by Lexi Ryan
The truth is, time has only made Chris hotter. As a junior in high school, he was just a shadow of his current self. But even when his shoulders were half the breadth they are now and the stubble on his jaw was faint, he seemed like this sexy, amazing guy. Fast forward five years, and he’s a fucking Adonis, which is just unfair. I wanted him to develop an acne problem or maybe a beer gut from too many frat parties.
The rehearsal dinner is at a steakhouse on the river in downtown Champagne, and the place is filled to the brim with friends of Dad and Becky. It’s going to be one of those long, drawn-out evenings where they make you endure an hour of mingling and appetizers with fancy names before they’ll feed you dinner.
When I spot Chris watching me across the room, my stomach does a series of flips and double back-tucks. If stomach gymnastics were an Olympic sport, his presence in this room would make me a contender for the gold.
His hair’s longer now than he wore it in high school, and it falls over one eye until he pushes it back and tucks it behind his ears. Tonight, he’s wearing khakis and a blue polo that stretches across his chest and shoulders.
I’m not the kind of girl who looks at a guy and fantasizes about a romantic night in his arms, but there’s something about Chris and his big arms and those dimples that makes me wonder what it’s like to be the girl tucked into his side at a candlelit table. All the more reason why I need to put a stop to our previous plans.
I tear my gaze away from Chris and focus on my father, who’s sitting at another table. “Daddy?” I force a smile as I sit down at the table across from my father. I was a couple of tiny, insignificant minutes late for the rehearsal, and he’s still pissed. Scratch that—he’s disappointed, which is way worse. He was disappointed in me when I was fourteen and Isaac’s mom called him to pick me up from the party. He was disappointed last summer when my drunken choices gave the local girls all the fuel they needed to harass me online. His disappointment is always something I earn, and that eats me up inside. “Sorry I was late tonight.” It took me twice as long to get ready as it typically does, and I’d rather not analyze why.
“The best apologies are in actions, Grace.”
Oh, goodie. That speech. Today’s been a regular stroll down Memory Lane. “I wanted to talk to you about this summer. I’m wondering . . .” I swallow hard. I feel so guilty for bringing this up tonight, but I’m supposed to fly to Indiana on Sunday, so if I want to get out of living with Chris I need to take care of it now.
Dad sets his drink on the table. Scotch on the rocks. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m feeling guilty about the whole situation with Chris . . . Dash . . . whatever.”
“What situation?”
“Um . . .” The situation where he had his mouth on me last night? The situation where he has no idea that I’m Gee-Gee from that night in high school? The one where I don’t want him remembering? Ever? “Just staying with him, you know? After getting a chance to talk to him, I’m realizing how busy he is, and I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to intrude. I don’t want to disrupt his life.”
“Did he say he didn’t want you there?”
“No, nothing like that.” That would have been too easy. “I’m just wondering if we can revisit the idea of me staying in New York. I have a friend who’d let me rent a room in her apartment in the city.” I’d be renting a couch, not a room, and the apartment’s in Harlem, not Manhattan, but now’s not the time to get hung up on logistics. “If I work at the coffee shop, I’d only need a little help from you to make it happen.”
“We talked about this, didn’t we? I don’t feel comfortable with you living in New York without some sort of supervision.”
I keep my spine straight, imagining it’s made of steel so I don’t crumple under the force of his lack of faith in me. I just finished my first year of college away from home and managed to do so without failing any classes or picking up any substance-abuse problems. I’m not some kid who needs to ask her father’s permission to get an apartment.
And yet I do. Without his money, I can’t live in New York. Without his approval, I can’t do any-fucking-thing I want, because I need him to pay my tuition when I go back to Carson. And that’s not even taking into account the obvious truth that I still hunger for my father’s approval.
He swirls his drink, jangling the ice against the sides of the glass. “If you’d gotten a spot in that writers’ camp—”
“The summer playwright program,” I correct. I’m convinced his inability to get my major right isn’t from a faulty memory but part of his great many efforts to get me to major in something more practical.
