Fall Guy

by Liz Reinhardt

  “Evan is about to get ready to go on a date.” The woman pulls the door half-closed and forces me back down the marble stairs. “A date with a gentleman who doesn’t yank her young heart back and forth without a second thought. Shame on you.”

  She shakes a finger in my face, her light blue eyes full of fury, just like Evan’s when she gets upset. “I know who you are, and I know what you’ve done to my granddaughter. I’m well aware that she may come off as a tough little cookie, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. She has a delicate heart that’s been used and abused more than it should have been in one young life. And your behavior just supports the idea she’s always toying with; that she’s not good enough. That she’s not worthy of being loved.”

  “Ma’am, I know what I did. I know the mistakes I made. I’m here to—”

  “I can imagine exactly what you’re here for,” she interrupts, her mouth pressed tight. “And I suspect you’ll be back again if you have a mind to be, no matter what I say to you now. But listen to me. Listen to me right now. If you love her, if you even care about her a little, leave her alone. The two of you don’t have what it takes to go the distance. She needs someone strong. Someone sure. That isn’t you, son.”

  She gives me a long, dismissive look, steps back into the doorway, frowns, and clicks the door shut.

  I consider my options. I could call her. Just dial her number and connect.

  Or I could be dramatic and scream up to Evan, call her out and get her to come to her window, then explain it all to her. That I want to be with her. That I love her. That I’m finally, truly ready to change.

  I could leave. I could leave and let her have whatever life she’ll have with whatever guy she’s with right now.

  Just when I’m about to jump the fence into the back garden, my phone rings, the song rock-heavy and melancholy. It’s Colt.

  “What do you need?” I answer, my eyes still locked on her curtains, which haven’t so much as fluttered. Does she know I’m here? Does she even care?

  “Uh, Winch?” His voice is low, like he’s whispering into the phone, like he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s calling.

  The temperature of my blood dives.

  I wanted to walk away from all of this, wanted to do better for Evan, but I know for sure that whatever he’s asking for, it’s not going to be easy to turn him down.

  Walking away isn’t simple. Even when you’re taking baby steps.

  “Winch? You there?” His words shake.

  “I’m here. Tell me.”

  “It’s Alayah. And Remy. They’re…uh, they’re gone. And he was in bad shape.”

  I’m back in my car in a few short seconds, the engine revved so loud, I finally see her, pulling the curtain aside and stepping on the balcony.

  Just in time to watch me pull away.

  Evan 14

  “Tell him I can’t go,” I repeat to Gramma as I attempt to gently push past her and get to my car.

  I stuck by the promise I made to myself, and I haven’t contacted Winch or sought him out. His path to self-destruction might be on a fast-as-hell crash-course, but I’m not about to station myself in the cheering section.

  But, he came to the house. Maybe because things really are different. Maybe because, this time, he did change. Maybe.

  I don’t know, but I need to find out. I’m an idiot to hold out hope, but I do. Something in me just can’t let go of the hope that this will work itself out, even if I know I’m stupid to expect that.

  “Evan, no. Evan, listen to me. Evan!”

  The sharp jerk of my name from her lips roots me to my spot right by the front door, my hand on the doorknob. I look at her and twist my hands around my keys.

  “I have to go to him.”

  I’m ashamed at how my voice wobbles.

  She shakes her head and tucks a piece of my hair back into my ponytail. I’d been in the middle of straightening it when I heard Winch’s car pull out like crazy. When I came out of my room, Gramma told me that he’d come here for me. And she told me that she sent him away.

  Now my heart is desperate in my chest, like a bird crashing into a window over and over again, confused that it can’t get to what it sees and wants, and willing to kill itself in the attempt to remedy that.

  “You do not have to go to that boy. Evan. Listen to me.” She smoothes her hands over my hair and down onto my neck. “You do not have to throw everything away for any boy. Or for your parents. Or for those backstabbing friends. Or the teachers who gave up on you.” Her voice is sopping wet and about to overflow. “Please hear me out. Your mother never would listen, but you and I are the same, and I know you can understand this, love. Listen.”

