The Way We Are

by Shandi Boyes

  Chloe taps her index finger against her lips. “Ah... Woolencott... Woolendale... Wool—”

  “Ridge?” I interrupt. “Is it Woolenridge?”

  "Yeah, that's it," Chloe replies, smiling. "Woolenridge. Some top-of-the-range all-boys school in Hopeton." Her eyes roll skywards when she reaches the pompous part of her statement.

  Brax crashes into my back when I suddenly stop walking. “What the f—” His reprimand halts when he sees the mortified expression crossing my face.

  “I can’t go to that party,” I murmur under my breath. “That's his party.” I don’t need to mention his name for Brax to know who I am referring to. I haven’t referred to him by his name since he slapped Savannah nearly two months ago.

  “Ryan—”

  “No, Brax,” I interrupt, not willing to listen to another one of his lectures about moving on. “This isn’t about ‘forgetting my past and looking to the future.’ It's about not trusting myself around him.” I step closer to Brax, ensuring no one overhears our conversation. “I still want to kill him.”

  “Then do it. The world would be a better place without that leech in it.”

  Brax throws his fist into Chris’s stomach, winding him with his unexpected hit. “You’re supposed to bring him down from the ledge, not push him over the edge.”

  Chris shrugs. “What? That guy is a waste of oxygen. Ryan would do the world a favor if he got rid of him.”

  I nod, agreeing with Chris's assumption. The world would be shit-tons better without men like Axel and my father living in it, but it isn't my place to weed out the bad guys. I spent most of my childhood protecting my mother, only to have her throw me under the bus when law enforcement became involved. I'm tired of fighting for people who don't want to be saved. I want to be selfish for a few years, then when my little nest egg runs out, I'll go back to pretending I give a shit about anyone but me.

  Damn. Did that sound as self-righteous to you as it did to me?

  “If you can look me straight in the eyes and tell me the real reason you don’t want to go to this party, we will turn around and go home,” Brax negotiates, his tone more mature than his eighteen years. “But if you can’t—because you want to keep the promise you made to me weeks ago about trying things my way—then we are gonna rock this party like it’s our last night of school—”

  “Because it is!” he and Chris shout in sync, their loud voices startling Amelia and her friends waiting for us a few spaces up.

  “It’s one night, Ry. One. Nothing significant happens in a night, so let all the shit go and have some fun,” Brax suggests, his tone half-pleading and half-gameshow-host showy. “If anyone in this town deserves to burn off some chest hairs with piss-weak scotch and bitter beer, it is you, my brother. Forget everything and everyone and have some fun with your boys. It’s our last night together; don’t let Sir Dickweed ruin it for you.”

  He stares into my eyes, begging for me to let go of the reins for once in my life, to pretend I am an eighteen-year-old boy enjoying his final day of school, to trust him enough to know he’d never steer me in the wrong direction. He stares into my eyes, allowing them to express the words he will never say out loud: it’s time to let her go.

  “Yes?” Brax double-checks when he spots the faint nod of my head. “We’re going?”

  “Why not?” I reply, scrubbing my knuckles over his scalp to mess up his recently trimmed hair. “It’s one night. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  24

  Ryan

  “Hey.”

  My eyes lift from the water crashing onto the rocks of Bronte's Peak to the voice that caused more of a shiver to my spine than the nippy winds rolling in from the coastline. Savannah's knee-length skirt rides high on her slim thighs when she straddles the safety barrier on the cliff’s edge to join me on the other side.

  “What are you doing out here, Ryan?”

  I take a swig on the bottle of beer in my hand, hoping it will clear the cotton from my mouth before replying, “I’m waiting for Amelia to come back from the bathroom.”

  Savannah smiles, knowing bathroom means the scrub on the edge of the cliff. There are no public restroom facilities within five miles of Bronte's Peak. The planning commission had hoped a lack of washrooms would lower the chance of this lookout becoming a hook-up spot for local teens.

  They were way off the mark.

