“What happened to you, Syd? Did you take a tumble at gym?” he asks.
“Close. I tripped down the stairs after I got out of the shower,” I tell him.
He tilts my face each way to inspect it.
“You hurting?”
“My ribs hurt a little,” I say. A lot.
“Well, you really did a number this time, kid. Do you need me to call the doctor?”
His concern hurts. He doesn’t have the energy for this.
“Nah, I’m fine. I am going to turn in early, though,” I say. I slowly start up the stairs, holding my ribs in an attempt to minimize the pain.
“You sure you don’t need to see a doctor?” he asks. Apprehension fills his voice. I know that I can’t tell him how bad it really hurts. I can’t tell him that as bad as the pain is, it doesn’t touch how bad my heart is aching because Trevor walked out on me. I can’t tell him the truth. Ever.
“No, no, no. I’ll be fine tomorrow. Thanks Dad, goodnight,” I say weakly as I close my door behind me.
I curl up on my bed and the tears start again. Trevor and I were here, together, just a couple of hours ago. Trevor, the person that I love. Trust. The person I’d given myself to so wholeheartedly. The person that hurt me, and then walked out on me.
I’m teetering on the ledge of awake and sleep when I hear my cell phone vibrate on the night stand. I blink several times to clear the grogginess and heavy tears that cloud and burn my eyes.
I’m sorry. I love you and hope you’re okay.
I take a deep breath and then reply:
It was my fault. I love you.
My ribs ache. My face is throbbing. I just want things to be okay again. I want all of this hurt to stop. And if that means my taking the blame, well, that’s acceptable to me. I let my tears dry and hope for sleep to come soon.
By the time I get home from gym the next day, my car is back in the driveway –just a dead battery according to Dad. The whole situation last night probably could have been avoided if I would have thought of that. I’m certain Grant would have had jumper cables. That fact irritates me. He should have offered to try that, I tell myself. That’s it. I’m blaming him now.
Quinn and Tessa both call Sunday to see if I wanted to go shopping, but I’m too sore. I still refuse to see a doctor, even though Ibuprofen isn’t touching the pain. I tell them that I don’t feel well and am going to be staying in. I really haven’t been spending a whole lot of time with my friends lately. I miss them. And more than that, I haven’t been giving the producers the social footage they’ve demanded. Instead, I catch up on taping segments (with lots of make-up on to hide the marks on my face), and catch up on some laundry.
“I haven’t been working on bars a whole lot this week.”
Last time, I wasn’t able to do anything other than bar work since I could conceal my injuries with my grips. This time, I can’t work on bars because my slamming my ribs into them when I cast makes me feel like I’m splitting my body in half.
“I’m so nervous about Nationals that school has been a great distraction lately.”
Trevor has been apologetic and boyfriend-of-the-year material since I accepted responsibility for our argument. It’d been my fault. I shouldn’t have accepted the ride from Grant, after all.
Grant’s already sitting at our table when I walk into Oceanography on Monday morning. He turns to look at me before I even make it to my seat. His eyes light up momentarily, until I turn my face as I set my things down. I assume by the widening of his eyes, that I haven’t done as good of a job covering up the bruised left side of my face, as I thought I had. My lips form a tense smile. I want to play off the injury, but I also don’t want to have to talk to him.
I sit down and start organizing my books.
“Sydney,” he says tightly.
“Grant,” I joke back, trying to mimic his serious tone.
Still, I refuse to look up. I can’t. I don’t want to look into those eyes.
“Syd, look at me,” he says. The way my name sounds coming from his lips is more than I can handle right now.
I give nothing in response. I am frozen.
He lets out an audible sigh and reaches out with a single finger and tilts my chin up so that he can see my face. I don’t flinch away, but I still avoid his eyes.
“What the hell happened to you?” Grant demands. His voice is thoughtful but firm.
“I tripped and fell down the stairs at my house,” I say with a light laugh.
He’s quiet. Good. Let’s leave it at that.
“I don’t believe you,” he finally says.
“I tripped, drop it,” I say through my teeth.
“Jesus Christ, just wait until I—” His voice is protective and full of anger.
My eyes dart up at his threat. If he confronted Trevor, it would everything. Forever.
“I fell down the stairs. That’s it,” I say firmly. Tears form in my eyes. My nose and chin burn as I fight them off. I can’t cry. I’m determined to make Grant believe me.
Grant stares back at me. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he still doesn’t buy it.
“Please,” I say quietly. “Please. Let it go. For me.” My voice has become a tortured beg. When did I become this person?
He finally breaks our stare and looks down at his hands. He nods his head once, then turns toward the front of the classroom.
Not another word is spoken between Grant and me.
“I’ve been working on my Arabian Double Front constantly the last few days.”
Now that my ribs hardly hurt anymore, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.
No one other than Grant even doubted my story about falling down the stairs. Most likely because no one else is quite as perceptive – or nosy – as Grant. Quinn and Tess laughed with me when I recounted the story of how I fell; how someone who is making a career out of having great balance can be such a klutz. Trevor cringed every time someone asked me what happened. It hurt to see him so full of guilt.
