Anyone But Her

by Everhart, Allie

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Anyone But Her

  By Allie Everhart

  Anyone But Her

  By Allie Everhart

  Copyright © 2019 Allie Everhart

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Waltham Publishing, LLC

  Cover Design by Okay Creations

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, things, and events are fictitious, and any similarities to real persons (live or dead), things, or events are coincidental and not intended by the author. Brand names of products mentioned in this book are used for reference only and the author acknowledges that any trademarks and product names are the property of their respective owners.

  The author holds exclusive rights to this work and unauthorized duplication is prohibited. No part of this book is to be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.

  Chapter One

  Ten Years Ago

  Luke, Age 10

  "I told you to pay the rent last week!" my mom yells from the kitchen.

  "And where the hell am I supposed to get the money?" my dad yells back. "You spent it all at the goddamn store!"

  Hiding under my sleeping bag on the couch, I turn up the volume on the TV. "Dennison is set for eight under par if he sinks this shot," the announcer says in a hushed tone.

  I watch as Dennison taps his club against the tiny white ball, then am mesmerized as it makes its way along the perfectly manicured green, pauses just briefly along the edge of the hole, then teeters a little before finally sinking into the hole.

  "And it's in!" the announcer says as the crowd claps. "That shot may have just won him the tournament."

  "Get out, Dan!" my mom yells.

  My dad's loud voice booms back, "I'm not leaving my own damn house!"

  "It's not your house if you don't pay the rent!"

  I hear loud footsteps heading my way and quickly turn off the TV.

  "Get your lazy ass off the couch and get a job!" my dad yells as he yanks the sleeping bag from me.

  "I'm only 10," I say, hurrying to stand up. "Nobody would hire me."

  My dad crosses his arms over his chest. "At 10, I had a paper route every morning and was helping my old man every night at the shop. You haven't contributed a damn thing to this family. It's about time you started earnin' some money."

  "But what would I..." I stop when I notice the clock on the wall. It's almost four. I always go see Albert at four and am back by six, before my dad gets home. Why is he home so early? Did he get fired? Is that why my mom was yelling at him about the rent?

  "You're coming to work with me," he says. "Starting next week."

  "Next week?" I ask, looking back at him. "What about school?"

  "You'll take the bus after school to the shipyards. You'll work there until we go home."

  "Doing what?" I ask, feeling panicked and scared. I don't know how to work at a shipyard and a job will interfere with my golf lessons with Albert.

  "There's always shit to be done," my dad says. "Painting. Cleaning. Running errands for the crew. I'll talk to my boss tomorrow. We'll figure something out."

  Is he serious? I can't work there. I'm too young. Too inexperienced. And I need time to golf. It's the only good thing I have in my life, aside from Albert.

  "I'm not old enough to work there. I'll get in trouble."

  "You let me worry about that. I guarantee Bronson won't blink an eye at the idea. He's desperate for help and your mom and I need the money. And I'm tired of you sitting around here doing nothin'."

  "I'm not doing nothing," I say, trying to hide how nervous and scared I am. It's how I always feel when my dad gets angry like this. "I, um...I already have a job."

  He cocks his head. "Since when?"

  "Today," I say as though my lie is absolutely true. "I start tomorrow."

  "Doing what?"

  "Working at the golf course. Doing maintenance...like lawn maintenance and stuff."

  His brows draw together. "Did you tell your mom this?"

  "No. I wanted to wait and tell you first. I thought..." I swallow and look down. "I thought it'd make you happy."

  "How much you making?"

  I raise my eyes to his. "Minimum wage. And I can golf for free whenever I—"

  "I don't care about the golf. You know how much I hate that fuckin' game. Rich snobs wasting time and money hitting a ball around some grass."

  "It's more than that," I say, defending my favorite sport. But I shouldn't have said it. I have to hide how much I love golf or my dad will make sure I never play it again. He hates that I even own a set of clubs. He only lets me keep them because my mom made him, because she didn't want to offend Albert, our neighbor, who gave them to me for my birthday a few years ago.

  My dad glares at me. "Are you making this up?"

  "No. I really do have a job."

  "You better not be lyin' to me, kid, or I'm gonna be takin' you out to the garage with my belt."

  My dad's only whipped me with his belt one time but I never want him to do it again. When it was over my backside hurt so much I couldn't even sit down. I had to sleep on my stomach that night.

  My mom appears, tying her apron on as she walks over to us. "What's going on in here?" she asks my dad. "Why you yelling at him?"

  "I want the boy to get a damn job. I'm sick of him not contributing."

  "Dan, he's only ten," she says. "He's too young to get a job."

  "Apparently not because he already has one." My dad puts his eyes on me. "Isn't that right, son?"

  "Yes," I say, trying to sound confident but scared to death they'll find out I lied.

