Tripp

  I turn the key and rev Betty’s engine before pulling out and heading toward campus.

  After Rachel let it spill that Marcus has been popping up places like the grocery store or gas-station parking lot, I decided I wasn’t letting her take chances. He never approaches Rachel, but always stares at her—letting her know that like his mother, he can get to her at any time, and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants. I’m here to prove him wrong. She yelled at me, cursed and argued with me, but when her mother got home and sided with me, she was outnumbered.

  Maybe it was because she was in my arms, maybe it was because she was finally sharing her burden with me, or maybe it’s because in having her, I realize I can’t change who Rachel is, but I didn’t yell at her, not even after she told me that she’d seen Marcus and had neglected to tell me. Instead, I reminded myself what I’d promised G only hours before, and then I pulled Rachel close, promising her the same.

  “I got you. I’m here, Rachel. You aren’t alone anymore.”

  When she brought me close and straddled me—taking us both to the place that was just the two of us—I understood she didn’t have the words to express what was between us either, but she trusted me.

  Pulling onto the main drag leading through campus, I’m brought back to the present when Rachel points to a couple of girls wearing last night’s clothing—their short skirts and barely there tops showing too much skin for a pre-seven o’clock walk—who are sneaking out the side door of a fraternity. “That could be you next year…standing on the porch of your Frat, letting out last night’s female—amusing yourself while she tries to stay upright and warm all at once.”

  I smile and wonder vaguely if it’s Tanner letting out his female. The only kind of commitment he understands is the kind to his own satisfaction. And apparently, it takes a lot of girls to satisfy that commitment.

  “Well, when you paint me a picture like that, maybe I should rethink this whole love thing. You’ll be here in a few years, right?”

  I say it as a joke, but then we park and she’s pauses with her hand on the door and looks at me. “What are you going to do next year, Tripp?”

  I turn, a little surprised by the serious tone of her voice. Usually, it’s me asking the hard questions, especially when they have to do with the future. “Rachel, I was kidding. I’m not jonesing to join a frat and run through a gaggle of girls.”

  She mocks my word (yes, I paid attention in ninth grade English). Then she reassures me she isn’t baiting a hook to catch me and skin me alive if I give the wrong answer. “This isn’t a girl-game where you say something I don’t like and I get offended—even though I pressured you into doing it. So just answer the fucking question. What do you want next year?”

  Poetic prose from the love of my life. Clearly, she did not pay attention in ninth-grade English, because Juliet would never have said that to Romeo. Still, her answer makes me laugh because it’s so her. For a second, I glance out the window and wonder how much I can tell her without scaring her off. I mean, she has no problem accepting my help to scare the crap out of some poor, unsuspecting guy who had the bad sense to fall in love with Crazy Katie, but feelings… those are tricky with Rachel. She’s as likely to punch me in the face for having them as she is to return them.

  Figuring the last time I held back was when I lost her, I go for it and lay it all out there. “I don’t know. I guess my plans have always been to go to school, get my physics or mechanical-engineering degree and work at the shop—maybe expand from putting cars back together to building them custom.” I shrug to play it off; everything inside of me is tense and gauging her reaction. “Really, I guess my plans are to make a future. I’m hoping you want to join me.”

  Her eyes get soft—a little thoughtful, and for once, I think this is the moment, the one where she lays her feelings out there for me to see.

  “Wow, I feel like an asshole.”

  What’s that, Juliet? More poetry?

  I laugh. The tension in my shoulders eases; it isn’t a declaration of love, but she’s not running for the hills either. “Why?”

  “Because…before Gracie, even after her, my entire goal was to go somewhere on a volleyball scholarship and play for as long as possible. I’ve never really thought of the future unless it was to mourn what might not be, and here you are making plans and being all adult-like.” Her scowl is genuine, and makes my own smile bigger. “It’s a little annoying to realize I’m not as mature as I think I am.”

  I shake my head. It’s hilarious to me that even maturity is a competition to her, but I don’t tease her about it. I take her hand and promise to help her get her dream as long as she’s a part of mine.

