Fall Guy

by Liz Reinhardt

  “Pop, have you seen this kid’s spiral? Unbelievable.” Winch shakes his head, his dark eyes bright with pride, his arm draped over his little brother’s shoulders with easy grace. “He’ll have the craziest college scouts fighting like a pack of hyenas over him.”

  Colt shrugs his wide shoulders, still lanky with his lean, long muscles. If he keeps playing football in college he’ll bulk up, but right now he looks more like a javelin thrower or a fencer.

  Their father stubs his cigarette in a bronze urn and frowns. “Still football, Colt? Soccer isn’t good enough?” The smile on his face has morphed, no longer condescendingly pitiful, but indulgently disappointed. Colt’s face falls and Winch’s eyes flash hard, then neutralize.

  “Soccer’s not really my thing, Pop,” Colt says, tossing the football back and forth in his enormous, long-fingered hands, and it’s like that ball is a part of him. The grey in his father’s eyes darkens as he drinks in every minute detail.

  “Soccer was good enough for generations of Youngbloods. I don’t know if you gave it a fair chance. Maybe a few weeks back on the homestead with your cousins this summer…”

  “But I’m captain of the team, so I’ll be in for extra training, Pop.” Colt presses his lips together as his father goes very still and quiet. “Sorry to interrupt, sir.”

  Immediately Mr. Youngblood’s charming smile radiates again. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll talk about Hungary and soccer in a few weeks, when you’ve had time to think about how good it would be for you. Now come on in and we’ll watch that movie about the UFC fighter Remington keeps going on about. Winch, you coming?”

  Winch looks at me, and I try hard to keep my nerves under control. I feel trapped. I feel trapped inside a maze that’s in a sealed box that’s been thrown down a deep, dark hole and I’m crashing to the bottom.

  “You okay?” he asks, his voice low.

  “Fine.” I say the word, but I look right into his eyes and he takes half a second to read my every obvious, unhidden thought.

  “I won’t be able to watch tonight, Pop. Evan and I have plans.” He threads his fingers through mine and the pressure is slow and deliberate, like he’s willing the calm strength of his hold to transfer through to me.

  “Go out later. Evan’s welcome to stay with your mother and the girls. You come join me and your brothers. Your grandpa and uncle are coming around later.” Mr. Youngblood’s voice has all the confident exuberance of a circus ringmaster, and there’s so much charm, anyone not listening closely would fail to detect the blade of unequivocal demand in his words.

  Winch only hesitates for a minute. “Sorry, Pop.” His father’s shoulders tense, and Colt jerks his head in Winch’s direction, his mouth quickening up and down with a nervous twitch. “I have some things to do at the shop later tonight.”

  His father’s eyes are hawk-like on my face for a single blink, then that smile is back, all warm lines and general happiness. “Of course. You have a man’s obligations now. Go and take care of what you need to. It was nice meeting you, Evan.”

  “Thank you for having me at your home.” I manage to say it with a smile and wave to Colt, who returns my wave with a nervous lift of his hand.

  We walk to Winch’s Mustang silently, and we don’t talk or make any eye contact until he has my door opened, I’m buckled in, and he’s behind the wheel, pulling out.

  “You want me to take you back to your grandparents’ house now.” He should be asking it, not telling me.

  “I don’t want you to do that. I texted them after dinner. They won’t be home until tomorrow afternoon. My granddaddy’s committed to all these golf tournaments this year, before they realized I’d be living with them full time, so they haven’t really been home a lot on the weekends. And I don’t really feel like being home alone tonight.”

  I undo the pins in my hair and let it spill over my shoulders and whip partially out the window while I study his grim profile.

  “You want me to stay the night?” His voice is quiet and unreadable.

  “Do you have to check in first? Make a phone call? Fight in a bare-knuckle fight?” I guess I was going for funny, but the words clang out with the disappointment I feel after this long slog of a day. I’m drained in every way possible, I kind of hate Winch’s parents, I’m pissed at how much I actually like Remy and kind of get Benelli, and I feel bad for Ithaca and Colt.

  And I thought I came from extreme dysfunction.

