Chapter Thirteen
Eric
Dad and Momma head out of town first thing Sunday morning, leaving me on my own except for the Winthrops’ nightly patrols. It’s safe to say that I now know what parole feels like. I never thought the house could actually be this quiet. It’s crazy how loud your own head is when everyone else is gone.
And by Tuesday morning, I hate it.
When I walk outside to leave for school, Mr. Johnson’s truck cab is already gone, along with Bri’s car. I have no clue how the girl handles being in the house by herself so much—I’m on Day Three, and I’m ready to climb the walls.
So I go to school. I go to practice. I go through the motions, and I stick to what I’m supposed to do, because it’s easy. It’s dependable. But when practice is over and the sun’s gone for the day, the thought of spending another night entirely by myself is enough to drive me insane.
While engines roar as the other guys tear out of the lot, I drop my bag into my truck and glance over at the soccer field. But my attention isn’t on the girls darting across the green—it’s on the blond guy heading that direction.
I scan the parking lot for Coach, but his truck is already gone, too. I’m not a bodyguard. I’m definitely not Bri’s boyfriend. I’ve got zero dogs in this fight. I should go home and keep myself out of her business. But all I can think about is the way we stood on this field last week and talked about that guy, about the way she’s been walked all over for doing what she should’ve done a long time ago. She may have said that I don’t need to fight her fights for her, but damn it, someone needs to run some kind of interference here.
By the time I make it to the field, Matt’s already hanging over the fence, in the same spot I stood just a few days ago. I step up beside him. Lean onto the fence, the cold metal digging into my bare arms. He says nothing—just stares at the field, at the girl who’s oblivious to her audience.
Minutes pass before he clears his throat. “I’m gonna need for you to leave her alone, Perry.”
He’s one to talk. Not bothering to look at him, I say, “I’m gonna need for you to mind your own damn business. And learn how to take no for an answer, while you’re at it. Bri doesn’t want you.”
“So it’s Bri now?”
I glance over. “What?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Every other time you’ve talked about her, it’s been my neighbor or the girl. Now it’s Bri.” He eyes me. “You really think she wants you?”
No. Not exactly. She has no reason to want me. But for some reason, his words are a kick to the gut.
“You’re a nobody,” he continues. “A waste of space. A douchebag with a smart mouth and nothing to back it up. What would she want with someone like you?”
My jaw stiffens. He’s baiting me. And it’s working. I look back to the field, where the team’s in a huddle by the goal post. No matter how much I want to prove the guy wrong, no matter how much I wish I could have a rematch right here and now, I can’t. Because I promised Coach I’d be better. I promised myself I’d be better.
So instead of throwing another right hook, I throw out the words slamming against my head. “Go fuck yourself, Harris.”
“Well, she’s clearly not screwing you for your manners.” He smacks the brim of my cap. “Tell you what—I’ll leave y’all alone. Have fun doing whatever the hell it is you’re up to. But when you screw up? You won’t even have to send her back my way—she’ll come running.”
I close my hands into fists while he walks away, toward the lot. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Over and over, as the girls file off the field. Over and over, until Bri starts in my direction. As I push off the fence, she smiles. And that smile’s the best damn thing I’ve seen all day.
“What’re you doing here?” she asks.
Right on cue, Matt’s truck roars out of the parking lot. His tires squeal as he swerves onto the road.
“Telling your ex to go fuck himself,” I say.
Her eyes widen. “Oh. Well. Thanks for playing ref.”
“Don’t mention it. Besides, I got to watch y’all run.” Becca walks past, waving bye to Bri on her way to the lot. “Y’all are good at running. In those shorts. I approve of the shorts.”
She shoves me, laughing. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I grin as she says, “You don’t have to be worried about me, you know.” She must see my confusion, because she adds, “Last time you showed up here, you said you were worried. But I’m good. I’m okay. Promise.”
