, watching him scurry to pick them up and avoiding eye contact. I was particularly in a committed mood when I squatted down beside him and said, “Toby, you dropped your books.” My sarcastic tone wasn't lost on him, even though he never responded. Someone must have told him ignoring me would make his life easier. Well, it didn't, and I was proving that.

  He finally stood up with all his scattered papers and books firmly in his grip, like I was going to make sure they dropped again. His next move wasn't something I planned for. “You… you know what, Caden? You're just an asshole, who’s gonna peak in high school.”

  I took his words to heart. While I was busy torturing him daily, he was studying me, learning what would hurt me in a less obvious way.

  You know that angel that's supposed to sit on your right shoulder? Mine was absent that day.

  I stepped forward enough to push him at a point blank range —

  a range too close for a safe landing. He fell backwards with so much force I thought I heard the snapping of cartilage or bones, but I really didn't care. The devil on my shoulder was egging me on to drive it home. I stepped closer, with my feet on either side of his body, as I leaned down, pushing my face parallel with his.

  “And you’re the outcast who shows us all, right? I'll call you the day I peak... that’ll be never.”

  Ollie stood close by. We kept each other in line—a line that was unfortunately so thin you could barely see it.

  I swore I could see his eyes get shiny and glasslike when the threat of crying came dangerously close to a reality. I still didn't feel bad; that was the probability with being untouchable and revered for my good looks: Everything became surface level.

  Every relationship.

  Every conversation.

  Every action and reactions.

  All sat on the surface, never penetrating my heart or soul.

  I stood up, satisfied with how close I pulled him to the edge of not existing, even more than he already was.

  I never contemplated my actions, never even gave them a second thought, until the next day, during study hall. It took one study hall for everything to surface, to finally gain some depth, and to twist up into every organ that held scar tissue.

  There was no announcement over the intercom. No one questioned Toby leaving study hall as soon as I walked through the door. No one knew what he was planning until it happened.

  Toby-fucking-Montgomery climbed the off-limit stairs to the roof top of our high school. He climbed up five floors, just to step off the ledge of the roof and come back down. He could have survived, but he purposely dove off, headfirst, hoping not to. He didn’t bother leaving a note. It justified how nonexistent he felt in a sea of his peers.

  No one even looked my direction with a pointed finger. I was drowning in depth, but all anyone saw was the surface: looks, the physique, the rumors, the confidence, sex appeal. They couldn’t even blame me for the thing I caused.

  I tortured Toby Montgomery, until it all became too much, and he dove off the school’s roof, just to escape me.

  Toby Montgomery wasn’t my first sin, and he wasn’t going to be my last, but he sure as hell made sure the weight of all my choices created enough trauma to make me feel like a monster.

  Nothing surface anymore.

  Caden

  Life wasn't much more different than before. At first glance, I could make anyone’s underwear become uncomfortable, guys and girls. At first glance, everything was still surface level, but underneath the surface was scar tissue upon scar tissue. I used to wear my mistakes like a goddamn badge of honor, until Toby’s death rocked something loose in me. Suddenly I became the warning sign, the advisor, the protector of everyone around me, hoping they'd avoid a moment like mine.

  Toby made me examine every mistake I had ever made, with his glasses on and his sensitivity living on in me.

  I was a Sinner, actively trying not to sin anymore. It wasn't easy. All my games distracted me from true sinning. I teetered right up to the edge, morally corrupt.

  Liz’s wedding was impeccable, just like her personality, grades in college, her agreeable attitude. She was an original Sinner, just like me and the rest of our friends. We all had secrets that changed who we were, how we functioned, how we loved. We were broken people—all realizing it at different times and hoping love was really the antidote.

  Not me. I avoided love.

  I felt indifferent, until recently when everyone started shacking up—even the faux Sinner Hunter. He was a type of vile we didn't accept into our little group of misfits. No excuse in the world would change my mind.

  There's sinning, and then there's Hunter.

  I woke up stretching out in bed big enough to fit an orgy of six. Don't judge; it happens.

  My head throbbed in a way it hadn't seen college. I laid off the booze more and more when I signed a five-year contract with the Boston Red Sox. I could probably sweet talk my way out of a lot, but I was trying to rely less on the first glance bullshit too.

  I sat up, untangling the thick chains that hung from my neck, like some kind of rapper instead of a baseball player; the gold only made me look more tan. Sitting up and kicking my legs off the edge, I aimlessly felt around my bedside table for my glasses, when the other side of my bed stirred. The glasses weren’t even real; it was another anchor to the depth.

  No one questioned glasses if you’re good looking enough.

  My bed was almost never empty, so I wasn't surprised. But you could say I forgot. My focus was on my phone, unlocking the notifications taunting me—all seemingly urgent Sinner business.

  “You can see yourself out, sweetheart. Had a great time.”

