“I’ve mentioned it,” he says, continuing to chew slowly without looking up.
“That’s an honor,” I say, nodding at her.
Charlotte narrows her eyes. “It’s his birthright. Preston’s been groomed to take over the business since his youth, and now he’s finally coming of age. It’s imperative he maintain focus on the goal and not be sidetracked by trivial dalliances.” Maybe she could use big words around his previous girlfriends, and they’d be none the wiser. Not me. I understand what she’s saying—our romance is insignificant, a distraction more than anything. Charlotte didn’t want to meet and welcome me to her family. She wants to enforce the boundaries.
She continues as if she hasn’t just insulted me to the nth degree. “Speaking of which, Preston, I hear Ashlyn’s doing very well at USC. She plans to join the firm after graduation, though she hasn’t decided which location just yet. I suspect that will depend on you.”
When he doesn’t respond, she turns her eyes on me. “Has he told you about Ashlyn? Her father is a dear business associate of Jackson’s. She and Preston are just the same age. Her mother and I have always said our children were destined to be together. It’d happen to… if Preston would quit being resistant.”
She cuts through her beef and forks a miniscule piece in her mouth, chewing it delicately and slowly before swallowing it down. I’m hoping she swallows her tongue along with it. Preston’s face is red, and he looks only at the halved red potatoes he’s pushing around with his fork. Gage’s mouth is gaped open as he whips his head back and forth between Preston and his mom, probably looking for some sort of reaction. But Preston’s not giving one.
Crawling under the table sounds like a plan at this point. Maybe if I can get under there, the tablecloth will block me until I can crawl right out the front door, back home, and beneath my covers where I can pretend none of this ever happened. I lay my fork across my plate and sip tea from my goblet. My churning stomach can’t handle any more.
Until someone comes to my rescue. “Maybe Preston’s not interested in Ashlyn because she’s a bitch? Maybe he wants a girl he can actually talk to, like Rayne?” Gage says. I flick my eyes up at him. He’s staring at Charlotte with so much venom I don’t see how she doesn’t drop dead in her seat.
“Maybe Preston needs to understand that good breeding and family—”
“Maybe everyone should shut up and let my oldest son live his own life. He’s a man capable of making decisions. Good ones. Forcing him into some old-South arranged relationship is out of the question. You and I both know those never work, my dear. Preston’s quite capable of deciding who is and who is not a match for him. End of discussion.” Jackson tosses his fork down on the plate, and it clangs against the china. He pushes away his chair and stands up. “I’ll have dessert in my study.”
As he walks away, Charlotte’s face turns fifteen shades of red and she flounces back in her chair, refusing to eat another bite of dinner. Preston still hasn’t said a word, Gage is smiling like the Cheshire Cat, and I’m doing my best not to lose my temper or my tears. So this is how the rich do dinner? And I thought the dramatics were all made-for-TV. Turns out life does imitate art.
We suffer through the dessert course—angel food cake with strawberries and whipped cream—with little to no conversation. Charlotte looks at her plate. Preston looks at his. And every time I look up, Gage is staring at me from across the table. He winks and smiles, and I force a grin in return. I use my fork to swirl cream around the plate but never actually put anything in my mouth because I’m too busy silently praying this nightmare will end.
When Mrs. Howard rings the bell for the dessert course to be removed from the table and dismisses us, she’s careful not to let us sneak away before one last warning. “Not too late, Preston. You have an exam this week. That takes priority.”
“Yes ma’am. We’re going to watch a movie, and then I’ll drive Rayne home.”
“Good,” says Charlotte simply as Gage rolls his eyes and stomps around us, up the stairs and out of sight. “It’s been a pleasure, Rayne,” she continues, though something tells me it’s been anything but. She looks at me as if I’m trash, some project her son brought home instead of an actual person.
Charlotte Howard could certainly be the poster child for such arrogance, and what concerns me most is I see a little of that reflecting back in Preston. Not to the same degree, of course, and with none of the callousness, but he does have that air of importance. At least it’s tempered by Mr. Howard’s cool, laid-back genes, which Gage has inherited, though both demonstrate a short fuse when dealing with Charlotte.
