Page 50 of Saints & Sailors

Without another word, he went down the steps and out the front door.

He had to be fucking kidding me.

Scott hadn’t been kidding. A text from Cameron confirmed that I was to ride with Dreux to school.

After showering and getting dressed, I found a packed lunch for me down in the kitchen fridge. Despite our fighting, Scott didn’t leave me hanging. No, he wasn’t petty, he was a father first and— He had never been a father to me. Fuck him for coming into my life and thinking he had rights and a say so in anything.

Begrudgingly, I took off for next door, aimed to get the inevitable over with.

Angela was just leaving the house when I came up their front porch steps.

She took one look at me and appeared smug.

Seriously, with parents like Dreux’s, it was a wonder the kid was such a saint. I’d be pissed at the world with an asshole father and an ice-cold mother.

“Dreux is my son,” Angela spoke up.

Something about her told me not to respond with sarcasm. “Okay.”

“And if you disrespect him, I will have Scott understand that you can walk to school for all I care. Got it?” Angela’s steely gaze dared me to say something back.

I simply nodded, hating the situation even more.

She sized me up, still not satisfied with me. “You can start your shift later today when Dreux goes in to help his uncle. See you then.”

She left their front door open for me to let myself in. For a moment, I debated on hightailing it out of town then and there. I had enough funds in my bank account for a plane ticket back to LA. Trouble was, none of my boys were speaking to me, leaving me with no place to run to.

I was just preparing to sulk when I found my way to the St. Juliens’ kitchen, where Dreux was sitting at their breakfast nook eating a Pop-Tart and downing a glass of almond milk—of course the golden child was a fan of the stuff too.

He was mid-sip of his milk when his eyes locked with mine. As always, that unreadable expression took Dreux’s face as he stared at me from across the room.

It was hard to place the look, almost as though he were tolerating me at some points, and at others, it was as though he was assessing me, studying me for an important quiz he didn’t want to flunk.

I hated this kid.

“Let’s go,” I demanded.

Dreux lifted a brow. “Good morning to you, too.”

He didn’t react to my lack of a response as he cleaned up after himself before grabbing his jacket and backpack.

Silently, he led the way out to his Bronco.

“I’m not listening to your shitty music in your car either,” I told him.

Dreux stopped walking. He turned and faced me, narrowing his eyes. “What do you assume I listen to that’s ‘shitty,’ Saylor?”

I could feel heat rushing to my cheeks at the implication my words could’ve caused. Internally, I kicked myself for the way I’d lashed out, for the ignorant statement I’d made as regret set in.

I focused on the freckles on the bridge of his nose instead of his reprimanding gaze. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“And I did?” Dreux shook his head and locked up behind us. “Scott asked for a favor and I said yes.”

“Could’ve said no.”

“You don’t think I regret taking this on?” Dreux gestured from me to him. “It’s like you got permanent PMS, and of all the things I gotta deal with, I don’t have time for that.”

Typical male, blaming my attitude on my period. With or without my period, I was angry. Half the time I didn’t know why.