AMAZING HEART (Broken Bottles Series Book 4)

by Pamela Taeuffer

  "I don't use that stuff."

  "Oh yes you do you big liar."

  "Yeah," he blushed. "I do. Anyway, they're performing at Pier 28. Wanna go?"

  "Sure." That's so thoughtful of him. "Bye, Mom!" I yelled.

  "Bye Mrs. Young!" Jerry shouted.

  Mom returned our goodbye. As we closed the door, feelings of being just a girl and a boy rippled through me. Even as we hopped on the streetcar, in a way it felt as if we'd only gotten on our bikes and we were peddling to the beach. I looked at my friend when he wasn't watching and felt the threatening sadness of goodbye around the two of us.

  Only a few feet from our stop and we already at the entrance to the tent that was home to the dazzling acrobats. After buying popcorn and a soda, we found our seats and for the next few hours sat amazed at their incredible moves. During the mesmerizing performance, I silently practiced the words I needed to say. Still I couldn't settle on the right way to say them.

  Why was I unable to let him go?

  I supposed it was that he was the first person I had let into my life of dark family secrets. He'd seen my fears and shared the hurt from my childhood and adolescence—no one else knew me in the same way. He had been the ground I needed, there for me like I'd been for him.

  Who would he turn to now when his dad hit him?

  Who would I turn to when my family spun out of control?

  Were the days of needing each other in those ways over?

  Was it time to bury our past?

  Was that our only common thread?

  "What now?" Jerry asked as we walked out among a crowd that buzzed about the show.

  "How about some coffee?" I suggested. "And a little something to eat?"

  Even after so many years of practicing good eating habits there were times I succumbed to the comfort of food. When I was little, if I wasn't being bribed with food to be quiet, I was rewarded with it. Just like alcohol was my father’s vice, food was a friend that I knew would always be there for me, shielding me from the trauma and dysfunction of my family. I was promised food in all forms—cookies, candy, chips, bowls of ice cream, pizza, and burgers—in any amount I wanted.

  The message I heard consistently was: "here, eat this and watch TV," or "have some cookies while we wait for your dad to come home." While shopping with Mom it was, "pick out the snacks you want and put them in the cart." The countless times Dad came out from the bar with candy, nuts and soda, was to keep my quiet while he "talked" with his friends.

  In our house these types of unspoken compromises were as common as a cup of coffee—or a shot of whiskey.

  "Hey, I've got a better idea, gorgeous. You want a different evening? Let's go to the Top of the Mark for some appetizers and coffee."

  "Ooh! Coolio!"

  We transferred to the cable car and took the slow trip to the top of California Street where the Mark Hopkins was located. The hotel restaurant offered a 360-degree view of the city. Day or night, it was spectacular to be seated there, whether a person watched the fog roll in through the Golden Gate, or the skyline come alive with the lights of evening.

  "Seems like yesterday we were across the street at prom," Jerry said after we'd ordered several appetizers of crab sliders, small green salads and spring rolls.

  "Time goes by so fast." I took a sip of the delicious espresso. "Hey, I need to discuss—"

  "I can't get over those stupid rangers at our bonfire," He interrupted and laughed hard. "I thought for sure their light was going to shine on my ass."

  "Or something else," I giggled. "That was a close call." The window of courage that I had opened only moments ago, slammed shut. "That short one—the one with little man syndrome—what a dweeb. He sure loved yelling in his megaphone."

  "Thank God no one got out of line," he dipped a spring roll in the sweet and sour sauce. "I had a feeling they were just waiting to pick a fight with one of us."

  "Yeah." He scooted his chair closer to mine and held my hand. "Can we continue where we were headed that night?"

  The young couple at the next table smiled and the woman raised her glass to me.

  I didn't think he'd start this early. Does that mean couples have sex even if they're sick?

  "Oh, Jerry . . . I've been trying to tell you." Take a deep breath. "I know we've been looking forward to exploring sex together when you got back, but not tonight. You uh, well, you don't want to begin that journey with me, because . . ."

  Just then, his cell phone rang. I was sure I saw a picture of our classmate, Terrie, on his screen. He put it away so quickly, I couldn't be certain.

