“Fuck this. Sometimes, there’s too much stacked against you.”
“El, don’t run.” Spencer holds my hand, but I stand and grab my bag from behind the chair.
“I’m not running.” I eye Ariel. “Haven’t you ever wanted something that hurts you the same amount whether you have it or not?”
Ariel’s eyes tear. She’s the emotional one, but I wish my own vision weren’t blurring.
“You’ll get through this and be happy.” Ariel tries to stand, but I shoo her down.
“Stay. I need to think.”
I walk out of the Student Center and into the sunniest day. It’s seventy degrees, and the flowers are basking in the last rays of sun before winter comes to wither them away. How similar it seems to Crosby and me. We shine bright now, but along with my dad and Beltline, the girl’s here will also stand in the way of our future.
“El?” Liam says, approaching me from the library.
I hold my hand up in the air and continue walking around the Student Center to the open field behind it. College kids are milling around on the hill, talking, laughing.
If it wasn’t the despair from not being with Crosby, it was the sadness from the void in my life Kedsey’s left. One constant was sure. Crosby’s absence overloaded the weight in my heart. But, even with him here, as he held me close to his body last night, there was no peace like I had assumed. Nope, we’re still uneasy about our future because there continues to be people against us.
“Ella.” Liam comes alongside me, obviously not aware of the nonverbal sign I gave him with my hand up in the air, meaning, I don’t really want to talk to you.
“Liam,” I say, my voice flat.
“Can we talk for a second?” He signals to the grass.
“What is it?” I ask.
He groans. “We dated for over a year, and you can’t sit down and have a conversation with me? Are you afraid he’ll show up and beat you up this time?”
I squint my eyes and cross my arms, not thrilled with his comments.
He gives me an exaggerated eye roll. “Okay, I’m sorry, but you know the swelling in my nose just started going down.”
“We’ve been over this, Liam. What is it?”
He sits.
I don’t.
“I heard. The story is going around, and I wanted to say, if I’d known, I would have understood.”
Panic jolts my veins, and my blood boils. “What did you hear?” My voice is shallow and lost.
My eyes concentrate on a dandelion swaying with the wind. How long will it be able to support itself until it loses its strength and collapses from the fight?
“That Crosby was drunk, and he killed your two best friends. That you were in a coma for a few months, and he left you in the hospital to escape charges.”
The dandelion just broke.
“That’s not true,” I say. My eyes tear up, and all the strength from my body collapses, limb by limb.
“Are you okay? You look pale.” He stands up and wraps his arms around me.
I don’t move, staying in one place as he rocks me back and forth.
But the fact remains. No matter where we go, we’ll never escape the accident. People will constantly twist the truth.
“Let her go.”
Crosby’s backpack hits the grass, and his arm grabs mine, freeing me from Liam’s hold into his.
“Calm down.” Liam holds his hands out, like Crosby’s some T. rex about to rip him to shreds.
“Don’t ever go near her again.” His hands cup my face. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Spence told me about the text. You know I don’t know that person.”
I nod. The picture was clearly taken at the quarry, but it’s just another person who wants to step in our way.
“Then, what’s wrong?”
Crosby’s head swivels to Liam, who’s already halfway across the lawn. His eyes are full of fear, looking back to make sure Crosby isn’t following him.
“The story has morphed.” I tell him.
His face falls.
“Who cares? All I care about is you.” He pulls me into his chest.
The smell of his cologne embedded in his sweatshirt is enough to make me believe in fairy tales. He is my white knight, and he’s going to whisk me away to a land free of this bullshit.
“Crosby?”
He draws back but keeps his arms firmly around my waist.
“Do you ever think there’s too much against us?”
“I’d risk everything to have you.” His eyes only bear the truth.
“I’m not sure that’s enough.”
He picks up his backpack and swings it over his shoulder, grabbing my hand.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“We’re going to Beltline.”
“No.” I dig my heels into the grass.
He tugs. “Yes.”
“No.” My voice is filled with fear.
“My dad was wrong. You can’t have your eyes forward if you don’t deal with your past. We’re clearing all this shit up, and we’re going to ride off into that damn sunset.” He lets go of my hand and steps into me, his two hands closing over my cheeks. “Love is enough. Our love is strong, and it can pummel all this crap into Earth’s inner core. Your family is first. Let’s go.” He bends down and softly kisses my lips.
We pass the sign that shows we’re entering Beltline. I’m not sure what I assumed would happen when Crosby drove over the line. Maybe alarms would set off, alerting the town of his return, or all two of our police cars would be ready to pull him over. But, no, we breeze by the basic Welcome to Beltline, Population: 845 sign with no problems. Even Crosby doesn’t appear to be bothered by it.
We pass the Fords’ house, which means we’re only minutes from my childhood home. My gut twists, but Crosby seems cool as ice. I’m fairly sure, if I rubbed up against him, I’d melt his demeanor and reveal a scared boy, going to talk to a girl’s father who hates him. But he shows no outward signs.
His hand moves over to mine, entwining our fingers, and he gives it a tight squeeze. I look over, and he smiles.
