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"Rivey," he says in a low, pained voice."I just… I just came by to see how you were coping with everything. And I wanted to tell you that I never took the money my dad offered me over you. I only broke up with you to go to college and get my degree. Not like them," he murmurs, shaking his head. "I would never take money over you. In fact, I’ve been away making a better future for us.” I blink rapidly when he emphasizes the wordus, and I wrinkle my nose.
"Like them? For us?" I indulge him just this once, hanging on to his words and ignoring my professor yapping in my ear.
Like I give a shit if Van took the money over being with me. That ship sailed a long time ago. Besides, that's all on him and his problem—not mine. He can do what he wants. And by the crease in his forehead, I'm not giving him the reaction he wanted.
"Yeah. I…listen, I wasn't supposed to say anything, but Kieran was bragging about the massive check his mom gave him to leave you," he says, watching my unmoving face. “And I would never do that. I went to Europe on my dad’s dime for an internship, and now I have every arsenal in my pocket for us to have a better future. You, me, and the baby.”
Even when it feels like a knife stabs through my fucking heart at the sound of his name. Kieran. The name I've refused to utter for months now. It feels like ash on my tongue the more my brain repeats it. Asher. Kieran. Callum. Rad. Shit. My stomach rolls, knotting around the memories we've shared.
Taking a deep breath, I shove that shit down as far as it'll go and lock them away. I'll remember them for Lyric and tell her every story I know, but I won't let Van barge into my place of employment and undo seven crucial months of mending my heart back together. Thanks to pregnancy hormones, it took many nights of crying myself to sleep and cursing their names for my heart to heal finally.
"He said that if they left you here, she'd pay for their trip to California and help their living situation and everything. I can't believe they took the money over you." Shaking his head, he runs a hand over the back of his neck, dropping his eyes to the floor with shame.
"Nice story," I say with a shrug, busting through my bullshit meter for the day. "They did what they did. That's fine. They can live their dreams in California without me, regardless if they took a paycheck over a human being or two." My nose wrinkles when I rub my grumbling stomach.
I see red when I roll my eyes, huffing at his mere existence. I'm holding back the angry tears welling in my eyes. Again, thanks to my pregnancy hormones throwing my body into some whacky ass emotions, I cry at every tiny inconvenience. Anger rises to the surface at the thought of those jackasses taking a big, fat check instead of hanging around. If I hazard a guess, I bet Gloria suggested the restraining orders, too. Among whatever else she thought of. Whatever. That's in the past, and this is the present.
Leaning forward with desperation, Van attempts to grab my hand. "I can take care of you, Rivey. I can…I have money. You'll have a good place to live, and we could be together. Half the town thinks it's my kid, anyway. I want… I want that," he murmurs, pleading with his eyes.
I blink a few times, letting his words register in my mind. For the first time, I'm seeing the true psycho he is. Like, really? He wants to take care of me after he stalked me and watched me for months when the guys were here. Even after the unwanted kiss and the groping. I knew he was a little unhinged in the head, but this takes the fucking cake. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he had something to do with this entire situation. Minus the pregnancy, of course. His tiny flesh flute didn't come anywhere near me. Thank God.
"Your kid?" I yelp, kicking my damn brain into gear.
"Yeah, I mean. They saw us at your house, babe. They know…." He waves a wrist, alluding to the horizontal tango we most definitely didn't do that night.
I grind my teeth and curl my fingers into fists. If I let my hands have free reign of the situation, I'll stab him in the throat. And there's no way I can go to prison now at seven months pregnant.
"You mean the kiss you forced on me. Or the way you cornered me in the kitchen? Or showing up uninvited? I could go on and on, but my answer would always be the same. Get fucked, Van. This isn't your kid. I'm not yours. And I'd really like to stab you right now." My eyes narrow when he swallows hard and takes a step back. Wise man, he's not underestimating me for once, probably because he's seen what my little knife can do and wants nothing to do with it.
"Jesus," he yelps, putting his hand in the air and staring at the knife in my hand.
Oh. Would you look at that? How'd that get there? I could really poke someone's eyes out with this, preferably Van's.
"I won't ask again. Please leave. I'm really, really not in the mood for people right now, and you're no exception." I shake my knife, making him lose all the color in his face.
"Fine. My offer still stands, even if you want to stab me. Shit," he says, bolting out the door like his ass is on fire.
Fuck. Finally, I can relax and pay attention to class. Maybe in five minutes, I'll head up to my apartment and grab the chocolate chip cookie cake I snagged at the grocery shop for cheap. It may expire tomorrow, but it sure as hell won't last that long in my home. Those things are my damn kryptonite right now. Take away the cookie cakes, and you might as well take away my life. Oh, and milkshakes. God. I can't shake this sweet tooth plaguing my every waking moment. It's no wonder I've already gained thirty pounds and am still growing. But fuck it, I'm building a tiny human one day at a time. I'll happily eat my weight in food.
Movement outside the store makes a grumble work up my throat. Great. Two guys linger outside, scrunching their stupid noses at the neighborhood. Narrowing my eyes, I watch the tattooed one secure his phone in front of his jeans, almost on instinct. I snort. That won't do anything around here, but I'm not breathing a word of that. They're already trembling in their designer shoes, giving their fancy schmancy lifestyle away. Looking them up and down, I furrow my brows. They may not be from around Central City, but they're not from Lakeview either. These identical guys stick out like a sore thumb. A hint of familiarity slaps me in the face the longer I stare at them standing outside the window.
The door overhead finally rings, indicating they've entered and are ready to browse or stare at me in awe. I feign ignorance like I wasn't watching their every move.
"Welcome to Dead Records. If you need anything, my name is River. Just let me know," I say through a heavy, tired sigh, suddenly feeling the exhaustion weighing me down.
Now that I'm seated and staring at the shocked faces of the guys in front of me, I need a damn nap, which won't come anytime soon. Not only do I have to deal with customers, orders, and pregnancy, but I have to get through my classes.
"You're River Blue West?" one guy asks overly seriously, making my eyes snap to his similar moss-green eyes.
Whoever gave me that name should be shot–AKA–my father. It's bad enough that the entirety of the West clan is named after our father's favorite bands. But to give me the middle name too? Sucks.
I frown, scrunching my nose with suspicion and taking out my earbud. I don't know who these fuckers are, but I'm too tired and pregnant to deal with bullshit.
"Whoever you are," I say, cocking my head to the side and examining them with a calculating eye. "I'm not interested. You assholes keep coming to me thinking I can get you whatever you think, but that's not how it works. I am a West. One of over a dozen, and I’m not the West that can get you fucking famous." I shake my head, trying to set my earbud back in my ear to listen to my professor's rambling, but I stall when the colder-looking twin opens his mouth.
"I'm Zeppelin, and this is Seger. We're—"
"My fucking brothers. Yup! I've heard that one before," I say with realization, narrowing my eyes and scoffing, waving a hand. "It’s funny. Last I checked, my billionaire brothers were living it up in California and signing douchebags like Whispered Words to their label and not coming to bumbfuck nowhere, Illinois. It's almost laughable. You scammers will do anything to get a buck. But newsflash, dickweeds—I'm as broke as an unfunny joke," I grumble, scrunching my nose again as the other idiot bends at the waist, barking out a sharp laugh.