  I swallow hard and decide listening will be the quickest option. I’m not about to run from this house and leave my grandmother standing in the foyer. Respect for her is coded into my anatomy. But so is general disobedience, and it bucks and kicks inside me, ready to burst through the door and find Winch. Find him and tell him…what I don’t know, and, frankly, I don’t care.

  I don’t care if it’s desperate, I don’t care if it’s all just the same damn merry-go-round of pain of and disappointment. I want him. I want him so badly, and I need him.

  I need him, even if needing him is the worst idea in the world.

  I’m tired of fighting it, trying to make sense out of all the bad mixed-up with the smattering of good that has defined our relationship so far.

  “I’m listening.”

  My ears can hear her, anyway. But my heart and mind are already racing out the door ahead of this conversation, hoping to catch up with him, wanting to be back with him.

  “You’re chasing him and he wants to run, darling. If he isn’t attached you now, he never will be. Listen to me.”

  Her voice is so desperate, I look up and resolve to listen. Really listen.

  She takes a deep breath in. “Love, I’ve watched you grow up amid all this chaos. And Granddaddy and I tried to do right by you, but we don’t always know what to make of things. Look how we parented our fool daughter. We were never mad at you for getting into trouble. You have violent emotions. I know too well how that is. But, listen to me; you need to let go of this one.”

  “Gramma,” I begin, and it sounds like I’m about to recite some kind of speech even though this is all off the cuff of my crazed heart. “I love him. Really, I do. And we can make it work. Like you said, I have what it takes to be strong. I have what it takes to make this all happen…”

  I trail off and watch her shake her head back and forth. “It isn’t you, love. It isn’t you I doubt. It’s him. If he’s so easily swayed, it will be your mother and father all over again. He never stood up for their love. There were always distractions, Evan. You remember?”

  I swallow hard. “But it was the races with Daddy. It was gambling. A vice. This is family.”

  “Family.” She rolls the word on her tongue. “Darling, family can be the very devil in disguise. More powerful than any drug, more alluring than any sin. They can demand a loyalty that will rip your heart out and chew it up without the thought of an apology. You don’t need to say a word, but I want you to think about what he’s done for them. What they may ask him to do in the future. I know the Youngbloods by reputation, and I’d caution you strongly before you took up with one.”

  “But he’s—”

  Gramma puts a hand up. “Evan Lennox, I’m the last woman in the world who’d judge a man by his name. But I do know how to weigh a man’s actions. And his actions make your daddy’s habit of gambling on the horses seem very tame. I’m begging you, do not open your arms to the heartache your mother put up with for so long.”

  The warpath drum of my heart has slowed, and she puts her hands on my shoulders, turns me, and pulls the elastic out, letting my hair fall in waves around my shoulders. “Tonight’s date might be a blip in your radar. Or it might be a step in the direction of a lifelong, rewarding love. All I’m asking is that you open your heart and
let go of this boy who’s had you so twisted.”

  “But he loves me, Gramma.”

  The words cusp out on a breath that’s trying not to dissolve into tears.

  “I have no doubt at all that his feelings for you are strong. But if his actions don’t measure up to his intentions, you’re better off without him. Your granddaddy and I have kept our mouths shut for a few weeks now. But we decided to say our piece, and now I’ve said it and feel better. Your passions have ruled your head and heart for a long time now, sweetie. And it’s brought you nothing but heartache. Let go of this one and open up to the possibility of something new. Something better.”

  She runs her fingers through my hair, gently undoing the tangles.

  My throat feels closed up. My eyes burn. My heart is a lump in my chest, motionless, bloodless, empty. Winch roared away before he got a chance to talk to me. I slide my phone out of my pocket.

  No text. No message. No missed call.

  He gave up on me, again.

  He probably got a call from Remy. Again.

  The pattern will never end, no matter how much he wants it to.

  Because his intentions don’t match his actions.

