She nods and faces me again. “Okay, can I expect you to be hanging around more then?”
“Is that a problem?” I ask, worried Jules has spoken negatively about me to her.
“Really? We were friends once, you know. Of course I don’t care. I’d love for you to be around more. I could use all the help I can get keeping Parker in check,” she teases with a wink in my direction. “Plus, I miss those jokes you used to tell me in English.”
I laugh. A full belly laugh. It’s the first genuine laugh since Friday night, and Katie joins in. “Man, I forgot about that. Mr. Fuller was such a stiff. He never laughed.”
“West and I had freshman lit together,” Katie explains to Jeff when he looks at us both in confusion. “He helped make Chaucer interesting by telling me jokes. Horrible jokes,” she clarifies.
“Horrible? I’m offended by that notion. My jokes rocked.”
“You’re offended?” she asks with a laugh. Focusing on Jeff, Katie thrusts her chin down and lowers her voice, “Did you know I’m like a sleeper sofa . . .”
“Oh my—dude, you hit on her?” Jeff bursts out laughing as Katie finishes the pick-up line.
“—Because I pull out,” she groans as the car fills with our laughter.
“And of course you know it too,” she frowns as Jeff’s arm drapes around her back.
He pulls her across the front seat, placing a kiss to top of her head. “I’ve never used that line in my life.”
“I wasn’t hitting on her, by the way. Not that you should care, it was way before you two hooked up,” I point out once our laughter subsides.
“Dude, I don’t want to envision my best friend and best girl hooking up. Ever.”
Katie and I share disgusted looks and burst into laughter once again. I look between Katie’s face, red with hilarity, and Jeff’s mildly aggravated scowl, and something within my chest eases. I think back to our middle school days. Remembering all of the team events and parties with these two, along with Tanya, Jules, Mark, Tommy, and so many others. I’m brought back to happier times. It feels good.
“I’d forgotten how much fun we had in his class,” I admit once we’re settled down.
“That’s the last time we were friends,” Katie whispers. “Or I guess the last time we talked as friends.”
As with Jules on Friday night, my guilt creeps in. I hate how I turned my back on the people I grew up with. Classmates walk by the car, casting curious glances at the three of us sitting there. I straighten in my seat.
“I guess, we can’t stay in here forever,” I hint, running my hands through my hair and preparing to exit. I crack the door open, then stop. “Hey, Katie.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” I reply as I finish pushing the door open with my foot.
“Don’t be sorry, unless you plan on ignoring me—us—again.”
I seriously think about it. I wonder if I can go back to being another guy in the hallway at school once classes start. It’s not as though I was anti-social; I have a lot of friends, I hang with everyone, and yet, with the exception of Jeff, I don’t hang with anyone. What would it be like to have deep relationships again instead of surface friendships?
Katie climbs out of the car and stares at me, waiting for an answer as Jeff walks around to meet us.
“Our lives have changed, K,” I reply, smiling when I say her nickname. “You’re stuck with me now.”
Katie’s smile grows as she clasps hands with Jeff and ropes her other arm through mine. “Nope, you’re stuck with us, Rutledge.”
As we make our way to the Rivera’s house I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my back. It’s a strange feeling to know that I’m attending a memorial reception for a friend, but knowing I have Katie in my corner changes me. I’m another step closer to the old West.
This realization helps me remain calm the longer I’m at the Rivera’s house. Instead of searching for Jules when we arrive, I tell myself to stay cool and make it a point to socialize. We make the rounds inside, hugging Tanya’s older sister and parents and grabbing a snack and warm punch. I lose Jeff and Katie when I get backed into a corner listening to Tanya’s extended family share stories from the past.
After what feels like an hour, Jeff pops into the dining room and waves at me. Excusing myself, I follow behind him and out onto the front porch where Tommy, Katie, and a few other guys are hanging out.
“Hey guys,” I say, leaning against the porch rail after giving Tommy a fist-bump. “What’s going on out here?”
