I nod, flicking my gaze over the hall, wanting to remember this moment before I walk off the stage into the unknown future. And just as I’m about to turn and exit, my eyes lock with one blue eye and one green eye. Sitting dead center in the last row.
28
Miles
I sprint down the halls of the building. Why is it that all art-related schools are built so that normal people can never find their way around?
I hang a quick left when I see a sign for the Alexander Croquex Hall, and almost smash my baby-makers into a water fountain. Jesus, that was a close call. I don’t stop, just swerve around it, and finally see grand looking double doors coming into view straight in front of me.
I’m almost there, I can feel the brass handles in my fingers, when a chilling voice hits me on the right side of my body.
“Miles …”
I stop dead, almost skidding into the doors with the speed and force I’m going at. Fuck. Mr. Trabucco. I didn’t even think about her parents being here. He’s definitely going to kill me.
“Uh, hi … Mr. Trabucco. Nice to see you.” After all this man has done for me, he probably thinks I’m a piece of shit. Which I am, I could definitely cop to that.
About an hour after Chloe left my room, I snapped out of my self-pity and mourning funk. How fucking stupid am I? The girl I love told me she loved me too, and all I could do was sit there like a fucking idiot. I was too stupid, too stuck in the past, and yet again missed what was right in front of me. I wasn’t going to make that goddamn mistake a third time.
So I showered, sobered up, spent every cent I still had left on a plane ticket to New York and packed my bags. I was going after my girl.
“Yes, hello. What are you doing here?” His look tells me everything. He knows I did something wrong, and he isn’t pleased that I’ve come. He’s a family man, a protector. He’d cut down anything that threatens his daughter.
“I came … I came to see Chloe. And to see her audition. I thought I should be here.” I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if I’ve really lost her this time?
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea—”
I cut him off. “Listen, I know I messed up. Again. But your daughter, she is the most important thing in my life. I love her. And I need to tell her that. Even if she never wants to see me again, I need to tell her that.”
Tony Sr. sighs. “Miles, I know you haven’t had an easy life. Some people would like to believe that because you grew up with money, you had it all. I know that isn’t true. I know how your father is, how he treated you. I know that deep down, you’re doing the best you can at trying to turn your life around. And I know you’re worthy of my daughter, but right now, I’m not sure it’s the best time to wrap her up in all of this. All of your troubles.”
My heart cracks open and starts leaking at his words because he’s right. Maybe she doesn’t need to be involved in my issues right now.
“But I love her. I need her in my life. And I’m trying so hard to be a better man, a better person for her. I promise, Mr. Trabucco, I will never hurt her again. I want to protect her, put her up on the highest pedestal. All I want is for her to succeed and let me be by her side when she does it.”
I’m choking up, nearly drowning in my emotions now. He has to see how desperate I am for her.
“I understand.” His eyes light with wisdom. “It’s how I feel about her mother. And I know you want to treat her right, I see that you have what it takes. But, Miles, if you’re going to ask for her again, make it the last time. Don’t screw with my daughter again. Or I’m going to have to kill you.”
His words are dead serious, the look in his eyes could slice through steel.
“I understand, sir. I promise, I will never do anything to hurt her again.”
He pats me on the back, his assassin mask leaving his features. “I like you, I do, Miles. I could tell from the start that you’ve been handed a bad lot in life and are trying to make something of yourself. You remind me of a younger me.”
His words are a balm to my bruised and battered heart. Tony Sr. may not be my father, but as a role model, I couldn’t do any better. “Thanks, sir.”
“Now, let’s go watch our girl kick some ballet ass.”
As we step into the gigantic hall, I feel like I am stepping into a church. This is where dancers come to worship, and I can feel the electricity in the air. The girl up on stage is twirling manically, with not as much control or grace as Chloe has. Three people sit at a panel table in the front, and groups of onlookers sit scattered through the wooden auditorium.
The current girl on stage finishes with a flourish and a whip of her hands, too showy where Chloe would have been elegant and composed. And then they’re calling her out onto the stage, her beautiful, lithe body sashaying to the center of it.
I can’t breathe she looks so beautiful. She actually takes my breath away. Her supple, shapely legs are half-hidden by a long, flowing see-through red material. Her onyx hair is piled high on her head in a tight, fat bun, her sharp cheekbones highlighted in the harsh stage lighting. She looks like an actual earth angel.
They start to ask her questions—Where is she from? What studio does she dance for?—and I tune them out, choosing only to hear the tinkling sound of her voice. My heart flops over in my chest. This is my girl standing up on that stage, ready to grab her dream by the balls, and I can’t believe I was so stupid as to let her walk out.
Sharp violin chords begin to fill the air, slow and heart-wrenching. It reminds of the funeral hymns played at Jay’s wake. Another knife stabs into the ventricles of my heart.
Chloe moves, a sweeping, exaggerated motion across the stage that mimics reaching for someone. My stomach dips, and all I want to do is run up there and gather her in my arms. Again, I’m a fucking moron.