  “How about this? You work on that scholarship; I’ll make the plans. We’ll both do what we’re good at.”

  When she asks me if I want to play basketball in the future, I just shake my head. “Rachel, I’m six-three on a good day and a power-forward. That means nothing in college. I need to be six-eight. And it’s not playing that drives me.”

  “What does?”

  I know she isn’t fishing for compliments, just as I know she isn’t being purposely dense. Rachel’s driven, motivated, and competitive; her sport is as much a part of her as breathing, and now that she has it back, it’s something that pushes her to excel every day.

  My drive comes from something a little more basic. Pointing to the apartment building, I smile at her. “Do you think I’d come intimidate some wannabe-biker kid for just anybody? You, Rachel…the thought of us—the future—where we can go, that’s what I want. The rest is just filler.”

  She leans over and smacks her lips against mine, and then she clarifies that she wants a future with me also. “But I kinda want volleyball, too. That okay?”

  I press a friendly kiss on her nose. “Most definitely. Now let’s put a move on or we’ll lose the element of surprise, and that’s half the fun.”

  “God, I love you.”

  “Ditto,” I murmur, but she’s already slamming out of the truck and heading up the stairs, ready to kick the crap out of some poor underfed hipster for hurting her best friend. As crazy as it is, I follow her, because if Rachel needs to stand up for someone, I’m always going to stand next to her.

  ~

  In my quest to always stand with her and be supportive, I forgot that Katie’s ex is the cousin of Rachel’s college boy. Dean.

  I’m standing inside the doorway of a strange apartment. It is way cleaner than I was expecting; I’m observing, in relative amusement, as Rachel scares the crap out of this poor skinny bastard who’s clad in only his SpongeBob boxers when I hear someone shout from down the hall.

  “Doug, what the fu—Rae?”

  I follow the guy’s progress as he stomps the rest of the way into the already-crowded living room and size him up quickly (an no, not just in case I have to shove him around, but because I need to reassure myself he’s a douche and I’m the better choice). He’s bigger than his cousin, but anyone over the age of sixteen who has ever even seen a gym would have more muscle than Doug. Seriously, spaghetti looks more sturdy. Dean is stockier, maybe six feet even. Though he’s scowling, I think for a brief minute there was hope when he saw Rachel.

  Yeah, not gonna happen. I step away from the door and toward Rachel, my intent clear. When I also get the added side-benefit of forcing Dean to look up because I’m taller— I mark it as a point in my score column. Not that I really need to score any more, I did get the girl; kind of means game over. This must be like extra time in FIFA.

  Dean looks from her to me, and then his eyes must find his cousin behind us because his frown deepens and his eyes go dark as they pin Rachel. “Jesus, are you guys ganging up on him? Really fair.”

  Please. Ganging up? My hands are still in my pockets; until he walked inside the room, I was leaning against the door. And despite the fact that Doug flinches every time Rachel says something (which tells me she must have really let him have it when he first started dating Kat
ie and now all of those pre-made threats are flashing before Doug’s eyes), Rachel hasn’t touched him either.

  “Relax, dude, she’s just talking to him,” I say, and Dean turns his scowl on me.

  “Don’t tell me to relax, dude.”

  I raise my brow and stand a little straighter. I am unimpressed that he’s standing up for his cousin—when he wasn’t this feisty a month ago after I said all of that shit to Rachel. Why the guns blazing now, Dean? Where was your protective streak when I needed an ass-kicking and she needed someone on her side?

  I don’t get a chance to say any of this; Rachel steps between us and shoves her hand into my chest with just enough force to let me know she understands exactly what I’m thinking.

  “Relax, ladies, I was just about to ask Dougie here some questions.”

  I ignore her; over her head I can see college boy, and he’s still got his fists clenched. If he wants to go, I will—because I’m not the pushover he’s proven to be.

  I am man, hear me roar.

