Reluctance (The Exchange #2) Read online

  Reluctance

  {The Exchange Series}

  Book Two

  a novella by

  M.B. Feeney

  Copyright © 2015 M.B. Feeney

  All rights reserved.

  COVER DESIGN BY: © J.C. CLARKE

  COVER ART: © The Graphics Shed

  Copyright © M.B. Feeney 2015

  Published by M.B. Feeney

  The right of M.B. Feeney to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

  License Notes: This novel is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This print may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Acknowledgments

  Tammy. Thank you for being the star that you always are. I wouldn’t get half of what I get done without you. You’re the best cheerleader an author could ever ask for. Lucy and Vikki, thank you so much for being amazing pre readers and catching my silly mistakes. I’m just glad you didn’t tell me that Aiden’s story sucked.

  To everyone who has supported me in the last twelve months (and longer), thank you doesn’t seem to be enough. It’s because of my words I have your support, yet I can’t seem to find the words to express enough gratitude.

  To anyone who has bought this book. It may be short, and it may be fluffy, I just hope you enjoy it and maybe relate to it a little.

  Dedication

  I never planned to write a series, but people asked for more. This is for them.

  Also, this is dedicated to YOU, yeah, you. The one reading this right now.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Her Other Works

  Prologue

  Dear Mr. King,

  As discussed during our meeting this afternoon, I have put in writing our agreed schedule of meetings.

  We shall meet every Wednesday, during your Sociology period. Mr. Greene has agreed to provide me with handouts each week so you are still able to keep up with this class. The last thing anyone wants is for your grades to suffer; I understand how important getting into a good college is to you.

  The journal I gave you is going to be our main discussion point during our meetings, so you will need to start writing your entries straight away. Don’t worry about the chronology of events, just get them written down. Please be as honest as possible with your entries. If you can’t tell yourself the truth, then it will be even harder for myself and anyone else to believe you, and in turn, help you.

  Each week, we shall read one or two of these entries, depending on their length, to help you assess your anger and depression levels behind each. As I said when we were face to face, I don’t want you to over think when writing the entries, just get the words down. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense, we can work on that.

  Tentatively, our meetings are to continue for six weeks. I realize this means there will be a fortnight’s gap during the Christmas break, but sadly, to ensure you get the guidance needed, it is imperative we start straight away.

  I understand the issues you have with your brother go beyond simple ‘sibling rivalry’ and I also appreciate that you feel you need to keep it close to your chest. I do, however, hope that in time, you will learn to trust me and realize that I’m here to help rather than to be a ‘pain in the ass’, as many students see me.

  Please, Mr. King, co-operate with me during these meetings and in writing your journal entries. The sooner you work through the issues that you have, the sooner you will be able to continue on in your studies and achieve the goals you hold in such high esteem for college and your adult life.

  Just to make you aware, a copy of this letter has been sent to both the principal and your parents.

  Yours sincerely

  Ms. M Jones, Guidance Counsellor

  —∫∫∫∫—

  December 2011

  So, Ms. “It’s MIZZ not MISS” Jones gave me this journal. Apparently writing my feelings down will help me deal with my ‘anger issues’ and the ‘depression’ I’ve been suffering since Jessie ended things between us.

  I admit, I am angry, and have been for two months, but I’m not depressed. Yeah, I was hurt and shit, but now I’m just angry. All the time; an emotion I’m not used to feeling so much. Up until now, I’ve never done the ‘angry’ stuff; never even knew I had a temper as such.

  She’s ‘advised’ me to start at the beginning as much as I can with these dumb entries. I don’t want to do it, but as we have to read them together at our weekly meetings, I have no choice. At least one entry a day. . . This whole thing sucks ass.

  There’s no point starting at the very beginning, though; back then everything was good; real good. No, I think my seventeenth birthday is where I need to start this thing. . .

  Aiden

  Chapter One

  December 2011

  I’ve been sat staring at this stupid book for almost an hour. It’s like it’s taunting me from my desk, waiting for me to ‘open up’ and all that shit.

  When Mizz. Jones gave it to me, I nearly threw it back at her. I don’t need to share my feelings. I know how I feel and that’s enough for me. No one else needs to know. Why can’t these kinda things stay private?

  So what if I attacked my dick of a brother on school grounds? I would have run him over if I’d been in my car. The douche got what he deserved, and I would have given him more if the principal hadn’t pulled me off.

  No one needs to know why; I doubt they’d believe me over Mr. Perfection, anyway. Why would ‘Big Man on Campus’, Tyler do wrong enough to deserve a beating? I just wish I managed to break his jaw rather than dislocate it.

