The Handoff (Big Play #3)

by Jordan Ford

  I type back a short reply to each email, then continue opening, deleting and archiving my messages. My phone dings and I freeze when I see a fresh blue dot appear at the top of my inbox.

  Derekthewise@yahoo.com

  Fear scrapes my insides as I nervously tap the screen.

  Have you done it yet? Don’t waste time now. I’ll know if you haven’t done it.

  By the way, here’s a little motivation for you.

  It’s the first image I’m going to post if you don’t plant those panties.

  I scan down and am affronted with an image that makes my stomach churn. Quaid’s hand is right down the back of my dress, his tongue slobbering all over my shoulder while Derek’s fisting my hair and pulling my head back.

  I wish I could see my face in these shots. I want to be grimacing or something! Anything that might show that I didn’t want to be doing it. But my hand is threaded in Derek’s hair, gripping the back of his head like I’m drawing him towards me.

  Derek can’t post that. He said he knew a guy. If I don’t do as he asks, Nelson High students will be walking into school any day now and finding grotesque posters lining the walls. Finn will see them. He thinks I’m lovely now, but he won’t once he sees these photos.

  Blacking out the screen, I throw the phone onto my bed and let out a frustrated scream.

  “Shit!” I pull in a shaky breath and look to my bedroom door as an internal battle rages within me.

  I can’t do what he’s asking. It’s not fair!

  But if I don’t…

  I can’t go there. Derek cannot post those photos.

  Jumping off my bed, I run to my dresser and pull the black thong from my top drawer. I creep down to Mom’s room, pausing in the doorway to listen for noises.

  Someone’s downstairs in the kitchen, preparing dinner while listening to Coldplay. That has to be my mother. Holding my breath, I ease into the room and listen again. The shower’s running. I spot Martin’s briefcase on the floor beside the walk-in closet.

  He’s singing as well, some song I don’t recognize. It’s probably by some eighties boy band I’ve never heard of. My teeth crunch together as I pad over to his briefcase. I need to plant these somewhere Mom will find them.

  She won’t recognize them as mine. I bought them a couple of months ago and there’s no way I’d ever put them in the laundry. I wash them myself in the bathroom sink. Mom’s all about the cotton briefs. As far as I know, she’s about as unadventurous as they come in the underwear department. There’s something safe about that.

  Swallowing back the bile trying to lurch out of me, I kneel down and take a look at Martin’s briefcase. I have no idea what the code is. I try the clasps, but neither one pops. Squinting at the gold dials, I’m about to start trying their wedding anniversary when the shower flicks off.

  I gasp and scramble to my feet, putting the briefcase back in place as I scour the room for another quick option. His jacket is lying on the end of the bed. Racing over to it, I shove the thong in the side pocket and leap out of the room. Mom is coming up the stairs with a basket of folded laundry in her hand. Thankfully, she doesn’t see me until she reaches the top step.

  “Oh, hey. Did you get your new phone?”

  My head bobs. “Uh-huh. It’s just like the one I had before.”

  “And you had enough money?”

  “Yep.” My smile’s tight as I lament the fact that I had to use over a year’s worth of my savings when she’d just gone out and purchased a phone for Derek without even blinking an eye.

  “I’m sorry if you think it’s unfair that Martin and I made you pay half. You’re lucky, actually, because I was going to make you pay for the whole thing, but Martin insisted we help you out. I’m just trying to teach you to be more careful with your things, Layla. You’ve got to stop losing your stuff.”

  “Yeah, I get it.” I’m feeling too guilty right now to kick up any kind of fuss.

  I didn’t realize Martin had gone to bat for me.

  Dammit—he is a good guy. I’ve spent the last three years choosing not to like him and now I’ve just thrown him in the shit because of his stupid son!

  “Alright. Glad you’re back in touch with the world.” Mom pats my shoulder and heads for the master bedroom while I stand in the hallway, breathing. That’s it. I’m just standing there with a heaving chest, unable to move as I wait for the inevitable.

  I hear murmurings at first. I can’t make out exact words but the tone is friendly. Mom laughs.

  Stepping towards the bannister, I curl my fingers around it. The door creaks open a little.

  “Thanks for that,” Martin says. “I’ll head down and keep going with dinner.”

  “Martin?”

  The door stops. “Yeah, honey?”

  “Who do these belong to?” Mom’s voice is coming from the closet. Her tone is deep and thick with foreboding.

  Dread curls across my shoulders, scratching at the nape of my neck until I have to pinch the skin. My nails dig into my tight muscles.

  There’s a pause and then Martin’s voice pitches with confusion. “I don’t know. They’re not yours?”

  “No! I don’t wear skimpy little things like this!” Mom’s got her bullet voice on. I’ve encountered it before; it’s really hard to defend against it.

  “Um. Well, maybe they’re Layla’s.”

  “Then what were they doing in your jacket pocket?”

  “What? I… You went through my pockets?”

