by Unknown
Dan jogs over to me, handing over his water bottle, wallet, and keys.
Somehow I’m his official stuff protector. It happened not long after I started hanging out with them. I don’t mind in the least; especially when he gets too hot and sweaty and gives me his shirt, so I get whiffs of him every time a breeze blows through.
Within minutes, Sam’s arm gives out from under her and her head clunks down on her arm. Not long after that she starts making little snoring noises.
When she can’t stay awake, I know it’s because she’s been dancing her heart out all day. She keeps saying she’s training so she’s good enough to move to a big city, where she can dance professionally. I have yet to see her make an attempt towards her goal beyond dancing every minute she can.
From the safety of my tinted glasses, I’m free to watch Dan play. He leans over to rest his hands on his thighs, making his muscles pop while he waits for whoever is up to bat. What’s even sexier to me is when he’s at bat and I get to watch the fluid movement of his well-defined muscles as he swings the bat. It drives me mad.
Even though there are only seven of them, they make it work. There is a pitcher, someone up at bat, an umpire, and the rest take over the field. After over a decade of playing, they have it down to a science and the game flows effortlessly. Sometimes one of the boys’ siblings comes along and plays, but it’s usually just the seven of them.
After Dan hits it out of the park and runs the bases, he jogs over to me, ripping his shirt over his head while he does. He hands it to me while I pass him his water with the other; it’s our silent routine.
I watch sweat drip down his chest and I want to try licking it so bad. I have to grip his shirt to prevent myself from reaching out and touching his abs.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, gives me the bottle, and jogs back to the game.
I mentally take a step back and let my senses take over, everything going on around me feeling soothing and relaxing: the boys’ deep voices that carry over, the occasional breeze that trickles by, the soft grass under my skin, the sound of the bat hitting the ball, feet pounding the ground as they run…It’s another day I can mark on the books as a favorite.
When I know it’s time for me to leave I climb into Dan’s truck to change back into my skirt. I fold the shorts and leave them on the seat. Then I button my blouse back up and leave behind the glasses as well. I braid my hair as I make my way back to Sam.
I jostle her, “I’ve got to go.”
She grumbles something that sounds like “love you” as she lazily wiggles her fingers in farewell, eyes still closed. I tuck Dan’s belongings safely under her arms, “Watch your brother’s stuff.”
She grunts in acknowledgement.
Jerry’s girlfriend and I bid farewell. I don’t bother saying goodbye to the boys, not wanting to disrupt their game.
I begin yanking my bike out of the back of the trunk. Someone comes up behind me and pushes it back in.
“I’ll bring you home,” Dan says, his mouth inches from my ear, giving me goosebumps.
“Don’t worry about it. Go play.” I know how much joy he gets from playing ball with his boys.
“Hannah,” he sighs in his “don’t test me” tone. “Get in the truck.”
I comply, because that’s what you do when Danny gives an order. Plus, I’m going to be late as it is.
I nervously glance at the clock when he turns on the ignition. I’m already thirty minutes later than normal. Panic sets in and I fidget in my seat.
“Relax, baby.” Danny places a hand on my jittery leg, “You’ll draw attention to yourself if you’re a wreck when you get home.”
I nervously nibble on my lip. He’s right. I try to take some calming breaths, but they are ragged and uneven. I’m too stressed to even get much out of him calling me baby. He doesn’t say it very often. In fact, I could probably count the times on both my hands, and when he does it usually destroys me. I’m sure later when I replay it in my head it will.
I’m relieved that Dan takes the quickest route and drops me off a few blocks around the corner from where I live, ensuring no one sees us.
We both rush out and Dan has my bike ready in seconds. I don’t have time to thank him as I hop on and pedal as fast as I can home.
The house is quiet when I enter.
Phew. Another close one.
As I hit the stairs, I stop in my tracks.
Lauren is at the top with her arms crossed, her bossy face on, “Where have you been?”
