Lane (Made From Stone Book 1) (5 page)

“You knew he was dropping money on purpose and you still bent down?”

“It’s none of your business,” she says matter-of-factly as she continues to work, ignoring my presence for the most part.

“Do you bend down like a little whore for all of your customers?” The words leave my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. This night just went from bad to worse. I know it.

“Whores make money,” she says with a look of detached sadness in her eyes and a quickness in her voice that exposes how completely honest she is being in this moment. I’m certain my mouth must fall open at her unexpected and painfully true counter argument.

“Why would you whore yourself out for money?” I only ask because I
need
to know.

“I need the money," she admits shamefully. "Now please finish your food and leave,” she says as she stands back up straight and carries a tray full of glasses back behind the counter.

Something about the way she buries her sadness deep inside of her, it consumes a part of me I didn't even know was there. It’s eating away at me and driving me crazy, and suddenly, I’m no longer hungry as I walk back toward my table.

I take a few sips of Coke to try and let the bubbles and caffeine recharge my body a bit while I gather my thoughts. So, Mallory’s a whore. And I’m not sure if I’m more disappointed that a student's life has come to this or that it’s hers in particular. I finish my Coke and grab my wallet when I hear her say in a professional tone, “Would you like a refill, Mr. Stone?” I stand up and throw whatever money is in my wallet on the table without looking her in the eyes.

“No, thank you.”

“See you Monday, Mr. Stone,” she says in the same tone. How the fuck is she so calm? I'm boiling on the inside and she's fucking calm.

Just great. Mr. Stone thinks I’m a prostitute; I didn’t help the situation any by agreeing. In a way I
am
kind of a whore, I think to myself, feeling ashamed. I knew what those men were doing, and I know any self-respecting girl wouldn’t have gone along with it. But my need for money was all I had on my mind in that instant, and if my lace covered ass could earn me a few extra dollars, so be it. I honestly didn’t think it would bother me this much though. I’m not a whore; I’ve never even had sex for God's sake! I was sixteen when my father died and even before that, sex was the last thing to cross my mind.

Now even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I can’t bring them back to the motel and I honestly don’t want to have sex with anyone. Amy teases me that I need to find a random guy and get busy. She uses sex as her stress reliever and she’s the calmest person I know. Me? I feel that it's supposed to be special. Plus, I've got too many plans for my life to let something like sex get in the way. Maybe after I’ve gotten into college I’ll do it. Right now, I have to worry about facing Mr. Stone on Monday. I don't even want to imagine the thoughts running through his head.

I get to his table and start to clear it, going through the motions absentmindedly as I start to think about the homework I need to do when I get home. But when I get to the tip, I notice that there’s a lot of money there. Holy fuck! It’s one hundred and sixty-four dollars, that motherfucker! I’m insulted and hurt at the same time; I can't and won’t accept this! Of course, I need the money, but I refuse to accept pity money. But maybe it isn't pity money after all; maybe he was just making sure I felt like a whore. Mission accomplished.

I glance at my watch; it’s about an hour before midnight when I arrive at Hansons. I took my time driving here. I found myself sitting at stop signs and red lights, every thought consumed by the fantasy of going back there, taking her away from that trashy diner and getting her the hell home. I wonder if her parents have any idea what she’s doing, selling herself for a couple of wrinkled one-dollar bills. What the fuck kind of parent puts their child to work like that? Much less a beautiful girl like Mallory. If I ever have a daughter she won't walk out of my house wearing anything like that uniform Mallory has on, I wouldn’t allow it.

“What took you so long?” my sister Lacey asks curiously.

“Stopped to get something to eat,” I reply in a clipped tone, trying to get the point across that I don’t want to talk.

“Who turned you down?” she teases.

“No one.”

“What’s wrong, son?” my dad says, walking up behind me and clapping me on the back in his usual manly greeting. Groaning internally, I think to myself 'I fucking knew I should’ve bailed tonight'.

“Nothing, Dad.”

Thankfully, they let it go and we sit down at our table. The moment I sit down, I can’t help but get lost in thought again, wondering if Mallory is ok, if the men came back. It’s very unsettling.  

My mom clears her throat to get my attention. I was unaware the waitress was asking for our orders. I ask for a beer. After the waitress leaves, my family stares at me for a minute. My guess is they are trying to figure out why I’m so anti-social tonight.

