“I figured they’d be cool with you being a lesbian.”
“I’m not. They’d be cool if that was the case.” I haven’t a clue where this is going.
“Are you gay?”
“No.” He laughs. “But a beard is to hide being gay.”
“I swear people need to use Wikipedia more. It isn’t strictly for the gay community.” I sigh in exasperation.
“O—kay. Calm down. Why do you need a beard?” He can’t say it without laughter. “Wait, you aren’t dating a married man, are you?”
“Ew. Fuck no. I have a boyfriend. Almost two years. We’re hiding.” I won’t give any information unless he pushes.
“Why?” He’s gonna delve.
“Personal reasons. I promise he’s a good guy. I need help.” I’m begging.
“And I need the details. Mafia? If I pretend to date you I don’t want enforcers coming to break my legs.” Drama Queen.
“I don’t think the Mafia breaks legs. Murder is their style. Loan sharks break kneecaps. Wait. Can you break kneecaps? Anyway . . . if I tell you I need you to pretend you’re under oath and solemnly swear you won’t repeat this.”
He nods. “This could be fun.”
“Caden.” His mouth hangs open. “Yep. Our friends are full of drama and babies. We made a pact a long time ago— his fucking idea— for all of us to remain friends. No dating. No falling in love.”
“Wait. Emberlee and Mason were hooking up.” He reminds me.
“Hooking up. That’s it. They’re both in relationships and in love. Hell, Emberlee is pregnant.”
“I know. Brody— our trainer is the dad.” He chews his bottom lip. “So, you and Caden are lying to them?”
Ouch. “So blunt. But, yes. We keep planning to tell them and one of them fucks up or does something stupid. We’re gonna tell them after Saylor and Emberlee have the babies and baseball season is over. But everyone is riding my ass wanting me to date and have sex. Which there will be none of that happening with us.”
“Hmmm.” That’s all I get.
“That’s ominous.”
“Is Caden okay with this?”
“Not at all.” I can’t lie to him.
“Shit. This could’ve been perfect.” He sighs.
“Wait. What?”
“I’ve started dating a model. We don’t want to go public . . . I transferred here to give us separation. I’m not ready for tabloids and she isn’t ready to give up her career. The guys are starting to give me a hard time— wanting me to get laid . . . you could’ve been my beard, too.”
“Could’ve?” I smell defeat.
“I won’t do this without Caden’s okay.” Shit.
“That’ll be hard to get if I’m not speaking to him. Still.” I scrunch my nose.
“Want me to talk to him?”
I laugh. “You want to eat through a straw for six weeks?”
“I’m game if you can run it by him and get his agreement.” I go to answer him and my phone rings.
Ignore.
Shit. I’m gonna have to talk to him and get him to agree. “You’re on. Leave Caden to me.”
“Can you record it? I need some entertainment.” I glare at him.
“You’ll fit in just fine with us.”
My phone chimes with a text.
Ruthian: Answer your phone or I’m coming over.
Me: No.
Ruthian: So you’re talking to me now?
Me: No. Texting isn’t talking. It’s typing.
Nothing. Nada. Radio silence. Until my door slams into the drywall and my bedroom door is damn near ripped from its hinges. “Well hello to you, too.” I try to sweeten my disposition.
“Are you ready to talk or you still in a tiff?” Breathe Avery. Don’t kill him. Be nice. You love him.
“Ready to talk, dear.” I smile so big my cheeks hurt.
He snickers. “You’re a shit liar.”
“Yeah. And you’re a shit compromiser. See our similarities are endearing.”
“Christ, you’re a smart ass.”
“Jesus, you’re so flattering.” He falls next to me, my bed catching his brute ass.
“Don’t ignore me again.” Bossy Caden is making an appearance.
“Yes, sir. Don’t be a dick again.”
“No promises, Picasso.” I kiss his mouth— although, I think I still want to punch it.
“I talked to David.” He bolts upright. “Calm down. Hear me out.” I explain the solid points . . . reminding him several times David has a supermodel girlfriend.
“I don’t like it Aves.” He pouts.
