Not Your Fault

by Cheyanne Young

  Tyler has a good place in the so-called park. His grave is in the front row next to a sidewalk, which means I don’t have to walk over and in between other graves on a trek across the dead to get to him. The sidewalk has a nearby bench so I have a place to sit down when I visit.

  I go to sit on the bench like I always do, but something on the ground catches my eye. I walk to the side of his headstone, not wanting to step right in front of it where I know his body rests six feet below. Not that he could feel it or anything.

  Resting in the grass in front of his headstone is what looks like someone’s discarded trash. I’m about to turn into full out Hulk rage mode until I realize the Mountain Dew can is unopened and the stick of beef jerky is still inside the wrapper, sealed as if it was just bought from the store.

  I kneel to the ground in front of his grave and rock back on my heels, staring at the food. Mountain Dew and beef jerky were Tyler’s favorite snacks. I can’t believe I forgot that. He used to use Mom’s Costco card to purchase bulk packages of the stuff and then tear through them in a weekend. Who would have left this for him? Cat doesn’t visit the cemetery because she feels that her loved ones are watching over her wherever she is, and that the bodies in the ground are just that—bodies.

  Mom and Dad have been so massively busy with school that I don’t think they have time to go to the store to buy junk food, much less bring it here. I run my fingers over the etching of Tyler’s name in the marble. I bet he knows who brought this for him. But he’s not going to tell me.

  “So…” I say aloud, feeling exactly as stupid as I always do when I talk to my dead brother’s gravesite. I used to think it’d get easier over time, but talking out loud to someone who isn’t there, who may not even be hearing you from the afterlife, never gets easier.

  My cheeks blush with the next thing I say, but, if Tyler really is listening to me then I suspect he already knows this story anyhow. “I accidently made out with Kris in the locker room.” A ton of weight lifts off my shoulders at this confession. I sigh. “I don’t know why I did it, Tyler. And I hope you aren’t mad at me.”

  I look away from his graduation photo, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes after confessing that I made out with his killer. My eyes fall to the snack food instead. The soda can has droplets of condensation around it, and I reach out and pick up the can. It’s cool to the touch, despite this eighty-degree weather. Jealousy prickles at me when I think that someone else was here visiting him, not much sooner than I arrived. Tyler is my brother, not theirs. I don’t want anyone else coming to him for unspoken advice.

  It’s stupid to feel that way, I know. Tyler had a ton of friends in school so it’s possible that even now, after ten years, some of those friends still miss him and want to visit him. I should be happy that so many people adored him.

  I suck in a deep breath and place the can back where I found it. “I wish I knew what to do,” I say, glancing around as a warm wind blows across my face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I think I like Kris. But I’m supposed to hate him. I mean, I do hate him.” I snap my mouth closed when I realize I’m babbling to a chunk of granite rock and some junk food.

  The silence doesn’t last long though, because being trapped in my mind with my thoughts and emotions swirling around out of control is way worse than speaking out loud, saying only one thought at a time. I stare at Tyler’s graduation picture, almost willing it to move and turn into the real Tyler. It doesn’t, of course, but I can almost imagine the way he probably jumped out of that chair, ripping off the borrowed graduation cap and gown as quickly as possible, happy to be done with his last school photo.

  “So…Tyler,” I say, finding my voice again. Out of embarrassment, I glance around, making sure no unseen visitors are near to watch me talk to a dead teenager’s graduation photo. “If you could maybe…give me a sign? Or something?” I shake my head, feeling exactly as stupid as I sound. “Can you use your dead guy heaven powers to show me a sign that it’s okay…or not okay…for me to like Kris? And not just a vague sign either, I need something very real and tangible that I will know is from you and not in my imagination.”

  I don’t know what I expect to happen, but nothing is what does happen.

  My shoulders fall as I sink into a cross-legged position on top of my brother’s grave. If I’m squishing him, then so be it. This is the closest I can get to a big brother hug now. “He didn’t mean to hurt you, Ty,” I assure him. “I wonder if he meant to hurt me.”

