by Peyton Storm
The railing gave way a bit as I held on a little too tight. It was only a couple of stairs up to the small porch, but my feet felt heavy beneath me, and my courage wavered. There was no doorbell that I could see. I slapped both hands against her front door and pressed my forehead to the faded paint in an effort to regain my balance.
“Presley.” It came out as a whisper, and for a second, I didn’t recognize my own voice.
Years. The memories, the good, the bad, and the ugly. It all came crashing back. My voice grew louder, urgent. I needed answers.
“Presley! Open the door!”
Nothing. I could see a faint yellow hue through the curtains, so I knew she was home. I drained my bottle, and while it wasn’t my proudest moment, I began to beg. I yelled, I pleaded, I just needed her to tell me why. My voice grew harsh, and my limbs heavy. I leaned further against the door, defeated. My eyes slid shut just as the lock slid from the chamber.
I stumbled forward when the door swung open. I regained my bearings only to be met with the shrieking blonde from earlier who now had a .45 caliber pointed directly between my eyes.
In hindsight, yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have shown up drunk. Maybe I should have waited till the next day. And maybe I should have worn my cup ‘cause this chick looked to be going for my balls.
“You’ve got some explaining to do mother fucker and don’t test me. I may be small, but I’m wiry, and for fuck’s sakes, wipe your feet. She’ll have your ass for that alone!”
It’s funny how having a gun shoved between your eyes by an obviously unstable woman can sober your ass up real quick-like. Granted, I still needed the door jam to maintain my balance but still. I knew if I was going to have any chance at all at talking to Presley, I was gonna have to talk this girl down first.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble. I just need to talk to Presley. She’s here. Tell me she’s here. Give me ten minutes, then I’ll go. Scout’s honor.”
When I damn near poked my eye out in my failed salute attempt, she muttered, “Dumbass,” but she studied me closely and nodded as though pressing me to get on with it already. I had no idea who she was, let alone how much, if anything, she knew. The amber whiskey had gone down smooth, and the familiar cloudiness started to settle in, and for that, I was grateful. The very thought of explaining my past with Pres put me over the edge, and it felt as though the walls had started closing in.
“Chip. Tell me. Just say the words. I need to hear it.”
My plea was gibberish to her, but it was all I could form together at that moment.
“Look, dude, there’s no ‘Chip’ here. You’re drunk. I’ll call you a cab, but that’s it. You gotta get out of here. I haven’t the slightest clue who this Chip person is.” The friend was fed up and ready to send me on my way, and if I had been in my right mind, I wouldn’t have blamed her.
“Chip Masters. Varsity star QB, his rival.”
Presley stood barefoot at the edge of the hallway. She stayed partially in the dark, hidden. The light above the kitchen stove cast a dim glow that started at her feet and drifted upward to the hem of her oversized tee shirt. And even though the sound of his name coming from her lips made my skin crawl, I realized I missed her voice. It was comforting, it was home…and I hated her for it.
So graceful and fluid, she stepped forward, methodical and determined. Her voice never lifted beyond a whisper.
“Chip Masters,” she continued, “the boy my high school sweetheart whored me out to. Simply. Because. He. Could.”
I ignored the friend’s gasp and held tight to my own as Pres finally made her way across the room. We were toe to toe, and her eyes never left mine as she delivered her final and most brutal blow.
“Chip Masters. AKA Carter Masters. The boy with the ice blue eyes, Paisley’s father.”
Fuck.
Presley
I peered over at the pink and yellow Hello Kitty alarm clock that sat on Peanut’s nightstand. It was half-past midnight, which meant I had slept the entire evening away. The solitary grilled cheese from earlier hadn’t been enough apparently as I was awakened by my stomach rumbling as well as the pressure of a small foot pressed into the small of my back. I eased out from under the covers in hopes of not waking her. She had had such a long day and needed her rest. And she was looking forward to a long weekend with her dad after all.