By the time we pull in the driveway, sweat is beading at my neck and under my arms, and I’m a fidgeting bundle of nerves. My dad’s beat-up red truck sits outside the barn, and my mom’s minivan is parked by the front door.
Great, they’re both home.
“Um…” I say.
Crosby kills the engine.
“Would you rather stay in the car?” he asks.
I nod.
Coward.
“Okay, I’ll be back.” He moves to open the door.
I grab his other hand. “We could run away. Move to California or New York. Heck, Toronto has a great baseball team. We could be Canadians!” I widen my eyes. “Free health care, and they’re overly nice up there. Once, when I was ten, my mom’s friend came down from Niagara Falls, and she was really sweet. They say this adorable term, eh, all the time.”
His hand covers mine, and his other one grabs ahold of my cheek. “Do you really want to be a Canadian?”
I bite my lip and shake my head.
“This isn’t going to be easy, Ella, and I know you hate disappointing people, but if we have a future, it starts here. The same place it ended. We have to offer your parents a chance to see our side.”
I nod, not entirely convinced that this is the best path to forge. Maybe I should start practicing saying, Eh, to fit in up there.
“What if they don’t accept it?”
“Then, we’ll try again. I know you, El, and you love your family. I won’t take you away from them.” He throws the keys in my lap. “Now, if your dad is chasing me with an ax or hammer, can you do me a solid and start driving? I’ll dive into the back.”
He dips his head to find my eyes and I smile.
“There’s my girl.”
He places his hands on my head, tipping it down, and he plants his lips to my forehead. So soft, so gentle, so sweet
. How did I get lucky enough to claim this guy?
My breath lodges in my throat when he steps out, and I watch his back disappear into the barn. I sit in the truck for what seems like forever until there’s a knock on my window. I jump, and his keys fly to the floorboard. Too busy to see who’s knocking, I search for the keys, believing it’s not too far-fetched that my dad will chase Crosby away with some sort of weapon.
“Ella!” My mom’s voice sounds through the window as her fist bangs on the glass. “What are you doing?”
Her eyes are fuming, and I can’t really blame her. Two days ago, I made a deal that I’d stay away from the guy whose truck I’m currently sitting in.
I wave, my hands clenching the keys in my palm.
“Get out of the truck.” She calms, tilting her head to the side in an almost sweet gesture.
“No.” I’m not a fool to fall for her ploy.
“Ella, get out.” The stern look I’ve been given one too many times during my high school years knifes into me.
“You’re mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
My hand hovers over the door handle, and I close my eyes, clenching my teeth, as I spring the door open.
“How could you bring him here? Do you have any idea what your father is probably doing?” Her hands hold on tight to her hips. Hand imprints from flour are on her apron. Eyes of steel are directed right at me.
“You said you weren’t mad.”
“You fell for that?” She shakes her head. “Why would I be mad, Ella? Maybe because you brought home the guy who you know your father and I don’t approve of? He’s under enough stress with the farm.”
She grabs my arm and begins to drag me into the house. I stick my heels into the dirt, and she swivels back around with a look of death across her face. My only saving grace is that there’s no yelling coming from the barn.
“I’m not deserting him,” I tell her.
She sighs. “God forbid we do anything to upset Crosby Lynch.”
She tries to grab my elbow again, and I shrug out of it. Many times I’m amazed, to the strong-willed side of me that emerges when I’m protecting Crosby.
“No. I’m not deserting him…again.”
Her stare grows more intense, and quickly, I’m back to being twelve when I purposely put gum in Ariel’s hair, resulting in shortening five inches off her “gorgeous princess locks”—her words, not mine.
“Save the drama. I don’t need to hear it.”
She raises her hand, but at the same moment, my dad starts hollering in the barn. The next thing Crosby and my dad exit the barn. My dad fires a finger at me and points to the house.
“Get in the house,” he demands
Crosby’s tentative eyes meet mine, and I fear that this is going to be it. I’ll have to make a decision.
My dad waits, his arms crossed, ready for a fight from either of us. My mom enters first, and then Crosby and I follow.
The aroma of cinnamon and sugar fills my nostrils. My mom’s freshly baked apple pie is sitting on a wire rack in the kitchen. She busies herself with the task of preparing dinner, diverting her attention away from the trains about to collide in her kitchen. I’m surprised she’s not ready to fight Crosby and I, like my dad.
He grabs a beer, cracks it open, and sits at the table. With his leg bouncing a mile a minute, his eyes shoot to Crosby, me, and then my mom. “Remind me never to make a deal with you again.” His eyes are pointed at me now.
“I’m sorry. I thought—”
His hand flattens in the air, telling me to shut it.
“I don’t want to hear it. Then, no warning, you bring him here.” He looks at Crosby. “You have nerve, boy. I’m not sure I’d have had the balls to do what you did.” He downs another large gulp.
The thing is, Crosby was the boy my dad never had. Before the accident, Crosby would usually be found in our barn, milking the cows or baling hay, and during breaks in the harvest season, he’d be hitting balls into the pile of hay bales at the edge of our property—a place my dad specifically set up for him to practice.