  Chapter 14

  Crushing on a guy is fucking exhausting. Not only are my every waking thoughts spent daydreaming about Kris Payne, my regular way of life has been given a hard shove out of the way to make room for my stupid crush. Every time my phone makes a noise, even if it’s just to alert me that my battery is dying, I dive across the room or speed to the next stop sign, or ignore the customer talking to me so that I can check my phone, hoping against all odds that it’s a text or call from Kris.

  I don’t wake up twenty minutes before work anymore—I wake up an hour before. Perfect hair and shine-free makeup and polished nails don’t come without sacrificing time and sleep. Because of my pathetic crush, my brain is determined that I need to do all of these things every single day.

  Because one day, the text or the call I rush to answer might actually be Kris. And one day he might compliment my hair. Or the sparkly clear polish on the tips of my midnight blue nails. One day, unlike the last twelve fucking days, he might actually show up to the business he owns and talk to me again.

  I lower my mascara wand and glance at the date on my cell phone’s home screen. Yep. It’s now day thirteen since the day after make out day, and I’ve had no word from Kris. Cat insists that I should text him first, but that isn’t happening. I didn’t run after him when he left me all those years ago. I’m not going to run after him now.

  Unlucky thirteen. Tyler was always superstitious about things like that. He would warn not to go out on Friday the thirteenth because something bad would happen. I always told him superstitions are for idiots, but he’d just shake his head and tell me I’d have to learn the hard way. I wonder if anything will happen today. If the sign I asked Tyler to send me will be revealed, on this the thirteenth day after make out day. Honestly, I don’t even care. If the sign is bad news then it’s bad news. I just need to know.

  Today is Wednesday and it’s the one day a week I give an adults only dance class. It’s a lot like our other aerobics classes, where we dance to upbeat songs, working the core and butt and thighs, only the moves are more sexual. Most of the dances are equivalent to giving an imaginary lap dance. Some women balk at the moves, but I love this class because it works my backside muscles like nothing else, short of actually being a stripper, can. Occasionally we’ll have some men join the class, saying they want to ditch the weights for an hour of cardio. I always smile and pretend they aren’t here to check us out.

  “You think he’ll show up today?” Cat asks, suddenly in my bedroom doorway when I had thought I was alone in my own house. I let out a yelp and flinch so hard my mascara swipes across my face, leaving an army-style line under my eye.

  “Jesus, Cat you could knock to announce your presence, ya know.” I lick my finger and rub it across my cheek, then reapply some BB cream on the freshly spit-cleaned skin. “Don’t make me take your house key away.”

  She disregards my threat because we both know it was an empty one. “Well?” she asks, crossing her arms and giving me one hell of a mocking glare as she watches me finish my new makeup routine.

  “Well what?” I ask, rising from the chair and smoothing my hands over my spandex pants. “I’m just going to work and I do not care who else will be there.”

  She shoves me in the shoulder as I walk out to grab my purse and car keys off the kitchen counter. “You are so full of shit,” she says, following me like a puppy wanting a treat. “I’m starting to think ya’ll are hooking up secretly and you’re keeping me out of the loop here.
”

  “That’s not happening,” I say as a snort of laugher escapes me. “He doesn’t like me. He’s too—” I stop myself midsentence and walk out the door, giving my sister a half-assed goodbye. I can’t believe the words that almost came out of my mouth. He’s too good for me. Why the hell do I think that? Because he’s so unbelievably gorgeous and I’m just me? Plain and average? Because he has money and probably dates models, except for that one girl who was so not a model, and I don’t have money and I date losers like Nathan?

  I shake my head, wishing I should shake all thoughts of Kris out of it. Nothing good will come from liking him and our make out session was just a one time mistake. I’ve had one time make out mistakes before, so I know I can handle this one.

