I’m not surprised when she picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Willa. Still wanna meet up?”
“Want to? No. Need to? Yes. I’m already here.”
“Change in plans. Meet me at the abandoned warehouse past the high school.”
“Warehouse?”
“Yeah. The one that Axel Thorn used to have the fights at.”
The call goes silent when she doesn’t respond, and then it hits me, she probably has no idea what or who I am even talking about. I almost forgot that I’m talking to Willa Mack. A straight-A, straight-laced, straight-up saint. “Follow the road past the high school until you get to the end. You can’t miss it.” With that, I end the call.
My mind starts to wander to a dark place. What if she’s pressing charges? When the video first leaked, I thought for sure she would, but her parents wanted to keep things as quiet as possible and just let it blow over. It took a couple weeks, but eventually it did. Of course, that was at the end of the summer when she could still hide out in her house or at her family church and avoid any insults or vulgarity. Apparently a couple weeks ago, her mom fled town and no one has heard from her since. Willa now lives alone with her stepdad, the pastor, and is raised right by the Lord.
I wonder if people have been giving her a hard time now that school started back up. It’s been three months but surely some still remember. God, I wanted to strangle those assholes for doing that to me—to her.
I’ll never pretend to be a good man. I’ve done very bad things. I’ve got skeletons in my closet and blood on my hands. I’ve struggled to feel emotion since I was a kid. I seem to lack a moral compass because regret, anger, and pain don’t come easy to me. The biggest emotion that I lack is empathy. I do feel bad for what happened with Willa, so I like to think that’s a start at me beginning to feel something. But, the events of that day are not what started my downward spiral. My detachment from others started when I was nine years old.
It was the middle of summer and I was supposed to be keeping an eye on Colby, my four-year-old brother, while Mom took a shower. The neighbor kid came over and we got caught up in video games. I didn’t even realize what happened until Mom came downstairs and it was too late. Colby fell in the pool and drowned.
It was all my fault. It doesn’t matter what anyone tried to tell me, I killed my little brother. Mom blamed herself and I think Dad did the same. ‘Who lets a nine-year-old boy babysit?’ That was what he kept repeating that day. Over and over and over again. Mom and Dad divorced a year later. Apparently their marriage couldn’t handle the grief. I grew an ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude, and the rest is history. We never talk about it. Not just me and the guys—my family doesn’t talk about it. It’s like Colby never existed, and in my heart and mind, he never did. We sort of just continued to live our lives without him. Sometimes I’m not even sure that I’d call this living. Most days I feel like I’m just surviving.
Pulling up to the warehouse, I immediately spot Willa. Her car is backed in and her petite little body hides behind the steering wheel. I drive up next to her. Close enough that I’m hoping we can just stay put and roll down the windows. Really don’t wanna get out.
I roll my window down and gesture for her to do the same. “What’s up?” I ask. Her eyes blink rapidly and her lips are curled up in a friendly smile. I’ve only said two words to the girl, yet she looks like she’s on the verge of tears even while wearing a smile. “Listen, Willa. If this is about that night. I’ve said I’m sorry and I thought we moved on from this.”
Her head shakes, no. “It’s not about that. Well, it is. But not exactly.” She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. I’m pretty sure I intimidate her and I’m not sure why that bothers me. I prefer most of the world look at me as a tyrant, but for some reason, I want her to look at me differently.
Resting my arm on the windowsill, I watch and wait. “Alright then. Spit it out.”
She rubs her hands together then folds them in her lap. “I’m not really sure how.”
Sweeping my hand in a circular motion, my brows raise. “Come on, Willa. I ain't got all day.” There it is again. The jackass in me that speaks before he thinks. It’s no wonder she’s fearful of me. I’m an impulsive asshole. Sure, some deserve it, but not Willa. She's as pure and as kind as they come. Frail and pale as snow, with a cross around her neck. After everything I did to her, she’s still sitting here choking on her words because I make her uncomfortable. Most girls would be slinging my dick back and forth with their windshield wipers.
“I’m…” she pauses. Looks at me, then her eyes move back to her lap. “I’m pregnant, Lars.”
I don’t think I heard her right. I lean forward, offering her my ear. “Come again.”
Her head lifts and her eyes meet mine. “I’m pregnant.” A single tear slides down her cheek as my mind repeats the words over and over again.
I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. That’s what she said. She’s lying. This is her way of getting back at me. Laughter erupts from deep in my stomach. “Good one. I’m not falling for that shit. Look, if you’re still pissed
