Meant to Be Broken
Page 9
Gage runs alongside. He waves and smiles, then explodes forward, arms chopping through the air. I speed up and pass him, my knees aching with each stride, then smile back over my shoulder with a thumbs-up. In two-seconds flat, he’s in my sights, pulling ahead once again with a “what’s up” head bob.
Like moths to the flame.
The see-saw of first place bragging rights continues all the way into town. I pass him again, and this time, he fades from sight. My lungs rage like volcanoes, burning with the chilled air I’m sucking in as I jog to a stop. But when I turn around, hands in the air, Gage is sprawled out on the sidewalk, flat on his back, not moving.
“Gage!” I dart across the four-lane road, nearly getting smashed by a Jeep whose driver honks at me. I kneel down, hovering over him. His eyes are open and fixed on mine, chest moving up and down, arms and legs stretched out in four different directions. My hands wash over him, searching for blood or bumps, and somewhere beneath the worry, that swoony-crackly feeling pulses under my skin, and images of his tattoo flood my brain, the black block lettering smooth to the touch. The way it rolled across the rippled muscles. I shake my head. Stop and focus. He could be dying. “What happened? Did you trip on something?”
He blinks rapidly and bites his lower lip. “My pride? I think it’s back there somewhere,” he laughs and points behind him.
“In that case, I won’t point out that I won… beat you. Killed it. Owned it…”
“Okay, I get the picture,” he interrupts. I help him to his feet and we sit together on the grassy bank bordering the cement. “Just wait ‘til next time…”
“Bring it.” I square off with him, eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose.
“You and your competitive streak…”
“You have no room to talk, mister.” I wag my finger in his face.
“I’m a dude. We’re supposed to be testosterone-y. You’re a chick. You’re supposed to be catty and whiny, not hardcore.”
“Do you not remember the cow patty incident?”
“Who the hell could forget you with your foot in crap?” he snorts.
“Shut up. What I meant is I’m not catty and whiny. You’ll have to see Jaycee for that.”
“Hell yeah.” His face winds into a nasty grimace. “That’s one friendship I don’t understand.”
“Hush. We’ve been friends since she moved here in first grade. Some kid stole my paste, and when I cried, she blacked his eye.”
“So your friendship is based on violence?” Gage arches his right eyebrow with a grin.
“No,” I shake my head, leaning in to shoulder nudge him. “Jaycee and I are total opposites, but it works. She forced me into cheerleading, I make her take French class. She’s up on the latest fashions, I’m up on the latest books.”
“You’re honest. She’s a backstabbing opportunist…”
I roll my eyes. “I keep her grounded. She looks out for me.”
“You got me now.” He plunges his finger to his chest. “I’ll protect you.” Something about the glint in his eyes lets me know he means it. We sit so close, arms mashed together, that our long-sleeve cotton shirts suddenly feel invisible, like the tender skin of my arm and the hard ripples of his burn together, melting, smoldering.
Just then, my phone buzzes against my leg. I pull it from my pocket and swipe my finger across the screen.
Before I finish reading, her second text comes through.
I lock the phone, slide it back in my pocket then bury my face in my hands. “Dear Lord…”
Gage tugs my hands down. “Let me guess. Someone in town saw us talking, and now everyone thinks something’s up?”
I drop my jaw in feigned surprise. “Wow. It’s like freakin’ ESP with you.”
“Also known as ‘growing up here.’” He grins and shakes his head, but when he turns to me, his eyes are hard, his lips flat-lined. “Why the hell do you care so much what this town thinks? Don’t you ever just wanna break the rules?”
“Like you?” I point to the tattoo hidden by his t-shirt.
He smirks and looks down at his feet. “Good in theory, right?”
“Yeah. Until you have to live with the consequences.” He looks up and we stare at each other for the longest minute. I’m not sure what we’re sidestepping in this conversation, but my insides feel like a rubber band stretched to the limit.
“Aren’t some consequences worth it?” His words are barely audible over the traffic.
