Unwritten

by Alex Rosa

  More laughter and cheers erupt as the band starts up on command and begins crooning to the crowd with upbeat guitar riffs to a country-rock song that everyone seems to know. They dance in her honor, and I am in awe. Damn him.

  Brandon and CeeCee lift their already linked arms over my head. CeeCee pretends to not want to dance, and it’s adorable that it only takes Brandon’s smile and a tug to get her following him.

  My insides feel like goo as I watch nearly everyone get up from their tables and dance, and I want to believe it’s my mom’s memory that compels them to have a good time.

  Caiden emerges from the crowd, but his eyes shoot over my shoulder and I realize that he’s trying to tell me he can’t come near me… or won’t.

  I force a smile through pursed lips even though my cheeks feel like the surface of the sun. I stick both of my thumbs up in understanding and in appreciation of the speech he made about Mom.

  Like I expect, he smiles apologetically but moves swiftly past me to Kristen, extending his hand out to her, and I stare at his strong forearms emerging from his rolled-up shirt, my eyes reluctantly falling on the secret scrawling of my initials as he leads her to dance.

  I sigh, turning away before he can see whatever emotion chooses to appear on my face. Right now, there is so much I’m feeling that I can’t pinpoint the overruling one. None of them are good.

  I feel too much here, it’s confirmed.

  I turn completely around, heading back to the table to find it empty of friends but holding my beer bottle. I’ll take it.

  Care to dance? I think as I approach the beer, rolling my eyes as my fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle, and I take a seat so I can watch from the most depressing perch ever.

  I even notice Cam and Tyler, who must have picked out girls earlier in the night, twirling about on the dance floor.

  Although I’m glad everyone is happy at an event that could easily be so sad, it feels like there’s a huge drill making its way through my chest, and the painful hum vibrates out to my limbs as my eyes drag over the dance floor. I hate that it all falls in rhythm with the live band. Could this pain not have a soundtrack, please?

  I rub over my chest knowing that it’s my heart causing this mess. I was bound to have a moment like this. I had anticipated so many scenarios before I arrived, and this was just one of the many. Still sucks. I was working through how to cope with my mom, but then there was just no way for me to truly be prepared to see Caiden with another girl.

  I sip my beer, mulling it over as I stare at them hand in hand, twirling, dancing, and smiling.

  I just wish she wasn’t so nice. It would be easier if she was rude to me, or mean, but she wasn’t. She looked me straight in the eye and flicked her hair with an air I’d never be able to achieve, and a sincerity that I wish I could despise. Did I mention she’s pretty, like, super pretty? Her perfectly straight brown hair gleamed against her skin and only brightened her hazel eyes. Goddammit, why couldn’t she be hideous?

  Maybe I could accidentally push her off a cliff in my next book. That would make me feel better.

  “Hailey?”

  I leap up off my seat as if being caught committing the actual murder.

  Fiction, Hailey, you write fiction…

  “Eep!” I squeak.

  A soft but deep, unfamiliar chuckle hits my ears, and I watch a face I don’t think I know sit across from me at the picnic table. He knows my name, but I don’t know his. Or maybe I do.

  “It’s been a long time. You probably don’t remember me.”

  I place my beer on the wood table, squinting as I scrutinize his clean-shaven face, but the lightest of dark stubble manages to show on his chin, my eyes only noticing because his long fingertips strum over it as he watches me with heavy blue eyes, and I want to say I know them.

  He laughs again, and that pang of familiarity hits me once more, but I shake my head. “I’m sorry…”

  He sighs, placing his elbows on the table, his muscular arms emerging from a faded Colorado State University t-shirt.

  “Figures. I probably wasn’t the nicest of guys, let alone one of your favorites in high school.”

  His eyes dart to the dance floor. I turn around, following his line of vision to see Brandon and Caiden already staring even though they’re blindly dancing with their dates. They don’t look happy, and for some reason I like that.

  “Huh,” I huff, eyeing him again, and I note that from Brandon’s look of hatred and his natural inclination to fight ever since I’ve known him, and Caiden’s loyalty to his best friend, it hits me. I scrutinize the man in front of me again. His slicked-back hair doesn’t fit with his worn shirt, but his well-rehearsed smile that looks like he’s been charming women, young and old, since being out of the womb, becomes clear. Because I remember his baby face getting into lots of fights, too.

  “Gabe? Are you Gabe Samuels?” I laugh, covering my cheeks, because I sound terrible. “I mean. I’m sorry. I should know this. I just haven’t been around for a while.”

