HARDPRESSED (Ocean Falls Trilogy Book 1) Page 6

  Carter shot warning glares at Greyson while his blatant look of disappointment was saved just for me. Greyson returned the glare, but at the same time, he looked as if he’d rather the floor open up and swallow him whole. Yeah, been there. If truth be told, I would have gladly pulled the lever.

  My worst nightmare played out that morning, minus the bloodshed. We were grown-ups for once and kept guarded smiles on our faces as Paisley took it all in. She was beyond thrilled that her idol was standing in her home, and never questioned why. She was too busy telling her father about her adventure the day before.

  The coffee had gone cold, and after many hugs and kisses, Carter took Paisley by the hand and headed for the door. I was just about to exhale when he looked over his shoulder, back towards me.

  “Presley, a word?”

  We walked in silence towards his car and had barely made it off the porch before he scooped her up. She immediately began to doze off on her father’s shoulder. It was a long ride; she would be back asleep within minutes. Once she was settled in, headphones in place while watching her favorite movie, he cracked her window just a bit and then joined me at the back of his car.

  I wasn’t in the mood for any kind of lecture, but I braced myself for it nonetheless. He sauntered towards me, his smile bright but forced. He caught me off guard when he lifted and planted me on the trunk.

  “What are you doing, Presley?” He squeezed my fingers for reassurance, a reminder that I could tell him anything. Only what was there to tell? None of this had been my doing. I hadn’t created this. My words wouldn’t come. I squeezed his fingers in response and attempted to make my escape.

  When my eyes didn’t meet his, he pressed for more.

  “Presley, you can talk to me. I love you. You know that, right?”

  “And I you, always.” And I did. We weren’t wired to make it as a couple, there had been no bring you to your knees type of love affair, but he would always hold a place in my heart. Always.

  “Say the word, Presley, and he’s out of here.”

  I thought the crisis had been averted, but behind his warm smile, Carter was on edge. In an effort to lighten the mood, I pulled out the big guns and went right for his weakness. Carter was the most ticklish person I had ever known, and while his secret was safe with me, I did use that little tidbit to my advantage when needed.

  The second my fingers made contact, he cried, “No. No. Presley, damn it!”

  He jumped back from me, and I couldn’t help but burst into a fit of laughter. I was exhausted, hungry, and stressed to the max; I needed the release. Carter seemed to realize it as well. A mischievous grin spread across his face, and he lunged.

  “Oh so it’s like that, huh?” he teased.

  Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed each of my ankles, causing me to slide to the very edge of the car trunk. I’m sure we looked like a couple of overgrown children. It was hard to tell who squealed the loudest. The more I struggled, the more he tickled and vice versa. Finally, he managed to croak out, “Okay, okay, I give!”

  Once again, I felt grateful. It hadn’t been the first time Carter was there when I needed him. Though my sides were sure to be sore the next day, those couple of minutes had helped to level me out.

  “Alright, up you go.” Carter reached under my arms to lift me off his trunk and back onto the sidewalk.

  His hands lingered a tick too long, and I wondered what was going through his mind.

  “You’re flushed,” he murmured.

  What I blurted out next put an abrupt end to his dreamy gaze. “How’s Matt?”

  He stepped back, creating a space I hadn’t known I needed. Playtime was over.

  “Are we really doing this, Presley? I mean, how many times do I have to say it? Paisley is top my priority, I would never —”

  I hated to cut him off, but he had taken it the wrong way. “It was just my way of saying if he’s in your life —”

  This time, it was Carter who cut me off.

  “Presley. I know my priorities, who my family is. Now please, drop it.”

  I didn’t quite understand what he was truly getting at, but I was too exhausted to press further. “Drive safe. Let me know when you get there.”

  He forced a smile, and with a quick peck to my cheek, they were off.

  Chapter 10

  Greyson

  The pretty fucker hadn’t changed one bit. Interesting how the cocky asshole just strolled in like he owned the place and everything inside it. Wait, maybe he did. It was possible.

  He hadn’t liked walking in to find me standing in the middle of the living room, that much was for sure. But Pres had gone with him so easily. Maybe this had been an even bigger mistake than I first thought.

  I forced one foot in front of another, stumbling my way towards the kitchen. Caffeine is what I needed to clear my mind and deal with this shit properly. Okay, fine, I wasn’t typically big on coffee, but figuring out Presley’s complicated ass machine was much better than pressing my nose to the window to watch what was going on outside.

  “Tsk, tsk. What did that machine ever do to you?” Belle’s voice was beginning to resemble that of nails on a chalkboard, but she was right. I was two seconds away from ripping the fucker from the wall. “Just let me do it. You kill her baby, and she’s liable to cut your ass.”

  I stumbled back as Belle made quick work of the machine. She said it would just be a minute. Apparently, sixty seconds was too long for me to have nothing to do. Next thing I knew, I was doing exactly what I had initially tried to avoid. Regret, immediate regret, filled me. I should have stuck with trying to figure out the damn coffee machine. My head swirled, and my stomach churned. Sure, Doc had said to expect it, but seeing the two of them together, so open, so free... Fuck.

  Years. It had been fucking years since I’d seen her laugh like that, giggle like that, flush like that. And his hands were all over her.

  “You may want to unclench a bit.”

  Damn it all, did this chick ever go away? I didn’t respond, nor could I look away. Belle stepped to my right and passed me a steaming cup while she took in, for herself, the scene that had me so captivated.

  “It’s like an animated Abercrombie ad, isn’t it?” She was right. They were picture perfect. They made sense.

  The grating of my molars intensified my headache but didn’t drown out the sound of Belle’s prying voice. Maybe if I slurped my coffee loud enough, she’d take the hint.

  “You loved her?”

  Or not.

