Hated (Hearts of Stone #3) Read online

  I reached for my back pocket.

  Shit. I’d dropped my slingshot. Excuse me…Pauly’s slingshot.

  Before Austin could make his way to my porch and bang on my door, the sound of sirens echoed off in the distance. He turned toward his house as the flashing red and blue of a police car scattered light over the lawn and across his face. His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head in annoyance, casting a frustrated glance at my house before jogging over the grass toward his own.

  Staying low, I scurried into the living room to get a better view. I used the edge of the curtain to wipe the dust off the window so I could see better. Austin’s party guests trickled out of his house and gathered on his lawn. A few curious neighbors also came outside or surveyed the scene from their windows. As I watched everything unfold, I wondered how the police had gotten there so quickly.

  Maybe they heard a DiGorgio was back in town and they were on standby, a small voice muttered in my head.

  Austin met the officers at their car and began talking to them. He seemed angry enough that I worried he just might turn me in whether there was evidence against me or not.

  Fuck. I reached up and yanked my ponytail tighter in worry. I was going to end up in the back of a police car my first night home. This would be like giving my brothers the best Christmas present ever. They might not even mind making the trip to bail me out of jail as long as they had this to hold over my head for the rest of my life.

  But ten minutes later, after taking Austin’s statement and receiving a shake of his head, the cops left. Relief flooded my chest when I realized they weren’t going to interview any of the party guests. I was surprised the mouthy blonde hadn’t called an ambulance for herself. Austin went inside, and soon after, people began leaving. The excitement of the night was finally over.

  To be honest, I was a little disappointed.

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, I’d just gotten myself tucked back in bed when there was a heavy banging sound coming from the first floor. I reached under my bed and grabbed Jimmy’s old baseball bat. I’d shoved it under there earlier when I realized I’d have to leave the windows open if I didn’t want to suffocate in the sweltering heat. Without turning on the light, I crept down the stairs, staying close to the wall and scanning the darkness. As I got closer to the bottom, the banging started again, and I realized it was coming from the front door.

  My head dropped back in defeat, and my head knocked against the wall. Crap. Maybe Austin had pressed charges and sent the police for me after all.

  Before opening the door, I peeked out the side window and saw Austin on my front porch. He looked fucking furious.

  Satisfaction settled deep in my gut for his reaction at least.

  He raised his fist to beat on the door again and I swung it open, leaving him standing there with his hand raised like an angry Statue of Liberty.

  “I have a doorbell you know,” I told him. “You don’t have to beat the door down.” I leaned against the edge of the doorway, my hand resting on the top of the baseball bat, not quite threatening, but not quite meek either. I gave him a shit eating grin.

  The hand that had been raised to knock immediately dropped by his side where it curled into a tight fist. “I know it was you,” he growled in answer.

  “Of course it’s me.” I blinked innocently at him. “Who else would it be answering my door in the middle of the night?”

  He took a menacing step toward me, and I lifted my chin in defiance to keep my eyes on him. There was no way I was going to give him the satisfaction of intimidating me. I wouldn’t give him so much as an inch.

  “You dropped something, Francesca,” he said, snarling my name like it was a pile of shit he’d stepped in. I schooled my expression into one of indifference even though he knew I hated when he used my given name. He held up Pauly’s slingshot between us.

  I looked at it. “That’s not mine, Beethoven,” I countered, hurling his awful, pretentious middle name at him like a backhand. And honestly, I was telling the truth. If he looked at the handle, he’d see Pauly’s name scribbled on it in messy letters, not mine.

  He took another step toward me, and when I refused to step away in response, his hard body pushed into me, pressing me backward. His arm lifted and braced against the wood behind me. His glasses were gone, but instead of looking like the heroic Christopher Reeve Superman of the eighties, he looked like the tragic version from Superman III—the one ready to go on a drinking binge and act like an epic asshole—all while looking drop dead gorgeous.

