Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book)

by Reinhardt, Liz

  "No rest for the wicked, baby." Remy sniffs under his armpit. "No rest, but yes to a shower."

  It would have been something we would have all laughed about not all that long ago. When did Remy stop being our favorite comic relief and turn into a macabre reminder of every single thing that's so fucked-up about our family?

  "Why are you all so damn serious?" His eyes attempt to focus on one of our faces, then the next, and the next. He can't stop himself from rocking back on his heels and swiveling in a wide circle. "Someone die?"

  You died.

  I know the same thought is at the forefront of all our brains. We all knew he’d been bad for a while, but his downward spiral sped up in the last few weeks. How did he turn into this reanimated corpse version of himself right in front of our eyes?

  "No." Benelli's voice is gentle as a nanny's. "Come on. You need food."

  "He needs help," Ithaca says, watching Benelli help Remy walk down the hall on rickety legs like he's ninety.

  "That's Winch's job. Right?" Colt slides a glare my way, his mouth working back and forth like he's wondering if he should spit out the words pressed in his mouth. And then he does. My pacifist brother sure as shit knows how to kick me when I'm low down. "By the way, I forgot to say thank you."

  He stalks to his room and slams his door.

  "This family is so seriously fucked-up," Ithaca mutters and slams her door.

  I'm alone in the hallway, a headache grinding through my skull, a feeling of complete despair eating at my gut.

  And I'm late to community service.

  By the time I pull up at the center, they're already dismissing people who put in hours this morning.

  "Mr. Youngblood." The officer in charge frowns when I check in. "We don't tolerate late arrivals."

  "I'm very sorry, ma'am. I'll do whatever you need. This won't happen again."

  I scan the area for Evan, and should be glad I don't see her.

  I shouldn't see her.

  I made so many promises I could never begin to keep, I feel like a huge loser. I feel like I have no right to ask anything of her when I've basically given her nothing. I haven’t even had the guts to call and check on her.

  I get handed a shovel and pointed in the direction of a smoldering garbage pit. I shovel through the debris and ash and keep the fire going strong. I take a handkerchief Rolo hands me, not even worried if it's full of germs and gunk because I'd be choking on the thick smoke if it wasn't for him.

  I want Evan.

  I think about her constantly. If I'm honest with myself, for once, I've hardly thought about anything else for days, since she got out of my car and walked up the steps to her grandparents' house.

  I dream about her. I wake up hard and ready, wanting her with every uncontrolled shred of my body.

  I look for her every time I stand up with a shovelful of smoldering garbage.

  I don't deserve her. I've wasted second and third chances with her.

  I've been an idiot.

  But none of that stops me from wanting her.

  So badly it aches.

  I'm sick of doing the right thing and ignoring all the desire that's built up inside me for her. I want her. I want her in every way there is to want a girl, and I want her more than all that, too.

  I shovel and choke until it's time to leave, and I'm completely covered in grime. No amount of standing under the dribbling hose is going to wash this all off.

  "You wanna come out with a couple of the guys? Play some pool, drink some beers?" Rolo never usually invites me to go anywhere, but most of the time, I’m calm and laid-back. Today I've been a furious dickhead, and, unfortunately, Rolo took the brunt of my asshole behavior. I guess he figures I could use a drink or five.

  "Thanks, man." I try to hand his handkerchief back, but he waves it off. "Look, I'm sorry I was an asshole to work with today. I'm just having a whole thing with Evan and my family."

  I've never been big on sharing how I feel, and it's just as awkward as I thought it might be.

  Rolo switches his weight from foot to foot. "I'm sorry, bro. That sucks."

  He's not inviting me to tell him anything else, but the words just kind of spill out. "I love her. Evan, you know?" He nods. "But my family...they ask a lot of me. And it's been coming between us."

  "You still work for your old man?"

  Rolo runs the weakly dribbling water over his arms and passes the hose my way again.

  It's stupid to even pretend that it's going to help get me clean, but I drizzle the water over my skin so I have an excuse to stand here and hash this all out with him.

