Epilogue
Kina
One year later
The first game of the season was always deafening with fans inviting the teams back. The Florida Sharks were playing at home against the Colorado Stallions. I sat in a VIP box with Kyle, ready to watch the game.
This game was very nostalgic to me. Last year, when they played the Stallions, everything had gone up in the air, and it was there that our journey to being together had started. It wasn’t the same now, of course. We weren’t in Denver, and Jacob and I had been together for a year. But it was still a prolific game to me.
“The atmosphere is insane,” Kyle said next to me. I nodded, glancing at him. He looked good, neatly dressed in jeans and a collared shirt. He’d gotten a haircut earlier, and he was clean-shaven.
About two months after Jacob and I had started dating officially, Jacob had asked me to move in with him. We had come to an agreement that Kyle would stay in my apartment, looking after the place at a very low price, provided he tried to pick himself up. I had expected him to get a minimum wage job somewhere and help a bit with rent.
Instead, he’d outdone himself. He’d gone back to college and studied a management degree part-time while he worked as a busboy. As soon as he qualified, he applied for the management position where he’d been working for the time he’d been studying, and they’d hired him because they’d seen his dedication. Kyle ran the restaurant now while the owner traveled, and he was in the process of leasing my apartment over from me.
I couldn’t be happier. He’d really picked himself up, and he didn’t turn to alcohol or drugs at all now. He had a purpose. He had created a life for himself in the wake of his destruction, and I didn’t worry about him anymore.
I turned my attention back to the field where the teams were running out. Jacob was third from the front, and he looked good. He was in peak condition, and the team relied on him now for the wins. In the past year, he had become a true Shark, and he was loved and adored by fans and players alike.
Markus Spears had been traded to the New York Tigers , and we hadn’t heard from him again unless it was about game stats. Jacob’s past had been buried under his successes and our relationship. Sure, there would be days when it resurfaced again. Your past was never just in your past when you were famous. But, it didn’t haunt him anymore, and it didn’t affect his present. What more could a man ask for?
The game went well and by halftime, the score was forty-seven to fifteen. They were going to steamroll these Stallions right back to Denver.
Jacob walked onto the field before the halftime entertainment started and a spotlight zeroed in on him.
“What’s happening?” I asked Kyle.
He only shrugged at me, but he was smiling.
“Kina and Kyle Peterson, please come down to the field,” Jacob said, his voice booming over the loudspeakers.
“What is this?” I asked.
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know, but I guess we better get going. The world is watching.”
I swallowed hard and followed Kyle through the corridors that eventually led us to the tunnel that opened onto the field. When Jacob saw me, he grinned. I thought being in front of all these people would be intimidating, but the lights were so bright, I hardly saw them. I could only hear their roar when we walked out onto the field.
“First,” Jacob said. “I want to award Kyle with this team jersey.”
He held up a team jersey with his name and number on it and the crowd went wild. Kyle clapped Jacob on the back and accepted the jersey, pulling it on. He turned around and pointed at the number and the crowd went wild.
“Why did you keep this secret from me?” I asked Jacob.
He grinned at me. “You’ll see, babe.”
He pressed the mic to his lips again and music started playing over the sound system. For a moment, I thought he was going to start singing, but then he dropped to one knee.
“Oh, my God,” I said, clapping my hands to my mouth. The crowds roared.
“Kina Peterson, love of my life,” Jacob said into the mic. “Will you marry me?” He held out a velvet box.
The whole world was watching. The stadium was full and cameras all over the world were trained on my face. This was the most elaborate proposal I had ever heard of. And I knew exactly what to say.
I grabbed the mic from Jacob. “Yes!”
The crowd exploded, and it was like thunder. Jacob took the ring out of the box and slid it onto my finger. The diamond was so big, it was almost overkill. Almost, but not quite. I was laughing and crying at the same time, and Jacob got to his feet to pull me against him. He spun me around, dipped me, and kissed me.
When he planted me back on my feet, I was giddy with happiness, dizzy with the dip. Kyle looked at me, grinning from ear to ear.
“You knew about this,” I said.
Kyle laughed and nodded. “And I’m more than happy to have gained a brother,” he said.
He gave Jacob a man hug, the two men clapping each other on the backs.
“My sweetheart, I have to get back to winning this game,” Jacob said, pulling me against him again. “But I will see you afterward, and we will seal the deal.”
He winked at me.
When we left the field, the crowd was still going mad. I made my way to our seats, feeling like I was walking on air.
