“It’s nothing,” she tells me, curtly, before returning her attention to Presley. “College has never really been an option and my lustrous career as a journalist will end as soon as school’s done.”
“That last article you wrote, the one about Colby and his mom, is making people nervous. You know, everyone in this town is actually reading that stupid paper now. No offense.”
“What was with that article?” I ask her. I’ve been too focused on my new team this week to worry about anything else, but I’ve heard the talk flying around school. The article was a lot like her last one – showing a side of Colby that no one gets to see- but this time the paragraph about his home life focused on his mom who’s the head of the booster club. Which would be fine and dandy but some numbers and statistics were woven into her words that have some people upset with Tatum for even questioning any aspect of Carver’s winning football team and other people outraged that the football program receives so much money compared to any other school program.
“It’s part of his life. A big part of it. I have to take the paper seriously and as Mr. Lawrence loves to remind me, being objective is the number one rule of journalism. Plus, fricking Angel, as my editor, has the right to listen to all my interviews and make sure I’m not being partial and leaving out pertinent information.”
“What’s he like?” Presley asks, completely out of line with the question I want to ask which is, what the hell is the article about me gonna say? She had me so worked up I can’t even remember what I said to her. In fact, I forgot that she was interviewing me once it became personal. I know I said some stupid shit.
“Angel? Ugh. I mean, he’s fine, he’s actually been a, well… an angel. He’s helped me get my Algebra grade up to a B which is a miracle. And he tends to make me laugh. But god is he an annoying know it all.”
“He’s really cute,” Presley says.
“Angel? Seriously?”
“Yeah, I mean, he’s got those beautiful blue eyes and his own style and he just seems really cool.”
“Are you seriously interested in him? I mean, he claims he’s not into pretty, mainstream girls, but you definitely have enough edge to make him okay with the situation. In fact, he would probably give up a tenth of a decimal point off his GPA to have a shot with you.”
“No. I mean, yes, I would totally be interested. But I’m really hoping this living arrangement is temporary and I have a boyfriend back home.”
Nash comes back in the room and hands a sandwich and a beer to each of the girls. “Please tell me that I just heard Presley say she’s moving back home,” he says to Tatum.
“It’s just wishful thinking,” Presley tells him. “God, do I miss that place. My high school didn’t even have a football team. It was like paradise. Thanks for the sandwich, by the way.”
“Wait, there are high schools in America that don’t have football teams?” Tatum asks, her eyes big with excitement.
“Yeah. It was a creative arts high school. We didn’t have sports at all.”
“Oh, God. Please, Presley, please take me with you when you go,” Tatum says dramatically.
“Oh shut up,” Nash says, putting his arms around her and pulling her down to his side. “You love football and you know it. How bad would it suck to go to a school without guys like me and Brandon in it?”
“It was fabulous, actually,” Presley pipes in.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Nash practically growls.
“You should seriously think about taking one of those modeling jobs. Sounds like the one she was talking about was only for a week. Then you could finally see what life outside of this town is like. I swear, Tatum, you will be shocked.”
“Modeling job?” Nash asks, sounding way more pissed off over that little comment than all the other ones Presley has made.
“I’m not taking it. Don’t worry.”
“Who’s offering you a modeling job?”
“Does it matter? I just said I’m not taking it.”
“Yeah, Tatum, it does matter. Who the hell is offering you modeling jobs?”
“Nash. Stop,” she angry whispers at him.
“Answer the question and then I’ll stop.”
“Seriously, go get a beer and calm the hell down. You’re not even acting like yourself.”
“Who the fuck was offering her a modeling job?” Nash seethes, turning his attention on Presley.
She looks like a deer in the headlights as she stares at him. I’m a little dumbfounded too. I’ve never seen Nash like this.
“Corey,” Tatum says. “Her cousin is an agent in L.A. She sent him some pictures of me and he’s been trying to get me to come out there and work. But I haven’t. And I’m not going to.”
“Did you tell her to send him pictures?”
“Yeah, I told her she could.”
“Why would you do that? You want to go to L.A. and be a model?”
“At the time, yeah, I did. Because I was tired of being a fucking waitress and serving Jolee while she put her damn hands all over you.”
“Is that what you want to do? Because, please, don’t let me get in the way of your dreams.”
“God, you can really be an ass when you want to, you know that? If you gave a shit about me you might think about being understanding or… I don’t know… actually supporting me.”
“I just told you to go. If that’s what you want, then go.”
“Wow, Nash, you’re the best boyfriend a girl could ever want, giving me permission to have something that I want, that might make me happy for once.”
“So you’re not happy? I’m not enough to make you happy?”
“Right now you are making me extremely unhappy.”
“Then go, Tatum. Go start you’re new, exciting big city life. I’m sure you’ll find your happiness getting your picture taken in a town where you know absolutely no one.”
“It’s a fucking week, drama queen.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
There’s the smallest pause in their argument and Presley takes the opportunity to say. “I think I’m gonna head home.”
She stands and Tatum stands too. “It’s definitely time to go.”
“Don’t worry about it Tatum, I’ll just call someone to come get me.”