  Why did I do that? I don't have a job! I go to the golf course all the time with Albert, and the owners know me and like me, but they'd never give me a job. I'm only ten. If my dad finds out I lied, he'll kill me!

  "You got a job?" my mom asks.

  I shrug. "Just doing yard work at the golf course. Albert told me they were looking for help so I asked and they hired me."

  My mom looks at my dad. "You think we'll get in trouble? Letting him do this?"

  Part of me thought my mom would tell me I can't do it. That I can't work because I'm too young and need to spend time being a kid. But the truth is, all she cares about is money. She's just like my dad.

  "If he gets in trouble, we'll say we didn't know," my dad says. "We'll blame it on Albert."

  They always do that. They push the blame onto other people. Albert has always been nice to my parents. He practically raised me since my parents have no interest in doing so, and yet they'll make sure he's the one who gets in trouble if I get caught working a job I can't legally work. Except I don't have a job. I made it up. What am I going to do?

  "When's it start?" my mom asks.

  "Tomorrow," I say.

  "Call if you won't be home for dinner," she says before wal
king back to the kitchen.

  "Bring me the money when you get paid," my dad says. He goes over to his recliner and sits down, the force of his body automatically reclining the chair and shoving the footrest up. My dad's a big guy; tall with huge muscles that come from hauling heavy stuff around at his job all day. "Go do your homework," he says to me. "And give me the remote."

  I hand it to him. "Why are you home so early?"

  "Inspections down at the shipyard. They let everyone go early." He turns on the TV and finds a baseball game to watch.

  "Can I go see Albert?"

  "If he wants to deal with a whiny-ass kid, then sure, he can have you."

  I race out the back door and over to Albert's house. His door is unlocked and I go inside and find him in the kitchen.

  "I'm in big trouble," I say, huffing and puffing, my forehead sweating.

  Albert comes over to me, setting his hands on my shoulders. "What's wrong?"

  "I told my parents something I shouldn't have."

  His brows furrow. "About what?"

  "I told them I have a job. At the golf course. I told them I start tomorrow." I hurry to get the words out, which makes me huff and puff even more.

  "Okay, just settle down." Albert leads me to the kitchen table. "Take a moment to catch your breath. Go to the place that makes you feel calm."

  I close my eyes and imagine the green grass on the course. The smell of it right after it's mowed. The feel of the blades when I dig the tee into the ground. I imagine the feel of the club in my hand, the feel of my body as it swings back and then forward as I hit the ball.

  "That's it," Albert says in a low soothing voice. "Just imagine you're there. Match your breathing to your swing."

  I imagine the ball flying in the air, soaring through the blue sky, gracefully landing on the green, then slowly rolling into the hole.

  Opening my eyes, I smile. "I did it! I got a hole in one!"

  Albert nods. "And someday you'll do it for real."

  The thought of that makes me smile even more, but then I remember the reason I ran over here.

  "I lied," I say. "I told my parents I have a job at the golf course."

  "I don't understand. Why would you tell them that?"

  "Because my dad said I had to get a job. He was going to make me work at the shipyard and I didn't want to. If I worked there, I'd never see you and I'd never golf and I'd—"

  "Okay, that's enough," Albert says, patting my shoulder. "Just calm down. We'll figure this out."

  "But how? They won't let me work at the golf course. I'm too young. And my dad expects the money. He told me I have to give him the money."

  Albert sits back, rubbing his chin, getting that faraway look on his face that he gets when he's thinking.

  "What am I going to do, Albert?"

  He looks at me. "I'll hire you."

  "What do you mean?

  "I'll pay whatever wages your parents think you're getting."

  "But I told them I work for the golf course."

  "Then let them keep believing that. They'll never check. As long as they get the money they won't question where it came from."

  Albert knows my parents as well as I do. He knows money is the only thing they care about. My family is poor so I get why they worry about money but I also know they waste what little money they have. Just last week, my dad bet his whole paycheck on a baseball game and lost. That's the reason he didn't pay rent but he made me swear not to tell my mom.

  "Can I start tomorrow?" I ask. "I told them I start tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow would be just fine." He gets up and goes to the cupboard and pulls out a glass. "Chocolate or plain?"

  "Chocolate. Definitely."

  He chuckles as he gets out the carton of chocolate milk. "A day like today, one needs chocolate. I understand completely."

  I get up and meet him by the fridge. "So what's my job? I can clean your house or..." I look over at the stacks of books in his living room, "I could organize your books." I look up at him. "Just nothing outside in case my mom looks out the window when she gets home from work. If she sees me she'll know I lied and then she'll—"

  "Luke." Albert hands me the glass of milk. "You won't be cleaning or organizing books."

  "Then what will I do?"

  "You'll practice, like we always do."

  "Practice? At the golf course?"

  "Correct. Except this time I want you to take it more seriously than before. Because this time it's your job. I'm paying you to practice. To get better than you've ever been. To get that hole in one."

