Curveball (Barlow Sisters Book 1)

by Jordan Ford

  “Uh, hello? My sister already thinks she’s in love with you.”

  “Oh, come on.” He tips his head back with a sigh. “She doesn’t even know me. We barely talk.”

  “Yet you’re taking her to the dance.”

  “Yeah, as a friend. I’ve never said otherwise.”

  I lurch forward, my voice cool and snappy. “You might want to make that a little clearer to her.”

  He bounces away from my anger with an irritated huff. “Look, I’ll take her to the dance and make it clear we’re just buddies. She’ll get over it.”

  “No. You are not going to do that to her. You need to stop this charade right now.”

  He grimaces, his face bunching with that look of agony again. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  My lips part in surprise before I blink and then snap, “That’s inevitable, so you may as well get it over with.”

  “And have her miss out on a fun night at the dance?”

  “Her night will be ruined as soon as she realizes you’re not genuine!”

  “Then I’ll let her know the next day.”

  “Argh! You are impossible!” I lift my hands up and run my fingers through my hair in frustration. “If you didn’t want to hurt her feelings, you shouldn’t have asked her to the dance in the first place.”

  “Yeah, but I did. And now I want her to have a good night. So stop being the fun police and let her enjoy this.”

  “You just don’t get it,” I clip.

  Leaning back into my space, he meets my glare head on. “I’m not going to do anything to lead her on. I won’t try to kiss her. I’ll just take her to the dance, treat her like a princess, and bring her back home. I’ll use the word ‘friends’ a lot and talk about how great it is to make new ones. It’s the nicest, easiest way to let her down. Trust me on this.”

  I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him. “You really hate being the bad guy, don’t you?”

  His expression flickers with unrest before he dips his head and murmurs, “Yeah, I guess I do. That’s why I can’t stand your current opinion of me.”

  He looks up, his gaze rich and beautiful. I study his face, my eyes dipping to his full lips before shooting back up to those eyes.

  Dammit, that gaze is going to own me in a second.

  I shy away from it, my cheeks growing hot, and start frantically packing away my books. This is getting just a little too intimate for me. I need to get the hell out of here.

  “Stop.” Holden rests his hand over mine. I freeze beneath his touch. “Maddie.”

  Oh no. My name sounds way too sweet coming out of his mouth that way. A thrilling tickle sizzles through my body.

  “No one’s ever called me on my bullshit before.”

  My eyes take on a mind of their own and track back up until I’m looking straight at him again.

  He’s so sincere right now, and it makes him even more gorgeous than he already is.

  “Except you. You challenge me. And I hate it…and kinda like it too. There’s something about you. You’re different from any girl I’ve ever met, and I need to show you that there’s more to me than what you think.”

  “I’m not your type.” The words rush out so fast I’m surprised he caught them.

  “I didn’t think you were my type either, but why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why am I obsessed with showing you a part of myself that no one else at school knows? It’s been torturing me for days and I’m finally acting on it. You gotta let me show you.”

  Why is he doing this to me? Seriously! How did we go from fighting on a baseball mound to whispering secrets in the library?

  “Can’t do it.” My neck’s suddenly stiff, making it hard to shake my head. “I’m not going on a date with you.”

  Holden huffs and lightly smacks the table. “Okay, fine. No date. Just hang out with me for a little bit.”

  “Nope.” My headshake is gaining momentum.

  With a sigh, he leans in close again, his voice low and secretive. “Listen, I—I go to this home for the elderly on Sundays, and on Wednesday nights. Come help me out. It’ll be the most non-date environment you’ve ever been in. Believe me.”

  He what?

  My lips part of their own accord. “You do not.”

  “I do. I swear.” He holds his breath for a second and then admits, “My grandpa lives there. I go over twice a week to help out with pushing wheelchairs and getting people to bingo night. I hang out and read to the old guys who never get any visitors.”

  Okay, he what?

  “Look, no one else knows that I go there to work, all right? They think I go there to see this—”

  “Cougar!” My eyes round with swift realization. “Oh my gosh, that’s your cover story? Why do you even need one? Helping the elderly is awesome.”

  “No. I mean… yeah, it is. But I don’t want my friends turning up trying to help out, so I’ve told them that I just put on a show in order to screw—” He bites his lips together, then cringes. “Look, Grandpa’s in a bad way, I just… It’s private. I don’t want people figuring out he’s there. You know, school gossip and nosey people. He doesn’t need that shit, and I… I mean, it’s… People can be assholes, and I need to protect… I need to…” He sags with a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, touching his arm before I can stop myself.

  His gaze springs to mine, his body going still beneath my fingers. I try to move my hand away, but it won’t budge.

  My voice is barely a squeak. “If it’s such a big secret, why do you want to show me?”

  “Because you’re the only person at this school who openly detests me.”

  I snicker and shake my head. “Not everyone has to like you, Holden.”

  “It’s important to me that you do.” He places his hand over mine and gives it a soft squeeze. “So, you want to come and help me? Please, let me show you that I’m not a total asshat, and then you never have to hang out with me again. I just need you to know.”