  Austin’s head bent down as he locked eyes with me and for a moment, I was sure he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to. Needed him to. It had been so long. My lips parted in expectation and want, the heat of him settled against me with aching familiarity.

  His head dipped lower, and my eyes fluttered shut as his lips hovered next to my ear. “Francesca?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

  I’d never liked my given name. It was too girly and formal and so unlike me. But when he said it like that, I kind of wanted to be the girl that could make him say my name that way over and over again. Forever.

  “Yes?” My response was so vulnerable. So unlike me.

  “If you want a war, you’ve got one, sweetheart.” His sentence ended in a sneering growl as he pushed away from me and took a step back.

  I blinked my eyes open. Sweetheart? Oh hell no. I was going to rip his balls off.

  “What?” Irritation shot the word out of my mouth like I was snapping a towel at him. There was no way I was going to let him get away with calling me “sweetheart.” I was not some insignificant tramp who fetched him beers at the local bar while wearing Hooters shorts.

  Austin grabbed my hand and lifted it firmly, but not roughly. He turned it over so I could see the traces of red paint on my fingertips that I hadn’t noticed before. One of the paintballs must have broken inside the bag while I was in the middle of my assault.

  “I know it was you,” he said.

  I snatched my hand out of his grip and looked at him like he was insane. “You don’t know anything,” I huffed.

  He reached for my hair and even though I leaned back out of his reach, he managed to free a leaf from my tangled ponytail. “It was you,” he said brandishing the evidence from the woods.

  I shrugged. “Then press charges.”

  His lip curled with a smile that held a wicked promise. I’d never him look so devious. Austin was laid back, the one who let things roll off him like water off a duck’s back.

  “What fun would that be?” He stepped away and held my gaze, his eyes blazing. “If you want a prank war, I’m happy to oblige.”

  I didn’t want a prank war. I wanted the old Austin back.

  I scowled at him and crossed my arms. “A prank war? What are we? Ten?”

  He chuckled darkly and turned to walk down the steps. My slingshot was tucked in his back pocket, which was covered in paint splatters. “You started this,” he warned, throwing a look at me over his shoulder as he avoided the broken step.

  I barked out a laugh. “Hardly. You’re the one who was keeping me up all damn night.”

  Putting his hand on the banister, he turned to face me, taunting me with a cocky grin. “In your dreams, darlin’.”

  Sweetheart and darlin’? He really had a death wish. I stiffened in annoyance. “Not likely, twat sniffer,” I said, pulling out one of Pauly’s favorite insults. “Speaking of twats, I think your girlfriend is probably wondering where you are. She needs you to come kiss her boo boo.”

  His expression darkened for a moment before he wrangled it back into careless bravado and gave me a smirk. “Jealous?”

  Yes. I forced a look of exasperation. “You can sniff whatever you want. I just thought you had better taste.”

  “I guess I’m not known for my taste in women,” he shot back.

  His comment hit me dead center, and I wondered if he could see me slowly bleeding from the crippling words he’d just flun
g my way. As if he’d done no more than given me the weather forecast, he spun around and headed for his house, calling over his shoulder. “Watch your back, Francesca. This game is just getting started.”

  My hand instinctively moved to cover the spot where my erratic heartbeats were stuttering and tripping as I watched the only boy I’d ever loved walk away, knowing he had the ability to deliver the fatal blow that could destroy my heart for good.

  Watch my back? More like watch my heart.

  The boy I fell in love with? He hated me.

  If I ever thought I could trust him with the secret I’d been keeping for the last four years, he’d just taken that urge and drop kicked it. I’d always thought that one day he might give me a second chance, an opportunity to confess, an opportunity to be forgiven. But this bitter, cruel man? He wasn’t my Austin anymore.

  As I shut the door, things became clear to me. I had made the right choice all those years ago, and Austin didn’t deserve to know the sacrifice I had made for him.