I shrug. “I wasn’t really worried. But…” I trail off, unable to tear my eyes away from her. And an idea hits me that may be kind of crazy, but spending another night alone would drive me even crazier. “I was thinking that maybe we could have dinner together?”
“But your parents aren’t home. Neither are your sisters.”
And she picked up on the craziness aspect. The girl’s quick. “So?”
“So,” she drawls, “wouldn’t that be like a, you know—the D-word?”
D-word? Shit. I shake my head. “It’s not a date—it’s two neighbors eating together. But if you’re not okay with it, it’s cool. Whatever.”
I’ll just eat alone. Again. Watch TV alone. Again. Count the ceiling tiles alone. Again.
Holding my gaze, she tilts her head to the side. “I do have pizza. It’s frozen pizza, but it’s pizza.”
I’ve had pizza for the past two nights. “I cannot argue with pizza.”
She spins on her heel, starting toward the parking lot. “You really like eating with me?”
She says it with full-blown curiosity, like she honestly can’t believe that I want to spend time with her. I catch up, falling into step with her as I say, “I really like eating with you.”
I glance at her out the corner of my eye, catching her biting back a smile.
~
Bri’s living room is a lot different than I remember. When she and her dad first moved in after her parents split up, the place was bare bones, with a creaky futon and a coffee table that looked like it was dragged in from a swap meet. It’s become homey since the last time I was here, with a giant couch that I could probably get lost in, end tables covered with lamps and plants—actual plants that need water and stuff—and a huge TV against the wall.
I yank off my cap and toss it onto one of the end tables. I settle back against her couch, the suede cool and soft, and I kind of want to get lost in this thing. After putting the pizza in the oven, she went straight to her room to change. Leaving me in here to my knotty stomach and a heart that won’t stop racing.
This is not a date. It’s not. It’s dinner at my neighbor’s house. So knock it off, body.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I yank it out, spotting Kellen’s dad’s number on the screen. Momma wasn’t lying—the man’s called right after practice the past two nights. Keeping my voice down, I answer, “Hello?”
“Just doing my duty,” he says. Mr. Winthrop has this friendly, booming voice that’s perfect for Sunday morning sermons and not-so-perfect for phone conversations. “You get home all right?”
I glance around the living room. Technically, I did get home all right. I’m just not, you know, there, like I’m supposed to be. “Yes, sir,” I tell him. “Settling in right now.”
I mean, it’s not an actual lie.
We hang up after saying our goodbyes, right as Bri’s door creaks open down the hall. She walks into the living room, dressed in sweatpants and a white tank top, her dark hair spilling across her shoulders. She’s got this olive-colored skin that’s just smooth and perfect and God, I bet she even smells amazing. And as soon as she flops down beside me, that stupid heart of mine kicks into gear again. Along with other parts of my body.
Lord, help me, she does smell amazing. Maybe coming here wasn’t my best idea.
She grabs the remote and tucks her legs beneath her. “Tonight’s TV catch-up night,” she says. “Thank God, because reality freaking sucks sometimes.”
I narrow my eyes. “You all rig
ht?”
She stares at the TV, her face drawn tight. “He texted on my way home. And again while I was getting changed.” She swallows audibly and settles back against the couch. With the way her voice dips, it’s clear she’s talking about Matt. And now I hate him even more, because all I can think about is how much I crave being around this girl, and he had the chance and used it all wrong.
“You should change your number,” I tell her.
She shrugs a shoulder. “I did. And he’s already tracked it down. Great thing about small towns—you can figure out whatever you want about anyone.” She drops her head back, gazing at the ceiling. “He always called at night, you know,” she continues, almost to herself. “Any time from nine until three in the morning. Just to talk, he’d say, but…” She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “He wanted to know where I was. Make sure I wasn’t with anyone else. The first time he tried showing up here in the middle of the night was the last, thanks to my dad actually being home. I still barely sleep. I’m used to midnight wakeup calls.” She glances at me. “He was convinced that I’d sneak into your window or something. Crazy, right?”