  "Yeah. I do. I just...it's complicated, you know because it's work and all, but it's more family."

  "Oh, I get it." Rolo rubs his dirty handkerchief over his face and neck, taking the black soot down to a dull gray. "Family helps you every time you need a hand, but they cross every damn line, too."

  That's it.

  "Exactly. And I'm just trying to figure out how much I owe them and how much I can take for myself, I guess."

  I thought my filth couldn't be washed off, but even these few minutes of tepid, tricking water and this thin handkerchief are taking the grime away, layer by minuscule layer.

  "Well, you know, family is good and all. You need them. But you gotta do your thing, too. Remember, at some point your dad was just his father's son, too. And he had to grow up and be his own man. I'm gonna bet that didn't happen without some shit going down, right?"

  Rolo yanks his sweaty shirt back over his head.

  I put mine back on, too, and think about my father and grandfather. I barely knew my father's father. What little I gathered from family visits to Hungary was that he ruled the family with an iron fist, and my father was more than happy to take his shares and control of the family business across the Atlantic to start something on his own.

  "I never really thought about that," I admit. "Listen, thanks for the invite, but I think I better go find Evan and get things back under control."

  "Do what you have to do. Maybe some other time?"

  I grab his hand in a rough mix of a slap and a shake. "Yeah. Definitely. Soon."

  Driving to Evan's house, I feel more lost than I ever have in my entire life.

  A few weeks ago, I knew exactly where I was going and what I was doing. Now every single thing I thought I knew for sure has been shaken. I don't know how I feel about my family, my future, my place, my beliefs.

  The only thing I know for sure is that Evan has helped me change everything, and, whatever the hell my future might hold, I want her in it.

  I get to her house and go right to the front door. I stink. I'm dirty as hell. I won't make a remotely decent first impression if one of her grandparents opens the door, but I don't care. I'm on the verge of exploding, freaking out, finding a new path, forging a new way, and I need her at my side.

  I can't do this without her at my side.

  A woman with silver hair opens the door and presses a hand covered with tons of rings to her chest when she sees me. She looks over my shoulder, like she's trying to see if I've got my gang behind me, ready to jump her, and then she looks back at me with unapologetic suspicion.

  "Can I help you?"

  "My name is Winchester Youngblood. I'm here to see Evan, ma'am. If she isn't busy."

  I wish I'd gone home to change. And had a shower. But 'home' is relevant at the moment, and the only place that feels like somewhere I belong is wherever Evan is. I know how I look, I know how I sound, but my head's been spinning for weeks, and I know, I know without a doubt, that seeing her will calm things down, put things to right.

  "Evan is about to get ready to go on a date." The woman pulls the door half-closed and forces me back down the marble stairs. "A date with a gentleman who doesn't yank her young heart back and forth without a second thought. Shame on you."

  She shakes a finger in my face, her light blue eyes full of fury, just like Evan's when she gets upset. "I know who you are, and I know what you'
ve done to my granddaughter. I'm well aware that she may come off as a tough little cookie, but that couldn't be further from the truth. She has a delicate heart that's been used and abused more than it should have been in one young life. And your behavior just supports the idea she's always toying with; that she's not good enough. That she's not worthy of being loved."

  "Ma'am, I know what I did. I know the mistakes I made. I'm here to--"

  "I can imagine exactly what you're here for," she interrupts, her mouth pressed tight. "And I suspect you'll be back again if you have a mind to be, no matter what I say to you now. But listen to me. Listen to me right now. If you love her, if you even care about her a little, leave her alone. The two of you don't have what it takes to go the distance. She needs someone strong. Someone sure. That isn't you, son."

  She gives me a long, dismissive look, steps back into the doorway, frowns, and clicks the door shut.

  I consider my options. I could call her. Just dial her number and connect.

  Or I could be dramatic and scream up to Evan, call her out and get her to come to her window, then explain it all to her. That I want to be with her. That I love her. That I'm finally, truly ready to change.

  I could leave. I could leave and let her have whatever life she'll have with whatever guy she's with right now.