  Rachel shoves me, her palm slamming into my chest, forcing me to snap my attention to her this time and I scowl. Is she serious? Her eyes are narrow slits as they bore into mine, which tells me her answer is a resounding yes, she is serious, and yes, she does expect me to stand down.

  Girls. She’s allowed to come here and beat some guy up, but I do one little thing and I’m in trouble.

  I relent and relax my stance, eyeing Dean until he does the same. When he looks at his cousin, he gives a halfhearted laugh and tells him to put clothes on. The relief that blows across Doug’s face is short-lived when Rachel vetoes that decision. She and I both know the minute biker boy gets out of her sight, he isn’t coming back.

  When Dean asks Rachel not to hurt his cousin, I smile. Good luck with that.

  “No promises,” Rachel says a second later. I swear Doug’s already-pale skin goes even whiter. Dean runs frustrated hands through his hair.

  “Jesus Christ, fine, but remember, he’s a virgin fighter—don’t go at him too hard.” Then he turns to me. “You want some coffee?”

  Not particularly, but getting him out of the room will make what Rachel came here to do happen faster. I glance at her. “You good?”

  “Cleaned your clock a couple of weeks ago, didn’t I?”

  I see Dean wince. I smile at Rachel—whether or not she knows it, she just reminded him she punched me because he wouldn’t. Pussy. I nod at her, letting her know she can ask for help at any time; I follow college boy into the attached kitchen and laugh when he shouts at his cousin over his shoulder.

  “Doug, keep your hands up!”

  I lean back against the counter on one side, while he takes two mugs down and pours coffee into each. I want to take it like a man and sip it straight when he offers it to me, but there are limits to things I’ll do. I’ll take a fist to the face, and I’ll step at anyone who steps at my girl or me. But when I’m done, I like my coffee to taste like sugar. Maybe even a cookie.

  “Milk?” he asks and I nod. “Sugar?”

  “As much as you can.”

  He hands me the doctored cup, and for a second we stand there, sipping, neither of us saying anything. In the background, I can hear Rachel asking Doug questions, her voice sharp as she interrogates him. I can’t make out his words, but I do hear a distinct tremble in his voice.

  “Christ, he’s going to piss himself if she keeps going at him that way.”

  I shrug. “You don’t mess with someone Rachel loves. I’m betting she warned Doug of that when he and Katie first started dating.”

  “That’s the whole reason Rae and I even met. Doug brought me along on a double date, hoping I’d keep her away from him. Said she was out to get him.”

  He would bring it up. “Looks like that backfired.”

  “For both of us,” he says. “Look, I get that you’re with Rachel now, but when she came over here the morning after that party…and told me she wanted you, we decided to be friends. I’m going to say this: don’t blow it with her. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt.”

  I can’t tell if Dean is genuine in his statement, or if he’s trying to be an asshole and prove he knows Rachel as well as I do. I don’t really care either way. I’m not having a heart-to-heart with him about her—and I’m not listening while he waxes poetic about the month they hung out. She’s mine—that’s all he needs to know.

  I straighten up and set my coffee down—not for effect, but because milk or not, it tastes too much like actual coffee for me to keep drinking it. “Listen, Dean, I get that you’re trying to make nice. As much as I appreciate what you’re doing, let’s not. We’re not going to be seeing a lot of each other. Friends or not, you’re not going to be seeing a lot of Rachel, either.”

  He raises his brow, but I can see the annoyance underneath. “Isn’t that her choice?”

  Looks like he was after door number two after all. “Yeah, and she made it. Me. Guys and girls who dated don’t do friendships. Don’t be the guy who pretends that’s all he wants.” I hear Rachel tell Doug he can go put some clothes on, and I take it as my cue to leave.

  “Aren’t you being a little confident for someone who’s only been with her for a little while?”

  “No, I’m being honest. Rachel’s it for me. She always has been, and now that she knows that…you’re not even a memory.”

  I leave him in the kitchen and head toward the door, grabbing Rachel by the hand. “You done?”

