Love's Learning Curve

by Felicia Lynn

  The campaign managers will be working overtime to strike any associations to you from your father and me. Your father is heartbroken and feels taken advantage of by someone he loved and trusted. The poor man never was able to see you for who you really were. He’s ashamed he gifted you with the legacy of your family name. Had I known birthing a child from our own blood would betray us, I would have saved myself the sacrifice and adopted a child who would have been grateful for the rewards we've freely given you. You are the biggest mistake of my life. You will never hear from us again, and we’d appreciate if you’d kindly give us the same respect and not contact either of us again and allow us to grieve. After everything, Charlotte, it’s the very least you could do.

  The sobs engulf me like never before. I don’t bother to read the entire article now and only skim briefly until my eyes see the quote. “The only long-term commitment anyone will see in my future is with this sport.”

  Nothing is more important than getting out of this house—his house. I wish the fact that I’ve lost my family was the driving force behind my tortured despair, but it’s not. He betrayed me in a way I never realized anyone had enough venom and hate in them to be capable of, which says a lot considering I’ve endured the wrath of Sandra Baker my entire life. My mother has nothing on Tyler Stone. His deadly venom was well hidden.

  Everything I believed was a lie. HE WAS A LIE.

  I grab as much of my stuff as possible and eventually give up on caring about anything left behind. I can’t be here anymore. I run from the house with my body barely decent wearing the tee shirt of his he slipped over my head after our morning lovemaking session. He said he wanted me to go back to sleep wrapped in his scent. Now, it burns like it could be the cloak of the devil himself, and every second I’m here feels more and more like the pits of hell.

  My mother was right about one thing—this is definitely a lesson. I thought my years under her roof was as close to dining with the devil and living in hell as possible, but I was wrong. HE WAS A LIE.

  I don’t bother to pick up the spare key he left and pay him the respect of locking up. He’s lucky if I actually closed the front door. As I drive away, I expect to feel relief from each centimeter of distance I gain, but I don’t. I feel nothing except for complete despondent misery.

  I don’t even know how I arrive back at the house. All I know is I race into the house leaving my car running. I need to get my things and leave as quickly as possible. I should probably talk to Morgan and let her know what’s going on, but I need some separation for anyone associated with Tyler Stone and my now ‘estranged’ family.

  I’m thankful I don’t run into anyone as I race up the stairs and into my room. Morgan is not here either, which also works in my favor. I’m not sure what I actually grab as I stuff bags, and I can only hope I have all my books for school and the cord for my laptop. I only pause my packing briefly to yank the fabric consumed with his scent from my body to replace it with a sports bra, tank top, hoodie, and yoga pants with my running shoes. I’m out of the house in record time and back in my car driving.

  I’m not sure where I’m driving because I have literally nowhere to go, but I drive and drive and drive just to drive only stopping once in the parking lot of a broken down and abandoned shopping center in the middle of nowhere.

  Taking a screenshot of the message from my mother, I then open the article and read every word over and over memorizing them all before opening the text message box titled HOTSHOT BASEBALL BOY. I send just the photo of the screen that my phone captured. I don’t bother to ask questions or comment doubting he’ll care enough to respond anyway. The tears eventually subside leaving only the trace of their existence in the blood red edges of my eyes.

  I don’t even realize I’ve parked in the back of George’s, at the staff entrance, until Jamie is banging on my window trying to get my attention and yanking at the door handle as he yells for me to unlock my door.

  My entire world slips away after that moment. I cease to exist until waking on what I can only assume to be the day following the worst day of my life. Although if I’m honest, I only wish years have passed and the memories of a time that feel so near will actually be far in my past.

  Surrounded by floral pillows on the large antique bed, I’m in a room I’ve spent a few nights in over the years. In a house encased with so much love and people who understand the true meaning of love in a way I never will.

