The Jock & The Wallflower

Chapter 14: Avery

Avery’s POV

"Come with me to a party," Tara said, barging into my room without knocking.

I looked up from the chemistry textbook I'd been reading, raising an eyebrow at her dramatic entrance. "Hello to you too."

"I'm serious. There's a party tonight, and I need moral support."

"What kind of party?"

"Bryson's party. Specifically."

I nearly dropped my book. "What? Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm asking you nicely." She plopped down on my bed, giving me her best puppy dog eyes. "Jake's going to be there, and I think I might finally work up the courage to ask him out. But I need backup."

"Tara—"

"Besides," she continued, her eyes taking on a mischievous glint, "we both know Bryson will be all over you the second you walk through the door. And what better way to mess with Brooke's head than showing up right in front of her face? Does that sound good or what?"

The idea should have been appalling. The last thing I wanted was to voluntarily put myself in a situation where I'd have to watch Bryson play the perfect boyfriend to someone else.

But the thought of Brooke's expression when I walked into her territory... that had a certain appeal.

"I don't know," I said, closing my textbook. "It seems like asking for trouble."

"It's asking for fun. Come on, when's the last time you went to a party?"

"There's probably a good reason for that."

"Avery." Tara's voice turned serious. "You've been back for weeks, and what have you done? Studied, gone to one soccer game, and holed up in your room. Come on, live a little."

I stared at her, weighing my options. I could stay home, finish reading about reaction kinetics, and go to bed early. Safe, boring, exactly what the old Avery would have done.

Or I could go to this party, show Brooke Thompson that I wasn't hiding anymore, and maybe have some actual fun for once.

"Fine," I heard myself say. "But I'm driving myself, and if it gets weird, I'm leaving."

"Deal!" Tara jumped up, already heading for my closet. "Now, what are you wearing? Because that chemistry textbook look isn't going to cut it."

~0~

Two hours later, I was standing in front of Bryson's house, second-guessing every decision that had led me here. The music was loud enough to hear from the street, and there were already cars parked on every available inch of the curb.

"Remember," Tara said, checking her lipstick in her phone camera one more time, "confidence is key. You belong here just as much as anyone else."

"Right," I muttered, smoothing down the black dress Tara had insisted I wear. It was shorter than I usually preferred, but it made me feel confident in a way I wasn't used to.

The front door was already open, music and laughter spilling out into the night. We walked in and I immediately spotted the usual crowd. The football players, cheerleaders, the kind of people who'd always seemed to exist in a different universe from me.

"Drinks?" Tara asked, pointing toward the kitchen.

"Sure."

We made our way through the crowd, and I tried to ignore the way people were looking at me. Some with curiosity, some with recognition, a few with expressions I couldn't quite read.

In the kitchen, Tara immediately started mixing something that looked lethal while I scanned the room. No sign of Bryson yet.

Not that I was looking for him.

"Here," Tara said, handing me a red Solo cup. "Liquid courage."

I took a sip and immediately regretted it. Whatever she'd made was strong enough to strip paint.

"Tara, what is this?"

"Magic. Now come on, let's go find Jake."

We moved back into the main party area, and that's when I saw him. Bryson was in the living room, one arm casually draped around Brooke's shoulders while he talked to Carter and Mason. He looked relaxed, happy, every inch the popular quarterback with his perfect girlfriend.

I felt sick.

"You okay?" Tara asked, following my gaze.

"Fine," I lied, taking another sip of the horrible drink. "Just fine."

But I wasn't fine. Every time I looked at them, every time I saw Brooke laugh at something he said or the way he automatically pulled her closer when other guys walked by, it felt like someone was twisting a knife in my chest.

So I kept drinking.

By the time Jake had finally appeared and Tara had dragged him off to have what she called "a very important conversation," I was definitely feeling the effects of whatever toxic mixture she'd created. The edges of everything seemed softer, the music louder, the press of bodies around me more noticeable.

"You look familiar."

I turned to find a guy I didn't recognize standing way too close. He was tall, probably in college, with the kind of confident smile that suggested he thought he was more charming than he actually was.

"Do I?" I asked, taking a step back.

He followed, closing the distance again. "Yeah, definitely. You go to Westfield?"

"I do."

"Thought so. I'm Brad. I graduated last year, but I know I've seen you around." His eyes traveled up and down my body in a way that made my skin crawl. "You're not exactly forgettable."

"Thanks," I said flatly, looking around for an escape route.

"You want to get some air? It's pretty crowded in here."

"I'm good, thanks."

But he wasn't taking the hint. If anything, he moved closer, one hand reaching out to touch my arm.

"Come on, don't be like that. I'm just trying to be friendly."

"And I'm just trying to enjoy the party."

"We could enjoy it together."

His hand was definitely on my arm now, and the combination of alcohol and growing panic was making it hard to think clearly. I tried to pull away, but he held on.

"Let go of me," I said, loud enough that a few people nearby turned to look.

"Relax," he said, his grip tightening. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to get to know you better."

As I tried to push him off, more panic began rising.

"Get the f**k away from her."

The voice came from behind me, low and dangerous, and I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Bryson appeared at my side like he'd materialized out of thin air, his expression darker than I'd ever seen.

"No," I said quickly, the alcohol making me brave and stupid. "Leave me alone. Go back to your girlfriend."

"You heard her," Brad smirked, confidently. "She wants to stay here with me."

"She's drunk," Bryson said, his voice deadly calm.

"So what?" Brad shrugged. "She's having fun."

Before I could blink, Bryson slammed him against the wall, his forearm pressed across Brad’s throat.

"When I tell you to get the f**k away from her,"his voice was barely above a whisper, "you get the f**k away from her. Are we clear?"

Brad nodded frantically, and Bryson released him.

Brad stumbled away, rubbing his throat and shooting dark looks over his shoulder.

"I didn't need you to—"

"Yes, you did," Bryson said, and before I could protest further, he'd scooped me up in his arms.

"Put me down," I protested, "I can walk." But my words sounded weak even to me.

"No, you can't."

He was already carrying me through the crowd and the alcohol was making everything spin. I closed my eyes shut, trying to push down the nausea that was now rolling within me.

I could feel myself checking out, but tried to hold on.

I soon heard Bryson speaking again, but wasn’t sure what he was saying.

As I felt us going up some stairs, my eyes flung open, suddenly feeling on high alert. "Where are you taking me?" I said as I tried hard to familiarize myself but instead felt even dizzier.

"My room."

My mouth fell open. "I don't want to go to your room."

"Too bad."

He kicked open a door at the end of the hall and carried me inside, setting me down on his bed. The room spun, but I could make out some familiar details: football trophies on the dresser, the same navy blue comforter he'd had since middle school.

He disappeared and came back with a glass and sat on the edge of the bed. “Drink this."

"I don't want anything from you.”

"Avery, drink the damn water."

Something in his tone made me take the glass and sip it obediently. The cool liquid felt good against my throat, and as I finished drinking, some of the fuzzy edges in my brain started to clear.

"Better?" he asked.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he said, anger evident in his voice. "Coming to this party, drinking like that, letting some random piece of s**t put his hands on you?"

"I was having fun," I said defensively.

"That wasn't fun, Avery. That was dangerous."

"Since when do you care?"

The question hung in the air between us, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. Then Bryson ran a hand through his hair and looked at me like I'd asked the stupidest question in the world.

"Since always, Avery," he said quietly. "Always."