  "Who was it?"

  "No one." He avoided eye contact with me.

  "You could have taken the call, Jerry. Call her back if you want to."

  "Her?"

  "Whoever, I mean."

  "It's not important." He tucked the phone back into his pants pocket. "Where were we?"

  "Was that Terrie?"

  "What?" His answer seemed defiant. "Why do you think so?"

  "I thought I saw her picture on your phone. She doesn't care for me and the feeling is mutual," I laughed nervously. "If you're into her it's okay; I just wondered, that's all." My stomach clenched. My opinion hadn't changed that she didn't deserve a good guy like Jerry. She'd toss him over quickly when she was through and I didn't want to see that happen.

  "It was just a teammate." He wouldn't look at me. I knew he wasn't being honest. "If it was Terrie, why would it be all right with you if I was into her? You wouldn't care?"

  Join the club. Not easy to tell the truth about who you've fallen for, is it?

  "I would," I admitted. "She's got a reputation for using boys to hop up to the next level and I don't like her. If you do, though . . . well, it's your life, after all. So . . . I enjoyed our evening. Before we go, I need to tell you about—"

  "It's my life?" He raised a suspicious eyebrow. "You're not included in any part of it?"

  "That's not what I meant. I told you I'm a little upended."

  "Upended?" he snorted. "Whatever, Nick."

  "I'm trying to tell you something important—"

  "Well, I know the world revolves around you." His words turned cold.

  What does that mean? Where did this come from? Because I challenged him about Terrie? I'm trying to have a serious talk and he's put off because I'm not jumping into bed with him. Screw it.

  "I don't know what you mean. I think the world revolves around all of us, so . . ."

  ""I mean . . ." the veins in his neck stood out. "Nothing. Just forget it." He put his head down but then seemed to rise from the ashes in defiance. "Actually, no. I've done everything you've asked to begin a sexual relationship with you. I've pulled back. I've done the research online and talked to my pastor and coach. You're still avoiding me. I'm fucked, I guess because . . ."

  My face burned in anger. Without saying the words, he'd just told me he was fucked because I wouldn't.

  "You're fucked," I lashed out instead of keeping the peace, "because you fucked Terrie. Admit it, Jerry. What you just said is a bullshit statement. You've only been back a few hours and we're already here with your conversation? When you met me at the ballpark today I wasn't ready to see you—"

  "Wait—let me get this straight—when you say you weren’t ready at the ballpark, what you're really saying is you didn't want me there, right?" He crossed his arms.

  "It wasn't that," I corrected. "I was still finishing my business and I felt rushed with you waiting for me."

  "Shit, let's just go home." His voice was filled with defeat.

  "So just because you're back, I'm supposed to drop everything and everyone? What do I do, flip on a switch, Jerry?"

  "No. Well, yeah. Yeah, flip your fuckin' switch," he lifted his chin in defiance.

  "If you feel that way, let's go home." I snapped back. "Fine with me."

  "You think I haven't noticed?" he slapped at my hand.

  "Noticed what?" I replied sarcastically.

  "You've al
ready taken off the friendship ring I gave you. I spent a lot of time picking it out for you and just . . . wow, Nicky, nice to see how much you appreciated that. Guess I know where I rank in your book."

  "I've been trying to tell you—"

  "I think you've said enough, lady."

  Every time I started to tell him about Ryan, he cut me off. Because of Jerry's continuing sarcasm and insults, I took the coward's way out and said nothing. We rode the streetcar home in silence. He at least had the decency to walk me to my door.

  "I'll call you tomorrow," he mocked. "Maybe then you won't feel so off."

  "You know what? Don't do me any favors," I opened the door and then turned around. "Thanks for walking me home. Oh, and say hello to Terrie for me."

  I slammed the front door and went up to my bedroom. I was fuming. It had begun so great between us but in the end was only Jerry's vehicle to have a discussion about the two of us having sex.

  What did you expect? He doesn't understand what's happened with you. Just tell him!

  I showered, put on my pajamas, opened the window and tucked myself under the covers. I was just getting comfortable, when I saw my cell phone light up.