  Practice today was better. Maybe it helped that I had breakfast with Scott and Coach. I felt better after facing the demons hanging over my head from yesterday. Not that I’m admitting what I did was wrong in any way. Bobby deserved what he got, but I didn’t handle it well. I could have killed him, and had I actually surrendered to the urge and delivered the blow to his face, I would have fucked up my throwing hand and been done for the season. I definitely wouldn’t be a top-five prospect with a fucked-up hand.

  When I got to the field, I manned up to the asshole. Bobby and I have always been cool, and I’m used to his sarcasm and barbs. Hell, most of the time, I’m laughing right along with everyone. Yesterday was just all wrong from the start, and he went too far, but he realizes that now and even apologized. I think we’re good now after both accepting our part in the chaos, even though I reminded him my instruction stands. Don’t fucking speak her name.

  I have some time to kill before meeting Charlie for the party at Children’s Hospital, but not enough time to run home, shower, and dress, so I brought my clothes to do that here. I told Scott and Coach what I was doing tonight, and Coach told me he’d have someone put together a box of shirts and hats signed by the team to take with me. True to his word, the giant box is right in front of my locker.

  Charlie’s already there. She wanted to be there extra early to set up and decorate, excited to make everything extra special for her little friend. I didn’t realize how close she was to the Taylor family, but she might as well be the third sister.

  The whole family was there this morning, and while I sat at a table waiting for my crew, I endured an inquisition from the family. I felt like I was standing trial, but in the end, it was peachy fucking fine as long as I didn’t hurt her. EVER. They reinforced that numerous times. I got the message and agreed, but not because what they said mattered. I’d never want to be the one to break her. I’m trying to put her back together.

  I grab my gym bag pulling my phone from the pocket to check my texts as I walk. On the screen is a notification alert with the photo of the two of us from the fair and her title, Buttercup. I smile, happy that in the craziness of her day, she made time to text me.

  I stumble, dropping my bag to the floor and catching myself on the wall when I see the message, which is no message at all. It’s just a screenshot of her phone, a message to her from Mommy Fucking Dearest. I read, then reread, then reread it again. I can’t open the link to read the article. I have no fucking clue what’s happening, but I gotta figure shit out quick.

  Running down the hall, I burst through Coach’s office door.

  “I need a fucking computer, right now, Coach.” Reaching over him to the desktop, I punch the keys with force trying to get it out of sleep mode. When it comes to life, there’s a security box for a password. “Fuck, Coach. Get me in. Get me in now,” I demand, completely freaking out.

  “Ty, what the hell is going on?” he asks while pressing the keys to unlock the system. Seeing my urgency, he stands and lets me take the seat. The Internet opens to a search engine, and instead of searching the name of the actual paper, I type in my name and press enter. And there it is, over and over on page one. I open the article and read, as Coach stands close beside me reading over my shoulder.

  I look at my phone again and read the message full of toxins and lies from her mother. The article, although slightly twisted with the headline, doesn’t correlate with her mother’s text to her. I see no mention of our private bedroom activities anywhere, as I search pages and pages of entries tied to my name.

&nbs
p; More importantly, I’ve told no one about the magnitude of our relationship. No-FUCKING-body.

  I sit back in the chair, my hands fisting my hair. What the hell? I need to figure this out. I need to talk to Charlotte right now. I pick up the phone and dial her number. It goes straight to voicemail. I dial again and again and again. Nothing.

  Coach moves to the door of the office and closes it, before lowering the shade to give us some privacy. He comes around the side of the desk and sits on the edge, next to the chair, placing his hand on my shoulder. He doesn’t speak. He’s a smart man, and I know he’s put the puzzle together after reading the evidence on my phone and seeing the article.

  “I need a plan. I have to find her. I have to explain and tell her it’s all lies.” It’s the truth, but the bigger truth I know is there’s no way Charlie is at the hospital right now. No one would be okay enough to function after getting a text like that. She’s gotta be at home. She’s probably a wreck, and I need to help her. I want to be there. Hell, I want to fucking tell her she can have my name to make up for her parents’ hateful attempts to make her feel like her existence has discredited theirs.