  Fuck this. I’m done with this stupid journal.

  Aiden

  —∫∫∫∫—

  December 2011

  Apparently my anger is an ‘issue’ that needs dealing with. I went into school yesterday and told Mizz. Jones that I wasn’t writing the dumb entries. She tried to reason with me, and I ended up yelling at her. Dad was called into school and when he got back home, gave me a lecture about doing what Mizz. Jones tells me or I lose all privileges at home. So, I have to write something. . .

  So, my seventeenth birthday.

  Taking Jessie out with the money Mom and Dad gave me for my birthday in October was going to be something special. I’d told her to dress up nicely, and Dad even lent me one of his suits. Knowing she preferred it, I ditched my glasses and put in the contacts that irritated my eyes. I wanted it to be perfect; for her, not for me.

  Eight months dating a cheerleader was something I’d never expected to happen to me. Ty was the one all the girls flocked to; especially the hot ones, but for some reason, Jessie Evans chose
me, and stayed.

  For the first couple of weeks, I kept waiting for the laughing to start, to be told it was all a joke or a bet, but it never happened. No, things between us only ever got better and better; stronger and stronger. We were in love, and I didn’t care about the stares we still got at school or the whispers about a cheerleader dating a nerd.

  The month before, as an early birthday present, she took me to her parent’s beach house for the weekend. It was just us, and we made the most of it. Having been each other’s firsts, we were still in that ‘raging hormones’ stage and at any chance we could, we’d get down and dirty – her words, not mine.

  I was on a total high for at least a week after we got back. It may have been cold, but the beach house had been amazing. We spent most of the weekend either in bed or in the hot tub. That was an experience, one we repeated again and again. Bubbles certainly add a certain. . . Intensity. Especially, when skin is already flushed from arousal. It was pretty much the perfect weekend.

  We were happy.

  So I thought.

  I. . . I can’t do this. I just. . . Mizz. Jones can bite me. Dad can withdraw as many privileges as he wants. They can’t make me write this stuff down. I’ll go to the meetings, but this shit is personal.

  Aiden

  —∫∫∫∫—

  December 2011

  So it seems that my feelings about this entire crappy situation need to be addressed in this little brown book rather than discussed verbally. I think that the whole thing’s a crock of shit, but if I don’t along with it, it could damage my chances of getting into a good college. Mizz. Jones has to write a report which will go in my file. She can’t discuss details unless I give her my permission – yeah, right, but it will divulge if I’m ‘unwilling to work through my problems’.

  It’s frustrating. No matter how much I shout at her in the hopes she’ll yell back; give me a reason to walk away, she’s never once raised her voice. It’s frustrating as hell.

  All I’ve ever wanted to do is go to a damn good college to study world history and get out of this place. Mom and Dad worked hard to save up enough of a decent college fund just in case there was no possibility of a full ride. There is no way in hell I’m going to jeopardize that.

  So, Jessie. My seventeenth birthday was the day she broke my heart.

  I just read that line back and realize it reads so much more dramatically than I planned it to.

  As I mentioned before, that was going to be the night I made it clear how I felt. I’d told her I loved her before then, but I don’t think she’d ever really believed me. I’d even bought one of those eternity rings to give to her. A promise for the future, as it were.

  As far as I knew, I was going to spend the rest of my life with her. It was all I wanted from our relationship, and had done for the last couple of months.

  “Aiden, I have something to tell you.” Is it weird that I can still quote her? “This. . . This thing between us. It needs to end.” I remember staring at her, my hand in my pocket holding the ring box in a tight grip.

  “It’s not you, it’s me.” Yeah, she went there; too many lame assed romance books had rubbed off on her. I told her to cut the bullshit and tell me the truth. “I’ve met someone else.”

  Words I’d expected to hear from the beginning; to be told she’d made a mistake choosing me. I didn’t want to know, but I asked who it was anyway.

  “Your brother.” It was then I passed out. According to a friend who had been working as a bus boy in the restaurant, I just keeled over to one side and fell out of my seat. Jessie was just sat there watching, crying. He said it spoke volumes that she didn’t help me.

  Aiden

  Chapter Two

  December 2011

  So, Mizz. Jones read that last entry out loud yesterday at our meeting. I felt like such an idiot when she asked me why I passed out. It wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded, because it wasn’t like I collapsed and fell off my chair, more like I blacked out and slid from the seat. It was hard to explain to her, hard to explain to anyone, really.

