RYAN
Beth walks out of the shabby apartment complex, Isaiah on her heels. The same mantra circles in my brain: I’m not losing Beth. I’m not giving up on us.
I could have approached her earlier, but I decided to respect Beth and stick to our original plan: go shower and change at the pitching facility, then pick her up an hour later. I modified one part of her request—I’m picking her up where I last saw her. An hour ago, I watched as Beth followed Isaiah into this building with a grown woman passed out in his arms.
Giving Beth her space—knowing she was with him and not me—was one of the hardest damn things I’ve ever done. But I’m going to keep Beth. Regardless of the words I say to her, she is my girl.
Beth stops when she sees me leaning against the passenger door of my Jeep. Her eyes widen and her face pales. “What are you doing here?”
“We have dinner plans.”
She blinks and Isaiah stiffens behind her. He may be looking for a fight, but I’m not. “Can we talk for a second, Beth?” I stare at Isaiah. “Alone.”
“I go only if she tells me to go.” Isaiah has a cool demeanor, almost friendly, but all of it is forced.
“Isaiah,” says Beth, “I need to talk to him.”
From behind her, Isaiah places a hand on her shoulder, kisses the top of her head, and stares straight at me. Bile rises in my throat. The only thing keeping me from punching him is Beth’s expression. Her striking eyes become too large for her face. Good girl. I like that she didn’t expect a move like that from him.
Isaiah hops in an old Mustang and glares at me as he starts the engine. It turns over immediately with an angry rumble. He backs out and leaves the lot.
Beth kneads her fists against her eyes. A million questions float in my brain, but right now I’m only interested in salvaging us. “I’m sorry.”
She slowly lowers her hands. “For what?”
That this run-down shithole is her previous life. That she doesn’t trust me enough to let me help her with her problems. That I’ve been stupid enough to think she was nothing more than a spoiled brat who freeloaded off her uncle. For being the ass she told me I was weeks ago.
“Mark was my best friend,” I tell her. “When he left, I felt like he took part of me with him. When my dad threw him out, I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t stay and fight—if not for him, then for me.”
I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even Chris or Logan. Beth’s the first person to ever call me out on something so major—so personal. I deserve whatever wrath will come next.
With a weighty sigh, Beth deflates to the crumbling parking curb. “I get it.” She looks small and lost again and my heart rips from my chest.
I sit on the curb and everything in my world becomes right when she rests her head on my shoulder. Wrapping an arm around her, I briefly close my eyes as she inches her warm body next to mine. This is where Beth belongs—tucked in close to me.
“You were still an asshole to Mark,” she says.
“Yeah.” The regret eats at my stomach. “But what do I do? It’s him or my dad. The two of them have drawn battle lines. I’m supposed to choose one or the other, but I need them both.”
Silence. A balmy breeze dances across the parking lot.
“She’s my mom,” Beth says with the same heaviness I’d heard in Scott’s voice when he talked about Beth as a child. “In case you were wondering.”
“I was.” But I wasn’t ready to push her. My fingers lightly trace her arm and I swear she presses closer to me. I’d love to kiss her right now. Not the type of kiss that makes her body come alive. The type of kiss that shows her how much I care—the type that involves my soul.
Beth lifts her head and I drop my arm. She needs her space and I need to learn how to give it.
“We suck at dating,” she says.
I chuckle. We do suck at it. Hoping for a perfect moment, I was going to wait until after dinner to give her what I’ve brought with me, but the one thing I’m learning with Beth is that perfection will never happen. I shove my hand into my pocket, pull out the thin satin strip of material, and dangle it in front of her. “This is my gift to you. This is my wow.”
Beth blinks once and her head slowly inclines to the left as she stares at the ribbon. How do guys do it? How do they give gifts to the girls they have feelings for and stay sane? I want her to be wowed so she’ll stay on homecoming court, but more…I want this gift to prove that I know her and that I see beyond black hair and nose rings and cut-up jeans. I see her as she really is—I see Beth.
“You bought me a ribbon,” she whispers. “How did you know?”
My mouth is dry. “I saw a picture of you when you were young in Scott’s office and you talked about it…in the barn.”
Her words were hypnotic. “Ribbons,” she said in a whimsical voice. “I still love ribbons.”
In a dawdling, methodical movement, Beth holds out her wrist. “Put it on me.”
“I’m a guy. I don’t know how to put ribbons in a girl’s hair.”
Beth’s lips break into a smile that’s part wicked and part laughter. “Tie it on my wrist. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’m not exactly the hair-ribbon kind of girl anymore.”
As I wrap the long strip of material around her wrist and do my best to tie an acceptable knot, I suck up the courage to ask, “Are you wowed?”
Her pause is debilitating. “Yes,” she says a little breathlessly. “I’m wowed.”
Beth offers me a rare gift: blue eyes so soft I’m reminded of the ocean, a smile so peaceful I think of heaven.
“Let’s go to dinner,” I say.
Beth’s expression grows too innocent. She bites her lower lip and my eyes narrow on those lips. I ache to taste them again. In the back of my mind, red flags rise, but I don’t care. I’d do anything to keep her looking at me like that forever.