  “I was hanging up your jacket. I always check pockets when I do that. Did you want me to find these? Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “No! Celia, I…I don’t know what’s going on here.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Don’t look at me like that.” Now Martin’s voice has dropped low. I can’t see him, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s pointing at her right now. “What are you trying to accuse me of?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’m not cheating on you! How could you even imply that?”

  “You cheated on your wife.”

  I flinch at Mom’s steely tone.

  “We were separated before you and I got together! I have always been honest with you about that.”

  “You were only just separated. You’re not seeing her on the side, are you?”

  “No! And I have to say that I’m offended you would even think that!”

  The door swings open. I duck into Mack’s doorway before they can see me. Martin’s looking super pissed, his face mottled red, his pale eyebrows dipping into a sharp V.

  My black thong hits him in the side of the face as Mom stomps out of the closest and yells at him. “Well, what am I supposed to think?”

  Martin’s red cheeks pale and his lips go slack. Mom pushes him out of the way and storms past me. She doesn’t see me; she’s too busy wiping tears out of her eyes as she thunders down the stairs. I glance back down the hallway. Martin’s staring at the underwear on the floor with a confused frown on his lips. He looks like he’s just been punched in the gut. Rubbing a hand over his face, he turns back into their bedroom and shuffles out of sight.

  Tears sting my eyes as I race down the hallway and back into my room. Snatching my phone off the bed, I reply to Derek’s message.

  It’s done, you frickin’ asshole. Now make that photo disappear!!!!!!

  I don’t know whether he will or not. If anything, my exclamation marks will only excite him.

  Deleting his original message off my phone then emptying the trash, I send that harrowing snapshot into cyber waste and flop onto my bed, burying my face into the pillow and dreading whatever threat will come next.

  #24:

  The One to End It

  Finn

  The phone feels slippery in my hands.

  Mack’s voice isn’t helping. I can tell by his tight, edgy tone that he’s pissed. Usually it wouldn’t faze me. When Mack gets snippy I tend to tune out and brush it off. But not tonight.


  “You’re not holding out on me, are you, man?”

  “No, of course not.” I rub a hand over my head and dig my fingers into the back of my skull.

  “Layla sounded kind of off when I spoke to her just now. She was really cagey. Wouldn’t tell me anything about spring break other than she lost her phone. How was she at school today?”

  “You know, just normal Layla. If you’re worried, I can go and check on her for ya?”

  I wouldn’t pass up that assignment.

  Oh, how quickly things have changed.

  “No.” Mack sighs. “I just want to know what she’s hiding, and I wondered if you had any ideas.”

  Yes. I know exactly what she’s hiding, and I’m sure as shit not telling you over the phone.

  I feel like that will be a better face-to-face conversation. If he needs to hit me, I’ll let him have one free shot and then we can fight it out and move on.

  Hopefully.

  I close my eyes and press my lips together. When he finds out about those photos, he’s going to lose it.

  Does he even need to know? He doesn’t get back until Saturday… Maybe we could sort this all out before he returns.

  The only info the guy has to find out is that Layla and I are together. The edge of my mouth curls up. I kind of like the sound of that.

  “I just hate the idea of her getting up to something and me not being there to bail her out.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. You asked me to look out for her, and I have. Bro, would you stop thinking about your sister and enjoy the fact that you’re with your girlfriend?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, I just… Something’s off and you know what Layla’s like. I’m worried she’s gotten herself into trouble. She’s really good about hiding this stuff. You might not know what’s going on beneath the surface.”

  Actually, I do.

  I really do…and I really like that I do.

  My phone starts beeping with a new call. I check the screen and see Layla’s new number. My insides hitch as I lift the phone back to my ear.

  “I gotta go, man. There’s a call coming in. I have to take it.”

  “Yeah, okay. Well, just keep an extra close eye on her for me, alright? I’ll be back on Saturday.”

  “And we’ll be there to pick you up. Now go hang out with your girl while you can.”

  Mack’s sigh is heavy and I feel bad for saying it that way. He’s no doubt pissy because he’s on borrowed time with Kaija. Having spent a week living with Layla, I now understand that feeling of loss when the person you really care about is no longer around.

  At least my girlfriend’s only a few blocks away, though. Poor Mack is going to hate leaving New Zealand.

  I press the screen and make sure I’m smiling when I lift the phone to my ear. It’s not hard. I’m about to talk to Sundar.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  She responds with a sniff and my body jolts into high alert.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I did it. I caved.” Her voice is wobbling so much it’s hard to make out the words. “And now they’re fighting and Mom’s crying…and it’s totally my fault.”

  “What are you talking about?” I sit on the edge of my bed and reach for my shoes in case I have to start walking for the car. If she needs me, I’ll be over as fast as I can get there.

  “I didn’t want to tell you today because I wasn’t going to go through with it, but then I got an email and it freaked me out.”

  “Okay, baby, you need to go back for me. I’m lost.”

  Layla sniffs again and then lets out this little whimper. “After you left on Sunday, Derek came back and I found him in my room going through my underwear drawer.”

