by Liz Talley
“Is that what happened? They said you’d been texting, not paying attention.”
Rhett stiffened. “Who’s they? The press? You think they know what happened?”
“You saying that’s not true?”
Rhett’s face narrowed. “If they say it is, it must be, huh? Where there’s smoke and all that crap.”
Hunt latched his hands together and trained his eyes on David and his father. Don looked up and shot him a look. Hunt knew that look. Come do something with your old man.
Sliding off the bleacher, Hunt stood. “I need to rescue Don. Mitchell’s obviously trying to hijack the lessons.”
“Like I said, same old Mitchell,” Rhett said, a wry grin twisting his handsome features as he relaxed his posture. Water off a duck’s back. Nothing truly bothered Rhett. He rolled with the punches, handled whatever came his way, and came out smelling like a petunia. But maybe this time his old friend couldn’t undo what he’d done, any more than Hunt could undo what had happened between him and Summer all those years ago. Sometimes mistakes stuck with you despite your best effort to shake them loose. Hunt knew, because he’d spent nine years trying to pretend away his own son. He regretted he’d done that. More than anyone could know.
Hunt made his way through the dugout, marveling at how familiar and yet foreign the squat concrete bunker seemed to him. He’d spent too many years sitting on that bench, awaiting his call to the mound. Somewhere near the third screw, he’d carved his and Molly’s initials into the plank. Probably painted over now.
“If you’d just get the ball back here, see?” Mitchell said, jerking David’s arm at an awkward angle. “You’d be able to put better rotation on the ball.”
“That’s not exactly true, Mitch,” Don said, shaking his head.
“The hell it ain’t,” Mitchell said, maneuvering David’s hand. “See? Let your elbow come slightly toward your ribs when you start your forward motion and then whip—”
“Dad, stop,” Hunt said, taking his son’s arm. “David’s had enough for today.”
“He’s still got plenty of pitches in him. Gotta work on the curve. The kid can’t even throw a curve!”
“It’s okay. I can try, Dad,” David said, his voice growing solemn at the obvious tension between Hunt and his father.
“No, you don’t need to wear out your arm. You’re not used to throwing a lot of pitches and need to work on arm strength. The curve will come. No need to rush it. Why don’t you go check out what Rhett’s doing? Maybe he can prank call some celebs or something. Scoot.”
Had he just said scoot? Jesus, he sounded like his mother.
David shifted his gaze between a grandfather who looked ready to blow and Hunt. Hunt winked. “Tell Rhett to tell you about the monkey.”
“The monkey?”
“Yeah, go on.”
David tucked his beat-up glove under his arm and loped back to the dugout. As he entered, Hunt turned on his father. “Don’t start, old man.”
“Start what?”
“Doing to David what you did to me. It’s not happening,” Hunt said, crossing his arms, trying to tamp down the anger creeping into his gut.
“What did I do to you? Give you every opportunity to succeed? Don bought a boat with what I paid for your opportunity. And look what it got me.”
“Got you? I’m not a fucking investment, Dad. I’m a person. You took the one thing I could do well and mined it. You ignored all the other parts of me. It was all baseball all the time. When I wasn’t practicing, you made me watch games and break down pitchers’ movements. I couldn’t even be normal. You’re the reason I didn’t make it.”
“Bullshit,” his father said, jabbing a meaty finger his way. “Same old song and dance from you. Always someone else’s fault. You had an opportunity in front of you on a silver platter and you pissed it away to chase skirt and feel good. Don’t put this on me. Your failure is yours.”
Hunt curled his fist and thought about decking his father. He wanted to for all those years his father had ridden his ass, made him throw a ball over and over until he got it right, and refused to let him make any excuses. Mitchell had pushed and pushed Hunt until he broke . . . and when he did, his old man would berate him for his tears. Sometimes he hated his father . . . with a passion that exceeded all other passions.
“Dad?” David called from the bleachers. “Did you really kiss a monkey?”
Rhett called out, “Never make a bet with your father. He’ll do whatever it takes to win.”
