All the Little Truths: A Standalone Enemies-to-Lovers High School Romance (English Prep Book 3) Read online

  All the Little Truths

  SJ Sylvis

  All the Little Truths

  Copyright © 2021 S.J. Sylvis

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This work is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published: S.J. Sylvis 2021

  [email protected]

  Cover Design: Taylor Danae Colbert

  Editing: Jenn Lockwood Editing

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Also by SJ Sylvis

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  All the Little Truths is a full-length standalone enemies-to-lovers high school romance intended for MATURE readers. Be aware that it contains triggers that some readers may find bothersome. I tried my very hardest to keep the characters as authentic as possible, as well as their feelings towards certain traumas. Please keep in mind while reading that everyone deals with trauma differently—and these characters are no different.

  * * *

  All the Little Truths is the third and final book in the English Prep series. Although it is a standalone with its own HEA, following Eric and Madeline, it is highly recommended to read book one, All the Little Lies, and book two, All the Little Secrets, before this one!

  Prologue

  Several months ago

  Eric

  The second I pulled myself from sleep, I knew something was off. Call it intuition, or maybe it was something else entirely, but I knew something wasn’t right. My father’s Rover was in the driveway, but he wasn’t in the house. I continued to stare at my mom from their ajar bedroom door. She was curled up on her side as her chest rose and fell gracefully, a blanket draped over her body, with the sun barely making daybreak through the far window. My stomach clenched even tighter as I continued to stand there. I was fuming.

  Fuck.

  I’d already searched the house, high and low. My father was nowhere to be found. His phone was still laying on the bedside table, and the sheets were still crumpled on his side of the bed. I swallowed back a harsh growl as my knuckles almost popped from the grip I had on the door jamb.

  I gave my mom one last look before I quickly jolted around and rushed down the steps.

  I was finished with this shit.

  My father was mistaken if he thought I was going to let this go. He was a cheating son of a bitch.

  “It was a mistake. One your mother doesn’t need to know about.”

  Yeah, fuck you, Dad.

  Once you admit you’ve made a mistake, you usually stop making it.

  Our front door flew open with my rage. My gaze skimmed over our driveway and the freshly cut green grass that stood between our house and the neighbor’s. I recognized both cars parked out front, which only increased my anger. My heart thumped like a ticking time bomb. My hands shook with fury as I stomped my way over the dewy yard in my bare feet. Who needed shoes at a time like this? Fuck shoes. Goosebumps clung to my bare chest. Who needed a shirt at a time like this? Fuck clothes.

  I tried to take a steady breath to reel in my temper as I twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open. I was sure it was just my head fucking with me, but I swore I could smell the sex from where I was standing.

  It had been forever since I’d stepped foot in this house. The smallest ache in my chest made itself known with forgotten memories—memories that I’d consistently pushed away for the last several years in order to stay sane. I shook my head as I rounded the steps and climbed them in sets of three. My eyes went directly to Madeline’s bedroom door, but I quickly skimmed past it, annoyed that her face was floating around my brain so early in the morning. I tilted my head, the strands of my dark hair flinging down in my eyes as I began to listen.

  The sour taste of vomit caused a rough swallow to bob down my throat.

  It took no more than three seconds to get to the door that held sounds of skin against skin and high-pitched whimpers behind it. But from the second I tore open the door, everything went into slow-motion.

  My heart banged against my ribcage so hard it hurt. It was the only sound I could hear. With every thrust of my father’s bare fucking ass plowing into Madeline’s mom’s pussy, I felt my rage intensify to a scary high. I saw red. The entire room tinted to a hellish color as I barked out the words.

  “Get. The. Fuck. Home.”

  “Eric!” My father paused, still plunged inside Madeline’s mom. “What the hell? Get out of here!”

  “I will rip you out of her fucking pussy myself if you don’t do it yourself. You’re disgusting.”

  “Brett.” Madeline’s mom wiggled underneath my father, and my head sliced to the left as I peeled my eyes away. I felt sick. And angry. Really fucking angry.

  My poor mom.

  The rustling of blankets and loud, exasperated sighs from my father had my voice climbing.

  “I’m not hiding this shit anymore. This is taking it too far. Fucking the neighborhood slut—again—before crawling back in bed with your loving wife?” I met his dark stare head on, which was infuriating because I was certain my expression mirrored his: dark, furrowed brows; sharp, taut jawline; inky hair rustled at the top; steel-blue eyes armed and ready to attack. I was a carbon copy of him.

