Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)

Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2) Page 39

Mom removes her arm from under his touch. I continue, “He became the best baseball player the Yankees have seen in twenty years.

Why should his wife be punished for his parents’ mistakes?”

Dad’s eyes narrow on the last sentence. His own private warning to me that I may have gone too far.

“I have to be honest,” says Gwen’s mother.

“I am fond of Allison, but it’s the niece I’m concerned with.”

“How so?” asks my mother as I stiffen.

“Have you heard anything about her?”

“I’ve heard she smokes, was disrespectful to a teacher, and swears. All traits we cannot condone, and putting Allison on the committee will reflect upon our church. Which is so sad, since Allison is a dear and the niece is…”

Gwen’s mother flitters her fingers in the air.

“Savage. It’s obvious that the girl didn’t go with Scott like we hoped after the incident with her father.”

My mind awakens. The people at this table know what happened to Beth. I’m torn in two.

Part of me wants to defend Beth. The other half wants to know what happened to her as a child. If I speak now, I’ll lose my opportunity to learn the truth.

“Liza,” Gwen’s father interjects. “I won’t stand for that child to be gossiped about.”

Red in the cheeks, Mrs. Gardner forces a smile on her face. “I’m not gossiping and she’s hardly a child anymore. The event committee is an offshoot of a bigger issue. I’m concerned with the girl’s influence. I’m scared everyone will be so wrapped up in who her uncle is that they won’t see the threat in front of them. Do you want your daughter swearing and smoking and talking back to teachers?”

“I hardly think that’s going to happen,” Mr. Gardner replies.

“Why not?” she argues. “The senior class already nominated Beth for homecoming court and Ryan is dating her.”

I become rock. This isn’t how I wanted my parents to find out.

“What?” My mother’s fast and irritated question silences the group. My eyes flash to Gwen. Wide-eyed and pale, Gwen sits perfectly still and stares at the remains of her chicken cordon bleu.

Her mother poorly hides her smugness behind her wineglass. “I’m sorry, Miriam, I assumed that Ryan told you.” She places a hand over Gwen’s. “I apologize to you too, sweetheart. I didn’t know that what you told me was a secret.”

Mom places her napkin on the table. “Who’s ready for dessert?”

I stand, needing to get the hell out of here.

“I’ll get it.”

Mom deflates in her chair with a nod. What I don’t expect is Gwen hopping up and volunteering, “And I’ll help.”

Unable to look at her, I pivot and head for the kitchen. The rapid click of Gwen’s heels informs me she’s right behind me.

“Ryan,” she says the moment the door is closed to any eavesdropping ears. “Ryan, I’m sorry. I had no idea my mom would humiliate you like that. But it’s not my fault. How was I to know that you were keeping Beth a secret?”

“I’m not,” I snap. Gwen looks like a stranger to me in this kitchen. Maybe it’s because I’m still not used to the gray walls or the granite counters or the mahogany cupboards. Or maybe it’s because I never really knew her to begin with.

She crosses her arms over her chest and her red sundress swirls with the motion. “Could have fooled me. I mean, come on, Ryan, your parents will hate her—and for good reason.”

“You don’t know Beth.” The irony of this conversation is not lost on me. Lacy once said those same words to me.

Gwen loses the perfect glow about her and does a very uncharacteristic thing—she sags against the counter. “I know more than you think. I’d bet I know more than you.” She pauses and nervously fidgets with her hands.

What the hell? Gwen is never nervous.

And that’s when I notice the bare spot on her finger. Mike’s ring is gone.

“I love you. In fact, I’ve always loved you.”

Gwen stares at the gray tiled floor. “And for some stupid reason you care about her. I think you were right in the dugout—I wasn’t clear on what I needed from you. Maybe the reason we aren’t together now is because I didn’t try hard enough.”

My forehead furrows. If she had said those words six months ago…I shake my head. It wouldn’t have mattered. What I feel for Beth is a hundred times stronger than what I ever felt for Gwen. “We would never have worked.”

Gwen straightens and lifts her chin.

“You’re seeing everything all wrong. Me.

Beth. Everything. I think you’re aware that you and Beth don’t belong together and that’s the reason you never told your parents. But don’t worry, Ryan. I know what I did wrong and I don’t make the same mistakes twice.”

In one graceful movement, Gwen swoops the cake off the counter and ushers it out the kitchen door. I inhale and let my head fall back. I don’t know what the hell just happened, but every cell in my body screams it’s bad and I’m going to hate the consequences.

MY GRANDMOTHER LEFT MY MOTHER her pendulum clock. It hangs on the wall behind Mom. With each swing, the clock ticks. It’s nine o’clock at night. The last of the guests left an hour ago. I should be wondering why my parents called me in here, especially since they’re voluntarily in the same room. Instead, I’m wondering what Beth is thinking.

