Hooked (Harlequin Teen) (13 page)

“Better make sure we lock our cars tonight,” he continued.
“This neighborhood’s going to shit.” Then his eyes landed on me, and I felt the
undertow begin to pull me lower.

“Stop it, Seth,” Ryan said over the laughter, but there was a
seed of a grin in his voice. That made everything worse.

“Hey, when are we going in the hot tub?” Tiffany asked, her
words slurring.

Hot tub?

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” I blurted, turning to
Ryan.

Everyone laughed, Gwyneth loudest of all. She walked closer.
“Oh, I’m sure we could find you a nice one-piece from Riley’s closet, right,
Ryan?” Her thick eyelashes batted with mock helpfulness.

“Stop it, Gwyneth,” Ryan said. I had some satisfaction knowing
Ryan was the only one not laughing. But from the corner of my eye, I noticed
that the corner of his mouth did turn up.

“Seriously, Fred,” Gwyneth said. “That
is
your name, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“By the end of the night, bathing suits are pretty much
optional,” she added, looking over my head to Ryan with a grin on her face that
said they shared some kind of a secret. The people at the table laughed
again.

My insides lurched. What was it about white people and hot
tubs?

Then I turned to Ryan. “Where’s your bathroom?” Breathing
became difficult. It was like duct tape was pulled tight around every single one
of my ribs.

Ryan leaned closer. His breath smelled like beer. “Just off the
kitchen, underneath the stairs.”

The table turned quiet as I stood away from my chair. I kept my
eyes lowered. I really didn’t want to watch six pairs of eyes tracking me.

“I’ll go find you a suit,” Gwyneth said, again with the fake
sisterly voice, but I ignored her. “Don’t worry. It won’t show—” her eyes
drifted to my boobs, or lack thereof “—much.”

She stepped away from the back door so that I could pass. It
was an effort for me not to leap through the opened door.

I not only wanted to leap. I wanted to run.

It seemed like I walked forever before I finally found the
bathroom underneath the stairs. The light was already on, and I quickly closed
the door, locked it and then braced both hands against the edges of a marble
sink. Ice-cold, the stone jarred my skin. I took several deep breaths, waiting
for my heartbeat to slow, even as laughter from the back patio floated beneath
the door between pauses in the music.

It was like a nightmare.

Slowly, I raised my head and opened my eyes. A row of round,
overly bright lights surrounded the upper half of an oval mirror. I stared back
at my reflection and touched my cheek. My skin burned at the contact. The
corners of my eyes were moist with tears, and my lips were dry. I bit my bottom
lip to keep from crying. The last thing I needed was to cry inside Ryan
Berenger’s house.

I turned the silver faucet, and cool water rushed between my
fingers. I lowered my head and patted my fingers against my face, soothing the
heat on my cheeks. I shut off the water and stood straight again. Forcing three
long breaths, I ran my fingers through my hair, so that it hung loose behind my
shoulders.

Then I turned out the light and opened the door. Instead of
walking toward the back door, I walked toward the front, the balls of my feet
barely touching the tile.

“Fred?” Ryan’s voice stopped me at the door.

Reluctantly, I turned around. “I need to leave.” My voice had
all the signs of cracking.

Ryan crossed the foyer and stood below a chandelier that
sparkled like a wedding cake. He reached out and lightly grasped my elbow. His
fingers were warm. I really wished he hadn’t touched me. “Why?” he said.

“I promised my dad I wouldn’t be late,” I said quickly as tears
began to build behind my eyes. Someone coughed from the top of the landing. My
gaze darted up the stairs. A girl with a blond ponytail smiled at me, but her
smile was apologetic. She had Ryan’s smile. Surely she was his sister.

“Riley,” Ryan said. “A little privacy. Do you mind?”

Riley’s small shoulders slumped forward. Then her slender body
shot up to a standing position before she pirouetted off the stairwell and into
the shadows without a single word.

Ryan returned his attention to me. Softly, he said, “But you
just got here. Party’s just starting.”

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not a big fan of hot tubs.”

“I got that. It’s okay, Fred. You don’t have to do anything you
don’t want to.”

