Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book)

by Reinhardt, Liz

  "I'm not dressed for dinner!"

  I have on my black 'have your way with me on the beach' sexy cover-up with my scandalous red bikini under it. I glance in the mirror and see that my makeup is a smudged wreck and my hair needs more than a brush; it needs a fresh wash, deep condition, and style.

  And Winch, bloodied, bruised, exhausted, infuriated, and tricked, looks up at me and meets my eyes for a brief second across the interior of the car. When he speaks, his voice is solid with an unquestioning conviction.

  "You look perfect, Evan. You look completely fucking perfect, you are completely fucking perfect, so stop worrying. Now."

  And I listen to him and drive to East Taylor with a blush and a smile on my face.

  Winch 9

  Evan is coming to my house.

  I've never been so fucking pissed off at my brother in my life. My adrenaline is pumping like a drug, and punching him a few times in his fat head definitely occurs to me. And it doesn't seem like a bad idea at all.

  The only thing that stops me is the look in Evan's eyes when we pull up to my family's monstrous house. Like she's scared. Like she shouldn't even bother. Like she's not ready for all this.

  Remy rolls out the passenger door. "I'll go in and let them know you two will be in in a minute, okay?"

  I glare at him and he stuffs both hands in the pockets of his pants, flecked with blood, and whistles like a fucking clown while he walks to the house.

  "You can take me home, right?" Evan's voice has this wavery quality I never imagined coming from her before. "Because I know I asked for this, but joke's on me. Hardy har har. I'm ready for you to tell me what an ass I am and drop me back home now." She taps her fingers in a quick, vicious beat on the steering wheel.

  "You look unbelievably beautiful."

  I mean it when I say it, but I know she's seeing herself the way my mother will see her. And I know my mother will disagree with me one hundred percent.

  "I can't go in there with them, Winch. This whole day has been a mess. I want...I want it to work between us, and that isn't possible if I screw this all up."

  She checks the mirror and her mouth flattens. She lets out a strangled gasp and wipes at the smeared makeup under her eyes. I put a hand out and touch the delicate bone at her wrist, slide my fingers against her skin, and rub slow circles I hope help calm her down.

  "I can help. Trust me?" It's a lot to ask her, after everything I dragged her through.

  "I do," she says, her voice soft.

  I take her by the hand and lead her around the back of the house to the French doors outside a patio with a koi pond, fountain, and little stone benches. I rap my knuckles on the glass and Benelli's face peeks through one pane. She yanks the door open, brow furrowed.

  "Winch? What happened? Lala said there was a fight. Are you okay? Is Remy?" My sister's blue eyes flick over Evan and she frowns, but doesn't ask a single question about her.

  "Remy got in deep with the Murrays--"

  "Holy Mother of God, what is he thinking?" Benelli makes a fist and shakes it, her lips pulled back in a snarl. "He's going too far. We have to tell Pop..." Her voice trails off and she clears her throat gently, making a point to not look at Evan. "Winchester, I need to speak with you in private."

  "Not now." I narrow my eyes and shake my head at my sister's attempt to argue. "Not. Now. Mama is setting up for dinner and Evan is coming. But she was at the fight and she's not exactly dinner ready."

  Benelli crosses her slim arms and tosses her shiny hair over her shoulder. "Wait a minute. You--" She pauses and jabs a finger at my chest, "took her to a fight? A fight with the Murrays? Have you lost your damn mind?"

  "We were on a date when he got the call--" Evan begins to explain, but my sister throws a palm in her face and shushes her.

  Rage burns dangerously hot through me, and I do what I never do. I snap at Benelli.

  "Don't you dare disrespect her." Benelli was all wound up to deliver some tough-girl, shoulder-swaying, hip-shaking speech, but her mouth falls open and she's standing totally still, perfectly mute. "Evan is our guest." I look over and Evan is breathing hard through her nostrils, fists balled at her sides. "And my girlfriend. I need your help, Bene. Do this for me, please."

  At the word 'girlfriend,' Evan's fingers unfurled.

  At the same word, my sister's mouth snapped shut in indignation. "Girlfriend?" she barks out.

