by Callie James
My sister’s light, quick steps sounded outside the door before she knocked and poked her head in without an invitation. She didn’t flip the light switch as she peered through the darkness lit only by the one working streetlight on the block. Her gaze rested on the bed where I sat holding the ice pack against my stupid hand. “What the hell did I just hear?” she said.
I had difficulty replying. Everything seemed utterly pointless. So goddamn endless. “I punched the wall.”
“Damn. You okay?”
“No.”
“Did you hurt your hand?”
“No.” Not really. Not how she meant.
She flipped the light switch and I squinted like a vampire at dawn, following her gaze to the large crack in the wall. “Well, you didn’t punch a hole through,” she said. “That’s good. Did you hit a beam or something?”
“Yeah. Or something.” I could barely comprehend my stupidity in punching a wall, and ultimately the stud behind it, with my bare hand. It’s not as if we needed another doctor bill. And Jonas would have killed me had I broken my hand. “Just chalk it up to yet another reason to move you and Ma out of this fucking house, and town, as soon as possible. Europe, at this point, wouldn’t be far enough.”
She blinked and stared at me as though we hadn’t yet met.
I shrugged, feeling impulsive and dumb as hell. “I’ll pick up some sheetrock, plaster or whatever tomorrow,” I said. “We still have paint in the shed. Ma doesn’t need to know.”
“Um, not that you care right now,” she said, “but I’ve decided not to lie for you anymore. Well, maybe at school when you have to work, but that’s where I draw the line. You’re on your own with everything else. Especially girlfriends.”
“I know.” After today, I really did. “I’m not asking you to lie. I’m asking you not to point it out to Ma if you don’t have to. That’s all.”
“That’s doable.”
“Thanks.”
She watched me a few seconds longer. “I’m sorry, Samuel. I really am.”
“Whatever.”
“Can I say one thing in my defense?”
“No.”
“I saw Peyton at the movies tonight hugging her friend,” she said, ignoring what I’d said. “It …it kind of set me off.”
I dropped my head, not needing to picture them together again. “Let me guess. Cooper?”
“Right.”
The thought of him with her now, consoling her, pissed me off more than I wanted to admit, even to myself. Probably because it was unfair as hell. They’d been friends longer than I’d been in the picture. “They’re friends,” I said. “Friends hug.” At least Peyton’s friends did, and it didn’t take an intelligence analyst to figure out why.
“Well, it made me mad. I must have gotten used to seeing you both together. I don’t know. It threw me. Then when Ma made me introduce her and she asked Peyton why she wasn’t cheering for you tonight, I went into a panic spiral. I knew you weren’t ready to tell her yet. That’s when I said you were on a date. It just came out. Since you’ve made sure you don’t have any friends in Ridgeview, I didn’t have many options. I’m sorry. I panicked.”
“No shit.” I rubbed my forehead, imagining what Peyton must have felt. If the tables had been turned, if someone had told me Peyton was seein’ another guy… I didn’t want to think about what I would have done. “You really suck at pep talks, Vanna. I’m only getting more pissed.”
“Then a car almost hit her,” she added.
“What?”
“It was kind of my fault. After that, I don’t think Adam Cooper could hate me more,” she said. “He wanted to kill me tonight. Ma was mad, too. It was awful. I had no way out except to tell the truth.”
I looked at my red knuckles. The floor. Knew I could have prevented all of it. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
She paused. “Want me to talk to her? I could tell her what a misunderstood hard case you are. I wouldn’t be lying.”
If only Peyton and I had actually had a misunderstanding. “No.”
“I could make you sound more…more…”
“No.” I looked at her. “It’s over. She asked me to quit fighting. It has to be over.”
Her eyes rounded. “She actually asked you?”
“In so many words.”
“Could you? I mean, is she worth it?”
To stop fighting would take such a large piece of me away, I knew I’d disappear forever. Ironically, after knowing Peyton, I knew I’d never disappear for anyone ever again. “She’s worth it. But no, I’m not quitting.”
Maybe Vanna cared; she looked sad as hell. “I’m sorry, Samuel. Are you mad at me?”
I shook my head. “No. Just… stay out of my private life from now on.”
“Deal.”
*****
The constant rain began after Halloween like clockwork. We wouldn’t have more than a sun break or two between now and June, which made the next Monday the grayest fucking day of my life. Even the rain resembled my mood—a depressing gray drizzle one second, a torrential downpour the next.
Seeing Peyton everywhere would kill me. To be around her and not be with her, especially the way I still felt, made me give serious thought to getting my GED just to get the hell away from her.
I had good reasons for not connecting with anybody when that bastard moved us to Ridgeview five years ago. I hadn’t needed more bullshit hassles than I already had. Well, now I had one.
A big one.
For extra fun, Peyton didn’t show up Monday. This should have been a good thing. Instead, the not knowing why wore me down by third period. Peyton never got sick, by her own admission. Then where the hell was she?
