48. Bellamy

FORTY-EIGHT

bellamy

The longer I laid there, staring at the ceiling, the angrier I grew. Until the small trickle of fire seeping through my veins turned into a raging inferno. He'd hurt her, and I couldn't stand it.

By the time eleven o'clock rolled around, I'd climbed out of bed and thrown on clothes, quietly leaving the house. And now, I was pulling onto the street she used to live on, fuming.

I wanted to punch him in the face for making her feel like shit.

The motion detector flashed to life when I parked in the driveway behind his stupid Maserati.

Another light came on when I stepped onto the porch, then banged a fist over the door.

Footfalls came from inside before Mr. Morgan opened the door, still in a dress shirt and slacks. Clutching a whiskey glass in his hand like a true, arrogant prick. He stared up at me, and the urge to punch him right in the face was almost unbearable.

"You've made it apparent what you think of me," I said. My jaw ticced. "But I'd like to make it crystal-fucking-clear what I think of you, William . I think you're pathetic."

He bristled, and when he went to close the door, I caught it with my hand, barging my way inside his foyer.

"I'll call the cops if you don't leave."

"I don't give a shit." My fists clenched at my side. "If that's what it takes for you to listen to me, call them. You think money and titles and boarding schools are what's important? Flashy cars and Rolexes." I flicked the face of his watch, and he stumbled back a step. "When the thing that should have more worth to you than anything is your daughter."

His expression fell, going completely blank. "My daughter was just fine until you dragged her down to your level."

I moved forward, and he moved back. "You think she was just fine when she has a father who didn't even remember her birthday? All she is, is a possession to you. Something pretty you can flaunt. Something you could brag about." I shoved at his chest, and he stumbled against the wall. "Well, fuck you!"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water before he bolted toward the kitchen.

But I wasn't done. "Do you even love her? Because if you do, you sure as hell don't act like it, and it pisses me the fuck off!"

When I rounded the doorway, he was behind the kitchen island, his cell phone in one hand and a butcher knife shaking in the other. "Get out of my house!" he managed.

Drew would never admit it, but she wanted him at her graduation. For whatever reason, and this—this wasn't the way I got him there. On a deep inhale of breath, I told myself to tone it down a few notches.

"You don't want me dating her because you think I'm bad for her, right?" I slowly backed toward the doorway. "I'm not the one breaking her heart. She graduates tomorrow, from the shitass school you forced her into, and right now, she's in my bed, crying because she thinks you won't be there." Unable to tamp my anger, I slammed a palm over the door frame. "And you don't even deserve her tears, because as far as I'm concerned, you don't deserve her. That's coming from someone who does fucking love her."

And with that, I stormed out.

Bright orange from the setting sun blanketed the sky as we sat in the football stadium for graduation. I sat two rows behind Drew, staring out across the field at the parents' side. Searching for William Morgan.

It was hard to believe that this shitshow chapter of my life was about to be over.

Around here, high school graduation was the pinnacle of a person's life. Half the student body either failed out or dropped out, so for those of us who stuck it out…

Throughout the entire ceremony, all I thought about was how, in less than three months, I'd be losing Drew. Had anyone told me at the beginning of the year that I would absolutely be pussy whipped by the most rebellious girl in Barrington, I wouldn't have believed them. But I wouldn't change it for the world, even if I did end up losing her and having my stupid heart broken.

Brown called out David Hope, then Megan Hurst, and Zeppelin Hunt should have been in the middle of them, but he wasn't. And that was a hard pill to swallow.

When Brown called Drew's name, I stood, and so did Mom and Arlo and Pops. And, to the far side of the stadium, stood Mr. Morgan, in his suit. Hands clasped in front of him as Drew shook the principal's hand.

After the ceremony, chaos ensued. Parents and siblings flooded the field, while some kids took off toward the parking lot. I was halfway across the stadium when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I figured it was Drew asking where the hell I was, but instead of Baby Girl, the contact read: Piece of Shit Morgan: I'd appreciate it if you'd meet me in the parking lot. I'd like to speak with you. I'm in parking spot 112. -William Morgan

I glanced across the field to where my mom and Arlo were talking with Drew and Nora's family.

Then I ducked between the bleachers, into the dimly lit parking lot.

Every single person I passed had a stupid-ass grin on their face. And as I made my way toward that shiny Maserati, I realized for most people here tonight, all they had to look forward to after this would be a bunch of dead-end jobs, piles of delinquent notices, and a string of divorces. Because this was Dayton, and it was nothing short of quicksand, few people escaped.

Mr. Morgan pushed away from his bumper, straightening his tie before I stopped a few feet in front of him.

"You wanted to talk?" I said, keeping my distance.

"I have no doubt you love her, and I have no doubt she thinks she loves you." He dropped his chin to his chest on a hard breath. "And you may not see it—she may not see it, but I do love her very much. It's the only reason I tried so hard to be successful. And it's the only reason I don't want to see her throw her entire future away."

Throw her future away. That comment dug inside me with barbed wire hooks as people passed behind us, laughing and talking.

He pulled an envelope from his pocket, then stepped forward to hand it to me.

A letter from Alabama State College addressed to Miss Drucella A. Morgan.

"Since she was ten, she's wanted to attend Cornell," Mr. Morgan said. "She's been accepted there and to two other Ivy League schools. So tell me, young man, why she's applied to a university here?"

I stared down at the envelope, knots kinking my stomach.

"I may have been wrong with my first judgment of you, but I stand by the fact that, if she stays with you, she will ruin her entire future. And I don't mean that as a slight. It's, unfortunately, the way the world works." He smoothed a hand down his shirt. "Because what on earth could you possibly give her?"

Another jab. Another dig. The paper crumpled in my hand. I couldn't give her money or cars or Armani jeans. But if she stayed with me, I'd give her everything I had, and more than anything, I'd love her. I tossed the acceptance letter to the ground and glared at him.

What could I give her? "I'd give her everything you didn't," I said.

He held my gaze for all of five seconds before the headlights of his car flashed, and he rounded the front. "Unfortunately, the real world doesn't work like a fairy tale, young man. It runs on money and greed." And then he sank behind the wheel, slammed the door, and cranked the engine to his ridiculously expensive car that screamed for attention while I stood in the parking lot.

His taillights faded into the distance before I picked up the crumpled acceptance letter and shoved it in my pocket.

It didn't have to be one or the other. It didn't… It didn't have to be Cornell or me.

And that's what I kept telling myself as I walked back to the football field to get my girl.