Just as I pulled her bedroom door closed behind me, the sound of muffled voices drifted down the hallway from my living room. In my sleepy haze, for a brief moment, my heart froze in my chest. Belle. Of course, she had stayed behind. That’s what best friends do. I had assumed it was Travis she was speaking to, that he had stopped by to keep her company, until I heard my own name being spoken.
I knew that voice and the sound of my name drifting across it.
My footsteps halted, and I found myself leaning with my back against the wall, not wanting to be seen. At least not yet. I needed a moment to collect myself.
He was there, in my home and I had but two choices. I could stand hidden in the darkness until he finally went away, or I could grow a pair and face him head-on. For a split second, I considered tiptoeing back to my room for some sweats. Paisley always insisted that storytime was also PJ time. My sleep shirt reached just above my knees. Good enough. Besides, I was in my own damn house and could wear whatever I damn well pleased.
My newfound bravery wavered at the mention of Chip, but it was my story to tell. Mine. Belle would hear it, but she would hear from me and only me.
They both stood, mouths agape after I made myself seen and, more importantly, heard. It was going to be a long night. I chose not to flip my lid over the sight of Belle locking my handgun back up. That was a conversation for another time. Instead, I stood toe to toe with Greyson. I wasn’t that doe-eyed little girl anymore, and it was high time he figured that out.
He really did have some nerve. Not only did he show up at my house in the middle of the night, unannounced and uninvited, but he was also piss ass drunk. I knew that glazed-over look. I knew that slur that brought out the Texan in him though he would never admit to such an accent. Texas wasn’t his home. I remembered his words as though they’d been spoken just yesterday.
“You’re kidding, right? Fuck off, Presley! This shit hole isn’t my home. I don’t need you. I don’t need Ocean Falls. Fuck you both!”
I hadn’t been strong enough back then to defend myself, to give that arrogant bastard a piece of my mind. Those days were long gone.
“What do you want...Tack?”
Okay, fine, it wasn’t something I was proud of. Or hell, maybe it was. Either way, I knew that calling him ‘Tack’ would strike a nerve. In all our time together, I never called him by his on-field nickname. Not ever. He had been ‘Greyson’ to me, always.
Even in his drunken state, I could see that it got to him. It was that slight twitch just underneath his left eye that gave him away; it always did. But he still hadn’t answered me, and I’d be damned if I was going to look away first.
Chapter 5
Greyson
I made a mistake. I never should have knocked on her door. I was stuck, and once again, this woman had robbed me of my ability to speak. One could argue that it was the Jack Daniels that rendered me lock-jawed, but I knew better. It was her, all her.
I hated her for the effect she still had on me, and I hated myself for not being able to walk away until I had answers. I swallowed hard and braced myself for what would come from the question on the tip of my tongue.
“How old is she?”
Before she could answer, her friend piped in to offer to leave Pres and I alone. Pres wouldn’t hear of it. Apparently, she didn’t want to be left alone with me, and so ‘Belle’ settled in while Presley all but shoved me to the darkened entryway of her small home.
“You know damn well how old she is! You need to go now! I’ll call you a cab, and you can wa
it on the porch.”
Her tone was a whisper, but I’m pretty sure she was itching to take my head off. Even though I was starting to see two of her, I was nowhere near ready to leave. That was me, a glutton for punishment.
“Is there any chance…” I didn’t finish my question, nor did I need to. Presley knew exactly what I was asking, and it set her off. Her tiny form closed in on mine, and she defended what was hers.
“Don’t be daft, you drunk fuck! She has her father’s eyes! Enough with the bullshit. What exactly do you want? Why are you here? Tack…damn it, Tack, don’t you pass out on me!”
I tried, I really did. But my head grew cloudy, my legs gave way, and like a thirteen-year-old with a sip of their first beer, I passed smooth the fuck out.
Presley
Son. Of. A. Bitch. The burly bastard had passed out on me. Just like a cheesy romantic comedy, his eyes rolled back, and he slid down the wall into a two hundred plus pound heap. Shit. I poked, I prodded...nothing.