She continues dancing, her raw emotions bleeding out onto the stage, her elegant body wrapped in red swaying across the wood. As she goes into turn after turn and leap after leap, I hear a murmur rise up among the audience members. I almost can’t tear my face away from her perfect form, but when I do, I see nods of appreciation and jealousy spread across the faces of those watching Chloe. She is good … really good.
She spins to a stop in the middle of the stage and remains in the pose until the music whines to its end, and then I hear people clapping in appreciation around me. I see Tony and Isabella down in front, whistling through their teeth. The three judges tell her just how good she is, and as I’m about to sneak out the back and wait for her outside, she looks up. Her eyes catch on mine, those violet orbs rearing back in surprise and sadness. And then she walks off the stage calmly, but I can read the hurt and shock in her body language.
I bolt for the exit, running around the maze that is this fucking building trying to get back to the dressing room. I follow signs for it, and when I can smell the acidic and flammable stink of hairspray in the air, I know I’ve found it.
I wait outside, tapping my foot anxiously against the linoleum, running down my speech one more time. Like I hadn’t practiced it a thousand times on the plane. I haven’t slept at all. Speaking of that, I probably look like death warmed over.
The wooden door opens, revealing a cloud of glitter and perfume, and out walks Chloe, flanked by Tony and Isabella.
“Miles!” Isabella is surprised, not having seen me yet. I can hear the hesitancy in her voice, and I know Chloe’s told her what happened.
“Isa, let’s go get some snacks from the vending machine.” Tony is on my side, at least I think he is, and I’m so grateful for his obvious diversion.
Chloe, on the other hand, is not thrilled. “No, can we just go? I want to go home.” She grabs her mother’s hand, holding on and trying to make her stay.
“You talk to the boy, hear what he has to say.” Tony ushers Isabella away, leaving Chloe and I awkwardly standing there, her staring at the ground, and me staring at her.
“You kicked ass up ther
e.” Great opening, idiot.
Chloe looks up, stares at a spot over my shoulder. “Thank you.”
I don’t know what to say next, how to start. We stand there, the words on the tip of my tongue, and her inching to get away. Finally, she turns and starts to briskly walk, but I grab her wrist.
“Wait, baby …”
“Why are you here, Miles? You made it very clear last night that I am not important to you. That we were not important to you.”
“Chloe, I’m so sorry. So goddamned sorry. I was … yesterday, it wasn’t a good day—”
She cuts me off. “So, what? Whenever you’re having a bad day you can just treat me like shit, you can forget about the respect you’re supposed to have for me? That’s not how relationships work. Hate to break that to you.”
She wrenches her hand out of my grasp. I can see the tears pooling in her eyes and know I have to talk quick.
“Yesterday was the anniversary of Jay’s death.”
Her head snaps up, the shock and sympathy so clear on her flawless face. I can see the understanding blooming over her features.
“Not that it excuses anything. I shouldn’t have gotten to where I was yesterday, but my headspace on that day every year. I’d rather go bury myself in a hole than function in the real world. And I usually do. Except, this year, I have you. And I knew in November that I didn’t deserve you, that I needed to work on myself. And I have. But I’m not one hundred percent there yet, and you just have to realize that. I am going to have horrible days. I’ve never done this before, really given my heart and my soul to someone. But I’m doing that because I want you. Because I need you here with me, I can’t imagine my life without you. Because I love you. I am in love with you.”
I finish my diatribe, the words not coming out at all like I’d rehearsed, but with so much raw emotion that my throat feels hoarse with unshed tears as I stop talking.
Tears are streaming down Chloe’s face, and she’s now clutching onto my forearms with such grip that it’s like if I left her go she might fall over. “You do?”
I swallow, trying to not breakdown from all of this unusual emotion. “Of course, how could I not? I’ve loved you since our last dance. It was the only way I could walk away from you. I loved you too much to keep hurting you. And I’d do it again. If I hurt you, if you can’t do this, I can walk away. It will literally kill me, but I love you too much to keep hurting you. The only thing that would hurt me more than walking away would be staying and causing you more pain.”
Chloe wraps her arms around my waist, anchoring us to the spot. “Don’t walk. If you love me, you’ll stay. I’ve been putting up with your attitude and bad days for a long time now, I think I can endure some more.”
And with that, she presses up onto her toes and lays her lips over mine. I kiss her back with all the feelings I have swirling around inside of me, wrapping her small figure in my arms and backing us up until I’m pressing her against the concrete wall. Pulling back, I’m breathless and electrified. She calms and centers me like no one else can, while also lighting me up with desire for her.
“We aren’t perfect, Miles. Neither of us is ever going to be perfect. But we can make it work. You have to stop shutting me out. I love you, and when you feel pain, I want half of it. When you feel sorrow, let me take some too. And when you feel happy, we can share in it. I know you’ve been let down and left in the past, but I will never leave you. I love you, so much. I have for a long time.”
It’s hard to breathe when she’s filling me up with so much hope, so much love. I grab her face and position it so that we were looking deep into each other’s eyes. “You’re the most perfect girl I’ve ever met, and I can’t believe you picked my stupid ass to love. But I’m damn glad you did.”