  I’ve given him so many chances, opened my heart to him, and had him open his to me. But if he doesn’t choose me, choose us, there’s nothing I can do. There’s no way I can right this. Slowly, slowly, I will my stomach to unclench and my heart to pick up a plodding pace again. I kiss my grandmother on the side of her mouth.

  “I love you. You’re right. First step. Tonight, I take my first step.” I manage to say it without crying. Mostly because I shut down completely. “Now, if you will excuse me, my hair is a mess, and I have to fix it.”

  Gramma beams and I walk up the stairs, head high, turn into my bathroom, soak a washrag in cold water, set my phone alarm for five minutes, then cry thick, shaky, moaning sobs into the cloth until the beep sounds.

  It was the same amount of time I gave Winch on our first date. I should have walked away when that alarm first sounded. I didn’t then, but I will now. I have to.

  I sit at my vanity and fix my hair, put on my makeup, and just when I brush the eighteenth coat of mascara on my eyelashes, the doorbell chimes. I hear Granddaddy answer and exchange hearty, manly words with the guy who’s waiting downstairs. He’s some son of some colleague of my grandfather’s, and Granddaddy called him a ‘go-getter,’ which is basically the very highest praise he ever gives anyone. So this guy must be something special.

  But he’s not Winchester Youngblood.

  I hang my silky robe on the hook in my closet and take out the simple green dress that I’ve always liked but never loved. Maybe that’s just because I’ve never given it a fair chance. I dab a last coat of lipgloss on and head down the stairs in dangerously high pink heels with little bows at the toe, perfectly adorable, and a good way to lift my spirits every time Winchester invades my thoughts. All I have to do to buoy my mood a tiny bit is stare down at my fabulously outfitted feet.

  The guy, Callum Long, stands with a bouquet of mixed flowers, maybe more gorgeous than any Winch got for me. I take them from his hands and bury my nose in the petals, but I don’t inhale the sweet aroma, because there’s a line between playing along to mend my tattered heart and taking a sledgehammer to the last brittle pieces, and I’m not strong enough to jump that line yet.

  “You kids look smart together,” Granddaddy beams, hooking his thumbs through his red suspenders.

  I wish, right then, that he’d had the opportunity to meet Winchester. I wish he’d been able to take him aside and smoke a cigar on the porch with him. Maybe he would have opened up about his story, how he left his family and struck out on his own. Maybe Winch would have told Granddaddy his problems. If anyone can fix any problem, it’s my grandfather.

  But I was so wrapped up in just figuring Winch and me out while we were together, I never considered having him over.

  Now it’s nothing but the dust of old regrets, and I need to shake it off.

  I kiss Granddaddy on the cheek and let him pull me into a long, gruff hug.

  “You take care of her, Callum,” my grandfather threatens with a wag of his finger.

  Callum’s voice is rich and low, with just that bit of a country-boy drawl that always uncoils something deep and sweet in me.

  “Of course, sir. I won’t let out of my sight for a single second. Were you ready, Evan?”

  His light eyes flick up and down me quickly, clearly pleased with what he sees.

  There’s a kick of delicious warmth in my stomach, exactly what I would have expected from having a good-looking, tall, sweet-eyed boy looking me over.

  It’s just not anything close to the inferno I feel when Winch looks me over.

  “Let me say goodbye to my grandmother,” I stall, but Gramma is bustling in to take my bouquet and arrange it in a vase, just like she did with Winch’s, but without all the drama.

  This time she’s all smiles and kisses and pats on my backside, telling us to be good and have fun. She looks happy. She looks relieved.

  “Your granddaddy and I will be out late, but I won’t be surprised if you come home after us!” She winks at me.

  I wish I felt a sliver of her enthusiasm.

  Callum opens the door of his sleek sports car for me, and I sit on the leather seat and smile and make inane conversation as we weave into downtown traffic and head to a fancy restaurant I used to go to with Rabin, but it was called something else then. I hated the lambchops. They were overcooked.