“Oh my God, you killed him didn’t you? We’re going to be on the news, aren’t we?” Fucking Belle. I smacked her make up compact away as she held it under his nose and urged her to help me.
“Bend with your knees!” Belle glared back at me as we tried to drag Greyson to the couch. He was six foot four inches and completely solid. Belle and I were fighting a losing battle. How had it come to this? I was a mother for God’s sake. This wasn’t my life anymore. The best we could do was drag him behind the couch, throw some blankets on him, and hope for the best. He’d need ice for where his head knocked against the base of the end table along the way, but oh well, not my problem.
I made my way back around to the front of the couch and collapsed against the soft, inviting leather. I hadn’t noticed Belle had wandered off to the kitchen until she returned with two Heinekens. She knew me well and knew I would need some liquid courage to answer all of her questions. She didn’t push, but I had a sudden urge to just get it over with.
I went on to explain that Greyson and I met when we were just kids. We hadn’t been the typical high school couple as we shared a type of intensity that those around us struggled to understand. He had been it for me the second I laid eyes on him, and while I’m not proud of it now, there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. Thing was, I thought he loved me enough to never make me prove it. I was wrong.
“Carter, or ‘Chip’ as he was known back then, was our star quarterback. The two of them were in it for the team while on the field, but otherwise, they were at one another’s throats. There wasn’t room for two big men on campus. They rivaled one another in every single way. Too close to call was always the joke around school. The one thing that gave Greyson the slightest edge? Me.”
Belle watched me intently. I had shared with her the easy part. What would come next, however, would be anything but. When she noticed me gazing towards the black television screen just over her shoulder, she did what any good friend would do and went for another beer. By the time she returned, I had destroyed my two-day old manicure.
“Presley. You don’t have to do this. I’ve got your back no matter what. You know that. No explanation necessary.”
She meant it. I knew she did. And it was with that confidence I managed to continue. I told her everything about that night.
The booze were flowing along with every drug under the sun. It was like adding steroids to their everyday pissing contest. It only got worse as we got deeper into football season. Greyson was all too happy to prance me around as though I was the most prized of his trophies. I don’t know what I was thinking, really. I guess back then, I loved the attention.
He did love me, though, I know that he did. He had to...otherwise, what had I done?
It was no secret that Carter harbored feelings for me. Maybe, just maybe, I had set the whole thing into motion. It wasn’t until Carter became ‘Chip,’ the hot-shot QB making a name for himself with his rifle of an arm that turned impossible passes into even more impossible wins, that he found the nerve to finally ask me out. He asked me to a music festival over the Fourth of July weekend. It was during those two weeks that I met Greyson, and so it went.
If Carter ever held a grudge, it was always directed at Greyson, never at me. He was always polite. He would smile when we would pass one another in the halls and would even hold the door open for me when we headed into Biology. That was Carter, though, it was how he had been raised, and it only added to his smooth, southern charm. I considered him a friend, but given the circumstances, looking back, he was more like an acquaintance.
Greyson wasn’t exactly the chest-beating type who wouldn’t let me have guy friends, but when it came to Chip, things were very different. Chip wasn’t just our starting quarterback, he was also the resident pretty boy. Ink black hair with startling ice-blue eyes would make for one hell of a package as it is, but when you combined his talent, money, and the fact that he was genuinely a good guy, that landed him at the top of every girl’s ‘to do’ list.
That’s not to say that Greyson didn’t have his share of admirers. His appeal was of a different brand from Chip’s. Greyson was much rougher around the edges, and when he played, he played hard. With that came busted knuckles and shins, a broken nose or two, and split lips. His body was riddled with scars and bruises at all times. When he wasn’t playing, he was training. His body never really had downtime, no time to heal. Still, he was my kind of perfect. And then everything changed.
I glanced at the clock and then back to Belle. That flare of mischief danced across her otherwise concerned expression. I knew that look, and I also knew she was biting her tongue.
