Jersey Girl (Sticks & Hearts #1)

by Rhonda James

  "Fuck, no. I'd still take the shot," I say with certainty. There's no doubt in my mind. Not because of what went down between us, but because of our love of the game. It's what we'd both expect of each other.

  "Why, Brantley? Why would you still take that shot?"

  "Because, I'd be a fucktard for passing up that opportunity. And because he'd expect nothing less of me."

  "Good answer." He gives me a pat me on the shoulder and goes back to his chair. He doesn't say anything else, so I assume the analogy lesson is over and I passed. I get up and head for the door when his voice stops me. "Cage?"

  "Yeah?" I turn my head and look at him over my shoulder.

  "You do realize that in both of those analogies Cassie was the goal. Right?"

  I think about it for a minute then scrub my hand down my face. "I do now."

  "Right. I just have one more question. Why aren't you taking the shot?"

  Good question.

  I don't answer. Mainly because I can't right now. But he did give me something to think about.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CASSIE

  "I'm making cookies," mom announces, pulling the mixer and her favorite bowl from the cabinet. "Wanna help?"

  "Sure," I shrug and continue to bounce my heel off the cabinet door.

  "Okay, first things first, grab a carton of eggs and two sticks of butter from the fridge."

  "I think by help you mean be your gopher," I tease, then jump down from my perch atop the counter and retrieve the items. While I'm there, I snag a slice of cold pizza leftover from last night's dinner.

  "Which cookies are you making this year?" I lean on the counter beside her and take a giant bite.

  "White chocolate with macadamias, of course," she answers over the whirl of the mixer.

  I smile, appreciating her efforts to try and cheer me up.

  "I know what my baby girl likes." Her right eye closes in what's supposed to be a wink but ends up looking more like a nervous twitch.

  With a mouth full of pizza, I reach over and pat her on the arm, "Pfhank ewe."

  Her eyes roll to the ceiling. "Sweetie, it's not ladylike to talk with your mouth full."

  "It's also not ladylike to say fuck, but you say it all the time," I remind her.

  "That's just splitting hairs," she argues as I pop the last bite in my mouth, "and it's not even a fair comparison. There will always be a time where fuck is the only word that fits. Talking with your mouth full of pizza is just—"

  "Gross," Scott finishes, coming up behind her and placing a kiss on her cheek. "Morning," he says to both of us. Mom smiles and returns the greeting. I, however, do neither.

  "Scott, we were just making cookies. Would you like to help us? It'll be just like old times." She gives him a smile that reads you're making cookies whether you like it or not and hands him the mixer.

  "What the hell. Sounds like fun. Cass, remember that time we—"

  "You know what? I've suddenly lost my appetite for cookies. If you'll excuse me," I brush past them, not missing the defeated look on my mother's face as I grab my coat and walk out the back door.

  I grew up on a dead-end street, which was great when we were kids. We would ride bikes and rollerblade for hours on end. During the summer months, dad would set up two nets, and before you knew it, there would be a crowd of neighborhood kids playing an impromptu game of roller hockey that would last long past the streetlights coming on. I liked the idea of having friends around if I wanted to go out, but oftentimes I just wanted quiet. Our house was always loud, full of people and a hockey game on television. I used to sneak down to the pond at the end of the street and sit for hours, reading or writing music. It was always so peaceful. Over time, it became my sanctuary.

  I guess that's why my feet brought me here now. I'd left the house just to avoid Scott. We've been home for three days, and I have yet to have a conversation with him, but that hasn't stopped him from trying to corner me. Mom told us we need to sit down and air our grievances, while dad told her to let it be and leave our grievances to work themselves out. To be honest, I don't know how I feel about it.

  It's easy for me to place all the blame on Scott, but it probably isn't fair. It hadn't been his fault I'd run from heartbreak in Minnesota and ended up at Great Lakes just to be closer to him. How could I really fault him for not realizing that sometimes a girl just needs her big brother? I mean, I'd never actually told him, so how could he have known?