Brian and Sadie, and Hanson and Lacey, came over to congratulate us. Liam was with them, babbling up a storm.
“I can tell you’re so happy,” Lacey said, as she hugged me.
“Yes!” I told her. “I never knew falling in love could be so great.”
“See?” she asked. “I told you so. You should listen to your best friend more often.”
“Yes, I really should,” I agreed.
The Sharks won. The score was ridiculous, they were so far ahead. They could have called the game halfway through; it was pointless for the Stallions to even try to catch up.
“I’m going home,” Kyle said. “I have work in the morning, and I’m tired.”
I nodded and hugged my brother.
“Congratulations, sis,” Kyle said. “I’m so happy for you. Jacob’s a great guy.”
I smiled and thanked him. Jacob really was the best guy.
I made my way down to the locker room where the boys were getting showered and dressed after their game. I waited outside. One by one, the men came out. They all congratulated me, hugging me, kissing me on the cheek. It felt like we were one big family.
When Jacob didn’t show, I knocked on the locker room door and opened it.
“There you are,” I said and stepped in. Jacob was the only one left. I reached for the door and locked it.
Jacob grinned at me, noticing what I’d did.
“I was looking for you,” I said.
I walked to him and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close for a deep kiss. He was freshly showered and smelled like soap and clean clothes. I felt his erection against my hip. I reached between our bodies and stroked him, rubbing my hand up and down his shaft.
Jacob made a growling noise at the back of his throat. And pulled my shirt up roughly, pulling down the cup of my bra and exposing my breast. He took my nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, grazing me lightly with his teeth. I gasped and tipped my head back.
While he sucked on me, his fingers pushed into my pants, and he started working them over my hips. He was getting me naked, and I liked it. Jacob had to step back to finish the job. My pants were on my knees, and I pulled his down in front, pulling out his dick.
I ran my hand up and down it a few times, jacking him off. He groaned, his pupils dilated.
When he reached between my legs, we could both tell how wet I was. Lust overtook him, and Jacob guided me backward until my back hit the wall. I kicked off my shoes while he put on a condom.
My pants pulled off my leg as I lifted it and Jacob wrapped his hand around my thigh. He pinned me against the wall with his body, his cock against my pussy. I helped him to my entrance with my hand, and he pushed into me.
I cried out when he did.
Jacob didn’t start slow, easing me into it. Instead, he pounded into me right away. He fucked me hard, and it was quick and dirty. I loved it when it was like this. Later, he would take me home, and we would make love, but for now, he wanted to fuck me, and I wanted him to claim every inch of me.
I gasped and moaned as he fucked me. He looked me in the eye as he pounded into me, and my orgasm started to grow. I tried to keep it down, but it was hard not to moan and cry out as he penetrated me. The tiles in the locker room and showers didn’t help, either. The sounds of our sex echoed through the large space.
It didn’t matter now, though. If someone heard us, found us out, all that would prove was that we loved each other very much and celebrated our engagement in style. This wasn’t a scandal at all.
I stopped thinking when pleasure washed through my body. An orgasm followed, clenching all my muscles, and I cried out, grabbing Jacob’s shirt in my fists, holding onto him. Jacob orgasmed, too. He emptied himself inside me as I came undone against his body. We orgasmed together, and the connection we made every time we did this was more intense than ever. And it would only get more so.
When I finally calmed down and the orgasm subsided, Jacob pulled out with a grunt. He let my leg down, and I pulled up my pants, fixing what he’d messed up. He fixed his pants, too.
He kissed me, holding my chin with his thumb and his forefinger.
“Let’s go home, baby,” he said. “I want to finish what I started.”
I nodded. Jacob picked up his bag and held out his hand. I ducked under his arm and put my arm around his body. I unlocked the door with my free hand and together, arm in arm we headed out into the bright light that was our future.
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Chapter 1
I hit the gas pedal and speed way too fast down the winding mountain roads that lead to Calton, GA. The one place I thought I’d left in my dust.
In thirty minutes, I’ll be home.
In thirty minutes, I’ll see the people I haven’t seen in almost two fucking years.
I’m not expecting a hero’s welcome by any means. Let’s just say when I left, it wasn’t just under a storm cloud, it was under a cyclone of shit. I don’t expect anyone to hold out their arms for me. I swore I wouldn’t be back.
I currently play football for UCLA, and by “currently play,” I mean I’m suspended and under investigation by the NCAA for using a banned steroid. Bullshit.
