Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)

Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2) Page 41

“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 could 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.”

Beth

I DID GOOD. Me, Beth Risk—I did a good deed.

I would have made a great fucking girl scout and I so would have scored the Reunite Your Jock-Sorta-Boyfriend with His Jock-Gay-Brother badge. If they don’t make those, they seriously should. Ryan will look back in twenty years and not think of the girl that left in the dead of night. Nope, he’ll remember the girl that gave him back his brother.

I stare up at the gray clouds moving across the sky. Ryan and I lie on the banks of a large pond located on the back end of his father’s property. Just like everything else about Ryan, this spot is perfect. This day is perfect.

Propped up on an elbow, Ryan tucks a stray hair behind my ear, causing a warming tickle to caress my neck. I’m going to enjoy myself today. I’m going to laugh. I’m going to smile.

I’m going to drop the chains that drag me down. Ryan’s a great guy and for some reason, he’s really into me. Or better, he’s really into the mirage he’s created.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

“So are you.” He truly is. I reach up and take the baseball cap he’s been wearing backward off his head. He’s hot with his hat on. He’s gorgeous with it off. His mop of sandy hair blows with the breeze.

When I release the cap from my grasp, Ryan twines his strong hand with mine. Strong is an understatement. This hand can make a ball fly faster than most cars will ever go. His hand on my skin can make warmth curl in very private areas of my body.

“So…” Ryan says as he glances away and attempts to look nonchalant. I know what’s eating him. On the way back from Lexington, he gave me more of his zombie story to read.

Waiting for my thoughts drives him insane. “I think George and Olivia will end up together.”

Five minutes. He couldn’t go five minutes outside his Jeep without asking. I try to keep from smiling, but I fail miserably. He catches it and his forehead furrows. “What?”

I shrug. “You’re cute when you’re anxious.”

“I’m not anxious.”

“I like it about you.” I like everything about Ryan. “The story was fabulous. Really. I’m sucked in when I read it, but I have to disagree with you. George and Olivia will not end up together.”

“Why not?”

“They live in two different worlds and they’re sort of two different creatures. I mean—he’s a zombie and she isn’t.”

“But he loves her,” he says doggedly. “And she loves him.”

“George is going to walk away from becoming the leader of his zombie friends for her?” I ask. “Come on, you have him wanting to be the leader so badly that he crossed his best friend for the title. And do you honestly believe Olivia is going to walk away from her family for him?”

“Her family sucks.” Ryan grins as if he won.

My stomach hurts like someone stabbed me.

“Yeah, but it’s still her family. I don’t think I could like her if she walked away. What does that say about a person?”

“I think it says she’s willing to live her own life.”

Overhead, honking Canadian geese fly in a V formation and head south for the winter.

That’ll be me soon, but will I feel as free as they look? “I think it says she’s selfish. How can she walk away from her dad? He needs her.”

“He uses her,” says Ryan.

I shrug again, not a fan of conversations that go nowhere. Ryan loosens his grip on my hand and begins to trace the ribbon tied to my wrist.

He’s nervous and something deep within me nudges that it’s not about the story. “What’s going on?”

My anxiety level increases as Ryan continues to outline the ribbon.

“I want us to be permanent,” he says. “I don’t like the idea of you dating other guys.”

Panic seizes my chest and I feel suddenly claustrophobic. I’m leaving. Soon. As soon as Mom gets the car out of impoundment. A clamminess invades my hands and I immediately roll away from Ryan. I need air.

Lots and lots of air.

I stumble to the edge of the pond and catch myself before I plummet down the two-foot ledge into the water. Catfish swim near the surface. I can’t get rid of the chains, no matter how hard I try. Today was supposed to be the one day I didn’t feel like I was drowning.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asks from behind me.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Beth.” He stops, then starts again. “I really care for you and I was hoping you felt the same way.”

A single drop of rain hits the pond and ripples break onto the smooth water. He can’t have feelings for me. He can’t. Liking me is one thing—feeling is another. It doesn’t fit with the plan. No. This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

I knead my hands against my eyes. Fuck, Beth, how did you think this was going to go?

You knew you were falling for him, but he wasn’t supposed to fall for you. His words make everything real. Too real. I spin around and spit out the accusation that has become my mantra. “Guys like you don’t fall for girls like me.”

“What? I can’t fall for pretty girls with smart mouths?”

He doesn’t get it. “I’m a whore.”