  My eyes widen. "You're going to pay me to play golf?"

  "That's correct."

  I'm so excited I want to jump up and down but then I pause, glancing around Albert's kitchen with its broken cabinets and chipped tile floor. His walls have cracks and need to be painted and his faucet is leaking. His house is even more run down than mine.

  "I can't take it," I say.

  "Can't take what?"

  "Your money. I can't take it."

  "Why is that?"

  "Because you need it. You need it more than my parents do. They have jobs. You don't."

  "I'm retired. Retired people don't work anymore."

  "I know, but you still need money."

  "Which I have." He takes me back over to the table to sit down. "Just because I don't spend it doesn't mean I don't have it."

  "If you have it then why don't you fix your house?"

  "Because I like it the way it is." He chuckles. "Sure it's a little broken down, but so am I. And you don't see me trying to fix these, do you?" He points to the wrinkles on his forehead.

  I shake my head. "No."

  "Let me tell you something, Luke." He leans closer to me. "Don't ever change something just because you think you're supposed to. Only make changes if you know in your heart that it's right for you. That it's what you want."

  I'm not really sure what he means by that but I nod as though I do.

  "So it's settled. Tomorrow we'll go to the golf course and you'll begin your job. I'm counting on you to take this seriously, Luke."

  I nod several times. "I will. I promise. But it's not really a job. I get to golf!" I say, my excitement returning.

  "That's the best kind of job. One that you love. Find that and you've found one of the two biggest secrets to happiness."

  "Two? What's the other?"

  He smiles. "You're a little too young for the other." He picks up the remote and turns on the small TV in the corner. "Did you see the tournament?"

  "Yeah, but not the last shot. My dad came in so I turned the TV off."

  "Dennison won." He turns up the volume. A sportscaster is interviewing a man. He didn't play in the tournament but he looks familiar.

  "Who's that guy?" I ask.

  "Lou Tuckerman. You know who he is. He's won a lot of tournaments."

  "He looks different."

  "He's put on some weight since his injury. He stopped competing last year when he hurt his back."

  "You think he'll play again?"

  "Probably not, but I'm sure his son will compete someday." He points to the screen. "That's him. He's around your age."

  There's a young boy standing behind his dad. He looks bored, kicking the grass as he looks down at the ground.

  "You really think he'll compete someday?"

  "Most definitely. His father's had him playing since he was a young boy. From what I've heard, he's quite good. You could be just as good, Luke, if you get out there and practice."

  "I will. I promise."

  As I watch the TV I notice a girl peeking around the young boy. She steps up beside him as Tuckerman continues to talk to the sportscaster. She makes a goofy face at the camera, then smiles.

  "Who's that?" I ask, my eyes refusing to leave the girl. I've never really paid much attention to girls. Until now.

  "That's Tuckerman's daughter. I believe her name is Taylor."

  "Like the golf clubs," I say, still staring at th
e girl. She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Shiny blond hair. Bright blue eyes. And a smile that makes my chest feel warm.

  "The golf clubs," I hear Albert say, then he laughs. "You're right. I'd forgotten that Tuckerman named his children after golf brands."

  The girl. Taylor. She's so beautiful. I can't stop looking at her.

  "Luke?"

  I feel a nudge of my shoulder and look over at Albert.

  "Yeah?"

  He smiles. "You know that other secret to happiness? The one I said you weren't ready for?"

  "Yeah."

  "I think you might be ready."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Girls."

  "What about 'em?"

  He motions to the TV. Tuckerman now has his children beside him, his arm around each one. My eyes go to Taylor again.

  "Someday you'll meet a girl. A girl you like, who you'll eventually grow to love. If she loves you back...well, you'll know happiness like you've never known it before."

  "Like the happiness I feel when I'm golfing?"

  He smiles. "Yes. But it's a different type of happiness."

  "I don't understand."

  "You will. Someday."

  Chapter Two

  Luke, Age 15

  "When you get back you're working double shifts," my dad says.

  He's standing at the door to my room, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. I don't know why he's angry. He gets rid of me for two whole weeks, and when I get home I agreed to work sixteen-hour days at the shipyard until I make back the money I would've earned while I'm gone.

  I'm so angry he's making me do that but I have to hide my anger. If I show even a hint of annoyance with either of my parents they'll yell at me and say I'm being ungrateful.

  I'm convinced my parents hate me. I don't even know why they had me, other than to provide them with another source of income. Since the age of 13 I've been working every day after school and all summer at that shipyard and I only get to keep ten percent of what I make. The rest goes to my parents. And yet I'm the ungrateful one?

  I hate living here. I can't wait till I turn 18 and can move out of their house. I won't have to listen to their fighting anymore. I won't have to give them the money I make. And I won't have to hear my dad tell me what a disappointment I am. I'll have a whole new life. I'll finally be able to do what I want, to work toward my dream to play professional golf.