“Maybe?” I offer.
Gage stands up and extends his hand. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet. “Don’t worry. When the news gets to Preston, I’ll tell him how gracious his girlfriend was in scraping my ass off the pavement.” He smiles. “Need any help getting home?”
I do a 360-degree glance, half-expecting Jaycee or someone else to spring from the bushes and take our picture. “Better not push the town’s limits. See you at school.” I plug in my earbuds and take off toward home. I don’t look back because I know he’s watching me—and so is everyone else.
Chapter 12
Gage
S
he runs down the sidewalk and disappears around the corner. Not once does she look back to see if I’m still here, and my stomach drops a little. I kinda wanted her to, even though I shouldn’t.
This girl has been in my classes for years, quiet and content to skip the limelight, and now I’m kicking my own ass for dismissing her without a second thought. It’s not that I did or didn’t think she was pretty. I just put all my focus into football. Why worry with impressing girls? The girls don’t flock to me, never talk about me in the hallways or whisper when I walk in class. No one breaks down my door for a date.
If anyone in our school has bypassed these years with more stealth than Rayne, it might just be me. But then again, with Preston as a big brother, I’m easy to overlook.
I sigh and brush the dirt off my shorts. My shoelace puddles out onto the sidewalk, and as I bend over to tie it back, someone walks up behind me, shoving me hard. I stagger forward, regain my balance and turn around. Jaycee stands there, crossed arms and blazing eyes, her lips so pinched they nearly disappear into her face.
“What’s your problem?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m not the random idiot pushing people on sidewalks.” The words echo off the buildings and a few people on the other side of the road look in our direction.
Jaycee steps closer, her voice a low hiss. “And I’m not the dumb jock lying around on sidewalks in public with my brother’s girlfriend.”
I roll my eyes. Cue the small-town gossip queen herself. “I tripped. She helped me. Not that I owe you or anyone else in this town an explanation.”
“I don’t know what kind of underhanded shit you’re trying to pull, but—” She plunges her finger in my face before I swipe it away.
“Underhanded shit? You want to talk to me about being underhanded?”
“I’m interested in one thing,” she growls. “Making sure Rayne doesn’t screw up with Preston. He’s good for her. They could really make it.”
That’s laughable, considering it was only a few weeks ago Jaycee and her gang were criticizing Preston’s choice, taking bets on how long it’d be before their “bestie” Rayne screwed things up royally. “Really? Cause I thought you only gave it two weeks max?”
Her face goes blank, and she steps back, mouth open. “What are you talking about?”
“Maybe you should check the other booths at Cups and Cones before you talk shit about people.”
She clenches her fists and slams them into her thighs. “If you really care about Rayne at all, you’d see that dating Preston is the best thing for her. He can open up doors for her social life.”
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So that’s it. Rayne’s just a pawn in Jaycee’s self-serving plan. “Is it really Rayne you’re concerned about, Jaycee, or is it yourself? After all—how did you put it—you don’t have a clue why he’d want her basic self, but you were damn sure gonna capitalize on it?”
She screams and stomps her foot on the concrete, scaring away a few birds from the nearby bushes. “You stalker asshole! How dare you—”
“Stalker? I was in Cups and Cones before y’all even came in, and I’m not the one sending wacked-out texts threatening my friends not to talk to someone.” I turn my back, shaking my head, before glancing back at her over my shoulder. “You need help. Maybe if Rayne really knew what you were like, she’d—”
“Don’t you threaten me, Gage Howard!” Jaycee runs around in front of me, pushing herself way too far into my personal space. I step back to inject some air between us as she wags her finger in my face. “You’re the one who’s gonna need help when this goes public!”
“When what goes public? I talked to my brother’s girlfriend? That happens a lot, you know… since she’s dating my brother!”
“You know what I mean.” Her eyes narrow to slits.
“Don’t think I do.” I shrug, the simple gesture appearing to conjure up the devil in Jaycee. Her eyes turn to fire.