My nana used to say “appearances are deceiving”—the Howard family mantra, no doubt. The front porch painted a picture of the Howards that the dinner table threw right out the window.
Preston grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”
I nod at Charlotte as Jackson pops out from the study. She nods back with a curt smile, but Jackson walks over and pats my shoulder. “Pleasure meeting you, Rayne. Preston’s found himself a fine girl.” At least one of them isn’t a flaming asshole hell-bent on getting rid of me.
“Thank you, sir,” I say as Preston pulls me to the stairs.
The media room is all dark wood with a large projection screen at the far end and two rows of black leather reclining sofas. I sit in the middle of the first one. Preston grabs the remote and slides beside me, pulling a blanket over our legs. Here together, close, comfortable and away from the microscope, I snuggle in, hoping to recapture some momentum, but twenty minutes into the movie, the intercom interrupts.
“Preston…” It’s Charlotte. Of course. She’s a monkey wrench with stilettos and big hair. “You have visitors from your western civ class. Something about the term paper you’re working on. Please come down and discuss with them.” Before he can respond, she’s gone. And then, so is he. And I’m alone watching a movie in the Howard house, in their media room, which is the size of our den, kitchen and dining room combined.
I pause the movie and venture into the hallway. The perfect paint, the perfect furniture, and the perfectly-aligned photo frames of perfect family pictures paint an image I’ve discovered is pretty fractured below the surface. It’s all fake-outs and lies, and now something about this whole thing is beginning to feel off—like my feelings for Preston. I like him. Who wouldn’t? But he’s not giving me butterflies. He’s not getting in my thoughts and messing them all up, and I can’t lie. That’s what I want.
Down the hall on the left, rock music spills out of a partially open door. And not just any rock. 80’s hair band rock, which is my favorite. It’s what Daddy listens to in his car since Mama doesn’t allow it in the house. It’s what I cut my teeth on. I creep toward the music, cowering against the wall as if at any moment, Charlotte will spring out from another door and accuse me of prowling around her house… which I kinda am.
I lean on the door jamb and peek in. Gage stands in front of his dresser mirror, counting off reps of bicep curls. His clothes from earlier are tossed on the bed, and he’s wearing only navy athletic shorts that sit low on his hips, just enough to expose a good inch of his boxers’ waistband. The sweat glistens on his chest, and my heart speeds up at the sight. He switches arms and turns his body slightly in the mirror to where his tattoo is visible in the reflection. I want to touch it. Touch him. I shouldn’t be thinking this. I should be concentrating on Preston, but once again, here I am, all torn up by looking at Gage, being near him. Turn and leave, Rayne. Go back to the media room and wait on—
“You coming in or you gonna stand out there all night?”
Shit. Shit. Double Shit. The door swings open, and Gage leans against it, still breathing hard from his workout. He’s smiling like let’s-see-you-get-yourself-out-of-this-one. Except I have no words. At least nothing I can say aloud. Nada. “Uh… how, uh… did you… see…?”
“Mirrors are good like that.” His grin widens as he nods ba
ck toward where he’d been standing. Smartass.
“Who’d have thought you’d see me when you’re so busy looking at yourself?” I shrug then reach out to stroke his bicep. Icicles. My veins just turned to icicles.
He laughs and stands back, waving me in. “I was looking at lots of things, I’ll have you know. My form. My room. You spying on me.”
I walk in, edging past him through the sweetly pungent aroma of boy sweat. “Not spying. Observing.”
“Observing? Like a science experiment?” He folds his arms in front of him and cocks his head to the side.
“Exactly. For research purposes. The standoffish jock in his natural habitat.” I sweep my hand around. “Cool music by the way. Cool room, too.”
It is cool. Very industrial and gritty. Like him. The bed and desk are both galvanized metal-framed and the dresser and desk shelves both use the same distressed dark wood. There’s a metal wall lamp hanging over the head of the bed, and I can’t help imagining Gage sitting against the headboard and pillows late at night, studying under its light. A massive weight bench sits in the corner, a rack of dumbbells beside it, and on his walls are a collection of Guns N’ Roses posters and Clemson football memorabilia.