Hunt swallowed the anger and pain before walking away from the source and toward the one thing he could do right in his life—David. No way he’d be like Mitchell McCroy. Hunt wouldn’t ride his son’s ass every day, pointing out every flaw, making him feel not good enough for him. A father wasn’t supposed to control his kid, nor was he supposed to build the kid up only to let him fall down a concrete set of steps, crumpling at the base like a cheap suit. Hunt wouldn’t ignore the parts of David that weren’t so good. He wanted to love all of the boy and be the father he wished he’d had growing up.
“Where are you going?” Mitchell called. In his father’s voice he heard the anger. The old man wanted to fight, wanted to bring up all Hunt’s shortfalls. It was as if the man reveled in Hunt’s failures.
“I got better things to do,” Hunt called, ducking through the dugout and heading back toward the benches.
Rhett still grinned and David’s eyes danced with amusement.
“The monkey’s name was Lily and she smelled like old shoes, but I wasn’t letting Rhett win the boom box, so I did what the DJ at the radio station told me to. He said I’d have to kiss Lily. He just didn’t tell me she was a chimp.”
“You’re joking,” David said, his eyes alight with laughter.
“You guys want to head to the Rib Hut for dinner? I’m in the mood for barbecue,” Hunt said.
David nodded. “Will you come, too, Rhett? I want to hear more stories about you and my dad.”
Rhett’s gaze met Hunt’s. Again, he couldn’t read his old friend. “I’d like that, but we better call your mom. You know how moms get.”
“Yeah,” David said, disgust edging his voice. “They’re crazy.”
Hunt gave a bark of laughter. “Come on, don’t rag on your mom. You know how much she loves you.”
David rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they’re good for that, too.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
April 2003
“You look so pretty, Summer,” Carolyn Valentine said to her daughter’s reflection in the mirror.
“Thanks, Mama,” Summer said, staring back at the girl in the mirror. She couldn’t believe how good she looked. Seriously. How could a little makeup and some highlights in her hair make her glow? Though she’d lost only seven pounds, she looked thinner.
The size-twelve cerulean dress fit her perfectly and sat slightly off her shoulders with small seed pearls dotting the placard below her breasts. The cut hid the slight pooch of her tummy and fell like a Grecian waterfall to her ankles. A cluster of pearls and rhinestones on the strappy sandals just matched the ones on the placard. Half of her hair was twisted into a knot with a small beehive bump and the rest fell in pretty curls to brush her neck. Her eye makeup made her look slightly like Cleopatra, but her soft, pink lips kept it from being over the top. Her mother had splurged on some chandelier earrings that felt too heavy but looked perfect.
“Wowsa,” her dad said from the doorway of her bedroom. “You look . . . you know, I’m not sure I want to let that punk waiting downstairs take you to the prom.”
“Hunt’s here already?” Summer asked, her nerves amping.
“Yep, him and two others out in a limo on the street. They’ve been posing for pics on the hood of the car. The driver is taking pictures with one of the kids’ flip phones. Can’t believe those kids have cell phones. And a limo.”
“A limo?” Summer repeated, swallowing hard. Suddenly prom felt bigger than what it was. She stood here sparkling in her m
irror, looking strangely pretty, and downstairs her date awaited her. She’d never dreamed she’d be going to prom with a popular guy . . . with popular kids. A sweet longing for pajamas and her recorded copies of Gilmore Girls emerged. She wasn’t the girl staring back in the mirror. She was plain ol’ nerdy Summer pretending to be something she wasn’t.
Still, Rhett was in the limo, and that was a game changer.
Because she wanted to please him, even if she knew she was merely a means to a party for the senior class. They were using her, but even so, she couldn’t stop wanting to be near Rhett. She was a compass. He was a pole. She turned toward him.
Summer supposed she shouldn’t be thinking about Rhett when she had a date with Hunt McCroy, but over the past two weeks, she’d fallen even harder for her study buddy. She’d told herself not to, but he made her heart trip every time she looked at him.
“Mom, where’s the boutonniere? You picked it up, didn’t you?”
Her mother patted an errant strand of Summer’s hair. “Relax. It’s on the table.”
