Keeping Score

by Cathryn Fox

  “Because we’re more alike than either of us ever knew.”

  19

  Rocco

  I grip the steering wheel and cast a glance at Reagan. She’s fiddling with the sketchbook on her lap, curling the pages and trying not to look nervous. The effort is wasted on me. Cochrane showing up at the cottage yesterday and making demands upset her. Here I thought I couldn’t hate him more. She never should have been involved in the first place, and it does beg the question, once they talk, will he convince her to go back with him, under some mistaken obligation that lives inside her, or will she stay with me?

  “Because we’re more alike than either of us ever knew.”

  The words she said after I fucked her on the counter ring in my ears. Are they true? Does she really believe that? There’s one thing I do know. Reagan and me, we’ve come to a certain place together, and while I told her she was mine, I’m pretty sure I’m kidding myself—she was never mine to begin with. Yesterday she also told me I should be afraid of Cochrane, and in a way, I am. He and Reagan have a long history, and he can hurt me through her. That’s the power he has over me. I can’t tell her what to do. I won’t. I just hope she realizes who he is and who he isn’t, and what should be held onto and what should be let go. It’s not an easy thing to learn. I held the belief that my father would change. That he would rescue me from foster care. It took years for me to learn it was harder holding onto that belief than letting it go.

  I reach across the seat, and take her hand in mine. “You okay?”

  She gives me a feeble smile. “Yeah, you?”

  She’s not okay. Neither am I. “You know you don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.” She doesn’t need for me to say that and maybe I’m only doing it because I want her to tell me she doesn’t want to see him, that she hates him as much as I do. But she has feelings for him. How could she not? They’ve been together for years.

  She gave herself to you, Rocco.

  This is all so fucked up on so many levels, and I never should have started something with her that I couldn’t finish. The only thing that can come from this is hurt and loss. The story of my fucking life.

  “It’s okay. I’ll be okay.” Her voice is quiet and I’m not sure if she’s trying to convince me of that, or herself.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  She frowns and rips at the paper. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Doesn’t matter. If you want me there, I’m there. Just say the word.”

  She puts her hand over mine. “You’re the sweetest.”

  I laugh. “Don’t tell that to the guys in Burnside. They’d give me a Burnside beating to pound that shit out of me.”

  Her smile is so soft, so full of warmth, I once again wonder what the fuck I’m doing.

  “Do you ever go back? To visit?”

  “No. I cut ties with the place a long time ago. Most of my friends from back in the day, I think they’re still there. We’re all different now.” I go quiet for a long time, then add, “It’s hard to get out.”

  “You got out.”

  “I got out through the foster care system.” I stare straight ahead, and flick my signal on to pass a car. “It wasn’t always easy, but I guess it was a blessing in disguise. Who knows where I’d be or what I would have become?”

  “I think no matter what, you would have made something of yourself, Rocco.”

  I grin at her, loving her belief in me. I haven’t had a lot of that over the years. “You think?”

  “You’re the strongest guy I know, and have an inner drive I envy.”

  “You’re the strong one, Reagan.”

  A sound of disbelief crawls out of her throat. “No, I’m not. I fold to what everyone expects of me. I’m the good girl who always does the right thing.”

  I go quiet again and visualize what it was like for her growing up with her parents, her life always under the microscope. “Funny, your life was spent following rules, and mine was spent breaking them.”

  She settles her hands over her sketchbook. “Like you once said, no matter rich or poor, everyone has problems, just different problems. That’s pretty insightful, Rocco.”

  I grin. “That’s me, insightful.” I grip the steering wheel tighter, and hate with everything in me that she’s not living her dreams. “I like your father, and I get that your parents only want what’s best for you, and I get that’s hard, Reagan. I really do.” I’m not going to try to talk her into going against what was ingrained in her, her whole life. It’s her fight, and it’s not my place to do that. I don’t want her to resent me in any way. It comes down to this, I was good at football, but I wouldn’t be on the football field, headed for a career in the NFL, if I didn’t dig deep and fight for it. You have to fight for what you want. It has to come from within.