“What are you doing here?” I reply defensively, deflecting her question. She rarely comes over on Tuesdays.
“I asked you first,” she responds, demanding an answer.
“It’s Tuesday,” I remind her with a racing heart, the fear of being caught consuming me. “I bring food to Mrs. Fraser.”
“Mom said you left at one,” she accuses, beady eyes narrowing in on me. “It’s past five.”
“I left later today,” I lie (something I’ve gotten far too good at). “Mom must have forgotten. She’s so used to it being the same time every week.”
Lauren continues her interrogation, “Why did you leave later?”
“I had to pump my tires,” I fire back.
“That doesn’t take too long.”
“Yes, but then Grandma called and I had to talk to her.” That was partly true, although that was late morning. I just pray that when she asks our mom (because I know Lauren will) about it she phrases it in a way that will make Mom agree with my story. I’ve gotten lucky like that before.
“Mm,” her accusatory eyes analyze me as I make my way up. She doesn’t move out of my way, forcing me to slide between her and the wall at the top.
I go to my room and listen for when I hear her downstairs. As quietly as humanly possible, I sneak down to eavesdrop.
Sure enough, Lauren is asking Mom about today.
Mom agrees with everything I had said, and I can hear the agitation in Lauren’s voice.
“But it’s past five, Mom,” Lauren presses.
“She’s fine,” Mom brushes it off. “Now I don’t want to hear another word about this. Especially not to your father. He’s had a busy past few weeks and doesn’t need the extra headache.”
“Fine,” Lauren huffs as she leaves with her kids.
She gives me the evil eye on the way out.
“Hannah,” my mother calls from the kitchen.
I gulp down my fear of getting busted.
My mom sternly waves a ladle at me, “Lauren was right. Five is too late.”
I play with the end of my braid, “I know, I’m sorry. It was such a beautiful day and so I took the scenic route home. I’m really sorry, Mom.”
“Don’t do it again.” She points to my apron hanging on the wall, “Get that on and come help me with dinner.”
I quickly do what I’m told, thankful that she doesn’t mention it again. I wait the rest of the week, but she never tells my dad, probably not wanting to put him in a foul mood, which works in both our favors.
Do all parents treat their eighteen-year-olds like they’re twelve? Will I ever be allowed to leave the house or stay longer at an event or place without requesting permission?
I already know the answer: no. If it’s not my parents telling me what to do, it will be my husband, who they believe has every right as the man of the house, the way God appointed things.
But what if I don’t believe exactly what they do? What then?
Shouldn’t I be allowed a choice in my own life?
I wish I knew the answer to that one.
Chapter 4
The rest of my week moves slowly with anticipation for Friday night, just like it has for the past five years. I can’t even begin to describe my excitement when I finally get to open the door to the Shepard’s home.
I find the place with extra bodies. Extra female bodies. I deflate, like a balloon poked with a needle.
Sam is in the kitchen glaring them down, eyes main
ly focused on Tag, who is sitting in a chair by himself, no girl on his lap (an unusual sight). I can’t say the same for Dan; his girl is not on his lap but more hanging over it. I hope I never look that desperate. The only thing that comforts me is the bored expression on his face.
I roll my eyes at Sam as I go back to her room to change. Sam already has something laid out for me on the bed: a dress that is far too revealing. I know she doesn’t expect me to wear it, but she likes to do it anyway in hopes that I’ll change my mind.
Tonight I consider it.
I honestly consider going out there and acting like those girls. Perhaps I’d even get Danny’s attention, get him to look at me with lust, maybe flirt a little.
I shake my head to clear away the ludicrous ideas. It’s never going to happen.
It’s a warm night, so I change into lounge shorts that end just above my knees. I pull off my blouse, but I’m not quite comfortable wearing only my white tank with the shorts, so I grab one of Sam’s dance shirts. It’s loose enough it hangs off my shoulders, and would show off my stomach if it wasn’t for the tank underneath.
