Copyright © 2021 by Brooke Olsen

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  For Archie, whose support and love I can never repay…

  Even with a lifetime of dog treats.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  JOIN THE GANG!

  Chapter 1

  Raina

  “Get your ass back here!” my father shouts as I run upstairs to my bedroom and lock the door behind me.

  I grab my backpack and start to shove everything important to me inside a beat-up black leather bag. It is only going to hold so much, and I only have a few minutes before he gets upstairs with a hammer and screwdriver to take the door off its hinges.

  I look around my room in a panic, grabbing my wallet, a small frame with a photo of my mother in it, and my stuffed unicorn. I can hear him lumbering half-drunkenly up the stairs. I’m mildly impressed, usually he makes it to midday before being this pissed. Normally, I would be more worried about him being drunk again, but not this time. This time I know that it will slow his reflexes down and that works to my advantage.

  “I’m eighteen!” I shout through the closed door as I take one last look around my childhood bedroom and see if there is anything else that I need. A change of clothes—definitely will need that. “I’m legally free to leave this hellhole.”

  “You think so?” he growls from the other side of the door. I can hear him fumbling with the tools. The sound of his voice, mixed with the adrenaline racing through my veins and the putrid mustard color of the walls in my bedroom are all starting to make me nauseous.

  One last thing I grab to take with me is the bag of drugs my mother overdosed on. I found it near her body the night she died, and I didn’t want the cops or my father to get it, so I snatched it and hid it in my room for safekeeping. I wasn’t planning on using it, but I thought it may come in handy. When you have nothing, you don’t get rid of anything.

  As soon as I hear him stick the screwdriver into the bottom hinge, I know that he is kneeling down. My father is a large man, a cumbersome man, and even on his best day wouldn’t be able to keep up with me. Now is my chance.

  I swing the backpack over my shoulders and use two hands to open the door—one to unlock the handle, and the other to slam into it. Then, I ran.

  I take the steps three at a time and aim for the front door that waits directly at the bottom of the staircase. I can hear my father cursing as he gets to his feet and chases after me. But he won’t make it in time. I am already halfway down the driveway by the time he makes it to the open doorway. He screams at me through the evening air, and I’m sure that all the neighbors can hear him. But he doesn’t care—narcissists seldom do.

  “Get back here you ungrateful bitch! You think you’ve had it bad, just wait ‘til you come back you selfish little shit!”

  I can feel a smile forming on my already cold lips as the winter wind bites against my skin while I run down the street and duck into the woods surrounding the suburban neighborhood.

  Goodbye, Dad.

  Freedom. God, it’s the best feeling that I have ever had. I don’t care about anything else. I don’t care that all I have is a change of clothes, a small wad of cash and a useless stuffed animal. I don’t care that it’s so cold outside I can feel the snowfall getting ready to pierce through the sky. I don’t even care that I have absolutely nowhere to go and no one to help me. None of it matters because I am finally free from my abusive father and a shitty adolescence. I can stop thinking about that hellhole and start to think about the future. An actual future. A future that’s mine to do what I want with. Fuck.

  There’s a used car lot not too far away, and I know that the guy who runs it happens to be on vacation somewhere warm for the winter. He takes a trip every winter and is gone for at least three weeks, closes up his car lot and locks all the cars tight. He used to have a part-time employee that checked on the lot for him while he was gone, but I think he stopped caring about it, or maybe he just didn’t feel like shelling out the dollars to pay someone anymore. Either way, the lot is unwatched, and I remember from coming here with my dad that all the spare keys are kept under the driver side mats. A benefit of being my dad’s little lackey.

  I climb over the rickety wire fence, choose a car that is far from the street view, and use my boot to kick in a back window. Then, I pull my shirt out of my bag and lay it over the broken glass to crawl inside.

  Perfect. The key is right under the mat where it should be. After a few minutes of starting the car and running the heat and using my backpack to jam into the hole in the window, I am now in a toasty warm vehicle to sleep in for the night. Sure, it’s not ideal, and I just realized that I forgot to grab any food. But this will do for a night.

  I curl up and sit in the car, thinking about what I’m going to do next. The world is mine now and regardless of my troubled past and tough home life, everything that happens from this point on is up to me.

  The heat starts to make me sleepy as I look out the front window and see the snow start to fall outside. This car isn’t half-bad, it has seat warmers and everything.

  For a while, I just sit there breathing and enjoying the fact that no one can ever yell at me again. No one can ever make me feel small or worthless or lay a hand on me. Then, I decide that I am going to do the one thing that I know will set me up for a successful future. I’m going to go to college.