29
Miles
“Motherfucker,” I mutter as I swing my bat over my shoulder one more time, ticking it back and forth like the big hand of a clock. I roll my ankle as the pitcher winds up, pursing my lips and whistling out slowly.
And then he launches a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball in my direction, and I don’t even flinch. The ball hits the outer corner but is too low; the ump calls a ball. And I live to breathe another pitch.
Inside the stadium, the crowd roars, the first baseball game of the season amping people up and getting a rise out of the Grover fans. And I know somewhere in there, my girlfriend sits, cheering me on with my jersey covering her. And shit, I can’t get distracted about how hot my girl is, because I need to score us some runs right now.
We’re down three to one in the bottom of the seventh, and while we’ve been playing okay on defense, they’ve been killing us in pitching. No one can get a run off this guy. Too bad for him, I’m up and raring to go.
I hear the clicking in the back of my skull, and I know I’m about to hit a bomb. I don’t know how it started, but it’s kind of my home run sixth sense. I hear this sound and I just know I’m going to whack one over the wall. Owen calls me the Baseball Whisperer. I just want to put us up.
Thank God, Clint hit one that broke through the first basemen and shortstop, and his new form got him to second base. He can really run now, instead of chugging around the bases running out of breath.
That asshole pitcher winds up again, and I jump into my stance, awaiting his measly throw. This time, it’s straight over the plate. When my bat connects, straight on in the middle of the piece of wood, I whack, following through with my motion. And then the ball is sailing, flying over the field and the tiny heads of our stupid opponents.
I drop my bat, running like my shoes are on fire and I need to get out of them. Clint is busting his ass just a few yards in front of me, and both of us are rounding the bases like our lives depend on it. And then I look up, for a split-second, and see the outfielder shaking his head and holding up his hands. I slow my roll, trotting around the bases, appreciating the crowd cheering for me for tying up the game.
I search the section where I know family usually sits, and locate my black swan, her pretty face shielded by a Grover hat. I point to her, and nod my head with a cocky gesture. She stands up, waving her hands and then cupping them in a heart, screaming her pretty little head off. I smile like a dopey idiot as I jog around the bases to my team, who are standing out of the dugout, waiting to clap me on the back.
“That’s what I’m talking about, Farris!” Owen pulls on his cap as he fist bumps me. The rest of the guys gather round, clapping me on the head and slapping my ass.
“All right, ladies, back in the dugout. We have a game to win!” Coach yells at us, and we all turn to file inside, Parker walking up to the plate.
He flies out, getting the last out of the inning and propelling us into the eighth. Owen keeps the game tied, but the next three batters either fly out or strike out, sending us into the ninth with an anvil on our chests.
Our relief pitcher, Johnny Tombes, comes in and saves our asses, keeping the other side at three. Now it’s my favorite time of the game. Rally and walk-off time.
Parker bats at the top of the lineup when the inning starts, hitting a shallow single but not beating out the first basemen. One out.
Clint steps up to bat next, swinging at all three of those motherfucker’s puny knuckleballs. Damn it, Clint. Two outs.
And then it’s my turn. No way will I let this asshole tank my ERA in only our first game. I’m getting this walkup. He deals me a high fastball that I balk at, and the umpire calls a strike. Motherfucker. The second pitch is a lob, thrown way into the dirt, and there is the first ball.
And then the clicking comes. I feel it, a slight tic in the back of my jawbone. I smile, a smarmy, cocky grin at that piece of shit up on the mound. Give me all you’ve got.
He eyes me, thinking he’s got one last trick up his sleeve. But, he’s got nothing on my sixth sense.
The pitcher winds up, directing all his might into his five fingers, slinging that leather ball at me, the red seams flashing as they turn over in the air. Everything be
comes slow motion, from the way my wrists turn position to the screams of the home fans.
I make contact with a sharp thud, the sickening give of the ball on wood cracking in the air. And then the ball is flying, soaring way past everyone, out into the parking lot. My ears buzz with the deafening roar of the crowd, my instincts a split-second behind. I haven’t even started rounding the bases.
And then Owen is yelling at me. “Run, you moron!”
I take off in a sprint, probably putting too much energy into this run. I should conserve my healthy body for later in the season. But I can’t help it.
This will probably be the last season I play in college. A bunch of the guys know about my plan to enter the draft, but I haven’t told them all. It’s what I need to do. It’s my dream. Staying here will only be delaying my future, and I need to pursue it with full force.
So I sprint, running toward my teammates and jumping into that pile on home base like it’s my giant king bed. My teammates hoot and holler, hug me, jostle, and congratulate me. I’m bursting with pride, happiness, and joy. And all I want to do is grab Chloe in my arms, swing her around and celebrate these moments before they’re over.
I see her, my perfect girl, running down the bleachers for me, and I wait to scoop her up into me. We might not know exactly what’s going to happen this summer, or beyond that, but I know we’ll make it. I found that person who will stick with me through anything, and I’m smart enough now that I know I’ll never let her go again.
30
Chloe
Over the Fence Box Set Page 39