  From the day the manmade marvel was blasted into the rock edge of Bronte's Peak, it has been a favorite destination for teens after sunset. The lack of street lighting and the fact it's far from prying eyes makes it an ideal location for hookups. I'm not an overly social kind of guy, and even I've been here a handful of times the past few years.

  “I saw you arrive with Amelia. She’s a nice girl. I’m happy for you,” Savannah says, gliding her hand down the skin on my arm.

  "Thanks," I reply before chugging down the remainder of my beer, praying she’ll get the hint I'm not in the mood for conversation.

  I spotted Savannah the instant I arrived a little over two hours ago, but with Amelia glued to my side, I’ve successfully avoided the silent interrogation her eyes have been issuing me all night. It’s quite funny, actually. To an outsider, Savannah portrays the ideal girlfriend. She sits in his lap and gushes over his riddled-with-lies stories like he is a king, laughing at the exact moment she is supposed to.

  Only those closest to her know it's all an act. They see the faint roll of her eyes for every lie he spills. They notice the way her skin gets clammy when he shows her affection, and they perceive that every time he shifts his eyes away from her, she locks hers with mine.

  Even those who don't know Savannah couldn't miss my last confession.

  Although Amelia will never admit it, I am confident Savannah's constant glancing my way is the reason she has asked on three separate occasions if I am ready to leave. For every sneaky glimpse she caught, her eagerness to leave grew more rampant. She isn’t the only one hoping for an early night. Forcing my body to ignore Savannah’s attention is as difficult as pretending I like Axel—im-fucking-possible.

  The only reason we haven't left is because neither of our friends are ready to end their night just yet. Although I could call a cab, I’ve already spent a lot to ensure Amelia has a perfect night, and I don’t want to spend any more than necessary. With my final shift at Bob's last night, the money I amassed fighting needs to last me until I secure another job. I can't burn through it, no matter how desperate I am to get away from Savannah and the tricks she's been playing on me the past five years.

  "What do you want, Savannah?" I ask, confident she's only talking to me because low-hanging shrubs are hiding us from prying eyes.

  Her teeth graze her bottom lip before she answers, “I just wanted to say hello.” She steps closer to me, engulfing me with her rose scent. “I’ve missed you, Ryan.” Her voice is so low, I barely hear her last confession.

  Not willing to let her little comment slip by without notice, I ask, “You miss me?”

  I almost laugh when she nods her head. “You don’t miss me, Savannah. You miss the idea of me.”

  When she peers at me, confused, unaccustomed to the malice in my tone, I clarify, "You like the conflict my attention causes. You crave the thrill of being the center of attention." Although my words echo ones Brax said last month, I agree with them—for the most part. "I'm the puppet; you're the puppeteer."

  “That’s not true,” Savannah denies, her voice picking up as she shakes her head.

  “It’s not?” When she continues shaking her head, I add on, “Then why have you been avoiding me the past two months? Why didn’t you answer any of my calls and texts? And why did you refuse to answer your door when I came knocking every day, twice a day, for the first two weeks?”

  Savannah balks, shocked by the aggression in my voice. I’m not usually a confrontational type of guy, but the hidden messages in her sneaky glances all night have added to months of frustration I’m no longer capable of
ignoring.

  “I saw your shadow under the door, Savannah. I smelled your scent through the wood. I knew you were there, yet you left me hanging. What more did I have to do to get you to talk to me? Fall to my knees and fucking beg? Is that what you want? You want me on my knees?”

  Savannah’s mouth opens and closes, but not a word spills from her lips. My chest is opened and exposed for the world to see, yet she remains silent. That pisses me off even more than the plea for understanding in her eyes. Frustrated at being played like a puppet, I dump my empty beer into the trash can at my side and head back to the party.

  “I didn’t pick him over you, Ryan.”

  The anger in her voice has me spinning on my heels so fast, dust kicks up at my feet. “Are you fucking kidding me? You left with him, Savannah. You walked away from me to go to him.”