I considered driving to her house to find out, but I think that would officially make me a stalker. So I waited for sixth period to talk to her brother. The kid needed serious pointers in building muscle anyway or he’d end up the only student to fail Weight Lifting. After warming up, I ambled to where he rested on a bench press away from the others—his usual. I leaned over the weight bar. “If you want to bulk up,” I said, smiling when he jumped in surprise, “you need to add a strength training cycle.”
“Dammit, Sam,” he said, clutching his chest as though staving off a heart attack. “I said quit sneaking up on me. Fuck. You’re worse than Peyton.”
“Sorry. Thought you could use the tip.”
“I have no damn clue what you’re even talking about. A strength training cycle? What the hell do you think I’m doing over here, churning butter?”
“You’d probably bulk up faster if you were. Look, adding more weight and reps each week is a start, but if you want an A in the coach’s classes, he needs to see you push yourself until guts start coming out of your pores.”
“Who says I’m not getting an A?”
I couldn’t stop the smirk. “Peyton told me your dad went ballistic when your parents got a letter that you slipped below a C.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s just one of his many issues with me,” he said under his breath. “Failing this class has an upside though. It finally got him off Peyton’s case for a while.”
I frowned. I knew her parents had been arguing about her website project, but she’d never mentioned that her dad slammed her daily about it. No wonder she stayed out so late at night.
“So how do I make my guts ooze?”
“Add another twenty or forty pounds to what you have here and do four sets of three, maybe five, repetitions.” I looked at his scrawny biceps. “Maybe start by doing three reps and work your way up.”
“Sam, I appreciate your attempt at whatever this is…some kind of Wuss Outreach Program. But I need a spot and no one in this group is about to volunteer for that job.” His eyes followed me as I added an extra twenty pounds to each side. “Dude, did you hear me? That’s way too much weight. I want to keep my trachea intact, thanks.”
“I’ll spot you.”
“What?�
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“I’ll spot you,” I repeated, letting out a blunt laugh at his raised eyebrows. Regardless of where Peyton and I stood with each other, the kid’s blunt honesty had started to grow on me.
“Are you serious?” He flipped onto his side. “Why?”
“Because I’m tired of all the bullshit,” I said, fixing the weight.
His sudden, broad smile with dimples, similar to his sister’s, depressed the shit out of me. “Does this have something to do with Peyton?” he asked. “Did she put you up to this?”
“Yes and no.” I nodded at the bench. “Let’s get started.” Ryan adjusted quickly, flipping onto his back and grabbing the bar.
“What the hell does that mean, anyway?” he asked. “Yes and no?”
“Yes it has to do with Peyton, and no she didn’t ask me to do this.”
“Vague as ever,” he said, inhaling and lifting the bar off the rack.
I grabbed it just before it would have dropped and snapped his neck. “You’re doing it wrong,” I said, lifting the thing back onto the rack. “Why don’t you wait for me to actually spot you next time.”
“Thanks. I figured that out.” He sat up. “What does this have to do with my sister?”
“Nothing. Jeez, man. Stay focused. Quit thinking I’m talking to you because of your sister. I’m talking to you because I want to talk to you.” He looked past me and I followed his gaze to see Delaney and his cronies watching us as they talked trash. “Is she okay?” I asked casually.
“Is who okay?”
“Peyton.” I turned to him. “I noticed she’s not here today, and she’s never sick.”
“She didn’t text you?”
Great. He didn’t know about the breakup. This was about to get uncomfortable. “I don’t think we’re seeing each other anymore.”
His eyebrows arched. “How’s that?”
“She said everything’s messed up right now and she needed time to think. Whatever that meant.”
“That’s her trademark, Sam. You better get used to it. She overthinks everything. Whatever is going on, you shouldn’t let her think too long on it. Call her.” He frowned. “Or… is this because of my dad?”
I stilled. “What about him?”
He looked down. Back up. “Never mind.”
“Hey, you’re the one who brought it up.”
He sighed. “He’s been on her case since you picked her up at the house. She asked me to catch you outside, before you knocked. I didn’t make it, obviously. Dad noticed the bruises and asked Peyton to explain them the next morning. When she didn’t have an explanation, he did some searches because he was certain he recognized your last name, and not in a good way. Made a few calls. The next thing I know, he’s going off on her about never going out with you again. And I do mean going off.”
She hadn’t said a word. “Did he say why? What he heard about me?”
“He found out about your family. About your uncle going to prison. I dunno. That domestic violence stuff … he doesn’t want Peyton around that. There’s more to it but you’d have to ask her. It’s not my place to say.”
“It was the hospital thing, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe. Giving Dad a little information is worse than giving him the whole story. He learned just enough to have a complete flip-out. It didn’t help matters when Peyton told him to stay out of your family’s business,” Ryan said. “Peyton can get pretty uppity. Our mom is the same way. But you don’t have to worry. She can keep a secret. Whatever you told her, she’s never said a word. Even to me.”
“You’re saying the entire time Peyton and I dated, that your parents were against it?”
“No, Mom liked you. Let’s just say you’ve become one more point of contention between them. Then the website thing happened and, well, they haven’t stopped arguing ever since. Peyton’s been under a lot of strain. She’s not used to being the problem child. That’s generally my area.”
“Why didn’t she say anything?”