  Shaking my head, telling myself empowering thoughts and even pretending to daydream about movie stars does nothing to ward Kris out of my mind. This man will drive me insane, if I’m not already insane. But that’s the thing about being insane—if you think you are then you’re probably not. It’s when you think you’re perfectly normal that you should start to worry.

  All my regulars are in class today. The atmosphere overflows with enthusiasm for a night of fun dancing and a hardcore calorie burn. I head to the front of the dance room and queue up my mp3 player to tonight’s playlist on the big stereo system, anxious to let my body move and my mind take a break from thinking about Kris.

  He wasn’t at the gym when I arrived a few minutes ago, and if all goes as it has for the last twelve days, he won’t bother showing up this late. My guess is that he’s working only in the day shift now, or possibly not at all since the place runs itself just fine without him. But who cares what he does; the only thing I care about is the next sixty minutes of carefree sexy aerobics.

  The warm up song, a naughty R&B track, begins and I lead the class in slow hip circle stretches and deep lunges. My muscles unwind and my body falls into step with the music. Halfway through the song, I’m feeling both sexy and relaxed. The door at the back of the room swings open with a screech, and I try not to get distracted from the late comers by keeping my eyes closed as I squat down low, arch my back and bring it up slowly.

  “Three more, ladies,” I say in a soothing voice, directing them on what to do for the ending of the song. As I lean back into the second squat, my eyes open. I study the mirrors in front of me to make sure everyone is in sync. My arms stretch in front of me for balance as my ass pokes out as far and low as I can go, which luckily is farther and lower than anyone else in class is. I don’t need my students upstaging me.

  When I arch my back and slowly rise out of the squat, a bright white shirt catches my attention from the back corner of the dance room. My muscles tense, freezing me in a half squat as I blink to make sure the reflection in the mirror isn’t just a mirage.

  Kris Payne positions himself at the back of the room, legs shoulder width apart and ass bent into a squatting position. Still caught in disbelief, I whip around and see him with my own eyes and not through a mirror’s reflection. A few people in the front row rise from their squat and stare at me, wondering what to do next. Soon, everyone else follows.

  My brain knows enough to force my body back toward the front of the class, but I’m so shocked at Kris’s arrival that my mind goes blank. I stare into the mirror while the music plays and my vision goes blurry, obscuring everything in my peripheral vision until all I see is my own pale face, watching me in horror from the other side of the mirror.

  “You okay, Delaney?” A small Hispanic woman asks me from the front row. She’s a regular in my class, showing up early every week to ensure her front row spot. She touches my arm as the music slows to the last few beats before the song is over. “You look sick,” she says.

  I shake my head and force a smile. “I’m fine,” I say, deciding to use her observation as the perfect excuse. “I just got dizzy for a moment, but I’m better now.” It’s a lie but it’s better than admitting to everyone that my boss just walked in and now my knees are weak and my face is flushed and it’s not from the dancing.

  The next song begins and it’s a fast-paced hip-hop track that requires lots of booty shaking and hip thrusts. Booty shaking is my absolute favorite thing in this class and this is one of my favorite songs. I begin side lunges to the rhythm all while trying not to look at Kris in the mirror. I’m a total failure though because I look at him. And he is looking straight at me while he makes a perfectly executed side lunge.

  I take in a sharp breath, hoping no one notices the trembling in my fingers and the pounding of my heart against my chest. My mind goes haywire—all my thoughts are static and fuzzy and somehow painful at the same time. Embarrassment overwhelms me at the thought of Kris seeing me shake my ass seductively, but at the same time, my confidence has never been higher. I am not the lanky girl from high school anymore. I can be sexy. I am much sexier than that woman he dated a few months ago.

  My body moves on its own, using muscle memory to complete the choreography since my mind is too preoccupied to focus on the dances. After the fourth song, we take a quick break for water. My legs are on fire and I cock my hip to the side as I wrap my mouth around my water bottle and suck long and hard. I swipe sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, trailing my fingers down my neck and across the top of my push up sports bra, stopping at my cleavage. I do it all because Kris is watching me from the back of the classroom, and he hasn’t stopped watching me since he arrived.

