Tempting Fate

by Brinda Berry

  I stare at her. She must have seen a to-do list in my bedroom. Christ. I must seem like a pansy-assed control freak. I don’t have actual times listed and it’s only two colors—black for normal items, red for crucial. But I realize how true her statements are and it’s not funny.

  I know I wasn’t this bad before the thing with Raquel.

  I raise one eyebrow and attempt a light smirk. “There are things that could take priority over the list.” Like my failing sex life.

  “Come on,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me from my seated position.

  “You’d fit right in with things I’d like to add to the list. I’d put you ahead of the stock market.” I lead the way along the path leading to the highway.

  “Not above laundry though. Hmm … smart guy. I like a guy who takes care of his own stuff. Because I don’t do anyone’s laundry. Not even my brother’s.”

  Her mention of him pisses me off since I suspect foul play where he’s involved. It has to be him or she would call the bastard to come get her. She releases my hand and I think about taking it again. Would she let me hold it? After I’ve practically performed a tonsillectomy with my tongue, she should.

  “You’ll take my bed tonight. I’ll be on the futon. I want you to get a good night’s sleep.”

  “You should know I don’t plan to hook up with you.”

  “Did I say something about hooking up?”

  “No.”

  We arrive at the car and I open the passenger door. “Then you must be the one thinking about it, not me.”

  “I’m caught. I said I didn’t plan on it. Now there’s the problem that you have got to be the best kisser in the universe. So there’s that temptation. It’d be tempting to be friends with benefits. But no. Not going to happen.”

  Did she say those words? She’s not a tease—not in the sexual sort of way—but the statement is out there and teasing me with fantasies I can’t extinguish.

  8

  Veronica

  Three days earlier—July 25th, 5:30 pm, Shelby City

  Beck slings an arm over my shoulders as we walk to the stands. “Veronica, Veronica, Veronica. You should come to all the games. Summer’s a time to have fun. Nothing cheers me up more than baseball and hot babes in shorts.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Oh, me too. I mean, hot babes.”

  “You’re getting me excited.”

  “Yes, well, settle down. I think I’m kidding.”

  “Think? Oh, don’t tell me dating Shawn has caused you to bat for the other team. Pun intended.”

  We take our seats on the third tier of the metal stands. Dust blows across the stands and I shield my eyes. It’s the second inning and Gunner’s in the dugout.

  “Well, Shawn and I have been over for weeks. He takes assholery to a new level. He’s not right in the head.”

  “You tell Gunner he’s bothering you?”

  I pivot and stare with my meanest look at Beck. He sits slumped with his elbows on his knees. Beck doesn’t back down since he’s scared of no one and has been Gunner’s best friend as long as I can remember.

  Gunner can never find out how scared I am of Shawn.

  “I’m warning you. You can’t say a word to my brother. I don’t want there to be a fight and this whole stupid town gossiping about it.”

  Beck shrugs. “Somebody needs to put Shawn in his place.”

  “Well, it’s not going to be my brother. So, Shawn’s a loser. That doesn’t mean I can’t handle him.”

  “If I don’t tell Gunner, somebody else will.”

  “No one will tell him. Shawn thinks he owns this town and most people buy into his delusions.” I pause. “Gunner’s up.”

  If Beck doesn’t stop talking about Shawn, I’m going to be sick.

  My brother steps into view. He looks good in his Gimme Gas shirt and athletic shorts. He rolls his head, left, right, left, and taps the bat on home plate. A runner watches, poised ready to score.

  “Bring him home,” Beck yells.

  More yells and whistles join Beck’s. The pitcher throws a low ball and the crowd jeers.

  “Oh crap. He’s here,” I say. My stomach clenches and I look anywhere but at Shawn Sterling. Please make him stay away. I’d rather run into Satan himself than Shawn.

  Beck glances up and adjusts his ball cap. He sits straight, his six-foot-two height formidable even when seated. “He won’t cause trouble. Not with me here. I’m waiting for him to say one dick thing to you.”