  Charlotte can be a Stone. She’s mine anyway. In almost a month, she’s turned my world upside down. I’d give up a lot to keep her walking in my little world. I’ll give her anything to make this better, my name being the first of many things she deserves.

  “I need to go to her, Coach.” I stand, and he does the same grabbing his keys off the desk.

  “I’m driving,” he tells me leaving no room for debate, but I don’t have that fight in me anyway. We leave the room quick with Coach ordering one of the assistants to lock up as we pass them down the hall. I don’t care who he speaks to in my trancelike state, as my gaze never leaves the cement. I don’t waste time bothering to get my things either.

  Leaving the sorority house, I still have no information. Morgan claimed to have no idea where Charlie was and has spent the day searching as well after hearing the news from her family that The Baker’s had had a falling out with Charlotte. A falling out? Interesting assessment but no comparison to the reality.

  I’m not sure that Morgan was truthful, but I interrogated her for forty minutes from every angle. I tried being nice, and when that didn’t earn a confession any different from what she’d already said, I was an asshole. Still nothing.

  I tell Coach to go to my house. I didn’t even consider it before, but since she’s not at her place, it’s worth a shot. The drive is short, and I find myself whispering a prayer that she’s there or at the very least has left a message of her whereabouts.

  When we pull up and her car isn’t there, I lose hope. I jump out of the car and run to the door, turning the handle to find it unlocked. I call out to her immediately, but the gloom of emptiness is evident. I run up the stairs to the bedroom and see the condition of the room.

  The comforter is hanging off the bed as if it were jerked off. One pillow is on the floor; the other is at the foot of the bed. The cord to her phone is still plugged into the wall. One of the flesh-colored heels she was wearing last night is peeking out from the corner of the bedframe. In the bathroom, her hairbrush is on the floor along with a tube of the shiny lip shit she wears. Behind the door are the panties she was wearing the night before that I peeled off her body as she sat on the edge of the counter. I had pleasured her body with my mouth trying to convince her that showers together were so much better.

  Not only is she not here, but she also left in a hurry, and my gut tells me she’s not coming back for the stuff she left behind. But where the fuck is she?

  I race down the stairs to the kitchen counter where I left the note with the key. I need to see if she took the key I told her I left. When I see the shiny reflection as I turn the corner from the stairs, I realize not only did she not take the key, but she also didn’t read my note or take the treat I left for her. There’s no way she’d have left that behind. I grab the note, key, and gourmet caramel apple I bought on the way to the party last night and walk out the door. I start to use HER key to lock the door then change my mind wanting the house to be open just in case she comes back.

  I get in the car, and Coach looks at the shit in my lap in question. “I left it for her this morning before I left. She didn’t take it.”

  “Son, I don’t know your girl, so I don’t know where to try next. You want to keep searching or are you ready to wait it out?” I glare at his words.

  “I’m not fucking giving up. I’ll never stop looking. I can’t imagine she’s there, but let’s try the hospital. After that, I’ll drive to every hotel within a two-hundred-mile radius and check for her car.” He nods and silently drives while the murmurs of a country radio station play in the background.

  How long does it take him to go inside and ask a few questions to see if either Charlie is there or anyone knows where she is? I wanted to go in, but I’m a mess, and Coach demanded I sit and wait this time. There are sick kids in there, and I’m hanging on by a thread. He knew handling the delicate situation in that environment was out of my capability right now, and I agreed. But it’s been twenty damn minutes.

  The doors to the hospital slide open and I see him walk out. I jump out of the car to pepper him with questions before he’s even twenty-five yards away.

  “Is she there? Does anyone know where she is? Do they know if she’s okay?”

  “Get in the car, Ty. We’ll talk on the way.” With that, I don’t argue.

