The Bully (Calamity Montana)

THE BENTON ACADEMY hadn’t changed in fifteen years. The two-story, red brick building was just as intimidating now as it had been the day I’d walked away after graduation.

Women dripping in jewels, wearing expensive gowns, laughed and smiled as they passed by the columns at the grand entrance. Men dressed in tuxes climbed the wide staircase to the front double doors.

Every window was illuminated, the rectangles casting a golden glow into the dimming evening light. Lanterns lined the sidewalk. The lawns were freshly mowed and the scent of cut grass clung to the air.

That smell was normally a comfort because it reminded me of Dad. But tonight, it did nothing to curb the anxiety rattling in my bones. My nerves were frayed, not only in anticipation of seeing Cal, but just being at Benton again.

I’d vowed never to set foot on these grounds again. Yet here I was, frozen on a sidewalk that I hadn’t crossed since I was eighteen.

“Coming, Nellie?” Pierce’s mother asked, glancing back when she realized I’d fallen behind.

“Be right there,” I said, forcing a tight smile. “I’m going to look around a bit. For old times’ sake.”

“Of course.” She nodded, taking her husband’s arm. “We’ll meet you inside.”

Pierce’s father escorted his wife past the bronze statue of Albert Benton, the school’s namesake.

My senior year, a group of students had vandalized the statue as a prank. The two students who’d been caught on camera, wrapping dear old Alfred in toilet paper, had nearly been denied graduation. Their parents had probably made some calls—and written checks—to get their kids out of trouble.

I doubted that courtesy would have been extended to the scholarship kids.

God, I hated this place. The opulence. The arrogance. What if I just stayed outside and waited for Cal to come out after the dinner?

Don’t be a coward, Nellie. I squared my shoulders and walked past the statue, my nerves spiking with every click of my stiletto heels on the cement. I scanned the crowd gathering at the staircase, looking for the man who’d stand head and shoulders above the rest.

But there was no sign of Cal.

Which was probably a good thing. In the past twenty-eight hours since I’d burst into Pierce’s office and asked for his help to score me an invite to this fiasco, I still hadn’t figured out exactly what to say.

Maybe I just needed to see him and it would come to me. Maybe I’d be able to admit that we were better together than we were apart. Even if that meant constant bickering. Even if that meant disagreeing about almost everything.

I’d rather spend a lifetime arguing with Cal Stark, than laughing with anyone else.

My stomach was in a knot as I walked, my heels teetering on the bottom step. My heart hammered, and my skin felt too hot beneath this gown.

With the short notice, I hadn’t had time to shop for anything new. Luckily, I kept a few dresses in my closet for these fancy occasions. It wasn’t uncommon for me to attend functions on behalf of Grays Peak.

I’d opted for a black gown, adorned with columns of sequins that added a dainty shimmer to the fabric. The skirt was full with a slit that ran up my thigh. The top had two thin straps and a deep V that exposed my sternum.

It felt fitting for tonight.

If Cal was going to break my heart, there might as well not be anything in his way.

Oh God, I hope he hadn’t brought a date.

The skirt swished as I climbed the stairs with a fake smile fixed firmly on my face. Pierce’s parents, who I’d grown to adore during my time working for their son, had made a call—and promised a hefty donation—to get me a seat at their table.

I hadn’t explained why I’d needed to come tonight, and because they were amazing, they hadn’t asked why. They’d simply swung by my hotel in their town car on their way to Benton and picked me up for the event.

“Good evening,” the man stationed beside the door greeted as I approached. “Your name, madam?”

“Nellie Rivera.” My voice shook. If he noticed, he didn’t let on as he scanned the guest list.

“Welcome, Ms. Rivera. On behalf of the faculty and staff at Benton, we hope you enjoy your evening. The festivities are taking place in the dining hall. Down the hallway on your left.”

“Thank you.” I swept past him, breezing into the entryway, standing at the mouth of hallways I’d walked hundreds of times.

Guests milled around the space, making conversation. Their voices echoed in the open space, carrying toward the tall ceilings. The smell of floor wax and lemon wood polish filled my nose and transported me into the past.

I wasn’t a woman in a fancy gown but a teenager again, wearing a red and black plaid skirt with yellow pinstripes. My starched white button-down shirt was tucked tight and covered with a black cardigan embroidered with the Benton crest on a breast pocket.