“Why would you do that? I’m leaving anyway. Thanks for the sandwich, Nash. I’ll see you later, Brandon.”
They both walk out the door and Nash is eerily still and silent. For about ten seconds before he starts throwing everything that’s not bolted to the ground against the walls.
19
When I wake up in the morning I swear to God I think I smell bacon. Which, if that’s the case, this might be the best morning of my life considering I’m lying on a clean pillow top mattress and I have a down comforter, that smells like laundry detergent, and not a beer-soaked afghan covering me. My dad found me after last night’s game and apologized and asked me to come home. I figured I couldn’t live on Nash’s couch forever and at the moment I’m damn happy about the decision I made.
I pull on my sweats and a t-shirt and sure as shit, as I stroll into the kitchen, Mom is cooking. Eggs, pancakes, hash browns… and bacon. “What’s the occasion?” I ask as I take a seat at the table with my dad and siblings.
“We’re celebrating,” she says with what appears to be genuine happiness on her face. “You’re home…”
“And you’ve made us damn proud,” my dad says, pushing the sports section of the morning paper over to me. There is a picture of myself and Coach Mason front and center. “There was speculation around town last week that Mason was benching his first string players but no one believed it until last night.” He shakes his head. “I’m ashamed for the way I acted. I should have been there for you last week when you were dealing with all of this. You’re a great leader, son, and a good man. I respect you.”
I nod my head and smile at him. The strangle hold on my chest is letting me know that if I even try to address him right n
ow I might break down like a baby.
My mom brings the last serving platter over and joins us at the table. We say grace, pass the platters around and then Mom says, “So, what do you think Coach Mason has those boys doing this morning?”
Those of us that were allowed to play in last night’s game had the morning off. I’m guessing so we wouldn’t be subjected to the physical punishment Nash and the rest of the guys are gonna have to endure. “Paying restitution,” I tell her.
“That’s right. Those boys are gonna be so sore they’ll probably have to take a week off of school,” my dad says, laughing easily.
The words a week off remind me that Tatum’s probably on a plane right now flying to the other side of the country. She and Nash managed to work out their differences and she decided to take the modeling job. But he’s been tense since the whole subject came up and now that she’s gone I don’t think another living room destroying session is out of the question. “I should probably head back over to Nash’s tonight and check on him.”
I stare at my dad and I see him flinch, but he manages to smile at me. “Bring some ice packs with you,” is all he says.
Apparently Roger’s had some time to reflect and has realized that if he continues to pound me into the ground I will bail. The fact that last night’s game has become headline news in the local sports world probably didn’t hurt either. Tatum was right. Leaving was the best thing I could have done.
When I show up at Nash’s house, he and his brother and dad are already wasted. The liter of tequila on the coffee table is damn near empty and beer cans are scattered around the room. “Oh my God, the man who single handedly saved Carver has graced us with his presence. How can I serve you my righteous king?” Nate says before laughing his ass off and almost falling out of his chair. I ignore him and take a seat on the couch by Nash who, I can tell with one glance, is in a shit mood. I obviously know why and I’m not gonna even say her name. “So what’s the plan? Are we heading to Jolee’s?”
“Get him the hell out of here,” Nick answers for him. “I’m tired of looking at his sad face,” he says, sounding like he’s actually annoyed, maybe even pissed.
“Maybe you can talk some sense into him,” Nate says. “We’ve been telling him for years that girl was gonna ruin him some day. It’s fucking fantastic that she ended up doing it in the exact same way that our mom did it to him.” He gestures to Nick. “I mean, Jesus, we’ve been listening to this guy’s sob story our whole life. And what was the moral of that story, Nash?” Nate asks loudly. Nash gives him the finger. “Don’t fall in love with the tall, pretty girl. Keep it under five seven so there is no chance she will be scouted by some greasy agent. And what did this idiot do? He fell in love with the most beautiful girl in Carver who also happens to be pushing six feet. Stupid. Fucking. Idiot.”
It all clicks with me then: the stories I’ve heard about Nash’s mom leaving them to peruse a modeling career. The completely out of character, over-blown reaction Nash had to the mere suggestion that Tatum have a modeling job. He thinks she’s never coming back.
“She’ll be back in a week,” I tell Nash.
“Like hell she will,” Nick says. “No one comes back to Carver after going to a city like L.A. You’re not gonna see… or hear… from Tatum ever again.”
Jesus, no wonder Nash looks so dejected. These assholes are bad for morale. “Let’s get going,” I tell him. “It’s late and we gotta swing by and get Summer.”
He stands and heads out the door with me. He’s silent on the drive. “She’s coming back. She’s not gonna leave you.”
“I’m not in the mood to have sunshine blown up my ass,” he tells me.
“You and Tatum have been each other’s lives for five years. You’ve known each other for twelve years. She’s not gonna abandon you like your mom did.”
“Shut the hell up about my mom, Eastman. I’ve been listening to those two talk about her all day long. I’m not in the fucking mood.”
“Okay,” I tell him, seeing his point.
After we’ve collected Summer, who was granted a two day celebration of the Cougar’s victory, we head to Jolee’s house.
