Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book)

by Reinhardt, Liz

  "It must have been hard." My words are pressed small.

  "Nothing as good as what we have comes easy." She squeezes my shoulder and kisses my forehead, then presses the vase of flowers into my hands.

  I take them up the stairs and reread his too-short note a thousand times. I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I call Brenna and tell her all about my grandparents and the flowers and, of course, she tells me to call him, but I can't yet.

  I think about what my grandmother said as I squirm in my kilt in world history at St. Anne's the next day. I think about it when I fill out my college applications, and I think about it while I take long, hot showers and cry against the cool white tiles, sometimes for reasons I can't put a finger on.

  I miss him in a million ways every day. Part of me is grateful we only got a single night together, and part of me is so damn full of regret that I didn't grab and yank and claw for more when I had the chance.

  I miss talking to him. I miss the sweet, slow smile that was so hard to pry out. I miss his honesty, his caring, his tough, in-control, always-loving ways. I know I have it bad when seeing Gramma's chicken and rooster salt-and-pepper shakers makes me get a big lump in my throat because any happy couple, even little ceramic condiment-holding ones, make me weepy.

  But I keep going back to the way Gramma talked about her heart.

  How sure she was.

  How much they lost.

  How much it hurt.

  The thing is, my grandparents were strong enough and in love enough that their life together trumped their losses.

  And there's the crux of my problem with Winch.

  He loves his family. I tried to accept the way they are. I secretly hoped I'd fit in. I wondered if he might walk away. But nothing worked; nothing was going to work. His family and I couldn't accept each other, and I'd never ask him to choose.

  I kept coming back, over and over again to the reality of our situation: part of me would always love him, but we would never work.

  "That's it?" Brenna's voice crumples with defeat. I unbutton the hideous yellow uniform blouse and toss it and my plaid skirt into the hamper. I slide on pajamas and gather my knees to my chest and the phone to my ear.

  "I've thought about it all week, Brenna. It's done. There never really was a way for it to work, but I couldn't accept that." I press my forehead to my knees and clamp my eyelids tight against the tears. "Now I can."

  "You're an idiot," she cries. "You have to try to make this work!"

  "You told me it wouldn't have worked. I should have listened from the beginning and saved myself all of this pain now."

  I burrow under my covers and peek out at the creamy flowers, wilted and drooping. I'll have to throw them out soon, but my heart clutches at the thought of getting rid of his last gift to me.

  "I was an idiot," she protests. I can hear her clicking hangers up in her closet, thumping things from place to place, moving things around. She's frustration-cleaning. All sounds suddenly stop, and her voice brightens like she's had a revelation. "Tomorrow is Saturday. You still have community service."

  The knot that's been tying itself tighter and tighter in my stomach since the last time I saw him pulls again. "He might be there. Maybe not. I never replied to his note."

  "He didn't text or call?" Brenna asks, but she knows the answer. As much as I've tried not to obsess about this, Brenna is the one person I've unloaded ever Winch-related-detail of my life to. "You guys are so weird. It's almost like you're torturing yourselves. Just call him."

  "No. Can't. It would just be more stupid promises he can't keep and me getting my expectations up. I have to face reality, Bren, even if it hurts. And trust me, it hurts like crazy. Like a thousand papercuts in a lemon juice bath."

  I run my hand over the cool, empty expanse of my bed, then up and down the warm, empty curves of my own body.

  "You do want to see him, though, right? You're not that insane, right?" She's begging because she believes in true love and beating all obstacles and love conquering everything.

  It's not that I don't believe. I can see the beautiful kind of love my grandparents fought for and perfected right in front of my face. But that's a love between two people. Not two people and one crazy, controlling family.

  "I do. I want to call him. I want to be with him. But you don't understand, Bren. Every single time I think his family is as crazy as they can get, they up their insanity level. Without a break. And I had to stand there and watch while Winch got the crap beat out of him--"

  My breath hitches for a second, and I have to grit my teeth together and push back the images of all that blood and Winch's battered body, and everyone sitting around that goddamn table not caring about what happened to him.