  When she shakes her head, denying my claims, tears threaten to spring down her face. I don’t know if it's the alcohol heating my veins or anger, but her tears don’t have the same effect on me they usually do. They still cut me raw, but for once, they don’t have me swallowing words I should have said months ago, if not years.

  “Don’t cry. You have no right to cry,” I snarl through gritted teeth. “It’s been two months, Savannah. Two whole fucking months—”

  “I know how long it’s been. I’ve counted every single day,” she interrupts, her voice lower than mine, like she is afraid people might hear our argument. “I want to talk to you, Ryan. I want to explain everything that's happening, but I can’t. Not yet.”

  "But you can today? The one day I have a date at my side is the day you can talk to me again.”

  Savannah takes a moment to consider my reply before nodding her head. I should be grateful she chose honesty over deceit, but I’m not. All I’m feeling is months of frustration coming out at once. I am both angry and confused.

  “Fuck that, Savannah. I'm not a lap dog who barks on command and plays fetch so my owner's douchebag friends can see what a good, obedient little dog I am. I’m not you."

  I see Savannah’s slap coming from a mile out, but I do nothing to stop it. The sting of her palm on my cheek can’t hurt me any more than the scars she placed on my heart the past five and a half years.

  “You’re being mean,” she blubbers through a sob, her tears falling more freely when she notices the red welt her hand seared on my face.

  Returning my head to its rightful spot, I reply, “Yeah, I am. But supposedly, that’s what girls around here like, an asshole who speaks to his woman like trash while smacking her around.”

  I laugh. It's laughter filled with pain.

  “Here I was my entire childhood trying not to follow my dad’s footsteps, only to discover I should have all along, because according to you and half the female population in this town, he has the perfect recipe for a solid, compatible relationship.”

  Anger lines Savannah’s face, enhancing the white lines streaming from her eyes. “You don’t mean that, Ryan. You’re just angry and upset. I get it. You have every right to be mad at me.” She locks her tear-filled eyes with mine. “But you have no right to judge me—none whatsoever. I didn’t come here to add to your torment. I came here to give you my blessing.”

  “Your blessing?” I mock through laughter. “You can shove your blessing. I don’t need it, and I most certainly don’t want it.”

  Her eyes fall to the pocket of my trousers when I thrust my hand inside to produce the condom Chris gave me earlier. “But if it makes you feel any better, I give you my blessing. Be with him—be miserable with him—just make sure you use protection, because we sure as hell don’t need any more men like Axel in the world.”

  Savannah’s hand shakes when I raise it to place the condom into her palm before saying, “If you have a daughter, be sure to name her after me, as that may be the only item on our list you can cross off without lying.”

  Ignoring her pleas for me to stop, I trek down the hill I climbed in trepidation two hours ago. I knew I shouldn’t have attended this party. My intuition has never steered me wrong, so I don’t know why I ignored it tonight.

  Our argument was brutal—ten times worse than I had prepared for. So I yank my cell phone out of my pocket and call a cab before my brain cites a single objection. I'll take the hit to my savings if it will ease the pain ripping my heart into tiny pieces.

  “You promised to give me time,” Savannah shouts, her loud voice projecting over the thumping of bass in the distance.

  Not bothering to spin around to face her, I reply, “Yeah, and you promised to love me until the day you died. We both know how that turned out, don’t we?” My tone dips at the end, unprepared for the combined roar of several male voices that follow it.

  Swinging my eyes to the side, I spot Douchebag Number 1 and a handful of his minions standing to Savannah’s left. Axel’s friends are mocking the way I scolded Savannah with the playfulness of drunk men. Axel’s face is nowhere near as friendly. His ropeable, almost murderous eyes are locked on me.

  I want to rub salt into his wounds at discovering his girl promised to love me for eternity years before they met, but I shelve my egotistical reply when a pair of tear-filled brown eyes captures my attention.

  “Amelia—fuck.”

  The glistening of moisture on her white cheeks reveals she witnessed our entire exchange, as does the disappointment in her eyes.

