by Tara Lynn
She wanted to support me? Then she could remember who I was. Who we'd been. Just a flash of it would be enough to carry with me, as the future descended.
The stadium doors opened just past the sidewalk. Families started trickling out.
Eliza jerked away.
“I’ll see you later,” she said.
She clipped away into the lot towards that crappy car she rode. I sank back over my bike. I didn't know where I was headed now. I didn't want to run anymore.
But the only destination I had in mind was moving further away with each step.
“Hey,” her voice rang out.
I snapped to her, standing in the next puddle of light over.
“You were amazing in there,” she said. “They all loved you.”
Warmth flooded me, more than a million people chanting my name could ever incur. “Thanks.”
“It's too bad you can't keep playing.”
She stood there a second, then turned and hurried off.
I gripped my handle bars and stood thinking over my bike. Yeah, it was too bad alright.
Too fucking bad about a lot of things.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eliza
The wedding took place in the small church by our high school. The reception was held in a small part of the field across. The varsity lacrosse team was practicing on the other half of the field.
I decided to hang back in the church with a plastic cup of wine. It wasn't embarrassment. Well, ok not mostly embarrassment. But Rett was there on the field with one of his gang buddies, and I wanted to keep my distance.
Ever since that night I'd talked to him after his football game, I'd been giving him more and more permission to enter my thoughts. The memories didn’t just come flooding back as I went to sleep anymore. Everything in school held a piece of our past.
My locker where he used to meet me. The table where we used to have lunch. The newspaper office where he would sit and watch me draw. I could shut my eyes and catch a movie of us, most any time of day.
It didn't help that he was at home often and earlier now with game season over. We had honest-to-god family dinners, with Mom and Ronald and Rett and me sitting with each other a couple times a week over meatloaf or mac and cheese. Both halves of our new family seemed accustomed to silence, but our table wasn't big. Even silence felt intimate.
Or maybe that was me projecting again.
Maybe that's what I'd been wishing when I went to his game, to know that some part of him still cared, still wanted me in the same way he had years ago. It was wrong. It could destroy both of us. But I’d seen so much of him on the field that night. There had to be more of him in there. And there was. The light in the empty parking lot had caught his face and made the darkness itself into something beautiful.
But nothing had happened. No hug, no cheek kiss. Certainly not any of the other thoughts that had been dancing through my brain with alarming frequency since New Year's Eve.
Maybe it was just normal readjustment. After all, Rett was the only boyfriend I ever had. We had dated for just a year back in the beginning of high school, and it had passed like magic. Ever inch of us seemed built for each other: growing up with useless parents, our desire to get out, even the sort of things we wanted to do in the world.
He wanted to build companies that made the world better, and I wanted to give it beauty as an artist. We both had the grades to get out - mine above his, sure, but he was no dumb jock. He wasn't even first string on the varsity team yet. He was already tall and lean and muscled, but he was humble and honest. And hot. Even then, every girl wanted him, but he had only eyes for me.
And then he shattered my heart so completely that it stood out even against all the darkness in my life. That usually shut down the train of memories.
At night, though, different thoughts would come back. The sight of his face over me, dipping down. The feel of his muscles bare and bulging, pressed against me. The feel of his lips moving down my skin, lower and hotter.
I fought it the first few times, but the surrender was so much sweeter. When I saw him the next morning, I couldn’t meet his eyes.
I spotted Rett now, across the street. He steadied himself against the drink table, whispering sparse words to his buddy. Marlo or whoever he was doubled over laughing at something. Rett raised an eyebrow at him and took a deep swill of his plastic cup. His bare throat, rolled and rolled again as he swallowed, the apple bobbing. The rhythmic smoothness sent warm feelings up my spine.
I shut my eyes to keep my memory away, but it was too late. I saw him bent below me, his mouth perched between my legs, eyes shut in content as he took me in.
What the hell was wrong with me? It wasn’t even nighttime, and, god, I was in a church.
My sight led me the wrong way. My imagination was even worse. Where could I find escape from myself?
I took another gulp from my cup and went in towards the chapel. The half-dozen pews lay completely empty. Even the minister was across the street, cherishing the union he had brought.
I walked up to the altar and sat in the pew before it. Everett Tull was officially my brother now. I had to remember that, if I could remember nothing else. Rett had sat across the aisle and we had watched our parents say the words.
Loving wasn't a small town, but word got around fast, and people took family seriously – mostly cause they had little else. If folks had any idea about the sort of thoughts going through my head, everything I’d done these past few years would crumble. I might not be chased out of town, but having them seeing me for my true messed-up self would be far worse. My whole messed up past might just come out. I’d have nowhere left to hide from the world.
