by Ginger Scott
She is. But now, she’s not going to believe it. One kiss took it all away. She’ll think I said it solely for the outcome, which, while I’d kiss her back time and time again, my intent was only to give her back her fire.
“I’m sorry. Abby . . . I’m . . .” I hold out my open palm, the sting of my bruised eye burning more than before. Her lips are puffy and smeared with the same pink that’s probably on mine. I run my wrist across my mouth to erase it, so she doesn’t have to see what we’ve done. Still, she turns away.
“I’ll let you go. I hope you have a happy birthday.” My gravelly voice betrays me, and there’s no way to hide the hurt.
June was right, and I get my phone out to call her on my way back to my car. I can’t do it, though, and while I drive away, I toss my phone into the passenger seat and stew in my own shame. I’m no better than Hayden. He took something from me, and I just took something from him.
16
Abby
I’m such a fake.
Hayden is standing in my doorway, dressed so nice—in a suit! He told me to wear something fancy, so I put on my last awards show dress. It’s black and plain, and feels kind of simple now that I see him downstairs, clutching the rest of the roses meant for my birthday.
I kissed his brother.
I suck in my bottom lip at the memory; the tingle hasn’t left for hours. It was wrong to kiss him like that. Things were so raw and he was saying all those words that just made me feel.
I’m going to break his brother’s heart.
I can’t hide up here all night, and maybe I’ll go downstairs and feel differently. Maybe my heart will swell, Hayden’s kiss suddenly feeling different—feeling like Tory’s.
Nothing has ever felt like Tory’s kiss.
My mom left Hayden in the doorway while she got back to her work, and he’s fidgeting. My dad’s news about moving back to Allensville really threw things into a frenzy for her. It’s easier to have hope when the problem is several hundred miles south of you.
My father will hate it here. He’ll leave, eventually. This is the best plan I have come up with so far—wait him out. Some plan.
Unable to avoid my fate much longer, I make my way down the stairs, catching Hayden’s gaze about halfway down. He looks at me like I’m something special. Why can’t it light me up inside?
“Wow,” he mouths. I tighten my smile.
“You sure this is okay? You’re in a suit, and this thing was on double clearance at Boutique Bin,” I say, fanning out the skirt to one side.
“You could make a paper bag look good,” he teases, tipping my chin up with light pressure from his thumb. His lips hover over mine for a beat, and he smiles just before kissing me. It’s sweet. It isn’t Tory’s kiss. I need to stop comparing.
I need to stop thinking.
“Everything all right here?” He motions toward my mom after handing me my flowers. I hug them close to smell them and glance over to my mom, who is making piles out of the piles.
“My dad’s moving here,” I say with a shrug. It’s an inevitable obstacle that I’m going to have to accept.
“Your mom is letting him in?”
I scrunch my brow and flash my gaze back to him, taking a second to realize he’s confused.
“Oh, no,” I laugh out. “Not for a million bucks. No. Besides, his girlfriend is coming too. It’s part of his plan to be ‘more involved.’”
“I’d let him have the floor for a million dollars,” my mom hollers from a room away.
My lips bunch in skepticism and I shake my head silently at Hayden, because as tempting as money might be, my mom knows the trade-off would be letting the devil inside. You don’t invite them in. You wear garlic and shit.
“Let me put these in water,” I say, handing him the small purse I packed for the night with my phone, wallet, and keys.
I slip past my mom and move toward the cabinet to find a vase. I flip through a few, the noise annoying her, and she finally joins me, digging one out from beneath the sink. It’s a tall, slender, blue glass cylinder, a gift that came with flowers from June a couple of years ago when my mom got home from the hospital after a car crash resulted in a broken wrist. She’s basically ambidextrous now because she refused to stop working. She booked me two national ad campaigns in that cast.
When the vase is full of water, I dump in the flowers and move it to the center of our dining table. My mom quirks a brow at my choice of placement.
