RYAN
“You’re a wuss.” My little black-haired threat flips through the University of Kentucky student directory. “You can move a car across a pasture, but you can’t see your own brother.”
“That’s different,” I say. “I moved the car on a dare.”
Outside the guys’ athletic dorms, I attempt to stand in front of Beth as she searches for my brother’s room number. Beth wears a cotton T-shirt that hugs her slim form and ends a half inch short of her low-rise jeans. With her smooth skin tempting me in very right, yet wrong, places, I would bet my Jeep that the outfit doesn’t have Scott’s seal of approval. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, and so does every guy walking in and out of the dorms. She’s my girl and I prefer to be the only one looking at her.
My girl. We’re not official—not yet—but Beth said four critical words when she climbed into my Jeep this morning: “I let Isaiah go.” Which means she’s with me and not him. Later today, I’m asking Beth to make us exclusive.
Beth stabs her finger into the book. “Jackpot.” She scribbles the room number onto the palm of her hand. “I double dog dare you to talk to your brother.”
“Do you know nothing about dares?” I ask while giving the evil eye to some guy who stares at the contours of Beth’s waist. “You can’t double dog dare unless I turn down the initial dare.”
She arches a brow. “Are we really going to talk semantics?”
I place a hand on her hip and back her against the wall. “That’s a big word, Beth. Maybe you should explain it.”
A wicked smile touches her lips and raw hunger settles in her eyes, but instead of melting into me as I am into her, Beth pushes me away and ducks underneath my arm. A guy walks out of the building and Beth catches the door before it has a chance to lock behind him. “It means you’re an idiot if you think I’m going to let you talk your way out of this.”
She gestures for me to enter the lobby and I do. “I wasn’t going to talk. I was going to kiss my way out of it. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since we kissed?”
“If you talk to your brother, we’ll kiss. A lot.”
“How about we skip this and move straight on to kissing?”
She ignores me and studies the large map of the dorm layout on the wall. “I officially dare you to talk to your brother.”
I cross my arms over my chest as my back straightens. Beth officially threw down the gauntlet. “Fine. What do I get if I win?”
Her raven hair cascades like a waterfall as she inclines her head toward me. A sexy glint lights her eyes. “What do you want?”
You. But that isn’t what I permit to come out of my mouth. “I want you to spend the rest of the day with me. No cell phones. No friends. Nothing but me and you.”
“Deal.”
* * *
Beth expertly manipulates our way past the RA guarding the entrance to Mark’s floor. I’d call him an idiot, but I’m well aware that she used the same manipulation skills to convince me to drive to Lexington. To my horror, Beth knocks on my brother’s door without asking if I’m ready. Any hope Mark would be in class ends when the doorknob jiggles and Mark’s large, looming figure stands in the door frame.
Beth flashes a wicked smile. “S’up, Mark. How was the game against Florida?”
He hesitantly grins as his eyes flicker between me and Beth. “I sacked the quarterback twice. Don’t you watch the news?”
She shrugs. “No. I’m pretending to care about football in order to break the ice. I’ll be in the lobby.” Beth nonchalantly walks off the way we came. Even when the door at the end of the hallway shuts, I still watch. After dragging my ass here, I never thought she’d leave me to do this on my own.
Mark steps away from the door and forces cheerfulness. “Do you want to come in?”
“Yeah.” I mimic his tone. Mark and I never forced anything before this summer.
Mark’s dorm room is the same as it was last year. I can tell he has the same roommate by the posters of Star Wars hanging on the wall. “Where’s Greg?”
“Class. Do you want something to drink?” He opens a small fridge. “Gatorade, water?”
My mouth tastes like the desert, but I don’t want to prolong this. “I’m sorry.”
Mark closes the fridge and sits on the bottom bunk. His fake smile vanishes and I shove my hands in my pockets. The Band-Aid method sucked for both of us. I wish I could make our relationship strong again. Mark was the first person I told when I pitched a no-hitter, made my first all-star team, and kissed a girl. Now, I don’t even know what words to stutter out next.
“How’re Mom and Dad?” he asks.
How’re Mom and Dad. I can answer that. I take a seat on the two-seater couch next to the bunks. “Okay. Dad’s busy. He’s expanding the construction business and he plans on running for mayor.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” Wow.
“And Mom?”
“Wrapped up in her social clubs and events like normal. Lunches. Dinners. Teas.” I pause, wondering if I should say what I’m about to. “She misses you.”
Mark leans forward and holds his hands together between his bent knees. “Does Dad ever mention me?”
The hope fighting to surface on Mark’s face makes looking at him painful. If I answer with a plain yes, I create false hope, or I could tell him the truth. None of the answers are ones I want to give. “Did you ever want to do anything besides football?”
Mark scrapes his knuckles against his jaw before snatching a book off his bed and tossing it to me. I catch it in midair. “Quality Lesson Plans for Secondary Physical Education?”
“I’m an education major.”
“Since when?”