My legs felt wobbly. My palms clammy. But I refused to study the floor as I walked like I would have when I’d been a student. I held my chin high, my eyes aimed forward, and followed the crowd toward the dining hall.

We passed a row of lockers and I instantly found number 197. My locker from freshman year. Memories from those years whipped around me like a gust of wind.

My first day of school, when I’d realized that everyone already knew everyone, and I’d been the outcast. The days when I’d wanted to scream. The others when I’d cried. The few where I’d laughed.

So much had changed from the first day I’d loaded my books into that locker to the last day when I’d hauled them away. I’d ended my freshman year jaded and bitter. Separate from the others, not only by their choice but mine too.

It had been easier to erect barriers so they couldn’t hurt me.

Especially where Cal was concerned.

But it was time for the walls to come down, especially where Cal was concerned.

The noise grew louder as I approached the dining hall. People filled the space, visiting and laughing. Old friends, rich friends, reunited.

A server with a tray of champagne flutes stood at the doors, offering a glass.

“Thank you.” The bubbles burst on my tongue as I took a sip, then scanned the room. Where was he? My hand trembled as I searched, and a splash of champagne escaped the flute and coated my hand.

“Damn it,” I muttered. That was going to be sticky.

With a quick chug, I drained the glass, handing the empty to a waitress as she passed, then turned and weaved through people as I retreated to the hallway and the ladies’ room. It was empty as I pushed inside, moving to a sink to wash my hands. Then I took a calming breath, examining my face in the mirror.

My eyes were lined with coal, the shadow making the green pop. I’d opted for a pale pink lipstick tonight, a subtler shade than the red I typically wore to special functions. My ice-blond hair cascaded down my back in loose waves. I looked pretty. And terrified. No amount of makeup could hide the nerves.

The door opened and I glanced over as a woman in a silver gown strutted inside. I dismissed her, then did a double take. Oh, hell. Phoebe McAdams.

“Hi,” she said, setting her clutch on the counter to dig out a lip gloss. Like most of the other women in attendance, she was decked out in jewelry. Diamonds glittered at her neck, ears and wrists. Her wedding ring was so large it probably weighed her hand down like she was toting a baseball against her knuckles.

I blinked, waiting for her to tell me I didn’t belong. To ask what I was doing here in her school.

But she leaned closer to the mirror and reapplied lip gloss.

This bitch. She didn’t even remember me.

Funny how people didn’t remember those they tormented, but the one on the receiving end never forgot.

Phoebe looked beautiful, just like she had as a teenager. But as I snuck one more look through the mirror, I saw my beauty too. We could each shine. And maybe I always had. Maybe that was the reason she’d been so awful to me as an adolescent.

Good, old-fashioned jealousy.

I stood a little taller and walked by. “Have a nice night.”

“You too.” She did her own double take as I passed behind her for the door.

“Nellie?”

I kept moving, the door closing on Phoebe as I returned to the party and snagged another glass of champagne.

The dining hall had been transformed for the event. Round tables draped with crisp white linens filled the space. White curtains had been hung to hide the food buffet line and vending machines.

A small stage and podium had been erected at the head of the room. Bouquets of red roses adorned each table. The evening light was waning beyond the rows of windows that overlooked the courtyard. The lawn and flower beds were perfectly manicured, just like they had been in the years when I’d spent my lunches in this room.

So much was unchanged. Yet it was entirely different.

Or maybe that was simply me. I was different.

Pierce’s parents stood beside a table in the center of the room, and when they spotted me, waved me over.

I joined them and made introductions with the other members of our table as the waitstaff began bustling around, replacing empty champagne flutes with glasses of wine as they encouraged us to take our seats.

The champagne helped calm a few nerves, but until I saw Cal, my heart would be in my throat. He was here, right? Maybe he was running late? As the conversation continued at our table, I searched the room, looking toward the stage.

A familiar profile and a pair of broad shoulders caught my eye. My heart did a cartwheel.

Cal sat at one of the front tables, wearing a tailored black tux. His spine was stiff, his posture rigid. One hand dangled at his side and his fingers were snapping.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

He was nervous.

I wanted nothing more than to cross the room and wrap him in my arms, but with everyone taking their seats, it would be too conspicuous. For this, I didn’t need an audience. I’d have to wait until the dinner was over.

Cal’s mother sat at his side, her dark hair twisted in a tight chignon. Beside her was Colter Stark, reclined in his seat with an arm draped casually over the back of her chair.

