by Amber Garza
And it’s where I feel most like me.
Resting my head against the railing, I close my eyes. Wind whisks over my face, carrying with it the scent of damp earth. It’s cold, but I don’t mind it. The image of my dad watering his plants that day I watched him from my car fills my mind. I think of the man he embraced in his yard; the one I assumed was his son. I wonder if he stood by his dad’s side when he died. Did he hold his hand, whisper reassuring words in his ear? More importantly, did he know about me – his brother?
Apparently, Bridgette did. Or at least she does now.
If she knew before he died, why didn’t she contact me? Why wasn’t I given the opportunity to say goodbye? To say anything?
Shaking my head, I curse myself for going in circles. This line of thinking isn’t getting me anywhere. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s gone. It’s time to let him go. And it’s not like that should be hard, since I never had him to begin with.
Thinking of the card sitting on the counter at home, my heart hardens further. I’ll take his crummy money, and I’ll use it for college. But I’m doing it for Mom, and only her. She’s the one who matters.
He doesn’t. He never did. And he never will.
Bitter tears sting my eyes, and I blink them back furiously. No way am I crying over that bastard. Never. Sniffing, I swipe under my nose with my hand. When the bleachers creak, my head snaps up.
“Christian?” Emmy’s voice startles me.
I freeze, spotting her climbing towards me. “What are you doing here?” The words come out harsher than I intended, but I don’t apologize. I don’t take them back.
“Wanted to make sure you were okay.” She continues climbing.
My chest tightens. “I’m fine. Just want to be alone.”
She stops, her eyebrows knitting together. I pray that she’ll take the hint. But she doesn’t. She starts climbing again. I should’ve known.
“I don’t want wanna hurt your feelings, Emmy,” I plead with her.
“Then don’t.”
“If you don’t leave, I can’t make any promises.” I turn my head away from her. “Please just go.”
“But I want to help you,” she says softly, her voice coming closer.
Annoyance flares. “Damn it, why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” She’s close now. Too close.
“Pushing me,” I say.
“I’m not pushing you. You don’t have to say anything. I just want to be here with you.”
Desperation blossoms in my chest, and I fight to breathe. “I can’t do this right now.” This is why I don’t do relationships. It’s why I stick to hanging with Cal and the guys. Girls don’t know when to back off. Cal gives me space when I need it. Clearly, Emmy doesn’t. She plops down beside me, her thigh brushing mine. I scoot away.
“I’m not leaving you like this,” she says firmly.
And I might think it was sweet, sexy even, if I weren’t so pissed. If I didn’t feel so claustrophobic, so boxed in.
“Fine.” I stand, sucking in a breath. “Then I’ll leave.”
“Why are you being like this?” She stands too, facing me. Frowning, her eyes are steely. She places a hand on her hip.
“Because this is who I am. I’m broken, damaged, wrecked. I tried to warn you. I tried to keep you away.”
She sighs. “You’re upset. It’s understandable. But this isn’t you.”
“Yes, it is. I’m the loose cannon. The boy with the bad temper whose dad doesn’t want him. It’s who I’ve always been.”
Emmy’s eyes scan my face. “That’s not true.” She reaches for me, her hand touching my arm. It’s more than I can take. I can’t handle pity or comfort right now. It’ll tear me apart, break me open. My insides will be laid bare, scattered all over this field. And there’s no way I’m letting that happen.
“Don’t.” I shake her hand off, and her eyes widen. “I can’t be with you right now.” I can tell she’s not buying it. I can see that she’s going to keep trying, and I can’t have that.
When I first realized I was attracted to Emmy, I kept my distance and told myself it was because of Cal. That it was because of our family. That it was because I didn’t want to mess with what I had. But deep down, it must have been because I knew it would end like this. I must have known I was too damaged to ever really love her. I have this hole inside of me that my dad’s love should have filled. But it’s always been empty, and over the years it’s spread; become larger and larger. His death seems to have widened it to astronomical proportions. And now I’m certain I can never be that guy for Emmy. The kind of guy that will love her like she deserves. As much as it kills me, I know I have to put the final nail in the coffin. “Truth is, I’m not sure if I ever can be.”