And now I really, really hate him.
It’s weird, when you’ve known someone your entire life, when that someone lives right next door to you for years and years, and you never know what’s going on behind her walls—both the walls of her house and the walls she built on her own.
“Yeah,” I say. “Crazy. So why would you even put up with that?”
She winces, as if the words actually hurt her. “It’s not that easy,” she says. “He didn’t start off like that. When we started dating, he was sweet. He did everything for me. And I know you hate each other,” she adds, glancing at me. “But he was actually nice to me. And then—”
Her mouth hangs open, as if she’s trying to piece her words together. “I don’t even know what happened. He’d go from hot to cold. Tell me he loved me, and follow up with I’d never get anyone other than him. That no one would ever want someone like me.”
Yeah, so he’s an idiot.
“You’re too smart to fall for that,” I tell her. I meant it as a compliment—I mean, it’s no secret that she’s a genius—but if looks could kill, I’d already be six feet under.
“It’s not something you fall for. It doesn’t matter how smart you are. It happens because there are shitty guys out there who don’t give a crap about anyone but themselves, and the girls they date become some twisted sort of prized possession that they don’t want to share with anything, or anyone. You don’t see it until it’s too late, until your heart’s attached, until you believe the shit they’re pouring into your brain, and it’s like bleach. It poisons you. Eats at you, until you really believe you’re not good enough for anyone else.”
Her face flushes, but her gaze doesn’t waver for a second. And now, it’s official: I’m a complete and total asshole.
“So what happened?” I finally ask. “To make you dump him?”
Tears stream down her cheeks, and it hits me that I’m so tired of seeing this girl cry. Not in a frustrated way—more of a “whose ass do I need to kick” way. Except I do know whose ass I would have to kick, and that’s not exactly an option.
She sniffles. Wipes her eyes. “I think I finally realized I didn’t need to be good enough for anyone else. That I just need to be good enough for me. And…” She trails off, looking back to the ceiling. “I was just tired,” she says on an exhale. “And love shouldn’t make you tired. It should make you feel alive. Right?”
Her eyes meet mine, and something inside my chest lurches. I would say that it’s my heart, but that’s stupid. Hearts don’t do that unless you’re in deep with someone. And that—that’s not us. She’s hot. She’s smart. She keeps me on my toes and calls me on my crap.
But that’s not us.
The timer on the oven beeps. Without a word, she hops up and strides to the kitchen.
Distraction is good. Distraction gives me a chance to process whatever the hell just happened. Hearing that Harris is a douche is nothing new; hearing that he’s a stalker-douche who tore down one of the smartest girls in town is an entirely different level of asshole-ism.
Bri returns with two plates full of pizza. She plops onto the floor, places our food on the coffee table, and reaches behind her for the remote. She cranks the TV’s volume right as her show starts, the one with the two brothers who chase demons or ghosts or whatever it is they do. Confession hour is clearly over. But sometimes, you don’t have to talk—sitting with someone can be all you need. All they need.
So I slip to the floor and sit beside her. I eat my pizza. And I watch her show, which turns out to not be so stupid after all. Though these angels don’t really mesh with the ones I learned about in Sunday school. These are some vengeful bastards.
Once it’s over, she turns off the TV, sending the room into a quiet darkness. She tilts her head toward the door. “I’m sorry I’m a total buzzkill tonight. You can leave now, if you want.”
She’s not a buzzkill. If anything, this is probably the most fun I’ve had in months: sitting on a living room floor watching a not-so-stupid show and eating frozen pizza with a girl I don’t know as well as I thought I did. It’s a night I’m not sure I want to end. It’s not the crazy-inducing quiet; it’s the comfortable quiet. The comfortable quiet I’ve never really had before.
And that’s why I ask, “What if I don’t want to?”
Her eyebrows pull together. “Huh?”