Colter laughed at something, and even from a distance, I saw Cal’s jaw clench.

They looked alike, something I’d forgotten or maybe hadn’t noticed as a teen. Colter was a handsome older man, his hair the same color as Cal’s except for the gray threaded at his temples. But there was no kindness in Colter’s eyes. His expression was the epitome of superiority.

Dickhead.

I tore my eyes away as the chair beside mine was dragged away from the table. A boy wearing a pair of black slacks and a pressed blue shirt took the seat. On the pocket, he had pinned a name tag.

Franklin O’Connell

Junior

A mop of red hair hung in his face as he touched the edge of his plate. His shoulders curled in so deeply that if he could have disappeared beneath the tablecloth, he would have tried.

Pierce’s parents had told me on the ride over that there’d be some students attending tonight. Kids who excelled, either academically, artistically or athletically. Sitting at the table to our left was a girl with a violin charm on her bracelet. The boy at the table to our right was so tall that I assumed he was on the basketball team.

“Hi.” I shifted, holding out my hand to the kid beside me. “I’m Nellie.”

“Frankie.” He shook my hand, his grip too tight. “I mean Franklin.”

“Nice to meet you.” I leaned in close and dropped my voice. “Is this your first fundraiser dinner?”

He nodded. “There are a lot of forks.”

I laughed, taking in the three beside each of our empty plates. “At least we don’t have to do the dishes.”

A small smile graced his mouth.

“How do you like Benton?”

He shrugged. “It’s all right.”

“You’re a junior?”

“Yeah. I will be in the fall.”

Our conversation was cut short when a man took the stage and leaned into the microphone at the podium. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming tonight. We are so honored to have you in our school.”

He introduced himself as the dean of students, then proceeded to lay it on thick as to why we were all here. A chance to improve the lives of the next generation. The opportunity to sculpt young minds and provide them with an unparalleled education.

Dean Hendrickson finished his welcome message, then the waitstaff began delivering the first course. As the clink of forks on plates mingled with conversation, I split my attention. Every few bites, I’d glance toward Cal, whose back was mostly to me.

He spoke to his mother here and there, but he mostly talked with the student at their table.

I did the same.

Franklin was shy but incredibly bright. It took through the main course for him to open up and speak freely.

“So you love math,” I said. “What do you think you’ll do for college?”

“I don’t know. Maybe MIT. Depends on if I can get financial aid. I’m, uh . . . one of the scholarship kids here.”

I hated the way he dropped his gaze as he finished his sentence. I hated the way he poked at his steak.

“I was a scholarship kid here.”

“For real?” He looked me up and down. “Did the rich kids suck back then too?”

“Pretty much.”

“What did you do about it?”

I grinned and held up my knuckles for a fist bump. “I beat them at whatever I could.”

“Nice.”

“They won’t always be jerks. Well, some of them might.” Like Phoebe McAdams who’d been sneaking looks in my direction. “But some of them grow out of it.”

“I don’t really talk to them. I just do my own thing, you know?” Franklin nodded toward Cal’s table. “That’s Maria. She’s on scholarship too. She gets pretty good grades but she’s killer at lacrosse. We kind of hang out a lot.”

His cheeks flushed as he stared at her, a crush written all over his face.

We finished our meal discussing more about his favorite hobbies, and as the dessert was served Dean Hendrickson took the podium once more.

“I hope you enjoyed this lovely meal, and I hope you’ve had a chance to get to know the students at your tables.”

No one at ours but Pierce’s parents and me had spoken to Franklin. Maybe that was because we were seated closest to him. Or maybe because, like I’d told Frankie, some people would always be jerks.

“We’re so lucky to have a guest with us tonight who’s agreed to speak a few words,” Dean Hendrickson continued. “I don’t think he needs much of an introduction. Not only is he a Benton alum, but he’s one of the most successful and well-known quarterbacks to have played in the NFL. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr. Cal Stark.”

Cal stood from his chair, looking devilishly handsome. His face was clean-shaven and his hair combed. His jacket accentuated the width of his shoulders. The slacks couldn’t hide the strength in his thighs.

No man had ever looked so fine in a tux.

If all went well tonight, maybe I’d get to undo his tie with my teeth.

My gaze tracked his every step as he walked to the podium and shook Dean Hendrickson’s hand. Then he stood at the microphone, glancing out over the crowd.

My breath lodged in my throat, wondering if he’d spot me, but his gaze swept the opposite direction before it landed on his table.

