Текст книги "Before You Break"

Автор книги: Christina Lee

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Six
Quinn

The bleachers were beginning to fill. I slid on my catcher’s mask and headed to the batter’s box to take more practice pitches from McGreevy. He was a damn good pitcher, had a killer curveball. But it was supposed to be Sebastian up there.

Bastian and I would practice for hours at Miller Park in our neighborhood after high school ball games. His fastball had probably been the best in the state, had even earned him a scholarship. I’d had to work a bit harder to earn my position on the team. I never had the kind of heart and natural talent for the game that he did.

Truth be told, there was a time that I would’ve rather been under the hood of a car than on a dusty field. It’s not like baseball wasn’t in my blood. It definitely was. The sound of the bat cracking, the murmur of the crowd as the ball hung midair over the outfield. You had to like baseball to play it so damn much.

I just didn’t have a constant hard-on for it like my other teammates. I didn’t want to make it my career. But I was good at it, and I could stand being on a team from season to season.

Working solo on an engine or a custom paint job had been my passion. My dream. My lifeline. Until the summer after high school.

“McGreevy, let Smithy take a few rounds of practice,” Coach yelled from the dugout. Then he trained his eyes on me. “You good, Quinn?”

I stood to give my knees a break and nodded. Coach had complimented me privately on my dedication to the game. Said he admired my drive. If only he knew I was carrying the load of two players. Me, and one who should have been a star pitcher on his team.

I looked up at the stands just as my parents were headed to their seats. They came to a home game every few weeks. Not to actually see their only child pay, but to keep up appearances. My father wanted it to look like he actually cared about his family while he tried to renew his seat in the House of Representatives. He was gunning for senator next and had some scary pipe dream to make it all the way to the presidency.

Mom loved being a politician’s wife, so sometimes my only escape from that cold and empty home had been to go to Sebastian’s house. His family was in politics, too. My father had helped Bastian’s father win his seat in a landslide. The difference was: They were warm, open, real.

As Smithy took the mound, I gave the bleachers one last glance. Sebastian’s mom waved at me and I tipped my head in her direction. The grief was still apparent in her eyes and the lines of her face almost three years later. She was hanging in there, trying to make it day-to-day, and that killed me.

When I saw Amber was with them today, my throat closed up. I struggled to swallow.

I hoped she wouldn’t try to corner me again. I had no desire to talk to her, to have a powwow about what had happened that night. She insisted she needed to talk and I kept saying no. I knew she was only trying to alleviate her own guilt.

She was a pretty girl with her red hair and tight body. I may have had feelings for her a couple of years ago, but there was no way that I did now.

But she was still trying to keep up appearances with Bastian’s parents. Showing up here, pretending like she and Sebastian hadn’t been about to break up, that that one night hadn’t changed everything.

Every single fucking thing.

Could I blame her, though? I was pretending, too.

Still, I wanted nothing to do with her.

I noticed my frat brothers on the other side of the stands as well. They attended the home games to show school spirit with our sister sorority. But this time I zeroed in on Ella, sitting next to Brian’s girlfriend, Tracey. That was nothing new. She’d spent a few Saturdays at this ball field with Joel and his friends.

Her long hair was pulled up in a ponytail, showcasing her cheekbones, and she wore a red Titans T-shirt. I pictured her dressed in that top with nothing else on, except maybe those same pink panties. Shit, since when did I start fantasizing about Joel’s sweet and innocent girlfriend?

I had always thought Ella was nice to look at, but something had changed the night in that bathroom. I needed to stop thinking about how she’d felt in my arms or the throaty noises she’d made when I’d placed the wet rag on her neck. I was being stupid. I knew she was off-limits. And if there was any bigger reminder of how unavailable she was, I had Amber here as a recap. She should have been a crude prompt to keep my thoughts and hands to myself.