“Actually,” she says, “I have another idea.”
* * *
Two blocks from the strip mall, we enter well-defined gang territory. I’ve heard rumors about the south side of the city, but never believed them. I thought they were urban legends created by girls at sleepovers. I’ve been on the main roads of this area a hundred times with my friends. I ate at the fast-food restaurants and shared sit-down meals with my parents. I never knew that behind the bright colors and manicured landscaping of the main strip sat tiny boxed houses and freeway overpasses littered with graffiti.
On the front stoop, Isaiah laughs with two Latino guys, then nods to my Jeep parked on the street behind his Mustang. They stop laughing. I agree. I’m not seeing an ounce of humor in this scenario. “This place is no good.”
“They’re my friends,” Beth says. “Scott ripped me away and I never got a chance to say goodbye. You can stay in the car. Just give me twenty minutes, thirty tops. And then we’ll go out. I swear.”
No way in hell is she going in there alone. I register the threat level of the neighborhood and the guys on the porch. “I can’t protect you here.”
“I’m not asking you to. You said you’d wait—”
I cut her off. “When you said you wanted to stop by and say goodbye to some friends. That guy is wearing gang colors.”
She hits the back of her head against the seat. “Ryan. I’m probably never going to see any of them again. Will you please just let me say goodbye?”
Those words, never going to see again and goodbye, are the only reasons I’m saying this. “Then I’m going in with you.”
“Fine.” She hops out and I follow. She can live under whatever delusion she wants, but she’s no safer here than I am and I’ll go down swinging before anyone hurts her. We reach the front stoop and I see that Isaiah has disappeared. Is it too much to hope that he’s called it a night? The inside of the house is smaller than I expected, and I expected cramped.
The kitchen and living room are really one room put together and separated by the angle of furniture. Teenagers sit everywhere—on the furniture, on the floor. Others lean against walls. A haze of smoke lingers in the room. Cigarette smoke. Other types of smoke.
I draw the stares of most everyone, but they continue their conversations. The guys size me up. The girls’ eyes wander to my chest. Some outright gawk lower. Beth entwines her hand with mine, then caresses her soft fingers against my cheek, enticing me to drop my head to hers.
“Stay close to me,” she whispers. “Don’t talk and don’t stare. Things will be better in the backyard.”
For days, I’ve dreamed of Beth being this close to me again, but right now I can only focus on the multiple sets of eyes watching our every movement. Beth turns, holds tighter to my fingers, and leads me through the living room and out the back door of the kitchen.
Several strings of Christmas lights hang between three trees scattered in the narrow yard. A patch of grass grows in the far corner. The rest of it is a mix of weeds and dirt. In the middle of a ring of worn lawn chairs, Isaiah talks to Noah, a redheaded girl tucked close to Noah, and one of the Latino guys from the stoop.
Noah breaks from the group when he sees Beth. She releases me and falls into his waiting arms. They whisper to one another. I don’t like how he holds on to her and don’t like how long he’s holding. That doesn’t look like brotherly love to me. I stare at his girl. Why is she so damned happy to see her guy hugging someone else?
When he lets her go, Noah extends his hand to me. “S’up.”
I take his hand and squeeze extra tight. “Nothing. You?”
The moment I squeeze, Noah grins and squeezes back. “Chill, bro. Beth says you’re good, so that makes us good.”
Beth hugs the Latino guy and laughs as he playfully talks in Spanish. “That’s Rico,” says Noah. “Relax. We’ve got your back.”
“It’s Beth I’m worried about. She shouldn’t be here.”
Noah loses the easygoing front. “No, she shouldn’t.”
Beth glances over her shoulder and flashes me that joyous smile—the one I’ve only seen a handful of times.
“Is she wearing a ribbon?” Noah asks in clear disbelief.
Feeling proud, I answer, “I gave it to her.”
“Fucking wonderful,” Noah mumbles as he eyes Isaiah. “Don’t stay long.”
Noah returns to the group and pulls his girl onto a hammock strung along two posts in the ground. The hammock swings gently back and forth as they lie together. Propped up on an elbow, Noah focuses on her. “Echo, that’s Ryan. Ryan, this is my girl.”
Message received. Screw with his girl and he’ll screw with me. “Nice to meet you.”
Echo sits up, but Noah snakes an arm around her waist and drags her back down.
“Beth brought a guy who has manners,” Echo teases him. “See, it’s not so hard.”
Noah pushes her hair over her shoulder, then runs a finger along her arm. “I’ve got manners, baby.”
“No.” She swats at his hand and laughs. “You don’t.”
Disgust weaves through me as I register what I’m seeing. Scars cover Echo’s arms. I rub a hand over my face. What the hell happened to her? Noah continues to tease Echo and she continues to laugh, yet his tone as he addresses me is a menacing threat. “Stare any longer, Ryan, and I’ll kick your ass.”
“Noah,” Echo reprimands. “Don’t.”
Beth returns to me. “What did I say about staring?”
“I apologize,” I say directly to Echo.
Echo smiles. “See? Manners.”
“Come on,” says Beth. “Let’s get you a beer before you give them a good reason to kick your ass.”