In high school, I committed to UCLA without telling anyone. It pissed more than a few people off— like the whole town— and then they accused me of abandoning them. How dare I play for the Bruins and not the Wildcats. They didn’t understand I needed to get as far away as possible from Georgia and my dysfunctional family, but mainly away from my dad.
Now I’m not playing for anyone. If I ever find that fucking doctor, I’ll kill him. Rip his goddamn arms off. Kayden, the team’s other quarterback, said the doc was a good guy and would help with my rotator cuff injury.
Even now there are days when the pain gets so bad, I can’t pull a t-shirt over my head.
One game pretty much fucked up my career and life. During the sixth game of the season there was a play where I felt my shoulder move out of joint, but like an idiot, I kept on playing. I figured it was nothing, just a twinge.
My season should have ended with that game, but I played two more games after that and played hard. Thought I owed it to my team. Owed it to my coach. Now I’m paying the price. Big time.
A quarterback with crippling shoulder pain can’t help his team win if he can’t throw a ball in an over-the-head motion.
That’s where the quack comes in and why I want to kill him. Instead of cortisone like I’d asked for, he shot me full of —a banned anabolic substance that helps increase muscle size, strength and power. It can also help an athlete train harder for longer, increase aggression and competitiveness, and, get this, help recovery from injuries.
Kayden got a shot the same day for his knee, but he got what he asked for— cortisone. When Coach Davis pulled a random drug test a week later, Kayden was clean, I wasn’t.
Coach Davis, who’s like a second dad to me and the only dad I’ve had for a while, is helping all he can and has kept my failed drug test out of the news and rumor mill— for now, but I know it’s only a matter of time— maybe days— before the shit hits the fan.
I’m lucky I wasn’t thrown out of school, but because I’ve never as much as put a toe out of line and because I helped UCLA get to the National Championships for the first time in fifty years, Coach Davis intervened on my behalf.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I speed up until the world is nothing but a green blur.
If I can’t play, I don’t know what I’ll do. My mom used to joke I was born reaching for a football. All my life, I’ve worked toward one goal and one goal only—playing for the pros. A quarterback for the Atlanta Falcons, but sometimes I wonder if that’s more my dad’s dream than mine. I don’t know if he’s ever gotten over the Falcons not drafting him from UGA.
No one in my family and none of my friends, besides Kayden, know what’s going on, and I don’t want them to find out, because, one way or another, I’ll clear my name and if I have to, I’ll do it by myself. Just like I’ve done everything else since I left for UCLA.
I’ve even hired a private investigator, but so far, he’s come up with zilch.
I should’ve gone to a regular doctor. Someone who’d treated me before, but they all pushed for surgery. No fucking way. I’ve heard of surgeries that have done more harm than good. Ruined player’s lives and careers.
My arm is the only thing I have. Without that, I’m a washed-up clichéd jock.
When I left Calton, I left without a backward glance. I was the star of the Knights, our high school team, and everyone expected me to commit to Calton and play for the Wildcats. The college team my dad coaches—the great Jack Thompson. Not a fucking chance. I was done.
Done with being the coach’s son.
Done trying to make him happy.
Done trying to attain his unattainable standards.
In my junior year of high school, I committed to UCLA, and since then, I’ve been a Bruin.
My dad and I were never close, and when I chose the school I wanted to play for, it was like I’d taken a knife and severed our relationship.
From the minute I could throw a ball, he’s ridden my ass, but after mom died, he got worse. The reason? I was by her bedside when she passed, and it’s something he’ll never forgive me for.
Not my fault. Being there for the team was more important to him than being by his dying wife’s hospital bed.
After she died, he took his guilt out on me. Not physically but verbally. Told me I was useless. Told me I’d amount to nothing.
Well, look at me, now, Dad, I’m everything you said I would be. You were right all along. I can already see the self-satisfied, smug smile on his face if he found out.
“I knew it,” he’d say. “I knew you’d screw up.”
Could my dad help me out right now? Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s not something I’m willing to find out.
Another reason I’m coming home is out of curiosity. My dad’s marrying Sherry Hudson—Taylor’s mom.
Since Taylor is my sister Chelsea’s shadow and best friend, she’s been in my life since we were in elementary school.
And then one night two years ago...
My dick twitches thinking about Taylor’s sweet, tight pussy. One more person in Calton who hates me…probably.
Not that I blame her.