  His belt of laughter causes delightful crinkles to appear at the corners of his eyes, and I want to like him even more. “Yeah-yeah, it’s me. What gave it away?”

  “I think I remember you fighting Brandon all the time, and Caiden, too.”

  “Oh yeah, too bad those are the only memories I’ve got left. A contact sport will do that to you, though.”

  I nod, flooded with memories at the comment. I lift my hand, pointing at him. “Oh, I totally remember you now. Quarterback, jock, cool guy… I was in the land of misfit toys—”

  “You totally were not,” he snorts.

  I find my lips twitching curiously as I watch him squirm, and I’d go as far to say that he’s almost embarrassed.

  “I was invisible in high school, Gabe. You definitely were not.”

  “Since I’ve never been lucky enough to chat with you like this, even in high school, I’m just going to forget you said that. You’re kind of a big deal, Hailey Elwood.”

  He even knows my whole name, and then I remember my family owns the diner, and that knowing my name isn’t something I shouldn’t like so much, but I kind of do.

  “So Gabe, are you a resident of PineCrest still? I think I remember hearing about you getting a full-ride scholarship.”

  I’d never let him know that I remember this part clearly. Brandon wanted that same scholarship, but the Colorado State football scout chose Gabe over him, and I remember the fight that ensued at the homecoming game our senior year. The irrational oafs. I tilt my head, examining Gabe a little more closely, and see that he’s naturally a big guy, but leaner than a football player would be.

  His smile distracts me, and my thoughts must be written all over my face because he says, “I don’t play football anymore. I ended up quitting sophomore year at State.”

  “But you had NFL all over you.”

  “Oh, so you do sorta remember me.”

  I laugh. “Only because my best friends loathed you.” I smack my forehead. “Sorry. That’s not a nice thing to say, either.”

  “You were always honest. I like that.” He chews his lip a second before going on, “I don’t think I have much time before your bodyguards come make me accountable for things I don’t care about anymore, but I just wanted to tell you thanks.”

  He starts rising from his seat, and I feel bereft all of a sudden, and I rise, too, which has him smirking curiously as he runs a hand through his gelled-back hair. He’s clean-cut, skin empty of ink, and totally unlike my friends. He’s like a blank slate. The difference is a nice switch up. He’s even light with his words, and the way he carries himself and that smile.

  “Thanks for what?” I ask.

  “For getting up and out of this town. Your mom was good friends with mine, and I heard you had up and left PineCrest to move to LA to become a writer. I had already quit football at that point, but you sort of, I don’t know, inspired me, I guess.”

  “Inspired you?” I’m choking on my words as
he sticks his hands in his jeans, and I can tell he’s on his way to walking away from me.

  He shrugs, grinning. “Yeah. I was coming home every weekend from school, and it just wasn’t enough for me anymore. I thought if Hailey Elwood could get out of PineCrest, I could. We kinda want the same thing, except you made it.”

  I reach for his arm. I’m too intrigued by his words. I’ve never inspired anyone.

  His eyes drop to my hand, and I immediately let go. “I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He laughs, wrinkling his nose adorably as if debating on divulging this detail but doing it just the same. My mouth goes dry as I watch and listen. “Do you remember in high school, that short story contest for the local paper?”

  I nod, heat rushing to my cheeks, remembering how badly I wanted to win it because it earned me notoriety in a town that only knew me for the diner.

  “You won, of course,” he says. “Your story was far better than mine. I couldn’t compete, but I was runner-up.”

  “What?” I ask through a befuddled giggle. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Yup,” he shakes his head, “I had aspirations like yours, except it wasn’t so cool for the quarterback to write stories.”

  “You’re blowing my mind right now, Gabe. Tell me more.” And I so desperately want to hear more.

  “I moved to New York City to become a journalist after college. It’s not a bad gig. I’m working at it.”

  “That’s amazing, Gabe. I’m just so—”

  “Shocked? Yeah, I get that a lot around here. I’m no author, though.” He winks, and the butterflies caged in my gut flutter. I don’t remember feeling that in a long while, because this type of flutter is new, and God, something new sounds nice.

  “Anyway, Hailey. It was a pleasure seeing you. How long are you in town?”

  What a question. “I actually have no idea.”

  He laughs, his eyes shooting over my shoulder, causing his smile to vanish. “I better go. Your squad is coming, and I’d rather not hear what they have to say. It’s been really great seeing you. If, uh, you stick around for a little longer, I’ll be here for another couple weeks. Maybe we could hang out or something. It’s a little unorthodox, but gimme a call, yeah?”

