Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)

Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2) Page 47

“Roots.”

“Roots,” he repeats. “You’re on the homecoming court and starting to do well at school. My friends love you. You’re closer to Scott. You have a best friend in Lacy.”

My mind races and so does my breathing. I made a life here—in Groveton. A life I enjoy. A life I could keep. Ryan draws me into him. He lowers his head as his fingers leave a burning path across my cheek. “You have me.”

The pure emotion in his voice causes me to shiver. I could try to build a wall, but the intensity of his gaze tells me he’d see through anything. The seconds stretch between us. His lips come dangerously close to mine, yet he keeps them away. With his hand warm on my face, his nose skims my jawline and I try to inhale to steady my pulse.

Ryan tugs at the loops on my jeans and guides me back onto the bed. Taking my hand, he urges me to stretch out beside him.

His jeans hang right along his hip bones and I swallow.

I’m in love with him. Tonight I was going to give him a memory of me. I found the confidence and I was in control. My heart stutters. I lost my control. I lost my confidence.

My hand shakes as I touch his bare chest.

“I want you to trust me.” Ryan brushes his hand down my arm and I tremble. The signals he sends are unmistakable. There are times when you stand on the cusp of moments so huge, you know you’ll remember them forever.

This is that moment for me and for Ryan. I’m not seducing him. He’s not seducing me.

Instead, we’re choosing to be together.

I suck in a breath and rush out the words before I lose the courage to say them. “I trust you.” And please, please don’t use that against me.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispers.

“Are you scared?” I ask him. Because I am.

Terrified. Earlier I was anxious, but not frightened. This isn’t me giving him a memory.

This is me giving him my heart.

“I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me if I do and we’ll stop.” Ryan slides his thumb over my lower lip. The warmth he creates melts the fear.

Unable to speak, I nod. In painfully slow movements, Ryan lowers his head closer and edges his body over me. His lips press gently against mine and as I gasp for air I whisper the words to him again. “I love you.”

Ryan

I’VE NEVER BEEN THIS CLOSE to a person. Skin touching skin. Legs and arms wound tightly around one another. Lying on my bed, Beth’s tucked close to my chest and she slowly runs her fingernails up and down the inside of my arm.

I kiss her head again, revel in the scent of roses, and fight the urge to shut my eyes. Every single muscle has fallen asleep and my mind wanders lazily, but I want to hold on to this moment a little longer. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”

She’s answered before, but the anxiety still creeps deep inside. Beth glances at me from under long dark eyelashes. “I’m okay.”

The anxiety level increases. We went from fine to okay. “I hurt you. Tell me the truth.”

“It burned some, but I’m okay. It’s not like you were…” and she drifts off.

Heat scorches my face and neck. It’s not like I was in for that long. “I’ll get better. It’ll take some practice and then we’ll both feel good.”

Beth giggles and her happiness eases the anxiety. “Practice? Do you ever turn off the jock?”

“We should create a schedule. Maybe stretch beforehand.”

She laughs loudly and the sweet sound squeezes my heart. Beth rarely lets happiness overwhelm her and as if on cue she releases a weighty sigh. Her body grows heavier against mine and I pull her tighter to me. Beth is dead wrong if she thinks she can leave me.

“I was thinking…” Her fingers begin tracing my arm again, but this time her touch is stiff and apprehensive. “Maybe I could talk to Scott about my mom. Maybe he could help me help her.”

I kiss her head again, close my burning eyes, and clear my throat. I get to keep her. My Beth.

“That’s a great idea.”

“You need to go to sleep,” she groggily murmurs into my chest. “The writing competition is tomorrow.”

“I love you,” I whisper into her ear. She cuddles closer to me and I realize what a dick I am. I’m telling my parents about Beth as soon as they come home and I’m walking out on that homecoming field with her on my arm.

Screw what Mom and Dad think. Screw the rest of the town. Screw perfection. This girl is mine.

Beth

I AWAKE TO THE SOUND of birds chatting happily and beams of sunlight highlighting the dancing dust particles in the air. A cardinal rests on a bush outside the window of my room in Scott’s house. The bird flaps its wings and rises into the sky—into freedom. I wonder if the bird in the barn ever escaped.

The scent of bacon and onions drifts in the air. Scott promised to cook hash browns this morning. I hop out of bed and I’m surprised by the image in the mirror. I’m smiling. It’s more than that—I’m different. Last night made me different. My eyes shine like Scott’s do when he’s around Allison. In fact, my entire face glows and I’m hungry. Starving. For more than food. I want to ask Scott if he can help Mom.

Hope floods my body and makes me feel high.

I can get used to hope.

I toss my hair into a bun and go out into the kitchen. Scott glances at me as he hovers over the stovetop. “Good morning, Elisabeth.”

“Good morning, Scott.” I almost giggle at how cheerful I sound. Me—giggling. That’s funny in itself.