  “Why?” I blink, still trying to figure out how to respond.

  “I can’t explain it. I just need you to know,” he croaks.

  I swallow and lick my lips.

  There’s no way.

  Even if I am just going to watch him be nice to old people…

  Even if I’m desperate to see what that looks like…

  I’ve got Chloe to think about.

  My sweet little sister.

  The one I’m trying to protect.

  My brain starts churning before I can stop it, and inspiration hits me. I don’t know if it’s good inspiration, but at least it’s plausible.

  I rub my chin and try to buy into my oh-so-brilliant reasoning. “I guess you are taking my sister to the dance, so it makes sense that I should check you out in a different setting and make sure you’re good enough for her.”

  Guilt niggles for a second, but I justify it by telling myself that if Holden, by some miracle, is good enough for her, then I can stop hassling him about taking her to the dance.

  And he said if I go then I never have to hang out with him again, which is a really good thing, because being this close to him is not good for my heart.

  I can do this one thing and then start prepping Chloe for the fact that Holden thinks of her more like a friend, that he’s not into serious relationships.

  If he can be nice to old people, then I can trust him to treat my sister like a princess at the dance and then bring her home unscathed.

  That’ll be it.

  Minimal damage.

  Problem solved.

  I can live with that.

  “So, am I getting a yes?” Holden’s pleading expression switches back to his usual triumphant smirk.

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t ruin it by bringing out the smirk. You haven’t won any kind of competition. If anything, you should be nervous because if I don’t like what I see at this place, then you have to swear you’ll tell Chloe you can’t take her to the danc
e anymore. I don’t want you leading her on.”

  “Okay.” He bobs his head but that smirk keeps tugging on his lips.

  I huff and mutter, “You don’t need to look so smug. Just smile.”

  He does and my already flailing heart goes wild.

  Swallowing down the impact he seems to have on me, I squeak, “Better,” and then jerk out of my seat, avoiding his gaze while I gather my stuff and make a beeline for the door.

  This has got to be the world’s worst idea.

  I’m gonna have to spend the whole time reminding myself that I’m doing this for Chloe.

  Chloe.

  It’s got to be about Chloe.

  18

  Saint Carter

  HOLDEN

  I check my phone and scowl.

  Having woken up with a mixture of excitement and nerves, my mood is blackened by Luke’s text.

  You’re not going to believe this shit. Coach Keenan’s truck was stolen last night. Just found out from Kingston. There goes our new baseball gear. I want to kill Vincent Mancini.

  Gritting my teeth, I text back.

  I’m with you! Dammit. I wish we could prove it was him! I bet the police will go to his place and find nothing.

  If they even go there at all. We’ll get him one day. He’ll slip up and we’ll be there to catch him.

  With a heavy sigh, I shove my phone into my back pocket and head down the hallway. I really wish there was some way of nailing Vincent. That little thief deserves to go down. But he’s like a freaking ghost, sneaking in and out of the school.

  It’s been happening for months now. First a couple of laptops went missing, then a wallet or two. Students were complaining that stuff was stolen out of their lockers, but there was never any evidence to prove it. After that, Vincent upped his game, stealing the money raised for the homecoming dance. It was damn ballsy considering it happened during school hours. I can’t believe they couldn’t catch him! And now Coach Keenan’s truck. He’s really getting desperate now. Stealing a teacher’s truck? Surely the police can track it down and will find Vincent’s grimy fingerprints all over it. But it probably won’t have any of the new baseball gear still inside of it…unless by some miracle Coach unloaded it by himself.

  But he told us after practice last night that he was heading to Bakersfield to pick up some new supplies. He was going to bring it to school in the morning and we were going to help him label and store all the gear.

  There goes that idea.

  Stupid Mancini ghost.

  Unless it’s someone else.

  The thought flits through my mind occasionally, but I usually shove it aside. Vincent is the most obvious suspect. Sure, our school has some sketchy students, but Vincent is the biggest thorn among them. He has a history of stealing. It makes sense that he can’t control himself. He’s probably a full-blown kleptomaniac.

  But he’s smart too. He knows how to sneak in and out without getting busted. And how to stalk Coach and make off with his truck and gear.

  My dad’s been trying to persuade the board to purchase security cameras throughout the school, but they’ve only committed to alarming the building and putting one camera in the front office, which is where all money is supposed to be stored until it’s deposited at the end of the day.

  Squeezing the back of my neck, I head for the stairs and then pause.

  I can’t smell burning toast.

  My stomach bunches as I turn for Mom and Dad’s room.

  “Mom?” I inch the door open and spot her sprawled on the bed, still in her clothes from the night before. She has that blank oblivion look about her and my heart lurches into my throat. “Mom?”

  I rush to her bed, quickly checking for a pulse. My chest deflates with relief when I feel a steady thump beneath my fingers. I brush the unruly curls out of her eyes. Her breath reeks of bourbon. Dammit. I want this to stop already.

  I lean down and gently peck Mom’s forehead. “Hope you don’t feel too bad when you wake up, Mom.”

  Walking into their bathroom, I fill a glass of water and grab two Advil from the cabinet. Setting them on her bedside table, I yank out my phone and set my alarm as a reminder to call her during my first break.

