Текст книги "Dare You To"
Автор книги: Katie McGarry
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
Ryan
BETH ASKED FOR TIME. How long does she
need? A day? A week? Hours? Any amount is too long when the girl I’m falling for had tears in her eyes. Any amount is too long when I wonder if she cares for me. I won’t see her until Tuesday. Tomorrow is parent–teacher conferences. Today is Sunday and my parents are hosting a barbecue for the mayor, the town council, and a few other friends of our family.
I’m dressed up and playing the perfect part.
Perfect.
It’s what Lacy called me when she explained why she would never fit into Groveton.
Perfect.
It’s what Beth spat at me when she refused the trust fall.
Perfect.
It’s the word Gwen just used when
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discussing how she wants the two of us to walk onto the football field together for homecoming.
Perfect.
Looking out on our back patio, I see nothing but boring perfection. The grass trimmed
perfectly to three inches. The shrubs perfectly edged in the shape of round balls. The pots of fall chrysanthemums lining the edging of the patio perfectly placed one foot apart. Perfect people who grew up in this town and perfectly filled their parents’ shoes.
At the other end of the table, my mother
inclines her head toward Gwen. I take the nonverbal cue and turn my attention to my
“dinner partner.” Gwen gives me a smile that’s one more perfect thing in the backyard.
“Wouldn’t that be awesome, Ryan?”
No, walking onto the field with her on my arm at homecoming wouldn’t be awesome. I
want to share that moment with Beth. “I’m not sure we get to decide who we walk with.”
Gwen ignores my comment. “Could you
pour me some more water?”
I reach for the pitcher in front of me and do as she asks. This is my obligation to my
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parents. My job is to fill Gwen’s drink
when it’s empty, remove her dishes when she’s done, and to entertain her. Déjà vu sets in and my head swims with a sinking revelation. This same exact moment is how Gwen and I started dating.
Gwen’s mother sips her wine. Her face is
tighter than it was last fall. “We need to make a decision regarding Allison Risk and the event committee at church.”
Mom fidgets with her pearl necklace. She
hates uncomfortable decisions. “Allison is a sweet young woman.”
“Are you in favor of her joining, Miriam?”
Gwen’s mother asks.
Uncharacteristically, my mother pours wine into her empty water glass. “I don’t know. The Risks were dreadful people. Do you remember Scott’s parents? The man was a mean drunk and the woman wasn’t much better.”
“But Scott’s not his parents,” I say and
everyone at the table glances at me. My mother shoots me a warning glare, but my father puts a hand on my mother’s arm to back her off.
Mom removes her arm from under his touch. I continue, “He became the best baseball player HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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the Yankees have seen in twenty years.
Why should his wife be punished for his
parents’ mistakes?”
Dad’s eyes narrow on the last sentence. His own private warning to me that I may have gone too far.
“I have to be honest,” says Gwen’s mother.
“I am fond of Allison, but it’s the niece I’m concerned with.”
“How so?” asks my mother as I stiffen.
“Have you heard anything about her?”
“I’ve heard she smokes, was disrespectful to a teacher, and swears. All traits we cannot condone, and putting Allison on the committee will reflect upon our church. Which is so sad, since Allison is a dear and the niece is…”
Gwen’s mother flitters her fingers in the air.
“Savage. It’s obvious that the girl didn’t go with Scott like we hoped after the incident with her father.”
My mind awakens. The people at this table know what happened to Beth. I’m torn in two.
Part of me wants to defend Beth. The other half wants to know what happened to her as a child. If I speak now, I’ll lose my opportunity to learn the truth.
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“Liza,” Gwen’s father interjects. “I won’t stand for that child to be gossiped about.”
Red in the cheeks, Mrs. Gardner forces a
smile on her face. “I’m not gossiping and she’s hardly a child anymore. The event committee is an offshoot of a bigger issue. I’m concerned with the girl’s influence. I’m scared everyone will be so wrapped up in who her uncle is that they won’t see the threat in front of them. Do you want your daughter swearing and smoking and talking back to teachers?”
“I hardly think that’s going to happen,” Mr.
Gardner replies.
“Why not?” she argues. “The senior class
already nominated Beth for homecoming court and Ryan is dating her.”
I become rock. This isn’t how I wanted my parents to find out.
“What?” My mother’s fast and irritated
question silences the group. My eyes flash to Gwen. Wide-eyed and pale, Gwen sits
perfectly still and stares at the remains of her chicken cordon bleu.
