43. Ciaran

43

CIARAN

A fter showering and donning some of my new attire from today's shopping excursion, my mind felt like it was full of shooting stars. I couldn't focus on one thing. One second I'd think about Matty's lips on mine, then I'd quickly remember I needed to call my friends.

Detective Inspector Earl Shiremarch was kicking at my shins, telling me to write Chapter One. My laptop was right there, on my desk, cracked open in invitation. But then I'd think about Matty's face when he realized there were dark clouds in my past.

Shame was ever-present.

That never went away.

When I felt the first sliver of happiness, shame had a way of creeping back in, as if to remind me that I didn't deserve good things.

I went to stand on the balcony to hear the raw crashing of ocean waves. I could hear Franky tinkering in the kitchen below. The sweet, chocolatey scent of cookies mingled with the early evening air perfume. Too bad I wasn't hungry.

My phone dinged and I saw I had several texts from my friends, but there were also a few from Mom that I'd missed from earlier.

I opened hers first.

From the image of Big Ben in the background, she and Stefon had been in London for a day or two. She'd sent various photos of their tour of several majestic palaces.

Of all the people who deserved good things, it was my mom. Even Stefon looked like a young, refreshed version of himself. They'd be the kind of couple who, at eighty, looked like they were in their fifties. Part of me suspected that even when they returned home, they'd be wrapped up in each other.

Mom and Stefon would have eyes only for each other.

That wasn't a terrible thing, not if Matty and I were dating. It wasn't like we'd want them in our business.

Would they let us stay in the guesthouse without supervision?

Just landed in NYC , Mom wrote, I heard from Mr. Jones. He reports that you're adjusting well to virtual classes even though there's only a few weeks left of school. Miss Paulina told Stefon just this afternoon that you and Matty are getting along great. I think her words were "thick as thieves." I'm so happy to hear that things are going well. Miss you, sweetie. See you in a few days. xo Mom.

My eyes focused on the sentence about Miss Paulina saying Matty and I were thick as thieves. What a loaded statement. Sly, sly Miss Paulina , I thought.

It wasn't entirely surprised that Drew reached out to Mom to let her know I'd completed all my school assignments without issue. As my assigned counselor, it was his role to do that. Still, just seeing his name filled my chest with a barrage of confusing feelings.

Not because I mourned what was, but because it was starting to become clear to me that what we had wasn't real. It was all a mirage. I thought we were in some sort of relationship.

It wasn't clear to me what Drew thought we were.

As if on cue, a new text came in.

Drew: I hear congratulations are in order, Ciaran. You should be proud of this major accomplishment.

Confusion swept over me as I read his text a dozen times without blinking.

Congratulations?

Major accomplishment?

What was Drew talking about?

My fingers itched to turn off my phone and throw it over the cliff. I shouldn't—couldn't—have immediate access to my phone.

Because I wanted to reply.

I wanted to call him.

I wanted to confront him.

I might say things that I'd come to regret. I might yell. Hell, I might cry.

Mostly, though, I was worried I had everything topsy-turvy in my head.

That I had imagined everything that occurred between us. That I'd conjured up a fake relationship between us.

That I'd dreamed it when he went down on me that one night in his condo.

That I'd daydreamed Drew tugging me into his bedroom and pushing me down to the mattress. That'd I'd imagined he pulled down my shorts. That without saying a single word he swallowed my erection.

That I'd exploded in his mouth less than a minute into the entire experience.

My face burned at the memory.

Another ding. My hands shook.

No reply, Ciaran? It was from Drew. I can tell that you've read my message.

I sat in a balcony chair and my fingers took over. I wrote back, I'm not sure I understand. Congratulations for what?

Dots appeared, so I knew that Drew was typing back.

I'm surprised Theresa didn't tell you. Are they still on their honeymoon?

When I didn't immediately reply to his question, he continued, Fine. Be difficult. You were accepted into UCLA's Creative Writing program under the tutelage of famed author Emily Alsobrooks. You should have received a special courier with the acceptance letter.

None of that made sense. I hadn't even applied to colleges yet. Sure, all my dream colleges were registered on the College Board website. I was getting a million emails from college admissions offices because I'd done well on the SATs. I could see my national rankings in SchoolLinks, but actual college submissions would not occur until after summertime. Like Raj had, I'd written and rewritten my admissions essay a hundred times already, but nothing had been submitted.

What special courier was Drew talking about?

Oh, wait… My eyes popped to the dresser.

The white envelope.

Miss Paulina brought a white envelope into the room this morning. After she'd caught me and Matty in a compromising situation, I'd completely forgotten why she'd come into the room in the first place.

She'd placed it on top of the tallboy dresser near the door. It was so thin that I didn't see it when I came into the room after taking my shower.