  With another sad smile, I slip out of the room and head downstairs.

  To my surprise, Dad is still home. He’s sitting at the table, checking his phone while sipping on a cup of coffee.

  “Morning, son.”

  “Dad.” I nod.

  “Why are you looking so glum?”

  I force my lips to rise into a weak smile but I can’t hold it. Pouring myself a coffee, I mutter, “Mom’s—”

  “Sleeping in,” Dad finishes for me. “I noticed that. It’s good for her to rest up. She had a busy day yesterday.”

  “Did she?” I glare at my father but he pretends like I’m throwing him a classy smile.

  Clearing his throat, he keeps reading on his phone and I figure I might as well use this small amount of attention to my advantage.

  He’s a rich prick. Has been most of his life. He can afford to shell out a little cash to help us out. If I can word it right, I might as well make the most of the fact that he’s within earshot.

  “So Coach Keenan’s truck was stolen last night. I’m assuming all our new baseball gear was in it.”

  Dad goes still and then his eyes slowly track to mine. “What was he doing with new baseball gear in his truck?”

  “That anonymous donation after the preseason friendly. Coach went and spent it after practice yesterday. He probably thought it was safe enough to bring it home for the night before unloading it at school this morning.”

  Dad’s bottom lip pops out in thought before he mutters, “I’m sure the police will deal with it.”

  “They’re not going to find that gear.” My voice drops low with anger. “And it really sucks because we haven’t had new gear in…well, forever.”

  His dark eyebrows bunch so I keep talking.

  “And it got me thinking that maybe the Carter family could somehow make up for this loss.”

  “Excuse me?” Dad’s expression is dry.

  “Hear me out. Whoever donated that money is going to be super pissed that the gear’s been stolen, so why don’t you step in and play the hero? It’ll turn a really bad situation into something positive. The town’s on a high after our preseason win. You should get in on that action.”

  “What are you saying, Holden?”

  “How about Mayor Carter plays the role of Saint Carter this week?” I give him my classic smirk.

  “Oh yeah?” He’s looking dubious but intrigued, so I take advantage.

  “Yeah. I figure maybe Luke and I could buy some new gear that could be immediately secured. Like we’ll drive straight from the store to the sports shed at school and lock it up right away. You foot the bill and get all the credit. Coach Keenan will love you for it. The school will just keep thinking you’re awesome, and the good people of Armitage will once again be inclined to vote you in as mayor again next election.”

  His lips twitch and I think I spot a flash of pride.

  I grin, going for the full sale.

  He snickers. “Oh, all right. I’m feeling generous today.” Pulling out his wallet, he slaps his Visa card on the table and points at me. “I want it back first thing tomorrow, and I’ll be checking my account for any extra expenses.”

  With a small laugh, I pocket the card. “I’ll give it back to you on Friday morning. I’ve got work tonight, so Luke and I will get the gear on Thursday.”

  “Work?” Dad frowns.

  “Yeah.” I walk into the kitchen and grab a box of cereal and a bowl.

  “When did you get a job?”

  “Dad,” I berate him. “I’ve had it for months.”

  “If you’re talking about Cresthill, that doesn’t count as a job. You don’t even get paid to be there, which means you don’t actually have to do it.”

  I grit my teeth and focus on pouring my milk. “Someone n
eeds to check in on Grandpa.”

  “He doesn’t even know who we are anymore.”

  “Yeah, well I know who he is.” I put the milk back in the fridge and slam the door closed. “And I’m not just going to forget about him.”

  “Right.” Dad nods and slips his phone into his jacket pocket like I haven’t just raised my voice and gotten pissy with him. Standing from his chair, he wipes his mouth on the napkin and drops it on his plate. “I better get going. Sort out these dishes before you leave for school, and check in on your mother.”

  “I will,” I grit out.

  “I’ll be working—”

  “Late,” I finish for him. “Tell me something new.”

  He grins and points at me. “Have fun shopping for that gear.”

  Before I can respond, he spins out of the room and I listen to his confident stride as he leaves the house.

  With a heavy sigh, I drop my spoon into my cereal, suddenly losing my appetite.

  Instead I get busy clearing the table and cleaning up the kitchen. It’ll be nice for Mom to come down to a tidy space. Not that she’ll notice. I open the pantry and check the alcohol supply, then dash upstairs and do my usual pill check. Satisfied there aren’t any lethal dosages in the house, I grab my keys and head for the car.

  All I can think about is heading to Cresthill after practice.

  It’s the only thing that’s gonna get me through the day. Hanging out with Grandpa and those sweet old people is the most worthwhile thing I do all week. I don’t have to pretend when I’m in that place. I can be myself with zero expectations. There’s no putting on a show or fake smiles. There’s no one watching my every move, judging me or trying to copy me.

  I’m just Holden—John’s grandson.

  Nerves buzz through me as a smile tugs at my lips. For the first time ever I’ll be taking someone in with me. I just hope I can show Maddie what I really look like when nobody’s watching.

  19

  Something Else Entirely

  MADDIE