“Right,” he says. “If you’d gotten into a program at the college, this would be a different conversation. But you didn’t.”
My shoulders drop at the reminder of that failure. “I know, but—”
“Being there for a purpose I can get behind, but I’m not going to let you loose on that city. Not yet. I’m sorry, Grace. I’m your father, and I’ve made up my mind. You’re staying with Dash, and unless you have an excellent reason to change our plans this late in the game, I don’t want to hear any more about you spending the summer alone in the city.”
I could tell Dad about who Chris is, that he was the one to stop everything that night, but it would only reinforce Dad’s notion of Chris as the perfect moral compass for my summer.
“I don’t feel right about it,” I mumble.
“Your mom would love for you to stay with her,” he says. He inclines his chin and narrows his eyes slightly, telling me he knows he’s thrown his trump card.
I suppress a shudder as I imagine a summer inside the un-air-conditioned church that’s Mom’s home away from home in Dallas, day in and day out of her making me pray with her, listening to her beg me to promise myself and my “purity” to God long after I’d lost it to the older boy next door. Maybe I could tolerate all that if I had any sort of connection to my mom, but we’ve never been close. Dad might keep me on a tight leash, but Mom’s version of religious expression borders on “zealot,” and though I’m not blaming her for my really shitty adolescent decisions, I suspect her unhealthy views on female sexuality had the opposite of their intended effect on her rebellious daughter. “I’m not staying with Mom.”
“That’s what I thought,” Dad says. He stands and presses a kiss to the top of my head in a gesture that makes me feel simultaneously cherished and underestimated. Dad loves me, but sometimes I feel like all he sees when he looks at me are my mistakes. “You know I worry about you. Stay with Dash and consider it a wedding gift to me and Becky.”
I nod but don’t meet his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Eight
Chris
I vacillate between being thankful and frustrated that Mom invited half the town to this dinner. On the one hand, having so many people here who want to talk to me makes it easy to hide the awkwardness between me and Grace. If Mom never finds out I felt up her new stepdaughter, it’ll be too soon.
On the other hand, I have to talk to a bunch of idiots who wouldn’t give two shits about me if I didn’t play ball and wasn’t Colt Montgomery’s son. But I do and I am, so I’ve been bombarded with questions all night: Will you go pro next year? Are you excited about the draft? What’s BHU going to do about its sudden coaching vacancy? Have you met Peyton Manning? And my least favorite: Have you seen your dad recently?
When we finish eating and we’re free to move around again, I’m grateful to step away from all the well-meaning strangers and their endless questions. I scope out the dessert buffet, pretending to consider my options.
Since we arrived, Grace has kept her distance, but again and again, I’ve caught myself watching her. She ordered a potato and salad when everyone else ordered steak or salmon. She listened much more than she talked, but I noticed she’s one of those people who’s such a good listener that they feel like she’s a bigger part of the conversation than she is.
Passing up the sugar-laden choice
s, I spoon a pile of fresh strawberries onto a plate and stand in the corner instead of returning to the table. That’s where Mom finds me.
She’s wringing her hands, and “worried mother” is written all over her face. “Do you want to talk about what’s going on between you and Grace?”
Despite the ups and downs Mom and I have been through, I’m always honest with her. This might be the one time I’ve felt like I can’t be. “What do you mean?”
“I want to know about what happened between you two last night.”
No, Mom. You don’t. You really, really don’t.
She takes a deep breath. “I told Eddy I want to cancel our trip.”
I tear my gaze away from Grace—because I somehow landed on staring at her yet again—and swing around to look at Mom. “What? No. Why would you do that?”
She tilts her head to the side. “I never should have asked you to do this for us. Taking in Grace is just too much, and you two clearly rub each other the wrong way.”