Maisie stuck her head under their dad’s arm. “There’s a boy downstairs. Oh, Sum, you look pretty. Like a movie star.”
Summer moved toward the doorway and rubbed her sister’s head. “Thanks, kiddo.”
Maisie swatted at her hand. “Don’t.”
Summer tried to calm the butterflies assaulting her tummy. God, she hoped she wouldn’t get diarrhea or something. Who knew being social was so terrifying? Maybe she should have had something to eat instead of skipping lunch so she’d look thinner in her dress. Sucking in a deep breath, she released it. “I’m so nervous, Mama.”
Her father was the one to reach out and brush her temple with a kiss. “Sweetheart, you have no need to be nervous. It’s just a dance. You look incredibly beautiful. That guy down there’s lucky to have you on his arm.”
She bet Hunt wouldn’t think so, though she had to admit, she looked much better than she expected. Maybe he wouldn’t be so ashamed to be with her. Maybe she didn’t look like such a charity case. “I’m pretty sure I can’t look any better than this.”
With that last affirmation, she descended the stairs.
Hunt stood in the middle of her living room, studying the collection of bass that hung on their walls. Her father entered tons of fishing tournaments and loved to display the fruits of his labors, whether it was a bass, a deer, or that one hog that sat in the corner. Summer jokingly called it the “Room of Death,” and she wasn’t far off.
“Hey,” she said, aware that her parents were right behind her.
Hunt turned and his eyes widened. “You look great, Summer.”
Her date looked pretty dang good in his tux, too. Hunt wore a classic tuxedo that had probably never seen a rental. No doubt, he owned one to attend the social events his parents were known to attend in Charleston. They did cotillion and that sort of stuff. Hunt’s bow tie was a pretty shade of blue that almost matched her dress. She wondered how he’d managed to get a matching one so quickly. She supposed rich people had ways. “You look very handsome, Hunt.”
His answering smile looked almost genuine. “Thanks. So, here’s the corsage. My mom picked it out. I hope it matches. You said baby blue, right?”
Technically her dress was cerulean, but close enough. “Right.”
Carolyn brushed past them, grabbing Hunt’s boutonniere off the dining room table. “And here’s yours. I’m Summer’s mom. That’s her dad.” Summer’s mom waved toward her husband.
“I’m going to take a picture of y’all pinning it on,” her father said.
“Sorry,” Summer breathed under her breath to Hunt. “I’ve never gone to a dance before. They’re going to take pictures.”
“Sure,” Hunt said with a smile in his voice. No doubt, her country-bumpkin parents amused him. But she wasn’t denying her mother the chance to revel in Summer’s prom pictures. That’s all her mother had talked about for the last week. Prom this and prom that. Summer was glad it would be over by tomorrow . . . and that her mother hadn’t insisted on going up to the school gym to snap photos like some of the mothers did. Summer had drawn that line early on. Her mother had sulked, but she’d eventually agreed when Summer threatened to call the whole thing off.
After five minutes of awkward pictures, Summer finally eased toward the door. “We have to go, Mom. I’ll be home around midnight.”
“You can stay out longer tonight if you want. It is senior prom,” her mother called.
“I don’t know about—” her father started.
“Hush, Jeremy. She can stay out late tonight,” her mother said, guiding Summer toward the door. Her mother gave a quick wave to Rhett and Graysen, who stood by the limo looking at Graysen’s flip phone. The two looked up, and Summer’s breath caught at how gorgeous they both were. Total golden couple.
Graysen wore a slinky dress of gold that hugged every angle and curve. The bodice molded to her breasts, making them look somehow perfect, and the dress skimmed her taut stomach and the flare of her slim hips before swishing around her feet with a small train. Her hair was piled upon her head, and dangling yellow-diamond earrings twinkled at her ears. Her makeup was flawless, and she looked like she could grace the cover of Seventeen’s Prom edition.
Suddenly Summer felt dowdy, like a fat girl trussed up for slaughter. She’d seen Carrie. Was there a bucket of pig’s blood waiting for her somewhere?