  Before she can say anything else, Evan cuts in. "It's time for me to leave."

  "No offense, Winchester, but you should listen to your girlfriend. Dinner with Mama? After a big fight? This is going to be crazy enough." She runs her eyes over Evan like she's not sure what she thinks.

  Evan nods and grabs my arm. "Listen to her, Winch. I don't want to make anything harder for you right now. And I want your family to like me. Since, let's face it, the odds are stacked against me, just listen to Benelli and take me home."

  Her eyes are swimmy with tears I know she's not about to shed in front of my sister. They're begging me for mercy, to release her from this catastrophic situation, and I'm ready to do what she needs. I've been beat down in too many ways to count today.

  Benelli's voice cuts through our wordless conversation. "Evan?" She huffs a little, but her eyes are lowered with something that looks an awful lot like shame. "We may be a little...eccentric. But we're not monsters. There's no point in your going home. Mama always cooks enough for the whole town. And I have a dress--if you want to wear it. I'll completely understand if you want to run away from all of us. But, seriously, you have the coloring to pull this dress off and I so don't, so I'd be happy for you to have it. But I understand if you'd rather not."

  My sister still sounds half-pissy and rude as hell, but it only takes Evan a few seconds to make up her mind. I can tell by the way she squares her shoulders that she isn't going to go down without a fight, and I have a sudden, weird thought: I'm glad Evan wasn't born a guy and a Murray, because I wouldn't have had a chance in hell in the ring today if she had been.

  "Thank you. I would appreciate it if you could also lend me a brush and a little makeup."

  Evan and my sister stare at each other like two queens from warring nations, ready to make tentative peace.

  "Shoo, Winch." Benelli flicks her fingers my way, and I give Evan a look to let her know she can call uncle at any second, and I'll unwind this whole messy obligation for her.

  But she pushes a limp, scraggly piece of hair out of her face and says, "You heard her. Shoo. We have an emergency make-over, and I'm going to need all the help your sister can offer me."

  I feel a good, relieved clutch in my chest, but before I can kiss her or whisper anything sexy and secret against her ear, Benelli yanks Evan into the little pink-and-gold, girly sanctuary of her room and slams the French doors closed on me.

  I head to my rooms and wash up, change into clothes that aren't covered in blood and grime, and clean out and bandage the worst of my injuries. Thankfully, I won't need to visit the ER. Unfortunately, I may have broken my nose, but it's still too soon to tell. Remy pops in.

  "Dinner in twenty." He reads my confused face and grins. "Benelli came to the rescue, and Mom suspended the rules for once."

  "She ask about your bashed-up melon?"

  Unlike me, Remy didn't bother to change his clothes or wash off the blood, and I'm not sure he would have bothered except for the fact that my father doesn't put up with shenanigans about dinner manners. You come neat, dressed, and on your best behavior in his house.

  "I gave her a song and dance. No reason to get her all worried. We were the knights in shining armor, in case she asks."

  He leaves me hanging on purpose, the same smug face he always wore when we were just kids and he was dangling a toy he knew I wanted in front of me.

  "Did you tell her about Evan? What did she say?" I'm surprised to see the gleeful look wipe off his face.

  "I thought you'd ask what got me in the ring with the Murray brothers today." He leans a shoulder ag
ainst the wall and zeros in on me.

  Why didn't I ask him? I'm usually running like a fool, trying to figure out what makes Remy tick and why, I guess so I can try to analyze his next move. Which was always a pretty useless plan. You can't predict anarchy.

  "I figured it out already. It's because you're a fucking idiot. What did Mama say about Evan?"

  Remy's silent for two beats, enough time for me to see the confusion and disappointment roll across his face.

  "She said, 'Not Lala?'. Then she said, 'Twenty minutes.' I think she's making szűz tekercsek. You know how into it she gets when she's making that." He backs out, smacking the edge of my door with the palm of his hand. "See you at the table."

  His voice is ringed with an anticipation that makes my stomach queasy.