  At the end of the hour, my body is on fire. I’ve taught this class so many times I don’t typically get muscle soreness unless I’ve had a week off. But this time was different—all my moves had to be perfect because I was showing off like some kind of child, even if I don’t really want to admit that to myself. And now I’m paying for it. A few of my regulars meet me in the front of the classroom while everyone else files out of the room, wiping sweat off their faces in a beeline to the locker room. I drain my bottle of water and grab another one from my gym bag, twisting the cap off with a crack. There’s no time to drink water in a sexy way anymore…I’m too fucking exhausted for that nonsense.

  “You were insane today,” Yolanda says, lifting her shirt to dab sweat off her face. The other woman, whose name I can never remember, opens her mouth and tries to say something but can’t get it out over trying to catch her breath.

  I smile over the gulping of water, finally setting the bottle down when it’s half-empty. I’m about to thank her when a voice that isn’t out of breath joins in our conversation. “This girl is intense.”

  I turn to find Kris stepping into our circle with a bottle of blue Gatorade in his hand. Yolanda’s smile turns friendly as she eyes Kris up and down before holding out her hand to shake his. “It’s not every day we get a new man in the class. I’m Yolanda.”

  He shakes her hand and introduces himself simply as Kris. “That was one tough ass workout. I don’t think men’s hips are built to move that way.”

  The two women next to me smile and swoon and talk stupidly, fawning over him as if he’s a new piece of meat that needs to be tenderized. Never mind that both of them are in relationships. Never mind that he’s my boss and my ex-boyfriend and, oh God, when did I become jealous over him?

  I pack up my gym bag and throw the strap over my shoulder, since technically I have to work my shift now and shouldn’t be hanging out in the dance room. I should just walk out and head to the front desk and say hello to Susan and check the gym’s email account and all of the other things that my job requires. I should absolutely not stand here, silently comparing Yolanda’s ass to mine in the mirrors, wondering if Kris finds her more attractive than me, and all of the other dumb ass things that are going through my mind. I am not in high school anymore. I am not boy crazy. Especially not over this boy.

  I am a fucking grown up, dammit.

  So yeah, I know I need to walk out of here, but Yolanda’s heavy flirting and the fact that she’s now got her stupid hand on his arm as she tells him all about how she�
��s been wanting to become a certified dance teacher too does something to my subconscious that has me speaking before I even realize it.

  “So, boss—” My voice is cheery and sweet. “What was that you said about me deserving a raise?”

  Yolanda’s mouth falls open. “Boss? Are you the new owner?”

  Kris nods and even feigns a little modesty even though I know he loves the attention. “Yes ma’am.”

  I can almost see the dollar signs in her eyes. I half expect her to call her husband right now and request a divorce, then throw the phone to the floor and shove her tongue down Kris’s throat. I’m seething with jealousy, but I guess I can’t blame her because my tongue has been aching to do the same thing. Somehow, my mental mantra of Pull yourself together, Delaney finally works because I politely excuse myself and walk straight out of the dance room and to the front desk like a good employee who so does not like her boss.

  The new pulled together Delaney lasts for about thirty-six seconds. I’m replying to a business email from our protein shake supplier when a sweat towel appears out of nowhere and covers my computer monitor. I plaster an annoyed look on my face, complete with an eye roll and sigh, and glance at the man behind my computer. His cocky grin sends a shiver down my spine.

  “What ya doin?” Kris asks, removing the sweat towel and tossing it over his shoulder. He leans across the counter and quickly glances at the screen. “You better not be emailing your boyfriends while on the clock.”

  I hold the annoyed expression and continue typing, although who knows if I’m actually typing real words anymore. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, unless the protein shake delivery guy is hot.”