Sam is still in the kitchen and I nab a root beer. I take a big gulp and swallow it, allowing the mix of sassafras and wintergreen to cool me down and distract me.
A girl I’ve seen before, I think her name is Rylee, is obviously flirting with Tag, but he seems uncomfortable, continually eyeing Sam. Who, I have to point out, I have never seen red like this before. Steam might as well be coming out of her ears.
I don’t even like seeing girls hang on the other boys. Luckily, Amanda is here defending her turf (not that Jerry has ever been a player). North ignores them and I love him for it. Maddox eats up the attention, as do the twins.
Normally we hang in Sam’s room until food arrives, but tonight Sam has other ideas.
She goes over to the couch, and with crossed arms glares at the girl who is desperately trying to get attention from Tag. “Move.”
Rylee looks at Sam like ‘who the hell are you?’ “No way,” she says, with an ugly snarl to her lip.
“This is my house.”
Rylee points over to Danny, “I thought this was his place.”
Sam doesn’t back down, hate pouring from her, “It’s mine too.”
“Fine.” Rylee gives Tag a sexy pucker of her lips as she slides closer to him.
Sam plops into her spot, “He’s not into groupies.”
“I’m just here to party, and this is the place for it,” Rylee snaps.
“I bet you are.”
“What’s your problem?”
Sam brings her legs up to sit crossed-legged, “I don’t have one.”
The girl rolls her eyes and turns her back to Sam, “Whatever.”
Tag is covering his mouth, trying to be casual, but you can see the laughter he’s trying to hide. Sam glares at him and then he can’t help it, a big smile peeking out from behind his massive hand.
Sam pretends to ignore him, but in a way that you can tell he’s getting an earful later. She catches my attention and motions to the empty spot on the couch that would put me next to the girl who is draped over Dan, “Come over here.”
No way am I putting myself through that torture.
I shake my head no.
“Hannah,” Sam persists, patting part of the cushion.
“I’m good.” I wish she’d drop it.
Dan looks over at me, then to the girl on him, and he pushes her up, “You need to move, Sarah.”
Her mouth drops open. “What?”
“This is Hannah’s spot,” he says so casually.
“Who the hell is that?”
“Someone way classier than any part of you,” Sam remarks.
Now I’m so embarrassed I’ve turned into a tomato.
Dan forces Sarah off and Sam waves me over. I drag myself over with my head down.
“Freak,” Sarah says under her breath when I pass.
Sam hears and is about ready to fly off the couch at her. “You want to say that out loud?”
She gives Sam a challenging look, “Just wondering what you guys are doing hanging out with a sister wife. Shouldn’t she be home mending clothes while her husband’s off banging his twenty other wives?”
I try to will the cushion to swallow me up.
I should be used to it. If any of the girls see me in my regular clothes, at least one of them will make a snide comment. Why do women do that? I guess I’m no better for not liking them just because they’re interested in Danny and the boys.
Maddox swipes the beer from Sarah’s hand, “You can leave.”
Sarah’s mouth drops open, “It was a joke.”
“Do you see anybody laughing?” Tripp adds, clenching his jaw. The boys can tease me endlessly, but they won’t tolerate anybody else doing it.
“Sorry,” Sarah grumbles to me, not sounding the least bit apologetic.
“It’s fine,” I lie, wanting this whole situation to be over and forgotten.
“Last warning,” Maddox says sternly. He drinks the rest of her beer that he is still holding.
I can only handle a few more minutes before I’m itching to leave, still embarrassed over what the girl had said. I look down at my hands.
When everyone chatters about what they’re hungry for, Dan places an arm on the cushion behind me and leans over to talk into my ear, “Don’t let them get to you.”
I nod, begging myself not to cry as a lump forms in my throat.
“You’re a hundred times better than any other girl that has stepped foot in this house, okay?”
I nod again, appreciative of the kind words but not taking them to heart. I know he’s only trying to make me feel better.