  Alex texted: What are you up to?

  I responded: ???

  She texted: Ryan?!!!

  I texted back: I'll let you know when I see you.

  She replied: Okay. Back late Friday.

  What could I say to her? I'd wanted to shout it to the world that I was in love with Ryan. Whether I was right or wrong in the way I felt, I had to be careful with Tara and Alex. They'd warned me about him and all but told me to stay away from him.

  Beside my sister who was stuck with me forever, I'd never had friends older than myself. I wasn't sure what behavior I could get away with while being with them. These women were now better friends than those from my childhood. But could I trust they wouldn't abandon me at the first sign of immaturity or trouble?

  You either trust your friends or you don't. If they abandon you when you need them, you're better off without them.

  Alex had already suspected I'd fallen for Ryan when we were together in LA a few weeks earlier. Matt had acknowledged he knew whom I was hanging with when he visited me at the railing before leaving for his road trip. Certainly Darrell and the rest of his teammates had seen me in the players' lot, throwing myself into Ryan's arms. Had he also heard about our date at The Waterfront? Did he tell Alex about it?

  It felt good to be in my bed alone, on my mattress, tucked in my sheets, in my house, surrounded by all my things. I could let my mind empty out and had nothing planned the next day except to be with my sister.

  And that felt right.

  Chapter 10

  Golfing with Sis

  "Wake up," Jenise rocked me back and forth. "Time to spoil your sister."

  "What?" I mumbled.

  "I've decided I want you to take me golfing." Her voice was annoyingly perky. "Hurry up before it gets too windy." She slapped my butt.

  "Mmm . . ." I moaned, stretching myself awake.

  "Come on, sleepyhead. Get ready." She stood at my bedside wearing an open robe that covered a little nightie.

  "You sleep in that?" I raised an eyebrow.

  "Sure. What do you wear? Oh, lemme guess, you sleep in the raw, huh?" She cracked up.

  "Everyone's a comedian," I remarked.

  "How did it go with Jerry, by the way?" She pulled on my arm.

  "I chickened out."

  She sighed in disgust.

  "I tried, Sis. I really did. He kept interrupting. Then, because I wasn't all perky for his sex he got angry. He brought me home and we ended up in a fight. Stupid, huh?"

  "Fuck him and good for you, Sissy. I always thought he was such a sweet, innocent boy. Shows how much I know."

  "Yeah, been trying to tell you that for years." I slapped her leg. "Actually, I'm still shocked about it. We were off to such a good start. After Cirque de Soleil, we went to the Top of the Mark. Then, just as I tried to tell him for like the third time, his cell phone rang. I'm sure I saw Terrie's picture come up on his screen."

  "Who's that?"

  "One of our classmates. She's been after him since our freshman year. She's one of those . . ." I corrected myself, changing the words with which I had first thought to describe her. A goal of mine had been to stop categorizing women as sluts and whores just because they enjoyed sex. "Let's just say she doesn't care who's going out with who. If she wants someone, she makes her move."

  "Fuckin' testosterone," she said. "It takes away their conscience and all they think about is their stiff prick."

  "That's what Ryan said about boys that age, too," I laughed. "Can you imagine with his reputation and he talks about Jerry that way?"

  "Seems like someone is trying hard to turn you away from Jerry," my sister mused.

  "That's already done—at least the sex part. What I'm trying to find out is if we can still respect our friendship. Jerry tried to pull me in for a kiss and I almost gagged. Isn't that terrible? He has no clue . . . my poor friend."

  "Hell no. Fuck that. Poor Jerry," she imitated. "Too bad you chickened out, though."

  "I was ready to grab his arm to get his attention, but then he pissed me off. I know it was wrong, but I gave up."

  "He's a stupid boy whose dick is probably hard a dozen times a day." She rolled her eyes. "I'll bet he already feels awful—well, after he's jerked off about a hundred times."

  "Maybe."

  "You need to forget about all that. We already discussed being friends won't work. After he's had sex with Terrie he'll mellow out and you'll get another chance to tell him," she smirked.

  "Yuck." I pushed myself out of bed, dressed in appropriate golf attire, and quietly slipped down the basement stairs and into the garage with Jenise.