  As soon as he’s in, he belts himself in the seat and backs out of the space in the lot. “She’s hurting, bad. She’s safe. I know where she is, and I’m going to tell you with the understanding you can’t go to her. That wasn’t an option, and even though I begged on your behalf for that to be accepted, his verbatim words were, ‘I told him I’d kill him if he hurt her. If he shows up on my parents’ steps, I won’t get the honor because my dad will do it for me.’ So now you wait or keep trying to reach her by phone.”

  He doesn’t need to tell me where she is. Jamie Taylor said those very words to me just this morning. Charlotte is in protective custody under the watch of George and Sue Taylor. There’s not a doubt in my mind that George would shoot me if I drove up, either. I also know that I should watch my back because Jamie will be on a manhunt. Tonight was a special time for his little girl, so I gained a reprieve, but it won’t last. Tomorrow is a new day.

  It’s been five days since the world collapsed around me. Hiding here wasn’t an offer given or invitation accepted, but I don’t want to be anywhere else. I made the fleeting comment last night at the family dinner that they’ve made it such a perfect rescue haven that I may never leave. George huffed, puffing out his chest like the king of the castle before stating with no option to argue, “Ha. That’s good because you won’t be.” To which Sue, Mary, Debbie, Trace, and Jamie all agreed without question. I knew they were serious, and I can think of no other place I’d want to be than surrounded by these people, but I have a life, and I need to get back to it.

  It’s Sunday, and I’ve skipped all my obligations over the past few days and hunkered down in hiding not talking to anyone. It even took me a couple of days to respond to Morgan’s calls and messages. I took the passive path and texted instead of actually calling, letting her know where I was and that I was safe, and I’d be home in a few days.

  Well, today is the day. I’m not sure I’m ready to face the circumstances of my new world, but I have to do it eventually. Breaking the news to the Taylor family was tough, but they understood. I was on the receiving end of my very first father/daughter lecture from George. Every Saturday night is family dinner, and he expects me to make every attempt to be present. In addition to that, I’m to check in with calls, not texts, to the family members regularly. He said every day at first, and it took some negotiating to get to regularly. And I’m to come to the restaurant or here at home more often to eat since Sue is convinced I’m wasting away and needs to make sure I’m properly nourished.

 
I’ve been adopted and welcomed into a family I’ve been a part of for a while but in a much bigger way. Even if it’s not real or legal, the love they share with me is genuine. My heart isn’t healed. I don’t think it ever will be, but I’m not alone in the world; that much is clear. I have people to love, who reciprocate the feeling. It means a lot to me. I just hope that one day it fills me because the hollow echo vibrating inside me right now feels permanent.

  “Oh, my God. I was so worried. I’m so glad you’re home,” Morgan says, jumping from her bed when I walk into the room. I attempt a smile that feels like a betrayal to my broken soul, but I do it anyway. Head up. Stay Strong. Fake a smile. Move on.

  I drop my things and allow her to engulf me in the tight squeeze and try to reciprocate, wrapping my arms around her shoulder and softly patting. This isn’t her fault, and I’m not upset with her, but it’s hard because she’s the one connection I still have to my mother and father. She’s a connection to the world I’ve hated all my life but endured out of duty only to be judged, mistreated, and ultimately abandoned at a time when the loss I was feeling was so much greater than them.

  “I’m back,” I say, trying to fabricate cheer. It doesn’t work. The sound is as flat as I feel.

  “I’m so glad you’re home. Can we talk? Are you okay? I don’t even know all that happened; only the vague story that my mom told me and the little Tyler knew when he was searching for you and came here.”

  At the mention of his name, I want to fall apart. I want to crawl back to my rescue heaven and admit they were right; I should never have left. But I won’t. I won’t crawl into a ball pretending the world doesn’t exist. I won’t hide, holding my breath to wait for the next tragedy to fall into my lap. I won’t give up.