About Time (Broken Vows #4)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Hattie Past- Age 16

Donovan Miller has been one of my best friends since I moved in with my sister in sixth grade. He’s absolutely gorgeous with his dark golden hair and deep blue eyes, and yet I’ve never been attracted to him. We went from strangers to pseudo siblings in minutes after meeting. I love the hell out of the guy, just not like that. He never, to my knowledge, had a crush on me either.

We both have other friends. Him more than me since he is on the varsity baseball team, and makes friends wherever he goes. I have been more of a loner since my mom passed away from cancer when I was twelve. She was the one that I went to tell all of my news to and for a long time afterward I didn't want to do anything worthy of telling someone since she wasn't there to listen.

That worked for a little while, but eventually, Donovan insisted I rejoin the land of the living. He said, “It's okay to be sad when you have something you want her to know, but you can't put your life on pause since she's not here anymore. I know it's not the same thing, but when my grandpa passed, I really missed him a lot. He was the person I knew I could always turn to, and sometimes I go to the cemetery so I can still tell him what's going on in my life. Maybe you can still tell your mom, you just have to have faith that she's listening.”

I grew up in Harriston, and of course, we knew each other, but we weren't friends until that day. I guess you could say we bonded over grief. To this day, a lot of people do not understand why we are so close. I know people think we're together, or that one of us is secretly interested in the other, but it's just not that interesting. I'm not hiding a deep burning love for him, he's not pining away hoping I'll fall in love with him too. He just gets me and I get him and together everything is a little bit easier. Isn't that what a friend is supposed to do?

Well, I'll tell you what else my good buddy does. He forces me out of my comfort zone. No sooner than I get in the car, Mandy turns around from the front to look at me and gleefully announces, “Donovan is taking us to a football party.”

Since baseball is in the spring, Donovan is able to also play football. He's good at both, enough to be popular in high school, and maybe get a partial scholarship, but unless he is a late bloomer, he knows that his athletic career ends with graduation. He's fine with it because he dreams of opening his own bar. I'm not sure why that's what he's chosen, but he just always liked the idea of making money and hanging out at the same time.

“I don't want to go to a party,” I grumble.

“Shocker,” Donovan says. Eventually, he looks up in the rearview mirror and gives me his puppy dog face.

“That doesn't work on me,” I tell him.

He blinks and pouts a little more. “Please, Hattie. I need my wingwoman.”

“Ha,” I laugh out loud. “Right, that's why I need to go. Because the second we walk in the door, there's not a chance that most of the girls in there are going to throw themselves at you. We all know that the boys on the sports ball teams never get the girl.”

“Okay, smart ass. You're not there to help me get the girl, you're coming to help me get rid of the wrong ones. And stop saying sports ball. You're a bigger sports fanatic than I am.”

“Why can't I be your wingwoman?” Mandy complains.

“Because no one in their right mind would believe that you and I would spend our time kissing when we're more likely to kill each other,” Donovan replies.

“Solid point,” Mandy agrees.

The two of them act like they hate each other, and they do get on each other's nerves a little bit, but deep down I believe they care about each other. Very deep, like basically the human equivalent of the Mariana Trench, but it's there, kind of. Okay, so maybe they just both care about me.

“I’m not dressed for a party,” I highly doubt this argument will work on Donovan, but it might on Mandy.

“You’re always hot, Hattie,” Donovan replies.

“I still don’t understand the two of you. He says shit like that all the time, and yet you don’t ever get together. I know you think he’s attractive,” she says with her finger pointed accusingly at me.

I shrug. “I have eyeballs. Just because I find him attractive, from a purely objective position doesn’t mean that I am attracted to him.”

“What she said,” Donovan agrees.

I look down at my outfit. It’s not that special. A dark olive green pair of shorts, a black tank top, and a pair of Teva sandals. My blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and I’m wearing tinted sunscreen instead of makeup displaying my light smattering of freckles. My chapstick has a very slight berry tint, and I’m only wearing mascara. The other girls there will be made up more like Mandy in tiny sundresses that have been vacuum sealed to their skin, heeled sandals, and a full face of makeup. Of course, her hair is blown out into carefully styled waves.