  I remember hearing Jessie’s words, then feeling like I was surrounded by a dense fog. I could hear Jessie’s voice, an edge of panic to it, calling my name. According to her my skin went gray and I kind of slumped out of my seat. I never asked her why she didn’t help me after. I was only out for a minute, but she stayed in her chair the entire time. I never spoke to her directly, but someone had called the EMT, and this was what she’d told them as they were giving me the once over. I felt stupid. They blamed me holding my breath and it was like a panic attack. I wasn’t panicking, I was pissed. There was a clear difference.

  Looking back, her announcement wasn’t that much of a surprise. I mean, Tyler always wanted the girl he couldn’t have. Whenever Jessie came over to the house, he would flirt relentlessly with her; tell her how pretty she looked and everything. When she wasn’t around, he would ask me how much I was paying her to be seen in public with me, trying to demean my relationship with her. It didn’t start straight away beyond his shock at Jessie and me getting together. When it became clear that things between us were getting more serious, he began to get nastier with his comments and snipes. Most of the time, I was able to shut him out, but every now and then, I bit back with a comment myself.

  The amount of times I had to stop myself from punching him was numerous, but I always managed to restrain myself. All he wanted was a reaction from me— something I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of. No, I kept myself in check and my emotions under control. I did begin using the punching bag in the basement, though. Dad set it up when Ty started to get serious about sports and training. I’d never used it before, not really caring about brawn or bulking my body up, but his words had an effect. Not only was it great exercise, which I’m not ashamed to say buffed me up, but it was a great release for anger. I just pictured his face on the bag and let loose.

  Jessie was the only person I let get close enough to notice my split and bruised knuckles, but I never told her the truth behind my reasons for taking a sudden interest in boxing. Other friends noticed the physical changes in me, but I played it all down to needing to de-stress after intense studying sessions. I didn’t want anyone to know how much he got to me.

  Ty had always managed to belittle me as we grew up, playing on his living up to his role of ‘big brother’, but using it to poke at me and try to get a reaction from me. He was above average height at just over six feet tall, but I passed him, reaching six feet three at seventeen. I’m still growing, something he hated. This was his main choice of ammunition, that and the fact that I’m “skinny as a rake.” The way he made it sound was that I wasn’t man enough, because I wasn’t into sports or had muscles upon muscles.

  When I started dating Jess, he ramped up his barbs that were no longer thinly veiled as “looking out for my bro”. No, every day was a new game of twenty questions about “why did she agree to date you?” or “It’s got to be a bet”. Hearing that over and over for six months or more, I started to believe it, regardless of how much Jessie tried to put me at ease. We stopped hanging out at my house; spending time together at her house or over at the food court at the mall. Not many people knew how much she loved to read, so when she had practice, I would wait for her in the school library where we’d spend an hour or so, browsing through the stacks, stealing a kiss here and there.

  We had much more in common than many people realized as she only let people see what she wanted them to. So hearing it directly from her that she was choosing him over me hurt like hell.

  That’s enough. . .

  Aiden

  —∫∫∫∫—

  January 2012

  Christmas break was tough. Ty dumped Jessie on Christmas Eve after about a month of dating, and amazingly, she thought it would be a great idea to call me, crying, begging to speak to him because he was screening his calls.

  I mean, come on! Really? Why on Earth would someone you dumped, help you get back together
with their sibling? When I told her I wouldn’t help her get in contact with Ty, she turned bitchy as hell. It was like I was talking to a different person. The Jessie I knew rarely cussed, never mind aim those words at me. I was crushed, and I can still hear her words more than a week later.

  “Did it ever fucking occur to you that I was only with you to get close to your hot as fuck brother? It’s clear to the entire school that he’s the far superior King Brother.” Without realizing it, she aimed a missile at my biggest fear about our entire relationship. “Let’s face it, who are you? Ty isn’t even at High School anymore and people still remember him. The only people who’ll remember you are the faculty.” I listened without speaking; not trusting my voice to hold out until the final nail was hammered into the coffin of our romance.

  “He was better at making me come anyway.” I knew she must have heard the sob I couldn’t stop in the moments before she hung up. It was the last time we spoke.

  Aiden

  —∫∫∫∫—

  January 2012

  Mizz. Jones asked me if Mom and Dad knew I was sexually active under age. When I told her no, she went on to give me a huge lecture. Apparently, she understands teenagers get ‘urges’ and all that crap, but we’re not to act on them; to abstain. Yeah, that’ll work with High School kids.

  Look, I get that what happened between us is technically against the law and could have got us into a whole heap of shit if something had gone ‘wrong’ (Mizz. Jones’ words, not mine). Jesus, it was sex between two consenting people. Surely the police have more dangerous criminals to deal with rather than round up all the horny teenagers.