  — AUSTIN —

  4. MIDNIGHT SNACK

  EIGHT PLUS YEARS AGO — FALL 2008

  FRESHMAN YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL

  Frankie’s dad was in jail again. She acted like she didn’t care, but I knew her too well to fall for the aloof attitude that she put on for everyone else. As hard as it was to believe, even after all his mistakes, Frankie loved her dad. And in his own way, he loved her too. He just loved cheating at life more.

  She hitched her bag over her shoulder as we made our way through the parking lot. This is where it would start and she was already putting on the emotional armor. Harassment was something she was, unfortunately, way too familiar with. She was a high school freshman with an attitude and a sketchy home life. She got her fair share of harsh words on a daily basis. But today? It would be a free-for-all. Her dad was arrested on Friday night and our town had the entire weekend to spread the news. If history were any indicator, today would be the worst of it, and Frankie was ready to do battle.

  We’d barely gotten ten feet from my car before the whispering started. Cruel, hungry eyes followed her, but she merely pulled her shoulders back and acted like she didn’t notice.

  “Hey, DiGorgio!” Jared Bennett called. “Heard your mom was in Lucky Pawn this weekend.” His grin was slimy, just like the rest of him. “Heard she was hocking her wedding ring to bail your dad out again.”

  “Oh?” Frankie asked with a tilt of her head as she spared a look in his direction. “That’s funny. I heard your mom was at Baker’s Pharmacy. Was she looking for a cure for another case of crotch critters your dad keeps bringing home?” Frankie tsked and shook her head. “Tell him most women like flowers, not the clap.”

  The entire town knew that Jared Bennett Sr. was a manwhore—including his wife. But everyone pretended not to notice since he was a big time lawyer downtown. No one wanted to get on his bad side. The DiGorgios, however, didn’t have that luxury. They’d been on his bad side ever since Bennett Sr. had prosecuted Frankie’s dad and earned him his first jail sentence. Following in his father’s footsteps, Jared thought it was his duty to persecute Frankie.

  When Jared opened his mouth to retort, Frankie gave him a fake pout. “Honestly, it’s a shame his dick hasn’t fallen off yet. That would save your mom a lot of trouble.”

  Jared’s face scrunched from the fury surging through him. “Fuck you, DiGorgio!”

  She laughed. “I don’t think so, Bennett. I heard you like your dad’s sloppy seconds. And I like my playground disease-free.” She gestured to her lower half, and I had to laugh. No one could trade insults like Frankie DiGorgio. She solved her own problems. She never backed down from a fight. And she was always crude.

  Jared lunged for her, but his friends held him back. Letting Jared antagonize Frankie with insults was one thing, but she had three older brothers. And no one wanted to be on the receiving end of one of their temper tantrums. Not even Jared Bennett. It was a well-known fact that if anyone dared touch Frankie, that would likely be the last thing they ever did.

  “Do yourself a favor, DiGorgio!” Jared called after us as we walked away, his friends still holding him back. “Fuck Stone and his brother while you have a chance. Their daddy is loaded. Maybe they’ll pay you for it so you can get bail money for your old man.”

  Frankie stiffened beside me, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know he’d gotten to her.

  “Don’t overpay, Stone!” Jared continued, yelling after me once it was clear that Frankie wasn’t going to give him a response. “Make sure you get your money’s worth out of that cheap whore. You and your brother both!”

  I stopped and turned to face him. I knew Frankie didn’t need me to rescue her. But for once, I wanted to defend her. To let everyone know they were wrong about her. That she was worth more than the shitty words they threw at her. She was worth more than what this tiny town had to offer.

  “Come on,” she said with a huff, grabbing my arm and pulling me along. “You have a big performance this weekend. Your mother will literally shit a barrel of rabid monkeys if you bust your hand up on that Neanderthal and can’t play your cello.”

  “It’d be worth it.” I gritted my teeth. “I can’t let him talk to you that way, Frankie.”