  But Brantley knew. That day in the diner, he'd listened as I poured my heart out, and he'd remembered. To be honest, that's probably why he'd been so protective of me early on. He knew I needed someone to look out for me, and he knew Scott had been too preoccupied to notice.

  There was something about what Scott said that hadn't sat well with me. Actually, none of it had, but one thing in particular kept niggling away at my brain.

  Brantley is a really great guy. He's smart, thoughtful, supportive. He's kind and gentle with me. Unlike Justin, not once has he ever laid a hand on me in anger. But above all else, he was a loyal friend. If you take all of those qualities and match them with what Scott said, things just didn't add up. Why wouldn't Brantley be good enough for me?

  I was so lost in my own head I failed to hear the footsteps behind me. I guess that's why I react the way I do when he speaks.

  "I thought I'd find you here." Every muscle in my body stiffens at the sound of Justin's voice. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

  I spin around so fast he doesn't have time to react to my open hand until it connects with his cheek, and the resulting smack echoes around us.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he screams, clutching his face as if I've drawn blood.

  If only.

  "Me? You've got some nerve showing up here as if I owe you something. I owe you jack shit!" My nostrils flare as I stand toe-to-toe with the man I once trusted with my heart.

  What a fool I'd been. But no more.

  "Oh, I get what this is. It's about him, right? Cage is a fucking loser. I know his type. He'll talk sweet. Say anything to get you in bed. He'll fuck you a while before he grows tired of you and decides to stick it somewhere else." He's seething with rage. Spittle gathers on either side of his mouth and it's started to foam. The effect it has reminds me of a rabid dog.

  "Sounds to me like you've just described yourself. Or have you forgotten you were once the sweet talker who fucked me over." My eyes narrow, daring him to deny it.

  "You fucking bitch!" He grabs me by the arm, jerking so hard it feels as if it's been pulled out of its socket. "You think you can replace me with him? I've got news for you, sweetheart. You'll never find someone who'll treat you as well as I did."

  I choke out a laugh, suddenly feeling fearless in his presence. "God, I hope not. You were the worst kind of asshole. Brantley is two hundred times the man you'll ever be."

  "Be careful, Cassie. You don't want to say anything you may regret later. You know, I could fuck you right here and no one would ever know." His mouth is so close his breath heats my skin. "How do you think pretty boy would feel about that?"

  "Just try and fuck me, and you're going to find out. He'll fucking kill you," I spit in his face.

  Spit slides down his cheek as he throws his head back in laughter. "Oh, yeah, well Cage isn't here now, is he?"

  "No, but I am. Take your fucking hands off her, Fairfax," Scott's booming voice thunders clear across the pond, and the next thing I know, Justin is lifted off the ground and thrown a good ten feet. Justin, being the stubborn ass he is, tries to pull himself up, but the heel of Scott's Timberland pushes him back to the ground. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stay down."

  "Cassie," he turns to me, "was this the first time he's laid a hand on you?" My eyes dart to Justin's, and his go wide with fear, pleading with me to cover his sorry ass. I look back to my brother, all two hundred and ten pounds of him, and shake my head no.

  Normally, I'm not a violent person, being non-confrontatio
nal and all. But there are times when I'm willing to make an exception. For two years, I allowed Justin to control me, mentally and physically. Though most of the beatings I took were of a verbal nature, there were several occasions when Justin's temper would get the better of him and he would yank me by the arm, like today. There were even times when he would get mad and initiate sex just so he could hit me and later claim it was because he'd been caught up in the moment. But I knew better, and the bruises on my ass and legs would take weeks to fade.

  So, when Scotty responds to my admission of Justin's little secret by beating the shit out of him, I don't so much as flinch. Bastard had it coming. Every punch he absorbs is a silent victory for not only me, but also for Brantley. He too had been an unsuspecting victim of Justin's twisted jealousy. And when Justin rolls over and cries like a baby, his sobs are sweet music to my ears.