“I don’t either. But, what else do you suggest? I can tell them I’m joining a convent. I can have them start setting me up on blind dates— you know that’s what will happen.” He mulls it over, but he knows our friends like I do.
“I need to talk to him first.” He relents.
“Is that code for you need to scare the shit outta him and threaten him?” He winks.
“Is that me being a dick?”
“No.” I smile.
“Then that’s what it’s code for.” He pulls me close and I fall into his embrace. In this spot . . . in this minute . . . we succumb and stop fighting fate.
Mason slams the door as he enters the kitchen. “Warning. Sunday dinner is gonna suck.”
“Why?” I ask as Brecklynn accosts his lips.
“Caden is in a shitty mood. Fucker needs to get laid.” I bite my tongue and suppress my urge to junk punch Mason.
“I’m sure that’s what he needs. It fixes everything.” My sarcasm knows no end.
“It’s a soothing balm. I keep telling him.” And my sarcasm met its end. My wit went over Mason’s head.
“Just go somewhere outta my sight.” I snap at him.
“Damn. You, too? If it wasn’t so weird, I’d tell you and Caden to work it out between the sheets. That’s incest though.” I pick up the tomato to chuck at his head as Breck pushes him clear from my view.
Saylor bounds in the kitchen. “Is he coming?” Inhale. Exhale.
“Yes.” She claps her hands. “I need to talk to the guys first so he’s coming in a bit.”
“I’ll handle Deacon.” She assures me.
“You do that.” Delusional girl.
“Everyone take a seat. Avery has an announcement.” Saylor hollers as Caden makes his way inside.
The convent isn’t sounding so torturous. And the Pope for sure owes me. “Thank you, Shortstop. So eloquent.” I walk to the living room like I’m facing a firing squad.
“Avery is dating David Sparrow from your old high school. Not yours Brody and Brecklynn. And not mine. But he’s a ball player so you know him.” I run through my meditation exercises . . . there aren't enough of them. I remind myself I can pull orange off. Jumpsuits aren’t flattering but the thought of killing Saylor is.
“Over share much?” Her face drops as I growl at her.
“Avery, I’m so sorry. I’m just excited.” She has the nerve to shed a tear. Nope. No way. I don’t feel sorry for her.
“Aves, it was a slip up.” Deacon is holding her. Fuck him, too.
“And the tears make up for it? I swear you all need a hobby besides fucking and procreating. And it isn’t getting in my business.” I storm outside and dare the first person to confront me.
“Hey.” They sent Brody. Chicken shits.
“What?” I refuse to turn and show him my tears.
“You okay?”
“Just fucking peachy.” I emulate each syllable.
“I come in peace,” he teases. “I know this group gets a bit overboard in each other’s business but that’s what makes y’all tight.”
“You’re part of the y’all . . . don’t fight it.” I remind him.
“Yeah. I guess I am. It wasn’t cool of Saylor but cut her some slack. It wasn’t done to make you mad or hurt you.”
“I know.” That’s the problem . . . I want to get angry but I’m the one to blame for my predicamen
t.
“Something else bothering you, Avery?”
“Nope.”
“You girls are horrible liars.” He jokes.
“Not too bad— we’ve convinced Mace he doesn’t have a micro penis.” I knew that fucker snuck outside . . . with Deacon and Caden following.
“Get off my junk.” He bellows.
“You should have told Breck that.” I wink. Brody shakes his head.
“I’m gonna head in and let y’all handle this. Newcomer and all.” He eases back but Deacon stops him.
“Nope. This is part of your duty. You’re one of us. Man up.” Brody stops and grins.
“Does she listen better than my sister?” Mason laughs at Brody’s question.
“Avery is the most sensible outta the group.” Caden speaks up.
“True.” Mason pulls me to him. “David Sparrow?”
I nod. “It isn’t serious.” I assure them.
“He coming tonight?” Deacon challenges.
“Yes. Want me to set up the fort and get your swords so you can challenge him to a duel for my virtue?” I challenge them.
“You have swords?” Fucking Mason Adler.
“No. Just be careful.” Odd words coming from my boyfriend. “We trust you. I trust you.” His voice is level but it doesn’t mirror his stony demeanor.
