Dare You To (28 page)

Ryan likes me or at least he thinks he does.

Why am I in such a rush to move on to the next guy who’ll treat me like Luke did or the way Trent treats Mom?

I can be the girl who shows Ryan a few

things. The girl who doesn’t laugh when he blushes. I can be the girl who, in the future, when he’s been married to the good girl and has three babies clinging to his leg, he can remember and smile at the memories. Then

he’ll look at his wife and be grateful I left when I did. Grateful he didn’t end up with me.

“Are you Ryan’s girlfriend?” A tall guy

plops next to me on the bleachers and watches as Ryan throws the ball. This dude is close.

Super close. Not touching close, but he has broken the unspoken barrier of how close

complete strangers should be to each other.

The skin on my arm prickles. “And you

are?”

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He turns his head and gives me a smile

that reminds me of Ryan’s. In fact, he looks a lot like Ryan, just a little older. “Mark. I’m his older brother.”

Hello. Could this be the brother Ryan was all torn up over in the barn? But curiosity gives way to nerves. I’ve never met a guy’s family and I don’t know a thing about etiquette. “Nice to meet you.” There, isn’t that what proper girls say?

“Are you sure? I’ve seen worms on hooks

happier than you.”

My lips twist up. “I’m Beth and we’re just friends.” Friends who are dating, but I don’t need to broadcast my insecurities.

“Huh,” he drawls. “Ryan doesn’t bring

friends to games. He calls people distractions.”

Not sure how to respond, I focus on the

game. Mark lowers his voice. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

I might as well be honest. It’s not like I could pass as respectable for long. “Guys who invade my personal space generally make me uncomfortable, but I don’t blame you. Ryan has space issues too. Must be genetic.”

Mark laughs and it’s a boisterous laughter
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that causes people to stare—even Ryan

from the mound. Ryan’s eyes flicker between his brother and me. A shadow crosses his face as he focuses on Mark. Not liking the hurt he’s wearing, I give him a halfhearted wave and he gives me his heart-stopping smile in return.

Heat creeps along the back of my neck and marks my face.

“Yeah,” says Mark. “You two are just

friends.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I mutter.

Mark laughs again, but not as loudly. “My mother must hate you.”

I should be insulted, but I’m not. If she ever met me, she probably would. “Don’t know.”

“That’s okay. I like you.”

“You don’t know me.”

Mark gestures to the scoreboard. “We’ve got a few more innings to rectify that. So, tell me, how did you meet my brother?”

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UNLACING MY CLEATS, I STARE at the bleachers.

Mark is here and he’s talking to Beth. Actually, he’s laughing with Beth. Jealousy lurches inside me and I’m pissed at both of them. I’ve texted and called Mark for months and I got shit. Beth smiles once and he’s rattling like he’s on a talk show. And to top it all off, Mark’s talked to her for a whole twenty

minutes and Beth’s already laughing. It took me weeks to get her to laugh with me.

I slam my cleat against the bench to knock the dirt off. Mark is my brother, therefore he wouldn’t steal my girl. Not to mention that he likes men. Several of the guys glance at me when I hammer my cleat against the bench

again. Logan raises a brow. I shake my head to stop him from speaking to me.

Resting my arms on my knees, I try to suck
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it up. Beth’s not really my girl. We’re just friends who date because I screwed everything up with her from the beginning.

“Ryan?” Coach waves me over to him. I

shove my feet into my Nikes and toss my bag over my shoulder. He probably has plenty to say to me. I pulled the game out, but I cost us two runs in the last inning. Mark and Beth’s friendly interaction distracted me.

“Yes, sir.”

Coach nods to a man in his thirties and a woman standing next to him. They’re dressed in Sunday casual—jeans and nice shirts. “I’d like you to meet Pete Carson and his wife, Vickie.”

I shake the extended hands—Mr. Carson

first, then his wife. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pete is a scout with the University of

Louisville.”