As far as I see it, the problem is more along the lines of us rubbing each other the right way, but I don’t plan on telling Mom that. “Why would you say that?”
She arches a brow. “I birthed you. I know when someone makes you uncomfortable. And anyway, Eddy told me Grace is trying to talk him out of making her stay with you.”
“She is?” Well, fuck. It’s not like I’m looking forward to it, but I never intended for the problems between Grace and me to interfere with Mom and Edward’s plans.
“She is, and she was fine with the arrangement yesterday. Obviously you two didn’t hit it off or it wouldn’t be a problem.” She holds up a hand before I can object. “I’m not blaming you. I just want to know what’s going on. Did something happen between you two in high school?”
I shake my head, thinking of what Grace said in the storage closet about how she didn’t want to tell me her name last night because she didn’t want me to remember her. She didn’t need to bother with a lie because I don’t remember a Grace and I can’t imagine forgetting a body like that. “I don’t remember her.”
Mom frowns. “Well, she obviously remembers you.”
Yeah, obviously, but my drama with Grace isn’t what matters here. “A summer in Europe has always been your dream. Don’t you dare cancel it.”
“It would be more of a delay than a cancellation.” She rubs her bare arms, worry knitting a crease between her eyebrows as she finds Grace on the other side of the room.
“Mom, could you explain why Edward even needs me to keep an eye on her? She’s going to be a sophomore in college. Why does he think she needs a keeper?”
“I don’t know details,” Mom says. “Eddy refuses to talk about it. But I know she had a rough time in high school. She got in trouble a lot, and he worries. The only reason he lets her go to school in New York is because she lives in substance-free dorms with strict curfews. He seems to think the RA keeps tabs on her. He’s fiercely protective.”
Substance-free dorms? “Did she have a drug problem or something?” I really can’t have that shit in my apartment this summer. The team is under such fierce scrutiny after what happened last spring when our running back got arrested for having a whole cornucopia of drugs in his locker. Arrow will finish his house arrest and be back at BHU before the season ends, but we have yet to see if those mistakes have cost him his career.
“I don’t think so.” Mom frowns. “I think she got started drinking young and overindulges from time to time, but I don’t know of problems with other drugs.”
That’s a relief. Then again, it sounds like Mom might be as clueless as I am. “She’s an adult. He’s going to have to let that go sometime.”
“You know that and I know that, but Grace’s mother blames Eddy for Grace’s troubled past, so Eddy blames himself, too. There’s nothing I can say to change that.” She turns her attention back to me and gives me a sad smile. “Eddy and I have our whole lives together. We’ll travel another time. I don’t—”
“Absolutely not. You aren’t canceling this trip.”
“Dash, I’m not asking you to open your home to a girl you hardly know if you two aren’t getting along. I shouldn’t have asked you to do it at all.”
“I’m glad you asked. I love that you get to live your dream this summer. Grace and I are fine. Please don’t give canceling your trip another thought.” I force a smile and wrap my arm around Mom’s shoulders, turning her to face the party. “Now, would you please go talk to all of your friends and stop worrying about me?”
She turns and tilts her head back to meet my gaze. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” And I’ll do whatever it takes to get Grace on the same page.
Mom takes the hand I have resting on her shoulder and squeezes. “I know I’m being selfish, but I hope you’ll believe me when I say I want Grace to stay with you this summer as much for her sake as for mine. She’s lonely, Dash. And maybe depressed, too. And I don’t expect you to fix that, but I do believe that staying with you will help.” Smiling, she presses her palm over the center of her chest. “You bring joy to everyone around you. Maybe you can work some magic on your sister.”
My sister. I really wish we could nix that word from the get-go, but it’s two other words that catch my attention: lonely and depressed. And last night she was drunk, to top it off. What have I gotten myself into? But one look into my Mom’s eyes and I know I have to make this work. “It’s only for the summer. I’m happy to do it.”