“Since…” Mark drums the fingers of his clasped hands once. “Always.”
Faking interest in the pages, I flip through the book. “I thought you were pre-med.”
“That’s what Dad wanted me to major in. College for Dad was nothing more than a step toward the NFL. The pre-med was if I got injured. Mom wanted one of us to be a doctor. That was Dad’s way of making her happy.”
Mark’s organized his desk the same as last year: laptop, iPod dock. After Mark’s first college football game, Mom had someone take a family picture on the field. He’s taped the photograph on the wall next to his practice schedule. Some things are the same. Others are not. “Do you hate football?”
“No. I love football and want to play. In fact, I want to become a high school football coach. Dad knew that. He didn’t agree with me, but he knew it. I thought if I played along, that if I pretended that—” He cuts himself off.
I came here. I brought this up. I can finish the statement for him. “They’d accept who you are?”
Mark nods. “Yeah.”
The two of us sit in silence. My stomach twists and turns like I’m on a boat on the verge of capsizing. My life was perfect and I enjoyed every second. Mark’s two little words “I’m gay” tipped my world. Maybe I get why he left. Maybe I don’t. Either way, anger still festers, and if I’m doing this, I’m doing this. “You left me.”
“What did you want me to do?” Resentment thickens his tone. “I can’t change who I am.”
I need to move. Hit something. Throw something. I stand instead. “Not leave. You said you pretended before. Why couldn’t you pretend again? Or you could have stayed and fought and, I don’t know, convinced Mom and Dad to let you stay.”
Mark calmly watches as I pace the length of the narrow room. He clears his throat. “Someday, you’re going to see how Mom and Dad controlled and manipulated our lives. You’re going to notice how they made us believe that their dreams were our dreams. They dictated our every breath. Think about it—do you have any idea who you are without them?”
Mom sat me next to Gwen last night and she specifically asked me to take care of Gwen’s needs during the evening. Just like she asked me to take care of Gwen when I was fifteen. After that first dinner, Mom encouraged me to ask her out and I did.
But baseball is my choice. It always has been. Dad understands baseball. Because of that, he’s managed every part of my baseball career: the coaches, the leagues. Hell, he even stands up to umps. He does it all for me.
Right?
Mom and Dad’s concerns, all of their pushing, they do it because they love me. But they flat-out told me not to date Beth, regardless of my feelings for her, and they expect nothing less than compliance.
“You’re going to wear a hole in my carpet,” Mark says.
No, Mark’s wrong. He has to be wrong. “I’m a good ballplayer.” I am. The best.
“You are. Dad did that right. He didn’t force us into a sport we had no talent in. He took his time and found the one sport each of us was good at. The question is—who are you playing for, Ry? You or Dad?”
Between the door and bunk beds, I freeze. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Dad wants perfection. Scratch that. Dad wants perfection on the outside so everyone else can see it. Mom too. They couldn’t care less if we’re torn up on the inside as long as the rest of the world envies us.”
Everyone in Groveton assumes Mom and Dad have the perfect marriage. The homecoming queen married the star quarterback. Behind closed doors, Mom and Dad hate each other. I thought they’d get over it. Now…
“I’ve learned a lot playing college ball,” Mark says. “What you do in high school doesn’t mean shit. You can be the best ballplayer in your high school. The best in the county or state, but when you get to college, you’re going to meet fifty other guys who can brag the same thing. You’ll meet guys better than you, stronger than you, faster than you, and then you’re up against better teams. The world changes when you leave Groveton.”
When I leave Groveton. Decisions need to be made before that can happen: pros, college, literary competitions, scholarships. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I wish someone would have told me, but I had to figure it out on my own. You’re not alone, Ry.”
“Yeah, I am.” And my eyes burn. I close them quickly and suck in a breath. He left. And Mom and Dad’s marriage is falling apart and everything I have ever known and loved is disintegrating into ashes.
“I never left you.”
“But you didn’t come home. You never answered my texts.” The voice falling out of my mouth isn’t my own. It’s strained. Tight. On the verge of breaking.
“I’m sorry, but you have to understand, until Mom or Dad reach out to me, I can’t go back. I’ll admit, I left them. But I get it now. I should have tried harder when it came to you. I should have called. I should have visited. I messed up, but I swear, I never left you.”
I pull off my cap and run my hand through my hair. He never left me. Beth’s right—I left him. My throat thickens. “I’ve missed you.” I shake my head, trying to find a way to say the next words. “I never cared that you’re gay, but I cared that you…that you left.”
“Yeah.” His voice becomes gruff. “I know. It’s okay, Ry. Me and you, we’re okay.”
He stands and the action takes me off guard. We’re Stones and Stone men don’t touch, but the moment he puts his hand on my arm, a tentative offer, I accept and allow him to pull me into his body. Our arms wind tight around each other for one brief second. I squint my eyes to combat the tears and when we release, we both retreat to opposite sides of the room.
“So.” Mark clears his throat and claps his hands together. “Tell me about Beth.”