Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book)

by Reinhardt, Liz

  The second time, I blow harder, and, when he uncovers my eyes, his smile is just over the line of bashful.

  "I can't walk under ladders, either. I avoid black cats like the fucking plague. And I never put new shoes on the table."

  "What?" That one makes me giggle. "New shoes? Where else would you put them? I always put them on the table."

  "If you have any feelings for me whatsoever, you won't freak me out by doing that. Ever. Even if you and I..." His words trail off and his eyes dart over to the softly lapping waves of the pool.

  "You and I won't."

  I don't go any further with my statement, because imagining life devoid of Winch is a specifically breathtaking kind of pain, and I don't have the courage to speak that possibility out loud.

  "Shall we?" He puts a hand out and I stare at his inviting gesture while I untangle what he's asking.

  "Go in the house?" I ask. He shakes his head. "Watch TV?" He pulls his hand back and takes his shirt off in one slow tug, gripping behind his neck and letting the cloth slide over his bruised skin and tight muscles. "Hot-tub?"

  My voice is paper-thin, his zipper is a flash and whine diving down in the night, and I pull myself to my feet without waiting for his assistance.

  Everything with Winch and me seems to take to be the double side of a coin flipping through the air, with no one sure which side it’s going to land on. When we're on heads, it seems like life is going in the right direction; it's all stolen kisses and that kind of deep and complete understand that you only ever get with a few people who truly know and...love you. But when the coin lands on tails, it's all freezing, shut-down, hopeless resignation.

  Winch walks to the hot-tub, his shorts hanging half off his hips, and pries the cover off. I turn it on and he helps me climb into the bubbling, warm water before shedding his shorts and following.

  In the cozy, warm rush of this soothing water, I wonder what the answer to our flipping coin relationship conundrum might be. Hope the coin always lands on heads? Stop flipping it? Melt it down and make a whole new coin, smooth with no sides?

  "What are you thinking about?" he asks.

  In the shadows, it's hard to make out his features, but my legs float slightly, and one foot lands on his thigh. He moves closer to me.

  "Us. Coins. Us." I smile at his frown.

  "I'm trying to make this work, Evan. You have to know how hard I'm trying."

  His body goes from mirroring mine to paralleling it, and the heat of his skin on mine is identical to the heat of the water. We're all hot, warmed up, that frigid distance between us melting like I hoped it would.

  "I feel like I'm balancing too much. More than I can hold up all at once," he explains.

  "I get it." I lean forward and kiss the side of his mouth. "I don't want to make things harder for you."

  He kisses back, his tongue pressing into my mouth in a slow, steady slide.

  "I know that. But you do." I stiffen and try to pull back, but he pulls me forward. "Maybe that's exactly what I've been needing all this time. Things have been...my life has been on the same course since I was too young to remember. And my parents and family dictated a lot of it. I'm not very good at questioning the way they want things to be. But I've known I wasn't happy for a long time. It used to be just this pull...like this misery I got dragged along with. When I met you...things changed when I met you. Good changes. But things also got harder."

  "So what do we do?"

  We're side by side, and it feels good. But I'm not satisfied with just good, so I half-float, half-slide onto his lap, looking over his dark blue eyes, squinted in serious thought, bordered with the wet spread of inky lashes.

  I wish one was loose under his eye, so I could offer him the chance to put his faith in a wish. "How do we balance all this?"

  His hand moves over my face, pushing the wet hair back. And when it's all pushed away, he just keeps rubbing my skin. "I don't know if there is a balance."

  I weave my arms around his neck and press against his chest, all the soft, needy places on me matched to his hard, bruised body. "Why?"

  His hands grasp either side of my face. "Because you're young enough that you haven't fucked things up with your life. And I'm old enough that I should have started to think about these things a while ago."

  I laugh softly. "Winch, we're four years apart. You act like you're in a nursing home and I'm graduating eighth grade."

  I rub my nose along the bristly stubble on the side of his face.