  As if the piece of paper was prepared for this exact moment, he pulls a receipt from his pocket with his number already written on it.

  He smiles once more before he says, “It’s your choice.”

  He walks away, making it to the people I assume are his family at another table across the outdoor picnic area. I think I remember his mom and mine being friends. Her face looks like a diner regular, and oh my God, if that’s his sister, she is so grown up.

  “What’s Gabe got to say to you?”

  I swivel around, and Gabe was right. My bodyguards loom over me like overprotective brothers. Brandon, Caiden, Tyler and Cam all surround me. And I hate that CeeCee is talking to Kristen behind them, sweetly indifferent to the ruckus the boys are causing with me.

  The brief moment of flutters disappears, and I turn as rigid as the boys in front of me.

  “Is there a problem?” I ask, placing a hand on my hip.

  Caiden grabs the piece of paper in my hand, and I get some serious satisfaction when his eyes go wide. It’s quick, but I catch it. He hands it back to me instead of commenting on it. He knows he can’t care and that he can’t say a damn thing. I snatch it back, stuffing it into my pocket as Brandon begins his big brother speech. “He can’t just stroll back into town thinking he runs it. He doesn’t anymore.”

  My brows knit together. “Well, he doesn’t run me, if that’s what you’re saying, Brandon. I’m not territory you can claim.”

  He rolls his eyes, looking at Caiden. “Dude, you want Gabe talking to Hailey?”

  Brandon has put Caiden in a very strange spot, and I wish he hadn’t, because when Caiden refuses to make eye contact with me and shrugs before he says in the harshest, most indifferent tone I’ve ever heard, “No, it doesn’t matter,” it hurts. It fucking stings. It feels like someone just dipped my heart in hydrochloric acid.

  “Then fuck off, the both of you.” I shove between them and wave a hand to CeeCee, who is ready to trail behind me, but I don’t want her to. “I need a moment,” I say.

  “Hailey!” she whines.

  “Please,” I hiss. I need air. I need space. I need to be alone.

  My life is not supposed to be at the whim of others. Caiden cannot dictate who I talk to. He doesn’t allow me to talk to Gabriel Samuels, and it’s as if Gabe knew that.

  It’s your choice, he said. And the thought is embarrassing and infuriating all at once that someone on the outside could see that Caiden and the boys have some say with what I do. I grew up, dammit.

  It has me thinking about my mom. Everything always ends up coming back to her.

  I remember when I was younger, my mom telling me that the boys don’t own me, but they feel an obligation when it comes to my well-being. I hated it then, and I hate it now. Sure, it’s all cute when your friends and your boyfriend are willing to fight for you, but not anymore. It’s juvenile, and I’m over it.

  I come to a stop at the Ferris wheel. My heart is working overtime as I heave shallow breaths in and out. I desperately need/try for calm. Too many feelings.

  Smiling at the young kid running the attraction, I blindly hand him a five-dollar bill from my pocket. I shrug him off as I approach the open basket. The night is winding down and the Ferris wheel is near empty, so that five should give me more than a couple rounds.

  As I climb inside, I can see Caiden running toward me.

  “Caiden, don’t you fucking dare!” I shout.

  He shakes me off, approaching the teen who is having a hard time hiding his smile.

  “Don’t let him on!” I shout, but when Caiden hands over a crisp twenty-dollar bill, that most definitely trumps my five, all the kid can do is shrug.

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  Caiden walks over to the basket, smug and stern. “You gonna scoot over?”

  I turn away, staring in front of me rather than at him. “There are lots of other empty baskets.”

  “Hailey…” he says, and I hate it when my name tumbles off his tongue like a steady drop of summer rain rolling over a leaf.

  “What?” I reply, clipped, but I scoot over just the same.

  Bittersweet, it’s the only way I can describe Caiden. How can he go from heartbreaking, to supportive and charming, then rocket back to being an utter asshole all in the same evening?

  “Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn,” he whispers to himself as he scoots inside, locking the small gate, keeping us in.

  I hate that the entire length of my body is touching his in the bench seat. It makes it hard to think.

  The rickety metal Ferris wheel begins to move, lifting us upward, and I take in that crisp, leveling breath I so desperately need.

  “What was that about?” Caiden asks.

  “You’re kidding me, right? Because this is your fault.”

  He snorts, sitting back as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. I shake my head, wishing my existence was that easy. The jerk.