by Unknown
Like always, I chase after her. This seems to be our thing. Swinging the classroom door open, I find Mark and Kennedy walking down the hallway, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her head lies limply on his chest as he guides her around the corner.
Fuck this. Fuck them.
Mrs. Peterson gives me an unusual smile when I step back into her classroom. “Everything okay, Graham?”
“Perfect. Sorry,” I head back to my desk. My classmates are too busy with their own conversations to notice my return.
Mrs. Peterson explains today’s assignment, instructing us to pair up and head to the auditorium. My legs carry me through the classroom door and down the hallway. I reach for the handle as someone slides in front of the giant, steel door. My eyes trail up the tan legs and torso until I reach her face.
“Well, hello, beautiful,” I greet the stranger with a smile.
“Hi, Graham,” the girl whispers in a practiced voice. She’s putting in extra effort to gain my attention. Little does she know, she’s the perfect type of distraction. After watching Kennedy walk away with Mark, I need a little hands on attention.
“What’s your name?” I rest my hand against the door next to her head.
Even though I’ve trapped her, she eats it up. Her teeth nibble on the corner of her bottom lip, drawing my attention to their fullness. Her hips jut out, showing how perfect we would align in bed, with no clothes between us.
“Kacey,” she breathes in a wispy voice.
“Freshman?” My eyebrow rises in question.
Please don’t be a freshman. Please don’t be a freshman.
“You can relax. I’m a sophomore,” Kacey says through a laugh.
A small chuckle slips from my throat and surprises me. I haven’t laughed in a long while.
“Partners?” I suggest with a wink.
Kacey pushes off the cold, steel door. I back away to give her space, but she wraps her fingers in my shirt, pulling me toward her.
“We can be partners,” she exclaims. Her finger glides across my chest and I follow behind her, watching her blatantly shake her ass.
A couple of things come to mind as I follow my next conquest into the auditorium. There should be some form of shame or remorse for setting out to screw the sophomore, but there isn’t, and I’m in no position to dissect that part of my psyche. I also understand why I’m doing this. Seeing Kennedy in Mark’s arms is my undoing. I may have reacted in anger, but when I said fuck it, I meant it.
Since falling in love didn’t leave a warm, gooey feeling in my heart the first time, I’m ready to go back to the old careless, distractible Graham.
I’ll train hard, play baseball like my life depends on it, and get the hell out of Tennessee. Faceless girls will become my drug, numbing me from the inside out. In a handful of months, none of it will matter anyway. I get to leave everything in this shithole town in my rearview mirror.
Including Kennedy.
Chapter Eleven
Kennedy
“Tell me what happened?” Mark asks, guiding me down the hallway.
After my little stunt with Graham, I was in need of some distance, so I texted him.
I should have known how confusing a kiss between us would be. Isn’t that why I did it, though, to show Graham a friendship between us is never going to happen? Maybe a small part of me hoped he would argue.
A small part of you is always waiting for something from him. It’s time to move on. It’s time to let him go.
“I kissed him,” I confess, dropping down on a bench. Defeat pours from my words.
“You kissed who?” Mark sits down beside me and takes my hand in his.
I glance at our connected fingers, then back up to his blue eyes. “Do you even have to ask?” I tilt my head slightly to the left.
“Kennedy! You didn’t? Why would you do that?” Mark turns his body toward mine and taps his foot on the floor.
“Proving a point. Being a jackass. I don’t know. He was rambling on about us being friends, and I showed him why we can’t be. It was like nothing has changed between us. For a few seconds, we were still Graham and Kennedy.” My head falls into my hands as my elbows rest on my knees. I’m bent over far enough, I can’t see Mark’s face. I don’t want anyone to see how lost I feel, how uncertain I am of my choices.
None of this is fair. Last year, I was beaten and broken, my bones shattered and my skin torn. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is for Graham to fight harder, fight for me, but he always walks away. I’ve spent the last several months allowing him to abandon me because his reasoning somehow makes sense. I’m sympathetic about how he feels. What I can’t understand is how he claims to love me as much as he did and still have the heart to walk away when I need him most.