Maybe Ella couldn’t ignore how the air had become charged between us that night, either. She’d sneaked glances at me out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to appear too obvious. And she’d followed my gaze to Sebastian’s parents, sitting with Amber. Maybe she was trying to figure it all out, and maybe she wondered if Amber was my girlfriend. She would be so wrong.

Ella was not Amber. And Joel and I were definitely not best friends.

But why the hell did I care when she was still dating that asshole? Besides, eventually she would realize she was worth more than that. And I certainly was not more. That thought was like an ice bucket being thrown at me.

Soon enough the first inning began, along with the music from the speakers. The lead batter was winding up in front of me, and I got lost in my job, gesturing to McGreevy which pitch to throw, based on Coach’s signals and the batter’s weaknesses.

But by the third batter, and no outs, I realized that McGreevy was being inflexible as shit tonight, calling off most of my suggestions. But I could be stubborn, too. I signaled for a time-out and jogged to the mound.

I placed my glove over my face so the other team couldn’t read my lips. “What the fuck, McGreevy?”

“You want to know what the fuck’s up? . . . You’re calling shitty signals tonight.”

“Yeah, then why are there runners on first and second?”

He toed the dirt on the mound in an angry pattern. “Because of your terrible calls?”

“My calls?” Man, he could be full of himself sometimes. “You’re doing whatever the hell you want up there. Get your head out of your ass.”

After a few seconds of our glaring at each other, Coach joined us at the mound.

“You two better work it out or I’m changing pitchers,” he said. “McGreevy, trust Quinn’s calls. He’s good at his job.”

That got McGreevy fired up. He hated how much confidence Coach had in me. To be honest, so did I. I was a nobody, lower than the earth under my feet. And someday he’d realize it. But for now I could pretend. I could forget how unworthy I really was.

After the game, which we won by two runs, my parents put on a show by waiting for me next to Bastian’s mom and dad. I waved to a couple of my frat buddies and then walked over to the fence.

“Nice game, Son.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

My mom leaned in and hugged me. She’d always touched me more when others were around. I’d desperately craved it from her as a kid. Thankfully, I’d been raised by nurturing nannies who gave a shit. And my mom’s sister, Aunt Gabby. She was the best.

She’d pick me up and take me places with her own kids. My cousins’ house was chaotic and loud and I loved every minute of it. It helped me blend in—even become invisible if I wanted—instead of standing out and acting appropriately as the politician’s son. Especially when I was dragged to political events night after friggin’ night.

Amber tried catching my eye but I refused to look at her. She attended a local community college and worked in her parents’ bakery. I didn’t know what I’d do if she attended the same university. It was hard enough avoiding her now.

The truth of the matter was: I was still angry with her about what went down. And frankly, I was afraid of what she wanted to say. That she’d blame me, like she did that night. I’d only ever read one of her e-mail rants before canceling my account. That had been enough for me.

“Thanks for coming,” I said to Bastian’s mom and dad. Damn, they were loyal to me and to this university. They still donated to the fraternity and Bastian’s dad still attended alumni events. I knew they came to my games to try to hold on to some piece of their son. I could see it in their eyes, feel it in their hugs.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Sebastian’s mom said, and it cut me up inside. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there and drink myself into oblivion or drive into a fucking ditch. But then who would they come see play? What would keep them going? “We’ll come whenever we can.”

After I showered and changed, I trudged to the team bus. Girlfriends and baseball groupies were lined up in their tight jeans and short skirts, waiting on different players. The guys looking to get laid that night would tell certain girls to head up to Zach’s Bar near the university or they’ d just meet them at their cars in the TSU parking lot.

“Great game, Quinn.” I nodded politely at one of the girls, who had long blond hair and pouty pink lips. It was tempting to get lost in one of them for an hour. But I knew that feeling quickly passed and then I’d be alone with my pathetic thoughts again.

After exiting the bus in the college lot, I hopped in my car and followed the guys to the bar for a quick drink. I sat at my usual stool near the door so I could make a quick escape when my teammates got too stupid and drunk. Joel was there, at a table near the window with Jimmy, but Ella was nowhere in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t feel like going home with blue balls again tonight.