“Thank you.” I whisper.
“We’re still gonna talk to him when he gets here.” Deacon isn’t letting it pass.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.
“I won’t be here. I’m gonna leave in a few.” Caden announces . . . and my heart splits.
“Hot date?” Mason is eager for details.
“Fuck off.” Caden swears and stomps in the house.
“See. He needs to get laid.” I hate Mason.
“We done?” I ask.
“Are we?” Deacon throws my attitude in my face.
“Yep.” Done. This was a stupid idea.
Chapter Fourteen
I refuse to stay and meet her boyfriend. I’ve given him my friendly warning . . . several in fact, and he better heed each one. “You aren’t staying?” Shortstop stops me at the kitchen.
“No.” I grit my teeth.
“Why?” Her hand rubs her belly and I won’t fall for her manipulation.
Avery walks in from the patio and I react. “I have a date.” I’m watching her from my peripheral vision . . . and anyone else wouldn’t have noticed her mannerisms. But I did and I feel like a heel. Her quick intake of air, her hand flying up to rub her chest . . . my heart.
“You could have invited her.” Saylor smiles.
“Since when do we have randoms at our family dinner?” Avery snipes and I clench my fist.
“Oh, and what’s-his-name isn’t random?” I’m poking a bear, but I’m irrational.
“I haven’t accepted a proposal but I wouldn’t say random.” Her eyes glint, she’s ready to spar. Why? For what? I have no idea.
We’re both on edge and I need to end this showdown. “Have fun.” I leave as quick as I can without running like a pussy.
“Odd.” Saylor murmurs before I slam the door. I park a few houses down, watch him arrive, watch him enter my girl’s house, create some odd situations in my head starring his lips capturing hers, him laughing and enjoying my life. I stop myself from going inside and pummeling the shit outta him as I declare the truth. Avery is mine.
Instead I head to a frat party, make an appearance, flirt a bit while swallowing bile down from how sketchy it makes me feel. She wants to keep up appearances . . . done. I’ll act with the best of them— her.
The cold shoulder treatment I’m getting from her is childish. And ends now. Mason’s tweaked his shoulder and is sitting in the dugout for a few games . . . which he isn’t handling the best way, instead he is floating in an alternate universe and focusing his aggression on getting back to the mound and taking his bitchiness out on everyone within striking distance. It’s a fucking fun time at my house, so I head to Avery’s while he’s napping. I don’t see Brecklynn’s car, so I walk in.
The music is blaring from the basement so I take the stairs to end this standoff. Her moves are frantic, the exact opposite of the grace I’m used to seeing when she’s painting. The colors dark, her strokes choppy, and the pain and madness emitting from the canvas comes close to dropping me to my knees. The paint is 3-D with cracks and ridges in no pattern . . . a fractured picture. I turn the volume down, softening her music, and she spins to face me. Her quick smile isn’t there to greet me. The happiness that fills her eyes when she sees me isn’t there. Her love she emits . . . it is there.
“Hey.” I tilt my head and study her. Brown curls piled atop her head, smudges of paint decorate her cheeks, her clothes, and her hands. Eyes I can see my soul in are rimmed with dark circles . . . and my breath catches. “Come here.”
The paint pallet hits the floor, her tears are steady and her body leaps into my arms. As she climbs me like a spider monkey, I pull her tight to my body and let her release her pain. “Shhh.” I murmur into her hair and will my love to flow into her body.
“I-I-I’m s-s-so-sorry.” Her words garbled from her sobs.
“No, Picasso. Nothing to apologize for. I was an ass. I’m sorry.” We’ve put ourselves in this predicament— both of us carry the guilt— and I haven’t a clue how to fix it. The truth would help but at this point I’m afraid it’d rip us apart. The scrutiny and pain from our friends for lying to them . . . mixed in with pregnancies, Mason teetering on a ledge, Brecklynn ready to head overseas. We’d implode their lives with more shit and I don’t know if we’d survive the rubble. I suck in the air I need and ask the question that will split my heart in two. “Do you want to stop this? End us? Is it too hard for you?”