The last time I was home was two years ago for my sister’s graduation. Chelsea begged me to be there by playing the “but our mom is dead” card. We used to be close, not anymore, but I could never say no to my little sister.
We were all partying hard at Chelsea and Taylor’s joint graduation party. Mrs. Hudson hosted it at her beach house. We snuck liquor in when the old man wasn’t looking.
Taylor was all over me that night. I saw my chance and took it. What red-blooded man wouldn’t? Let’s just say she was more than willing and very vocal in her appreciation. That night was filled with tangled limbs, messy hair, desire, sweat, and sex. Lots of sex.
The day she graduated high school, I took her virginity and then left her sleeping by a fire at the beach. Jackass move, I know. I should have at least woken her before I walked away.
Throughout high school, she’d had a crush on me. Most girls did, but football and girlfriends weren’t a good mix, although football and fucking were.
I won’t lie, over the past two years, Taylor’s crossed my mind more than once. I might’ve even stalked her some on Facebook, but she has everything locked down, so for all I know she could have a boyfriend, but likely Taylor is still living in my sister’s shadow the way she’s done since they were eight. Now we’ll be step-siblings. How fucked up is that?
Before our respective parents say ‘I do’ I intend to hear Taylor scream my name one more time. Have her come on my cock the way she did that night on the beach.
Since I left for college, I’ve dated a little but fucked a lot. Relationships are the last thing I want. A woman demanding all my time, all my attention, and depending on me? Thanks but no thanks. Not going to happen. I’ve never met anyone I couldn’t walk away from.
I’ve never fallen in love, and I don’t intend to.
I don’t depend on anyone, and no one depends on me. That’s the way I like it, and that’s the way it’ll stay.
I pass the welcome sign for Calton, population 34,926. The fifth best place to live in the United States.
It’s like I’ve driven through a time warp. The place is exactly the same. Elm trees line the immaculate sun-bleached streets, Wildcat banners flap in the warm breeze, and the bars on Main Street are hopping. I don’t know how all the bars in this small town—all eighty—stay open, but they do. Too many nights to remember, my friends and I used fake IDs and got wasted on “buy one get one free” beers.
I should stop by Gleeson’s to see if any of the old crew still works there. I used to be a bus boy there back in the day, and some of my friends who stayed in town were employed as bartenders or waiters.
What would the patrons say if I walked into any of these bars? Aaron Thompson, the black sheep of the Thompson family. The one who humiliated his daddy by turning up his nose at a free education and committing to a rival school instead.
Doesn’t matter that before I fucked up my arm last season, I played eight games and started seven. None of my stats matter. The only thing that matters is that I didn’t commit to the Wildcats.
Folks in college towns have long memories and are known to hold grudges for a hundred years or more.
I’m sure the whispers have already started, and everyone knows their beloved coach’s son is driving through town. That’s another thing I don’t miss about Calton, small-town gossip. Where everyone knows everyone else’s business.
I turn left at the edge of town and take the coast road toward Taylor’s beach house.
The last time I was here, Dad tried to give me advice on my throwing mechanics. Said I was getting sloppy. We almost came to blows over my college career. That scared me. I could have hurt him.
He’s never forgiven me for squaring up to him, and as much as I hate how he treated me, I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven myself. Time has festered the space between my dad and me, it hasn’t healed it.
Kayden, who hails from Buford, Georgia, offered to let me crash when I dropped him off an hour ago. We’d driven down from California together, he said I could stay until my head cleared, but I said no thanks. I want to see the old man get married, want to see him move on with his life. And, yeah, it’ll be nice to catch up with some of the guys I went to high school with.
I glance down at my washed-out Bruins t-shirt, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. I’m not dressed for a froufrou beach dinner, and if I had any fucks to give, I would make myself more presentable.
Screw it.
This is who I am. This is what I am and if people don’t like it, then fuck them. No one’s expecting me because I didn’t RSVP, that way if I change my mind and drive away, no one will miss me. It’ll be yet another family celebration I’ve missed. If they’re not expecting me, I can’t disappoint them.
Not even Chelsea knows I’m coming. She’s been calling and leaving messages, but with everything that’s happened over the past few weeks, I haven’t had the chance to get back to her.
Instead of going straight to the rehearsal dinner, I drive to the beach, and after parking, I walk through the golden sand toward the surf.
The green water dances and sparkles in the sunlight. I fill my lungs with the warm, salty air and listen to the ebb and flow of the ocean. This is the one thing I miss about Calton.