  “What?” I growl, my insides sparking with a new kind of rage. It’s like hot magma is coating my stomach lining. I lurch off the bed and start pacing. “What the hell was he doing? He didn’t touch you again, did he?”

  “No, but he pulled out a thong and told me I had to plant it on Martin somehow, so it would look like he’s cheating on my mom.”

  I freeze, but my heart keeps going, thudding erratically as I wait for the worst.

  “He told me I had to do it by the end of the week, but I wasn’t going to. I thought maybe I could get away with just letting it slip my mind, but when I got home tonight there was an email. He sent me the picture he’s going to post and…it’s bad.” She pulls in a shaky breath. “It’s so bad, Finn, and I just freaked and did it.”

  Closing my eyes with a heavy sigh, I squeeze the back of my neck.

  “Mom found my thong in his jacket pocket and they’re fighting about it right now. I feel like the world’s worst person. What do I do? I can’t tell them I did it. They’ll want to know why!”

  Sinking back onto my bed, I picture Layla curled up on hers. I wonder if she’s wearing my big hoodie…if she’s pulled the sleeves over her hands and is using them to wipe away her tears. I kind of hope so, as it’s a way for me to be there with her.

  “Do you want me to come over?”

  “I don’t think now’s a very good time. I just, um… What if they don’t stop fighting, Finn?”

  “They will.” I tug my pant leg and rearrange myself on the bed. “You know what, those two love each other and they’ll sort this out.”

  “But what if they don’t? I will have broken up a perfectly good marriage.” She sniffs. “It’s weird because I never wanted them to get together. Mom’s always so caught up with pleasing Martin and being the perfect wife, and it pisses me off. But listening to her cry… I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

  “Then don’t be. Tell her the truth.”

  “What? Are you out of your freaking mind? I can’t tell her!”

  “Hear me out.” I hold up my hand, even though she can’t see me. I don’t know where this idea’s coming from, but it’s blossoming in my mind and I’ve gotta run with it. “Derek is controlling you right now. He’s preying on your fear. Take that power out of his hands and tell the truth. Expose him before he exposes you.”

  “I can’t do that, Finn.”

  “Yeah, baby, you can. I know it won’t be pretty, but your mom’s not going to think he’s the golden child anymore once she learns the truth.”

  “She won’t believe me. She’ll accuse me of trying to sabotage her marriage. She’ll put all the blame on me.”

  “Not if she knows about the blackmailing…the photos.”

  “Derek will deny everything.”

  “You’ve got that email, don’t you? You’ve got proof.”

  Layla’s silence makes my insides roll with unease.

  “I deleted it.” Her voice is small. “There’s no proof.”

  “Maybe we can get someone to look through your computer or something, somehow recover it. There’s got to be some way we can—”

  “No, Finn! I don’t want to do it. I don’t want anyone to ever see those photos.”

  “He can’t keep controlling you this way.”

  “I’ll think of something else.” Her tone is short, cutting off my argument. I don’t want her riled at me, but it’s really hard to just shut up and take this. “They’re not shouting anymore. Maybe they’ve worked it out. I’ll just keep my head down and…and…”

  “He’s not going to stop, Layla. You have to be the one to end it.”

  She’s silent again. I grip the phone, willing her to agree with me, but all I get is a chipper, “Okay, well, I’m gonna go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Layla, come on. I—”

  The phone clicks, and she’s gone. I try dialing her back, but it goes straight to voicemail. She hasn’t set up her message yet, so all I get is a robotic voice telling me the number I’ve called and to leave a message after the beep. I hang up.

  Clenching my jaw, I send her a text and even a SnapChat for good measure. I wait ten minutes, but she doesn’t view either of them. Eventually, I throw the phone down on my bed and consider going over to her place, b
ut it’s nearly ten and I doubt her family will appreciate it.

  Layla’s defense mechanism is to put on a breezy smile and act like nothing can touch her. If she doesn’t want to face a problem, she’ll just ignore it. But that won’t solve shit.

  I need to convince her to call Derek out before he does any more damage. But how do I do that without pushing her away?

  Derek’s hold on her has got to end.

  So, I guess I’m just going to have to risk it. Losing her is the last thing I want to do, but I promised Mack to protect her and now I want to do it for myself as well. If I care about her as much as I think I do, then I have to put her needs above my desire.

  She’s not going to like it, but I’m gonna do whatever it takes to make her see that she’s strong enough to fight this asshole. She’s strong enough to handle being exposed.

  #25:

  Taut Muscles

  Layla

  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “Why do people keep asking me that?” I snap at Roxy while she pulls her car onto my street.

  “Because you’re acting like a grumpy bitch all the time.”

  I throw her a swift glare, which she just smiles and winks at. Turning the car into my driveway, she puts it in neutral. I listen to the engine idle while trying to avoid my best friend’s keen assessment. “Come on, Lay-lay. You’ve got to admit, you’ve been a little high-strung the last few days.”

  I grimace and keep staring out the front windshield, looking up at the elegant house in front of me. The one that never feels like mine. The sun is setting behind us, casting a deep orange glow over the brick work.