If she wasn’t pressed tight to my body, I think my heart would splinter articulating those words. There’s a dull ache mixed with sharp, stabbing pains slicing through my chest. From the top of her head to the bottom of her feet goes stiff . . . no movement, no breathing . . . complete stillness. Her arms drop from my neck and if I wasn’t holding her close she’d crumble to the floor. “If that’s what you want.” A mere whisper ekes from her lips.
“Never.” I promise her. “But I’m tired of hurting. Hurting you. Feeling like we are shorting ourselves. Feeling like we’ll ruin something good to be in the open.” It’s hard to formulate my thoughts.
“I know. I want this hiding shit done. I want our friends to be okay. Yet, I know they won’t be. Not now. And that kills me. Is it okay to be selfish? Hiding does hurt us but will it ruin us?” Her eyes are wandering and she’s trying to answer her own questions.
“No. Nothing will ruin us.” I’m firm in my declaration.
“It isn’t okay to be selfish then. Why hurt others and add madness to their maddening world when we’ll be fine?” I don’t know if she’s questioning me, challenging my beliefs . . . or stating the truth.
“Do you want to be selfish?” Her cackle frightens me.
“When have I ever been selfish? It isn’t something I’m comfortable with . . . but I can’t stand the idea of losing you.”
“And I promise that won’t happen.” I release her long enough to grip her hands and put them back over my shoulders. I need her to hold me as close as I’m holding her.
“Okay. Back to the drawing board.” Her intake of air shudders through my body. “We don’t have an end in sight. Sure, we said after the girls are born . . . but what if something else happens? I say, we play it by ear, quit giving ourselves deadlines to reveal the truth. It causes too much pressure and the let down is crushing.”
Good point. “Agreed.” I mull it over. “But, I’m not waiting until graduation.”
She smiles. “Hope not. That’s two years.” She winks at me and all is right in our world.
For a hot minute.
After four weeks, Mason’s standing on the pitcher’s mound with a goofy grin. And all is right in his world, which makes mine a fuck of a l
ot easier. He’s squinting his eyes watching my signals. I hold up three fingers for a slider and he shakes his head. Fucking diva. He wants what he wants . . . and I agree. Lifting my index finger and tapping my thigh, he grins and winds up. All we need is a strike to end this game . . . we’ll take em’ next inning. Fastball away from hitter looks like the winner. “STRIKE!” The ump roars as the ball lands in my glove and my eyes watch Mason drop to his knees gripping his shoulder.
Brody is at his side and leading him from the field. “Fuck.” Deacon mumbles, as he jogs to me.
“Let’s finish this.” I meet his eyes and he acknowledges me with a nod.
I make my way to the dugout. “Listen. I want to get to Adler. We need to end this. Here. And Fast.” Each teammate . . . including the beard is in agreement. First batter makes it to first. Second batter is three and out but allows our player to steal second. Deacon is up, hits it long and luck is on our side . . . their outfielder sucks. One home and Deacon at second. David’s up and I glare with every step he takes. Strike. Foul. Foul. Come on, dickhead. The next pitch is perfect . . . and he swings. Outta the park. We’re up by two and I’ve got two batters in front of me until it’s my turn.
Runners at first and third as I stride to the plate. Avery took Brecklynn to the care center and my gut swirls with fear. Mason can’t lose baseball . . . without it he isn’t himself. I peek the catchers sign . . . fucking amateur. Curveball. Won’t swing at that and I shift to the left so it’ll be over the plate . . . foul.
The next pitch is high and I refrain from swinging. I want this game ended. Catcher calls fastball . . . they forget I’ve played ball with Mason my entire life and he’s one hell of a pitcher, and you can’t touch his fastball. I glance to Deacon and blow him a kiss. Steady my frame, focus on the ball and watch it soar. Ain’t got shit on Mason. I swing, connect, follow through . . . and chuckle as it soars over the fence. Up by five as I slow jog the bases.
Game Fucking Over. I grab my gear and Deacon and I haul ass to the lockers to get a status on Mason. Brody is leaving the care center and his face looks grim. “What’s the news?” Deacon stops in front of him.
Fighting Fate (Endgame #4) Page 15