Chapter Nine
Grace
When I pull Dad’s old sedan into his driveway after the rehearsal dinner, Willow is sitting on his front porch, her feet in bright pink Converse shoes, and crossed at the ankles. After a long day of avoiding everyone but failing to avoid my own thoughts, I’m just so damn happy to see her I could cry.
I park, pull my keys from the ignition, and practically throw myself out of the car to greet her.
“How was the rehearsal?” she asks, standing.
“The part where I closed myself in a tiny closet with the sexy man I can’t have, or the part where my dad threatened to send me to live with Mom if I didn’t stay the course for his plans for me for the summer?”
Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head as if to clear it. “Sorry. Back up. What happened?”
“I’m a slut, and my slutty ways fucked everything up. Again. Because Slutty McSlutterson sluts a lot. What is it about this town that brings her front and center, anyway?”
Willow gives me a stern look and sets her jaw. “Grace, cut that shit out.”
I sigh but my stomach is in knots. Why do I fuck everything up? “Want to go on a walk?”
She steps back and cocks her head to the side in appraisal. “That serious, huh?”
“So serious I contemplated going for a run this morning to sweat it out.”
She gasps and throws a hand over her mouth. “You didn’t!”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry. It didn’t come to that after all. I drove into the city and visited Ben & Jerry’s.”
“Crisis averted,” she says solemnly.
We head to the end of the driveway, arm in arm.
When Dad moved back here for his retirement last summer, he bought a house in this country club neighborhood where the streets all have sidewalks and are lined with gorgeous oiled bronze street lamps, so even though the sun set hours ago, our path is well lit. We wander in silence for a while, heading toward the back of the subdivision, where the houses are three times the size of Dad’s and overlook the golf course.
“Do you remember me telling you about Chris Montgomery?” I finally ask when I can’t hold it in anymore. This new information eats me up inside, and I have no idea what I’d do right now if I didn’t have Willow to talk to. I had a plan and it was perfect because it was a plan that made my stubborn father think he was getting his way while really I was getting mine. I’d stay with my stepbrother. Dad would be happy because I wasn’t in Champagne alone, and I’d be happy because I
wasn’t in Champagne at all.
“Chris Montgomery?” she asks. She chews on the corner of her lip like she does when she’s thinking hard about something.
I didn’t think the name would mean anything to her. “Remember the night in the basement when I was fourteen? With the football players?”
She snaps her fingers. “Chris Montgomery was the quarterback. The good guy.”
I love this girl—such a good listener. “That’s the one.”
“Did you run into him or something? It is a small world, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t just run into him. He’s the one who brought Robbie to your house last night.”
“Oh! Chris! Robbie introduced us briefly before we . . .” Her eyes go wide, and I cut mine away from her and study the landscaping around the pond. “Oh my God! The Chris at my house was that Chris? What did he say when he saw you?”
“He doesn’t remember me. In fact, he thought I was your sister.”
She snorts. “You don’t look a thing like Morgan.”
“I don’t think he’s met her. He just assumed that’s why I was there, and I didn’t correct him. And then I made out with him. A little.” I tilt my head to look at her, but I can’t hold her gaze when her eyes go wide. “Or a lot.”
“Holy guacamole. You made out with Chris Montgomery. Was it good? Did it feel like it was five years in the making? He rescues you, and years later you’re reunited and sparks fly? Are you going to see him again?”
“Okay, first of all, it wasn’t just good. It was so hot, we almost set your parents’ couch on fire. Second, I will definitely see him again.”
“Yeah?” she squeals.
“Oh yeah. Like, a whole fucking lot. Because as of tomorrow he’ll be my stepbrother.”
She stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “I thought Dash Dupree was your new stepbrother.”
“Dash Dupree is Chris Montgomery. Only he was never Dupree at all because his father’s name is Montgomery, and his name isn’t actually Dash. His mom just calls him that. Dash is Chris and Chris is Dash. They are one and the same. Because the universe hates me or something.”