Stalking to the tallboy dresser, I grabbed the envelope and ripped it open.

I ended up tearing the top part of the letter, but sure enough it was a congratulatory letter from the Creative Writing Dean, accepting me into the program as part of their early acceptance cycle. I had enough AP credits to satisfy the first semester of classes and they were admitting me not just early, but early enough to start taking dual enrollment classes while in my last year of high school.

I'd never heard of something like this happening.

I hadn't even submitted a scrap of writing to the university.

Why would they admit a student who hadn't yet applied into a creative writing program when they hadn't read anything they'd written? It wasn't like I had any publications to my name. Just a few short stories with a few thousand reads on Wattpad.

Even I knew that wasn't enough for UCLA to admit me into their Creative Writing program.

I replied to Drew. Is this a joke?

Because that's all it could be. Drew was playing a cruel joke on me. He knew UCLA was my dream school, my dream program, my dream professor. Professor Alsobrook's long-running collection of stories about the Wise Owl Priestess Persephone who counsels the young Baron Barry Claymourn in the Claymourn Chronicles literally changed my life when I first read them. I knew at the age of six I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.

And now Drew was drawing upon my childhood dreams to crush me mentally and emotionally.

I'd never forgive him for this.

Instead of texting back, Drew called.

I picked up before the first ring ended.

"Are you trying to fuck with my head, Drew?" I asked.

I didn't even try to hide my agitation. I used to be so careful around him. I wanted to be perfect and compliant when we were together.

Not now.

Not tonight.

"Ciaran," Drew started, his deep, masculine voice weaved into my brain like delirium-laced fog. Confusing feelings came rushing back. My stomach squeezed into a tight knot. I didn't know how to turn it off. How did I get Drew Jones out of my bloodstream? "Why would I fuck with you? Did you get the acceptance letter or not?"

Before answering, I took a fortifying breath. "I received a letter but it can't be authentic. You know as well as I do that I haven't applied to UCLA. I haven't applied to any college."

Drew tsked and it felt like he'd slapped me in the face.

"Use your brain, Ciaran," Drew replied smoothly. Did nothing bother him? Did he not care that he was affecting my life? "I've never known you to be this dense. Who did your mom marry? Might that have something to do with the situation?"

Drew's insinuation clicked into place.

"Are you saying my mom asked Stefon to have UCLA admit me early?"

He sighed as if he was already bored talking to me. "You're getting close, Ciaran. A few more steps and you'll get there."

"You don't have to be an asshole, Drew," I hissed. "Just come out and tell me."

"Well now," Drew said with a low, husky chuckle. "I like it when you show passion. I should have pissed you off more often. Listen, I'll drive over a few weekends from now so we can get reacquainted. I'm sure we can find a quiet spot where no one will interrupt us. Maybe we can reenact the last meeting in my office, when you were sitting on my lap. I sensed you were almost ready to let me fuck you, Ciaran." Drew said the last part in a near whisper. "I know you want that, don't you?" I heard movement on his end of the line. The low sound of a zipper, then Drew's faint moan. In a strangled voice, he said, "I know you want me deep in you, filling your tight, dirty hole, making you cry out in pleasure."

That spun my head.

I had to get Drew out of my system.

Desperation clawed at my throat. I couldn't breathe. Where was Matty? I spun around, looking in every dark corner of the balcony like he might be hiding.

Why wasn't he here?

Oh, right. Matty was with Zoey. They were having dinner without me. Matty could talk me off this ledge. He'd know what to say, what to do.

I should end the call.

Except I didn't.

Why couldn't I hang up? Why was I listening to Drew's heavy breathing as he jacked off while imagining taking my virginity?

My own growing erection further confused and humiliated me. I had no control over it.

My eyes stung before tears started streaming down my face.

It took effort to move the phone away from my ear. To look at the phone and tell myself to press the red button.

Press it, Ciaran. End the call. End it right now.

But I couldn't.

I physically could not take my finger and press the end button.

Instead, I put the phone on speaker. My entire body was shaking. Nausea had me sliding off the chair and lying in a fetal position on the deck.

I heard, "Are you still there, Ciaran? I'm so close…"

"Stop it," I said in a low voice. Then I said it louder. "Stop it, Drew. I don't want you to do that. I don't consent to you doing…doing… that while talking to me. Tell me what I need to know about UCLA right now, or…"

"Or what?" Drew asked. I heard the surprise in his voice.

Drew liked attention. He liked being admired. He wanted my desire and affection.

"Or I will hang up."