  “Don’t... just don’t,” she requests when I step closer to her, hoping the pain in my eyes will reveal I never set out to hurt her. I wanted to show her that good guys are just as worthy. I fucking failed.

  Guilt smashes into me hard and fast, adding to the anger sluicing my veins, when Amelia’s abrupt dash to her friends waiting for her on the sidelines causes more tears to trickle from her eyes.

  “Are you happy?” I ask, returning my slit gaze to Savannah. “You achieved what you set out to do. I’m single and fucking miserable. You must be so proud.”

  She shakes her head, wordlessly denying my assumption she only spoke to me to cause a ripple in the connection she saw between Amelia and me.

  “This isn’t what I want, Ryan. I don’t want you to be miserable.”

  “Then what do you want, Savannah? Tell me what you want!” I scream, hoping the anger in my voice will hide the plea in my question. I want her to choose me.

  Tears stream down Savannah’s face as she replies, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.” Her last three words are separated by hiccups, not only revealing she's devastated, but also exposing she is lying. She knows what she wants; she just refuses to acknowledge it.

  I can’t talk sense into someone who can’t see reason—it’s as pointless as smacking my head against a brick wall. I push off my feet and resume my descent down the only exit of Bronte’s Peak.

  “Enjoy your life, Savannah. I’m fucking done.”

  She doesn’t reply, all I hear is her gasp in shock.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brax says, stepping into the path of my furious strides a few seconds later. “We discussed this, Ryan. Running away from your problems won’t solve anything.” His words are breathless, proving his endeavor to reach me is as dire as my urge to get away from Savannah.

  “I’m not running,” I argue, skirting by him.

  My teeth grit when he catches up to me to spread his hand across my heaving chest. His glare is more effective at slowing me down than his strength.

  “You’re running because it's easier than facing the truth.”

  I ball my hands at my side, struggling not to wipe the pretentiousness off his face with my fists. I’m not angry at Brax; I’m angry that he is right. That’s why I’m leaving this town for dust first thing tomorrow morning—because running is easier than tackling a truth I never want to face: I love Savannah, but she will never love me the same way.

  If only she had picked me instead of him. If she were my girl, I would have wiped away her tears before promising that everything would be okay. I would have begged for her to l
eave with me tomorrow morning and pretend this town never existed. But since she isn’t my girl, I keep my heart on lockdown and pretend my pulse isn’t pounding my ears. It's a fucking hard feat.

  “I can’t stay here. Brax. I can’t watch her with him, acting like I don’t want to pull his stomach out of his throat.” I can’t pretend I don’t love her when I do.

  My nails dig into my palms when, from the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a red convertible gliding down the windy hill of Bronte’s Peak. Although the soft top of Axel’s pride and joy is closed, the moonlight bouncing off Savannah’s honey hair tells me everything I need to know—she has once again chosen him over me.

  Spotting me at the side of the road, the angry sneer on Axel’s face grows along with his pressure on the gas pedal. The heavy groove embedded between his brows is as deep as mine, and his eyes are just as frustrated. With the snarl of a dangerous man, he whizzes past us at a frantic speed, kicking up more wind than the storm approaching on the horizon.

  “He’s a fucking dead man,” Brax warns. Axel’s car was so close to us when passing, his side mirror was mere millimeters from grazing my stomach.

  Just before Axel’s taillights disappear into the dark night, he slams on his brakes, and completes a dangerous one-eighty maneuver. My heart rate, which was just settling, breaks into a gallop when his vibrant red paint blurs from his furious speed. He rockets toward us like a maniac—like a man without fear of repercussions.

  “What the fuck is he doing?” Brax tugs on my arm to draw me into the shoulder of the road.

  He pulls me back far enough Axel’s headlights stop blinding me, but not far enough to miss the mask of fear on Savannah’s face. If she's worried Axel is going to hurt me, she doesn’t need to fret. My greatest fear has already come true. She's in love with a man as violent as my father.