“You’ve been warned. Stay away from Rayne.”
“No, I won’t, Jaycee. I’m Rayne’s friend, which is more than I can say for you. So take your drama and this town’s gossip and shove it.” I side-step her and jog down the sidewalk toward my house, imagining the air waves around me brimming with a gazillion texts and calls.
Idiots. All of them.
I kick off my shoes in the mud room, not taking the time to pick them up and put them away in Mom’s specially-marked storage basket. When she comes in and sees them, fireworks will probably explode in the house, but that’s the least of my worries.
With the way this town talks, it’ll be better for me to go ahead and inform Preston of this afternoon’s events before he hears it from other people and gets the wrong idea. Not that there’d be any reason to believe their speculations. I mean, she’s dating Preston. So what if my hands get clammy, my mouth goes dry, and these electric shocks run down my arm each time she touches me? No one knows that but me, and no one’s going to. And in the scheme of things, none of it matters, because she already has Preston. My liking her or not is a moot point, and I’m man enough to realize that.
But getting to know her—having her around—is something I don’t want to lose, and if things go South between Preston and Rayne, where would that leave us? Would there have to be side-taking and ignoring the other one? That’s the way these things have always gone before.
Preston’s sitting at his desk, slumped over the top, pencil squeaking along the paper. When I knock on the door, he leans back and smiles. “What’s up?”
I swallow hard. “Thought I’d tell you that I ran into Rayne and—”
“Y’all were lying on the sidewalk?” He laughs and tosses his pencil onto the desk. “Yeah, I already know.”
I deadpan. Gossip at light speed—Know the latest in ten minutes or less—that should be town’s new slogan. “How’d you know already?” Preston picks up his cell phone and shakes it around as I continue. “The town’s getting it all wrong. I tripped. She happened to be there to help—”
Preston waves off my explanations. “Gage, relax. Ignore it. One of the charms of living in a small town.”
Charms? For the golden child, maybe, where everyone’s gossip is either about how great you are or is some vigilante-filled search for justice on your behalf. For us common people, it’s anything but charming. It’s a curse.
“Rayne’s concerned about people talking. Last I saw her, she was on her way home. Maybe you should go over there and make sure she’s okay.”
He scrunches his lips and shakes his head, looking back at his papers. “Can’t. Too busy. Gotta finish this project.”
“Too busy for your girlfriend?” The words slip out before I can stop them, the tone filling in the gaps of what I’m not saying out loud.
Preston blows out a breath, picks up his pencil and begins tapping it on the wooden top. “Look, I’m not in high school anymore. This stuff is important. It has to be my priority.”
His lips are moving but Mom’s voice is coming out. Like she’s some evil ventriloquist, and he’s her puppet. “Hello, Mom. Thought I was talking to Preston.” I grimace. “Dude, her hand’s so far up your butt, you don’t even know she’s there anymore.”
He side-eyes me and flips me off. “I’m not a puppet. I’m working toward my future here. In a few years, I’ll be out of school completely, and Mom’s already said there’ll be a management position waiting on me.”
“Terrific, but what about Rayne?”
He shrugs. “What about her? She understands. I love spending time with her, but right now it’s hard with Mom, Dad, and school on my back. Things will eventually calm down.”
“And you’re so sure she’ll be waiting on you? Rayne’s not like the other girls you’ve dated.”
“My point exactly. She’s not clingy and needy. She gets it.” He walks over and pats my shoulder. Diplomatic and dismissive all at once. He’s truly our parents’ son. “Thanks Gage, but Rayne and I are fine.”
Chapter 13
Rayne
T
he Howard’s double front doors are impeccable, painted black with elegant gold-metal script that spells out their address. One hundred forty-three. It’s more regal than the big block numbers we have on ours. Each door has its own square boxwood wreath, the right one adorned with a red painted “H,” and the doorbell with its own curly frame. I’ll bet it plays a cutesy song.