“Wait.” He grabs my shoulder. “Standoffish? Me?”
I pull away and bend down to get a closer look at a row of football trophies on his shelf. “Aren’t you? That elusive guy no one really knows?”
He snorts, walks over and sits down on the side of his bed. “Nah, nothing elusive about me. I’m pretty face-value. Just selective on who I let in.”
He pats the spot beside him and I walk over to take it. “But you let me in.”
His smile grows with my words. “I know.” The hairs prickle on my arms as if someone’s blowing down my neck, covering my entire body, which is suddenly on high alert—until he douses it with cold water. “So… where’s Preston?”
“Downstairs with some college friends who dropped by. Something about a term paper.”
“And he left you alone?” He angles his head toward me and narrows his eyes as if I’m telling him some colossal riddle.
“Well yeah, but this is important… for school.” It’s sad how quickly I make excuses for Preston based on my own irrelevance. Like that’s actually an okay thing.
“You do realize you sound just like mom?” Gage exhales loudly and shakes his head. “Don’t give anyone permission to treat you less-than, Rayne.”
“No one’s treated me less-than.” Lie. Everyone’s treated me less-than my whole life. Except Gage.
“Please. Don’t tell me you’re okay with Mom’s snarky comments. Don’t pretend with me. She drove over you then backed up and hit you again. I’d tell you she regrets it now, but she doesn’t. And she won’t. Preston’s her pride and joy.”
“Does she treat other girls like this?” Surely the attitude can’t all be about me.
“No. Preston’s dating you threw them for a loop. They never saw it coming.”
The words sting. Another snub by this town and the Howards. “Yeah? Well, they can join the entire town in speculating why Preston’s lost his freakin’ mind by being with me.”
“Why do you do that?” Gage’s mouth drops open as he shakes his head. “Assume you’re not good enough? What I meant is you’re different. Preston dates dumb girls. You’re not.”
“Thanks,” I mumble. What’s wrong with me? I can handle insults in stride but not a compliment?
He grabs my hand, and instead of pulling away, I grasp his just as tight. “Don’t listen to mom. She doesn’t sweat the dumb ones, but you scare her. She can’t control you, so she’s lashing out. With you,” he lifts up his arm and points to his tattoo, “no rules apply.”
Oh my God, I need to touch it. Touch him. My fingers twitch at the thought so I stand up and wrap my arms around Gage, hugging him to my chest. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
He whispers, “Anytime. I mean it.”
I squeeze him hard once more then let go and walk towards the door. “I’m gonna use the restroom then go back and wait some more.” I slip out of his room and into the one across the hall. I shut the door and lean against the counter, my heart thumping in my chest, head spinning from the conversation. I splash my face with water, cold like icy thorns, in a ploy to knock some sense into myself because all I want to do is run across the hall, wrap my arms around Gage and kiss him, which makes no sense at all. Especially when Preston’s right downstairs.
There’s a muffled knocking in the hallway. Gage’s door squeaks open, and I press my ear to the door, eavesdropping on the conversation.
“Where’s Rayne?” asks Preston.
“Bathroom.” Gage’s voice is flat, heavy.
“Okay. She wasn’t in the media room when I came back.”
“Probably because you were gone for like, 20 minutes and left her by herself. I’m surprised she’s still here. I would’ve left your ass.” Gage’s definitely picking a fight, but as much as I don’t want them to argue, I do want to hear Preston’s rebuttal.
“For talking to a couple kids from my class? What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s called a phone, dude. Or texting. Or email. Take your pick. You don’t leave your girl alone in the middle of a date.”
“Let me take your advice. You have so much experience. How many girls you been out with again? I must’ve missed a few.” Preston’s tone is cutting, arrogant.