“Do you want to get out of here?” The words rush from his lips. “We can just go to my house and watch a movie.”
My spine stiffens as I look at him and dry my tears on my sleeve. “I’ve never skipped class before,” I admit through a much-needed laugh. “I’ll call my mom and see if she’ll call the office to excuse me.”
“It’s not skipping class if you get permission from your mom,” Mark jokes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My eyebrows rise to question the small gesture, but he quickly recovers. “Go call your mom. I’ll be waiting in my car.”
My mom reassures the secretary it’s okay for me to leave school for the remainder of the day. I’m not sure she bought the whole I’m not feeling good story, but they go along with it.
When I get to the parking lot, Mark’s leaning against his hunter green Jeep. It’s a nearly brand new, hard top without a scratch or a speck of dirt visible to the naked eye. Mark calls his Jeep his baby. Its spotless appearance is a dead give-a-way of his love.
“I see your mommy agreed to let you skip school,” Mark jokes as he jogs over to open the door for me.
This has taken me a while to get used to. Mark’s father has raised him to be a gentleman. Of course, he’s slacked in some of the department when it comes to bagging different girls every weekend.
Mark has returned to his wicked ways, and at first, I thought it would bother me. Surprisingly, I don’t really care. Mark is Mark. Although he’s known to treat the girls to breakfast, he’s still a seventeen-year-old guy. They’re notorious for being selfish and pig headed. He’s perfectly in the right to do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants. I’m in no position to put guidelines on our friendship.
“Aren’t you hilarious? Now that you’ve corrupted me, what are you gonna do with me?”
By the way Mark shifts in his seat, my flirting doesn’t go unnoticed. Over the past month and weeks, we’ve sort of fallen into an easy, flirtatious friendship. No kissing involved, to Mark’s disappointment.
“You can’t say things like that unless you plan on following through, sweetheart.” Mark pushes the key into the ignition, turning it until the engine roars to life. He twists toward me and grins.
Mark and I fall into a comfortable silence. Through the open window, I watch houses of all varieties fly by. Mark stops at the blinking red light and cars speed by in front of us.
A runner on the right side of the road catches my attention. Even with his hood up, I recognize the large build and tight jaw. My stomach churns as he jogs in place, waiting patiently for the light to change. His head lifts and for a split second our eyes meet. A sly, conniving smirk runs over his face and is quickly replaced with a flat expression. My spine stiffens. Leaning my head on the seat, I screw my eyes shut and take short breaths to control my anxiety as I feel the car lurch forward. Mark taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives, and I stare blankly out the window to hide the tears welling in my eyes. I’m never going to be prepared to see him and luckily have managed to avoid him, but it’s inevitable for us to cross paths at some point. It’s a small town with limited hiding places.
I talk myself through the moment, recalling Jackie’s advice to take deep breaths to remind myself th
at I’m okay and not all control has been lost. Since I find comfort in my own space, Mark and I have spent most of our time at my house. Jackie says I like having the security of my own surroundings, and in return, I feel I can control what happens to me. At first, I didn’t quite believe her analysis. According to Jackie, everyone has a safe place. I could use my safe place right now.
When we pull into Mark’s driveway, my mouth drops open, and I welcome the distraction. Mark and I have never discussed what his parents do for a living, but something tells me they aren’t teachers. The long private road curves through wooded acres spanning as far as the eye can see. At the end of the bricked path is a two-story beauty, with white siding and ebony shutters. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen, with tall pillars and a large front porch.
As Mark parks the car, I swing my door open, stepping out to look over the hood. Two rocking chairs grace the front porch. His home is the picture of perfection with rows of colorful flowers and greenery.
Mark heads toward the front porch. With a brisk walk, I catch up to him.