  “I hate you. I hate you so fucking much. Mom deserves so much better than you.”

  I hadn’t always hated my father. Up until recently, he was my idol: hard worker, charismatic in the way that others moved out of his way without even being asked, made my mother blush on occasion, intimidated those that needed to be put in their place. But then, I grew the fuck up and started putting two and two together.

  My father looked away for a moment as Madeline’s mom pulled the satin sheets up to her chest. I glared at
her. She was just as much at fault as my father. It takes two to fuck. They were both fucking assholes.

  “We will talk about this outside.”

  I scoffed, my sarcastic, dramatic laugh cutting through the air. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re going to walk your sorry, pitiful ass home and tell Mom what a piece of shit you are.”

  My anger was still there, boiling underneath my skin, but I’d have been lying if I said there wasn’t a moment of hesitation on my part as I saw my father’s brow line deepen. Amongst the other attributes that I’d listed, he was also arrogant. My father didn’t like to be embarrassed in front of others. I’d watched, in full disclosure, how intimidating he could get when threatened.

  “You don’t get to talk to me like that.” He paused, zipping up his pants as I stood with my arms crossed over my chest. My jaw ticked as I held back a snarl. “I’m not telling your mother anything. This will only hurt her.”

  “I’ll fucking tell her myself then, pussy.” The word spit out with so much distaste and raw anger that I caught the slight startle from Madeline’s mom. I turned around, my arms hastily falling to my sides, ready to tear a path down the hallway on an unfortunate mission to break my own mother’s heart, but I halted at the last second.

  “Mom?” Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

  Her glistening eyes softened for a moment as she sighed, looking up into my face. The anger floated away instantly. Shit. “Mom… I’m so—” Her hand was like a feather brushing my chest. “You, my sweet boy,”—tears continued to fill her big, chestnut-colored eyes—“are my greatest love.”

  “Heather.” My father’s voice was rushed, a gasp lodged in the back of his throat.

  My mom’s hand fell swiftly from my chest as she blinked away her tears. She turned around and walked back over to the stairs and descended them one by one. Her light-pink robe swayed as she continued down the stairway and all the way to the door, not looking back once.

  A loud grumble tore from my father’s throat as he rushed after her, calling out her name with every stride he took. I stood rigid in the same spot.

  I knew I needed to move, especially before Madeline came out of her room with all the commotion. The last fucking thing I needed was to see her.

  I dropped my gaze, wishing the anger would come back so I didn’t feel the guilt of having kept the secret that my dad was a cheating bastard for so long, but it was there, and it was heavy. A held breath clamored from my mouth as I rubbed the gaping hole in my chest.

  “Well, it’s about time,” a feminine voice floated around me as I reluctantly brought my chin up.

  My eyes flicked over to her even though I begged myself not to look. And fuck me. Long, blonde hair fell down in waves over slender shoulders and a perky chest, leading down to too-short cotton shorts and bare feet with purple nail polish on the ends. I made myself stare at her legs instead of her face, because I couldn’t fathom seeing her expression.

  “What the fuck does that mean, Madeline?”

  My chest heaved, and I was thankful because that meant my anger was coming back.

  A light laugh tumbled out of her, and I couldn’t help it. I zeroed right in on that pink, pouty mouth. “I mean, it took you long enough to catch on.”

  Did she…did she fucking know this whole time?

  I crept along the hallway and made my way over to her, finally locking onto those sky-blue eyes that held so much depth that she always tried to hide. For a moment, I saw the old Madeline. The one that once made me a get-well card when I’d caught the chicken pox in sixth grade. The one that dropped off freshly baked cookies when I’d first moved into the neighborhood. The one that made me a friendship bracelet one summer evening after we’d stayed up until midnight playing basketball in my driveway. I got a mere glimpse of the fresh-faced, sleepy-eyed, no make-up Madeline. The one I used to crave before everything changed. The fleeting, distant feeling of losing her flew through me, making me even angrier.

  My head dropped into her personal space, and I softly pressed her back into the door jamb, angling her dainty chin up to meet my stare. “You knew?” I made no move to hide the utter disgust in my tone.

  “Of course I knew. Your dad has been fucking my mom for years, Eric.”

  I didn't want to show my cards, but I couldn’t help it. Every tight muscle along my face fell for a moment. For years?

  Madeline’s gaze bounced back and forth between mine, and for a second, she appeared remorseful.