I hadn’t taken a leak since the beginning of the game, so I walked down the grimy hallway to the only bathroom in the joint. I didn’t want to think about how many people had gotten it on in that bathroom. Once, I’d even let a girl go down on me in there and immediately regretted it afterward.

I waited impatiently against the wall, tapping my foot to the rock music blaring from the speakers, because the bathroom was occupied. The door swung open and I straightened as Ella emerged into the dimly lit space. I wasn’t expecting to see her and my breath caught at about the same time as hers. Heat lapped at my neck as my body instantly reacted to her.

“Hey, Quinn,” she panted out, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, which only made her chest stand out more. “Nice game.”

“Hey,” I said trying to keep my eyes leveled on her face. But they kept swimming down to her full breasts and round hips. God, she looked hot in that baseball shirt. Even better if it had quinn #3 emblazoned across the back. “Thanks.”

“I never thanked you for the other night,” she said, breaking eye contact with me. A faint shade of pink stretched across her cheeks. “I kind of fell asleep on you.”

“Not a problem, Ella.” I noticed how snugly her jeans fit her shape, how she’d folded up the ragged bottoms to reveal her tiny red Converse kicks. Damn, she was cute.

“I should probably be embarrassed,” she said.

My gaze traveled up her neck to her dark hair as I tried getting my thoughts in working order. “About what?”

She lifted her face and our gazes locked. Her blue eyes were mesmerizing.

“Seriously? I was hanging over the toilet. Wearing practically nothing.” Her eyes widened like she hadn’t meant to say that last bit and as soon as my gaze scanned down her legs, remembering how they had looked that night, her pale skin turned to gooseflesh.

I was surprised how affected she was by me, and I felt the urge to move closer so I could inhale her almond shampoo or lotion or whatever scent I’d smelled the other night. Warm and soothing and all kinds of sexy.

“Nothing at all to be embarrassed about.” I took a step forward and noticed how she held her breath and curled her hands into tighter balls. How she looked at my lips and then at my eyes.

Then I heard a familiar voice. One I hadn’t been expecting. “Quinn.”

I squinted down the hall and saw Amber standing there, shifting on the balls of her feet. What the hell? No way had she ever tried to show up any place I’d been other than my baseball games.

“Gotta go,” I said to Ella and stalked down the hall, swiping right by Amber.

“Wait.” Amber followed me through the bar and out the door to my car.

I kept my back to her and picked up my pace. “What in the hell do you want from me?”

“Please, talk to me,” she muttered. “Damn it, just give me one minute of your time!”

I turned to look at her, my fingers gripping my car keys. There was desperation in her voice. I’d heard that tone before. Whenever she and Sebastian had a fight. When she wanted to talk about what had transpired that night. When she called my cell incessantly the month after.

“Fine. Go for it,” I said, leaning against my car door. “Although I’m not really sure what there is to talk about.”

“I want to talk about what happened that night.” I felt my whole body tense. It was enough to lie awake at night thinking about it. But to discuss it openly with her again? Hadn’t we been through all of this already? I just wanted to shake her.

“What the hell about it? Just get it out already.” I tossed my hands in the air. “You obviously have something huge to say.”

She took a deep breath. “It wasn’t our fault, Quinn. You have to start believing that.”

“No, you’re right, it wasn’t our fault.” I used my fingers for emphasis. “Just my fault. Mine and mine alone.”

“Quinn, you’ve got to stop torturing yourself like this,” she practically shouted. I looked around the parking lot making sure we didn’t have an audience. “I’m sorry I blamed you. I was such an emotional wreck afterward—angry at the world.”

I wanted to say she was right to blame me. That I was paying for it every day. But I decided to let her talk—get it out—so I could leave already.

“I can’t help the feelings that I had for you. And I know you had them for me, too.” She looked me in the eye and I didn’t deny it. “I . . . I need someone to talk to about everything that happened. You’re the only one who understands.”