“What?” She reels back, hurt splashed across her features. It’s what I wanted, but it’s harder than I thought. Still, I have to keep going. I have to be strong.
“I thought I could be a normal guy. The kind of guy who falls in love. The kind of guy who can let someone in. You made me believe that could be possible, and I wanted to be that guy for you. But today I realized that’s not me. I’m not that guy, and I never will be.”
“I don’t understand. What about back at the house. With the cake….on the lawn.” She’s grasping at memories. I can see the wheels spinning as she’s trying to pluck them out, to bring them back to life. But it’s no use. The guy I was an hour ago is gone.
Or maybe he was never here at all.
Either way, I feel numb, empty. I want to give Emmy something, but I can’t. I’m hollow inside like a pumpkin after being cut open, my insides scraped out. There’s nothing inside. Nothing to give. Nothing to share. She deserves so much more than that.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can formulate. Then, shaking my head, I bound down the bleachers. I take them two at a time so I can get to the bottom faster. Emmy calls my name, but I ignore her.
There’s nothing left to say.
EMMY
I never should have pushed Christian. I should have listened to Cal. Then maybe Christian wouldn’t be ignoring me now. It’s been almost a week since we spoke. Even when I pass him in the halls at school, he refuses to make eye contact. He turns his head or stares down at his shoes. Sometimes I think about stepping in his path, of forcing him to acknowledge me. But then I remember how cold he was toward me at the baseball field, and it stops me. It was hard enough to have him treat me like that in private. It would be downright unbearable in front of a bunch of high school students. It was just like when we were kids and I tried to comfort him after the shop was vandalized. But this time I’m not a child, and he hurt a lot more than my pride. He broke my heart. I know Ashley’s noticed I’m not with Christian anymore. I’ve seen her knowing glances, her triumphant smiles. And it makes me sick.
I trusted Christian. I believed him when he told me he wasn’t going to hurt me. Ashley knew better. She tried to warn me. And it makes me feel stupid.
At times I’ve felt so desperate I’ve contemplated asking Cal to talk to Christian on my behalf, but I can’t do that. I don’t want to get in the middle of their friendship. I don’t want to cause a rift. No matter how angry I am with Christian, I know he’s hurting right now. He needs Cal, even if he won’t admit it. That’s why I’ve kept my brave face on around Cal. In fact, I didn’t even tell him what happened at the baseball field. All I said was that I’d decided to give Christian space to process his dad’s death.
It isn’t exactly a lie.
It isn’t exactly the truth either.
However, it’s what I need Cal to believe. And I think he did at first. Now I’m not so sure. The last couple of days he’s been watching me more closely, asking pointed questions. As hard as I try to keep up this ruse, I know he’ll see through me at some point. Like a spool of yarn, I’m starting to unravel a little more every day. I envision my insides trailing me everywhere I go. My nerves are frayed, my emotions lingering right at the surface.
When I get home from school Friday, I find Olivia sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea with Mom. They are deep in conversation, their heads bent close together. Everything about them is opposite in looks. Where Mom has light hair, Olivia’s is dark. Mom’s skin is pale, Olivia’s is tanned. Olivia dresses very eclectic, while Mom favors yoga pants and t-shirts. However, when they are seated like this they mirror each other. As their mouths move, words spilling across the table, I can see the similarities. Not so much in how they look, but in who they are.
The minute I enter the room the spell is broken. Their heads bounce up and they greet me. Then Mom waves me over, inviting me to join them. Normally I would jump at the chance. When I was a little girl, I loved to watch them sit and drink tea together. They would gab about life, holding pretty mugs in their hands. I’d watch as steam rose from the cups, and I’d dream of one day joining them. When I got older, they’d allow me to sit with them from time to time, and I loved it. But today I don’t think I can. I don’t know if I can sit across from Olivia without giving away how I feel; without spilling my guts about Christian. So I shake my head, declining the invitation. However, Mom insists, not taking no for an answer.