Katie shrugs and Jeff looks a bit like the cat who ate the canary. “I heard you were at the barn last night.”
I simply roll my eyes. Katie leans into his side and looks up at him. “The barn?”
“It’s nothing,” says Tommy, who’s sitting on a rocking chair, snorts into his cup, causing Katie’s eyes to narrow suspiciously.
“It’s where a lot of the Rossview kids hang,” Jeff explains. “Bonfires and drinking. We had the Shack, they have the barn.”
My ears perk up at the way he used past tense. We had the Shack.
“So, is that where you spend your time when you’re not with me?” she asks Jeff, nudging him in his ribs as he shrugs. “You’re a bad influence, Rutledge.”
The guys around us snicker. They’ve all been to the barn for a party or two. In small town Texas you need variety after a while. Jeff and I trolled Rossview parties when we wanted to hook up with someone we know we wouldn’t have to see on a daily basis. Katie’s right, I am a bad influence—or I was.
I’m mentally forming a reply when Katie shouts over my shoulder, “Jules? You’re leaving?”
My apology for my wayward ways flies from my mind at the mention of her name. Where has she been?
Turning and leaning against the porch railing, I see Jules and Stuart coming from around the side of the house. Jules tosses a set of keys to him as she stops and searches for Katie. Even from twenty feet away, her eyes appear tired.
I watch in curiosity, attempting to maintain indifference, as Katie hurries down the steps and wraps Jules in a hug.
“You guys are leaving already?” she asks again.
My eyes meet Jules’ as she pulls out of the hug and answers. “Um, yeah. I’m not feeling well. My head is pounding.”
“Daniels isn’t giving you a friendly look,” Jeff mutters beside me, so I stand taller, preening my feathers like a peacock. My eyes flick to Stuart who immediately turns his head away. So subtle, douchewad, I think as I turn my back on them determined to ignore them until they’re gone.
“I’ll call you later, ‘kay?” Jules offers.
I listen for the engine to crank, clenching my fists to distract myself from watching her drive away. I would have made it too, if it weren’t for Katie’s shout.
“Wait!”
Jules hops out of the running car and meets Katie halfway up the sidewalk where they hug again. It’s reminiscent of a scene from a chick flick. I can practically hear the top 40 power ballad playing as they speak to each other.
“Hey, K. Let’s do girl’s night Tuesday,” Jules calls out. Will they ever leave?
“Yeah, we should,” Katie agrees.
“I’ve been in the mood to watch something old school . . . maybe some Buffy.”
Buffy. My head snaps to the car where Jules stands half-in, half-out, and I smile. I nod subtly, hoping she sees it, hoping she knows I caught what she said. She might be trying to look unaffected by whatever this is between us, but she’s not. She admitted it, even if I’m the only one who knows. Her hand lifts in a small wave before she slides into the car and leaves, taking a piece of me with her.
Seventeen
My dad is sitting on the back patio drinking a beer and watching the sun go down when I make it home. “Hey.” I grab a football in the bin near the open back door of the garage and step outside. My mouth waters at the scent of meat he’s got cooking on the grill. “Burgers for dinner?”
“How’d ya gues
s?” he asks with a smile.
I make a beeline to the grill and lift the lid, taking a long whiff before walking along the patio and tossing the ball in the air.
“Long day?” he asks.
“Yeah. She was there that night, Dad. Tanya. With Jeff and Jules—I—” I break off, irritated that my thoughts keep going there.
“You what? Could have saved her?” he asks as he stands. “There’s nothing you could have done. Had you run the other way, you might not have made it.” His jaw clenches as he flips our burgers. “Sometimes things happen, son. We can’t prevent it.”
Mom.
I know he understands the guilt I feel more than anyone. When Mom became sick, he was so angry with himself because he travelled often between his radio job with A&M and our family franchises. One night, I overheard him tell her that if he’d been around more he would have known she was ill. He said he would have seen it in her eyes, or in the way she had less energy and more aches and pains. My mom hadn’t seen it in herself, so I don’t know how he thought he would have.