“We’ve already rehashed that night, Amber.” I folded my arms across my chest, maybe in an effort to protect my heart. “How many damn times can we do this? I need to move on.”

“But that’s just it. You’re not moving on. You’re . . . living his life. Not yours.” She looked over my shoulder to my car. “What about your love of cars, your plan to own a shop someday?”

My fingers brushed against my 1966 Chevy Chevelle. She was black and sleek and the one thing I owned that I cherished the most. I’d helped my Uncle Nick build her from the ground up. Now I regretted sharing that with Amber. She was throwing it back in my face.

“Things change.” Whenever I’d stayed at Aunt Gabby’s house, I’d wander into the garage and watch Uncle Nick work. Pretty soon I was holding a wrench and he was teaching me how rebuild an engine or customize a paint job. My father bought my car off of Uncle Nick for my sixteenth birthday, after I begged him repeatedly. But I wasn’t allowed to drive her until I went off to college. Dad didn’t want me getting any crazy ideas in my head about being a broke, blue-collar business owner. He’d been thrilled when I’d applied to TSU to become a business major. I focused back on Amber’s face. “Dreams change.”

“Not really. You tell yourself that they do.” Her finger jabbed at my chest for emphasis. “That you need to pay your dues. That you owe him. But you don’t.”

I placed my hands on her shoulders to show her I meant business. “Don’t do this, Amber.”

Tears were streaming down her face, and she clung to my shirt for support. I felt terrible that she was such a wreck, so I pulled her against me and held her, rubbing her back in small circles.

“I need you, Quinn,” she said into my shoulder. “And I . . . I still want you. I can’t feel guilty about that.”

I became rigid and then pushed away from her. She always knew how to twist the screw. How to manipulate me. I was naïve and inexperienced back then. She knew Sebastian was pulling away from her, so she went after me instead.

Probably because she wanted to make Sebastian jealous. And I fell for her. Fell damn hard for her.

“No, Amber. I won’t go there with you. Not anymore,” I spit out. “Go find someone else to fuck around with.”

Then I wrenched open my door, cranked the key in the ignition, and pushed down on the gas. When I looked in my rearview mirror, she stood staring after me.

Chapter Seven
Ella

I had my script ready to go at my desk. It was a slow night, which didn’t happen that often. Usually the weeks preceding a holiday like Easter were the worst. They triggered all kinds of expectations and memories for people. But on sunny days like today, the lines were slow. The weather made people feel better somehow. At least momentarily.

My thoughts were all over the place tonight.

I couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Quinn in the hallway at Zach’s. How he’d moved toward me like he wanted to be nearer. I wouldn’t have stopped him, either, even though my boyfriend had only been five hundred feet away. How messed up was that? There was just something about Quinn. Like being around him again had pulled me back into his orbit.

And that girl who’d showed up. Was she an ex? Did he still want her? The powerful way he’d stared me down and then looked at her—pain mapped all over his face.

And then the way he’d held her in the parking lot. I couldn’t turn away from that window. It was all tender and intimate, and it tied my stomach up in knots. But then he’d pushed her away and sped off, leaving her standing all alone.

Joel had done a fair amount of groveling after that night I spent in the bathroom with Quinn. I didn’t mention what Quinn had done, which felt wrong, like he and I shared a secret. I didn’t want Joel to get the wrong idea, because in truth, nothing had happened. Except that the atmosphere had somehow shifted between Quinn and me.

Joel wasn’t a jealous kind of guy, and at first, I liked that about him. But after what Quinn had told me, I was beginning to think differently of him. Like Joel didn’t quite care enough about me to be possessive. To make me feel like I was his and he was mine.

I imagined it felt amazing to have someone want you so much that they staked claim on you. Like Bennett and Avery. Maybe they hadn’t spoken it out loud, but it was obvious. They were all over each other all the time and no one would stand a chance getting between them.

