Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,68

they even had a voice to speak about Ronan was despicable.

He introduced Roy Taylor and took one of the empty seats.

I watched as the man I despised stood to his full, massive height and walk confidently to the microphone. The pure size of him made me dislike him even more. Imagining him towering over a wiry teenager like Ronan, using his weight to abuse and intimidate.

He raised his hands, and the audience settled as if he held some magic power. He leaned forward and spoke into the numerous microphones on the podium. “Hello, everyone.”

The people around me muttered greetings back, but I could only shake my head and try to keep the acid in my stomach from spilling out. I wanted to stand and shout, throw eggs or something as disgusting at Roy, but I knew now was not my time.

He cleared his throat and said, “We are here to discuss the actions of my stepson and one Zara Bhatta. I will be taking questions, but first I'd like to make a statement.”

I braced myself for the vitriol about to spew from his mouth. The words that followed did not disappoint.

“As many of you know, I had the pleasure of marrying this beautiful woman eleven years ago. I met her after a nasty divorce, and if I'm being honest, I didn't quite believe in love. She showed me just how real love could be.

“When we married, she brought a son with her. Ronan. His father was an addict, completely useless. Even though she escaped the abusive situation, damage had already been done to her son. We struggled for years with behaviors, therapy, special programs, and if you can't tell, none of it seemed to work. He grew progressively more defiant, more violent, and eventually so withdrawn, he left the house altogether rather than follow a few simple rules.

I glared harder at him than I could ever imagine, but still he continued.

“The actions of a delinquent teenage ‘bad boy’ are no representation of the Brentwood Badgers and the leadership of the team. Now, I’ll accept a few questions.”

The rush of questions rang throughout the space, but I stood to my full height, whipping off my cap and glasses, waving my hand high in the air.

Whispers spread around me growing to full-blown pandemonium, at first asking if I was Zara Bhatta and then shouting questions at me about why I was there.

All attention had turned on me, but my gaze stayed on the garbage standing at the front of the crowd. His eyes were narrowed as he spoke into the microphone. “Questions for me?”

My friends began chanting, “Bring up Zara! Bring up Zara!”

The entire crowd broke into the same chant, copying their cries.

With a poorly masked look of frustration, Roy Taylor said, “Would the rollicking teenage girl like to come up to the mic?”

“You're sick!” Jordan shouted.

I loved her more than ever.

I held my head high as I walked to the front of the crowd, ignoring the questions being shouted at me along the way. Like Roy, I had a statement to make, and this one true.

The entire crowd fell silent as I stepped up to the microphones. I could feel Roy and his evil aura on the stage, even though he now stood feet away. Despite my discomfort, I needed to speak up, needed to tell them who Ronan really was.

I took a deep breath and focused on my friends, my rocks. “In my culture, arranged marriage is a standard practice. Ever since I was a little girl, it was understood that my parents would be selecting the man I was to marry. For years, I dreamed of the kind of man they would choose.

“When my mom passed away, I'd hoped that my dad would pick a man who was kind, generous, brave, inspiring, and free of impositions. Instead, he introduced me to Ryde Alexander.”

A small, uncomfortable laugh rippled through the crowd.

“While Ryde is a talented actor and many girls have fallen for him, he is not the kind of person I had dreamed of spending my life with. We attempted to date, to grow our relationship, and over time, it became increasingly evident that he was not the man for me. And then I met someone.”

My eyes watered at the memory of Ronan leaning against his motorcycle, offering me a ride and instead handing me a lifeline.

“He came to me in a moment of distress, and even though he could have left me alone to deal with my problems, he