  He takes his phone out and sends a text. “I told my cousin he’s on Remy-watch tonight, and not to call me unless there’s a murder,” he says to the steering wheel.

  “Really?” I creep a hand across the interior of the car and run it over his eyebrow and the bruise purpling his eye, down his scraped, swollen cheek bone, along his jaw, which must be sore, because he winces away from my gentle touch. I pull back, but he grabs my hand first. “So, no calls tonight?”

  “No calls.” He kisses my fingertips. “Just you and me. I promise.”

  “Then head to my grandparents’ beach-house,” I instruct, stretching my arms over my head, our hands still locked together. “We can crash there tonight.”

  “Evan…” Winch says nothing, but I can hear the arguments he’s chewing over, ping-ponging tensely in the air between us. “You have school tomorrow. I don’t want you skipping out on school to spend time with me.”

  “I’m a senior. It’s my red-blooded American right to play hooky. Especially when I have a gorgeous boyfriend to play it with. C’mon, Winch. Be bad with me.” I turn in my seat and caress the tight line of his jaw with the hand he isn’t holding. “Please. We’ve hardly had a real date so far.” My voice drops. “My bikini is in my bag. It’s so small, and you haven’t seen it yet. Please, Winch? Please.”

  Wordlessly, Winchester turns onto the long, straight shot of highway that will hurl us through the sandy brush through to the ocean and a night of perfect freedom. I want everything else to fade away. I want to be with him and forget all the reasons why being with him is such a colossally bad idea.

  Winch 10

  The day that was supposed to make up for the drama of last night wound up being extra drama.

  I feel like I can’t get a break when it comes to Evan. Every time I attempt to make things work or do something just for the two of us, my brother or the rest of my crazy family get in the way. I’m beyond fucking sick of it.

  Never, not a day in my entire teenage life, did I attempt to get out of anything when it came to taking care of my brother. I stayed sober so he could get drunk. I drove underage so he could pass out in the backseat. I kept goons off his back after he provoked them, I screened potential girlfriends and booty-calls, I kept things from Mama and Pop, I did everything I could to shield them from his fuckups.

  Eventually I realized it didn’t matter if they knew what he did. As long as they also knew that I’d do whatever I needed to do to take care of him after, they just ignored all his idiotic behavior. My one slip-up happened when he met Delphine, the girl he fell in love with, impregnated, then drove away with his irresponsible insanity.

  The only reason I didn’t get my ass reamed for that was Alayah. The minute that sweet kid was born, every single person forgot to be a shithead for a while, and we made peace. Which lasted for a good six months, until the plans for Remy and Delphine’s big wedding started to crumble.

  I guess I thought I’d get a swing at letting go when Remy got older, got his shit together. But I left my teenage years behind a long time ago, and I’m still mopping up his messes.

  I’m speeding a little, my foot heavy on the gas, partially in anticipation, partially from a big ass case of nerves. Other than some mild bitching about my obligations to my brother, Evan hasn’t brought up any of the crazy shit my family put her through, and I don’t know what she’s thinking about it or what she needs from me.

  Which I fucking hate. I’m used to assessing a situation in a few minutes, deciding what needs to be done, and doing it. The problem is, all
that deciding is what I do when my parents are busy running the family and all our companies. When I actually have to be around my parents, the power reverts back to them, and it’s all old-regime bullshit that I really have no idea how to wrestle.

  “I’m sorry Benelli was a little bit of a pain in the ass—” I start.

  “Benelli didn’t have to lend me the dress or help with my hair. She was fine.” Evan is turned towards the window, her voice half lost in the whipping wind, her arms folded and partially balanced on the doorframe, her head leaned out so her hair flies back like this dark banner.

  “Remy shouldn’t have been such a dick after the—”

  “He was fine. He was actually really nice.” She stretches one arm out, lets her hand go flat, and watches her own fingers as the wind rides up and over, making them all move and jump slightly.

  “My mom really shouldn’t have—”

  “Offered me dinner with no notice whatsoever? I’m nothing but grateful to your mother.” She pulls her head back in and leans on the headrest, her hair wild and wind-blown, her cheeks tinged pink from the salty air that has just the slightest rough bite to it.