  "Four years can make a hell of a difference if you use your time wisely." He's so serious, it's almost funny. I kiss his frown. I kiss his jaw. I kiss his chin before I lay my head on his chest and listen to the jumping pace of his heart. "I'm willing to let you go if it means you get a chance to avoid everything I did wrong. I want better for you."

  "The best I can possibly have is all right here." I lay both hands over his heart. "With you."

  He sits up and pulls me closer, sloshing water over the sides of the tub.

  "How did I get so damn lucky?" he asks, his mouth blanketing mine.

  We kiss and touch and tangle until things are back where they were before the pool and the games and his question. And when my head is pillowed on his shoulder and all I can think about is him, forever, and never going back to real life, whatever that means, I say to him, "You're the best I've ever had. I don't like talking about the guys before you. Because, honestly, there were a lot. A whole lot. But it's never been like this, Winch. And I guess that messed me up."

  I'm looking right at his hand twined with mine, half under the water, when I tell him this. Because I don't want him to see me blush and wince while I confess.

  He strokes down from the crown of my head to between my shoulder blades with his free hand. "Shh. That was stupid of me to ask. It's none of my business."

  "Well, it is." I would never, ever have said this to any guy I dated or had sex with before. That was the thing, the thing that kept everything else in line. My secrets, my feelings, my interests, were all mine. All mine. No sharing whatsoever. But, because I know Winch would never take from me without giving back, I want to share. "I want to be your business."

  He doesn't say anything, but he crushes me close and we sit still and listen to the steady hum of the hot-tub, bubbling and insulating us from the clear, cool sounds of the night.

  "Winch?"

  "Mmm?"

  I love how relaxed he feels and sounds. But I have to ask, no matter how it might tense up all those lax muscles.

  "Is it really only going to be tonight?"

  He doesn't stressed, exactly. But he does gather me tighter.

  "I'm willing to do whatever it takes for this. For us."

  I know he means it. I know he does. And, nervous as I was, I never really doubted that he'd say anything else.

  But life has a funny way of conspiring to keep us from doing what we mean to do, despite our best intentions. And I never want to hold the attempt to do the right thing against him. Even if it blows up in our faces.

  "What are you thinking?" he asks, his lips at my ear.

  "I'm thinking about you and me," I whisper back.

  He nuzzles my neck. "All good stuff, right?"

  "Of course. What could be bad?"

  We lose ourselves in the slow, sweet tumble of a kiss that ignites our passion, but also, mostly, runs away from the question I just asked that neither one of us wants to answer.

  Winch 12

  The phone rings. I let it. The moon rises. Evan sleeps soundly in my arms, and the weight of her in them marks the first time I've held my responsibility close and didn't feel crushed by it. The weight of taking care of her is the kind of weight that will make me stronger. I know it.

  Remy's ringtone only breaks the silence once, in the dead of the night. I watch the screen glow bright while the song plays out, and wait for a second or third or twentieth call, but no more come through, which means one of two things; Remy is dead or he was calling because he know
s I said not to and wanted to find some way to tell me to fuck off.

  I would bet everything I own on the latter.

  Douchebag.

  In the early, breaking dawn, my phone rings again, and this time, I'm surprised to see the ringtone is Ithaca's. I almost don't recognize the soulful croon of some emo or goth or whatever the hell she's listening to nowadays. It's crazy how much older she's getting all the time. Seems like she was just toddling around the other day, her tiny fist clamped hard around my finger for support.

  I manage to slide Evan onto the pillow without waking her and grab the phone, pulling my pants on with one hand while I answer.

  "What's up, kid?"

  "Winch?" Ithaca's voice is trembly and upset. Dread coats my entire stomach like thick ice. "Um, where are you?"

  "Wherever you need me to be. Tell me where to go and you can explain while I'm on the way."

  I plug one ear so I can hear her over the crash of the waves. The sliding door opens, and Evan steps out, rumpled and so damn gorgeous, it takes my breath away. She's wearing my t-shirt and a tiny pair of underwear, and even in the midst of Ithaca's crisis, I feel a pull for her so strong it floors me.