As our feet hit the steps, a stunning blonde, with the height to rival a super model, wearing beautiful white capris and a gorgeous long sleeve coral blouse, walks out to greet us. As we step closer, her creamy pearl earrings and necklace catch my eye.
“Hi, Mom,” Mark calls, throwing her a small wave. “This is Kennedy Conrad.”
I stand, fidgeting in place. My hands wring together, wiping away the sweat left behind on my pants.
“The myth, the legend. I was starting to think Mark was making you up.” Mrs. Whitmore smiles at me over Mark’s shoulder as she pulls him in for a hug. “And what, may I ask, are you doing home this early? First block isn’t even over, is it?”
“Umm, Kennedy is having a rough day, so we thought we could come back here and have lunch with you and maybe watch a movie.” Mark grins at his mom, showing the perfect teeth she probably paid for with braces.
Watching for her reaction, I half expect her to yell at us and demand we go back to school right this minute. Instead, a sweet, sincere smile forms on her lips as she nods her head toward her son.
“Kennedy, don’t let him lie for you. Playing hooky is his idea.”
Mark leans against one of the pillars and looks to me, a small laugh falling from his mouth. I can see where he gets his carefree, easygoing personality.
“Ma’am–” I barely get the word out before she interrupts me.
“Now, now. Call me Mama. Call me Diane. But don’t you dare call me ma’am”
“Okay, Diane, playing hooky is Mark’s idea. I got permission from my mom to leave school, though, so technically, only your son is playing hooky.” I glance between the two of them with my best brave face, waiting for a reaction. Mark grins with pride while his mother shakes her head in admiration.
“Oh, I like her, Mark. You should’ve brought her over sooner.” Diane wraps her arm around my shoulder as she guides me into their home. I glance back at Mark to see a satisfied smile painted on his face.
Diane’s voice drips with pride as she points out different features of their home. I walk silently beside her down a long hallway leading us to an oversized kitchen. It features a large island in the middle. She opens the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of iced tea.
“Would you like some, Kennedy? I know you do, Mark,” Diane asks, a sparkle in her eye as she addresses her son.
“I’m okay.” I take a seat on one of the stools along the island.
Mark joins me and we listen to his Mom talk about the different things she has going on today. I half hear Diane explain she’s a stay-at-home Mom, which keeps her busy enough with the two youngest boys, but she’s also involved with planning events and volunteering for several charities.
“In a nutshell, Mom’s a saint,” Mark blurts.
I, instinctively, slap him across the stomach. His hard abs tighten with my connection.
“Oh, Kennedy, don’t let him fool you. He loves his mama.” Diane laughs at my reaction. “Now that my son has made it obvious that I’m boring you two to death, go run along and watch a movie. I’ll make lunch before I leave this afternoon.”
As Mark grabs my hand to lead me down the long hallway, we shout our thanks. When we reach the grand staircase to the upstairs, my feet freeze, preventing me from going any further. I haven’t been in another guy’s room since...
“Kennedy, you okay?” Mark’s voice breaks through my fog.
What do I tell him?
I shake my head, ridding the bad memories. “Yes, I’m fine. I just...”
Mark leans down until his eyes are even with mine and nods in understanding. “I get it. I mean, I don’t get it, but I understand why you freeze up in different situations. I need you to know that I’m never going to hurt you,” he professes with a sincere smile.
Mark’s hand stretches out in front of him, asking me to believe him.
I reassure him with a toothy smile and nod. “I trust you, Mark. Sometimes it’s just hard,” I confess. “Different situations make me uncomfortable.”
I’m not sure why I confide in him. Burdening others with my issues isn’t something I ever intend to do, but as Mark looks deep into my eyes with determination, it’s hard not to tell him everything.
“I think that’s normal, Ken. You’re allowed, even warranted a little fear. Trusting others isn’t easy, and when you go through what you did, it’s easy to understand why little things can set you off. Let’s go to the family room, where there’s open space and the watchful eye of my mother,” Mark says with a wink. Some of the stress from today melts away.