I glance at Coach and try to keep the

surprise off my face. He knows how Dad and I feel about playing pro ball after I graduate. Mr.

Carson clears his throat. “Ryan, I’ve been scouting for the early draft and your name is the one on everyone’s lips. I was wondering if you’ve given any thought to our school.”

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“No, sir. I plan on joining the pro draft after graduation.”

“That would be a waste.” The words rush

out of his wife’s mouth. The three of us look at her and she laughs nervously. “Sorry, but it’s the truth. I should introduce myself

appropriately—I’m Dr. Carson, dean of the English Department at Spalding University.”

“Uh-huh.” A very un-grammatically-correct response. Why do I feel cornered?

“Mrs. Rowe, your English teacher, is a good friend of mine. She’s shown me some of your writing. You’re very talented. Both on the field and off. Spalding University offers a wonderful course study in Creative Writing and many of our students go on to pursue their master’s in Fine Arts.…”

Mr. Carson puts his hand on his wife’s arm.

“You’re recruiting him. I thought I won the coin toss.”

“You weren’t talking fast enough.” She pats the hand he just placed on her. “Spalding has a baseball team too.”

I fake laugh because everyone else does, but my uneasiness builds. Standing here listening to them makes me feel like I’m betraying my
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father.

Mr. Carson lets go of his wife. “Spalding is a Division Three school. The University of

Louisville is Division One. Several of our players went on to be drafted into the pros. You have talent that can’t be taught, but you’ve got some tells on your pitches and some issues with your placement. My coaches can work

with you and take your pitches to another level.

We’ll prepare you for the pros plus you’ll be walking away with a degree.”

“Are you offering me a scholarship?”

“Spalding will,” says Mrs. Carson. She

smiles unrepentantly when her husband

grimaces.

Mr. Carson exchanges a wary look with

Coach. “I need to know if you’re interested. I have room for a pitcher on my team and I’m looking to offer a scholarship to someone during the early signing period in November.”

November, which means if I want to go to

college, I have a little more than a month to decide. No pressure. Mr. and Mrs. Carson

describe college life while I pretend to listen.

What will Dad say if he finds out? They both hand me cards, to Mr. Carson’s dismay, and
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say their goodbyes, leaving me and Coach

alone.

I wait for the Carsons to be out of earshot before I ask the question bugging me. “Have you been talking to Mrs. Rowe?”

“We talked last month. I think it’s in your best interests to explore all of your options.”

“You don’t think I can make pros?” This is the man who has encouraged me almost as

much as my dad.

“No,” he says slowly. “I believe you can, but I also know that your father isn’t presenting you with everything on the table. Your father’s a good man, but I consider you one of my own sons and I wouldn’t be helping you if I didn’t make that introduction.”

My world tips. Coach and Dad have always

seen eye-to-eye. Why the change? “I’m not doing the writing competition.”

“Ryan,” Coach says with an exasperated

sigh. “We’ll discuss this later. You have company.” His gaze wanders over my shoulder and dread settles in my gut.

Mark waits for me at the bottom of the

bleachers while Beth remains in her seat at the top. I make a sweep of the area to be sure no
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one from town is around to see this reunion.

“Hey,” Mark says. “You played a hell of a game.”

I inhale deeply, attempting to find a center.

Mark left. Dad looked him straight in the eye and asked him to choose. My brother didn’t choose me. I asked him to stay and fight and he didn’t. I asked him to come home and he

didn’t. And now he thinks he can show up here and everything will be fine. Guess what? It’s not fine. “What are you doing here?”

Mark plays linebacker for the University of Kentucky. In his freshman year, he gained twenty-five pounds of muscle. He’s a big son-of-a-bitch. “I want to talk, Ry.”

“I think your silence since this summer said everything.” I walk past him and gesture for Beth to come off the bleachers.

“I wanted to contact you, but each time I tried I couldn’t. I kept thinking about Mom and Dad and I needed space.”