I rubbed my forehead. This wine was giving me a headache. Why did people drink? It didn't remove my thoughts. It just made the truth fuzzy and dangerous.
The door creaked open behind me.
I glanced back and saw a lean, tall shadow dark against the glowing exterior. Oh no, why was he back in here?
Rett took a step up the aisle. I curled up behind my pew like a baby. It was stupid. The wine was not making me smarter.
His footsteps stopped before me, and I opened my eyes to find him peering down.
“What are you doing by yourself?” he asked.
“Oh, hey,” I said casually, as if he'd just caught me napping on the couch.
His copper eyes landed on my empty plastic cup. He smirked, the long, sharp features of his face, becoming boyish for an instant.
“Having your own party huh?”
“Hah. That's only my second time drinking alcohol ever.”
He looked on at me, and my cheeks felt flush. Why on earth did he need to know that? As if it wasn't completely obvious anyway.
“Well, better your mom's wedding than at some frat party once you get to college.”
“Why's that?”
He cocked his head curiously. “It wouldn’t be me finding you.”
“Oh, yeah.” My entire body felt red now.
“Unless, that's what you want, of course.”
“I don't want to be some frat guy's weekend trophy.”
He smiled. “Didn't think you would.”
Chapels seemed to be built for silence, cause a hard one fell over us. Rett glanced up at the altar. He had on his football jacket still, the one that fit snuggly over all his bulging muscle. It wasn't a surprise that he hadn't dressed up – even I'd only thrown on a dark summer dress and shawl in protest.
But his friend was in his MC jacket, and Rett’s season was done. Why was he still dressed for a part of his life he claimed to be done with?
Rett sighed and sat down across the aisle. We were both in the same spots as this morning.
“You feel anything different between us?” he said.
My heart fluttered. Had he noticed me watching him?
“What do you mean?” I said as calm as I could.
“We're related now. Does that make any sense to you here?”
He pounded over his heart with a fist. His chest sounded solid.
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, I'm just flooded with this radiant warmth for my new father and brother.”
“Doesn't have to be warmth,” he said. “Some families get around on hate. But they generally feel something.”
I started to protest, but then it hit. “Are you feeling something?”
“No. Nothing at all.”
It was exactly what I'd have answered, but it didn't stop my breath from caving in. “Oh,” I said.
“I mean nothing different,” he said. “I still meant what I said before. I want you to get what you deserve. I want you to be safe. I want...”
He glanced over at me. My mind was already spinning with the words, but his look was even beyond that. The harshness had left his face altogether, leaving only a strange sadness, and beyond that a glint of hunger.
I wanted to know how that sentence ended. It ached inside me. “You always did try to keep me safe.”
“I did,” he said. “I do. I know how it went down back then, but I… I was trying to protect you.”
We’d never come closer to talking about what actually happened, and yet none of the anger came boiling up. It started, but it was a far away thing, that I could just let go. Maybe it was the booze in me, or in him, or maybe all the heat had burned out.
“Protect me how?” I said.
“By keeping you from me. Even when I wanted nothing more than to hold you close.”
Air escaped my lips. How much had he had to drink? Drinks only unleashed what was already inside though. He must have been fighting this all along – same as me.
A new heat invaded me. It was far more lush, prickly with sensation. I turned away, but it wasn’t from embarrassment.
“I didn't mean anything by that, Liza,” he said. “I'm just thinking out loud. Shit, maybe this stuff is strong.”
“I thought you were used to drinking.”
“Not wine. Different booze has slightly different effects.”
I looked back. His face looked more gorgeous than ever. His sharp powerful nose, his axehead of a jaw, those hard cheeklines – they all pointed like arrows at his delicious mouth, that firm flush line of his lips, just across the aisle.
“You’re just being honest aren’t you?” I said. “You're treating me the same way you treat the other girls.”
“I'd never fucking treat you like another girl.”
A harsh certainty had entered his voice. Did he think I was angry? I wasn't. Why was he so determined to fight himself? It was ok, he looked hotter the more ferocious he got.
Dimly, it occurred to me that maybe alcohol was having some effect on me, but I couldn't stop staring.
“So I'm still special to you?”
He sighed like a much older man. “You never stopped being special.”
“So you still think about me?” There was a hoarseness to my voice. I liked it.
He glanced up, puzzled. His eyes widened. He finally got it.
“I should go,” he said. “Air's too stuffy in here anyway. Hard to think straight.”