  It's a long, anxious twenty minutes, and I know Benelli worked some kind of strong voodoo on our mother, because dinner waits for no man at her table. It's after six. I never in my life remember dinner starting after six. It's six straight up, and most nights every one of us is expected around the table, plus usually a handful or three of our closest relatives and family friends.

  We're all seated when Benelli comes in, followed by Evan.

  I almost knock my chair back when they walk in, and I feel like someone sucker-punched me in the throat.

  My sister is a schemer, and the dress she put Evan in is this innocent soft yellow, light and sweet enough for our grandmother, never mind our mother, to approve of. But it's also made of some kind of fabric so lightweight, it clings to every one of her curves and makes her skin look even more touchably soft than it usually does.

  I'm dying to skip this whole migraine-inducing dinner and take her to the beach, to the beach house, to my room, to my bed, to do whatever we want for however long we want, while my brother and all his bullshit rots in hell for all I care.

  I pull the chair next to me out for her and let my hands furtively graze the sweet curves of her body as I push it in.

  "You look amazing," I murmur for her ears alone. I watch the pink deepen around her cheekbones and the roots of her hair. When she's settled, I turn to the table. "Mama, Pop, this is Evan Lennox. My girlfriend."

  Mama clanks the serving spoon she was holding into the dish with a little more force than necessary.

  Evan looks each of my parents in the eye. "It's so nice to meet you both. Thank you for having me over on such short notice. I hope it wasn't an inconvenience."

  She smoothes her napkin on her lap and graces everyone with a cool, collected smile.

  Deep down, I want to fist pump with satisfaction. Evan knows exactly how to fight this battle, and she'll mutilate everyone in my family with her awesome manners.

  Mama rushes to tell her that it was no trouble at all, and the tense first minutes get replaced by the usual food distribution flurry. I pour Evan some white wine, shipped over from my great-uncle's vineyard in Hungary. She takes a sip and smiles, and I feel a twinge of worry. She's so deep in character at this table, I have no idea if I can read anything she says or does accurately.

  Does she like the wine, the food, my family, or is this all a cool, calm show worthy of one of my own performances?

  My mouth goes dry.

  It's like I'm living my worst nightmare. The passionate girl I'm so damn in love with is all of a sudden moved by the same marionette strings that dictate my every waking moment. She's playing a role as much as I always am, and it's because I brought her to a place where everyone is expected to play along.

  "So, where did you meet my brother? I didn’t think Winch had any friends." My little sister Ithaca, the light-haired, green-eyed throwback rebel misfit of my little clan pipes up with an outrageously rude question that has my sister and my mother simultaneously shushing her.

  Evan wipes her mouth and smiles, and, this time, I'm sure it's real. Or she's an even more amazing actor than I initially imagined.

  "It's okay. Ithaca?" My sister nods like she's conducting a government interview. "I met your brother at community service. I'm a senior at St. Anne's School for Girls. I also live in Savannah, off of Ardsley Park, with my grandparents."

  Ithaca raises an eyebrow. "You don’t live with your parents?"

  My baby sister is old enough to know how to act, but being the spoiled youngest, she gets away with pretty much anything she wants, anytime she wants.

  "Ithaca," I warn, reaching for Evan's hand under the table. She laces her fingers with mine and squeezes, but her eyes stay locked on my sister's.

  "No. My mother moved to Mexico and my father has a gambling problem. So I live with my grandparents because they're the best people for me to be with right now." Evan keeps her eyes trained on Ithaca, which is probably a good thing.

  My mother's face is openly disapproving, my father looks annoyed, Benelli is texting like crazy under the table, my guess filling Lala in on everything that's going down. Remy is pouring himself an extra glass of wine and not bothering to try and hide his chuckles, and Colt looks like he wants to get back to practicing football as soon as humanly possible.

  "Why Mexico?" Ithaca demands.

  "I think she loves being on the beach. And the real estate market is decent," Evan muses. "Also, my mom loves vacationing. And this is kind of like a permanent vacation." Her hand has a vice grip on mine.

  "I hear that. My mother constantly says she needs a vacation after she takes a vacation with us." Ithaca jabs at her dinner with the tines of her fork.