Olivia gets up from the table and envelopes me in a hug. And that’s when I lose it. Sobs rack my body. Tears fill my eyes. I’m grasping at the edge of the yarn, desperately trying to reign myself in, but it slips through my fingers. It’s no use. I’m coming undone.
“Oh, honey.” Olivia strokes my hair. “It’s going to be okay.”
I peer up at her, blinking through the haze of tears. Does she know?
When our eyes lock, I know that she does. Brushing a damp strand of hair from my face, she says, “Trust me, Chris will come around.”
“He will?” I ask, and it terrifies me how much I need to believe her words.
She nods.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know him.” She smiles. “I know him better than anyone.”
That’s true. She does. If I can trust anyone when it comes to Christian, it’s the woman who raised him.
She draws back from me, and squeezes my hand. “C’mon. Let’s sit down and have a cup of tea.”
Mom already has a steaming cup on the table for me. I sit in the empty chair in front of it. When my hand closes around it, warmth seeps into my palm. Lifting the mug to my lips, I take a tentative sip. It’s hot, but not too hot, and it feels good as it coats my tongue. Tea has always had a calming effect on me.
“How is he?” I ask Olivia.
“He’s struggling,” she answers honestly. “He misses you.”
“He said that?” Hope stirs in my heart.
Olivia shakes her head. “No, but I can tell.”
I frown.
“Oh, you know how guys are,” Mom says as if she’s an expert. “They don’t talk about their feelings, but we can read them. Isn’t that right, Liv?”
Olivia chuckles. “Yes, we can. And there’s no boy on earth I can read better than Chris.”
“He told me to leave him alone. Said he couldn’t be with me anymore,” I confess. “And now he won’t talk to me.”
I don’t realize that Cal is home until I hear the sharp intake of breath from over my shoulder. When I turn around, Cal’s eyes are narrowed, his mouth pressed together in a tight line.
“You told me you decided to give him space. You never said he told you to leave him alone,” Cal says angrily.
Olivia stiffens.
Mom sits up straighter. “Cal, you know better than to eavesdrop on girl talk.”
“Emmy,” Cal presses. When my gaze meets his, he shakes his head. “Damn it, have you been crying?”
“Cal.” I push away from the table, and stand. “I’m fine.” When he flashes me a look of disbelief, I say, “Err…I’ll be fine.”
Cal curses under his breath, slamming his palm on the counter. “I can’t believe him. He promised me he wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Cal, stay out of it,” Mom says from where she sits at the table. “This is between Chris and Emmy. They don’t need you meddling. You don’t want to stand in the way of love, do you?”
By the look on Cal’s face, I’d say she lost him with the last statement. But that’s Mom. She always goes too far.
“Can you keep your flowery sentiments in your books, please?” Cal says. “Chris and Emmy aren’t one of the couples you made up, and I’m not letting him get away with this.” Angrily, he storms out of the room.
I glance at his back helplessly.
“Just let him go,” Mom says. “Let him cool down.”
My instinct is to go after him, but I decide to listen to Mom. I decide to give him his space. I do for Cal what I should have done for Christian. But I pray that it’s the right decision.
I pray that Cal doesn’t make everything worse.
CHRISTIAN
We lost the scrimmage tonight, and it’s Cal’s fault. He missed all my signals and his throws were wild. I’ve never seen him play like that, and it’s making me worry about the start of the season in a couple of weeks.
After the scrimmage I pass him, and his shoulder slams into mine. Okay, that’s it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap.