Summer and I follow Nash as he stalks down the road and up the driveway. “He seems upset,” she says.
“Upset would be an understatement.”
“I thought he was okay with Tatum leaving?”
“I think he wants to be, but it’s personal. When his mom left Nick it was for a modeling job in L.A. She never came back.”
“Oh my gosh,” she says. “How crazy is that? And now Nash thinks Tatum isn’t going to come back either?”
“Yeah.”
“We shouldn’t have brought him here. I can already feel it – this is gonna be a disaster.”
“Trust me, anywhere is better than his house at the moment. Let’s just keep an eye on him.”
As soon as we walk through the front door I realize that’s gonna be a harder task than I thought. He’s immediately bombarded by all the girls who are starved for the attention he used to give them before he became committed to Tatum. The word of her absence has spread quickly around Carver.
He pushes through all of them and stalks across the room. I’m relieved that his mission to get drunk and forget seems to be stronger than his need for female validation. But he stops in front of Presley who is leaning against a wall in the kitchen, looking bored like she always looks at these parties. Nash grabs a hold of her wrists and forces them above her head and against the wall. “You started that fight between me and Tatum,” he tells her. “You’re the reason she went there.”
It takes her a moment to recover from her shock but then she says, “She wanted to go, asshole. You were the only thing holding her back.”
“If she doesn’t come back I’m coming after you and your smart mouth, you hear me?” he says suggestively. “You looked damn good in that uniform. You shouldn’t hide your body under those baggy clothes. If you lost your fucking attitude and let us see that body of yours maybe you would get laid and then you wouldn’t be such a frigid, negative, relationship-ruining bitch.”
I’m about to intervene but before I can, Presley knees him in the balls, causing his hands to release her. “I hope she never comes back to Carver. She’s so much better than this small town and the assholes who live in it,” she tells him before walking away.
Summer runs after her and I stay with Nash, unsure of what to say to him. I want to tell him he’s an unappreciative, selfish asshole but I think, between his family and Presley, he’s had enough negativity for one night.
When he finally manages to stand upright I tell him, “You have to chill out, Carter. You’re making this into something it’s not. She went out there for work. She’ll be home next weekend.”
He laughs and shakes his head at me. “She’s not coming home and I don’t give a shit.” He pushes past me and into the living room. The guy is a complete train wreck and clearly I’m not gonna keep him on track. I head out the back door and dial Tatum’s number hoping she can talk some sense into him. I assume she’s going to be too busy to answer but she picks up on the first ring.
“Brandon?”
“Hey, Tatum. Are you safe in L.A.?”
“Yeah. Is everything okay there? I’ve been trying to get a hold of Nash all day but he’s not picking up.”
“He had practice all morning and then, as far as I can tell, he spent the rest of the day in the middle of a pity party. He’s not taking your absence well.”
She lets out a sad laugh. “If you think it will make him feel better you can tell him I’m staying in a disgusting studio apartment with a bunch of anorexic strung-out girls in the middle of what, I’m pretty sure, is the hooker district of Hollywood.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Jesus, Tatum, are you okay? Are you safe?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been craving a familiar voice and my mom and Tally are pissed at me for the same rea
son Nash is – they think I’m gonna abandon my life for a modeling career. But I’m not. I wouldn’t do that. Especially after seeing the conditions I would have to live in.” She pauses to force a laugh of disbelief. “Are you with him? Can I talk to him?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Give me a minute to find him.” I head out of the kitchen and into the fray. “So tell me about L.A. Are palm trees as awesome in real life as they looked in 90210?” I ask her, another television show she made sure to catch every week in my living room. The two of us always wanted to see palm trees and the Ocean. Neither of us have even seen the Atlantic even though we’re only four hours away.
“Yeah, they are. But everything else is not at all what I expected it to be. Rodeo Drive, Malibu, the ocean… there’s not a chance in hell I’m gonna see any of that. The studio we shot in didn’t even have windows and all I can see out of the windows in this disgusting apartment are homeless people, graffiti and traffic.”
“Damn, that sucks. I was picturing you with a bunch of shopping bags on your arm singing I’m a Barbie Girl.”
“I’m a Barbie girl?”
“Um… yeah. God, you and Summer were so annoying the entire summer before seventh grade,” I tell her with a smile right before I pass by the bathroom on the second floor and hear Nash’s voice. The tone of it sounds like a growl and that can mean one of two things – he’s getting in a fight or he’s getting it on.
I push open the door that’s already slightly ajar. Nash has Jolee nailed against the wall; her shirt off and her skirt pushed up around her waist, he’s unbuckling his jeans. Stupid motherfucker. I smack my hand against the wall trying to get his attention. His lazy, drunken eyes turn towards the sound but he doesn’t look at me, he turns back to Jolee, and thrusts. I slam the door shut.
“Whatever. I believe that was the same summer you and Nash decided you were gonna be rock stars and we had to endure your jam sessions on guitars that you could not play,” she says, laughing easily, completely unaware that the man she loves is having sex with the one girl on this earth that Tatum truly despises.
A God in Carver (Carver High #1) Page 13