“Ready?” Preston squeezes my hand and swallows hard. If it’s possible, he’s more nervous than I am. Meeting his parents is as close to royalty as I’ll ever get, but, then again, I live with Mama. If I can handle her, I can handle anything.
We walk through the doors and Preston yells, “Mom. Dad. We’re here.” The foyer is open with a view of the large staircase that separates the living room from the dining room on either side. The walls are painted a soft vanilla with large oil paintings on canvas, vases with dried flowers, expensive looking knick-knacks, and leather-bound books set just-so on built-in shelves.
Everything in its rightful place—except me, conspicuous as a two-dollar-hooker in the front pew of church.
Almost immediately, the thump-thump of someone approaching echoes in the space, and Gage joins us, his spiked-up hair, jeans, and boots an obvious snub to the formal dining requirement.
“Hey Rayne, nice cardigan.” He fingers the embroidered hem. “Been running lately?”
“Every day. You’re never gonna beat me.”
He grins. “We’ll see.”
When we hear two more sets of footsteps heading our way, one much harder and click-clacky than the other, both boys straighten up, replacing slumped shoulders with tall, strong ones, hands down at their sides. What is this, boot camp? Instead of questioning, I push back my own shoulders and smooth out any tiny wrinkles on my sundress.
Charlotte enters first, followed by Jackson. Seeing them in person and mentally comparing them to my parents leaves me awkwardly conscious of the fact my pedigree may not be up to snuff.
“Hello, Rayne. Welcome to our home.” Charlotte fingers a peaches-and-cream cameo choker—probably an antique. An expensive one passed down through the generations no doubt. It perfectly matches her cream-colored silk blouse and peachy linen trousers, tailored to hug the curves of her body. Her blond hair is pulled into a loose bun.
Next to my mama, a tad frumpy from the years in her “mom suit” of jeans and long-sleeve t-shirts, Charlotte embodies the royalty thing to a T, and she wears it well, her backbone stiff and straight, shoulders pushed back, neck elongated. Her picture-perfect posture, straight from Southern charm school, adds a g
ood inch to her stature, making her near eye-level with Preston.
Jackson leans around her and shakes my hand. He shares Gage’s thick eyebrows and hair but with a sprinkle of salt-and-pepper at the temples. His white oxford, chocolate brown sweater vest, and khaki dress slacks with military-precision creases skim his thick frame, well-toned, though the beginnings of middle-age spread squeeze out just over his belt.
“Rayne, you’re as pretty as Preston said.” Jackson’s voice pours over me like warm caramel, his drawl slow but more nasal than mine, reminiscent of the Lowcountry.
I thank him as Charlotte waves us into the dining room and taps her nails on the back of a Queen Anne dining chair. “Rayne, you’ll sit here.” Preston slides the chair underneath me as I smooth my dress and sink onto the beige microfiber. Charlotte rings a small porcelain bell, the tinkle-tinkle beckoning the maid with a tray of garden salads. The silence roars in my ears, cut only by the faint slurping of Jackson’s lips pulling in maroon sips of his Cabernet from his position at the head of the table. I’m beside Preston, across from Gage and catty-cornered from Charlotte, who eyes me sideways, never fully turning her head in my direction.
I fumble with the fifty-million forks lying beside my plate, pick one up and just as I’m ready to spear a lettuce leaf, Charlotte finally looks at me. “Wrong fork, dear. It’s this one.” She holds up a three-pronged silver piece.
I nod and switch forks. “Thank you, ma’am.” Called down over a silverware violation within the first five minutes? I glance up at Gage, grinning ear-to-ear and rolling his eyes in circles, and have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Other than small talk about how I’m enjoying school, the salad course passes with little problem, and the main course of roast beef, potatoes, and green beans is brought in.
We eat for another five minutes before it becomes apparent Charlotte’s waited on the “meat and potatoes” of the conversation as well.
“Preston, have you told Rayne you’re not only taking college courses but also shadowing your father at the company?”