He stood. I shot up right after him.
Ok, I was way more drunk than I thought. My move was about ninety percent will and ten percent coordination. I tripped over the hand-rest and fell for the carpet.
His hands cupped my shoulders and stopped my fall. He spun me upright, and I stood there, swaying in his grip.
“How are you so goddamn innocent after everything?” he said softly.
Or something like that. His lips danced so close to me.
“I’m not,” I said.
I leaned up and kissed him. He tasted sweet, like mint and wine. His mouth was just as firm and soft as I imagined, even as it lay still against mine. I rolled my lips against his, urging him to life, and they responded.
His hands fell to my waist and he tugged me tight to him. He tilted his face, pressed his mouth harder against mine. His tongue flicked my lips. I sighed against him, inhaling his scent.
This was what I wanted that night at the stadium, us curled into each other for as far as the future could see.
His hand curved deeper, gripped me by the small of my back. A thrill ran up my spine. His touch felt so familiar.
I was still his wasn't it? I hadn't given my body to anyone else, so it was still his.
I felt dizzy.
And then I felt really dizzy. I slipped into the crook of his neck. His hands cupped my rear more urgently, tugged me to my feet. I couldn't be there otherwise.
“Liza?” he boomed in my ear.
It felt like a hot wind smothering me. My eyes couldn't stay open. I sank deeper into his grip. He was calling my name again, but my ears had shut too, and my brain was following.
It had time for one last thought: You idiot, what did you do?
But I felt no panic.
All I could think before I blacked out was: Exactly what I wanted all along.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Everett
Six months on my bike and cars already felt like cages. Liza's dinky old sedan didn’t help, rattling with every press on the gas. The best part of the MC was the feel of the chopper engines thrumming under me, riding down an empty stretch of asphalt. Better yet with the arms of a girl wound around my waist, like I was the only thing worth holding onto.
Liza’s hands would have felt like salvation wrapped around me, but right now she was keeled over in the passenger seat. Her hair rustled from the air passing the window. I couldn't take her home on my bike. She'd have to give me a ride back to pick it up tomorrow.
That's the sort of thing family did for each other. Not lock tongues with them in a church.
Jesus. As far as I’d fallen, that was a new depth of depravity.
So why on earth did it feel so goddamn right?
I glanced over and watched her lush form jostle with the car, her head lolling my way. Her long, soft face looked at peace and her lips lay open in a silent question. I stared at the thin space they formed. My jeans grew tight.
Fuck. What was wrong with me? And what the hell was wrong with her?
Fine, there was the alcohol. But that only led to bad choices. It didn't make a girl throw herself at a guy she didn't want.
My breath stopped working at the thought. Was the answer that obvious? Or did my mind just perch on the one thing I goddamn desired?
I gripped the wheel tighter. So she was into me. Well, why not, every other girl was. That didn't mean she wouldn't wake up pissed about what she’d done.
She murmured something useless, still sound asleep. The crisp summer dress she had on was too dark for the weather even in the brushlands of Texas, but god did that dark cloth look like a wrapper, with her cream white body leaking out the top and bottom.
A kiss, a nuzzle of her nose on my neck, and my hands had slipped into the familiar places so easily. I'd spent years building that moat between us, and hell, she'd helped. In thirty seconds, we'd buried it. But if we tried to cross, it’d be quicksand. We'd just both get sucked down. Even if I didn’t mind sullying my name, I wasn't about to let her.
I stopped at a light. A cop car stopped in the next lane. The grey-whiskered officer took a glance, then a doubletake. His window rolled down.
“Afternoon to you, Tull,” he said. “Where you headed?”
“Home.”
“And, uh, your friend. Is she alright?” His lined face grew wearier.
“This is my stepsister,” I said. “She had a bit too much at the reception. I’m taking her back now.”
He peered around. “Ah so it is.” Obvious relief lit his face. “Is it official then? Your parents are hitched.”
That was not the thought I needed bouncing around. “Yeah, it’s done,” I said. “We good here?”
“Oh, sure, sure. Just checking in. You have a good day now.”
The light changed and he sped off before I even started moving. Like he would have tested me if I told her she was drugged and I was going to
tear her up.
This whole goddamn town was a pile of quicksand. If you were lucky, you had one shot to get out before it sucked you in. Liza had her brain, and so did that one girl she spent all her time with. I could have used my brawn. No scout had offered me a scholarship, but I still could have gotten somewhere, gone to open tryouts and proven myself as a receiver if not a quarterback.