  ***

  My fingers skim the smooth finish of the baby grand that sits proudly in the center of the room, making it the focal point of the music studio dad built for me as a surprise for my sixteenth birthday. My thumb settles on middle C, and I finger out a scale. One key at a time. The last time I was in this room, Brantley had been with me. It was Thanksgiving evening, after we'd left the Mendoza's party. I'd brought him back here and we made love on this very piano bench.

  My hand runs over the hot pink material. My mother's contribution to the room. She's all too familiar with my obsession of all things pink. Now, this cushion holds a lot more sentimental value.

  That night when we kissed, things had felt different between us. I can't explain it except to say nothing felt rushed. Gone was the urgency to tear each other's clothes off and get busy. We kissed slowly. We explored each other with our hands. And when he finally claimed me he did it at a painstakingly slow pace that left every part of my body doing its own victory dance.

  Through no direction of my own, my fingers find their place on the keys, and soon I'm playing the first song I ever played for him. The one I sang on his bedroom floor when he'd almost kissed me. I don't even realize I'm singing until I'm on the second chorus and tears are streaming down my face.

  Come back to me, I'm begging you darlin'

  Come back to me, I'll believe in you this time.

  The bed's too big without you, don't leave me alone tonight.

  Come back to me, I'll make everything alright.

  Come back to me, I'll make everything alright.

  "You have a beautiful voice," Scott says quietly, trying not to startle me. "Have I ever told you that?"

  He makes his way into the room, stops at the end of the piano, and watches me with a wary eye.

  Even though he came to my rescue today, we still haven't addressed the elephant in the room. But I have a feeling we're about to.

  "No. You never have."

  His eyes soften, and it looks as though he may start crying. My first thought is I can't recall a time I've ever seen him cry. Then, I remember the day years ago when I'd broken my arm. Scott and his buddies had been rollerblading at the school, daring each other to perform stunts while not wearing any protective gear. As usual, I'd followed him and wanted to join in. Scott tried to make me go back home, but I'd stubbornly refused. I wanted to impress him. The first few stunts I was challenged with had been simple, and when I'd successfully completed each one, his face would light up. All was going well, until Travis Burke dared me to jump two flights of stairs then ride the railing on the last set. Watch and learn, I'd told him. As I skated my warm-up, Scotty had pulled me aside and told me I didn't need to go through with the stunt. I just gave him a wink and jokingly told him to have a stretcher ready, just in case. I cleared the first set of steps with ease, landing and tucking my knees back up for the second set. I'd executed the second landing perfectly, but when my wheels hit the railing, I hadn't accounted for the two-inch thick wad of gum that had been stuck to the metal. When the side of my wheels met the hardened obstacle, it caused me to flip two times in the air before I landed on the railing and rolled lifelessly to the ground.

  Scotty had picked me up and run two miles, barefoot, holding me close and crying the entire way. He'd blamed himself for that break and spent the next six weeks hovering over me. He'd even put his artistic abilities to good use on my cast look to make it look as if I had a sleeve tattoo. I was only fourteen at the time. I guess in his own way he's been looking out for me ever since.

  "I've been a shitty big brother." He heaves a sigh and motions to the other half of the bench. He doesn't sit until I nod my okay.

  "I wouldn't say shitty. You've had your moments." I nudge him with my shoulder, and he gives me a gentle nudge back.

  "Why didn't you tell me Justin was hurting you?"

  "I don't know. You were already in Michigan and we'd sorta lost touch. I'd always looked up to you. It was hard for me to admit the first adult decision I'd made had been a poor one."

  "God, when the hell did I turn into such a prick?" He drags one finger across the piano keys.

  "You really want me to answer that?" I give him a look.

  "No," he says quietly. "That song you were just playing, does it have anything to do with Cage?"