“I know I said I’d try to make it happen, and I’ve succeeded. Here with my tonight is my boyfriend, Trevor.”
He’s here because he feels guilty, I know that. And I hate that that’s the reason, but the producers have really been hounding me for social footage. This was the best I could do. I don’t have time to be social right now, surely they understand that.
Trevor smiles uncomfortably and shifts his weight in the chair.
“Nationals are just a week away. I’ve been prepping so hard for so long. I can’t wait to just get there and get the job done.”
I’m looking forward to getting out of town for a while. To put all of the drama behind me. Maybe when I come back, it’ll be like a real, legitimate fresh start.
“You’ll do great, baby.” Trevor reaches over and brushes my bangs off of my face and kisses my forehead. It’s showy, and completely not like him, but I’ll take it.
It’s been two weeks since Grant and I have spoken.
I nervously wait in front of the school with the rest of our Oceanography class to board the bus for our field trip to the Aquarium. Honestly, I’d debated whether to skip school or not so I could miss the trip. But I haven’t had the best test scores lately because I’ve been so focused on gym and Trevor, so I can’t miss the points this trip counts for. I can’t believe that this is my life right now. Contemplating missing class. Grades dropping.
I still don’t really know anyone in my class, so I take a seat alone, near the front of the bus. Just before the doors close, Grant’s tall, tan frame occupies the narrow aisle.
I sigh. I hope he doesn’t notice, because it’s rude, but I know he’ll sit with me.
But he doesn’t. And I don’t know if I feel relief or disappointment. Everything about my relationship with Grant is confusing. A contradiction. I want him to leave me alone, but when he does I can’t help but wish he was next to me instead.
He sits in the only open bench seat, which is right in front of me. His postur
e is perfectly straight, much more formal than I’ve seen before. His keeps his back to me the entire ride and I stare at his neck, remembering the clean smell of his skin as he carried me down the stairs. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I’m glad when he pulls out his iPod and flips open a book, signaling he definitely won’t be turning around to acknowledge me.
Despite its relative closeness, the ride to the aquarium takes longer than you’d think because of the heavy traffic. I skim through a few magazines, trying to drown my thoughts with senseless celebrity gossip. Once we get there, I keep my head down as Grant and I both repack our things and avoid the heck out of each other’s eyes. I let him make his way out of the bus first, before I even stand and start for the stairs. I turn the corner to take the first step out of the bus, and Grant is there. His hand is extended for me. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Let me help you down,” he says. “You know, wouldn’t want you to ‘fall’ again.” He makes air quotes around the word fall and I want to scream at him. I glare instead. Why won’t he just let this go?
“I really did just fall,” I say.
“Whatever you say, Sydney.” He shakes his head before walking ahead of me. I have to run to keep up with his long strides.
“What’s your problem?” I demand. I feel stupid for chasing him down, but this interfering has got to stop.
“My problem?” he asks sharply. He stops walking and stares down at me. I can tell he’s waiting for me to argue. Why can’t I just walk away? Why do I feel this incredible pull for things to be okay with him? With everyone? The rest of the class has gone inside, and it’s just Grant and me out in the large entry way.
“My problem,” Grant starts, “is that I fucking care about you. And he hurts you. Admit it.”
“That’s not true. I fell. It was an accident. Can we please just drop this?” I feel the warmth on my cheeks, the trembling in my voice. I wish I was better at hiding my emotions.
“Sydney,” he says softly. “Look, please just know that I’m here. If you need anything you just have to ask…” He stumbles over his words and it’s so unlike him.
“Okay,” I mumble. It’s a lie. I’ll never be able to do that.
He seems to accept it, though, and we turn toward the entrance.
The rest of the class is already well into the tour. We decide against catching up with them, and instead, take our own tour.
To say that the Atlanta Aquarium is massive is a total understatement. It’s literally the largest aquarium in the world. And I’m here. With Grant.
Now that he’s said what’s been weighing on his mind, things feel a bit less weird between us, and, actually, it’s really nice to be around him again. I know it’s wrong to feel so happy to be able to spend this time with him because my being with him is the source of all of the problems that I have with Trevor. But, right now, I don’t care.
We walk through the large, acrylic tunnel. It’s dark and peaceful and I can’t help but enjoy it.
“So, you never finished telling me, what happened with you and your ex?” I try to sound casual rather than nosy.
“Jealous are we?” he says with a smile. I visibly cringe. “I’m kidding, Syd. There’s no big story, sometimes, things just don’t work out the way that you hope they will.”
His words are composed, but I can’t help but sense a twinge of regret behind them.
“I guess you’re right,” I say, and I can’t help but think about my relationship with Trevor.
“All right, now it’s your turn,” Grant says.
“My turn for what?”
“To answer a difficult question.”
“Shoot,” I say.