  "He takes the fall for Remy over and over. And when his little sister got a boyfriend, it wasn't just like they'd give him the cold shoulder and try to keep them from getting too close. There was a freaking payoff scheme, Brenna! And he told me so calm, you know? Like he wasn't remotely shocked and didn't think it was weird. Which is weird right? Tell me I'm not just gunning for best drama in a dysfunctional relationship?"

  "It's weird." She blows out a long breath. "You know I had to deal with it with Jake. When his family came around with all their money? And it's still kind of a thing, because his inheritance gets handed over the end of this year. And it's not just, like, enough to buy a car. It's like a trust fund. Like a serious trust fund. But it's not just money that's scary. It's that power I guess?"

  I brace the bottom of my feet on the footboard of my bed and rub my thumb and forefinger against my temples.

  "Yep. The control? The millions of strings that are so attached. And it was that way with my parents, you know? Money turned into something that basically screwed up our life, and they let it. But it's worse with Winch, because, with Jake, he can just take the money and give his family the finger. With Winch, it's all about his family. It's all about loyalty and doing anything for them. It's just worse because they have enough money that they have a lot of power. And ask him to do crazy, crazy things. Bren, if he gets in legal trouble again, he is going to jail, no questions. The judge at our hearing? She wasn't playing around. And his brother is a total loose cannon. He's not just going to calm down."

  I try to regulate my deep, shaky breaths, pulling them in and out as evenly as I can.

  "You're so worried about him. You care so much." Brenna is just stating facts, but they core me. I press my fist to my mouth and almost lose the very tenuous hold on my self-control when she asks, "Why don't you just talk to him? Isn't there anything you can do? Isn't there anything...you can say? I can hear how much you love him."

  "I love him so much," I rasp out. "And that's why the one thing I refuse to do is watch him ruin his life and lose himself. If he's going to throw away his future and get sucked under, that's his decision. I refuse to watch him do it."

  "Oh, sweetie." Brenna's voice is warm and soft as a hug.

  Only because she's my best friend and she's seen me through everything and back again, I cry without caring that she can hear. First muffled little sniffles, then full-blown belly sobs.

  I cry in front of her because I sure as hell won't do it in front of the boy I love and have to let go of. She stays on the line until I'm wrung out, damp, and calm. Her sweet words are the last thing I hear before I disconnect and sink into a long, black, dreamless sleep.

  Winch 13

  Andre didn't take the money.

  I moved the amount up a few times, especially once I saw the falling-down trailer he was going back to. I knew my dad would be happy to have the money paid and the situation swept under the rug.

  Ithaca? It would take a while, and I predicted a lot of threats of 'never forgiving' us, but what had to be done had to be done, and, eventually, she'd realize it was for her own good and life would move on. It wasn't always romantic and easy.

  That was the thing that Evan didn't get.

  The day of the fight, the day after the
perfect night I spent in Evan’s arms, Andre had stared at his hands in the backseat of my car for a few minutes after turning down more money than I know the kid's entire family put together had seen in a year.

  I was pissed because I'd dropped Evan at her grandparents' house after breaking every promise I tried to make, probably right along with her heart. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I just wanted this punk out of my car, and I wanted to stop fucking up every single time I tried to make things work with Evan.

  Not so much to ask for, right?

  "I love her." Andre completely interrupted my run of self-loathing. He lifted his eyes, dark and totally belligerent, and glared at me from the backseat.

  "You're, what? Seventeen?"

  I flicked my eyes, focused and controlled from years of experience, to the reflection of his seething ones in the rearview mirror.

  "Eighteen in three days."

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  "Alright. She's gonna be seventeen in four months. You two are babies still, okay? You'll meet other people. You'll get over this."

  I tossed the words at him, and they came out harsher around the edges than I meant them to. What did this kid know about love and loss and screwing it all up?