  I was multitasking when I spoke and typed back, tackling one issue at a time.

  Hayley: Palmer is writing about us. Screenplay got picked up by some production company in Cali.

  Ollie: Not like we were worried. She said yes.

  Aspen: Guess I should give two weeks’ notice, roomie. Maddison and I are moving in together.

  Liz: Natasha. Don't forget her name.

  Thank god for Liz and her OCD tendencies.

  The girl got dressed quickly, embarrassed or ashamed; it was hard to pinpoint emotions on women the night after a one night stand. Women were too hopeful it would turn out like some romantic comedy, turning into breakfast and meeting my parents, because they managed to make me come and crack my shell in one night.

  For the record, no one cracked my shell, and men weren't much better in the expectation department.

  “You could at least walk me to the door…” Her voice was annoyed with me. I had been so attentive the night before to now ignoring her.

  “Natasha, I had a great time, but I'm not boyfriend material.”

  As soon as I said it, I knew I was stoking her hope fire without trying. The more unavailable I was, the worse it got.

  I stood up, only to pull up my boxer briefs more easily and give her one last look. I didn't entertain repeat offenders. That only lead to messy feelings that would pierce under my surface. Anything but surface was off limits
, on reserve… a part of me that scared me.

  “You're an asshole.”

  “Thankfully, I don't have a Yelp page for you to leave a bad review. Have a good day, Natasha.”

  I closed my door as soon as she made it through it. I don't argue either. All the things I'm unwilling to do I made up for with what I am willing to do in bed. Putting up with an asshole is easier when you come to the realization that I'm going to make you come in a way that haunts you after you're married to someone else. Trust me.

  Twisting the handle of my shower, I pushed it all the way to burning before I made sure the coast was clear and I could make some coffee. Aspen was surely at Maddison’s, and Ollie was probably in Amherst already. Liz was on her honeymoon. Hayley was probably at the nearest bar drowning out Palmer’s news. My friendships didn't extend further than the Sinners, and we weren’t taking in strays.

  Being the lone warrior too fucking often lately made me contemplate my position on love and dating. I was part of a tight group of friends, so being alone most of the time because they were in stable relationships wasn't appealing.

  I scrolled through my contacts in the hopes that one of them held out some hope.

  Blonde with small boobs, brunette with dick sucking lips, ginger in the Sox administration office, brunette guy with the tattoos, blonde guy with the Hoover mouth. The list went on longer than was acceptable.

  My contacts went on and on—all eliciting flash in a pan memories and none evoking any feelings. When one did, they would get their name properly stamped above their number. Until then, it was easier to reference how they looked.

  Finishing my homemade latte, complete with the foam I made sure to learn how to do, I stepped right into the steam of the shower. The harsh water hit my chest, and I forced myself to stay still, letting it burn my surface level.

  This was a bad habit I couldn’t shake with every morning of a one night stand. The next day, I would shower off all the DNA, fake kisses, and guilt I felt. I always felt guilty after sex—none of them knew just how much of a monster I was or the origin story of how I knew exactly how to make a women come six ways to Sunday. If they knew, they wouldn't be in my bed.

  People wanted something dangerous that they could turn into hope, until they learned the dangerous is really a monster, one untamed.

  Every time I had sex, I thought of her. You'd think that'd get me off sex all together. I wasn't that twisted; I wasn't thinking of her mid-orgasm, just post. The woman who ripped my innocence away and replaced it with everything a women desires, like some kind of sex doll she created.

  It wasn't until later in life that I realized gender didn't even matter; we were all after the same endgame. There was no sense in limiting the insatiable appetite she gave me. I was a kid in the candy store, mixing gummies and chocolate, never having to choose.

  After showering, I didn't bother covering up with a towel. I wasn't ashamed, and this body wasn't worth covering up. My annoying headache persisted through the long hot shower, and it was still pounding against the inside of the base of my head.

  How much did I drink last night? I took the night off from swearing off booze, leaving parts of me in charge that I hadn't let make decisions since high school.

  Nothing like a good old wedding and all your friends coupled up to make you feel slightly unfixable.

  None of my one night stands inspired a conversation, let alone a whole relationship. Yet, I still felt incapable of desiring more. I wanted to; I tried to. I brought home girls, but there was nothing tethering me to anyone of them, except an orgasm before passing out.

  That's exactly what I got too.

  I didn't respond to any texts, except Ollie’s engagement announcement, when I let Hayley’s message finally sink in. Script? LA? Us? She's gonna have to explain. I typed out a series of question marks that really said too much as I started washing my face.

  I took care of my surface level with intention. Only difference was now I also took care of the depth no one could see with yoga, meditation, and visiting Toby’s grave every anniversary of his death. We weren't friends in life, but he was sure as hell one of my friends now. He knew as many secrets as the Sinners, if not more.