  “Course you can. They’re only words.” She turned to look at me, a devilish smile on her lips. “Besides, why get into a fight and risk suspension when there are so many other simple ways to get revenge?”

  I raised my eyebrow in curiosity and my mouth lifted into a half grin. “Simple? Nothing with you is ever simple.”

  She reached into her bag and pulled out a tub of Icy Hot, waggling her eyebrows at me. “Jared thinks he’s hot stuff. I want to make his dreams come true.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked, worry creeping into my voice. I didn’t care what Frankie did to Jared. He deserved whatever he had coming. But I also knew that if she got caught, she might get more than a suspension. Frankie had a record of misbehavior almost as long as her dad’s.

  She shrugged. “You’ll see.”

  Stuffing the tub back in her bag, we continued, ignoring the taunts that echoed behind us.

  “Do you need help?” I offered.

  Frankie huffed and rolled her eyes before smiling at me. “Austin. We’ve discussed this before. You’re like the worst prankster ever. They’d be able to see the guilt written all over your face.”

  “That’s not—”

  She put her hand on my arm. “I like you the way you are. You’re the only good thing I know. I don’t ever want you to change.”

  “Frankie—”

  “Don’t give me pretty words, Austin. I’m not that type of girl. Come on. The bell’s about to ring.”

  She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the school, sending me on my way while she rushed off to find her brother, Pauly.

  By the end of the day, Frankie had served her own justice. With the help of Pauly—who was on the football team—she snuck into the locker room during seventh period. I don’t know how she knew which locker was Jared’s or how she got it open, but she managed. I heard the rumors later on. Five minutes into football practice, Jared went running off the field and into the locker room like his ass was on fire. It turns out his balls actually were since Frankie had given his jock strap the Icy Hot special treatment. He had to spend the rest of the day soaking in an ice bath. The entire week he walked around school like a cowboy. Apparently, his sensitive undercarriage couldn’t handle the heat.

  And that was the moment I realized that actions spoke louder than words. Especially when you were Frankie fucking DiGorgio.

  ***

  I flipped on the light in my room and crossed the wood floor, stopping in front of my dresser to toss the slingshot on it. I turned around to lean against the edge, and my gaze fell on the long leather case that was carefully placed in the corner—my old cello. Dallas and I each had several different types of cellos on hand at our house in Vegas—classic and el
ectric ones in different colors and shapes for different performances—but I hadn’t brought any of them home. If Dallas couldn’t come back with me, I didn’t want any reminders of what we’d built together either.

  But this cello. This was the one I’d learned to play on. This was the one that Frankie had sat and watched me suffer over more times than I could remember. And like Frankie, this cello hadn’t felt the touch of my hands in four years. There was a part of me that wanted to open the case, take out the familiar curves and strings and just play. But I knew it wouldn’t bring me comfort. The cello had never been my dream. It was my mom’s. And Dallas’s. And when I chose to follow him and help make his dreams come true, I thought I’d only been putting mine on hold. Instead, I abandoned them. And those kinds of dreams weren’t the kind where I could just take up where I left off. Sometimes when things were broken, they were broken for good.

  My cello only reminded me of all the things I’d given up and lost.

  I gave the case one last annoyed look and then turned away. I needed a distraction. That’s why I’d come back. This town was the one place where I’d always felt at home, and even though everything was different and falling apart, I was determined to fill the emptiness. Fighting with Frankie DiGorgio was the first time in months that I’d truly felt anything but completely hollowed out. And although it was both painful and infuriating to see her, I needed to feel something other than loss. I needed her, just like I had all those years ago.

  I pulled open my desk drawer and rummaged through it until I found an old key attached to a Red Hot Chili Peppers key chain. The lyrics of “Under the Bridge” echoed through my mind and I remembered the day that I had waited for her to come to Vegas, the way I felt when she just never showed up. I never wanted to feel that way again.