  I force myself to look at Gunner’s last swing. The ball flies to the outfield. The crowd explodes, urging the runners in.

  “Hi, Veronica. Haven’t seen you in a while.” Shawn’s deep voice surprises me.

  “Hi.” I steady my voice. My fear gives him power.

  “Is that all you have for me? Hi?”

  I keep looking straight ahead. My stomach churns. “Pretty much.” Please leave me alone.

  Beck stands. “Hey, dickwad.” Beck turns to the mother and child seated a row down on the bleachers. “Excuse my language, ma’am. You might want to cover her ears.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” Shawn says to Beck.

  Beck adjusts his ball cap. “You should be. You don’t have permission to speak to Veronica. I’ll let you know when you can.”

  “Beck,” I say with an evil eye directed at him. A handful of people have turned to watch what’s going down.

  “Yeah, Beck. Why don’t you have a seat,” Shawn says a little too smugly.

  I stand and turn back to Shawn, acting as a barrier between the clouds of testosterone filling our space. His blond hair gleams with hair product slicking it back from his face. And to think I used to think he was so good-looking. “Shut up.”

  His face reddens and an ominous corner of his mouth curls. “We need to talk. You seem to have broken your phone.”

  “Nope. I don’t have anything to say to you.” I lean forward. “Come on, Shawn. Let it go. We were over weeks ago.”

  “It’s not over until I say so.” He backs away, and I wish he’d fall ass-over-teakettle. Fall and smash his dang spout.

  Beck puts his arm on my shoulders. “You okay?”

  I whisper through clenched teeth. “Yeah. And next time, could you restrain yourself so we don’t rate on the scene-o-meter?”

  “Shawn Sterling is just like his dad. He thinks if he harasses somebody, he’ll gets his way.” Beck watches Shawn’s retreating figure in the distance.

  “Well he’s my problem. Not yours. I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”

  “Sterling’s pushing it. Gunner will hear about it from someone else.”

  “Again, it doesn’t matter if he does because it’s for me to deal with. Not you. Not Gunner.”

  He throws both hands up in surrender, and the gesture makes me smile.

  I pat his knee. “I know you love me.”

  He grunts and adjusts his cap.

  Beck and all my brother’s friends can’t stop treating me like a little kid. It’s nice sometimes, but not today. I need to be invisible.

  A tingle up my spine alerts me like a sixth sense. I raise my head slowly. Shawn stands across the field, his arms folded. Although he wears aviators, I know he’s watching me.

  Fear cuts my nerve endings and seeps from my pores. I wipe sweat from my brow.

  Half an hour later, Shawn disappears. The game isn’t over, but I’ve been tense and I’m ready to get home. Beck pats me on the head, tells me to be good, and yells for the Gimme Gas player up to bat.

  I drive home in the car I finally bought this summer. A cash purchase from three years of savings. The old Mazda isn’t much, but I’m thrilled to have a ride and not rely on my brother.

  I pull onto the gravel road to our trailer. Gunner says it’s silly to move when I’ll leave home someday and he doesn’t need more than a trailer. I can’t imagine where I’d go. The trailer isn’t bad. Gunner keeps everything neat and mowed.

  I planted window boxes full of purple and
white petunias, which spill over the edges. The flowers make me feel like it’s a real home instead of the white box it is. It’s a silly but honest thought.

  Inside, I drop my shoes at the door so I don’t track in all the dust from the ballpark. I grab the latest book I’m reading and turn on the fans. The trailer is warm inside, but we deal with it because air conditioning is a luxury we save for the hottest days.

  In my tiny room, I lie on my bed and hold the paperback above me. I need distraction. I need my mind in another place. I need to be someone else in this moment.

  The trailer door opens, and I drop the book. “Gunner? That you?”

  There’s no answer. We’re in the middle of a couple of acres with frequent visitors, all Gunner’s friends. Still, I thought I locked the door.

  “You left early.” The male voice calls out and I recognize it immediately. Shawn.