Her mother poorly hides her smugness
behind her wineglass. “I’m sorry, Miriam, I assumed that Ryan told you.” She places a HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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hand over Gwen’s. “I apologize to you too, sweetheart. I didn’t know that what you told me was a secret.”
Mom places her napkin on the table. “Who’s ready for dessert?”
I stand, needing to get the hell out of here.
“I’ll get it.”
Mom deflates in her chair with a nod. What I don’t expect is Gwen hopping up and
volunteering, “And I’ll help.”
Unable to look at her, I pivot and head for the kitchen. The rapid click of Gwen’s heels informs me she’s right behind me.
“Ryan,” she says the moment the door is
closed to any eavesdropping ears. “Ryan, I’m sorry. I had no idea my mom would humiliate you like that. But it’s not my fault. How was I to know that you were keeping Beth a secret?”
“I’m not,” I snap. Gwen looks like a stranger to me in this kitchen. Maybe it’s because I’m still not used to the gray walls or the granite counters or the mahogany cupboards. Or
maybe it’s because I never really knew her to begin with.
She crosses her arms over her chest and her red sundress swirls with the motion. “Could HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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have fooled me. I mean, come on, Ryan,
your parents will hate her—and for good
reason.”
“You don’t know Beth.” The irony of this
conversation is not lost on me. Lacy once said those same words to me.
Gwen loses the perfect glow about her and does a very uncharacteristic thing—she sags against the counter. “I know more than you think. I’d bet I know more than you.” She pauses and nervously fidgets with her hands.
What the hell? Gwen is never nervous.
And that’s when I notice the bare spot on her finger. Mike’s ring is gone.
“I love you. In fact, I’ve always loved you.”
Gwen stares at the gray tiled floor. “And for some stupid reason you care about her. I think you were right in the dugout—I wasn’t clear on what I needed from you. Maybe the reason we aren’t together now is because I didn’t try hard enough.”
My forehead furrows. If she had said those words six months ago…I shake my head. It
wouldn’t have mattered. What I feel for Beth is a hundred times stronger than what I ever felt for Gwen. “We would never have worked.”
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Gwen straightens and lifts her chin.
“You’re seeing everything all wrong. Me.
Beth. Everything. I think you’re aware that you and Beth don’t belong together and that’s the reason you never told your parents. But don’t worry, Ryan. I know what I did wrong and I don’t make the same mistakes twice.”
In one graceful movement, Gwen swoops
the cake off the counter and ushers it out the kitchen door. I inhale and let my head fall back. I don’t know what the hell just happened, but every cell in my body screams it’s bad and I’m going to hate the consequences.
MY GRANDMOTHER LEFT MY MOTHER her
pendulum clock. It hangs on the wall behind Mom. With each swing, the clock ticks. It’s nine o’clock at night. The last of the guests left an hour ago. I should be wondering why my parents called me in here, especially since they’re voluntarily in the same room. Instead, I’m wondering what Beth is thinking.
Mom sits across from me at our kitchen
table while Dad leans against the door frame leading to the formal dining room. The
temperature, like always, is frigid.
“Mrs. Rowe is under the impression you’re HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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still participating in the writing
competition,” says Dad.
I glance up at him. “I’m considering it.”
“There’s nothing to consider. You’re playing Eastwick that weekend and that game will
decide rankings going into the spring season.”
Eastwick is the only team that beat us during regular season play last spring. “We’re playing Northside that Monday and they’re undefeated this year. Coach may want me to pitch that game.”
“Maybe,” says Dad. “But you’ll still be able to play a couple of innings on Monday. They’ll need you to close the game out.”
Mom takes off her pearl necklace. “I talked to Mrs. Rowe last week. She said that Ryan has a rare talent.”
“He does,” says Dad. “Baseball.”
“No,” bites out Mom. “Writing.”
Dad rubs his eyes. “Explain to your mother you’re not interested in the writing.”
“Ryan, tell your father what Mrs. Rowe told me. Tell him how much you enjoy her class.”
My shoulders curl in with the anger. I hate their constant fighting. I hate that I’ve caused them to fight more. I hate that they’re fighting HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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over me. But what I hate more is the feeling that everyone else is controlling my choices. “I love baseball.”
Dad releases a sigh of relief.
“And I love writing. I want to go to the
competition.”
Dad swears under his breath and heads for the fridge. I turn in my chair to face him.