  “Rocco?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What do you think Cochrane meant when he said we’d both be sorry?”

  I shrug. “He can’t do anything to me.” For the last few days, I’ve been telling myself that, but now, after Reagan told me he’s a guy who gets what he wants, and knowing she’s my weakness, I’m not so sure. One thing I do know. If he hurts Reagan to get to me, he’s a dead man.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right, and I don’t know what he could possibly to do me other than…”

  Her words fall off and she turns her head to look out the passenger side window. “You can’t leave me hanging like that, Sunshine.”

  “I just don’t want him to hurt you.”

  I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it as my heart thumps against my chest. “I like that you’re worried about me, but you don’t have to be.”

  We both go quiet, lost in our own thoughts as we drive home. I pull off the expressway and get behind an elderly couple out for a Sunday drive. I make light of it and ask, “Think that’ll be us someday? Two old folks with nothing to do but take a Sunday drive down memory lane.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, except we’ll be on that old bike you love, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t you dare diss my bike.” I tug my hand from hers and feign hurt.

  “Oh, come on, you can’t honestly say it’s not old.”

  “Old isn’t the word. It’s vintage.”

  Her soft laughter fills the car, and I’m happy to see this lighter side of her. Cochrane showing up was hard on her heart and her head.

  “Fine, vintage. What do you love about it so much, anyway?”

  I slant my head and arch my brow. “One, she never talks back.”

  She blinks at me. “Are you saying I talk back?”

  I nod and shake my head at the same time. I’m sure it’s an attractive look. A bobble head at its best. “Well…”

  She whacks my chest. I grab her hand and bite her fingers, and her chest rises. Is she remembering the hard way she asked me to take her, how much we both fucking loved it? The thing is, though, she asked me to fuck her, and fucking is what I know. What I do. Never in my life have I let my heart get involved. Call me a chicken shit, call me whatever the hell you want. It can’t be anything worse than any names thrown at me in my past. I’m scared with Reagan. I don’t let people in, but with her, she climbed over that impenetrable wall without even trying.

  My whole life, I’ve never been enough. Not for my father, not for my mother. Reagan makes me feel like I am enough. Even so, that small boy still exists inside of me, that boy knows better than to get to close. Now I’m at a crossroads. Do I listen to him, or do I bury him in the past? What do I hold on to, what do I let go?

  We finally make it back to her place and the second I pull into the driveway and see my bike, my anger flares like a blow torch. I stare, unable to still my murderous thoughts, or form a coherent sentence. There is a part of my brain that recognizes Reagan’s gasp, recognizes that she’s saying something to me in a frightened, panicked voice.

  I blink, my head spinning, my thoughts a chaotic mess. I have no idea how long I sit there st
aring at my bike, how long Reagan has been tugging at my arm as I grip the steering wheel so hard, I’m sure I’m going to snap it from the base. I take one breath, then two, forcing my brain to settle. As soon as it does one thing becomes perfectly clear.

  Cochrane is a dead man.

  I open my door, step from Reagan’s car, and she’s right there, running around the front of the vehicle, standing in front of me, pleading with me not to do anything stupid, anything that will get me kicked out of school. Miranda comes running from the house and my gaze flies to hers. Her eyes are big, desperately worried and I hold her gaze. She doesn’t need to speak. From the looks of her, she knows who did this, maybe even saw it with her own eyes.

  “I’ll get it fixed for you, Rocco.”

  I finally register Reagan’s words, and her panic invades my anger, pushes it back a little. I drag her into my arms, fist her hair and hold her close to me. I love that bike. Fucking love it.

  You love Reagan more.

  That thought hits like wayward fireworks, sending sparks through my body and my brain.

  I love Reagan.