It’s only mid-June, and we’re already in the eighties. Pretty soon, tourists will crowd the beach, college kids will go back home, and high schoolers will spend their days drinking beers, playing volleyball, and fucking behind the dunes.
A few weeks before my mom passed, we walked along the edge of the surf. She wanted to hear the ocean one more time. Feel the waves on her feet, dig her toes into the sand. I close my eyes and remember holding her papery hand, her skin ravaged by endless rounds of chemo, radiation, and drugs.
Not a day goes by when I don’t miss her. She was the peacekeeper, the one who kept us balanced. When she died, we all fell. I went off the rails, Chelsea withdrew, and Dad grew distant. He lost himself to work. Gave everything to his team and nothing to us. He controlled Chelsea and me to where I thought I’d suffocate if I didn’t get away.
I don’t expect him or anyone in this fucking town to understand that. I’m nothing more than the ungrateful kid who betrayed the town. I can just see their faces when I walk into the rehearsal dinner. The shock. The horror. The disgust. Too bad.
On my way back to the parking lot, in the distance, I spot the secluded area I brought Taylor to the night of graduation. Blood fills my cock at the memory, and I can almost hear her raspy moans on the breeze.
What’s she going to do when she sees me? I wouldn’t be surprised if she slaps me across the face or kicks me in the balls. Can’t say I wouldn’t deserve it, but I also can’t say I wouldn’t do it again.
This isn’t a weekend I want to ruin, so if my presence causes too many issues, I’ll leave. I’m not one-hundred percent sure why I came. Maybe I needed to be close to my mom. Maybe I needed to be somewhere I didn’t feel like a dirty cheat. Like I’d let down my team and my coach.
The simmering anger in my veins begins to boil. Why did Doctor Lane inject me full of steroids?
I have to find out if it was a mistake or if it was on purpose because the two seconds he took to jab my shoulder could very well ruin the rest of my life. But I haven’t been able to track him down. No one has--not Kayden, not the PI. It’s like he vanished off the face of the earth.
One thing I’m not is a cheat. I’m not the kind of person who takes shortcuts. I’m not the kind of person who takes the easy way out. I work hard, and I’m not afraid of a challenge. I don’t need a performance-enhancing drug.
My coach knows me well enough to know I would never knowingly do something as stupid as taking Norandrolone. But his hands are tied, and we have to follow the procedures set down by the NCAA.
I’ll fight this, I’ll win, and I’ll find the man who did this and make him pay.
With thoughts of revenge and thoughts of fucking Taylor in my head, I make my way back to my car.
Time to make some waves of my own.
“Does everything look okay?” I ask Chelsea, as I critically eye the tent.
Chelsea smooths her hand over a white tablecloth covering one of the fifteen round tables I’d rented. “It looks amazing, Tay. Don’t worry about anything. Your mom and my dad will love everything.”
I scrape my teeth over my lower lip while turning my head this way and that. “I hope so. I want everything to be perfect for them, you know?”
“It couldn’t be any more perfect if we’d hired a professional wedding organizer,” she reassures me.
For months I’d worked on the color scheme, seating arrangements, accessories, and layout. Since tomorrow’s ceremony is being held on the beach, a few feet from the house, I went with neutrals, blues, and greens.
The centerpieces are cylindrical vases filled with shells and sand. Every shell was hand-picked by yours truly during walks along the beach. Each shell is the perfect shape with no cracks or breaks.
The chalk-white chairs have organza bows tied to the seat backs and are held in place with fraying sisal rope.
I devised the weekend’s menu with my mom. For tonight’s dinner, we went with a BBQ theme—the usual burgers and hot dogs, watermelon and potato salad, but tomorrow we’re going with fresh oysters on ice, seared tuna bites, a lobster buffet, and bite-sized shrimp and grits. We also have steak and chicken for anyone who isn’t a fan of seafood.
The invitations and place cards were handmade by me. They’re folded ivory cardstock embossed on the front with seashells and decorated with twine, starfish, and pearls. Burn marks from the glue gun still cover the insides of my fingers.
Because Chelsea is the more outgoing of the two of us, and because we’re joined at the hip, everyone has been congratulating her for the wonderful job she’s done. She’s been sweet enough to say it was all my doing, but Chelsea getting all the credit is the story of my life.
I’m not jealous by any means. She had a hard time after her mom died, and her dad got way overprotective, which meant she couldn’t breathe the wrong way without him coming down on her.