  "If I say yes, will you start yelling at me again? Tell me what a horrible person he is and how he's not good enough?"

  Regret fills his face when our eyes meet, but I'm not quite finished.

  "Do you remember the morning when you introduced me to Brantley?" The sounds of C, D, and E ring quietly in the background as my fingers fidget over the keys. "That day you told me Brantley was the best friend you ever had. You called him loyal and said that no matter what, you knew he'd always have your back. You even said you trusted him."

  "You're right. I did say those things."

  "What I'm having trouble understanding is how you can say all of those wonderful things about him one minute, then turn around and spew horrible things about him the next. You stood in front of both of us and told me he wasn't good enough for me." I twist on the seat to face him, "Why would you say that?"

  "It's complicated, Cass," his fingers run through his hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions.

  "So, un-complicate it for me, Scotty." I fold my arms across my chest and wait.

  "Well, first off, there was a bro code that he not only broke, he fucking obliterated it."

  I open my mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a frustrated scream. With both my hands I give him a hard shove to the chest, knocking him back a ways on the bench.

  "I'm so fucking sick of hearing about that goddamn code! It's just a stupid set of rules used to try and dictate people's actions. How dare you think you have the right to tell Brantley, or me, who we can or cannot fuck."

  "Cassie, come on. Don't use that word."

  "Seriously? What did you think we were doing when we spent all that time together? Frankly, I don't give a rat's ass if it makes you uncomfortable. I fucked Brantley Cage. Yeah, I said it. I fucked him and I liked it. Hell, I liked it so much I went and fell in love with him. And he fell in love with me. And everything was great until you swooped in on your proverbial high horse and fucked us both. Well, Scotty, all I can say is, no, thank you very fucking much!"

  I push myself off the bench and start to leave, but I'm stopped in my tracks by a giant arm circling my waist.

  "Everything spiraled out of control that night. First Ashley, then that call. I lost my head. I don't know what else to say. There were times when I suspected maybe something was going on. That night we went to the movies and he just showed up out of the blue. That day he chased you out of the house when you caught him in bed with Natasha. Then you brought him home for Thanksgiving. By the way, did mom and dad have any clue you two were dating then?"

  "Maybe a small clue," I smile sheepishly. "If it makes you feel any better, we didn't sleep together until the weekend of my recital. In Brantley's defense, he tried really hard to respect your wishes."

  "Oh, I'll bet he did," he scoffs.

  "No
, really. That first night I stayed at your apartment, I woke up to find him in bed with me. He had no idea who I was when I threw myself at him, but once he found out, he couldn't get away fast enough. He kept going on about how you were going to kill him if you found out. After that first kiss, he really didn't stand a chance. I'd already set my sights on him and was determined to make him notice me. Once we started spending time together, we both knew we'd found something special."

  He reaches up to take hold of my hand and pulls me back down on the bench. I gently stroke the bruise on his jaw.

  "I'm sorry I lied to you. But you once said that you trusted him more than anyone else. If you truly love me, then shouldn't he be the man you trust to take care of me? He is what's best for me. And you're just going to have to accept we're in love."

  "I know that. But it's not easy. To me, you'll always be the little girl who looked up to me and wanted to do everything I was doing."

  "I'll always look up to you. You're my big brother and I love you. And right now, I need my big brother's support." He gives my hand a small squeeze. "Scotty, I really love him."

  "Cassie, I know deep down that Cage will never hurt you. He'll be faithful, and I know without a doubt he'd risk his life to protect you. That's the Brantley I know and love."

  "Thank you for saying that. It means a lot. But I know someone who needs to hear that more than I do. Promise me you'll talk to him."

  "It's a promise."

  "So, just like that, you and Ashley are over? Is that really what you wanted?" Now that our grievances have been aired, I feel it's time I start showing my support. After all, it feels as if our relationship just rounded the corner into adulthood. I'm hoping this is a promise of things to come between us.