  I take numerous breaths to calm myself down as Reagan trembles in my arms. A bike can be fixed or replaced, I remind myself as I meet Miranda’s eyes again. “Are you okay?” I ask her, giving her a once over, knowing Cochrane and his goons would try to intimidate her. If she told them we were at the cottage, I wouldn’t hold it against her.

  She nods. “I’m okay,” she says quietly.

  “They did this while you were here?” I question and look over my wrecked bike again. The lights and mirrors are smashed. The switch gear is busted, and the gas tank has been beat to shit. No way will I ever find an original, but with a little luck, maybe someone can pound out the dents.

  “I called campus security.” My gaze flies back to Miranda.

  “Chad?”

  “Yeah, you know him?”

  “We go way back.”

  Reagan looks at me like I might have had a bad run in with him. She’d be wrong. I met Chad when I moved here and let him take my bike for a ride. We became friends, and he especially liked it when I helped out, making sure the single females got back to their dorms safely when he was swamped with other things. I’m basically an honorary security guard.

  “They were gone by the time campus security got here. I filed a report.” She swallows. There’s more she wants to say, but doesn’t know how.

  “What?”

  “It was dark.” She gives an apologetic shrug.

  “None of this is your fault, Miranda. None of it.”

  “It’s just…I couldn’t positively identify any of them. It was Cochrane, though. It was definitely Cochrane and his friends. Security said they’d question them, but without a positive identification…” Miranda comes down the steps, and puts her hand on Reagan’s back. “Are you okay?” she asks.

  Reagan nods and turns to her friend. I put my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my chest, and Miranda smiles at me as I protect her best friend.

  “He came looking for you Saturday morning. I didn’t tell him where you were.”

  “He found me. He found us.”

  Miranda’s eyes go wide. “He went to the cottage?”

  “Let’s get inside,” I say, and glance over my shoulder.

  Reagan spins to face me. “What about your bike? We can’t just leave it out here.”

  “I’ll push it back to my place. We have a shed I can store it in.”

  She eyes me, like she’s worried I’m going to go looking for trouble. The thing is, trouble came looking for me. I didn’t start this thing, but damn if I don’t want to finish it. “Let’s get inside,” I say again, and nudge Reagan. We head up the steps and both girls head to the living room as I lock the door behind us. Reagan pulls her phone from her pocket when it buzzes.

  She takes a breath. “It’s Cochrane. He’s asking when I want to meet up.”

  I don’t react. I don’t say anything. She sets her phone down, and Miranda meets my eyes. It’s clear she hates Cochrane every bit as much as I do.

  “Are you both okay if I go and take my bike to my place?”

  Miranda nods, and Reagan says, “We’re good, but please don’t do anything—”

  “I won’t.”

  She eyes me, and I drop a kiss onto her forehead, find her shaking. “Why don’t you head up to your room and try to get some sleep? It’s been a long weekend.”

  “Are you…coming back?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I’m coming back.” It might be in one piece or it might be in a dozen, but one way or another, I’m coming back.

  20

  Reagan

  I stare at the clock, my heart crashing against my ribs as the minutes slowly tick by. I toss restlessly, my ears waiting for the sound of sirens, or something…something to indicate Rocco is in trouble. I never should have let him leave. I should have kept him here with me, distracted him in this bed. But he’s not mine. He doesn’t have to listen to me, and I can’t tell him what to do. After seeing his bike like that, he obviously needed alone time. I just hope he stays alone. If Cochrane knew what was good for him, he’d hole up in Wolf House and not poke his head out until classes finish in April. What he did was so incredibly wrong, and unforgiveable.

  The door downstairs creaks open and I sit up in my dark room, my heart thudding to the beat of the footsteps climbing up the stairs. They pause outside my door. I swallow and wait, and I don’t even want to think about how happy it makes me when I hear the light knock.

  “You awake, Sunshine?”

  His rough and raspy voice slides over my skin, and I rub the goosebumps from my arms.