  Evan's laugh bubbles out politely, but her words rip at me. "Maybe that's why my mother didn't take me along."

  "Ithaca." My mother finally swoops in with laser eyes and a set, hard mouth. "That's the end of your little question and answer session. Evan is a guest of your brother's, and we don't put our guests on the spot like that." She turns to Evan. "I apologize. Ithaca is…" She glances at my sister and grits out, "…a free spirit."

  "She means a 'pain in the ass,'" I whisper. Evan bites back a smile.

  "So, Benelli, speaking of vacations, you mentioned Lala might be coming with us on our trip to the Cayman Islands this fall?" my mother asks, taking a delicate bite of her pumpernickel bread.

  I grimace and shoot a look at my plate I don't dare direct at my mother, no matter how much I want to. Evan sits a little straighter at my side.

  Even Benelli looks a tiny bit shocked that my mom would play her hand so obviously. I guess she's more threatened by Evan than I initially thought.

  "Yeah. Her family was thinking of doing Bermuda right around the same time, but we thought it would be more fun if we had each other for company." Benelli lays her phone aside for a minute and throws me a pleading glance, I guess hoping that I'm not pissed about her and Lala taking their schemes to whole new levels.

  Mama purposefully keeps her eyes off of Evan, as if she's not sitting next to me. "Well, that's just silly. We've all been friends for so long, it's like our families are married in. I'll give her mother a call and see if we can't all arrange something. What do you think, Tobar? Maybe we could rent a villa for the adults, and keep the kids in another one. They could have some privacy, we could have some privacy." She nudges his arm, and he gives her a distracted look.

  "Whatever you think, love. I have some big shipments coming in right around then, so I may need to fly down later." He rubs the back of his neck and up through his thinning, graying hair.

  My mother never disagrees openly with my father, but she offers a quiet, "It's our one vacation together all year, Tobar. I understand that work is important, but family always needs to come first."

  The words are in answer to my father's statement, but her dark blue eyes bore into me when she says it.

  "Family vacations are wonderful, Jazmin, but we need money to afford them, and that's where the boys and I come in." He takes her hand and rubs it.

  She looks at him, her face twisted with shock. "You and the boys? Tobar! The children have never missed a vacation."

  My father tucks a huge, scarred hand on the side
of her face, rubbing his thumb on her cheekbone, his fingers loosening little pieces of her dark hair from her bun.

  "The children are grown men, love. When I was Remy's age, we already had two kids and Benelli on the way. I was working on getting us a second mortgage and opening the Florida branch of our demolition company. It's time you stopped treating them like children."

  It's a gentle scold, but I'm shocked my father brought it up with Evan at the table. My mother's blue eyes flash at him.

  "My sons will always be their mother's children."

  My father is a wise guy. He knows better than to push any more buttons. "Let's save this conversation for when it's closer to our vacation time. You make the reservations, and the guys and I will work hard to see that it all goes according to your plan, okay?"

  Mama nods, but takes an extra-long gulp of her wine. Colt finally can't stand another second of this tense, stomach-curling dinner away from his beloved football.

  "Mama, Pop, may I please be excused?" he pleads. "Coach went through a few new plays he wants me to practice."

  "Dinner is dinner," Mama objects. "You spend too much time with football. By the time your brothers were your age, they were working for your father."

  Colt nods to his plate, working hard to keep the aggravated scowl off his face.

  "Yes, ma'am," he murmurs.

  Luckily, Colt doesn't have to wait too long before we run out of awkward, stupid, griping things to talk about and dinner is over. Evan attempts to help clear the table, but Mama and Benelli shoo her away in a move that's less 'you're our guest' and more 'you don't belong in our kitchen.'

  I seethe on Evan's behalf. I love my family, would lay down my life for them, but they're doing their best to deliver a clear cold-shoulder that will make Evan feel pushed right out of our world.

  Which is good. I should be glad. She doesn't belong with all this insanity anyway.

  So why am I feeling so panicked that this dinner, which I knew would be all kinds of catastrophic, wound up being so quietly catastrophic beyond even my expectations?