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I wanted to be his center of attention. And for a long time, I was. Any time I was in the room, I had Roan’s complete attention. Maybe not physically, because we had to hide our relationship, but mentally. His eyes were never far from mine and his touch, only when no one was looking.
And now, I wasn’t entirely sure what to think showing up here. What will he say? Will he be mad?
As we make our way past the gate, large boulders, palm trees, and lavish landscaping line the sweeping driveway leading up to the mansion on the hill. It’s unlike the mansions in Beverly Hills that Hollywood’s A-list occupy. This place is sort of a playground for the rich and ridiculous. The things I’ve seen here would make most rock stars look tame. I’m not even joking. To give you some insight, I was fifteen—impressionable and naïve—the first time I saw Tiller, who was eighteen at the time, doing blow off a chick’s ass cheeks on the kitchen table. He then spent most of the night on the roof yelling at the moon to take his soul and give him peace. He’s literally been insane as long as I’ve known him.
But still, the Sawyer mansion is where you go to party. That is if you’re in with their crowd. There’s usually a list at the gate every night, and if you’re not on it, you’re not getting in. There’s a moment when we drive up that my heart skips a beat. What if he didn’t put me on the list?
We’re waved by immediately.
Devyn tucks her makeup away and fluffs her hair. “Your dad working tonight?”
“Always.” Surprisingly, my dad knows I party here. He never minds because in his eyes, at least he knows where I’m at. My mom doesn’t like it so much, but then again, she’s never told me not to go. I think she’s on the same level as my dad. At least she knows where her eighteen-year-old daughter is.
The night’s in full swing by the time we arrive around ten. Nearly twenty or thirty cars are already parked in the circle drive and more toward their private bike shop. The doors are wide open tonight, people filtering in and out as they please. If I had to guess, Roan’s in there, or in his bedroom, but I’m not about to go looking for him. No freaking way am I seeking him out.
Devyn, my best friend, she isn’t a Roan fan. When she turned sixteen, she had a night with Tiller once and since then, her version of the Sawyer brothers is tainted. Tiller has that effect on most. Devyn, she’s my ride or die. She’s always up for a party, always social. A competitive gymnast, she rarely has time to let loose but when she does, she makes the night memorable. She’s pretty, flirty, and fits in with everyone here, usually owning every conversation she’s involved in.
I envy her, the confidence, her aura of beauty and grace. She’s determined, knows exactly what she’s doing with her life, full of emotion, yet gentle and fragile. I’ve clung to her since we met in the second grade, desperately wanting her to bleed into me. I wanted to be as radiant as she was.
Unfortunately, I’m nothing like her. I’m strange, confused, impressionable, stubborn and unaware. My entire life I’ve had this feeling of “is it okay that I’m here?” Never really understanding the environment I was raised in, I skated by under the radar in school only to be here, at this mansion every night, living a lie, in love with the king of motocross and hoping one day he might see me as more than a kid. And then when he did, I screwed it up.
Though I’ve been told I’m beautiful with my olive skin and my mama’s Porto Rican blood running through my veins. I have long black hair, green eyes, short, and I struggle with weight to the point I don’t eat, scared that if I gain any amount of weight, I won’t be pretty, or enough for the women who swarm past these gates hoping to spend time with these brothers I’ve known my entire life. Over the years, my issues with my weight have become a sickness, an addiction to see how long I can go without eating. Hell, it’s damn near paralyzing for me. At five foot three, I pride myself when I’m hovering just under a hundred pounds. It’s not healthy, but when you’re in a constant battle with yourself to maintain a certain image, you do what you can to make sure you fit in. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To fit in and be good enough to be in the presence of greatness.
Devyn smiles at a group of guys near the water fountain outside when they whistle at her. She’s wearing a low-cut black dress, heels, and every muscle in her powerful body reflects off the lights in the driveway. While I’m bordering on unhealthy most of the time, Devyn Logana, she’s built of solid muscles.
Wearing jean shorts, a black tank top falling off my bony shoulders and heels, I make my way around the front of my Mercedes and up the bricks lining the entry way to the house. Keeping my eyes down, careful not to trip, I don’t look at any of the men who yell my name. Most know me, but they also know I’m the girl usually with the arm of a legend draped across her shoulders. While a hello is the extent of their conversations to me, I can’t help but wonder what it’s going to be like tonight.
We make our way around the back of the house where the pool and bar are. I know my dad will probably be back there. When I’m in his presence, he lets me drink as long as I don’t leave. Within minutes, I hand him over my keys. His number one rule.
