Dirty Little Secrets (Hillcrest Prep #1.5) - Trilina Pucci Page 0,2

always come back with whatever oxy-induced shopping spree Stella goes through while she heals. This trip presents itself as very lucrative. Aunt Stella scheduled a whole face-lift, and that means lots of pain pills.

It’ll be heaven, and I haven’t been in years. I also love her tons.

I raise my brows. “How much is Hillcrest worth to you? Because I’ll be everyone’s favorite junior tonight. Hot, smart, and fun. A triple threat. I bet I can have Caroline Whitmore eating out of the palm of my hand…that is if she actually ate.”

Laura tosses her brush at me and laughs. “Done, bitch. There’s hope for your future yet. Now get dressed. We have a party to attend.”

Jackson

I close the door to my new home for the next two weeks. The empty boarding room is mine during spring break. Now that I’ve been confirmed for the team and placed as the number one, I’m here for a rigorous training period. Grey will mentor me, show me how to run this team, and I’ll get to know the boys—the ones I’ll be rowing with next year.

It’s all I’d hoped for, but at this moment, I feel the enormity of what’s happening, and damn it’s overwhelming. I drop my duffle and reach into the front pocket of my jeans, retrieving my phone. The screen lights up as I hit the number.

Grabbing the back of my neck, I wait for the voice on the other end.

“Are you already at the airport?” my brother answers.

Dick.

“Shut up.” I laugh, walking to the unmade bed and moving the stacked sheets so I can sit. “I was fucking incredible. He never stood a chance. I beat his weak ass by a mile.”

“Jackson Samuel Price, language.”

Of course, my jackass brother left out I was on speaker.

“Hi, Momma.” I smile, lying back on the stiff mattress, resting my phone on my chest.

“I call bullshit—you lost.”

A smack from the other end tells me my mom just delivered one to the back of Holt’s head. Good.

“Ow, Momma.”

“You deserve it,” I throw out.

He smacks his lips before saying, “Tell the truth, douche. You got killed.”

My dad’s voice interjects, “Killed is harsh. Have faith in the boy—maybe it was more maimed, instead of killed.”

My brother laughs on the other end, and each of their voices speaks over the other. Man, I miss them already.

“Okay. Fine. I’d like to say that I kept up, gave him a run for his money, but the race was over before it began. He’s fast. However”—I pause for dramatic effect—“I’m lucky to have the opportunity to learn from him. I got a spot.”

My mother gasps, and I know she’s got her hand over her mouth. I also know that she’s probably crying. I feel bad that I waited so long to call them and share the news, but right after the race, I hit the ground running. It was a gym tour, school tour, paperwork given, and a whirlwind of people met.

“You’ll be emailed all the stuff, Dad. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner—”

“Jackson,” my father says, cutting me off. “We’re proud of you, son.”

“Thanks, Pops.”

“You did good, loser,” Holt adds. “Mom agrees, but she’s crying.”

I hear her say something but can’t quite make it out in between the cracks in her voice, and I laugh, knowing Holt’s hugging her. He’s always been more sensitive to our mom—thank God, because the woman cries over everything from toilet paper commercials to dog memes.

But I love her, and her boys would fight anyone outside of us who laughed at her.

My father clears his throat before adding, “The whole damn town is proud. I was telling Mrs. Quinton about it today, and she was extremely impressed.”

I love how he calls Savannah a town. It isn’t small, but I guess it is when you come from old money—it tends to equal small circles.

Jesus. New York rich must mean even smaller circles. I’m knee-deep in the kind of wealth most people think happens only on television shows, and I have a feeling that nobody here would call New York a small town. I rub a hand over my cheek, shaking off the unsureness of my situation, focusing back on my conversation.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t think cantankerous Mrs. Quinton had a nice word for anybody.”

The woman is mean.

“Well, she has family there, so surprisingly, she was very positive… Now that I think about it—hell may be freezing over.”

Holt and I laugh at the same time, and my mom joins in. Pops is always good for levity in