Mom sits across from me at our kitchen table while Dad leans against the door frame leading to the formal dining room. The temperature, like always, is frigid.

“Mrs. Rowe is under the impression you’re still participating in the writing competition,” says Dad.

I glance up at him. “I’m considering it.”

“There’s nothing to consider. You’re playing Eastwick that weekend and that game will decide rankings going into the spring season.”

Eastwick is the only team that beat us during regular season play last spring. “We’re playing Northside that Monday and they’re undefeated this year. Coach may want me to pitch that game.”

“Maybe,” says Dad. “But you’ll still be able to play a couple of innings on Monday. They’ll need you to close the game out.”

Mom takes off her pearl necklace. “I talked to Mrs. Rowe last week. She said that Ryan has a rare talent.”

“He does,” says Dad. “Baseball.”

“No,” bites out Mom. “Writing.”

Dad rubs his eyes. “Explain to your mother you’re not interested in the writing.”

“Ryan, tell your father what Mrs. Rowe told me. Tell him how much you enjoy her class.”

My shoulders curl in with the anger. I hate their constant fighting. I hate that I’ve caused them to fight more. I hate that they’re fighting over me. But what I hate more is the feeling that everyone else is controlling my choices. “I love baseball.”

Dad releases a sigh of relief.

“And I love writing. I want to go to the competition.”

Dad swears under his breath and heads for the fridge. I turn in my chair to face him.

“You’ve never let me walk away from a competition before and I don’t like the feeling of giving up. I’ll miss one game. And this is recreational league play. It would be different if this was spring season.”

Dad pops open a bottle of beer and takes a swig. “What happens if you win the writing competition? Are you going to give up pitching against the best team in the state for a piece of paper that says congratulations?”

“I want to know if I’m any good.”

“Jesus, Ryan. Why? What difference would it make?”

“I’ve been offered the chance at a college scholarship—to play ball.”

Dad stares at me and the dishwasher enters the rinse cycle. “Have you been talking to college scouts behind my back?”

Yes. No. “The recruiter made sense. He said their pitch coach can help me with my placement issues and teach me to break the tell on my pitches. They’ll pay for me to go to school and I can get free coaching. I can train with them for four years and then go for the pros.”

Beer sloshes from the bottle when Dad throws out his arms. “What happens if you get injured? What happens if instead of improving, you lose your edge? You’re a pitcher. There is no better time for you to go after your dreams than now.”

“What if…”

He stalks across the kitchen and slams the beer down in front of me. “Do I need to remind you how much money we’ve pumped into you? Do you think the coaching we’ve paid for over the years is cheap? Do you think the equipment, the Jeep we bought you were free?”

My gut aches as if he punched me. “No. I don’t think they were free. I’ve offered to get a job.”

“I’m not looking for you to get a job, Ryan.

I’m looking for you to do something with your talent. I’m looking for you to make a name for this family. I want to know that the years your mother and I have sacrificed financially, emotionally, with our time are not in vain.”

Mom calmly folds her hands on the table.

“He does have talent, Andrew. You’re angry he doesn’t want what you want. You’re angry he’s choosing something different.”

“Baseball is what he wants!” Dad’s knuckles turn white as he grips the back of the chair.

“You have no idea what anyone in this family wants.”

His voice shakes as he talks. “What do you want, Miriam? What will finally make you happy? You always wanted me to run for mayor and I’ve agreed to it. You wanted me to expand the business and I am. I have done everything to make you happy. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want my family back!” Mom screams.

Over the past months, my mother has been sarcastic and rude to my father. But in seventeen years, I’ve never known her to scream.

The shock wears off Dad’s face. “You can’t have it all! Do you want your friends to know that your son is gay? Do you want your church to know your son is gay?”

“But we could talk to Mark. Maybe if he agreed to keep it a secret—”

“No!” my father roars.

I lean back in my chair, disgusted with them.

Disgusted with myself. Since Mark walked away, I’ve been so obsessed with the fact that he left that I never really listened to what my parents were saying. It makes me realize that I probably never really listened to Mark either.

No wonder he left. How could anyone live with so much hate?

A sickening nausea strikes and I grow dizzy.

Does Mark believe I feel the same way as my parents?

Dad rams the chair into the table, then stalks away. “Mark made his choice. You wanted to talk to Ryan tonight—talk to him. I’ll be in my office.”

Mom stands. “He should hear it from you.”

In the door frame, he pauses and looks back at me. “I’ll be running for my party’s nomination for mayor in the spring. Your mother and I don’t want you dating Beth Risk.