He does a double take as I sit at the counter and the annoying I-know-everything grin stretches from ear to ear. “Whatever side of the bed you rolled out of this morning is the one you should roll out of every day.”

“Very funny.”

From the other side of the island, Allison studies me, but not with nearly as much contempt as normal. She looks like she’s on the verge of saying something, then focuses on the newspaper in front of her.

Scott’s cell rings. He reaches into his back pocket and holds the phone against his shoulder to answer as he flips the hash browns in the pan. “Hello.”

His face darkens and he pushes the pan onto an unlit burner before switching off the stove.

He turns and his troubled blue eyes find me.

My hope slithers away.

“We’ll be right there,” he says.

Ryan

THERE’S A LOW BUZZ of conversation as the auditorium fills. Today’s been both exhilarating and torturous. I’ve met college professors who gave me incredible feedback on “George and Olivia.” I listened to lectures on writing, learned new techniques, and I’ve spent the whole day sweating this upcoming moment.

I’d take a cold rainy day on the mound over this—wearing my Sunday best while waiting to hear whether or not my story is good enough.

I hunch forward in the folding auditorium chair with my hands clasped together. My feet won’t quit moving. The only things keeping me halfway sane are my memories of last night. The moment I get out of here, I’m buying two dozen roses and I’m heading straight to Beth. I want to show her I’m nothing like the bastard who broke up with her the next day. I’m the guy that will be around forever.

Mrs. Rowe yanks the placeholder off the seat next to me and plops down. “Are you nervous?”

I glance at her in response and rub my hands together. It’s scary how much I want this. It’s even more terrifying to think what happens if I do win. If I lose, then I know my path: pro baseball. If I win…it opens up possibilities.

Possibilities that I’m good at more than just ball, that I’m good at writing too. Then I’ll have choices to make.

“It’s too bad your parents couldn’t be here for this,” she says. “I bet it’s killing them to be away.”

“Yeah.” Possibly killing them to be near each other. My hopes aren’t high that a week’s vacation will fix the issues between them.

Divorce isn’t an option on the table, especially since Dad’s considering the run for mayor.

Maybe I should be grateful, but I’m not sure how much more frozen silence I can take.

“I’m sure they’re proud of you,” she continues.

“Sure.” Even though they have no idea I’m here.

Through the squeal of feedback, a woman in a black business suit asks the audience for silence. As she thanks us for our entries, Mrs. Rowe leans over to me. “Regardless of what the results are, Ryan, it was a huge honor to final.”

I nod, but what she doesn’t understand is that I don’t like losing.

“…so, with that, we are ready to announce the winners.”

I inhale deeply to calm the nerves. Fifty of us made it to the last round. All of us entered the final, only three spots left for a win and, to be honest, I’m only interested in first.

“The third place winner is Lauren Lawrence.”

The crowd applauds and I lean back in my seat, antsier than I was before. The girl walks unbelievably slowly and it takes even longer for the people on stage to hand her the award.

The announcer clears her throat before beginning again. “The second place winner is…”

Part of me craves to hear my name and the other part doesn’t. First is the best. First is what I desire, but for the first time in my life, I think I could be happy with second.

“…Tonya Miles.”

Everyone applauds again. At least this girl is faster. I hunch forward again, wondering what a loss like this would feel like. I could have been happy with second. Possibly third. And, I finally realize, I don’t want the easy path…I want the choice. I want to possibly go to college.

Or not. I don’t know. But I do know that I want this win.

“…and our first place winner is…” She pauses for dramatic effect. I lower my head as my gut tightens. What if I’m not good enough?

“Ryan Stone.”

Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I lift my head to stare at the stage. The crowd claps and Mrs. Rowe gestures for me to go onstage, saying words I don’t understand. I stagger forward, wondering if I heard it right. Is this happening? Did I really win?

Onstage, the lady shakes my hand and offers me a plaque and a certificate. They feel heavy in my hands—heavy and amazing. I did this. I won a writing competition.

Mrs. Rowe is on her feet. So are a few of the college professors who had read my story. And while their applause is appreciated, a lump forms in my throat and drops. My parents aren’t here. And even if they did know about the competition, they still wouldn’t be here.

I nod to the crowd, then turn toward the stairs. The applause dies except for a loud clapping in the back of the room. A deep booming shout gains my attention and the part of me that was sinking suddenly flies higher.

I pause on the stage and Mark smiles. He cups his hands to his mouth and yells, “Way to go, Ry!”

How could I have been so blind? He never left me. My brother—he never left.

Beth

THERE ARE MEMORIES that exist in my mind that are so clear that if I focus on them enough I could practically relive them. The sky was ocean-blue and two doves sat on the roof of Grandpa’s trailer when Scott taught me how to throw a ball. Lacy’s dad’s callused hand was cold the day he led me to the back of his police cruiser. Mom bought me a Hostess cupcake the first night we spent alone in Louisville.