“I know. That’s why I need to go, Ryan. Sorry.”
This was a mistake.

But he didn’t let go of my arm.

My eyes dropped to his hand at my elbow. “I need to go
now,
” I said and tugged against his hand so that his
fingers opened like flower petals.

Ryan frowned. His hand fell heavily against his leg. “Look, I’m
sorry about what Seth called you. If that’s why you’re mad....” And before his
next breath, he added, “I told him not to say that. I should have said
something. I’m sorry.”

My eyes widened with disgust. “He’s said it before?”

Ryan’s eyes dipped sheepishly, just as Seth’s had done.
“Yeah.”

“A lot?”

He exhaled. “A couple of times.”

I chuckled darkly. “Guess it’s kind of funny, then.” My voice
caught between breaths. “A big joke.”
I’m a big
joke.

“Fred,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “It’s not
like that.”

“Like what?”

Ryan paused, considering this. “It’s just Seth. That’s how he
is.”

“Impressive.”

“Fred.” Ryan reached without touching me, but I’d already made
it to the door. “Wait.”

“I’ve got to go.” I opened the door and stepped outside. “I
should never have come. Bye, Ryan.”

Ryan stayed silent. This time he didn’t try to stop me.

I jogged down the flagstone path to the sidewalk. I didn’t look
back. And I waited until I was inside the van before I allowed myself to
cry.

Chapter 22
Ryan

“DID SHE
LEAVE?”

I heard Gwyneth’s quick footsteps before I heard her voice.
I was waiting in the opened doorway, watching Fred climb into her van. The
driver’s door creaked loudly enough for me to hear. My head wanted to go after
her, but my feet stayed planted in the doorway.

“Please say yes,” Gywneth added with a forced chuckle meant
to get me to laugh.

But I couldn’t. I felt like a tool. Again. “Stop it, Gwyn,”
I said, finally finding my voice.

Gwyneth wrapped her arms around my waist, and my entire body
stiffened. Her hands were ice-cold. “Why’d you invite her anyway?” she said,
pressing her mouth against my shoulder.

I continued looking down the street, the warmth from Fred’s
skin still lingering on my fingers. Her van eventually started up on the third
try. For a second, I kind of wished that it’d stall. Then she’d have to come
back.

“Well?” Gwyneth prodded. She let her arms drop, and it was
easier to breathe again, although just barely.

“She’s okay,” I said finally. “I like her.”

Gwyneth’s tone grew sharper. “You mean, as in you
like
her?”

I sighed. I wasn’t about to explain everything to Gwyneth.
She wouldn’t get it. “She’s just a friend.” I finally turned to face her.

Gwyneth’s eyes narrowed. “But we’re your friends.” She made
a circle with her finger. “Seth, me, Henry, Zack. Right?”

I didn’t say anything. Yeah, they’d all been my friends
forever, but this was different in ways I couldn’t explain, least of all to
Gwyneth.

“Right?” she asked again, her tone sharper.

I nodded.

Gwyneth licked her lips. They were still pink and shiny.
“And us...” she started but then hesitated. “We’re still tight. Aren’t we?”

It was as if someone had stuffed my throat with a towel.

“Ryan?” She tugged on my arm, kind of helplesslike, at least
for her. Oddly, my chest tightened. I wasn’t making this easy for anybody.

Fred’s van drove down the street, chugging like a diesel
truck. Gwyneth looked around me and glared at the dark street.

“Jeez,” Gwyneth murmured. “Nice ride.”

“Stop it.” I closed the door. “Leave it alone.”

“Chill, Ryan,” Gwyneth snapped back. “Can we just get back
to your party?”

“Yeah.” I sighed, and despite knowing better, I draped my
arm across her shoulders, mostly because I wanted to get away from the door.

We walked down the hallway and through the kitchen where the
music was cranked so loudly we wouldn’t hear each other.

Chapter 23
Fred

WHEN I GOT
home from Ryan’s party, Trevor and Sam Tracy were seated outside the
trailer on plastic chairs. Trevor was drinking a beer, the silver can shining
underneath the glow from the front-porch light.