  I flick on my lamp. “I’m awake.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I actually laugh at that. After our time at the cottage, he’s asking permission? I suppose I did tell him my room was out of bounds. I shake my head, but the truth is, I love him a little more for checking with me first. Honestly, it’s insane how fast things changed between us, how I handed myself over to him—no holds barred.

  “Yes.”

  My door opens slowly, and become acutely aware of the man standing there, his big frame eating up the entrance and overwhelming me in the most amazing ways. Every cell in my body vibrates with want.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, and look him over, relieved that he’s not bleeding or broken. He closes the door behind himself, and his scent fills the room as he steps closer. “You went looking for him, didn’t you?”

  He stands over me, and goes quiet for a long time. “Would you hate me if I said yes?”

  I pound the bed. “Yes.”

  “I guess you’ll have to hate me then.”

  “You promised.”

  “No, Sunshine. I never promised. If I did, I wouldn’t have gone looking. I don’t break promises.”

  “Did you find him?”

  “No.” He tugs on the hem of his shirt. “Can I get in?”

  I nod and my body warms as he peels off his shirt and proceeds to get completely naked. I lift the covers and he crawls in beside me. I suddenly forget that I’m angry he went searching for Cochrane. His warmth reaches out to me, and soothes the cold living inside me.

  “Then you’ll promise me you won’t go after him?” He hesitates. “It’s not that I’m protecting him. I just don’t want this to escalate. I don’t want you to lose your scholarship. We can get your bike fixed. It might even be covered by house insurance.”

  “Not if I don’t live here.”

  “I don’t know, we’ll see. What I do know is what Cochrane did was wrong and unforgiveable, but your bike, it’s not unfixable, you know?”

  “Are you going to meet with him, talk to him?” he asks, his voice tired and low as he turns to me and goes up on one elbow.

  “I don’t know. I’m just as mad as you are, Rocco. He’s never been accountable for anything. Maybe he needs to know that there are consequences for his actions.”

  He pushes the bla
nkets down, exposing my T-shirt. He runs his fingers over the goosebumps forming on my arm. “Maybe he needs a good beating.”

  “Roc—”

  “If he says one word to you that you don’t like, if he lays one unwanted finger on you that you don’t want, he’s a dead man.”

  My chest expands, loving the way Rocco wants to protect me. It’s crazy, but so damn romantic. “Rocco, please.”

  “Please what?” he asks, his voice low and deep, as he slides over me. He traces my lips with his thumb. His gaze moves over my face, and his cock presses against my legs. He licks my bottom lip, a groan of pleasure filling the room. “Please kiss me right here? Is that what you’re begging for, Sunshine?”

  “Oh, I get it. You can’t fight so you want to fuck.”

  “Yeah, you get it, Sunshine. Nothing gets past you, does it?”

  For a second, I think he’s kidding me. That this is about something else altogether. I want to believe that. I really do. But a couple times now, he’s brought up the money and mentioned he wouldn’t be here if Cochrane had just paid him. I don’t want to think about that right now. Not when he’s looking at me like he’s desperate for my kisses, my touch—that if he doesn’t get them, he might combust. My heart dances a little, hoping that’s true.

  “Nothing gets by me,” I lie. Everything gets by me and I have no idea what we’re doing here, only that it feels right, and I want to keep on doing it.

  I part my lips for him and he kisses me. His hard body presses down on me, and this, right here, right now, is exactly where I am meant to be.

  “We have a problem, Sunshine,” he grumbles, and buries his face in my neck. His breath scorches my skin as he kisses me and I moan in sheer delight. It’s been fun discovering each other’s sensitive spots, and I love that he’s a quick learner.

  “What’s the problem?” I ask quietly, not really worried he’s going to say something bad. He’s hot and aroused, and wants me as much as I want him.

  “You have too many clothes on.” He winks at me, and positions himself between my legs. “Let’s fix that.”