“You’ve never let me walk away from a
competition before and I don’t like the feeling of giving up. I’ll miss one game. And this is recreational league play. It would be different if this was spring season.”
Dad pops open a bottle of beer and takes a swig. “What happens if you win the writing competition? Are you going to give up pitching against the best team in the state for a piece of paper that says congratulations?”
“I want to know if I’m any good.”
“Jesus, Ryan. Why? What difference would
it make?”
“I’ve been offered the chance at a college scholarship—to play ball.”
Dad stares at me and the dishwasher enters the rinse cycle. “Have you been talking to college scouts behind my back?”
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Yes. No. “The recruiter made sense. He
said their pitch coach can help me with my placement issues and teach me to break the tell on my pitches. They’ll pay for me to go to school and I can get free coaching. I can train with them for four years and then go for the pros.”
Beer sloshes from the bottle when Dad
throws out his arms. “What happens if you get injured? What happens if instead of improving, you lose your edge? You’re a pitcher. There is no better time for you to go after your dreams than now.”
“What if…”
He stalks across the kitchen and slams the beer down in front of me. “Do I need to remind you how much money we’ve pumped into
you? Do you think the coaching we’ve paid for over the years is cheap? Do you think the equipment, the Jeep we bought you were
free?”
My gut aches as if he punched me. “No. I
don’t think they were free. I’ve offered to get a job.”
“I’m not looking for you to get a job, Ryan.
I’m looking for you to do something with your HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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talent. I’m looking for you to make a name for this family. I want to know that the years your mother and I have sacrificed financially, emotionally, with our time are not in vain.”
Mom calmly folds her hands on the table.
“He does have talent, Andrew. You’re angry he doesn’t want what you want. You’re angry he’s choosing something different.”
“Baseball is what he wants!” Dad’s knuckles turn white as he grips the back of the chair.
“You have no idea what anyone in this
family wants.”
His voice shakes as he talks. “What do you want, Miriam? What will finally make you
happy? You always wanted me to run for
mayor and I’ve agreed to it. You wanted me to expand the business and I am. I have done everything to make you happy. Just tell me what you want.”
“I want my family back!” Mom screams.
Over the past months, my mother has been
sarcastic and rude to my father. But in
seventeen years, I’ve never known her to
scream.
The shock wears off Dad’s face. “You can’t have it all! Do you want your friends to know HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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that your son is gay? Do you want your
church to know your son is gay?”
“But we could talk to Mark. Maybe if he
agreed to keep it a secret—”
“No!” my father roars.
I lean back in my chair, disgusted with them.
Disgusted with myself. Since Mark walked
away, I’ve been so obsessed with the fact that he left that I never really listened to what my parents were saying. It makes me realize that I probably never really listened to Mark either.
No wonder he left. How could anyone live
with so much hate?
A sickening nausea strikes and I grow dizzy.
Does Mark believe I feel the same way as my parents?
Dad rams the chair into the table, then stalks away. “Mark made his choice. You wanted to talk to Ryan tonight—talk to him. I’ll be in my office.”
Mom stands. “He should hear it from you.”
In the door frame, he pauses and looks back at me. “I’ll be running for my party’s
nomination for mayor in the spring. Your
mother and I don’t want you dating Beth Risk.
Be her friend at school, but we can’t risk the HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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bad publicity if she’s trouble. Do you
understand?”
My mind races to process. Dad’s running for mayor. Mom wants Mark back in the house.
I’ve let down my brother. They both want me to dump Beth. “You said that you never wanted to be mayor.”
But Mom has wanted him to. Her dad was
mayor. Her grandfather was mayor. It’s a
tradition she’s always craved to continue.
Neither Mom nor Dad will look at me or at each other, and neither appears to want to discuss his nomination. “About Beth…” I say.
Dad cuts me off. “The girl is off-limits.”
“You should date Gwen again,” Mom says.
“Her father is going to back your father.”
The seat jerks under me when I stand and
my sudden movement causes Mom to flinch. I stare at them both, waiting for one of them to make sense of anything they’ve said. When they remain silent, I finally understand why Mark left.
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Beth
I DON’T OWN A JACKET. Never have. I always told Isaiah and Noah my body temperature
runs hot when actually it runs low. In
Kentucky, autumn weather can be a bitch. Hot in the afternoons. Cold at night. This morning, the slick dew covering Ryan’s pasture
permeates past my worn shoes to my socks.
Few things suck more than cold, wet feet.