  And just like that, it’s like life has been dimmed, and I’m back to remembering less than delicious meals and less than amazing boyfriends. Small talk is hard to keep up, and everything feels distracted and distracting.

  Callum orders a bottle of wine for us, and this place is swank enough that they don’t card me or seem to care if I drink. The sweet drizzle of the bubbly white is crisp and dulling at the same time. He’s talking about his engineering classes, and, to be fair, it’s not his fault he’s being so boring. I’ve hardly done more than sip my wine, smile, and nod at him.

  I can just barely process the taste of the food when it finally comes, and, though I force myself to have dessert and walk downtown a little with Callum, I can’t will myself to hang around for a drive to a party.

  “I’d love to. I would.” I act as best I can, all wide eyes and emphatic nods. “But I’m just really tired. I had community service this morning and it was a long day. You understand, right?”

  I bat my lashes and his sweet smile is a relief. He’s not going to push the issue.

  “Of course, darlin.’ St. John’s had crazy community service requirements when I was a senior, too. On the plus side, it looks amazing on college applications.”

  His smile is so sympathetic, I don’t bother to correct him and let him know that this particular community service will do nothing at all to attract colleges toward me.

  The drive home is quiet, and I give Callum a chaste kiss at my front door, hoping it will communicate nothing more than my tepid appreciation for this night. This date. This first step that is, I hope, not going to be reflective of how bland and lukewarm life devoid of Winch will be.

  I watch him walk back to his car, and I turn into the empty house. Gramma and Granddaddy have never set a solid curfew before, but tonight all time limits were waived because, I think, they hoped I’d fling myself back into a social life and some semblance of happiness.

  Even though the dinner felt like it lasted for hours, it’s only been a scant two. Saturday night looms long and empty. I walk upstairs and fall back on my bed, not bothering to change out of my dress.

  I decided, after looking in the plush bathroom’s gilded mirror at the restaurant, that I really don’t love the dress. Or maybe I was just caught up in the theme of the entire night: blah.

  I text Brenna, and she texts back such an excited stream of questions, I wind up just tapping a message to let her know that I’m having so much fun, I’ll hav
e to fill her in later.

  Brenna has been rooting for my happiness, however it comes, like a frantically hopeful cheerleader, and dishing all the depressing details of my latest social failure just feels like too much effort at this point.

  I do my best to switch my brain off as the dark rolls in and the house goes utterly, depressingly silent. I’ve gone blank. Erased. Empty. It’s the only way I can be if I want to survive without sobbing over Winch and all the possibility the two of us had, now lost for good.

  But no matter how hard I work to shut my brain down, my body aches for him in the dark. I crave comfort that goes way beyond warm baths, soft pajamas, creamy chocolate truffles; those are shallow, nonessentials. I need his touch, his hold, his love.

  I know I can’t have it. I know the need will have to eventually melt away. But tonight, in the dark of my room, I’m not convinced I can live without it.

  And then I hear the hiccupping roar of an engine. It’s Saturday night. It could be any stupid showoff on a date. There’s a way bigger chance it isn’t him than that it is.

  A yell shatters the quiet of the night.

  “Evan!”

  I sit up, shocked at the way that voice has morphed around my name. Because it’s him. It’s Winch. But not the way I know him. I get up and run to the balcony outside my room, ignoring the slight bite of a chill on my skin. It takes my eyes a long few seconds to adjust in the dark, but when I finally see Winch, shock seizes through me.

  “Winch?” I ask, not sure the loping, staggering figure below could be my cool, collected, always-in-control Winch.

  “Evan!” He yells like he didn’t hear my voice. He looks up and squints, then trips over a potted plant. The ceramic pot crashes and I hear the heavy thud of his body crashing into the dirt and his guttural curses. “Evan!”

  His yell is impatient this time, and I raise my voice, glancing nervously at my neighbor’s house. He’s going to wake the entire damn street up.

  Even as I think this, a thick, sweet happiness swirls through me. I have no idea why he’s here or what he wants, but I’m completely thrilled that he’s down there, waiting for me.