Two years ago, after a huge family fight, Chelsea’s brother, aka he who shall not be named, aka the guy who fucked me then forgot me walked away from his family for good.
He hasn’t RSVP’d, and I’m glad he isn’t coming. Sort of.
“You all ready for your new job?” Chelsea asks.
“All packed and raring to go.” For the first time since we met, we’re spending the summer apart. The day after the wedding, I leave for my nannying job. For the next two months, I’ll be living in New York looking after a six-year-old girl and a four-year-old boy. Usually, I’m a camp counselor for Camp Breakout—a getaway for underprivileged kids—with Chelsea, but one of my mom’s friends in the Hamptons was desperate for a nanny, so I said I’d help her out.
Wesley is taking my place at the camp this year. I’ll miss Camp Breakout and the kids, but I’m looking forward to a summer at the pool and at the beach with two kids to care for instead of ten at a time.
I’m also ready to be known for who I am and not just as Chelsea’s best friend.
I glance in her direction. Her head is buried in her phone, and she’s giggling to herself. I wouldn’t be surprised if Wesley sent her a dick pic—another one. He sends at least one every day—two on holidays. I think she’s considering making herself a calendar for Christmas.
Wesley and the other Wildcats are on the beach setting up the chairs for tomorrow’s ceremony. This time last year, had Coach Thompson known his new quarterback was dating his daughter (and by dating, I mean screwing), he would have blown a gasket, but Wesley is one of the good guys. He proved that.
A lot of things happened last year with the Wild Cats, especially when a trouble-making player named Christian went crazy, but Wesley helped smooth everything over. After that, Coach accepted that Wesley was good enough for his daughter. They make a cute if a somewhat puke-inducing couple.
I can’t believe tomorrow we’ll become sisters. Even though we’ve been inseparable since we were kids, she’ll officially be my family, and sometimes we fight like sisters do, but we always make up.
Without her by my side over the years pushing and encouraging me, I would’ve become a nerd with no friends. My mom even calls Chelsea her fourth daughter.
Tomorrow, me, both of my sisters— Shayla and Becca— and my sister from another mister, Chelsea, are all part of the wedding party.
My younger sisters are bridesmaids, with Chelsea taking on the role of maid of honor, and because my mom’s dad passed away a few years ago, Mom asked me to give her away.
Walking her down the aisle without bawling my eyes out will be next to impossible. For so long—too long—it’s been me, my sisters and our mom. The four musketeers—one for all and all for one. I’m happy for her, truly I am. God knows she deserves someone who loves her.
I remember little about my dad, but I do remember him yelling at us all the time and making us cry.
The last day I saw him, he told me I was a useless mistake. Something I’ve spent my entire life proving wrong by overachieving in every area of my life. There’s only one time when I’ve truly fucked up, and that was with Chelsea’s brother.
Mom didn’t date much when we were growing up, and if she did, she kept her boyfriends away from us. She didn’t have to do that, but her life was all about protecting her girls.
I glance at the table reserved for immediate family. Maybe I should make a space for Aaron just in case. Before I can stop myself, the words are out of my mouth.
“Anything from Aaron?” Even saying his name gives me butterflies, but I swallow hard and kill each and every one of them.
I don’t want to think about him. I don’t want to remember how his body felt against mine. I don’t want to remember how his tongue felt between my legs. How it felt when I screamed his name. How it felt when he gave me my first orgasm.
I busy my shaking hands by wiping imaginary grains of sand from the tables. I might not want to think about all those things, but I do--and often.
“No,” she says with a sigh, “and I don’t expect to. I wish he’d come, but he won’t. He and Dad… well, you know.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
“Christmas— or was it Thanksgiving? He wasn’t very chatty. Why do you ask?”
“Just want to make sure that my seating plan won’t get messed up if he decides to show.”
Chelsea snorts. “Not going to happen. Trust me. He hasn’t come to a family function since the fight. He’s hardly going to show up for Dad’s wedding.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” I say, doing my best to hide my disappointment.
Chelsea leans her hip against a table and goes back to her phone.
What if he does show up? What then? Ever since that night on the beach, I haven’t slept with another guy. I haven’t even accepted any dates, even though I’ve been asked.
Why? Because, in my experience, men are users. But I can hand-on-heart swear that Aaron didn’t take advantage of me. He might have used me, but I used him too. From the day my hormones kicked in, I’d crushed on him hard. One day he was Chelsea’s annoying older brother. The next day he was the hottest guy in the world.