“Just trying to liven up all of this,” I say, waving my hand around the mess.
“Ah, yes . . . it’s much lovelier now. Thank you,” she jokes. “Now, go on. Go enjoy your birthday.”
“Birthday weekend,” I correct as she moves around the table and places her palms on my cheeks. She squeezes them enough to force my lips to pout and she plants a big mother-has-the-right-to kiss on my lips.
“Weekend. Correct,” she says, giving Hayden a sideways look to make sure he’s on board.
She moves her gaze back to me, and before she lets her hands fall away from my face, she stares at my eyes with a questioning look, her eyes pulling in to the center and her lips pinched, on the verge of speaking.
“What?” I ask.
Her eyes flit to Hayden and back to me quickly, a silent clue that hits my stomach hard. I’m not sure what she’s insinuating, but my mom and I are very close. There’s every possibility that she can read my thoughts. At the very least, she can tell that my body language with the twin I am dating is very different from the one I’m not.
“Be good to yourself, baby girl. Be selfish.” She pats my cheek lightly.
My gut rolls with the weight of guilt because I was selfish. Very selfish.
“Can I take your jacket?” I quickly switch the topic, never reacting to her advice, but she can tell I heard it, knows it sunk in. She’s always been able to read me like that.
“Sure,” she says, backing away and moving toward the mudroom where she keeps most of her winter things.
She comes out with her black wool pea coat, which is probably the nicest thing she owns. Her letting me wear it is a sign of trust. She let me borrow it once before, to a party, where I stupidly left it hanging on a hook in a house full of pot smoke and underage drinking. I went to retrieve it the next day, thankful it wasn’t covered in spilled drinks or worse, but the moment I got it into my car I knew it would never pass her inspection. It reeked. I took a hotdog ad for Twofers just to pay for the dry cleaning.
I slip my arms inside as she holds it open for me and pull the belt around my waist, knotting it in the front. There’s a small chance of snow tonight. If it happens, I don’t want the little black dress to be all I’ve got.
“You ready? Reservations are at seven,” Hayden says, holding out his arm like a gentleman.
I glance to my mom one more time, and she continues with the same begging look she had when she told me to be selfish. I ignore it and wish her a good night as I let Hayden walk me out to his car.
“This one’s all mine now,” he says.
I already know. I saw Tory’s junker earlier. Hayden doesn’t need to know any of that, though.
“Oh, yeah? No more sign-up sheet for who gets to take the car?” I joke as he opens the passenger door for me and I slip inside. He smiles at my joke, but that’s about as big of a laugh as it gets.
I figure we’re going somewhere nice for dinner, but I don’t expect the rooftop grill on the way to Indy. Hayden keeps me guessing for most of the trip, but I figure it out when the only other option is driving completely into the city. He pulls into the lot, tucking his car neatly between an Escalade and a Porsche. He can’t afford this.
“Hayden, this is very sweet, but we don’t have to go here,” I say.
“I know we don’t have to, but I want to give you a special night.” He leans toward me and runs his thumb along my cheek. All I can think is how I wish it were Tory, and how I’m basically using him for a nice dinner because I’m too big of a chicken shit to end thi
s.
“Thank you,” I croak out.
He gets out and rounds the car to open my door for me, taking my hand and leading me inside. A glass elevator takes us up to the roof where he’s reserved a table in the corner that overlooks the downtown lights. I don’t know what he had to do to nab this seat, but I feel as though I’m becoming a way overpriced date. This is too much.
“Madam,” he says, putting on a silly voice as he pulls out my chair. Before I sit, a hostess steps in and takes my jacket for me, draping it over an open seat nearby. Heaters hang over our heads from cords strung across the patio amidst the zigzagging lights. It’s warm, but maybe I’m warmer because of how uncomfortable I am with this entire situation. My eyes dart around in a paranoid fashion, and I don’t even hear when the waiter steps up to take our drink orders. Hayden must have answered something for me.