  “Evan, I don’t know what my father said to you, and I can’t believe what Ithaca said in front of everyone. It’s just—”

  “Stop it!” she snaps, and when I turn my head to look at her, she’s breathing hard, fast, and furious. “Just stop! Okay?”

  “Stop what?” I keep my eyes on the road, completely confused because her fury makes no goddamn sense. It’s not that I’m shocked she furious. I expected her to be. But at my family. And this anger seems, for reasons I can’t grasp, directed at me.

  She brushes her hair off her face with her fingers and rubs her hands down along her cheeks. “Apologizing.”

  “They were rude to you. They embarrassed me.” I glance over and her face is stony. “What? You think that was all normal? The way they acted? You looked pretty upset when we were at their house. Now, nothing?”

  “Not nothing.” Her voice is low and shaky. “But you love them. You choose them over and over. I’m not making a judgment call on any one of them. They’re your family. That’s who they are, and I have to accept it.”

  “No—” I start to argue, but I have no words for what comes next.

  “Yes! I do. Because if I don’t, I’ll lose you.” Her voice doesn’t get all sentimental on me; she sinks the fangs of her logic right into the jugular. “I already only have this night, and who knows if there will actually be a homicide? I’m not judging…but this is Remy you’re relying on to not murder anyone. That may be setting the bar a little bit too high.”

  Her soft, sweet lips crack into a smile that pile-drives a million pounds of solid emotion straight at my heart. She laughs, and that sound loosens something in my chest, something buried in me that doesn’t ever get to come out.

  It’s coming out. Tonight. With her.

  “What’s not even funny is that you might be right.” I laugh with her, and we make an unspoken vow to put the day, my family, her playing hooky, all the uncertainties of our relationship into the back of our minds tonight.

  I pull up at the beach house for the second time, but this time, my phone is on vibrate, and I’m eighty-nine percent sure it won’t ring. Or, at least, seventy-four percent.

  The pull to take care of Remy is strong, because he’s my blood. He’s my responsibility. I don’t take either of those aspects of our relationship lightly.

  But Evan?

  What I feel about her defies everything I’ve ever thought I knew about myself and my loyalties.

  I watch her jump out of the car and run to the door, her bag of beach stuff flopping against her back, her hand waving for me to follow.

  I follow. Of course I fucking follow this gorgeous girl.

  I come up behind her at the door, and the last few weeks of having to pull away at the very last second hit me hard. I wind my arms around her waist and kiss her neck, rub my face in her hair, let my hands move up along her ribs and cup under the full swell of her tits, remembering the tiny scraps of red fabric that did a fantastically crappy job of covering them a few hours ago.

  Evan drops the keys and turns around in my arms, her mouth missing mine a few times, landing hurried, sucking kisses on my neck, my bruised cheek, my ear, and finally, she catches my mouth in a hot, sweet press of her lips that tears a groan out of my throat…right alongside a wince.

  “What’s wrong?” she breathes, then her light blue eyes go wide. “Oh no. I’m sorry.” Her fingers brush softly over my mouth and flutter up and along my bruised eye socket. “You’re still bleeding from the cut by your eye. Maybe it needs a stitch? I can take you to the hospital.”

  I love the look of crazed concern that presses her dark eyebrows low over her worried eyes and makes her mouth soft, like she’s begging me to kiss it. So I do, instead of answering. I kiss her hard, and don’t give a fuck that it hurts, because I’m finally with her, in her arms, around her for this entire long night at least. And I plan to make the most of it.

  “Winch,” she sighs, and she ducks down to scoop up the keys, then stuffs one in the lock, her hand rounds the doorknob, and we both crash in through the swinging door. I yank it closed and follow her, kissing her neck and under her hair, all the way up the huge flight of stairs to a small room with an enormous bed. The fact that we’re so completely alone is making me crazy, like someone ripped the top bindings off my life. I feel free for the first time in years, free to do whatever the fuck I want.

  And I want Evan.