Thankfully, the waitress was quick. This was the distraction they needed to stop focusing on me. Out of habit, I take a long pull from the mouth of the cold glass bottle, letting the familiar cold run down my throat. Everyone seems to be having a good time, but I’m just not in the mood to be here- much less celebrating.

“What’s got you down, nephew of mine?” my Aunt Lani asks with genuine concern.

“Nothing. I’m good, I promise. But I do think I’m going to take off.” I try once again to brush it off. God, I wish they would just drop it and let me go.

“Landon leaves in two days, you’re not going anywhere!” my mom interrupts, in an ‘I’m always right’ tone of voice that proves to me I’m
not
going anywhere. “You may as well tell me what's wrong. I'm your mother; I can always tell when something is going on. ” She
is right about that one, I should be enjoying these final days with my brother.

I look at Dad and my uncles and hope they’ll be able to help me, "Can I ask you guys a question?"

“Of course, that's what we're here for,” Uncle Maddox answers trying to lighten the mood.

“How did you know when you’d found the one?”

“Do you think you’ve found the one?” my dad asks, obviously surprised. Mom has her elbows propped up on the table like this is some romantic comedy she can't pry her eyes from. She’s so genuinely excited and interested, I can’t help but laugh at my parents’ reaction.

“Maybe... I can't tell for sure. I know I like her. I...I'm not sure.”

“Have you fucked her?” Uncle Evan asks with a cocky smirk. Most people wouldn’t want to answer this type of question in front of their parents. But hey, we’re the Stones; there isn’t any hiding in this family.

“Yes.”

“A lot? -- Once?” Maddox asks.

“A lot,” I admit, to anyone else this would be a strange conversation to have with your dad and uncles.

“She’s not the one,” Dad speaks up confidently.

Wondering why he sounds so sure, I have to ask. “How do you know?”

“Because you'll know she's the one the first time you slide your dick in her,” my uncle Evan says quickly, almost like it’s a known fact.

“Evan!” my mother scolds him but he ignores her and keeps on.

“Ask your Dad, Uncle Maddox, or me. It took one time and we knew we were done for.”

“The sex is great, don't get me wrong,” I say. It really is great but it wasn’t like I saw God the first time I came or anything like that.

“I’m leaving!” Mom says rolling her eyes, and I’m glad, to be honest. She knows the men of this family, and I’m sure she’s aware that she doesn’t need to hear what’s coming next.

“Sex is great, but if you can walk away from her without it consuming your every thought, if you’re not obsessing about it until the time you’re in her again, then she isn’t the one. Then it's just sex,” he says, making air quotes with his fingers when he says ‘just sex.’

“Or you’ll just knock her up the first time,” my uncle Maddox says with a proud smile.

I roll my eyes when that statement comes out of his mouth. This is the exact reason condoms have always been freely available to all of us. We all know Mom and my aunts got pregnant the first time. So, anyone with Stone blood in their veins has always been afraid to not cover up when having sex. My dad and uncles always joked it’s the curse of the Stones. My grandpa made us all promise to marry first, and that’s what I intend to do besides; kids are the last thing on my mind.

I have to drop my car off at the shop to be serviced today. 'My daddy taught me right' I think to myself with a smile, remembering how he always insisted I remember to get my car serviced when I was old enough to have my own vehicle. I got to school early to return Mr. Stone's money before he arrived, deciding to skip his class today. My car
did
need to be serviced, but I also didn't want to face him. I led him to believe that I'm a whore. I feel like a whore after that, but mostly I just feel ashamed. I can't explain it to him, but the more time that passes the more hopeless I feel. Money is running low lately, very low, and my choices as to how to get it are running slim too. The only thing my sister and I have going for us right now is that we live in Mike's Motel and he'll let us pay when we're able to. Thank God for Mike..."

“Ma’am, your car is ready,” the service tech announces unnecessarily over the loudspeaker. I'm the only one in the waiting room.

“Thanks.”  

“That’ll be two-hundred and ten dollars,” he informs me nonchalantly.

“Why that much?” I ask, immediately my stomach starts to churn.

“The oil change was eighty. The rest for your brakes,” he says showing me the bill.

Holy Shit. I have two-hundred and fifty to last the rest of the month with everything else I make going towards the motel and groceries for Amy and me. I feel a pang in my chest. What are we going to do?