“And you both wonder why everyone at school calls me a tomboy,” I grumble and pout from the backseat.

“Only the girls say it like it’s a negative thing. The guys all love that you’re so low maintenance,” Donovan comments offhand.

“Then my life is complete. A bunch of guys I go out of my way to avoid are impressed by me. I can die happy.” I turn to stare out of the window and scowl as we get farther away from my house and closer to the party.

I can hear the music half a block away from the house. When we pull up it looks like a scene from a low-budget, raunchy, college comedy. There are girls running around in bikini tops for no apparent reason since the guy throwing the party doesn’t have a pool. In fact, the only pools outside of the city pool are all above ground, and even those are only in the yards of the wealthiest people in town. At best Judd, the quarterback, has a kiddie pool. To make for an even more cliché tableau, there are guys chasing the girls around with giant water guns.

Donovan parks his car on the street, several houses away since it looks like everyone we go to school with is here. I grip the door handle hard enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if I left dents in it.

“Why did I agree to go to this again?” I ask as he puts the car in park.

He makes a face and says, “You didn’t. Remember?”

“Oh, right. You both dragged me here under the guise of hanging out at Mandy’s because you both know I hate this kind of shit,” I reply.

Mandy pats my shoulder. “Aw, sweetie. We hid our true destination in order to save you from your lameness and hopefully circumvent your descent into cat ladyhood.”

“If that’s a hood, sign me up. I’d much rather spend my time with a furry dickhead who ignores me than a bunch of drunk and horny assholes who are going to follow me around all night throwing pathetic pick-up lines at me,” I grumble.

Donovan rounds the front of his car and opens my door. “Okay, quit being a buzz kill and go get a drink.”

I shake my head and hold out my hand. “There’s no way you’re going to stay sober to be the DD. Give me your keys and I’ll make sure we get home when my time in this hellscape is over.”

He dangles his keys over my head. Damn that growth spurt. A little over a year ago I could have reached them. I jump for them, but he just raises them higher. After I’ve made a few attempts he clutches them back in his hand and shoves them down the front pocket of his jeans.

“You think I won’t reach in after them, but desperate times call for desperate measures,” I snap.

Donovan holds his arms out wide. “I’m going to call your bluff. Do it.”

I huff in frustration and cross my arms. “Dammit! You know I’m not about to reach down by your junk. Fine, but if you drink I’m going to draw on your face.”

He takes his large hand and ruffles my hair. I try to shove him away, but he just tucks me under his arm and drags me into the heart of the party.

I do not get a drink. I don’t see what is so fun about carrying around a red plastic cup filled with warm beer. It’s not even good beer if such a thing exists. Surely people old enough to drink wouldn’t continue to drink something that looks and tastes like what I imagine piss tastes like. I know we’re not the center of culture and sophistication here in Harriston, but even my sister’s party didn’t have the cheapest shit beer that could be purchased in bulk. Well, except for what Charlie brought, but he isn’t exactly the standard for sophistication.

Sitting down in a chair in the corner of the living room, I watch everyone grow steadily drunker as the sun dips down below the horizon. I keep expecting the party to fizzle out, but the night only brings a second wind to the very inebriated crowd. The house is getting more trashed with every hour that passes, and judging by the rate people are starting to hook up I’d say it’s a safe bet that someone is going to get pregnant tonight.

Against my better judgment, I go searching for Donovan or Mandy. I know enough to not open any closed doors, but they’re not in any of the open parts of the house. They aren’t outside on the porch, or by the fire pit in the backyard. I return to my chair, only to find a couple smashed down into it and by all appearances trying to devour each other’s faces.

I slip around people as much as I can since some genius decided to turn the living room into a mosh pit as soon as Green Day came on. Unfortunately for me, I left my purse by the chair I’d spent most of the night in.

When I bend over to get it, Judd decides it’s the perfect opportunity to put both hands on my ass and squeeze. I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by the move. He was already shady on the concept of personal space before he guzzled his weight in alcoholic piss.

“Don’t put your hands on me,” I yell over the music.

“C’mon, Hat…Hattie.” He starts to laugh. “Your name is weird.”