“God, Belle, spit it out before you hurt yourself.”
The look of gratitude was priceless. It was as though I’d just given her permission to exhale.
“This sucks! I grew up halfway across the country, homeschooled, while your perky ass was living some teen melodrama type shit like you see on the CW.”
Tacky television, another thing we had in common. She threw her hands up in exasperation and flopped back into the recliner.
“Carry on, Prime Time Princess.”
I nailed her with a throw pillow and then continued with my story. In hindsight, I probably should have used that pillow to prop under Greyson’s face. At last glance, he was still on his stomach, mouth open, paired with a snore that could wake the dead. All while I bore my deepest, darkest secret to my best friend, that fucker slept like a baby. Ass.
David Perez, Varsity Wideout, lived in a huge house on the outskirts of town. His parents traveled a lot, and that made twelve twenty-one Winston Drive our party central. Valentine’s Day, the night everything changed. Our parties were always a bit wild, but that night, the whiskey, kegs, pills, and lines of blow were endless.
We’d hit the beach earlier that day with nothing more than a couple sandwiches and bottles of water. There had been nothing fancy about it, no promise rings or a grand bouquet of roses that would wilt in just a couple of days. We didn’t need any of that; it wasn’t us. It was cold, and even now, I still remember sitting between his legs on the hood of his Jeep. He wrapped his big arms and a blanket around us while we gazed out at the open sea. He tugged at my hips to pull me tighter against his chest and dropped sweet kisses along the nape of my neck just to hear me giggle. It’d been particularly windy that evening, and after my second or third attempt at getting my hair under control, Greyson stepped in.
Even after everything, after all that followed, that memory is the one I held onto. I needed to remember my Greyson, the boy who gathered my unruly locks into his large, calloused hands. The boy who did his best to braid it down the center of my back. He had done a piss poor job, but it didn’t matter. That broken boy who had lost the one thing that mattered most in his world loved me. That small piece of him that hadn’t been buried with his mother loved me. I couldn’t have read that wrong, right?
“Hello! Earth to Presley! Damn girl, where did you go just now? You’re killing me over here!”
I blamed the alcohol, not the nostalgia, for my drifting off. The clock ticked on as I painted the picture.
You could hear the music pouring from the house the second you turned off the main road. Greyson was greeted with high fives and ‘sup bro?’ from the guys while the girls saved their jealous, envious glares all for me. Don’t get me wrong, I won the popularity contest with ease, but the fact that I had the attention of not one but both of our baller elites didn’t exactly earn me a truckload of female besties.
In fact, it wasn’t until Belle that I found true friendship in another woman. I’m sure there were a ton of shrinks out there would stand in line for the opportunity to psychoanalyze me for that observation and how it simply had to be in connection with me being raised by my dad, no mother figure in sight.
Never one for pink and fruity, I broke away from Greyson long enough to grab us a couple beers. I found a keg set up just outside on the back terrace, half of our offensive line huddled around it as though it was their lifeline. I couldn’t make out what they were saying over the music, but after one glance in my direction, they parted like the Red Sea to give me a clear path. One that headed directly to Chip. After a quick glance in my direction, he filled his cup to the rim.
I can still hear him saying, “Ladies first.” There was a good chance that I had been the only girl within county lines that wasn’t lulled by that drawl of his. He extended his hand and offered me his beer. I nodded my thank you but stepped forward anyway. I needed two beers, not just the one. His smile faltered slightly when he realized what I was doing but, as always, he remained forever the gentleman.
I had hoped to gather our beers and make my way back to Greyson without incident but no such luck. I knew the second he began his approach as Chip’s entire demeanor changed. The boys traded jabs, back and forth they went. In fact, I had drained my own cup and half of Greyson’s before I managed to drag him away, back into the house. Unfortunately, things only went downhill from there. The booze continued to flow, and the music bounced off the walls. I led him to the middle of the living room, where a makeshift dance floor had formed.