“You are the best gay best friend a girl could ask for,” I joke, jumping onto his back, my silent demand for a piggyback ride.
He mumbles under his breath. I’m too busy laughing at him to hear what he says. As we enter the family room, Mark throws me on the overstuffed Microsuede couch, causing me to giggle.
“What are you bitching about?” I blurt as he walks along the built-in shelves holding an unreal amount of DVDs.
“I’m so far from being gay, but you’re giving me a complex.” He pulls out a few cases and tosses them down in front of him. Rested like that on his knees, the denim stretches over his strong legs. Being a catcher has done him a great service.
“I don’t know why,” I offer, with a smirk.
“What are you trying to say?”
I wave my hands in front of me. “You’re disgusting, completely hideous.”
My arms flail, mocking him. Mark rolls his eyes in an over the top way like a teenage girl does to her father.
“There’s more to me than my beautiful face, Kennedy,” Mark says, with a serious look in his eyes that disappears as he struggles to keep his composure. “Now, if you’re done objectifying me, which movie would you hate to watch less?”
Mark holds up three different movies. Hands aren’t something girls pay attention to on a guy, but his are extraordinary. They are strong, large, and built for use.
I shake the daydream away and try to focus on the DVDs.
Bridesmaids. Terminator. Dirty Dancing.
“I’m going to pretend you put Dirty Dancing in there for my benefit,” I snicker, cozying into the couch.
“I’m a huge Patrick Swayze fan.” Mark feigns shock, as if he actually wants me to believe him.
“Violet told you I love Dirty Dancing, didn’t she?”
“Of course, she did. Some digging was necessary to figure you out.”
“I’m not that complicated, Mark.”
He stands, sliding the DVD into the player, and walks over to me with a confidence behind his smile. “Whatever you say, Kennedy.” Mark taps his hand on my leg, persuading me to make room for him.
As the opening credits roll, the familiar music plays in my ear. Leaning forward on the edge of the couch, Mark’s eyes burn into me. I don’t check because that would mean missing parts of the movie. Without realizing what I’m doing, I mouth the lines of each character.
A snicker erupts beside me. I face Mark, whose eyes are focused on one thing.
Me.
“You really do love this movie. When Violet told me how obsessive you were, I didn’t think it would be to this extent,” Mark jokes.
“Just watch the movie, you jerk.” I playfully slap him across the chest.
He recovers by latching onto my arm and pulling me into his chest. As our eyes meet, he tilts his head down, gesturing to his side. On its own accord, my head slowly drifts down his body until it finds refuge in the crook between his hip and leg. The perfect spot.
“You could be softer. It’s like lying on a cement floor.” I chuckle, jabbing him in the abs and continuing up to his ribs.
“I’ll make sure to really carb load and quit working out. That way you can have a comfy place to lay that pretty little head of yours,” Mark rambles, his hand settling on my hip. He gently strokes the sliver of exposed skin.
My instinct tells me to put distance between us. The comfort I find in his touch is confusing. At first, any contact caused me to panic internally, but now, I’m finding comfort in his innocent grazes.
With that, I sink closer to his side, resting my hand on his knee. As I lay here, my mind wanders back to this morning. Craig running down the street plays over in my head. The simple thought snowballs into a full blown internal panic attack, over analyzing every situation which led me here.
Mark pulls a plush blanket over my legs. “Babe, you’re shivering.” He leaves his hand on my hip and I’m thankful. I don’t want the distance right now. I can’t explain my reaction to him, but I feel safe with him.
“I saw him today,” I mutter out loud. There’s a need to get it off my chest, to say it to another human being, only to share my fears.
“Saw who?”
“Craig, in your car. We were stopped at the blinking light. There he was standing on the side of the road, on a run like he’s not a criminal. Free to come and go as he pleases.”
“Today was the first time you’ve seen him?” Mark questions.
I sigh. “I spent my summer hidden away in hopes I would never have to see the face that reminds me of my greatest nightmare.”