The girl who made fun of me tries again to get Dan’s attention. He blatantly ignores her and she frowns. He gets up to get a beer and another girl follows him in, taking the initiative now that it’s obvious the other girl lost her shot.
“I’m going to your room,” I inform Sam. I can’t be out here any longer. The only thing I like is that all the guys have completely shunned Sarah, and she obviously looks upset by it.
Sam stands with me, “I’ll come with you.” As she passes Rylee, who is still trying to flirt with Tag and sitting in a way to make her mini skirt ride up and show her undies, Sam can’t help but remark, “Shut your legs and have a little class.”
Rylee scans Sam up and down, who is still in her dance clothes from earlier. “Like you have room to talk.”
“I’m not the one trying to get laid by a man that clearly doesn’t want me.” She pivots and resumes walking, not waiting for a response.
Price is coming out of the bathroom as we make our way to Sam’s room.
“Where did you find those losers?” Sam’s expression is full of revulsion.
Price smirks, and I know he’s about to give us a doucebag response, “We maintain their bushes every week.”
Yup, I was right.
He slides past us, laughing.
Sam doesn’t look the least bit amused, “Why does he think he’s so funny when he says shit like that?”
“I’ve stopped trying to figure any of them out.”
“Smart.”
Ms. Shepard pokes her head out of her bedroom, “Girls! Yay, you’re here! Come in, quick!”
Sam looks up to the ceiling in annoyance. “Of course we’re here. We’re here every Friday night. She’d know that if she gave two shits about anything,” she mutters under her breath.
I give her hand a squeeze. For the most part Sam likes that her mom stays out of their lives, but some days it really seems to annoy her.
Angie’s room is messier than a teenager’s; you can’t even see the floor with all her things strewn about. Her clothes are everywhere, empty and half-drunken cups litter the floor and dresser, and wrappers and plates seem to be her go-to choice of decor.
“What do you think?” She poses with a hand on her popped hip, and gives us duck lips like she’s a sixteen year old about t
o take a selfie. She’s dressed in a mini skirt and halter, big hoop earrings, and platform shoes. Her face looks just like Danny and Sam’s; so much so that sometimes I wonder what their dad looks like, because I don’t think they have any of him in them.
“Angie,” Sam sighs, only calling her by her first name when she’s frustrated at her. “I really don’t care what you wear to pick up guys.”
She shuffles wrappers around on her dresser, in search of something, “You know, you can always join me.”
“Tempting.”
She smiles, having found what she was looking for: a bright pink lip gloss that she immediately applies, talking while she lines her lips so the words come out funny, “What about you Hannah? You’ve got a pretty face. We could really do a number on this town.”
She’s been asking me this since I was thirteen. I’m not sure exactly how she even expects to get me into a bar. “I appreciate the offer Ms. Shepard–”
“Angie,” she corrects with a giggle. “Always so polite, but it just makes me sound old.”
“You are old,” Sam points out.
“Oh, you.” Angie brushes it off like everyone knows it couldn’t possibly be true. “Always giving me a hard time.”
She struts to her door, calling over her shoulder, “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind.”
“A dive bar where most of the occupants have missing teeth?” Sam mocks, trying to mimic Angie’s singsong voice.
Angie doesn’t hear, already through the door.
Sam pushes open the door to her room with more force than necessary, “I’m not sure what’s worse: a mom that doesn’t care, or a mom who keeps you locked away?”
I would say a mom that doesn’t care, but I don’t want to hurt Sam’s feelings. My parents may be strict and controlling, but I know how much they love me.
Sam closes the door behind us and I try to change the subject, “Are you worried about Tag?”
Sam gives a cheeky smile, “Nah, the boy’s crazy about me.”
“I could say the same about you.”
She gets a dreamy look in her eyes, “Yes you could.” Her face changes to a pout, “Doesn’t mean I like seeing other girls around him though.”