I’d wondered on more than one occasion if Quinn was that impassioned with his girlfriends, and I had a pretty good idea that maybe he was. It seemed like he’d been holding himself back in the bathroom. He’d stopped himself from saying everything he had wanted to about Joel. Like his raw emotions had been right under the surface waiting to be unleashed.

He was so intense in the hallway at Zach’s. It had been like he was crawling beneath my skin, trying to get inside me. Unless I’d been imagining it and my crush was purely one-sided. I mean, the guy watched me dry heave, for fuck’s safe. How sexy could that have been?

I wasn’t sure why I kept thinking about that gorgeous boy. It was stupid and dangerous. Besides, he was never with any girls—at least not recently—and even if he was, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t choose someone like me. I was probably too tame, too straitlaced for him. I liked things orderly, tidy, with few surprises.

What I saw in Quinn—beneath the surface of his eyes—was something wholly uncultivated, despite his smooth exterior. Something passionate and undisciplined. And it made me want to be throw all my rules out the window and feel wild and untamed with him.

All of these fantasies about Quinn were keeping me from facing some hard truths about my own relationship. I always knew Joel had been a bit of a flirt, but based on his “hot girls” comment the other night, I wondered if he’d cheated on me, too. The problem was: We’d never truly had a conversation about not seeing other people. It was just assumed. He knew I was a loyal girlfriend and so maybe he’d never felt the need to tell me he wanted me and me alone.

And here I was six months later, not even sure where I stood. I knew he enjoyed our sex life, because he’d told me it was some of the best he’d ever had. He denied up and down that he was screwing around with other girls when I’d asked him, but there was something in his eyes that said different.

I thought about telling him that we should date other people to see if he would take the bait, but ultimately, I decided I didn’t want to play head games with him. Besides, if I was fantasizing about this other guy, did I really feel that deeply for Joel in the first place?

My phone line lit up and snapped me straight back to reality.

“Suicide prevention, this is Gabriella.”

“Hi, um . . . Gabby?” The low drawl of his tortured voice made my heart practically crash straight out of my chest.

It was him, the guy I’d been wondering about. The one who I’d hoped was still alive. “Daniel?”

I heard him let out a gasp. “You remembered my name?”

“Well, not too many people call me Gabby,” I said. I needed to continue talking to keep him on the phone this time. “I’m glad to hear your voice. Last time you called . . .”

“Yeah, I hung up, sorry about that,” he said. His words were a bit slurred, and I wondered how much he’d had to drink. “I just wasn’t ready to talk. And I’m still not sure if I am. But tonight I had . . .”

“Had what, Daniel?”

When he didn’t respond I tried filling in the words for him. “Suicidal thoughts?”

“Yeah, sorta,” he said. “I just figured . . . things would be so much easier if I weren’t around.”

I’d heard this same sentiment from many of my callers. They just wanted to know someone cared. Needed them. Would listen. “Easier for whom?”

“For the people I hurt. And for me,” he said. “But I’m also not sure what’s waiting for me. On the other side. Probably some form of hell. And I’m a chicken shit.”

My heart clenched for him. He thought he was worthless. Bad. Would go straight to hell. What had this guy done?

“Why do you think you’d go to hell? Everyone makes mistakes. We hurt people when we don’t mean to. Or sometimes, we even do.” I’d had to convince my parents of this fact, because suicide was a sin so ingrained in their religion. A religion I couldn’t stand behind any longer. Not when my brother would be condemned for taking his own life after having longstanding mental health issues. “It’s a part of being human, Daniel.”

“Not this kind of mistake. I don’t think I can ever be forgiven.” And then more quietly, he said, “Or even forgive myself.”

“I’m here to listen, Daniel. And I’m not going to judge you.” My fingers gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. I was desperate to hear his story. For him. And for me, too. So I could help him heal. Or direct him to someone who could. “You can pour it all out and never worry about running into me. We don’t even know each other. We’re just on the phone. You’re safe to tell me.”