“Don’t be a jackass, dude. I’m trying to help you. You sat there like a lump at dinner when Mom was being a bitch and—”
Preston cuts him off. “Mom’s not being a bitch.” Yes, she was most definitely a bitch. I push my ear closer into the woodgrain to hear his explanation. “She’s concerned. Yeah, she could’ve been nicer but it’s nothing personal against Rayne. Just mom being mom.”
Gage makes a half-spitting, half-snorting sound. “Are you shitting me? Mom’s a bitch. I took up for your girlfriend more than you did. I’m telling you straight up, keep acting like this and you’re gonna lose her.”
“To who?” He sounds confident, untouchable—like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“To someone who realizes what you have when you obviously don’t.” Gage’s voice has no inflection. It’s a quiet and direct warning, and I can’t help wondering to whom he’s referring, and in the back of my mind, I’m hoping it’s him.
“That’s wrong. I care about her… a lot.”
“Then act like it. You leave her alone all the time, don’t stand up for her. She’s not one of those idiot sub-humans you’re used to. She’s got brains, goals, and interests. Do you ever ask her about those or just make her bask in your greatness?”
“What’s your problem tonight?” The anger seeps through Preston’s words.
Bam! The wall shakes at what sounds like Gage slapping the sheetrock. “You know what? Never mind. You’re right. You know best, so do your thing.” Gage’s door slams, and I quickly turn on the faucet just in case Preston can hear me in the bathroom.
After washing and drying my hands over and over again until the skin is red and shriveled, I open the door and flick off the lights. Preston’s waiting in the hallway, leaned into the wall, flipping through his phone like nothing’s wrong. But the closed door beside him and the rock music now thundering behind it tells a different story.
“Hey there.”
Preston looks up and smiles, eyes calm, jaw relaxed. “Hey. Ready to go watch that movie now?”
“Yeah, let’s go.” I choose not to perpetuate the drama because truth be told, Gage is right. Preston’s genuinely a nice guy, but I’m beginning to wonder if maybe dating me is just a novelty—something different for a while. He isn’t as attentive as I’d hoped, and I’m not responding how I expected. Love is supposed to create a spark, a chemical connection that roots around in your gut and drives you just a little crazy but in a really good way.
Preston’s not quite doing that, but I
know someone who is.
Chapter 14
Gage
T
he earthy scent of fresh-cut grass wafts around us, a little sweet, a little musky, as we all huddle in the end zone behind the big banner with its painted-on slogan “rip the rebels” or something like that. I suck in a deep breath, the chilled air burning the inside of my nose, the first hints of fall surging in. I take another long inhale, filling my lungs.
Ah. The smell of a crisp night ahead—stadium lights blaring, the band in their stupid hats playing Louie, Louie and Crazy Train nonstop… and football.
I love Friday night home games.
And Rayne in that cheerleading skirt.
Give it a rest, you idiot. She’s so off limits.
She’s standing at the front of the group, holding onto the banner, head cocked, and eyes sweeping the stands from side to side. I scoot forward, sneaking around guys on the outside edge, clanking shoulder pads with them as I squeeze into the very front, directly behind her.
“Boo,” I whisper in her ear.
She jumps, losing one hand’s grip on the banner momentarily as she whips around, sticking her tongue out at me over her shoulder. At least she’s smiling now.
“You ‘bout scared me half to death!” Her giggle rings out against the drumline in the background but fades when she darts her eyes back to the quickly filling stands.
“Looking for Preston?”
“He said he’d try to make it to the game tonight, but I didn’t put much stock in it.” She shrugs. “Hasn’t made it to one yet. I did see your dad finally made one, though.”
The words register at a snail’s pace. Either I misunderstood her, or the world quit spinning on its axis for a minute. She must be mistaken. “My dad? Here?”
She nods and points to a spot in front of the stands. “Yeah, right over there.” I maneuver myself around the crowd for a better look. Dad leans on the fence line, alone, without his cell phone in hand for once. Just watching us on the field. When he sees Rayne pointing and connects with my gaze, he waves nonchalantly, like it’s perfectly normal for him to be standing there. Like it’s something he actually does on a regular basis.
Meant to Be Broken Page 10