I pay the man and drive straight to Connie’s to see if I can work double shifts on the weekends for the rest of January in hopes to earn back what I’ve just spent. Thankfully, she said yes.

The drive to school is lonely. I can’t help but throw myself a little pity party in my newly serviced car. There isn’t a soul Amy and I can reach out to for help. I’ll be nineteen before the school year is up, but suddenly I feel like a helpless child. I can't decide whether to laugh, cry, or both when I hear my dad’s voice in the back of my head: ‘You cried and cried everyday for two weeks, so your mom and I wanted to keep you home for one more year.’ The hardest part is knowing how much we were loved, how much I know they would want to be here with us. To have that all ripped away and no one else to fill the void, it’s getting harder and harder to do the right thing.

My stomach is doing somersaults and I can't decide if I'm nervous about returning to work today or excited. As much as I shouldn't want to see her, I do. I keep trying to tell myself it's because I want to make sure she is safe but I'm not so sure if that’s my motive anymore, and that’s damn near terrifying.

When I walk into my classroom, I see a note on my desk and thinking it’s one of Jill’s sexy “come find me after class” notes that always leave me hard for her, I tear it open without hesitation. But when I open it, money falls out, a lot of money. I’m immediately confused, but when I read the note.....

Mr. Stone,

I can’t and won’t accept this money. Your bill was $14.96, so I took three dollars for the tip you should’ve left.

Mallory Carter

What the fuck? Maybe
I
should’ve made her show
me
her panties. I was trying to be considerate since she made such a show of needing the money so badly. This letter left me hard, but only because her constant defiance has left me wanting to show her who’s boss. If I want to give her fucking money she should just say thank you and move on, but instead she has to defy me. I keep having to remind myself that she’s eighteen and a student, “Get a grip, Lane.”

I wait for the class to file in so I can look her in the eyes but she never shows. I can’t help but wonder why she didn’t come today. I feel bad marking her absent and giving her a zero for today’s assignment, but I have to treat her like everyone else. I want to understand why she decided not to come today. I’m sure there’s a reasonable excuse. I'm all over the place and I know my mood will leave people wondering if I'm in the middle of some bad case of 'roid rage.

I’ve spent most of the hour in a daze. Thankfully, the first day back after the holidays is spent refreshing the class on what we learned before winter break. I’ve handed them a pop quiz and the room is quiet, giving me time to really think about what’s going through my head and why.

Mallory is my student. My job is to guide her and give her the best possible start to her college years and her adult life that I can, but I can’t wrap my head around the pull I feel towards her. It baffles me; she isn’t my type, she’s young, she’s impulsive, she has a foul temper, and apparently, she’s a whore too. And then there’s Jill: age appropriate, mature, successful, beautiful, independent, but the real clincher is… safe. There isn’t that pull that I feel towards Mallory.

My uncles talked about their obsessions with my aunts and this is what has me nervous. Mallory is slowly becoming my obsession. The problem is that I can't and won’t act on any feelings I may have, no matter how badly I want to. All I want is for Mallory to have a normal life, to get into her dream college, land her dream job, and get far away from this place. I had my time in college and I enjoyed the fuck out of it, I wouldn’t take that away from her.  

Now I’m where I want to be, making the kind of money I need to live. Teaching salaries are a big joke. Those that mold the future of America make a ridiculously small amount of money. Coaching salaries, however, are not. I was floored to learn what my annual income for simply coaching football would be. No, I’ll never be a millionaire but I’ve never been driven by money. I’ve always been driven by passion, and passion, in this case, may very well be my downfall.

I’m jolted from my thoughts by the ‘ding’ of the timer I set to signal the end of the test. I tell the class to put down their pencils and I start rounding the room picking up papers when she walks in. I’m left speechless as I take in her simplistic beauty. Something that demands you notice her. She doesn’t overdo makeup or dress to grab attention. She’s just natural. I groan internally forcing myself to do my job. I head back to my desk as the bell rings and Mallory comes to stand next to me. The smell of vanilla coffee invades my senses and I look up.

“Where were you?” I ask trying to keep my voice level and my motive in check.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stone. I had to have my car serviced. It was the only time they could do it," she says softly.

“You had all winter break, Mallory,” I remind her, trying to sound stern.