I stop in my tracks. Losing my best friend sucks. I let myself feel the ache, then continue forward. One day Isaiah will realize that we’re just friends. One day he’ll find me—even if I’m at the ocean. Friendships like ours are too strong to die.
Today is parent–teacher conferences and I can’t think of a better way to spend a day free from school than with Ryan. Actually, I can’t think of a better way to spend any day. My HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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time with Ryan is dwindling and I want to make the most of every moment with him.
Thump. I first heard that sound when I came out of the woods. Every few seconds, the
sound repeats. Thump. Instead of heading
straight for Ryan’s house, I decided to follow the thumps and I’m glad I did when I see
beautiful, glistening, sun-kissed skin. Wearing only a pair of nylon athletic pants, Ryan winds back then hurls a ball toward a painted target on a piece of plywood. Thump. The ball hits square in the middle.
“And you wonder why people think jocks
are stupid,” I say. Ryan whirls around with wide eyes and I continue, “It’s fifty degrees outside and you aren’t wearing a shirt.”
A cold breeze blows through the open
pasture, causing goose bumps to prick my
arms. Okay, possibly not the smartest opening line since rubbing my arms would be the
definition of both hypocrisy and irony.
Ryan grabs his shirt off the ground and
walks over to me. The early-morning rays
highlight the curves of the muscles in his abdomen. My heart flutters like a bird shaking water from its wings. God, he’s gorgeous.
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Sexy. A vision. Too perfect for someone
like me.
“I’m cooling down,” Ryan says. Caught up
in staring at his body, I have to pause to remember what I last said. Ryan gives me a cocky smile and to my mortification, I blush.
What is with me and all this blushing?
Ryan caresses my burning cheeks, and my
heart trembles again.
“I love it when you do that,” he says.
Pull it together, Beth. This is not why you’rehere. Ryan has dealt with enough of my crap over the past two months and for some reason he insists on looking at me like I’m the
princess to his prince. He is a prince. I’m not a princess, but I can help with his happily-ever-after before I leave his life for good.
Ryan withdraws his hand, but remains
annoyingly close—with his shirt still off.
“Don’t you ever get tired of baseball?” I ask.
“No.” Ryan finally pulls his shirt over his head. “I wake up every morning at six, run two miles, then pitch. There’s not a morning it gets old.”
His routine fits him. Perfectly. But then I think of him at his computer. His fingers flying HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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over the keyboard. His eyes seeing a world beyond the one his body belongs to. “Do you write every night?”
Ryan combs his fingers through my hair and my roots flip over. What normally is a motion that sends tingles down my spine instead
brings a sense of dread. His eyes narrow at the roots and I know what he sees: a half inch of golden-blond hair.
He tears his eyes away and does a good job of pretending the malformation doesn’t exist.
“With that short story due? Yeah, I write every night.” Ryan shrugs and stares at the ground.
“And I think I might keep it up when the story is done. I don’t know, maybe start another.”
Good. It’s the image I’ll take with me when I go: Ryan pitching balls in the morning and lost in his beautifully written words at night. I kick at the ground. “Do you have plans for today?”
“I do if they include you.”
I try to hide my smile, but I can’t. “Get cleaned up and pick me up in an hour.”
Tickling my skin, Ryan’s fingers graze the pink ribbon still tied to my wrist. “Yes, ma’am.”
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Ryan
“YOU’RE A WUSS.” My little black-haired threat flips through the University of Kentucky
student directory. “You can move a car across a pasture, but you can’t see your own brother.”
“That’s different,” I say. “I moved the car on a dare.”
Outside the guys’ athletic dorms, I attempt to stand in front of Beth as she searches for my brother’s room number. Beth wears a cotton Tshirt that hugs her slim form and ends a half inch short of her low-rise jeans. With her smooth skin tempting me in very right, yet wrong, places, I would bet my Jeep that the outfit doesn’t have Scott’s seal of approval.
Don’t get me wrong, I love it, and so does every guy walking in and out of the dorms.
She’s my girl and I prefer to be the only one looking at her.
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My girl. We’re not official—not yet—but
Beth said four critical words when she climbed into my Jeep this morning: “I let Isaiah go.”
Which means she’s with me and not him. Later today, I’m asking Beth to make us exclusive.
Beth stabs her finger into the book.
“Jackpot.” She scribbles the room number onto the palm of her hand. “I double dog dare you to talk to your brother.”