  I have practically no money, no place to stay, and even though I just graduated high school, I never applied to any universities because my father wasn’t going to let me go. It doesn’t matter though because I will find a way to do it. In the morning, I’ll head toward the closest college campus and I will get in—even if I have to pose as an already enrolled student. It’s a ludicrous idea, but it just might work. The more I think about it, the more I know I can pull it off. I’ll stop at a thrift store on my way and use a little of my cash to get some supplies, some stuff that makes me look like I’ve been there the entire time. Winter break is ending in a couple of days so all the returning students will be heading back to campus. It won’t be that hard to act like I’m one of them. No one would suspect a new student to start halfway through freshman year, so with a bit of scoping things out, I think I can pull it off. Hell, if I’ve managed to survive the last few years living in that prison with my father, I’m pretty sure I can do anything now.

  I snuggle up against the back of the seat and let my heavy eyelids close. The adrenaline is wearing off now and my body is tired. I think about the risk I’m about to take. I wonder what happens if they catch you trying to sneak into a college that you’re not enrolled at and haven’t paid for. Whatever the punishment is, I’m sure it’s not good. It doesn’t matter though—I’m going, fullstop. I’m going to make more out of my life and not end up like my mother.

  As I start to fall asleep, I think about her—my mother. She was a beautiful woman once. She was full of life, and light, and the potential to be something great. But my father ruined all that for her. I guess you could argue I did, I kept them together just by existing. She did her best to buffer his abuse, but in the end we both felt it. She felt it more than I did because she knew that she was more trapped than me. She married the guy. All I had to do was count down the days until I turned eighteen, and then I was free.

  When she overdosed, I wasn’t surprised. I was sad, and there was a pit in my stomach that felt like someone had punched me. It’s getting softer but my chest still gets tight if I dwell on it too long. In a twisted sort of way, I was happy for her that she was free. She held out as long as she could for me, but in the end, she couldn’t withstand any more of the abuse either.

  “We’re both free now, Mom,” I whisper as I fall into a deep sleep.

  When I wake up in the morning, the sun is glaring through the windshield like a laser-focused alarm clock shooting right into my eye sockets. I gather up my stuff, stick the key back under the mat, and leave through the door this time instead of the window. I feel bad about the window but I can’t use my only money in the world to appease my conscience. Have to break a few eggs to make an omelette right? And this is going to be one hell of an omelette.

  Fortunately, I have a thick jacket and gloves on, or I probably wouldn’t have made it walking all the way downtown. By the time I get to the thrift shop, I can’t feel my toes inside my boots. The tiny bell jingles as I push open the door and sigh with appreciation at the warmth inside the little shop.

  “Good morning,” a cheerful girl behind the counter says to me.

  “Morning,” I mumble. I need to work on my people skills before I get to the college campus.

  “Anything in particular you’re looking for that I can help you find?” she offers.
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  I get ready to tell her no, but then I see the way she is dressed and I start to think that she would be the perfect girl to help me out. She looks like a hip, young, college girl herself—confident, stylish in an upcycled sort of way, and just friendly enough that I could probably learn something from her. I go into charm mode.

  “Actually yes, thank you,” I smile. “I’m getting ready to head back to college in a day or so, and I want to have a cool new vibe when I get back to campus. If I could look half as good as you I’d be beaming”.

  “Of course!” she says excitedly. “I’ve got the perfect outfit for you.”

  “And maybe a couple of small touches for my dorm room?”

  “Absolutely,” she nods. “Come on, let’s get you all styled to start your new semester fresh!”

  By the time we’re finished, I am rocking a totally new outfit, complete with a new bookbag that makes me look like I’m ready to tote textbooks around. And she even set me up with a cool faux plant and a small, framed piece of art that looks like a knockoff of some pop art album cover. The whole vibe reads too cool to care, which is perfect for my feigned college persona. And the best part is that it costs me less than half the cash I have. I’ve never been so grateful for second hand stores.

  I thank the girl, stuff all my new things in my new backpack (which is much bigger) and toss my leather bag over the counter to her.

  “You don’t want this anymore?” she asks as she eyes it with interest.

  “Nah, consider it a donation. Thanks again for all your help.”

  As soon as I leave, I am suddenly struck by the feeling of how hungry I am. My stomach is growling uncontrollably, and hunger pains are gnawing at my ribs. Time to head to the college campus, find something cheap to eat, and start my new life.

  Chapter 2

  Stone

  “Well, it’s been fun,” I say as I give my mother a hug and then grab my duffle bag from the floor. The rest of my stuff, including all of my hockey gear, is already loaded into the back of my car.

  “Don’t you want to stay for dinner at least?” she says.

  No. No, I absolutely do not. I have had enough of watching my father flirt with the maid (who everyone knows he is screwing) right in front of my mother as she sits there downing her third martini and pretending she doesn’t notice. Dysfunctional is a massive understatement when describing my family. All the money in the world couldn’t convince me to stay any longer, especially since the winter break has already felt like it’s lasted years.