He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Why would she? She never intended to stop seeing you. You know how she is when she sets her mind to something.” He shrugged. “Still, the stress finally caught up with her. It definitely contributed to her getting sick.”
Crap. “So she is sick?”
“She hit burnout Saturday night. It happens every time. She holes up in her room all day without a break and after a few days, she passes out from exhaustion. I found her at her desk Saturday night and helped her to bed. Sunday morning she could barely move. Could barely even wake. Looked pale as a ghost, too. Mom made her stay in bed and called our aunt to tell her she wouldn’t be working her shift. She finally woke this morning.”
“She’s okay though?”
He nodded. “She seemed coherent this morning, but Mom made her stay home and rest. Peyton’s like our mom that way. She throws herself into something a hundred and fifty percent, all driven with purpose until she makes herself sick. It usually takes one of us to strong arm her into slowing down.”
Like I needed to feel worse about pushing her Friday night to talk to me.
He positioned himself on the bench. “Okay. What am I doing wrong?”
It took a second to shift back. “For one, you’re not breathing right. You don’t want to exhale until you’re pushing the bar away from you. Start pulling air into your lungs and expanding your chest.” He did. “Then when you don’t think you can inhale another breath, try two more inhales. Expanding your lungs straightens your spine and gets you into perfect position. Right,” I said, nodding. “Like that.” I put my hand on the bar. “Now lift and take it to your chest slowly.” He did it as I continued talking, my hand resting on the bar as I guided it down. “Up. Again. Don’t exhale all your air. One burst, then slow.” He followed instructions verbatim. A great listener. The perfect student. “Now two more.”
Once finished, he placed the bar on the rack, looking supremely satisfied. “Thanks. But I’m still wondering what this does for you,” he said, his gaze sliding to mine but upside down.
“What’s with you thinking everyone has an angle all the time?”
“Because everyone has an angle all the time. Everyone wants something. What I want to know is what do you want?” He slid a hand under his head. “What are you getting from this?”
“Nothing.”
“Why aren’t you seeing each other?”
“I told you. She said she needed to think.”
He flipped onto his stomach. “Yeah, but think about what?”
“Me. She found out something she didn’t like,” I said. “What are you doing? Taking a break? Do three more.”
He grinned, rolling to his back and doing three more presses. I shifted the conversation to the proper diet that would help add muscle and energy without adding fat. He did another three.
“Don’t you have to bail?” he asked, resting the bar on the rack.
I checked the clock on the wall and realized I had only eight minutes before everyone else hit the shower. “Yeah.” I grabbed the bar and leaned over him, talking low so no one else could hear. “Do you remember that day with Delaney? In the locker room?”
“Ah, here it comes,” he said. “You want me to talk to her, don’t you? Because I owe you one for saving my ass. Right?”
“No. In fact, I don’t want you talking to her about me at all. Including this. Today.”
“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “Then why’d you bring up Delaney?”
“Remember what you saw?”
“Yeah. I saw the locker door. A lot and up close. We’ve become intimate since dick wad has a habit of bashing my face into it.”
“No, I meant the marks.”
He frowned, looking confused.
“Mine,” I finally said.
His gaze dropped and he swallowed. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Don’t ever tell her, okay?”
He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, eyeing me curiously. “Why?”
> “It would upset her.” I swallowed, imagining it. “You know how sensitive she is. It would hurt her unnecessarily, you know? There’s no point.”
His mouth hung open as though he wanted to say something.
“We’re cool then?” I asked, checking the clock one more time.
“Sure.” He nodded. “We’re cool.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sam
I saw her standing by her locker first thing Tuesday morning. I would have tried talking to her, but Tanner got to her first, looking disgruntled as ever. He curled a finger at her, and she closed her locker to follow him to the office.
I spotted her again in junior hall after second period. Her eyes rounded as she approached and when she didn’t immediately look away, I thought seriously about stopping and talking to her. I wanted to.
She smiled slightly, until several of her friends swept by, laughing and pulling her into the fold. She looked back once more, her curious expression taking me back to when we first saw each other three years ago.
I turned away, wishing for the first time in weeks I could go back to being the person I was before we’d dated. Wishing I could blow her off without thinking twice. Because other than those brief seconds of eye contact, the remainder of the week became a blur of awkward, tense moments pretending we didn’t know each other. Each time our gazes met, she’d quickly turn away, killing me a little each time.
After two weeks of that hell, I had to stop looking at her altogether. It was the only way to get through it. That’s when Jonas and Bobby got involved.
I’d been kneeling on a mat Friday night, wearing the mitts and guiding the punches and footwork of an eight-year-old boxing prodigy when Bobby called out my name, waving me over to Jonas’s office.
Sighing, I left Max with his dad to take ten minutes, and followed Bobby to Jonas’s office, then my small bedroom.
My boss looked too comfortable sitting on my bed and staring at the television he’d purchased for me over a year ago.
“What couldn’t wait until after my session?” I said, leaning against the doorframe.
“Put a sock in it and watch,” Bobby said, sitting next to Jonas and grabbing a carton of Chinese food and a plastic fork before turning up the volume.