He cleared his throat. "I can see that spending time with the Vaulteneaus have given you something of a backbone. Fine, I'll tell you what you want. Stefon Vaulteneau donated enough money for the school to build a brand-new stadium and training facility. It's easy to see how UCLA might find a way to reward Stefon's generosity. Like I said, Ciaran, congratulations on the spectacular achievement of being related to a billionaire who will open all sorts of doors for you."

"First off, fuck you, Drew. Second, how do I know you're telling me the truth?" My voice shook, and I'm sure he could tell I was crying, but I didn't care. "I still think you're trying to fuck with my mind."

Drew sighed again. If he didn't tell me now before hanging up, I knew I'd never know the truth.

"Believe me, don't believe me, it makes no difference to me, Ciaran. Theresa's done you a huge disservice by running off on a lengthy honeymoon three minutes after getting married. Call your mom, Ciaran. If you take any advice, take that."

Drew hung up after that and I stared at the time display on my phone.

It was late but not too late in New York City.

I called Mom's cell phone. When she didn't pick up, I called it again. And again. And then a fourth time.

It was then that she picked up.

In a groggy voice, she answered, "Ciaran, honey." Her voice was filled with worry and I was almost doubting myself for calling. "I had my phone on silent and didn't see that you'd called several times. Is everything all right, sweetie?"

Normally I wouldn't need to mask a crying voice, but I did everything I could to make my voice sound normal.

"Yeah, Mom. Sorry to call so late, but something sort of odd happened today. I received an acceptance letter from UCLA. Funny thing is, I hadn't yet applied. Do you know anything about it?"

Mom let out a squeal. "Ciaran, oh my God, I'm so happy for you." I heard rustling, then, "Stefon, guess what? Ciaran received the acceptance letter already." In the background, I heard Stefon's baritone voice offer his congratulations to me, followed by an "anything for my darling Theresa."

"Mom…" My voice faltered. My heart was dropping by the second. Drew wasn't lying.

"I had hoped you'd get the letter once we were already back in Malibu so that we could have a party and invite all your friends. We promised them a ride in the jet, didn't we? I'll ask Miss Paulina to start making the soft arrangements for the weekend we return. You know what? We'll cut our trip a few days sooner so that we can get everything together by next weekend."

"Mom," I said again, but this time louder. I got up off the floor of the deck and sat down in the chair. The soft ocean breeze was cooler now that the sun was gone. I'd been shivering for what felt like hours. "What happened? How did I get into UCLA? I haven't even applied."

"It was something Stefon said he could do when he proposed marriage, Ciaran. How could I say no to a man who not only could make my dreams come true, but could make yours come true, too, sweetie?"

I must have misheard her. "Are you saying you married Stefon because he promised to get me into the university of my dreams?"

"It wasn't the only reason, Ciaran," Mom said, and her level of cheerfulness dimmed, "but yes. Why are you upset, honey? It's what you've wanted ever since you were six years old. Emily Alsobrooks has been your lifelong hero and you'll get to benefit from her mentorship."

It wasn't rational of me, but I couldn't exactly explain why I was so upset when I was getting exactly what I'd always wanted.

Except, I felt betrayed.

Except, I felt used.

It seemed like no matter what I did from this point forward, it wouldn't be because of my efforts. It would be because of Vaulteneau money.

I'd never know what was real or fake.

And I had direct experience on what that felt like and it was not fun. Or healthy.

"You took me away from my friends, my school, my mentor, Mr. Jones—" I had to pause after that because he was one person I was glad to be rid of. Saying his name was almost automatic when speaking to my mom. "And married Stefon to get me into a college I hadn't even applied to. I might have gotten in on my own, Mom, or did you think I couldn't cut it?"

"Oh, sweetie. It was never about being able to get into UCLA, Ciaran. I knew you'd get in. I wasn't strong enough to witness your heartbreak when you realized we couldn't pay for it." Her voice hitched. " That's what Stefon offered us. Stability. I know you don't always understand the methods of a mother, but every decision I've ever made has been with you in mind. I'm sorry I took you away from your friends. We'll invite them to stay the entire summer if you want. I want you to be happy. I love you more than I love the sun, Ciaran. Please tell me I didn't do the wrong thing. Mr. Jones has been so helpful in advising me on colleges and everything."

So that's how Drew knew everything.

"You didn't do the wrong thing, Mom," I answered. I needed time to process everything she'd revealed. I knew that deep down, Mom was doing what she thought was best for us. She was the least selfish person I knew. "But when you get home, I want to talk to you about Mr. Jones."

"Thanks, honey." She let out a long breath. "I'm so relieved. We can talk to Mr. Jones together. He's on the invitation list. We have him to thank for so many reasons. I'm sure he's told you everything."

A cold tingle ran down my spine. "Told me what, Mom?"

"That he's the one who introduced me to Stefon in the first place. They've known each other for years."