“With me?” His eyes widen incredulously. “What’s wrong with you?” Pressing his palms into my chest, he shoves me backward. The other players glance over, and I can feel the tension rising. I cock my head to the side, confused, when he shoves me again. Oh, hell no. “You said I could trust you. Said you wouldn’t hurt her.” Another push.
Ah, this is about Emmy. I should’ve known. Softening, I take a deep breath and put out my hands to stop him from shoving me again. “I’m sorry, man. I never should’ve made that promise.”
“Wow.” He nods, an angry smile painting his face. “Never pegged you as a coward.”
Coward? Anger surfaces. “What did you say to me?” I step forward, fisting my hands at my sides. Some of the guys move closer, whispering to one another. They’re expecting a fight.
“Go ahead.” He lifts his chin. “Hit me. It won’t prove anything. Won’t make you any less of a coward.”
“I’m warning you, Cal,” I growl, my arms twitching, my veins pulsating beneath my flesh.
“Go ahead. Do it”
He’s egging me on. He wants me to hit him, and he knows how to push my buttons. I blow out a breath. No way. I can’t do it. Not to Cal. I take a step back. “I’m not hitting you.”
“Why not?”
“Cause you’re my best friend, man.”
“So what? So, you’ll burn another bridge,” he says. “Then you’ll be alone. Isn’t that what you want?”
His words hurt worse than a punch.
Cal laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “You know what’s funny? You hate your old man so much, but you’re just like him. Running away the same way he did.”
Now he’s gone too far. I plant my hands squarely in his chest and shove him back. He flies backward, but stays on his feet. Wearing a smile, his eyes never leave mine. Unnerved, I avert my gaze. Hurrying away from him, I grab my stuff. I’m not sticking around here for one more minute.
Adrenaline pumping, body shaking, I walk swiftly across the darkened field toward the parking lot. I almost reach it when I see Emmy standing at the edge of the grass staring up at the stars. Spinning around, I plan to run in the other direction, but then Cal’s words fill my mind.
You’re just like him. Running away the same way he did.
She looks so lost standing there all alone, and I can’t leave her. Not now. Not tonight. Gathering all my courage, I head in her direction. When I reach her, she peers over her shoulder. Her face is unreadable, but she doesn’t appear too shocked to see me. It’s almost like she had been waiting for me. Maybe she was.
“Two hundred twenty-five,” she says.
“What?”
“That’s how many stars I’ve counted since you last spoke to me.”
&nbs
p; Ouch. “Emmy, I--”
“You said you were my star.” She whirls around to face me, her eyes flashing with pain and anger. “You said I could count on you.” Her index finger flies out, jabbing me in the chest right above my heart, emphasizing every syllable. It stings a little, but I take it. It’s the least I can do. “But you lied.” She draws her arm back. “And you know what’s sad? You knew how much saying that would mean to me, because you know me.”
“I do know you. You’re right.” My shoulders slump, my head hanging low. I feel defeated. “But you know me too,” I point out. She knew all about my scars before we started dating.
“I thought I did, but apparently I never knew at all.”
My heart falters. “That’s not true.”
“Yeah, it is.” Her eyes shine in the moonlight. “Cause the Christian I know would never hurt me like this.”
“I never meant to hurt you.” I reach my arms out, but then drop them. No matter how much I want to touch her, that would be selfish right now.
“And yet you did.”
My heart crashes to the ground, bursting into flames. I imagine smoke pluming around us. “I wanted this to work. I really did.”
“That’s such a cop-out.” She shakes her head.
It angers me. It’s so easy to point fingers, to shift blame, but she has no idea what I’ve been through. How hard all of this has been for me. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to be rejected by your dad? Not one time or two times.” My voice is rising, the strap from my bag slipping from my shoulder. I shove it back up and continue. “No. He rejected me my entire life, and now he’s gone. I’ll never have the chance to talk to him, to tell him how I feel. Do you get that?”
She nods subtly, her lower lip trembling slightly. And I feel like a jerk. I shouldn’t have been so harsh with her, but I need to make her understand.