“You’re in shock?” He reaches forward and holds out an open palm, a crooked smile showing his teeth.
I put my hand in his and hope to feel something. He closes his fingers around my hand, and it’s as if I’m dead. My heart is pounding but only due to this sensation of feeling trapped.
“So, confession time,” he begins.
“Huh?” I shoot my gaze to his, my eyes wider than a cat caught in a hound dog’s path.
He chuckles and squeezes my hand a little, shaking it against the table softly to work out my nerves. I’m sure he thinks I’m just caught off guard by the fancy restaurant, but that’s not it. I’ve been to dozens of restaurants like this, meeting with casting directors and agents. As stressful as those dinners may have been, they were nothing compared to this one.
“So, my confession,” he starts again, and I’m so terrified that he is going to blurt out the L word that I interject with a confession of my own.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” My mouth goes dry, my voice cracking on the last word.
“You . . . can’t do this?” His touch on my hand has relaxed, his fingers unfurling and letting go. I squeeze back because I care about him.
“Hayden, I’m not . . . I don’t want . . .” My jumbled words are not enough. I am no good without a plan, and this is about as spontaneous as I’ve ever been. I don’t know what to say to make things clear, but I do know it’s killing me to see the cracks forming in his happiness. His smile has disintegrated, and the dimple in his cheek has become a deep divot between his brows.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, tears pooling in my eyes. I shake my head and kneed at his hands, trying to bring life back into them. They’ve gone cold.
His focus is off, as if he’s looking through me more than at me. He leans back in his seat, finally pulling his hands away completely.
“Tell me, is it him?”
My insides twist and burst with pain. I don’t know how to answer this because the right answer is both yes and no.
I shake my head lightly, my bottom lip trembling.
“I don’t know.” I won’t lie to him. I’ve lied enough already.
He slumps even more and looks off to the side with a sharp laugh. Our waiter walks up with a tray, holding two sparkling drinks, and Hayden holds up a hand.
“I’m so sorry, but something’s come up,” he says to the man.
Hayden stands and paces around his chair, catching the attention of others sitting nearby. He pauses behind his seat and grips the back with both hands as he bends his head down with a derisive chuckle.
“We can go,” I say, jetting to my feet and grabbing my jacket.
“Yeah. Sure,” he says, his focus still on the floor.
I’m too warm to wear my mom’s coat. My skin is on fire, so I layer the jacket over my arm and stand perfectly still, my hands gripping tightly at one another underneath the wool while I stare at Hayden, waiting for him to make his next move. He laughs again, a light, ominous sound tainted with the bad blood between him and Tory.
“I brought my dad’s old guitar, the one he left behind. It’s in the trunk, and after dinner . . . I was going to play that song for you, the one you had me play in the car.” His head pops up and his eyes meet mine. There’s no hiding the red sting and glossiness taking them over. “It was Tory’s idea.”
I gurgle out a small cry, biting hard on my lip to stop it from progressing.
Hayden nods, puzzle pieces coming together. I am a terrible person.
“Come on, let’s get you home, birthday girl,” he says, and even though his voice is still sweet, there’s a note that rests below his tone that carries a brewing mixture of hurt and anger. He’s been dealing with it for some time, but I may have just added the final ingredient. Call me the master chef of broken hearts.
Hayden ushers me out ahead of him, and we are both deathly silent for the elevator ride down. It takes several minutes for the valet to retrieve his car, and I note every five-and ten-dollar bill he’s doled out since we arrived. His eyes remain straight ahead on the road and mine on the blur of life that passes by out my passenger window. The radio is set on some news channel, the volume low so the only sound to pass the time is a mumbling noise that’s broken up by the occasional commercial.
He speeds a little to cut the time, obviously as anxious to leave me as I am him. If I stay in this car with him any longer, I will fold and profess that I was wrong, that I need him and want to be with him, and the only reason would be because I don’t want to see him suffer. But that is not heeding my mom’s advice.