Guilt is a damn ugly feeling—guilt and regret—and he had a lot of both after her death.
I also understand regret these days.
Dad claps in cadence three times. “Toss it here,” he calls, holding his hands out.
“Go long,” I challenge, throwing him the ball with a perfect spiral.
“I think maybe we should go down to A&M for the weekend, get away from here,” Dad suggests, motioning for me to back up before he tosses the ball back.
“I thought they were coming here since there’s no game and all?” I ask.
“They were—”
“But?” Hunching down, I fake as though I’m taking a snap from a center before I step back and release the ball again. The movements are second nature for me and the football spirals straight on target to my dad who catches it, pulling it to his chest with a smile.
“But I figured you could use a break.” His eyes narrow as he adjusts his hands on the pigskin. “I know I could.”
“Dad.”
“West, I’m not pushing you, son. You’ve been through a lot this week. It’s been tough. You’re tired, I’m tired. It reminds me—” he cuts off as he winds his arm back, and I tense, ready for his throw, but he pump-fakes and I’m left standing there.
He brings the ball back to belt-level as he spins it in his palm, and I get the feeling he’s thinking hard about what he wants to say next. His eyes fall from mine and he inhales sharply.
When he looks up, he lets the ball fly—a laser tight spin, slicing through the air in my direction—as he finishes his thoughts. “It reminds me of when your mom died. Your eyes are the same. You’re retreating.”
Shit. The football grazes the tips of my fingers as my attention snaps to his face. Retreating? I’ve been trying not to act much different than I always do. Sure, I’m tired and maybe quieter than usual, but enough for him to worry? I feel his eyes on my back as I jog toward the fence to retrieve the ball. Tell him you’re fine, apologize for sulking or whatever he thinks this is, and make him see his son.
“I’m sorry.” Act, act act. “I regret it—the way I was back then. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you more. I was stupid.”
The words sort of come out on their own accord and I chuck the ball across the yard to hide my discomfort.
My father, being the ex-player he is, of course has to run a route, faking to the left before darting right as he snags the ball from the air.
Seeing him this way, playing ball and smiling, makes me feel normal as I grapple with admitting thoughts that are so abnormal for me.
“I’ve been thinking about that a lot since Friday. My regrets.”
“Yeah?” he asks, attempting to be nonchalant, but I’m sure inside he’s anything but.
I shrug. “I guess when you think you’re going to die, your life really does flash before you. Jules said some things that made me think.”
“You didn’t die, West.”
“I know. Dad, trust me I’m okay. I’m mad at myself though.” I want to admit the truth to him. Tell him I miss playing ball, I miss hanging out with my old friends and being the guy I was. But I can’t. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to allow myself to be me again.
We toss the football back and forth a few times in silence before the burgers are ready. As he scoops them onto a plate and we go inside the house, he clears his throat. “When you’re ready to talk—” he offers without finishing.
I know the ending, though. I’ve got him, Austin, and Carson if I need them. They’ll always have my back.
A vibration and knocking against wood startles me. “What the hell?”
Opening my heavy eyelids, I’m surprised to find myself sprawled on my bed. I’d eaten dinner, grabbed a shower, and sat down for what was supposed to be a few minutes. Grabbing the glowing, vibrating cell off my bedside table, I realize Jules is calling me.
I hit answer. “Buffy?”
“Hey.” The sound of her soft voice draws the air from my lungs.
I manage a low ‘hi’ in return.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s late. Did I wake you?”
Scrubbing at my face with my palm, I work to clear my head. “No, it’s fine. Are you okay?”
Why is she calling me again tonight? She ran to Stuart at the funeral. She left Tanya’s with Stuart. She has Stuart. She can’t keep doing this to me.
There’s a beat or two of silence before she answers me. “Um, not really.”