This is stupid. I’m about to do something really stupid, and it could go so many different ways, but I hope it doesn’t go the way of her calling the cops. Or running for one of her dad’s shotguns.
I sit on the edge of her couch. “What if I want to stay here tonight? With you?”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because there’s no sense in both of us being alone when it’s the last thing we want.”
She watches me as I take off my first practice cleat, and wait. Take off the next, and wait some more. I give her time to stop me, to throw me out, to tell me I’m totally insane.
But she doesn’t.
“These past few weeks have been nuts,” I tell her. “And the only time things haven’t been nuts, the only time I’ve felt kind of normal, is when I’ve been with you. So I’m thinking that I can lie here, and you can maybe lie beside me, or I can even sleep on the floor with you in your room. But for one night, we can forget that we’re lonely, and that people are crazy, and we can just be together.”
Silence. I’m met with nothing but total silence. Which means I probably am insane. But I keep watching her, keep waiting, long enough for my vision to adjust to the darkness and make out her eyes, which are trained on me.
“No funny business?” she finally says. “I’ve got one heck of a kick if you try anything.”
I have zero intentions of funny business. Even though I wouldn’t complain if she was up for it. “No funny business. Just you, me, a blanket, and—hopefully—some sleep for you. Sleep-sleep, not waking-up-at-midnight sleep.”
“What about a Supernatural marathon?”
“We can have a binge-athon, if that’s what you want.”
“That sounds kind of amazing.” She takes a deep breath and says, “I thought we were doing the friends thing again.”
“We can be friends who sleep together.” My lips curve into a smirk. “Just not, you know, that way. Think of it like one of our old campouts, except inside. With heat. And a TV.” I pause. “Okay, so it’s really not a campout at all. But you get the point.”
It takes a minute or two, but she flips the TV back on, bathing the room in its light. She moves to the couch, settling in beside me. Her leg brushes mine as she kicks her feet up onto the coffee table. And while I’m definitely pushing it by doing so, I sling my arm across the back of the couch, behind her. But she does nothing. Says nothing. If anything, she relaxes. And for the first time in weeks, so do I.
“Eric?” she say
s.
Her voice shouldn’t do this to me—shouldn’t make my heart slam against my chest. Shouldn’t make me weak. Shouldn’t make me want to kiss the bare shoulder right beside me, and not stop there.
Damn it.
I clear my throat. “Yeah?”
She’s silent for a moment before saying, “Thank you for staying.”
A normal response would be “you’re welcome.” So I shouldn’t tell her that she feels way too right beside me, and how downright terrifying that is. That despite the terror, I can’t help but think that maybe coming here tonight was the best decision I’ve made in a long time.
But staying was a mistake. She shouldn’t be resting against my side. My breaths shouldn’t be slowing and I shouldn’t want to melt against her and stay here for however long she’ll let me.
Having feelings for someone is awesome, until those feelings are destroyed. I can’t go through that again. I can’t. But I can’t find it in me to move. I don’t want to move. And that’s even scarier.
Instead of telling her all that, I say, “Yeah. Anytime.”
~
The sunlight streaming through the windows wakes me the next morning. Still tucked beneath my arm, Bri breathes steadily, her head resting on my shoulder. She passed out halfway through her binge-athon, and I followed soon after.
That’s a problem.
Relaxing causes you to turn your blinders off. When you relax, when you let that guard down, that’s when the pain is able to creep in and attack you. I relaxed with the last girl I dated, Rachel, and then caught her in the backseat of Randy’s truck on a Saturday night.
I’m not saying that I’m scared of Bri hurting me. I’m saying that, for the first time in over a year, I’m willing to let someone hurt me. Which isn’t an option. But I can’t move. Literally can’t, because I’m trapped under the neighbor girl.
Definitely a problem.
More than anything, I wish it didn’t have to be a problem, because this? It feels pretty damn good. But she deserves better. Even if I can’t take my eyes off her, even if I am willing to let her in, I can’t let her do the same.
Game On Page 14