  Just when I'm about to jump the fence into the back garden, my phone rings, the song rock-heavy and melancholy. It's Colt.

  "What do you need?" I answer, my eyes still locked on her curtains, which haven't so much as fluttered. Does she know I'm here? Does she even care?

  "Uh, Winch?" His voice is low, like he's whispering into the phone, like he doesn't want anyone to know he's calling.

  The temperature of my blood dives.

  I wanted to walk away from all of this, wanted to do better for Evan, but I know for sure that whatever he's asking for, it's not going to be easy to turn him down.

  Walking away isn't simple. Even when you're taking baby steps.

  "Winch? You there?" His words shake.

  "I'm here. Tell me."

  "It's Alayah. And Remy. They're...uh, they're gone. And he was in bad shape."

  I'm back in my car in a few short seconds, the engine revved so loud, I finally see her, pulling the curtain aside and stepping on the balcony.

  Just in time to watch me pull away.

  Evan 14

  "Tell him I can't go," I repeat to Gramma as I attempt to gently push past her and get to my car.

  I stuck by the promise I made to myself, and I haven't contacted Winch or sought him out. His path to self-destruction might be on a fast-as-hell crash-course, but I'm not about to station myself in the cheering section.

  But, he came to the house. Maybe because things really are different. Maybe because, this time, he did change. Maybe.

  I don't know, but I need to find out. I'm an idiot to hold out hope, but I do. Something in me just can't let go of the hope that this will work itself out, even if I know I’m stupid to expect that.

  "Evan, no. Evan, listen to me. Evan!"

  The sharp jerk of my name from her lips roots me to my spot right by the front door, my hand on the doorknob. I look at her and twist my hands around my keys.

  "I have to go to him."

  I'm ashamed at how my voice wobbles.

  She shakes her head and tucks a piece of my hair back into my ponytail. I'd been in the middle of straightening it when I heard Winch's car pull out like crazy. When I came out of my room, Gramma told me that he'd come here for me. And she told me that she sent him away.

  Now my heart is desperate in my chest, like a bird crashing into a window over and over again, confused that it can't get to what it sees and wants, and willing to kill itself in the attempt to remedy that.

  "You do not have to go to that boy. Evan. Listen to me." She smoothes her hands over my hair and down onto my neck. "You do not have to throw everything away for any boy. Or for your parents. Or for those backstabbing friends. Or the teachers who gave up on you." Her voice is sopping wet and about to overflow. "Please hear me out. Your mother never would listen, but you and I are the same, and I know you can understand this, love. Listen."

  I swallow hard and decide listening will be the quickest option. I'm not about to run from this house and leave my grandmother standing in the foyer. Respect for her is coded into my anatomy. But so is general disobedience, and it bucks and kicks inside me, ready to burst through the door and find Winch. Find him and tell him...what I don't know, and, frankly, I don't care.

  I don't care if it's desperate, I don't care if it's all just the same damn merry-go-round of pain of and disappointment. I want him. I want him so badly, and I need him.

  I need him, even if needing him is the worst idea in the world.

  I'm tired of fighting it, trying to make sense out of all the bad mixed-up with the smattering of good that has defined our relationship so far.

  "I'm listening."

  My ears can hear her, anyway. But my heart and mind are already racing out the door ahead of this conversation, hoping to catch up with him, wanting to be back with him.

  "You're chasing him and he wants to run, darling. If he isn't attached you now, he never will be. Listen to me."

  Her voice is so desperate, I look up and resolve to listen. Really listen.

  She takes a deep breath in. "Love, I've watched you grow up amid all this chaos. And Granddaddy and I tried to do right by you, but we don't always know what to make of things. Look how we parented our fool daughter. We were never mad at you for getting into trouble. You have violent emotions. I know too well how that is. But, listen to me; you need to let go of this one."

  "Gramma," I begin, and it sounds like I'm about to recite some kind of speech even though this is all off the cuff of my crazed heart. "I love him. Really, I do. And we can make it work. Like you said, I have what it takes to be strong. I have what it takes to make this all happen..."