  Terror rolls down my spine. I look at my window and wonder if I can pop out the screen fast enough to get out.

  His footsteps move down the hallway. “I told you I wanted to talk.”

  “Shawn.” I chide myself for the tremor in my voice. He likes it when I’m afraid.

  “You think you can dump me for Beck?”

  “That’s not true. I’m not with anyone.” I keep my voice steady and pleasant. I measure his reaction.

  “I saw how he touched you. You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going to ask you to leave.” My heart pounds hard and I feel each thump in my temples.

  Shawn rushes into the room so fast I don’t see him coming. He grabs my wrists and holds them above my head, his fingers pinching my wrists. “You don’t tell me when to leave. I’ll leave when I’m finished.”

  “Shawn.” I attempt to stay calm. My pulse slams wildly in my throat, like a tire swing released to pendulum back and forth. “Let’s talk. Please let me go.” I have to get out of this trailer.

  He gives a cocky smile. “Okay. I knew I could talk reason into you.” His fingers still grip my wrists.

  “Shawn. You’re hurting me.”

  “Well you hurt me. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, right?”

  He’s the boogieman in disguise. “I can’t talk if you don’t let me sit.”

  He relaxes his grip on me and moves back on the bed. “Why won’t you answer my calls?”

  “I talked to you a couple of times. Remember?” I’m sickened by the begging tone I’ve taken.

  “Don’t be condescending.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You think I’m stupid? I hear it.”

  “No. It’s that… Shawn, I’m not the right girl for you. You need something different. Someone else.” I try hard to keep my voice level instead of whatever he calls condescending.

  His mouth purses. “You’ve been deceiving me.” He pauses and stares at a motivational poster I have on one wall. He reads it aloud, “‘If you want to be happy, then be.’ Are you not happy with us?” His gaze darts to mine.

  “Please. You need to stay calm.”

  “Baby, there will always be an us.”

  “No.”

  “Quit saying no to me.” Shawn grabs me by the upper arms and shakes me. “You don’t get to say no.”

  “Stop it!”

  One of his fists comes toward my face and I hold up my arms to shield it. He slaps the right side of head and my earrings cut into my scalp from the blow. He slaps me and my arms move up again to ward off more.

  He pushes me hard and my head slams into the wicker headboard. The impact stuns me for a second.

  “You and Beck. That’s what this is all about.” Spit flies from his mouth.

  I open my eyes and Shawn’s nostrils flare. Will this time be worse than the last? “I told you I’m not with Beck.”

  “Liar.” He pushes me a second time. I tumble off the bed and roll into the small space between my bed and the dresser. Adrenaline courses through me and I recognize I have to get away. My breaths come in quick pants.

  I won’t cry. He likes it when I cry. Crying won’t save me.

  “Okay, let’s talk. Maybe I’m wrong.” I push up on my elbows and immediately regret it when a hard punch in my lower back slams me against the carpet. I don’t get up.

  “Beg me to take you back. Beg me, you white-trash whore. Beg me and maybe I will.”

  My back hurts, my arms hurt, my head hurts. But mostly my heart hurts. It hurts because I was so wrong about him. I’m filled with such black hate that I look around my room for something to use on him. Because I need to run.

  “Can I please get up to say it to you?”

  He doesn’t answer me.

  “Shawn?”

  “I know where Beck lives.” His calm words chill me like dry ice—immediate and lethal.

  “I’m getting up to—”

  He pulls me up by the arms, digging his fingers into my flesh. “I will be back. And we’ll finish this later. I think I need to find that belt. But this time … I’m going to put it around your neck. You will look so hot. But for now, Tommy said he’ll go with me to pay Beck a visit.”

  “Shawn.” My voice quavers and there’s no controlling it. My entire body shakes. “Please. I’m begging you to talk to me—”

  “Now you want to talk? We’ll talk later.” He presses his knuckles against my cheek, once an endearing caress, now a threat.