  If I wasn’t so fucking pissed, I’d question the momentary dip in her bitchy, cold exterior. But I was pissed. I was really fucking pissed. My chest was touching hers, and I pushed away the burning in my core that told me I wasn’t fooling the horny fuck inside of me before gritting out, “You fucking knew this whole time, and you didn’t think to tell me? Or better yet…” I pressed even harder onto her, her back now smashed against the wood. Wisps of blonde hair flew out of her face, showing me those smooth, high cheekbones. Madeline was completely unreadable; she wore a mask at all times. It was hard to decipher what went through her head, but I could sense the discomfort I was inflicting on her. “Why didn’t you tell your mom to close her fucking legs?” A sarcastic laugh erupted from her as I reached up and slowly moved a piece of her hair out of her face. Her breath hitched as her lips parted. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

  Her lips slammed shut as she quickly turned her head to the side. I sighed angrily, the bare skin of my chest rubbing over her covered breasts. I hated that I could feel the tightening of her nipples through the thin cotton. I hated even more that I enjoyed it. “It’s on now, Princess.” I backed away slowly and saw her hands planted firmly on the wood behind her, white knuckles and all. “You think Christian was bad after he made a fool out of you at the party a couple of weeks ago?” I turned on my heel and shook my head, sparing her a wicked glance over my shoulder. “You just fucking wait.”

  She called after me as I descended the stairs, trying to catch my own breath. I wasn’t sure if I was out of breath from feeling her body pressed along mine, or if it was from my anger, but either way, it felt like I’d just run three hundred suicides back to back on the football field.

  “It’s not my fault your dad is a fucking pig, Eric.”

  I paused, not turning back to look at those soul-sucking eyes of hers. “No, but you’re a fucking bitch for not telling me. I’d always given you the benefit of the doubt, Madeline—old flames and all. But turns out, that nice girl I met years ago truly is gone.”

  She waited until I was almost to the door before shouting down the stairs, “I’m not afraid of your little games, Eric. Nor am I afraid of Christian’s.”

  Before walking out the door, I huffed, “You should be.”

  Chapter One

  Madeline

  They said high school was the best time of your life. That those memories of late-night football games underneath the lights, cheering along with your classmates, would be forever cherished. The pep rallies, pop-quizzes, prom dates, all of it. But I’m here to tell you that high school is not the best time of your life. It couldn’t be, because if it was, then my future was looking very, very grim.

  The sound from my alarm drove the knife in my back—that I, unfortunately, put there myself—in a little further, reminding me that I had to walk into that stupid, prestigious place in the next hour. Not only did I have to walk into English Prep with a target on my back, but I also had to do that on thirty seconds of sleep—again. The nerves in my stomach amplified as I scanned my phone for new messages, but I had zero. Surprise, surprise.

  My finger swiped over the screen as I reread the unanswered texts I sent to Sky, my not so much friend but more so acquaintance that helped me in her own roundabout way.

  Me: Sky, please text me back.

  Me: I heard all about the races. I know shit hit the fan, but I’m desperate over here.

  Me: I’ll pay triple the price.

  Me: I haven’t slept in a we
ek. At least direct me to someone else that can help me.

  I clenched my phone in my hand, breathing deeply through my nose. If anyone were to read the messages on my phone, they’d think I was some crazed drug addict, but I wasn’t. Sleeping pills weren’t exactly a hot, new popular street drug, according to my knowledge. If I were to go to a doctor, I was sure they’d give me something, legally, to help aid sleep. But then they’d ask why I wasn’t sleeping, and there was absolutely no way in hell I was going down that rabbit hole—I’d never be able to climb out.

  I slowly sat up in bed, throwing my phone down to the bottom of my feet with frustration as I swung my legs over the side. Everything in my body hurt with an ache nestled inside each and every last muscle. I hadn’t cheered in months, but it felt like I’d stunted for hours upon hours the night before. My head was ready to explode, and one look in the mirror had me cringing. The bags underneath my blue eyes were there, and they were angry. My skin even looked tired. How was that possible?

  My plaid English Prep uniform laid on my desk in the far corner of my room, taunting me with another day of hell. Usually, I’d wear my devil horns with pride as I walked into school, taking in the dirty looks from my peers, but with three hours of sleep for the last week, I was feeling too weak to do much of anything. Even getting dressed was a hard task. I wanted to rip my blonde hair out instead of brushing it, but that seemed like more effort than even performing the task in the first place, so in the end, my light strands laid over the English Prep bulldog logo as I buttoned up my blazer.