  Remy? she mouths in my direction, her face controlled and neutral, but I shake my head and mouth back, Ithaca.

  She holds up one finger, her blue eyes wide, and whirls back into the house. I'm trying to listen to Ithaca's jittery, broken story, told through a few rounds of disjointed sobs, but all I really care about is the address and getting there as fast as possible. My little sister never cries, and, as bad as any girl's tears rip me up, hers are a swift kick to the back of my knees.

  Evan runs back out with my wallet and her purse, her dress thrown on and my shirt shoved at me. She drops my shoes at my feet, and we run to the car. I feel a relief like I've never known.

  Truth to be told, even though I've faced down hurking guys and beat the piss out of them, every single time my family gets into shit, I’m gripped with a fear I'm embarrassed to fess up to. I have no clue what's going to happen when I get to Ithaca's fancy-ass private school. The thought that I might find her hurt or helpless fills makes my heart arrest in my chest.

  But, for the first time, I don't have to face all this on my own. I have Evan, cool as a fucking cucumber, setting up the GPS and asking if she needs to make any calls for me.

  "I don't know." I do a quick scan for early-bird cops, and decide to take my chances and floor it. She doesn't bat a gorgeous eyelash. "Ithaca is at her school, but it's early. I don't think there are any teachers or anything. I have no fucking idea what's going on. All I know is that she's panicked and she needs me."

  Evan's nod is quick and tight. "We'll be there in no time. She's gonna be okay."

  It may be a load of horseshit, but it's all I need to hear. I focus on driving. Evan is silent, but when I glance over, her face is determined, and I love that. I love the fight in her.

  I'm barely stopped in the fancy ass parking lot when Evan leaps out and we both run, instinctively, to the area behind the sports fields, where it's slightly wooded and overgrown. It’s the only place that's shielded from adult eyes, so the only place a bunch of kids would go and manage to get in trouble without being seen right away.

  The sound of fists pounding into faces is familiar enough to close my throat down. I leap through the brush and find a small group of young, preppy guys beating the piss out of each other. My idiot sister keeps jumping into the fray, only to get pushed back out by one of the cursing, bruised fighters.

  Evan immediately grabs Ithaca, hooks her arms around her elbows and drags her, crying and screaming, away from the fight.

  I rip two of the guys apart and hold them at arm's length. I could bench press the two of them together, but they're full of raging testosterone and adrenaline, so I get punched in the shoulder and kicked in the shin pretty damn hard before I manage to calm either one down.

  "What the hell is going on?" I yell.

  Three guys back up to the side that one of the hulking, growling toughnuts is on. The other guy, quieter, his face badly bruised, not wearing a pretty uniform, wipes a long trickle of blood from under his nose.

  The private school boy starts mouthing off immediately. "This fucking punk--"

  I shake the little jerk by the scruff of his neck. "Watch your damn mouth. Start over, and this time put that fancy education to work and use real words."

  His dark eyes drop, some of the bravado gone from his whole act.

  "Sorry, uh, sir." It must occur to him that he could be in deep shit, because he starts to wise up and use his manners real quick. "This, eh, he...I caught this guy prowling around my house the other night. There've been a bunch of thefts in our neighborhood, then I saw him here. I confronted him, and he went nuts."

  "Liar!" Ithaca lunges out of Evan's arms, her light skin splotchy and pink, her blond hair knotted and stuck to her cheeks. "You are a liar, Rick! You accused him and threatened him when he never did a single thing! And then you all attacked him!" Her chest rises and falls and she points a shaking finger at them, her lips trembling with rage. "All of you. Like a pack of wild dogs."

  She spits the last words out, then her shoulders crumple.

  The quiet guy makes a motion toward her, but I grip his shoulder hard and shake my head. He nods, but I can tell by the look on his face that seeing my sister upset is killing him.

  It may be biased, but my alliance falls heavily and immediately with this guy.