Her sadness vaults me into a sitting position. She might have been with Stuart, but she held my hand at Tanya’s gravesite. She forced me to stay, to not let go of her when we both knew I should. She told Katie she wanted to watch Buffy as she sent me the most heartbreakingly gorgeous smile. Man, this back and forth shit needs to give.
“I’m here, what’s up?”
“Can you meet me?” She needs me? “You don’t have to, it’s just—”
“No, of course I can. I can be wherever you want.” Or whatever you want. Damn, this girl.
“Whitwell Park?” she asks.
I’m already tugging on some ripped jeans. “Okay, give me ten minutes.”
Yep, Heart: 4 ~ Head: 1.
As I turn into Whitwell Park, Jules’ voice fills my head. I try not to speculate what she could possibly want, but it’s difficult as my headlights pass over her car. The purr of my engine bounces off the trees that surround the empty park. As I turn off the main road, my tires kick up small stones and Jules comes into view.
She’s sitting on the trunk of her car with her feet propped on the fender, wearing the same demure black dress she wore to the funeral. I swallow hard as I angle beside her and cut my engine.
“Hey,” she greets me with a wide smile as I pull off my helmet.
My eyes study her, looking for any clues as to why she told me she’s not okay on the phone. Seeing nothing, I return the smile. “Hey, yourself.”
Climbing from my bike, I survey the park. It’s just us two, a few parking lot lights, and the trees. Jules pats the trunk next to her and I wonder if I’m being punked. She looks different tonight somehow. It’s off-putting.
“Is everything okay? What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my distance.
“Can we talk?”
Attempting to remain neutral, I stride to her car and lean my backside against the taillights. Jules’ smile wavers as I cross my arms over my chest. Her bare legs are two inches from my shoulder and I have to dig my fingernails into my palms to try to distract me from looking at them.
“Shoot.”
She clears her throat. “I’ve been thinking about those hours we were trapped.”
“I thought you couldn’t remember anything. The concussion, right?” I ask, my pulse speeding up.
“Well, yeah, it’s like selective memory loss. So, yeah, conveniently enough, I haven’t been able to remember all of the horrifying moments after I hit my head.” I shift uncomfortably as she adds, “It should
all come back, though.”
“Why would you want it to?”
“Well, why wouldn’t I?” she asks, brushing the stray hairs back from her face.
“It sucked,” I tell her honestly. I’m sick of thinking about and dwelling on those moments. The truth is that it sucked; every last minute did. The heat, the dust, the fear, the weakness she made me feel.
“I’m sure most of it did, but not all of it,” she says, almost flirtatiously as her fingers brush my shoulder. What the hell?
I leap off the car as though it’s on fire. “Look, Jules—”
“Why did you ask me if I was in love with Stuart?” she interrupts boldly.
I have no intention of talking about Stuart so I shrug, dismissing her question. Why did I ask her that? Why did I start all of this? Why couldn’t I ignore her on Friday night when she sat down on the picnic bench next to me? I’m so pissed at myself for not walking away.
Of course, I’m full of shit and I’m lying to myself.
The lights in the parking lot illuminate Jules’ face as she waits for more than a shrug. She arches a brow and her mouth tightens into an angry pout.
I relent. “I said a lot of things that night to keep you coherent. You obviously don’t remember half of what we talked about.”
“I keep having memories. They’re slowly coming back to me.”
“And why is this one important enough for you to call me at eleven at night?” I’m being an ass speaking to her this way, but I’m not in the mood to play games.
“I don’t know—it was an awkward memory to have,” she admits softly. What does she mean? She shrinks at the silent aggravation on my face. “I was at Stuart’s house. I woke up in his arms with the memory of myself telling you I didn’t really love him.”
Whoa! I shake my head as I step back, raising my arms to ward off any oversharing. “Look, I don’t need to know the details surrounding you and Stuart. I should go.”
“Oh gosh, no! It wasn’t like that!” she argues in frustration as I turn my back. I hear her hands slap her trunk and her feet hit the ground, so I’m expecting her touch when it comes.
West Page 14
