Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance (19 page)

“Who cares if he’s jealous?” she said, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“Who’s going to be there?”

“Seniors, of course.”

Of course. “I’m only a sophomore.”

Her shoulders rose and fell, making her chest bounce a little with the action. Tits were my Kryptonite. I let my eyes find hers again, and she smirked.

“You’re the star quarterback. No one cares what grade you’re in.”

“How am I going to get home?” No doubt the party would run late, and the buses didn’t travel out to her neighborhood much after dusk.

“My parents will be out of town. You can sleep over, and I’ll take you home in the morning.”

The idea of not sleeping at my house won me over. “Fine, I’ll be there.”

She grinned and moved over to plant a kiss on my lips. I let her but didn’t take it further. I got the mechanics of how to kiss. It was a lot like sex, only fucking a girl’s mouth with my tongue. But kissing complicated things. Whenever I kissed a girl, they seemed to read a lot more in the relationship than there really was. So I’d stopped doing it.

“See you tomorrow,” she chirped before she practically bounced out the door.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, buying time. There was no reason to go home right now and every reason not to. Dad would be home from his current job as one of the crew on a fishing boat. He was gone in the mornings and home in the afternoons. It was better to get home later after he’d had several beers and finally passed out in his favorite chair. Still, I had nothing to do, and I’d been kicked out more than once by teachers who’d caught me in the halls too late after school. I sighed and walked as slowly as I could the few miles home.

When I arrived, Dad’s beat-up truck wasn’t parked in the drive. My mood suddenly lightened. I wouldn’t have to hide in my room. I could get something to eat.

Only when I walked in, Mom was there. Sandy made good on his word and sent her money every month. She quit one of her jobs and only worked at night at the bar because she made more in tips than she had as an administrative assistant at the accountant’s office in town. But she was usually gone to work by now.

The sound of the door closing caused her eyes to lift and land on me. She’d been leaning on the counter, and she straightened. She focused red-rimmed eyes on me and my heart sank. Mom wasn’t a crier. If she had been crying, then shit was bad. Before I could ask, she moved in my direction with purpose. I’d grown a lot in the past two years, so when she wrapped her arms around my chest, the top of her head was several inches below my shoulder.

“Kelley,” she sobbed.

Immediately on red alert, I was unprepared for her tears. I felt helpless under their weight. Did we have to move? Had she lost her job? Had Dad died? If that last were true, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“What’s wrong?”

When she didn’t answer, I created enough distance to glance in her eyes.

“It’s Sandy.”

The world tilted, or it felt that way.

“Is he hurt? Is he coming home?” I asked, hopeful.

Despite what I saw in her expression, I hoped I was right. Only, her next words would haunt me for the rest of my life.

She shook her head. “No, he’s…he’s dead.”

I stumbled back away from her. I bumped into Dad’s recliner and sat, not caring he’d kick my ass if he found me there. A burn started in my eyes, followed by an ache so deep, like an axe was embedded in my chest.

“He can’t be,” I choked.

Mom came over and hovered over me where I sat. It was her turn to comfort me as she had all my life. She wrapped her tiny arms around me and pressed my face into her chest like I did when I was little. After all, her kisses on all my cuts and scrapes would instantly heal them. Maybe she could somehow heal my broken heart. But it wouldn’t heal. That hole could never be filled. My brother, my best friend, was gone.

I’d spoken to him the week before. He was looking forward to coming home in two years. He was tired of death, and it claimed him.

Between sobs and maybe some of my own, muffled words of explanation came out of her. “I got the call. His funeral will be on Saturday.”

The next few hours were a blur. I didn’t know who clung to who, Mom or me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my brother. We couldn’t afford Internet or those fancy phones. So I had only heard his voice over the years he’d been deployed overseas.

I rocked in my chair like a mental case. I wanted nothing more than to break things. But we didn’t have much and what we did, Mom had worked hard to afford. So I yelled out my frustrations at God. Why couldn’t he have taken our father instead?

When Dad got home, shit got real. “What the fuck, Kelley.”

Immediately, my defenses went up, but a moment too late. The first blow came because he thought I’d caused Mom to cry. It was one of the few times he acted like he cared about her, so I took the lick, welcoming the coming numbness. My swing was all air. Dad evaded.

Mom cried out when she stepped between us and caught the punch meant for me. Blood trickled down the corner of the mouth she covered.

“See, boy, what you made me do.”

I no longer believed in superheroes, but in that moment, I wished for one. Seeing Mom hurt made me reckless. I barreled into my father only to hit a brick wall. He swung up, catching me in the eye. I managed to stand tall and with my eye swelling, blindly took a swing or two, wanting my life to end knowing nothing good would come from my brother’s death.

“James, stop. Sandy’s dead.”

Dad listened to Mom for once and his hand dropped to his side while I panted. Mom’s words echoed in my head, and I dropped to my knees. Water leaked from my eyes as it sank down deep. He wasn’t coming home. He wouldn’t rescue us. I was Mom’s only hope.

“What?” Dad murmured.

“Sandy died last night from IED,” Mom answered.