Before I got out of the van, I wiped my nose and ran my fingers
through my hair. If I was lucky, I could make it to the front door without
stopping.

“Hey, Freddy,” Trevor called out. “Look who stopped by.” It was
impossible not to notice Sam. It would be easier not to notice the sun.

“Hey, Sam,” I said brightly. Too brightly. I kept walking.

“Wait up. Can’t you hang for a minute?” Trevor said. “Sam
walked all the way over here to visit.”

Now I had to stop. Sam probably lived a few miles from us. So I
swallowed and then spun around. I walked to where they sat and plopped down on
the only other chair. It happened to be right next to Sam. “Hi.”

He smiled. “Fred.”

“Where’ve you been?” Sam asked.

“Nowhere.” I let my hair spill forward on my shoulders. It was
hard to sit still.

“Dad said you went to a party,” Trevor said. “I’m surprised he
let you drive by yourself.”

My teeth clenched. I wasn’t in the mood to be smothered. “Well,
he did.”

“Lots of crazies on the road, Freddy,” Trevor said, switching
to the Overprotective Big Brother Voice that drove me nuts. “Two psycho white
boys in a monster truck almost ran me off the road the other night.”

My jaw dropped. My brother was overprotective, but he was the
only brother I had, the only one I wanted.

“Did you get a plate number?” Sam said.

“Couldn’t,” Trevor said, taking a sip from his can. “I was too
busy trying to avoid being roadkill.”

“What’d they look like?” Sam said.

Trevor’s lips sputtered, remembering. “High school kids,
driving daddy’s brand-new wheels. Blond Ken dolls. Think they’re The Shit. You
know the type.”

Sam nodded, and my entire body stiffened. If Trevor had said
they’d been driving a Jeep, I might have vomited the dinner I was too nervous to
eat.

“You probably know ’em,” Trevor said, his gaze sweeping between
Sam and me. “I’d bet my motorcycle they go to your school.”

I started to stand, anxious to bolt for the trailer. I didn’t
know how much more I could take before my head would explode. From Trevor’s
inquisition and boys running my brother off the road like it was a game to the
sad fact that I’d been foolish enough to think that Ryan’s party would be
special, my insides raged like a dust storm.

“Wait, Freddy,” Trevor said, reaching out to stop me. “Tell us
about this party. Seriously. What kind of party?”

Trapped, I sank back into my chair. I really didn’t want to
explain. I barely wanted to think about it. “Yeah, it was just a thing. A
golf-party thing.”

“Where?”

I sighed. “Ryan Berenger’s house.”

Sam bristled beside me. “What’s he drive?”

“A Jeep,” I said quickly. Relieved.

Trevor’s lips sputtered. “Spoiled white kids. What do you want
with them?”

“We’re on the same team,” I said.

“That doesn’t mean you have to party with them. Or does
it?”

I shrugged my shoulders. After tonight, that didn’t seem
possible.

Trevor took a swig from his beer and crushed the can between
his fingers, his eyes bouncing between Sam and me. “You guys hungry? I’m
thinking about heating up a pizza.”

Sam nodded, but I said, “I’m not hungry.”

“More for us, right, Sam?” Trevor winked. “I’ll be right
back.”

After Trevor trotted off to the kitchen, Sam said, “So how was
it?” filling the silence. “The party, I mean.” I could tell that it bugged him
as much as Trevor, maybe even more, that I’d gone to the stupid party.

My temples began to throb. I really didn’t want to talk about
it. “It was fine.” I got up and walked to my putting green.

Sam followed behind me. “If it was so fine, why have you been
crying?”

I froze just for a second before I kept walking. “Have
not.”

“Have, too. Your cheeks are all wet.” Then he paused long
enough for a long inhale. “I’m only going to ask you once, Fred. Did any of
those dudes do anything to you?”

“No,” I blurted. “And you’ve got to stop this, Sam. Stop
babysitting me. Between you and my brother, you’re both driving me crazy.” I
reached for my putter, which was leaning against the house, but Sam’s hand was
over mine before I could grab it. His palm was hot.

Slowly, I slipped my hand away from his and began to walk
toward the road. Away from the glow from the front-porch light. Away from
everybody. I didn’t want Sam to see my face. I didn’t want to admit what he
already knew.