“Do you know nothing about dares?” I ask
while giving the evil eye to some guy who stares at the contours of Beth’s waist. “You can’t double dog dare unless I turn down the initial dare.”
She arches a brow. “Are we really going to talk semantics?”
I place a hand on her hip and back her
against the wall. “That’s a big word, Beth.
Maybe you should explain it.”
A wicked smile touches her lips and raw
hunger settles in her eyes, but instead of melting into me as I am into her, Beth pushes me away and ducks underneath my arm. A guy walks out of the building and Beth catches the door before it has a chance to lock behind him.
“It means you’re an idiot if you think I’m HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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going to let you talk your way out of this.”
She gestures for me to enter the lobby and I do. “I wasn’t going to talk. I was going to kiss my way out of it. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since we kissed?”
“If you talk to your brother, we’ll kiss. A lot.”
“How about we skip this and move straight on to kissing?”
She ignores me and studies the large map of the dorm layout on the wall. “I officially dare you to talk to your brother.”
I cross my arms over my chest as my back
straightens. Beth officially threw down the gauntlet. “Fine. What do I get if I win?”
Her raven hair cascades like a waterfall as she inclines her head toward me. A sexy glint lights her eyes. “What do you want?”
You. But that isn’t what I permit to come out of my mouth. “I want you to spend the rest of the day with me. No cell phones. No friends.
Nothing but me and you.”
“Deal.”
BETH EXPERTLY MANIPULATES our way past
the RA guarding the entrance to Mark’s floor.
I’d call him an idiot, but I’m well aware that HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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she used the same manipulation skills to
convince me to drive to Lexington. To my
horror, Beth knocks on my brother’s door
without asking if I’m ready. Any hope Mark would be in class ends when the doorknob
jiggles and Mark’s large, looming figure stands in the door frame.
Beth flashes a wicked smile. “S’up, Mark.
How was the game against Florida?”
He hesitantly grins as his eyes flicker
between me and Beth. “I sacked the
quarterback twice. Don’t you watch the news?”
She shrugs. “No. I’m pretending to care
about football in order to break the ice. I’ll be in the lobby.” Beth nonchalantly walks off the way we came. Even when the door at the end of the hallway shuts, I still watch. After dragging my ass here, I never thought she’d leave me to do this on my own.
Mark steps away from the door and forces
cheerfulness. “Do you want to come in?”
“Yeah.” I mimic his tone. Mark and I never forced anything before this summer.
Mark’s dorm room is the same as it was last year. I can tell he has the same roommate by the posters of Star Wars hanging on the wall.
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“Where’s Greg?”
“Class. Do you want something to drink?”
He opens a small fridge. “Gatorade, water?”
My mouth tastes like the desert, but I don’t want to prolong this. “I’m sorry.”
Mark closes the fridge and sits on the
bottom bunk. His fake smile vanishes and I shove my hands in my pockets. The Band-Aid method sucked for both of us. I wish I could make our relationship strong again. Mark was the first person I told when I pitched a no-hitter, made my first all-star team, and kissed a girl. Now, I don’t even know what words to stutter out next.
“How’re Mom and Dad?” he asks.
How’re Mom and Dad. I can answer that. I
take a seat on the two-seater couch next to the bunks. “Okay. Dad’s busy. He’s expanding the construction business and he plans on running for mayor.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” Wow.
“And Mom?”
“Wrapped up in her social clubs and events like normal. Lunches. Dinners. Teas.” I pause, wondering if I should say what I’m about to.
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“She misses you.”
Mark leans forward and holds his hands
together between his bent knees. “Does Dad ever mention me?”
The hope fighting to surface on Mark’s face makes looking at him painful. If I answer with a plain yes, I create false hope, or I could tell him the truth. None of the answers are ones I want to give. “Did you ever want to do
anything besides football?”
Mark scrapes his knuckles against his jaw before snatching a book off his bed and tossing it to me. I catch it in midair. “Quality Lesson Plans for Secondary Physical Education?”
“I’m an education major.”
“Since when?”
“Since….” Mark drums the fingers of his
clasped hands once. “Always.”
Faking interest in the pages, I flip through the book. “I thought you were pre-med.”
“That’s what Dad wanted me to major in.
College for Dad was nothing more than a step toward the NFL. The pre-med was if I got
injured. Mom wanted one of us to be a doctor.
That was Dad’s way of making her happy.”
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year: laptop, iPod dock. After Mark’s first college football game, Mom had someone take a family picture on the field. He’s taped the photograph on the wall next to his practice schedule. Some things are the same. Others are not. “Do you hate football?”