Be selfish.
My mom was never selfish. She stayed with a man who cheated on her numerous times, and made sure he came home to a perfect house, with clean laundry, a hot dinner, and all of the bills paid. My mom was the first to go to college in our family, and her business degree was squandered as a housewife. Most of my dad’s investments turned into money pits. He mortgaged our house—the one my abuelo built—to pay off his own debts, so my mom took on an accounting job to pay it off. It’s in only her name now, but what was once hers free and clear still has more than a hundred thousand owed. All this, yet my dad is the one who feels he’s not getting his due.
My mother was selfless to a fault. She was naïve, and she was a doormat. I don’t think she’s ever really known love. But I—I might.
Hayden pulls into my driveway but stops short. He’s already in far enough. I understand.
“Hey,” he says, stopping me before I get out. I pause with one leg out of the car, my purse and my mother’s coat clutched in my lap. “He’s going to break you, just so you know. My brother?” He shakes his head, his mouth a tight line. “He doesn’t know any other way,” he says. “Happy birthday, Abby.”
I smile and nod, not able to find words to reply to everything he just said. My chest aches and my lungs hunger for me to scream, but I’m too weak. I shut the car door behind myself and wait at the end of my driveway as Hayden pulls out. He doesn’t speed away, and he even signals at the end of the street. He’s heading toward his home, and I can’t stop the barrage of thoughts rushing through my head of what he’s going to do when he gets there. I don’t know whether Tory’s home or not, but it’s only a matter of time before the two of them collide again. This time, it’s all my fault.
17
Tory
I haven’t shot pool with Lucas in ages. It’s what I needed tonight. He knew it.
We got to Eight Lanes when June’s shift began, and we’ve racked up maybe forty games of nine-ball in three hours. Because June’s here, we’re not taking advantage of our usual look-the-other-way pitchers of beer. I have to respect the way Lucas respects June. She doesn’t like him breaking rules at her place of employment, so he waits until she’s not around. I mean, a free pitcher is a tough thing to give up entirely.
I won the last round, so I offer to buy Lucas a slice and refill our Dr. Pepper at the counter while he racks up to break the next game, but June’s off work soon. I’m officially third-wheeling. I’ve done it enough that my Spidey senses alert me. He’s waffling in his response because the good friend in him want
s to say yes, but he’s got a girl to spend time with. They’ve missed out on enough time as it is.
“Actually,” I say before he has to find an excuse. “I’m pretty tired.”
It’s eight-thirty. He knows this is bullshit.
“A’ight man, you sure?” He’s grateful I gave him an out.
I fake a yawn and pick up the empty soda pitcher.
“Yeah, I might head back to my dad’s. He wants me to stay here and keep the peace, but I’m not doing a very good job of it.” I walk backward a few steps, grimacing. Lucas knows things with me and Hayden are bad. I told him about the camp letter I found, and he was as shocked as I was. He remembers how excited I was when my parents let me apply. It cost three hunny just for the shot. I did not, however, alert Lucas to the details from earlier—the kiss. I’m not in the mood to be judged tonight. He won’t mean to do it, but he will. The dude’s poker face is shit.
“You gonna come back for the party tomorrow, then?” he asks.
I wince with a tight smile and waggle my head side-to-side before setting the pitcher down at the register near June.
“Tory!” June grunts from behind me. She leans over the counter and pulls on my shirt, tugging me back with a short choke. Her mom’s put a lot of work into the party, and yeah, yeah . . . games. But the thought of being in a circle that tight with her and my brother just burns my throat. I don’t think I can do it. Call me a pussy, but I just . . . can’t.
“You know I wanna be there,” I say, which is a very non-answer answer. I grab my collar and tug my shirt out of her hand and straighten it on my body as I turn to face her. I love this shirt, it’s all black and says the word DOMINATE in the center in dark gray. Now it’s all kinked.
“Tory,” she repeats my name, this time a little more forgiving.