While he is trying to figure out why he thinks my name is weird, I slip past him and grab the cordless phone off the cradle to call my house.

The phone rings several times, and just before I think the answering machine is going to go off I hear someone pick up.

“Hello?” a man’s voice asks.

I exhale. “Can you find Elisa? I need a ride home.”

“Hattie? Why can’t you just get that little friend of yours to bring you home? The Miller kid,” he says.

“First of all, Donovan isn’t a kid. Second, we’re at some stupid party and I can’t find him or Mandy,” I complain.

“I’ll come and get you. Elisa is putting Wren to bed, and Martin has been drinking.”

I groan, realizing I have the misfortune of getting Charlie on the phone. I’ve had enough of arrogant jocks for one night. I certainly don’t want to owe him anything. Even if he is painfully hot, he’s still an ass. “Never mind. I’ll just walk.”

“The fuck you will. It’s dark out. This town might be small, but this world isn’t a safe place for women to go walking around after dark, even here.”

He’s not wrong, and I know I’m going to have to swallow my pride, even if I choke on it a little. “Fine, I’ll be waiting out front. Do you know where Judd Withers lives?”

“I know where just about everyone lives in this town. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he says and hangs up the phone without even saying goodbye.

The front lawn is still full of drunk idiots, so I wait close to the mailbox for Charlie to come and get me. All hope of slipping away unnoticed flies out the window the moment I hear one of the partiers shout, “Hey, isn’t that Charlie Storm?”

Followed by another person replying, “Dude, I think that’s the chick from my chemistry class, Hat or something.”

I’m not exactly popular in school. I’m not bullied, other than people constantly mispronouncing my name. Some dumbasses just call me Hat. That has to be the pinnacle of laziness to give my nickname a nickname. Then there’s my personal favorite, Haiti. I’m not sure if they think referring to that country should be an insult, or if they just hear the word hate in it. Basically, my classmates are idiots.

Outside of Donovan and Mandy, I’d say I’m mostly invisible. It’s not as sad as it sounds. I like being left to my own devices, so not being noticed works in my favor. Now though I’m afraid I won’t be able to escape being noticed. Not if these guys remember seeing me get in Charlie’s truck.

He barely pulls in front of the house, double parked, when I jump in the cab. I try and duck down a bit so no one else sees me. “Drive, you’ve been recognized.”

Charlie shrugs. “The perils of being a small town celebrity. What’s so bad about being seen with me?”

“For me? Not much. I’m sure I’ll get some cool points at school. Not that I really want the attention of these dumbasses. For you…do you want to be known as a dude who trolls high school parties for girls?” I ask him.

Quickly, he shifts the truck into gear and peels away from the house. “Point taken. I don’t really want to be labeled a sex offender.”

I roll my eyes. “Chill. You’re only giving me a ride because my sister couldn’t come and get me. Besides the age of consent is sixteen, so it would be grossly immoral, but not illegal.”

Charlie gives me the side eye. “Why do you know, off the top of your head, what the age of consent is?”

“Would you relax? You’re not my big brother, just his friend.”

He pulls his truck up in front of my house. “You make me nervous, kid. I’m going to be keeping an eye out for you.”

“Fun,” I draw out the word. “Look, if you want to be friends that’s cool, but I don’t need a babysitter or a big brother.”

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking for a minute, then nods his head. “Yeah, we can be friends. I can keep you from committing any more fashion disasters and save you from lame parties.”

“And I can learn to play shuffleboard and remind you to take your meds,” I quip.

“Hey now, I’m only ten years older than you,” he complains.

“So either I’m a kid, and you’re old, or you just realized that in a few years, our age difference isn’t going to mean all that much, and we can just be friends,” I reply.

“All right, smart ass. I got the message, I won’t call you kid anymore.”

I smile at him. “Glad we got that cleared up. See ya later Charles.”

“Later, Harriet.”

“Ugh, that name,” I groan.

He winks, and I really don’t feel like a kid at that moment. I scurry out of the truck and watch him leave from the porch. In my gut, I know that whatever is happening might be the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. Somehow I know I won’t get to experience one without the other, and even so, I can’t seem to walk away.