  "Here." She tossed me her keys. "Be my driver."

  "Don't push your luck, Sister."

  She looked so professional in her golf outfit—a vest and collared shirt, long socks and short pants that cut off at her knees. As we walked the fairways, I imagined her networking and socializing with her clients, discussing their projects, or having a strategy session with the higher-ups at City Architecture.

  "You know why you can't golf well, don't you?" Jenise asked suddenly as we approached the tee on hole three.

  "Why, oh why, golf genius?" I mocked her lovingly.

  "Your huge boombas." She put her hands on her breasts and shook them.

  I rolled my eyes.

  "It's true," she giggled. "Every time you swing, those things get in the way. You'll never be any good unless you get a reduction. Of course, then you might lose Ryan. He's enamored with those girls."

  "Shut up! No, he's not."

  "Uh-huh, that's not why he got you those tight jeans the other night?” she reminded. “He didn't want to see your curvaceous ass; it was only a mistake with the size." She cracked up and then set herself, addressed the ball and took another swing.

  Whenever I golfed with Jenise, I usually drove the golf cart and watched her play. I could only hit the ball forty yards at a time, and generally in a line drive. In no particular order I'd shank or slice it, roll it ahead a few feet, top it, pop it up, put it in the sand trap or in the water. Overall, I was a good athlete and played on my school’s volleyball and softball team. I could kick a ball far, and was even picked by the boys to be on their teams. But for some reason, I never could improve at golf.

  "You want to know a secret, Nick?"

  "Of course! I'm always up for a secret!"

  "Golf helped me get out of the house after I was raped. It's a game you can play by yourself and I didn't want to be around people for a while. It's so serene out here . . . I used the time to meditate. You remember I was on the golf team in school?"

  "No."

  "God, Nick."

  "Sorry . . . I didn't—"

  "That's all right. I know you had your own shit goin' on. I got so good at it my golf coach got the school to pay for my pr
actices. I won most of my rounds, too—star of my team if I do say so myself. Volunteering and clubs at school were your way to get out of the house. I used golf to join the world again."

  "No wonder you're so strong," I shook my head. "You're my amazing sister."

  She smiled and then addressed the ball with a contented look on her face. Our day on the golf links was the usual. Jenise was on her way to a solid eighteen holes having a score of just a few shots over par. I was down the two boxes of golf balls I'd just purchased: lost somewhere in the woods, under the pine needles, in the bushes, or deep in the water hazards.

  Just as we were coming off the eighteenth green my phone vibrated.

  "Who's that?" Jenise asked. "As if I didn't know by your smile."

  Ryan wrote: What's up? 

  I replied: Golfing with Sis

  He responded: Hi Sis! Have fun!

  "He says hi."

  "Hi back," Jenise said.

  I texted: Sis sez hi. I miss u

  He texted: Me, 2  .As he continued writing, my enthusiastic smile faded. Next—Milwaukee, Miami, I no 2 far 4 u. C u in 9 talk 2 u 2nite. I luv u

  NO! I wrote furiously. WILL c u in Miami!

  He responded: It's OK. No problem. Talk 2 u 2nite.

  "Huh." I was one hundred percent disgusted and a healthy anger began to roll. Something felt wrong about what he'd just done. I felt small—like a little girl who'd been dismissed. He'd made the decision for me, assuming Miami was too far or too difficult, leaving me out of a decision that wasn't his to make. Just as I was getting close to the root of my upset, the sound of the wind whipping, snapping and popping the flag near the clubhouse caught my attention.

  "What's up?" she noticed my troubled expression.

  "Something Ryan did. I don't like it."

  "Uh oh, trouble in Tiltonland?"

  "He chose for me, Jenise. He told me to forget meeting him because it's too far. How would you feel if Sean did that to you?"

  "Miami? I thought we talked about going to Denver?"

  "We were, but last night Ryan told me they're in Denver now."

  "I guess I'd feel the way you do, but after our date the other night? I can't believe Ryan meant it like that. Let's keep enjoying our day and you can call him later. Then you can have some good phone sex when you make up."