  "Rick Wong?" I squint at the kid who gave me the phony story. A red flush creeps up his face, like he's been caught with his pants down. "Your family lives across the street from us." He nods, but avoids eye contact. "Your dad has three pit-bulls and a security system. I wouldn't worry about your precious shit getting stolen. Trust me, it's all insured anyway." I toss him back to his friends, and he gives a hard stare to the ground. One he doesn't dare level my way. "This guy...what's your name?"

  I turn to the quiet kid, his dark eyes glued on my sister and wild with worry.

  "Andre. Sir." He shifts a look at the Wong kid and scowls, not about to be outdone.

  I can't help it. I immediately like this Andre kid.

  "This guy, Andre, he's none of your concern, you got that?" I shake Wong by the shoulder. "Hey! Look at me when I talk to you." He lifts his eyes and nods. "And next time you think someone is doing something shady, handle it like a man and leave your little brute squad behind. There’s no reason for four of you to jump a guy just because he’s hanging around near your damn house."

  "Yes, sir."

  My piss-ant neighbor squirms under my look, and I'm sure there're a thousand things he wants to tell me to stick a thousand places. But he doesn't.

  "You mess with my man Andre again, I'll beat the piss out of you. And your gang. And I don't give a shit who your daddy is. Now get the hell out of my sight, and I better not hear a word about you being a little asshole again."

  I dismiss him with a shove, and they scuttle away, muttering shit under the breath and throwing looks over their shoulders when they're far enough away that I can't catch any of them.

  "Dre!" my sister wails and flings herself at her beat-up hero.

  His arms hang by his sides, his eyes fixed nervously on me. I let go of his arm and nudge him forward, feeling weird about seeing my baby sister wrapped around some hooligan.

  And I know the kid's a hooligan because it takes one to know one. The fact that I like him off the bat is a bad sign.

  He runs a hand over my sister's hair, untangling pieces and pushing them away from her face. "It's okay, babe. It's fine. I could have taken them."

  She raises one hand to his bloodied nose and cut lip, and chokes on a sob. I seriously have no idea what to think of this whole scene.

  Evan walks over to me, the back of her hand brushing the back of mine. I thread my fingers through hers and hold tight. Her face turns toward mine, and she flashes a secret smile.

  "Young love?" she asks lowly.

&
nbsp; My sister is throwing herself at the kid, who's gently pushing her back and eying me with an anxious look that, I'm sure, is his attempt to communicate that he doesn't want any part of her PDA.

  Not in front of me anyway.

  "Too young. And that kid isn't good enough for Ithaca." I narrow my eyes and Andre puts both of his hands on my sister's shoulders and speaks to her in low, urgent tones.

  "Stop scaring him." Evan chuckles. "Look at them. So in love. Do you remember your first love?"

  She leans her head on my shoulder and I can smell the sweet burned candy smell.

  I pull her into my arms and look her in the eye. "Remember it? I'm living it right now."

  She jerks back and crushes her eyebrows together, like she doesn't quite believe what I said.

  "Your ex? The one your family talked about like you guys were engaged?"

  "I've loved one girl. That's you, Evan Lennox."

  She steps back, looking at the ground and shaking her head like she can't put into words whatever it is that's running through her head.

  Andre clears his throat loudly. I look away from Evan and see that my sister is seriously pouting.

  "Um, I think it would be a good idea if Ithaca went back to class. She's worried about me making it home okay. Could I maybe get a ride with you guys?"

  "I am not going to sit in class with those assholes. I'm telling my mother that I want to switch schools." Ithaca wipes the last few tears from under her clear green eyes. "I want to go with you."

  Andre murmurs something to her, but she shakes her head and stamps her foot. "No! I'm tired of sneaking around, Andre! I don't care anymore. I don't."

  Evan looks at me with raised eyebrows, and I sigh. I was looking forward to a long day rolling around in bed with my gorgeous girlfriend. It figures the one time my brother manages to stay out of trouble, my baby sister jumps waist-high into some damn star-crossed love fiasco.