I spent way too many nights during my teens dreaming about being his girlfriend. And the night after graduation, I went out of my way to flirt with him. I wanted to sleep with him. I wanted him to take my virginity. And he did.
He’d come back for Chelsea’s graduation. He was a college sophomore and was making waves in football. His name was everywhere. Although, some people were still pissed at him for not committing to Calton.
When he showed up, his hair was all sun bleached, his chin scruffy, his skin had a golden hue and as for his muscles— Lord— his biceps strained the stitching on his t-shirt.
Every girl in the graduating class wanted him, but I was the one who got him…and then lost him. Not that he was ever really mine to begin with.
He had no clue I was a virgin when he brought me to the beach. He only realized after he put the condom on and entered me for the first time.
A small groan escapes my lips at the memory of the burning pleasure as he slid in deep, whispering my name.
Afterward, we fell asleep by the fire wrapped in each other’s arms. When I woke the next morning, he was gone. The bastard didn’t even wake me up to say goodbye. What a jerk.
That was the last time I saw or heard from him. Seeing him on TV playing football doesn’t count.
I take the last few wine glasses from the box sitting by the tent flap and set them on the table being used for the bar.
Standing back, I admire my work. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.
“Should I let everyone know we’re almost ready?” Chelsea asks, lowering her phone.
“Two more minutes,” I say, once more casting a critical eye around the tent.
Chelsea comes over and wraps her arms around me. “Everything’s great, and everyone’ll love it. Promise me you’re going to allow yourself to relax and enjoy all the work you put in.”
“Am I being overbearing again?” I groan and then grimace. “You can tell me.”
She stands back and places her hands on my shoulders. “You’re being a little OCD and, yes, overbearing.”
“Sorry.”
“You can’t control everything, Tay. Sometimes you gotta let things go.”
“This coming from the woman who throws a hissy fit if anyone gets a routine wrong.”
She laughs hard. “Cheer is very different. It’s life or death. You’d better believe those bitches better not get a routine wrong.” Chelsea’s dream is to cheer for the NFL and if anyone can make it, she can. Nothing gets in her way when it comes to cheerleading. It’s her life. Her passion. Not mine. Not anymore. I don’t think it ever was.
Her phone rings and she immediately answers. I can see from the screensaver, it’s Wesley. God forbid he goes more than ten minutes without hearing her voice.
While I like cheering, and I love the girls, it’s not my life. Recently, I’ve been thinking about what I want to do. Dance and cheer have been part of my life for so long, but I want to find out what else is out there.
I’ve dropped hints to my mom about changing my major from Latin American Literature to interior design, but she’s been so busy that we haven’t talked about it in depth.
If I tell Chelsea I’m ready to quit cheer, she’ll throw a wobbler or break down. My dream is design, but I’m not sure which area I’d like to specialize in.
I have a good eye, or at least I think I do, and I think my mom will support me. The reason I never pursued art and design earlier is because it’s something I got from my dad.
He, from what I remember, was the clichéd tortured artist. Mom said he was frustrated because he wasn’t good enough, and that’s another reason I never pursued it or gave into my need to create. As well as worrying about disappointing my mom, I’m worried I’m not good enough. What if the art department tells me “thanks but no thanks”?
I’m afraid. Everyone would be surprised if they knew how much of a coward I really am. No one would ever guess that by looking at me. To the outside world, I’m an over-achiever, OCD Taylor. Perfect at everything she does. The reason I’m perfect at everything I do is because I never try something I know I won’t be good at. If I did and failed, people would see me for the fraud I really am.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m no angel and have done some stupid and crazy things when my mom wasn’t around. Like inviting the entire high school football team and cheer squad over for a kegger. That stunt cost me my car for the entire summer and a ten o’clock curfew the whole way through senior year.
Other than stupid stuff like that when I was younger, I pretty much did, and still do, toe the line. I don’t party, do drugs, or sleep around.
Chelsea hangs up her phone. “Ready?”
“Hold on.” I pick up a wine glass and hold it up to the light. “This has a smudge. Crap.”
The tent flaps open, and both Chelsea and I look to see who’s dared come into the tent without my say so.
The glass I’m holding falls to the floor and shatters.
“No fucking way,” Chelsea screams, glee filling her voice, and she barrels forward.
My nipples harden, and my panties dampen.
No fucking way is right.