“Hold up.” Sam followed behind me.

But I kept walking, the desert crunching below my shoes.

“You can tell me, you know. You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” I said, and that was true. I’d known Sam Tracy my
whole life. We were the same age, had gone to grade school together. Our parents
had gone to high school together. Sam had always been so nice to me, so
protective. Like family. Like a brother.

He pulled back on my shoulder, stopping me before I reached the
dark road. “Then why won’t you tell me what really happened?”

I turned to face him, his hand still heavy on my shoulder.
“Because it’s stupid.”

His hand squeezed my shoulder. “You’re the smartest girl I
know, Fred. You’re not stupid.”

I choked back a sob, searching for his eyes in the dark.
Everything blended into the night around him except the whites from his eyes.
“My stupidity might surprise you.”

Sam inhaled loudly.

And the next thing I knew, he reached for my other shoulder. He
pulled me closer. Then he bent lower and kissed both of my cheeks. They were
still damp. It was like he wanted to kiss the tears away.

I swallowed, hard. “Sam...”

But he said nothing.

“Sam,” I said again, but the third time he leaned in, he
covered my mouth with his.

My eyes popped open.

His lips pressed against mine, waiting. He pulled me
tighter.

I couldn’t stop myself. His lips were soft. I reached my arms
around his neck and felt his muscles respond underneath my fingers. His whole
body warmed against mine, and he pulled us closer.

Every inch of me knew what we were doing was wrong, but I
couldn’t pull away. The sky was dark, his body hugged mine like a blanket, and
he wanted me. Somebody wanted me. And in that moment I needed somebody, too.

* * *

As soon as the sun came up the next morning, I drove
with Dad to the Ahwatukee Golf Club. I’d barely slept, didn’t want to sleep,
especially after my kiss with Sam. We’d crossed a line, and I wondered if we
could ever find our way back. When I’d driven him home, neither one of us had
said anything to fill the awkward silence.

Practicing golf would be good. I needed something that I could
control.

After Dad parked the van, we climbed into his work cart parked
alongside the maintenance office. He gave me a ride to the driving range. I sat
in the back of his cart next to his rakes, brooms and shovels.

“See you right back here around five o’clock.” Dad forced a
smile, but his eyelids were red and puffy from lack of sleep. When Mom had
returned home from work last night, she’d proceeded to keep everyone awake as
she’d finished an entire bottle of red wine. I’d tried to block out her voice
beneath the pillow on my bed, but Dad didn’t have it as easy. Between glasses,
Mom had rattled off the usual list of regrets and complaints, that she hated her
job and why shouldn’t she pack the van and drive to San Diego and live on a
beach and collect seashells. By the time she had reached the end of the bottle,
she had pretty much declared that she hated everyone, herself especially.

“Sure you’ll be okay?”

I smiled at Dad. He always said that. And I always replied with
the same answer. “Yeah, Dad. I’ll be fine.” I was used to being fine because
there was no point in being anything else. “I need to practice for the
tournament next week. Remember?”

“Stop by the pro shop. John should be able to get you a
walk-on, but not till later.” John Dieter was one of the club’s pro golfers. He
always let me play for free near the end of the day if it wasn’t too busy.

“Okay, Dad.” I flashed him another reassuring smile. “What
about you? You okay?”

“Me?”
Dad brushed off the question.
His lips sputtered. “Don’t worry about your old man.”

My throat tightened when Dad smiled back. The corners of his
eyes crinkled more deeply than yesterday. He looked markedly older, somehow.
Sadder. My own heart ached, looking back at him.

“Okay, then.” He turned toward the course and the day that
wouldn’t end without him. “If you need anything, Murray can always reach me on
the two-way.”

“I know. I’ll be fine. Don’t work so hard. You
look...tired.”

Dad lifted his hand, brushing off my concern. His lips
sputtered before his rough palm cupped my cheek. Then he hopped into his work
cart and drove down the path to the maintenance office. The next time I’d see
him, he’d be covered in grass clippings and smelling of wet mulch. Someday I
wanted to do something so big that Dad wouldn’t have to toil all day on a golf
course. Someday...