“No. I love football and want to play. In fact, I want to become a high school football coach.
Dad knew that. He didn’t agree with me, but he knew it. I thought if I played along, that if I pretended that—” He cuts himself off.
I came here. I brought this up. I can finish the statement for him. “They’d accept who you are?”
Mark nods. “Yeah.”
The two of us sit in silence. My stomach
twists and turns like I’m on a boat on the verge of capsizing. My life was perfect and I enjoyed every second. Mark’s two little words “I’m gay” tipped my world. Maybe I get why he
left. Maybe I don’t. Either way, anger still festers, and if I’m doing this, I’m doing this.
“You left me.”
“What did you want me to do?” Resentment
thickens his tone. “I can’t change who I am.”
I need to move. Hit something. Throw
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something. I stand instead. “Not leave. You said you pretended before. Why couldn’t you pretend again? Or you could have stayed and fought and, I don’t know, convinced Mom and Dad to let you stay.”
Mark calmly watches as I pace the length of the narrow room. He clears his throat.
“Someday, you’re going to see how Mom and Dad controlled and manipulated our lives.
You’re going to notice how they made us
believe that their dreams were our dreams.
They dictated our every breath. Think about it—do you have any idea who you are without them?”
Mom sat me next to Gwen last night and she specifically asked me to take care of Gwen’s needs during the evening. Just like she asked me to take care of Gwen when I was fifteen.
After that first dinner, Mom encouraged me to ask her out and I did.
But baseball is my choice. It always has
been. Dad understands baseball. Because of that, he’s managed every part of my baseball career: the coaches, the leagues. Hell, he even stands up to umps. He does it all for me.
Right?
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Mom and Dad’s concerns, all of their
pushing, they do it because they love me. But they flat-out told me not to date Beth,
regardless of my feelings for her, and they expect nothing less than compliance.
“You’re going to wear a hole in my carpet,”
Mark says.
No, Mark’s wrong. He has to be wrong. “I’m a good ballplayer.” I am. The best.
“You are. Dad did that right. He didn’t force us into a sport we had no talent in. He took his time and found the one sport each of us was good at. The question is—who are you playing for, Ry? You or Dad?”
Between the door and bunk beds, I freeze.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Dad wants perfection. Scratch that. Dad
wants perfection on the outside so everyone else can see it. Mom too. They could care less if we’re torn up on the inside as long as the rest of the world envies us.”
Everyone in Groveton assumes Mom and
Dad have the perfect marriage. The
homecoming queen married the star
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it. Now…
“I’ve learned a lot playing college ball,”
Mark says. “What you do in high school
doesn’t mean shit. You can be the best
ballplayer in your high school. The best in the county or state, but when you get to college, you’re going to meet fifty other guys who can brag the same thing. You’ll meet guys better than you, stronger than you, faster than you, and then you’re up against better teams. The world changes when you leave Groveton.”
When I leave Groveton. Decisions need to
be made before that can happen: pros, college, literary competitions, scholarships. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I wish someone would have told me, but I had to figure it out on my own. You’re not alone, Ry.”
“Yeah, I am.” And my eyes burn. I close
them quickly and suck in a breath. He left. And Mom and Dad’s marriage is falling apart and everything I have ever known and loved is disintegrating into ashes.
“I never left you.”
“But you didn’t come home. You never
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my mouth isn’t my own. It’s strained. Tight.
On the verge of breaking.
“I’m sorry, but you have to understand, until Mom or Dad reach out to me, I can’t go back.
I’ll admit, I left them. But I get it now. I should have tried harder when it came to you. I should have called. I should have visited. I messed up, but I swear, I never left you.”
I pull off my cap and run my hand through my hair. He never left me. Beth’s right—I left him. My throat thickens. “I’ve missed you.” I shake my head, trying to find a way to say the next words. “I never cared that you’re gay, but I cared that you…that you left.”
“Yeah.” His voice becomes gruff. “I know.
It’s okay, Ry. Me and you, we’re okay.”
He stands and the action takes me off guard.
We’re Stones and Stone men don’t touch, but the moment he puts his hand on my arm, a
tentative offer, I accept and allow him to pull me into his body. Our arms wind tight around each other for one brief second. I squint my eyes to combat the tears and when we release, we both retreat to opposite sides of the room.
“So.” Mark clears his throat and claps his hands together. “Tell me about Beth.”
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
451