“I didn’t have the money, sir,” she admits with a sad tone, looking towards the window. I can tell by her red, glassy eyes that she’s been crying. My heart starts to ache; I wish I could take her into my arms and let her know that everything is going to be okay. At the same time, I’m pissed. I tried to give her money and she wouldn’t take it. I can't help but wonder
who
she had to
service
to get the money. Why that makes me want to protect her--I have no idea.  

“I tried giving you money!” I bark out, failing to hide my anger this time.

“I
don’t
need your pity, and I
won’t
take your money!” She’s defiant, staring me straight in the eyes. This girl! I'm really getting pissed now!

“But you’ll show your ass for it?” I question. I regret my words immediately, seeing hurt and shame betray her hard facade.

“Look, Mr. Stone, can I just get today's assignment?” she says, refusing to look me in the eyes.

“Sure,” I say grabbing the quiz and handing it to her without making any eye contact.

“Thank you,” she says and starts to walk away. I should just let her leave, but something inside me snaps. I need an answer; maybe one small glimpse into her life would help me move on. Or maybe just help me to understand why I'm slowly being drawn to her.

“Mallory, are your parents out of work?” I ask with genuine concern. It seems the most plausible of reasons.

She lets out a dry, humorless laugh void of emotion and simply responds, “Sure, you could say that.”

“I could help them. There are a lot of programs out there, what kind of work do they do?” I question, wondering why she’s turned completely away from me.

“You can’t help them, no one can help them.” She says in a voice completely filled with sorrow. It takes everything in me to keep from pulling her in and holding her until she trusts me enough to let this wall down. It makes my heart hurt to see her this upset and I can’t help but wish I could swoop in and save the day.

“Talk to me. Please, Mallory?” I stand up from my desk and walk toward the space she’s migrated to halfway across the room, closing the distance slowly. I lightly touch the back of her arm so as not to startle her and she turns to look at me. In those tear-rimmed eyes, I see despair and angst so deep; I can almost feel the waves of it rushing off her.

“Do you remember that car crash two years ago on July 4th? The one that closed the freeway for four hours?”

I think I know the one she’s talking about. My brother Landon was an intern at the hospital where my dad works, and they were both on shift that night. The injuries they talked about seeing that night stayed with me for weeks, “Yes, I think so.”

“My father was killed in that crash. My mom? Well, I don’t know what to say about her,” she confesses. At this point, my need to comfort her overpowers my common sense. She looks so small and alone that I can’t help but take her into my arms and hold her as she buries her face in my chest in an attempt to hide her soft, stifled sobs. I just hold her and let her mourn, losing track of how long we stay like this. My heart is breaking for her; I can feel it in my chest.

“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry Mallory...." I reply, feeling like a total asshole at this point. I softly stroke her face as she breaks our embrace and steps back, crossing her arms and putting that guard right back up. It’s easy to see that she doesn't have a lot of people to talk to. "Who’s taking care of you?” I pray she’s in a loving home, but judging by the way she bent over the other night-, she’s obviously not.

“It’s just me and my sister. We have our own place. It’s hard, but we’re doing the best we can.” She tries to explain as she wipes the tears from her eyes. I can tell she's hiding something big. But what?  

“There's no family you could stay with?” I ask softly, trying to sound as supportive as I possibly can.

“None that care enough to help. I’ll be nineteen before the end of school and my sister just turned twenty-one. We’re living together and doing what we have to do in order to make it.”

I cannot imagine what this girl has been through, better yet, the things she has had to do to survive.

“What can I do to help?” I ask sincerely.

“Don’t pity me, and don’t look down on me. Because I’ll do what I have to do to keep a roof over our heads!” she replies firmly, the fire is back in her eyes and I know she’s done sharing her story.

And with that, she walks off. As she walks out, I see Jill peering in the window of my classroom door. Fuck. I hope she didn't see that, but the look on her face tells me she did. She walks in my room with ‘disappointment’ practically written on her forehead as I try to be nonchalant about it.

"What was that about?" she asks, trying to hide the hurt in her voice by playing with my shirt collar. 'This is why I don't do relationships,' I think.

"Just a student that needed a friend is all." I see a hint of jealousy in her eyes, but she does a good job of hiding it quickly as she rises up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek.

"Okay. Will I see you later?" she asks with a raised eyebrow and the lick of her lips.

"Sure," I reply half-heartedly. She turns slowly and walks out. When she does, I finally feel like I can breathe again, although up until now I didn’t realize how close I was to suffocating.