  “Yeah, though I didn’t kick his ass. Doug’s actually pretty noble,” she says as we walk to the truck.

  “How so?”

  She shrugs and jumps in. “Says he broke up with her because he knew she didn’t really want him, and he wanted her too much. Basically, he did it for her.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  She looks over at me. After a second, she nods. “Yeah. I mean, a few months ago…I don’t know if I would have, but now, with you—I get it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Loving someone doesn’t mean every decision you make feels good. It just means that you’ve tried to do what you can to save them and make their life better, even if it hurts you in the process.”

  I nod and crank the engine. “I love you, Rachel—but I’m not walking away because I think you want me to ever again. I’ll battle you every step of the way.”

  She smiles, and it’s not a bit shy. “Well, that’s pretty noble, too.”

  36

  Present

  “Dude, are you going to play, or are you going to text the entire game?”

  Tanner flips me off. I roll my eyes, holding the ball against my hip as I wait for him to send another message.

  “Who’s the girl?”

  “Why do you think it’s a girl?”

  “Because if you’re smiling like that and the text is from a man, you’ve made a lifestyle change that you neglected to tell me about.”

  He holds out his middle finger again and throws his phone down on his bag. Might as well keep it in his pocket—we both know when it chirps he’ll go and get it.

  I check the ball and we play a few points before his phone goes off again. “Shit, I’m done. I’m going to go use a treadmill; maybe I’ll actually break a sweat that way.”

  He nods, even though I expect him to tell me to straighten my panties out and wait. Instead, he grabs his bag and starts walking with me toward the exit. “Hey, did you say Rachel talked to Katie’s boyfriend the other day?”

  “Ex. And yeah, she did. Why?”

  “Just curious. You sure they broke up?”

  Confused, I nod. “Pretty sure. Rachel read Doug the riot act for breaking Katie’s heart, but it turns out she broke his heart. Something about asking him to move in with her, but not really wanting it to be him. I don’t know—I didn’t one hundred percent understand. Then I got distracted when that guy Rachel dated came out.”

  Tanner’s eyebrows rise. “Why was he there?”

  “He’s cousins with Katie’s ex.
Apparently, they live together.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Nothing original. Tried to pose like he was all tough. Rachel ignored him and made it clear really fast that she was talking to his cousin whether he liked it or not. Of course, he backed down because as tough as he tried to act, he’s actually a pussy. Then he and I go in the kitchen and he morphs into the trusted friend—asks me my intentions and tells me not to hurt her.”

  “What a douche. He want her back?”

  “Probably, but like I told him, she’s mine. He can go get his own fucking girl.”

  His phone chirps and he grins. “Damn straight. Hey, I gotta go.”

  “Yeah. I hope she’s worth a wasted court-rental,” I shout. He salutes me over his shoulder, and continues out the door.

  ~

  I stop by Rachel’s house on my way home, pleased when I see her car there. Katie dropped her off after practice, because she promised she wouldn’t drive alone right now. She doesn’t love that I force her to let me—or her mom or sister or Katie—drive with her when she goes somewhere. I think Katie explained to her just how ridiculous it is for her to go places alone while Marcus is obviously not done intimidating her.

  When I knock, her mom answers.

  “Tripp. Come in.”

  “Thanks, Dr. C. How’s it going?”

  She laughs and motions to her wineglass on the counter. “Well, I’m grading papers for my freshman and wondering if some of them actually attended any of my lectures, or just Googled biology and hoped it was enough. This is to get me through the rest.” She grabs her wineglass from the counter and motions to the fridge. “There’s leftover chicken in there. Rachel’s in the living room. She just finished putting Gracie to bed.”

  “Thanks, Dr. C. Good luck with the papers.”

  “Oh, dear child, it’s not me who’s going to need the luck. Go to class next year, Jackson; I promise your professors will know it if you don’t.”

  I head down through the kitchen while Dr. C goes the opposite way to her study. Stepping into the living room, I see Rachel sitting on the couch with her laptop on her thighs and her fingers clicking away.