  “Can—”

  “I promise you. Later. Don’t you trust me?” He turns and leaves my room. The trailer door opens and shuts.

  I don’t know where my phone is. Not on the dresser or bed or floor. I race into the living area and it’s not on the coffee table, the place I sometimes leave it.

  I’ve got to warn Beck. I scan the room for my car keys. The door opens and Gunner stands in the threshold, looking at me with a strange expression.

  “I passed Shawn. Was he here?”

  My throat is frozen, tight and dry. “Yeah,” I finally say.

  Gunner comes closer. “Did something happen?”

  “Don’t be mad.” I don’t know why I say this. I need for both of us to stay calm and get to Beck’s.

  “What the fuck,” he yells. “He did something to you. I can see it in your face.”

  “It’s nothing. I mean … I’m okay. But he’s going after Beck.”

  Gunner’s not listening. “Did he touch you? Did he force himself on you—?”

  I can’t let him think Shawn raped me. “No. He hit me. That’s all.”

  I cringe as the words leave my mouth because it doesn’t matter if the words are rape, or hit, or even slap.

  It’s the wrong thing to say. I shouldn’t have told him. Because on those words, his expression grows glacial. “I’m going to kill him.”

  I grab Gunner’s shirt, but it’s no use. He pulls free and jogs out the door. The loud roar of his truck engine sounds like a bad omen.

  9

  Collin

  “Rise and shine, working girl.” I knock loudly after forgetting to the last time. I act like a gentleman 90 percent of the time. The devil on my shoulder mocks me for it. Calls me a loser and tells me to go on in since it’s my bedroom in my house. “I need to drop you at Ace and Mal’s.”

  “Already?” She groans the word. There’s a shuffling of sheets and feet. My door cracks open and one eye appears. “I can’t believe I overslept. I never do this.”

  Her hair is a charming whirl of blonde tangles.

  “You have ten minutes to get ready. Is it possible?” I could give her a half hour, but I figure this will make her hurry.

  “Any girl who takes more than ten minutes to get ready is not that cute.” She gives me a sleepy wink and closes the door in my face.

  “I’m timing you. We’ll see how cute you really are.”

  “Har-har. I bet you will. I bet…” Her muffled reply is cut short by the sound of the shower turning on.

  When Raquel and I were together¸ she’d keep me waiting for over an hour while she showered and
primped. I’d arrive at her apartment ready to be somewhere at a certain time and she’d meet me at the door wearing a towel, wet hair, and an apologetic smile. It was like the world was supposed to revolve around her primping schedule.

  “What are you doing?” Jordy’s voice startles me as I stand in the hallway. He’s in his doorway, hands on his hips and half-grin on his face.

  “Nothing.” I don’t move. The better question is what he’s doing up this early. I fold my arms casually.

  He cuts his gaze to the door and back to me. “She’s in the shower.”

  “Yeah? So?” I raise a brow of indifference.

  “It’s going to take her a while.” He smirks and tilts his head as if I’m being quirky by waiting.

  “I’m timing her.” I flash my watch at him as if it’s all the explanation he needs.

  “Why?”

  “She said she can get ready in ten minutes.”

  “And?”

  “She said ugly girls take more than ten. I want to see how long it takes her.”

  He lowers his chin and peers up at me. “You know you’re an idiot.”

  “She stated the rule. Not me.”

  “How much time has passed?”

  I check my watch. “Three minutes, thirty seconds.”

  “Come to think of it… I don’t even know a girl who can get ready that fast.” He leans against the wall and picks at his cuticle.

  “Four minutes.”

  Jordy rocks back on his heels. “Where’d you guys go yesterday?”

  Why does he want to know? It’s my business. Time to change the subject. “Working from the office today?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Jeans instead of shorts.” He’s dressed in his usual Cardinals T-shirt and jeans. I’m amused Jordy acts like he has a dress code for his own software company. A dress code he created—a perk of being the boss.

  “I was supposed to have lunch with her,” he says.

  “Five minutes.”