“Sir, please.” Crosby sits up straighter, ready to plea our case, and my heart leaps for him more.
My dad silences him with his hand in the air. “Do the two of you have any idea what you’re in for?”
“The town has to understand—”
“Quiet, Ella.” He stands and walks around the table before grabbing my mom’s apple pie.
I’d almost laugh at my father’s need for sweets when he’s angry, but this is definitely not the time for that joke.
My mom takes it from his hands and carries it over to the table. Then, she pulls four plates from our cupboard and digs four forks out of the drawer. She slices the pie and dishes up a hefty one for my dad, handing it over to him. Their relationship is flawless and perfect. Everything I’ve always wanted. The very thing Crosby and I had until that night.
“Only for me,” he tells my mom.
She rolls her eyes, plating two more, handing one to me and then Crosby. Crosby and my eyes meet with a sliver of hope.
We’re being served pie. That has to be a good sign.
“Jesus, Katie, do you ever listen to me?” Dad asks. “Did you tell them to come here?”
I look over at my mom, and her eyes are softer now.
“Are you kidding me? Never.” She shakes her head, but there’s a warning in her eyes toward my father in the way he’s talking to her.
“Do you think I hate you, Crosby?” My dad’s question throws us.
“You have every reason to,” Crosby murmurs over a mouthful of pie.
The boy always has a stomach for food, whereas I’m pushing my apples around in the sugary sauce.
“That is exactly why the two of you can’t be together.” My dad stands up, fisting Crosby’s hair in his palm, and he pushes his head over to have Crosby look me in the eyes.
“Dad,” I sigh.
“Mark,” my mom chimes in with her own disapproval.
He tosses Crosby’s head back down, and Crosby’s eyes search for his whereabouts in the room.
“You both harbor tremendous amounts of guilt, and there are people in this town who continue to blame you, Crosby, but that’s their issue. The problem your mother and I have…well, actually”—he looks at my mom, who sheepishly cowers into her shoulders—“maybe it’s just me now, but we worry about the two of you. Love isn’t always enough.”
He grabs his fork, taking a heaping forkful of apple pie, and he piles it into his mouth. Leaning back, he continues to chew.
“We’re better now. Crosby and I talked.” I say, desperate for him to see we can get through this even though I myself had doubts only an hour ago.
“For how long, Ella? You two only remind each other of that night. Neither one of you will ever get the most out of life if you stay together.”
This is why my parent’s were happy to chase Crosby out of town. They believe my happiness and well-being was in jeopardy?
“Don’t you see, I love him,” I beg, but tears trickle down my mom’s face.
“What happens when love isn’t enough. Every time tragedy strikes, you two will be reminded of what happened that night. I don’t want that life for you.” My dad takes a swig of his beer, his fingers tapping against the bottle.
“So, you’d rather me live a life with someone I don’t truly love?”
“Yes.” He deadpans.
“We tried to stay away from one another,” I say.
“And you were successful for two years. You had a boyfriend and a future.” He stares at me, and then his eyes shoot to Crosby.
“You’ve picked yourself up and gotten to Division One again. I wouldn’t be surprised if you made it to the draft. In the pros. Separately, you guys were living life again, but I’m not sure, if you were together, you’d be able to accomplish what you’ve done independent of one another.”
Another forkful goes into his mouth, and he leans back again.
�
�I called your father, Crosby, but I got no answer. Where are your parents?”
“Haiti, sir. With Spencer graduated and at college, they decided to do missionary work.”
My dad extends a long breath of air. “They were always good people.” He nods. “I don’t dispute that you are too, Crosby.”
I smile from ear to ear with my dad’s compliment to Crosby.
“Thank you, sir.”
“That fact doesn’t change my mind that the two of you shouldn’t be together.” His fork points to each of us, but his anger is diminishing.
“You should be thanking your mother because she hasn’t let this topic go since you girl’s left the other day.”
I spare a look at my mom, who bears a soft smile in the direction of my dad.
“If I put my foot down and told you both to stay away from one another, what would happen?”
“With all due respect—” Crosby starts.
“There’s no respect if you finish that sentence and say that you’d continue to date my daughter.” He eyes Crosby and places his fork down.
“I love her. I’ve lived the last two years wishing I could go back in time to have fought harder to stay with Ella.”
My smile emerges wide. Who couldn’t love a guy who vocalizes his love?
“It took me a long time to realize that I need to move forward and stop living in the past. A day will never go by when Noah and Kedsey won’t cross my mind. I struggle with the guilt every day, and I feared that I’d never escape that pain if I saw Ella again, but just the opposite happened. The more I’m with her, the more I’m me and the more I’m thankful for her and happy that I am in her life.”
An annoyed long sigh escapes my dad’s throat, but sniffles come from my mother on the opposite side of the table.
My dad shoots her a roll of his eyes and pushes the napkin dispenser her way. “Always the romantic, Katie.”
She wipes her eyes and reaches over to squeeze my hand.
“Okay, you don’t need to be asking for her hand in marriage.” He gives a stern gaze to Crosby.
“No, sir. Not yet.” Crosby looks at me and winks.
Rounding Third Page 19