  “No, Mom, I really need to get back and start getting warmed up for the rest of the season,” I say, carefully toeing the line so that I don’t piss off the hands that are tossing me cash every month.

  “Well, it went way too fast this time,” my mother says with a pout. She has perfected the pout. I suppose she’s had years of practice being the mascot for our wealthy and highly unstable family. “Don’t forget to send me pictures.”

  “Yeah, Mom, I will.”

  To my mother, I am her prized possession—ranking right up there alongside the top shelf liquor. To my father, I am never good enough.

  “This time,” he says as he gives me a hearty pat on the back that is meant to sting just a little, “Try not to wait so long to start winning the games.”

  I had a perfect record last semester, and already the college is offering me more scholarship money than I need. But Dad likes to rub it in that he used to be their former hockey star and that nothing I do will ever rival his fame. Maybe that’s why he’s banging the maid every time Mom looks in the other direction—maybe he knows his days of being the best are over and that he’s nothing more than an aging fool. I don’t think that anyone in this house has very healthy coping mechanisms, not even me.

  On the drive back to campus, I think about the upcoming season. I couldn’t care less about the academics. I only care about going pro as soon as I pass enough classes to graduate. I guess I owe my dad for pushing me into the sport, because now that the fame and money are starting to flow, I find myself getting addicted to it—among other things.

  If the talent scouts and coaches knew what was going through my head every time I scored a goal, they’d rethink offering me any contracts.

  I laugh quietly to myself as the snow starts to fall. My father just put new snow tires on my truck—the most expensive ones he could find. And yet every time I smash that puck into the net on the ice, all I can think about is smashing my hockey stick into his face and caving in his skull.

  Most people would think that’s a bit much, an overreaction to having an asshole of a father that sticks his cock in anything warm. And most people would be right. There were certainly worse parents out there than mine. I have a full ride through college, a brand-new truck every year, and enough money at my fingertips to buy me all the sorts of things that I can get myself into trouble with. But it’s the injustice of it all that gets to me. The hypocrisy. Not that I don’t do a stellar job of looking perfect on the outside and being a hot, raging mess beneath the surface. But I like to think that I’m different from my parents. I don’t want to act the way that I do. It’s just a coping mechanism for dealing with shit—a really dark coping mechanism. At least I’m not actually smashing anyone’s face in with my hockey stick, not yet anyway.

  I think what angers me the most is that despite everything I have followed his path. Does he think he’s won? Anyway, I’m here now and if it gets me away from him, so be it.

  Classes start the day after tomorrow, and as I pull onto campus and start unloading my truck, I take a deep breath in. It’s good to be back.

  My dorm is guys only but that doesn’t stop me from sneaking cute girls in. Next year I’ll be moving to a co-ed building—girls and guys separated by floors only. That will make it even easier to get laid, not that I have a hard time with it being a hockey superstar on campus. God, I do sound like my father. Ugh.

  “Hey, Stone!” one of the other guys calls out as he sees me unloading my gear. “You ready for the first game, man?”

  “I’m always ready to smash some net,” I say, purposefully making my confidence sound cocky. The people here love cocky. They love the fact that I am rich, talented, and too arrogant to be bothered. I’m not sure why people look up to characteristics like that. I certainly don’t. Most of the time, I am disgusted with myself. But—the rest of the time I lean into what I am becoming and embrace it as if my whole existence depends on it, because it does. Win games, get the money from my parents. Win games, get the girls in my bed. Win games, get anything I want. That’s the way this year is going to roll for me.

  “Where’s Coach?” I ask, wanting to start practice immediately. I’ll pay off some peon to do my homework for the first week or so of classes so that I can do extra practices and burn off the calories and stress from the winter break.

  “In his office, I think. But before you go getting too wrapped up in working out—there’s a party tomorrow. You coming?”

  I toss my head back and laugh.

  “Of course, I’m coming. It’s not a party unless I’m there is it?”

  “True that,” he nods with a grin.” See you there.”

  My dorm room is about as close to a college penthouse as you can get. I don’t have to share with anyone—one of the perks of having rich alumni parents that can buy their son favors on campus—and even persuaded the resident advisor on my floor to help me mount a flat screen. But even though I have my own room, it’s hardly ever empty.

  “Stone!” a high-pitched voice squeals as a girl runs up to me. She’s definitely come just to see me because girls don’t live in this building. I try for a fleeting moment to remember her name, but I can’t, and honestly it doesn’t matter.

  “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re back!”

  “Uh, hi. We’ve only been off-campus for two weeks,” I say, not stopping my unpacking to greet her, even though she looks like she was expecting a hug. I wonder if I slept with her. Sometimes it’s hard to tell because I’m usually high at most of those post-game parties that lead to sex.

 

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