  "You have no idea." His mouth twisted in a sneer that was half rage, half pity. "The way you dropped your girl off like that? I never would have left Ithaca that way."

  "You have no idea what goes on between me and Evan." My voice cut out, cold with warning.

  "I know she was upset and you let her go. I know she had things to say to you, and you didn't listen. Ithaca and I aren't like that. I care about what she thinks and how she feels. I'm going to be there for her, no matter what."

  The look on his face was more ballsy than I would have expected in response to my stare-down, and it irritated the shit out of me.

  "You think you know a single fucking thing about how life works? I have more people to look out for than you could imagine. I have more responsibility than you could know, and I've had it since I was younger than you are now. I can't just drop everything because of the way I feel. I have people depending on me."

  My blood pressure was definitely on the rise, and the look of total disrespect in the little douchebag's eyes wasn't helping me keep my cool.

  He popped the door open and gave me a last look, one full of bravado.

  "Tell your family I wouldn't take a damn cent from any one of them. And I know you got a lot people to worry about, but you can subtract Ithaca from your little list. Because I'll be the one taking care of that girl for the rest of my life."

  He slid out of the backseat and slammed the car door, strutting into his rickety house without a backward glance in my direction.

  I drove home with a bad taste in my mouth and thought about what that little shit said for hours. Days. The entire long week.

  I thought about it when I drove past Evan's house, trying to catch a glimpse through her bedroom window like some sad stalker.

  I thought about it when I picked up the phone to call her a dozen times but never did.

  I’m still thinking about it when I go to pick up Remy, drunk, fresh from a brawl, shirtless, and shoe-less, passed out in front of some dive bar.

  I watch my brother chatter to himself, curl into the fetal position, and weep into the seat of my car. He needs help. He needs some kind of rehab or something, but I know my parents will never say yes to letting anyone outside of the family in, not even a counselor or therapist. Every priest we know is too caught up in my family's glory and too swayed by the crazy amounts of money and stained glass and new robes the Youngblood family donates to ever interfere, even if my brother's life is at stake.

  When I get home, my father shoos Colt, all wide-eyed and shaky, back to the den and helps me heft Remy into his room. My father looks at Remy, a slobbering, sobbing, shaking, skeletal version of himself and says, "Tell your mother to make a pot of strong coffee and let's get out of here so he can sleep it off."

  No one says anything else about it, not even when Remy pukes so long and hard, it finally comes up blood. My parents have a hushed argument in the kitchen that ends with my father's firm 'no' and my mother's tearful acceptance.

  My dad comes to my room, his eyes bloodshot and the lines in his face deep. "Call about getting the carpeting in Remington's room replaced tomorrow. Top priority."

  "Yes, sir." I watch his back as he leaves me in my room.

  Carpet.

  Top priority.

  Days go by and I argue with myself, Evan and Andre's words screaming in my head, and I wake up with a pretty clear realization.

  The kid was right.

  Evan was right.

  I've been kidding myself for a long time.

  I also realize I have no clue what to do, what to really do, to fix this whole damn mess. It was easy for me to let go of Evan because I told myself it was for her own good.

  Really, it was so I didn't have to face some hard truths. And, of course, just when I resolve to change shit, just when I'm resolved to do things right, the chaos dominoes start tipping over and the Youngblood family implodes all around me.

  It starts with Ithaca barging into my room twenty minutes before community service.

  "What the hell did you say to him?" she screams, her face so distorted with bald fury, she looks almost ugly.

  "Say to who? Calm down."

  I move forward, attempt to put my hands on her shoulders, but she jumps back like I'm a venomous snake.

  "Calm down? Fuck off!" Her voice carries through the entire house.

  Benelli cracks her door open and peeks out.

  "What's going on?" she asks, her voice low. "Ithy, what's wrong, sweetheart?"

  Ithaca throws herself into our sister's arms and weeps, Benelli looks at me with her eyebrows furrowed, and Colt opens his door and crowds the hallway.