Rhett looked like the man he’d been named after—Rhett Butler. Suavely cutting quite the figure in the black tux that cut at the waist and dropped to a traditional tail in the back, he took her breath away. His burnished hair was coiffed perfectly, and she could swear she saw the twinkle in his blue eyes from the front porch stoop. The angelic opposite of her brooding date.
“Wow, look at our Funny Valentine,” Rhett called, his smile big, making her feel both calm and nervous at the same time.
Graysen clapped her hands. “Oh, Sum, you look so pretty. That dress is perfect on you.”
Summer smiled. “You look gorgeous, Gray.”
Graysen gave her a hug and pulled her against the car. “Take a pic of us, Rhett.”
Rhett took her phone as Summer pasted a smile on her face. “Prettiest girls in this town.”
Graysen beamed. “Yeah, this is what happens when you stop wearing Birkenstocks and hoodies.”
Summer tried to ignore the tug of hurt at Graysen’s words. She liked her Birkenstocks and hoodie. Okay, so maybe she used them like a security blanket, but they were comfortable. And her.
“Can we jet already?” Hunt said, looking impatient. “I’m tired of pictures. Jesus.”
The driver opened the back of the limo with a flourish and the four of them climbed in, Summer being extra careful not to snag her dress on her heels. Her parents had sacrificed to get her this dress and shoes. She wasn’t about to pull the first thread. She double-checked her pretty white rose corsage, too. White roses, looping satin, and little seed pearls. Like her mother, she would let it dry and pack it into her memory box.
“Whew, thank God that’s over,” Hunt said, reaching into the fancy center console and bringing out a bottle of vodka.
“Ooh, let’s do shots,” Graysen said, grabbing two crystal glasses from the gleaming shelf.
Summer’s eyes widened. Hunter had two bottles of vodka on ice along with a six pack of beer.
“Not for me,” Rhett said, grabbing a beer and wrenching it from the plastic holder. He cracked it and lifted it. “A toast to senior prom 2003!”
Graysen handed Summer a glass and Hunt poured a shot of vodka inside. Summer didn’t want vodka. She had never drunk, well, outside of a wine cooler once. Even that had made her light-headed. But she didn’t want to look like a prudish loser, so she clinked her glass against Graysen’s and then Hunt’s.
Hunt grinned like a gator. “Well, well, little Summer knows how to party.”
The blush that covered her face was answer enough, but she murmured, “I’ve drunk before.”
Graysen and Hunt slammed back the shot so Summer did the same.
Dear God, it burned. Bad.
And it was terrible.
She tried not to choke as the liquor burned a path down her throat, but she couldn’t help herself. “Oh God.”
Graysen laughed. “Okay, lightweight.”
Hunt steadied Summer’s glass and poured her another shot. “If you’re going to do it, Valentine, do it right.”
Rhett took the glass from her hand. “Hey, now, let’s not get too loaded before we get to the dance. There could be a Breathalyzer. Save it for the after-party.”
Hunt made a face and took the glass from Rhett, tossing it back. “That’s total bullshit. They say that every year.”
Relief flooded Summer because she hadn’t wanted a second shot of vodka, but she also didn’t want to look scared of drinking. Saying no was a whole lot harder than everyone said. Especially when you were the resident nerd hanging with the cool kids.
The vodka had already warmed her stomach, taking the edge off her nerves. One shot wouldn’t register on a Breathalyzer, would it? She didn’t think so, but she also didn’t want anything to jeopardize her shot at valedictorian. That was her ticket to the school’s two-thousand-dollar alumni scholarship. Bad choices led to bad consequences. She heard those words in her head . . . in her father’s voice.
The limo pulled up to the high school gym, where two huge lanterns perched on the aged stone flanking the entryway. A canopy of colored clothes lined with lights stretched atop the doorway.
“Wow,” Summer said, peering out the window. “Y’all really did a great job.”
“Thank you,” Graysen said. She looked well pleased with herself. “It was my idea. The whole Arabian Nights thing. Wait until you see the inside.”
The driver opened the door and gestured with his hand. “My ladies and gentlemen.”