“How do your parents feel about Trevor?” he asks. That’s not the question I was expecting. I decide to keep my answer honest. Simple.
“My dad actually likes him a lot,” I say. I look down at a lock of my hair as I twirl it around my finger.
“Hmmm…” he says. “What about your mom?”
“My mom? Um, she passed away a couple of years ago.” The familiar sting in my throat is there when I say the words.
“Shit, Syd, I’m sorry.”
Grant takes my hand away from the piece of hair that I’ve been obsessively twirling and holds it in his.
“It’s okay.” I shrug. I hate this part. When people feel bad for asking a simple question. Like they should have somehow known. But Grant isn’t like most people. He doesn’t ask a bunch of questions, and in turn, I find myself offering up information more than usual.
“It was a freak thing. A hit and run. She was out jogging, like she did every single morning before work. Some idiot hit her.” I wipe my eyes to make sure they’re still dry. “He just left her there.”
Like Trevor left me. Injured. Alone.
Grant listens intently as I play it all out for him. The cops showing up at the door and me being the one to answer. How they held up her license, and asked if I knew her. How I said no and slammed the door in their faces. Grant squeezes my hand lightly every time he hears my voice crack. I tell him how my mom is the reason I do gymnastics. How badly she wanted that for me before she died.
“Sometimes, when I’m competing, I feel like she’s with me,” I say before I can stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. I feel the rush of embarrassment and regret immediately.
Grant notices the change in my demeanor and shakes his head slowly.
“I bet she’s with you all the time, Sydney,” he says.
“You think?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m afraid I’m disappointing her,” I say.
He laughs, like he can’t believe I just said that.
“Why would she be disappointed?”
“I don’t know, like I’m not doing things well enough. I barely spend time with my sister. My grades are slipping…” I let my voice trail off when I see him shaking his head again.
“You can’t be everything to everyone. I’m sure the only thing you could possibly do to let your mom down is to spend your life unhappy.” I know there are several ways I can interpret his statement. That I spend too much time trying to please everyone; trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations of me – in gym, in school, at home. Or that I have a sometimes unstable relationship with my boyfriend that isn’t healthy… I’m sure he meant the latter.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say, jumping up off of the bench. I smile widely and motion for him to get up, too. “Let’s go check out some more fish!”
He smiles back for a second, but then his forehead creases and his lips curve downward.
“What is it?” I ask.
He points behind me. “Cameras.”
“Crap,” I say. “Dad or Sam must’ve told them we’d be here.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, like it’s his fault my life is a total circus.
“Don’t be, it’s not your fault.”
“Do you want me to go somewhere else? Out of their shots, I mean.”
Yes.
“No.” How can I say yes after I just bared my soul to him. “I want to stop in the gift shop. I bet they can’t follow us in there.” Grant nods and follows me into the tight space. I stop to inspect the display of snow globes. I’m right; the cameras can’t film inside the gift shop, it’s too packed in here for them to even attempt a clear shot. Not that I’m that interesting. Geez.
“You collect these?” he asks, picking up a snow globe full of plastic sea horses and star fish.
I shake my head. “No, my sister does. This week anyway.”
I find one that has sharks and mermaids. The combo is ridiculous and makes me laugh, so that’s the one I decide on. Grant stays close to my side as I go to the register to pay. There’s a large glass jewelry case next to the register. My eyes grow wide.
“What? What’s the matter?” Grant asks. The concern is ever present in his voice.
“Nothing, it’s just…” I point into the locked case. A strand
of fresh water pearls is on display on the top shelf. They’re almost identical to the ones I’d ruined.
“My mom had some just like that,” I say.
“The ones you wore to prom?” he asks. I pull my brows together, wondering how he remembers that.
“I notice everything about you, Sydney,” he adds with a shy shrug of his shoulders, answering the unspoken question in my eyes.
“Yeah, those are the ones. But they broke.” I frown.
“Next customer, please.” The elderly woman behind the counter calls to me. I glance up at Grant’s sympathetic eyes and walk to the other side of the counter to make my purchase.
We walk silently toward the exit. I know the cameras are likely behind us. That I should leave Grant’s side. But I just don’t have it in me to fake it right now. I’m here, with him, because I want to be.
“We need to find the class before we end up stranded in Atlanta,” Grant says, resting his hand on the small of my back. He still looks concerned though, ever since I brought up the necklace. He knows there’s more to that story than I alluded to. We’re walking closer now than we had on the way in to the aquarium. This time, I don’t have to imagine the warm, clean smell of his skin; I can breathe it in.
“So, you never did tell me, what happened with you and Shayna after prom,” I say. I bump his arm with mine and try to sound blasé, but fail miserably.
Grant lets out a small laugh.
“Actually, if you want to get technical about it, you never let me finish telling you,” he qualifies.
“Right.”
“Nothing happened. If you know me at all, you’ve got to know that.”
“But I saw you two go into the guest room together and then leave together the next morning.”
Risk the Fall Page 10