I sighed before turning my attention to the driving range. The
range stretched as long as a football field and was equally as lush. And it was
completely empty, except for the usual birds, jackrabbits and hungry
coyotes.

I was the first person there. I usually was on Saturday
mornings. With my golf bag threaded over my right shoulder and the handle of a
metal bucket of practice balls hanging from my left hand, I trudged to the
farthest slot on the ridge overlooking the course, my favorite spot. It was
closest to the mesquite trees and provided shade in the afternoon.

When I reached the spot, I balanced my bag against the stand,
placed the bucket next to it and pulled out my driver. I palmed the club’s face,
all chipped and pockmarked from years of use. And just like always, I closed my
eyes and took a few practice swings, enjoying the brush of the cool morning air
against my cheeks. I swung my club back and forth like a pendulum. It felt good.
It always felt good. I waited till the movement loosened all of the muscles in
my back and shoulders.

One swing, then another.

Back and forth.

Quickly, my body began to relax.

Because I was alone, I started to hum softly with my eyes
closed.

More practice swings.

Back and forth. Back and forth...

“Pretty song.”

My arms froze midswing while my eyes popped open.

“Sounds kinda sad, though.”

“Ryan?” I turned as my arms dropped.

Ryan Berenger stood a club’s length in front of me with his bag
strung casually across his back.

“Where’d you come from?”

A careful smile lifted his lips.

My own lips felt like rubber and worked about, as well. “What
are you doing here?” I leaned against my club like it was a cane, trying to act
casual but failing miserably.

His chin lifted. “Tell me where you learned that song and I’ll
tell you.”

I choked back a nervous laugh. I had no intention of sharing
anything, especially after last night.

But he smiled that smile again, the one that made my knees a
little wobbly. “Come on, tell me.”

I caved too easily. “My mother used to sing it to me.” After I
said it, I hated myself for sharing something so personal. And it sounded lame.
Of all the songs I could have hummed, why that one?

“It’s pretty.”

My lips pursed, suspicious. “Yeah, you said that. Now tell me
what you’re doing here.”

“Aren’t I allowed?”

I shrugged indifferently, but I was still beyond curious. I
figured he and his friends had partied all night long. How could he manage golf
at the crack of dawn? “Go for it. There are plenty of open spots.” I waved at
the rows between us and then turned toward my bag to avoid his eyes. But then I
heard his footsteps across the grass, his bag jingling. He didn’t walk away like
I’d assumed he would; he walked closer.

My knees wobbled again.

“Mind if I practice next to you?”

I raised my eyes in more mock disinterest and then began to
fumble for something in the front pocket of my golf bag. A brown sack with a
cheese sandwich plopped out, along with a water bottle. I stuffed them back
inside and then pulled out a tee.

“Plan on being here long?”

“As long as it takes.” I exhaled without looking at him. I teed
up my first practice ball.

“Seth and I were supposed to tee off at 8:30, but he couldn’t
make it. He’s kind of hungover from last night.”

I rolled my eyes.
Seth.
I was
beginning to loathe even the sound of his name. “Color me surprised.”

“Anyway, there’s a spot in my foursome at 8:30. Wanna play? If
you don’t, it’ll just go to waste.”

“I didn’t bring enough money—” I said before I could stop
myself. Money wasn’t the issue.

“Don’t worry about the green fees. My dad’s already paid for
them. Hey,” he added amiably. “It’s the least I can do, especially after last
night, right? Sorry I was such a jerk.” He smiled, but his eyes flashed with a
shade of sadness, even desperation. So unlike him. But it faded in the next
heartbeat, like he wanted—needed—to hide that part of himself.

I inhaled, considering my options. Did I really want to spend
four hours with Ryan Berenger and his friends on a perfectly good Saturday? “I
don’t know...” I hedged. The more I thought about it, the worse the idea
sounded.

“Oh, come on, Fred. Play with me. It’s just golf. I promise I
don’t bite. Not usually.” He grinned.

I had to stop my own smile, and I’m pretty sure my traitor
cheeks flushed.