He smiles and tucks them inside his pocket, his cheerfulness drifting Devyn’s way. “Nice to see you again, Devyn. When do you start school?”
Devyn slings an arm around his broad shoulders. “Nice to see you too, Mr. Hadley. I start in a couple of weeks.”
“It’s Carl, sweetheart. Good luck this year. Can’t wait to attend a meet.”
Devyn’s attending UCLA on a full-ride scholarship for gymnastics. See what I mean? She knows what she wants to do. All I know is in just a few more weeks, I’m moving across the country to New York City in an attempt to find myself. It’s scary, but I think given the last few weeks, it’s needed, and the only way I’m going to be able to separate myself. To be honest, I also think it was some influence of my dad to get me away from here too. So he paid for four years of college on the other side of the country.
My dad motions to the pool. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to make sure Tiller doesn’t drown himself.”
We laugh. We’re used to that. As soon as you step foot in 311 Sawyer Drive, it’s evident three misfits live here and have absolutely no amount of restriction. Just entering the gates leaves you in a constant state of anxiousness.
Let me tell you about these three brothers.
Tiller, the one trying to jump a BMX bike from the roof, well, he’s a terrible alcoholic. The kind of drinker who doesn’t understand moderation. Black hair artfully shaped into a Mohawk, dark eyes, he has a distinct meanness about him—a violence I’ve never seen with anyone but him. Never ever mess with this bad guy.
Shade, he’s the youngest of the three. Has the same dark hair as the others, blue eyes, and impressive, meaningful ink covering 80 percent of his body. I don’t see him around yet, but you’ll know the moment he enters the party because gravity shifts toward him. And by gravity, I mean most of the women. Shade’s usually the last to make an appearance these days and he’s harder for me to describe. Usually hiding behind dark sunglasses, I find him fascinating. Like a crossword puzzle you can’t find the missing piece to. He’s completely unlike Roan or Tiller. To understand the pull he has on women, I have literally seen women wait outside the gates here for days to catch a glimpse of the Olympic Gold Medalist and X Games winner, just to be invited into a party. Shade is always being pulled in different directions and usually the one all the women want to fuck. But lately, he’s not around much and if he is, he’s holed up in his room behind locked doors. A few months back, his childhood best friend killed herself and he hasn’t been the same since.
And then there’s Roan. The oldest. You’ve met him, but you haven’t seen the mischievous twinkle to his blue eyes, like he’s holding onto a secret, that I’ve always been drawn to. That guy, the handsome, rugged, charismatic, rulebreaker, he’s the one who hypnotizes you before you even realize the effect he has on you. Happened to me. The day I realized what he was doing to me, I was ten, he was fifteen, and it was like the universe smacked me in the face and said, pay attention to this one. I didn’t even know it was happening to me until it was too late. Until I was so far gone, there was no going back.
Even now, years later, after the lies, after the destruction, I still hang on his every word, waiting. His reckless ways make me anxious, but at the same time, I find myself drawn to him inexplicably, in awe of his self-assured, radiant personality only to have him use it against me.
When did I know I was a goner for sure? I was seventeen, he was on the verge of turning twenty-two and had no business paying attention to me. It started when he took me to Paris with him. Okay, I went with my dad and their usual entourage of assistants and bodyguards, but in my head, I was there with Roan, and I can honestly say that trip changed us. I’d never experienced anything like it. With a comfortable open closeness, he made me feel like a princess and reveled in the power it gave him. Exposing me to a world of perks I never knew possible. Every word felt seductive and gracious. Gone was the rough freestyle extreme guy, and there, in the most romantic city in the world, he kissed me for the first time.
Underneath the Eiffel Tower, he told me, someday, somehow, I would be his. I already was. I didn’t know how, or why, but he stole me that day. At the time, I didn’t understand what our five-year age difference meant to him, nor did I care. All I knew was that I wanted him.
Since then, we precariously balanced on the edge of him taking my virginity, but he never did. He told me countless times, “Someday we will, but not now. You’re just too young.” In his mind, I had to be eighteen. Well, I turned eighteen in May and he was in Athens training. And you know what happened after that.
To understand the Sawyer brothers, you have to know how they were raised. All three of them were professional racers before the age of fourteen. Before they even understood what fame meant, or how it could destroy you just the same. They were forged into greatness. Larger-than-life creations easily obsessed over. The problem? The room for error is very small. It’s a by-product of them never showing weakness.