  I trail off and watch her shake her head back and forth. "It isn't you, love. It isn't you I doubt. It's him. If he's so easily swayed, it will be your mother and father all over again. He never stood up for their love. There were always distractions, Evan. You remember?"

  I swallow hard. "But it was the races with Daddy. It was gambling. A vice. This is family."

  "Family." She rolls the word on her tongue. "Darling, family can be the very devil in disguise. More powerful than any drug, more alluring than any sin. They can demand a loyalty that will rip your heart out and chew it up without the thought of an apology. You don't need to say a word, but I want you to think about what he's done for them. What they may ask him to do in the future. I know the Youngbloods by reputation, and I'd caution you strongly before you took up with one."

  "But he's--"

  Gramma puts a hand up. "Evan Lennox, I'm the last woman in the world who'd judge a man by his name. But I do know how to weigh a man's actions. And his actions make your daddy's habit of gambling on the horses seem very tame. I'm begging you, do not open your arms to the heartache your mother put up with for so long."

  The warpath drum of my heart has slowed, and she puts her hands on my shoulders, turns me, and pulls the elastic out, letting my hair fall in waves around my shoulders. "Tonight's date might be a blip in your radar. Or it might be a step in the direction of a lifelong, rewarding love. All I'm asking is that you open your heart and let go of this boy who's had you so twisted."

  "But he loves me, Gramma."

  The words cusp out on a breath that's trying not to dissolve into tears.

  "I have no doubt at all that his feelings for you are strong. But if his actions don't measure up to his intentions, you're better off without him. Your granddaddy and I have kept our mouths shut for a few weeks now. But we decided to say our piece, and now I've said it and feel better. Your passions have ruled your head and heart for a long time now, sweetie. And it's brought you nothing but heartache. Let go of this one and open up to the possibility of something new. Something
better."

  She runs her fingers through my hair, gently undoing the tangles.

  My throat feels closed up. My eyes burn. My heart is a lump in my chest, motionless, bloodless, empty. Winch roared away before he got a chance to talk to me. I slide my phone out of my pocket.

  No text. No message. No missed call.

  He gave up on me, again.

  He probably got a call from Remy. Again.

  The pattern will never end, no matter how much he wants it to.

  Because his intentions don't match his actions.

  I've given him so many chances, opened my heart to him, and had him open his to me. But if he doesn't choose me, choose us, there's nothing I can do. There's no way I can right this. Slowly, slowly, I will my stomach to unclench and my heart to pick up a plodding pace again. I kiss my grandmother on the side of her mouth.

  "I love you. You're right. First step. Tonight, I take my first step." I manage to say it without crying. Mostly because I shut down completely. "Now, if you will excuse me, my hair is a mess, and I have to fix it."

  Gramma beams and I walk up the stairs, head high, turn into my bathroom, soak a washrag in cold water, set my phone alarm for five minutes, then cry thick, shaky, moaning sobs into the cloth until the beep sounds.

  It was the same amount of time I gave Winch on our first date. I should have walked away when that alarm first sounded. I didn't then, but I will now. I have to.

  I sit at my vanity and fix my hair, put on my makeup, and just when I brush the eighteenth coat of mascara on my eyelashes, the doorbell chimes. I hear Granddaddy answer and exchange hearty, manly words with the guy who's waiting downstairs. He's some son of some colleague of my grandfather's, and Granddaddy called him a 'go-getter,' which is basically the very highest praise he ever gives anyone. So this guy must be something special.

  But he’s not Winchester Youngblood.

  I hang my silky robe on the hook in my closet and take out the simple green dress that I've always liked but never loved. Maybe that's just because I've never given it a fair chance. I dab a last coat of lipgloss on and head down the stairs in dangerously high pink heels with little bows at the toe, perfectly adorable, and a good way to lift my spirits every time Winchester invades my thoughts. All I have to do to buoy my mood a tiny bit is stare down at my fabulously outfitted feet.