Like me, my father wanted to break something. It turned out I was the only thing he could break that would eventually mend. In my prone positon, he gave me no defense. No matter how hard I fought back, the blows rained down as I sought oblivion.

Before it came, I yelled in my head at God and the government. My brother died for his country, making this world a safer place. Only if I lived through the nightmare, his death made me less safe. Dad was sure to continue to show his displeasure that I was his surviving son.

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#ulgycry #beautifullovestory #secondchance

Reviews for Cruel & Beautiful

"This story is just as the title reads-Cruel & Beautiful. It is a must read. BEST READ of 2015 by far! I can't even express how amazing this story is. A.M Hargrove & Terri E. Lane. You both have absolutely devoured my heart and have blown my mind. A FANTASTIC job ladies! I am in AWE!" ... Kristie from
Lovenbooks
"Beautifully tragic & emotionally charged, it's one of those books that will stay with me for a long while. It's just one of those stories that will touch you on a visceral level. It's impossible not to have it affect you, it's just that moving."  Dirty Girl Romance
"I honestly have so few words to describe what I am feeling after finishing Cruel & Beautiful. This book was everything. It was every emotion possible, and it was one of the best (if not the best!) book I have read all year
."  Ramblings From This Chick
"Fantastically written with a searingly sweet romance that will captivate you, melting your heart, bringing you to your knees as you are enraptured by these characters. Sprinkled with humorous moments; this breathtaking story is a must read!!" 
Tsk Tsk What 2 Read
"OhMyGod, this book blew me away, 5 stars is nowhere near enough! Cruel & Beautiful is a powerful, heartbreaking and heartwarming collaboration between A.M. Hargrove & Terri E. Laine. This has to be one of my favourites of the year. AMAZING!" 
Make My Day Bookclub
"This is one of my top 2015 reads of the year! It was so heart breaking  and will stay with you long after you finish reading. It hit me in all the feels and took me on the rollercoaster of a lifetime." 
Fictional Men's Page For Book Ho's

Begin to read on next page.

A RASPY VOICE WAKES
me up. That’s not quite true because I don’t really sleep anymore. My body hovers in that place that’s not exactly sleep and not exactly awareness. After the last year, I’m not sure if I’ll ever get a solid night’s sleep again.

“Cate?”

“Yeah? What is it?” I’m instantly on high alert.

“I think it’s time. I want to go to the hospital.”

The words I’ve dreaded for weeks punch me in the gut. But I refuse to let him see it. “Yeah, okay. Let me get dressed.”

“Cate? I think you need to call 911. I’m pretty sure I can’t get up to walk.” He inhales and it’s then I hear the faint rattle deep in his chest. Oh, god, how will I ever get through this?

“Drew?” I lean over him and press my cheek against his. What used to be firm flesh is now nothing but skin wrapped around bone. My hands latch onto to his shoulders and it’s much the same. All the mass has vanished, stolen by the disease that ravages his beautiful body and soul.

“It’s going to be fine, Cate, I promise. Things will be good. Just call 911.” He struggles to clear his throat.

Always the positive one. I want to yell and scream, stomp my feet and smash things. But I do none of that. I look into his cloudy blue eyes that were once so clear and stunning and only nod. I pick up the bedside phone and make the call, asking the voice on the other end to tell the paramedics not to use the sirens or flashers and explain why. When they arrive at our house, I lead them to Drew, and then follow the ambulance to the hospital. On the way, I make the dreaded family calls.

Hollow. That’s what I am as I watch them wheel Drew in on the gurney. Everything has been ripped out of me—my guts, my heart, my soul. I bite my knuckle as I stand there. He knows what’s happening. He’s a doctor. He’s charted everything out and explained it all to me, though I’ve refused to believe half of it. Why did he have to be right? My mind only wants to accept certain things. And this isn’t one of them.

When we finally get to a room, he sleeps. The deep purple smudges beneath his eyes are a stark contrast to his pale skin. It reminds me of a time when he used to be so tanned. And his hair, which is downy fuzz grown back from the last and final round of failed chemo, is so different now from the thick mass of messy waves that were always sun streaked, even in winter. In this state, little more than a skeleton, he’s still my perfect Drew. And I ask myself again, for the thousandth time, how am I going to deal with this?

Later in the day, when Drew wakes up, he beckons me to his bedside.

“Cate, you know when I first saw you at that party, I knew you were my one. My it girl. And then you put up such damn resistance to me, I didn’t think I’d ever get you out on a date. But I did.”

I suck on my lower lip, trying not to outright sob as I remember.

The left corner of his upper lip curls, his little trademark that I love so much. It plows into me like a damn tank and I want to crawl into the bed next to him and cling to him forever.

“I knew if I could get you out on a date, I could win you over. Thank god I did. You’ve been my life, Cate, my reason for being. I’m only sorry it all turned out like this. This,” and he motions with his hand up and down his body, “wasn’t part of my plan for you. I wanted the whole deal—marriage, and we got that, but I wanted kids, an SUV, a big house, and grandkids, too. I’m so sorry I fucked it all up, babe. But listen, I love you more than my life. And hear me out now. I want you to go home.”