  "Andre Ortiz enlisted in the army." Colt pushes his dark hair out of his eyes, and I'd take an arms-held-back beating rather than have to face the look of disappointment he's shooting my way.

  Ithaca's sobs are muffled in Benelli's shoulder. Benelli looks from Colt to me and back. "Oh no. The skateboard boy?"

  Ithaca wrenches her head from Benelli and points an accusing finger at her. "You're laughing at me? You? Out of everyone in this entire fucked-up family, I thought you would understand, Bee! I thought you'd get how much this hurts!"

  My sisters glare at each other, a deep current of secrets tossing between them with a force that could drown us all.

  "I do understand. I wasn't making a joke." Benelli's voice is so urgent and nervous, I wonder what she's hiding. "It's not the end of the world, sweetie. He's a smart guy. He'll do fine."

  My little sister fists her hands in all that pretty gold hair, now tangled and wild-looking. "Josh Ranson's brother died in Afghanistan a few months ago. Jessica Lister's brother got his leg and hand blown off." The sobs start low and deep in her throat. "He's not cut out for this! He got accepted to an art school in Philadelphia. And I told him he could get loans and grants. We were filling out all the paperwork. Then he said he needed to take care of me, and he went off and just signed up. And you can't undo that. The recruiters make you sign a contract." She whirls around and jumps at me, her fists hammering at my chest. "What did you say to him? What did you say when you dropped him off that day?"

  "Nothing," I lie. "Lots of young guys join the army, Ithaca. Especially when they don't have much going for them."

  Her mouth drops open and her green eyes flash. "You think he didn't have much going for him? Really? You? The guy who's job is being Pop's puppet--"

  "Ithaca," Benelli hisses. "That's enough." Her tone goes gentle when Ithaca's lips tremble and she slides into a heap on the floor. My sisters kneel, side by side. "It's okay, baby. Stop crying. Andre will be fine. You'll be fine. It's going to be okay."

  Ithaca's face swings up, her eyes hollowed. "What did you say to him, Winch? Stop lying all the time an
d tell me."

  "I didn't tell him to join the fucking army, that's for sure." Colt snorts and Benelli and I both shoot him a look. "You got something to say?"

  It's like all this intense rage and upset and anger flashes on his face for a quick second, but he shuts it down and goes neutral.

  Seeing my little brother employ my tactics gives me a peculiar twist of self-loathing I probably didn't need piled on my shoulders today.

  Colt shakes his head. "No. I don't have anything to say to you."

  Benelli stands her full height, hands on her hips, face all pink from pissed-off rage. "You know what? You two better learn some goddamn respect, okay? Winch does things everyday neither one of you would even want to think about. He does things for all of us. He didn't get to go to some cushy private school. He didn't get to run around and play ball and go on dates. So if either one of you have something to say about how much he's messing with your little lives, maybe you should do it after you thank him."

  The fury in her voice silences the twins. They both stare at the floor.

  I don't know what to say. I'm glad Benelli stood up for me, but I don't want their thanks. Our baby brother and sister are right. Maybe they come from a place where they can see it for what it is in a way Benelli and I just can't.

  Before I can answer anything, Remy stumbles into the light, and all four of us face our older brother.

  His lips are ringed with crusted blood. His skin is yellowish, sagging on his face, and dipped in close to his bones like a skeleton's. He’s been going downhill for a while, but maybe I just never let myself notice how bad it was getting. He looks like a vampire or a zombie, or some other pieced-together night creature from a horror movie.

  "What's up chickens?" he slurs, lumbering down the hallway on unsteady feet. "Ya'll were so loud, you woke me up."

  Benelli's lips tuck into a tight line, Ithaca looks at him with clear terror, and Colt can barely keep the disgust at bay.

  "Remington, you need a shower, some hot soup, and to get back in bed. I'll tell Mama to start you some lunch." Benelli looks as grimly determined as a captain in the army marching her troops to certain death.