“Thanks for having me tonight,” he said, tugging the microphone higher so he wouldn’t have to bend over. “I don’t give a lot of speeches. It’s not really my thing.”

The crowd stilled and the room went quiet at the obvious discomfort in his voice.

Part of me wanted to raise my hand, to wave so he knew he had at least one supporter in the room, but I sat like a statue while my heart raced.

“I was going to talk about football. Go figure.” That earned him a few laughs. “But then I sat next to this special young lady at dinner tonight. And while I appreciate the rest of you being here, I’m going to toss out the speech I’d planned, and just share some thoughts for her.”

Dean Hendrickson, who stood off to the side of the room, shared a worried look with Cal’s father.

“Maria.” Cal gave her a nod. “I knew a girl like you once, back when I was just a student at Benton. She’s a lot like you. Strong. Tenacious. Smart. Talented. And she hated me with a passion.”

Another laugh trickled through the hall.

The room began to blur at the edges. My vision tunneled to Cal, like it had whenever I’d watched him on the football field.

“I wish I had great advice for you tonight, Maria,” Cal said into the microphone. Every person here had to see the softness in his eyes as he spoke to the girl. If they didn’t, they were blind. “But I’m a dumb jock who made his fortune throwing a football. My experiences won’t help you much. But Nellie—that’s the girl who hated me—here’s what I think she would tell you if she were at this microphone in my place.”

At my name, Franklin nudged my elbow, but I didn’t dare take my eyes away from Cal. Why was he talking about me? Where was he going with this?

“Be honest,” Cal said. “Be kind. Nellie is both and it has always set her apart.”

The lump in my throat was beginning to choke me, so I reached for my water glass, the goblet shaking as I brought it to my lips.

“Work hard.” Cal’s deep voice filled the room, corner to corner. No one dared to whisper. “Hard work can often level an otherwise unequal playing field. See, here’s where I throw in the football metaphors.”

Once more, laughter trickled through the room.

“Never lose heart.” Cal gave the girl a sad smile. “When the world tries to steal your joy, steal it right back. Wealth will never determine your worth. And don’t give up on what you want. Fight for it. Every day. If what you want is a job or an award or a town to call your own, fight for it. There isn’t a person on earth who fights the way my Nellie fights. I see her spirit in you.”

My Nellie.

That had to be a slip. Did he know I was here? No. There was no way. He’d just said my Nellie to this room of strangers. His parents were in the audience, and he’d claimed me as his.

I dragged in a breath through my nose, willing myself not to cry as Pierce’s mom reached over and squeezed my hand.

“People come and go from our lives,” Cal said. “It’s not fair. It’s never easy. Hold the people you love close. Cherish their memory when they’re gone. Know that they are watching, so make them proud.”

Maria reached up and wiped at her face, like she was catching a tear.

“I promised you this would be short,” he told her. “You have a very bright future, and I, for one, am grateful that I’ve been able to share this meal with you tonight. That I’ve met you. Thank you for being here.”

Cal stood a little taller, his gaze sweeping the crowd again. “It’s because of donations that kids like Maria and Nellie and so many others can attend Benton. At some point, probably after I give up the mic, Dean Hendrickson is going to ask you to make a donation. But I’m going to ask you too. I’ll be giving one million dollars to the school tonight, to be used exclusively for scholarships.”

The gasps and murmurs were deafening. Oh my God. My jaw dropped.

“My parents will be matching that donation as well,” Cal said. From the look that Colter shot his son, this was news. “How about a show of hands from all those who will also be contributing tonight?”

Women and men raised their arms. A couple of people laughed as they joined the fray, knowing that Cal was publicly shaming them into a donation.

He smirked as he bent low to the microphone, casting a glance toward Dean Hendrickson. “Hope you’re taking note of those raised hands.”

The dean smiled and nodded wildly, starting a round of applause.

Without another word, Cal strode from the stage. But before he could resume his seat, Maria stood and wrapped her arms around his waist.

He hugged her back, patting her shoulder. Then he held out her chair so she could sit. Except first, she turned and found Frankie for a wave.

He waved back.

Cal followed Maria’s gaze, straight to my table. Our eyes locked. The applause continued.

Since I was seconds away from a full-fledged anxiety attack and unsure what else to do, I panicked. I did what high school Nellie had always wanted to do but hadn’t had the guts.

I flipped off Cal Stark.