“Shit.” His voice came out gurgled, like he was on the verge of tears. And then with one big huff, the floodgates opened, and he let them flow. He was sobbing and panting, so I kept silent, my heart lodged in my throat.

“It’s okay,” I whispered after several long minutes. “It’s good to get those emotions out.”

When his breathing finally slowed and he pulled himself together, he said, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” I said, my words clogged with emotion. “I’d like to hear your story, Daniel. We all have one, you know.”

I heard him shifting and wondered where exactly he was. I figured inside somewhere because I hadn’t heard any car horns or other people in the background. I pictured him in his room, much like Christopher had been that fateful night. “If I tell you, you might not think I’m such a nice person after all.”

“What could you possibly have done to make you think that?”

“My best friend,” he choked on the word. “I betrayed him and then . . . I killed him.”

What the hell? Killed him? I was out of my league here.

Am I talking to a murderer? No, I couldn’t believe that. This was Daniel. The person who somehow evoked memories of Christopher. My sweet brother whose life ended too early.

He was calling the hotline because he was hurting. Desperate. In agony.

“Killed him how?” I tried to make my voice sound level. I gripped my pen cap and it left an indentation in my palm. “Was it an accident?”

“That’s what people think, yes,” he muttered. “But I should’ve been more careful, been paying better attention.”

My hand went to my eyes, rubbing them to keep my emotions at bay. I needed to stay strong. For him. “Oh, Daniel.”

“Don’t you dare say it.” His voice was like a soft growl. Like he’d been clenching his teeth. “All those things the therapist would say. That no one decides in a split second to take someone’s life. That I need to forgive myself, or my life will feel meaningless, too.”

So he’d been to therapy over this. He was carrying guilt around. Wearing it like a suit of armor. “Okay.” I was trying to remain neutral, to allow him the chance to talk.

“What the therapist didn’t know was that I didn’t give two shits about my own life,” he rumbled. “That I was already thinking of ways I could end it.”

But he hadn’t ended it. Which told me he needed to unload all of this. Unburden himself. That’s why he was calling the hotline. To talk to someone he felt safe and anonymous with. My instincts were usually right. But what kind of guilt was he lugging around? Survivor’s guilt or just self-loathing?

“What do you think of me now, Gabby?”

His voice was shaky, laced with fear. As if by knowing his truth I’d had the power to ruin him, take him down, or call him the filthiest names in the book. Like that would be any worse that what he was already putting himself through.

And that’s when I realized just how vulnerable Daniel was.

I felt a longing in my chest to hold him, comfort him. Like I might have done with Christopher that night.

“I wish I could see your face,” he said, never allowing me the chance to respond. His voice was fueled with anger. “I’d be able to tell what you thought of me just by looking in your eyes. Just like what I saw in everybody else’s eyes. Pity. Disgust.”

“No, Daniel. Not disgust. Not even close.”

“What, then?” His voice became soft and timid.

“The truth is,” I said, finally finding my voice, “I’d only have to look in your eyes to see a person filled with an overwhelming amount of guilt and pain. So much hurt that it’s coming out of your eyeballs.”

I heard him clear his throat like maybe it was jammed with grief.

“But there are layers to you, Daniel, that make you deep and complex and good. Under all that agony is an inherently good person,” I said. “That’s what I believe.”

“You don’t even fucking know me,” he spat out. “I’m not good.”

And then the line went dead. Again.

Damn it to hell!

Like last time, Daniel had called from a blocked number, so I had no way to get him back. Only in the case of an emergency did we involve the police or put a trace on a call.

Even still, I had trouble sleeping that night thinking about Daniel sobbing into the phone and hoped against hope that he believed there was good inside of him.

And maybe that’s what kept him going. Kept him alive.

I wondered what Christopher had said to himself in the still of the night. The night he took his own life. What truths did he tell himself? And what lies—as he downed that bottle of prescription pills and chased it with vodka.