  I want her so badly, my hands shake and my heart beats like a boxer tearing up a new bag in training. I lay her back on the bed and kiss her face, along her neck, down to her shoulder. I unbutton the yellow dress, but I can’t push enough of the fabric away to get to a satisfying amount of her skin. She moans, a sweet, sexy sound that fills the room and echoes off the quiet walls.

  “Evan.” I look down at her face, all dark hair and light, sweet eyes, and that mouth tipped up in a smile that I love so much because half the time she’s using it to tell me to go fuck myself. “You’re gorgeous.”

  She moans and presses up against me, and I have a sudden need to get everything off as fast as I can. I undo the belt on her dress, but it’s just for show; it doesn’t loosen it at all. The buttons on her top don’t seem to go anywhere or do anything, and I’m worried about ripping the thing off of her or making a bigger mess.

  Leave it to my sister to dress my girlfriend in something I can’t get her the hell out of.

  After a few minutes of watching me fumble with the fabric, she shakes her head and backs up, leaving me on the bed. She raises an arm and pulls down on this secret zipper that’s underneath.

  I’m pissed at how infuriatingly complex a single piece of clothing can be with all its hidden zippers, useless belts, and frustrating buttons.

  “Why does that dress have to be so damn complicated?” I sit up on my elbows to see her better.

  She pulls it over her head, and she’s not wearing a bra. Just the tiniest thong and all that long, sweet, tan skin. I work hard as hell to keep my jaw from swinging.

  I’ve seen girls before. Good-looking girls. But she’s by far the sexiest, most confident, most in-control girl I’ve ever been with. She’s the only girl who’s ever bossed me around or questioned my every move, and I like it.

  I like the whole damn package when it comes to her.

  “Dresses that are complicated,” she says softly, the smile on her lips pure wicked fun, “are essential to teach girls that they shouldn’t bother with guys who won’t figure out how to take off a dress.”

  She walks back to the bed and straddles my lap, sinking down on top of me and pressing against my chest, her skin burning through the thin fabric of my shirt. I’m trying to keep calm, trying not to let go and spring at her, but it’s hard to control myself when she’s everywhere, the smell of burnt sugar dry and sweet on her skin and in my nose.

  “Is everythin
g okay?” she asks softly, all her tough, demanding intensity folded back for now.

  “Yeah, of course. It is.” I put my hands on the warm skin of her back, because I want to steady myself, get my emotions jarred up and lidded. But I feel like I’m a tiny kid again, trying like hell to catch a few lightening bugs, but too awed by the bright glow to actually capture even one.

  Evan’s hand comes up and her fingers pull along my cheek. “You seem really tense.”

  “It’s hard to get a handle on all this. You and me. Being here. Together. No interruptions.” I’m babbling like a lunatic. My hot as all hell girlfriend is straddling my lap, and all I can do is ramble. I feel like it’s suddenly hard to swallow.

  Evan’s eyes watch me for a few long seconds. “Let go.” She says the words like an invitation.

  I slide my hands off her back, but she tugs them to her and up, moving them to the heavy swell of her tits. My brain flips and shorts a little, and my instinct is to pull back, pull away.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Winch. Let. Go,” Evan repeats and taps one finger against my forehead. My hands settle over her skin, and I feel the surge, wild and primal, to grab her close. It scares the shit out of me.

  “You wanna eat? You wanna watch something?” She’s telling me to let go, but I can’t. I can’t lose it with her like this. Today was too long and too hard. I don’t have a good gauge on my emotions. I won’t be able to keep control.

  Evan leans forward and kisses me, but I don’t kiss back. I can’t. I’m caught between not wanting it to stop and not knowing if I can go through with it, and I’d rather not fuck up, not hurt her. But Evan doesn’t care about going slow or being safe. She wraps her hands around my wrists and pushes me down, arms over my head. It’s sexy as hell, but I kind of hate it.

  Like she can read my mind, she smiles.

  “I don’t want to eat. Not food. And I don’t want to watch anything. Except you. Getting turned on. By me.”

  Her voice rasps low and she keeps a solid hand on my wrists as her lips drop all these kisses, soft, light, quick on my battered face, then move to pull at my neck with tiny, damp bursts of suction.