Space. Why didn’t he just knee me in the

groin? I throw out my arms. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Mark says loud enough for the few remaining spectators
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to hear.

“Yeah.” I keep walking. “It does.”

In lethargic steady strides, Beth’s feet plunk against the metal of the bleachers as she wanders down. “What are you doing?”

“We need to go. You need an hour,

remember? And then we’re going out to

dinner.”

“We have time. Go talk to your brother.”

“It’s fine, Beth.” Mark responds for me in a tone that indicates an apology. “I’m glad I got a chance to meet you. Don’t let Groveton

smother you to death.”

She gives him one of her rare genuine smiles and I want to hit something—hard. “Good luck with your game next week.”

Mark shoves his hands into his jeans as he leaves. “You know where to find me when

you’re ready, Ry.”

Beth watches him until he’s out of sight.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” I stalk off to the parking lot and toss my stuff into the Jeep.

Beth slams her passenger door shut and I

answer her anger by slamming my own. “Tell me where I’m supposed to be taking you.”

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“The strip mall a half mile before your

pitching facility.”

My head jerks. That place is a step above ghetto. “I’m not leaving you there.”

“I didn’t ask for your approval. You made a deal with me. It’s your decision if you want to keep it.” Her frozen blue eyes pierce into me.

I yank hard on the bill of my hat and peel out onto the main road. She’s angry. I’m angry.

We stay silent as I drive the thirty minutes to the other side of town. There’s enough

electricity in the air to propel the car without gas. One word from either of us could cause an explosion.

Beth obviously likes playing with fire. “Is your brother one of those guys that can be awesome to strangers, then turn into a

complete dick in private? Did he piss in your Cheerios every morning before you went to school?”

“No,” I grit out. “He was a great brother.”

“Then what is wrong with you? He said you guys haven’t talked in three months and that he was here to see you. What’s so damned

important that you couldn’t take three seconds out of your day to say hi?”

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I turn on the radio. She turns it off. I

pound my hand against the wheel. “I thought you were in a hurry for your one hour of

freedom in Louisville.”

“Waiting fifteen minutes so you can talk to your brother isn’t going to ruin my one hour.

Let’s try this again. What’s going on?”

“He’s gay.”

Beth blinks. “You already told me that.

Catch me up on the you being an asshole part.”

I am not an asshole. The whole reason for this day was for her to see that I’m not an asshole. “He left, okay? He left and he’s made it clear he’s not coming back.”

She angles her body toward me. “Tell me

that’s a self-imposed decision Mark made.”

Beth doesn’t tell me squat about her family, yet she expects perfection from mine. “My dad threw him out and Mark didn’t even try to see what would happen if he attempted to stay. Are you happy now?”

“No. So your dad’s a homophobic bastard.

What’s your excuse?”

The anger bursts out of me. “What did you expect me to do? Go against my dad? He told me and Mom that we weren’t allowed to talk to
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him anymore. He’s my dad, Beth. What

would you have done?”

I don’t bother telling her that I tried reaching out to him or that Mark didn’t respond to me…until now. Now when it’s too late.

“Grown a pair of balls, that’s what I would have done. God, Ryan, you are an asshole. Your brother is gay and you toss him out of your life because you’re too much of a pansy to stand up to your father.”

I pull into the strip mall and park in the back of the lot. This place is a shithole. Down by the Laundromat, a guy in a wife-beater screams at a girl with bleached-blond hair holding a diaper-clad baby on her hip. Guys my age

smoke cigarettes while purposely

skateboarding into girls coming in and out of the stores. Someone needs to teach them

respect.

Beth hops out of the Jeep. Her hair blows in the breeze behind her as she strides toward the shopping center. Why is this girl always

walking away from me? I jump out after her, catch her hand, and turn her to face me. I thought I pissed Beth off by nominating her to homecoming court. The fire blazing out of her
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eyes tells me this anger is on a completely different level. She needs to hear me out and understand my dad—to understand my family.