  Jesus. Did this woman ever shut up? What kind of question was that anyway? I wasn’t here to get Presley back. I wasn’t quite sure what my why was just yet, but I chose to ignore the past tense in her question.

  “Any more coffee?” I asked, hoping she wouldn’t push on.

  “You’re dodging,” she replied.

  Damn her.

  “And you’re fishing.”

  She shot me a glare, studying, debating. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally replied, “Actually, I’m trying to decide if I should help your sorry ass or not.” Well, that was unexpected, and against my better judgment, I asked why. She studied me a bit longer before asking once more, “Did you love her?”

  Before I knew what was happening, the words spilled from my lips.

  “With every breath.”

  Belle beamed, and I immediately feared I’d just made a deal with the devil. I couldn’t make sense of it. Just hours ago, this Belle person had a gun pointed between my eyes, ready to send me to my maker if I so much as blinked. Flip the switch, and now she wanted to help me? It was all too much to wrap my head around.

  And why had those words spilled so easily from my lips? Loved. Past tense. We were kids then. Ancient history. Yet there I stood, the douchebag from high school who ruined her life. Though from what I had witnessed going on o
utside, what I did back then may have been for the better.

  He had at least made her laugh. Me? I only caused her pain. As I stood in her tiny living space, I wasn’t sure what my ultimate goal was, what I needed from this encounter. I only knew that I wouldn’t walk out her door until I got it.

  I turned away from the window a second time to pin my skeptical gaze on Belle, whose wheels were obviously turning. Her eyes widened in an I got it! typical of a bad late-night sitcom kind of way. I knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was fucked.

  “Now hear me out. First, you hurt her again, and I’ll saw your balls off with a plastic Play-Doh knife. I promise you that. Second, you gotta follow my lead. She’s pissed. You hurt her in a way no one else ever has or could. Her heart, though...it’s gold.”

  I knew she was right, every single word. Part of me was thrilled at the idea of Presley softening to me a bit. Closure. I couldn’t get it without her lowering her walls. Still, why would Belle be willing to help me? She hesitated when I asked. It was as though she needed a minute to ensure she chose her words wisely. Finally, she spoke the words that would cut me in half.

  “For as long as I’ve known her, I’ve only known the history there.”

  There being whatever it was between Presley and Chip. She glanced towards the window before she continued.

  “And ya know, that isn’t my story to tell. What I will say, though, is that despite wanting to castrate you where you stand, I see something in her eyes. There’s something when it comes to you. I can’t quite put my finger on what just yet, but whatever it is, that girl...that girl deserves it. My role will be to help you get out of your own damn way. This is also where I repeat that if you hurt her, you will answer to me.”

  Again, this girl was bat shit crazy. I breathed a little easier knowing Presley had someone like Belle in her corner, though. I had failed her, but this chick was solid.

  “So, you promise not to hurt her, and I’ll help you be able to stick around a few more days. Deal?”

  Just what was I getting myself into? I nodded once, and before I could walk away, she stepped closer.

  “But if I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna have to spill, buddy. And so help me, if I buy what you’re selling and you end up her hurting her all over again, I will deep fry your balls. Now, start from the beginning. My lips are sealed, but I want all of it. Go.”

  I could think of a million different things I’d rather do than confess. Even a root canal would be less painful. But she had a point. She didn’t know me from Adam, and clearly, she loved Pres. So, I took a deep unsteady breath and told my story. Our story.

  I go by Grey or more frequently, Tack. A nickname I earned under the Friday night lights back on my high school field, and let’s just say it stuck. My story is one that’s been told many times before. It was just Mama and me. We never had much, but she did her best. I was an ungrateful punk kid who didn’t make things any easier for her. I guess it’s true what they say that mothers really do know best. As soon as I could walk, she put a football in my hands and told me stories about all the past NFL greats.

  Sundays were always my favorite. Mama would make grilled cheese and root beer floats, we piled in front of the TV, and she would break down each play. She also made sure that I understood that while there are a lot of good players, only those who truly learn the game become great. Mental as it was physical.

  I was always tall for my age, but what eventually became my 6’4” frame didn’t begin to fill out ‘til my sophomore year. One year after I moved to Texas, after Mama passed away. I’ll never know if she had truly sensed some talent in me or just hoped to plant enough curiosity and interest to keep me out of trouble, off the streets.

  Cancer is a heartless bitch. It struck her down right before my eyes. There was no talking it out, no closure. I stepped off the plane in Houston and was greeted by Uncle Jake. He squeezed my shoulder, nodded once, and then asked if I was up for a bite to eat. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good man, just a man of few words. A man who had just lost his only sister.

  I didn’t care about that, though. She was all I had, and I don’t share, not even my grief. Uncle Jake wasn’t home much. He worked shift work out at the chemical plant. I spent most of my time at the local rec center taking my shit out on the treadmill, punching bag, weights, anything and everything. Thing was, they wouldn’t hit back. If I got caught fighting in the locker room one more time, I’d be kicked out for good. I was wound tight as fuck, and too young and hot-headed to know what to do with it. Not until her, that is.

  Summer was almost over, which meant I would soon have to enroll in my new school, the school I would hopefully graduate from so I could get a decent job and get the hell up and out of there. Texas wasn’t my home. Nowhere was really.

  The weight room wasn’t as crowded as usual, so I didn’t have to wait around for my turn with the bag. With Godsmack bleeding into my ears, I got lost throwing left hooks, rights. I kept pounding, straining, seeking something…anything. And then she touched me.

  I was startled from my trance by a feather-light tap to the back of my shoulder. Fuck that, I still had a good ten minutes before I had to give up my turn at the bag. When I spun to give that mother fucker a piece of my mind, I was brought up short.

  In hindsight, I can recognize the warmth amongst the spark of mischief in her deep brown eyes, but back then, I couldn’t even look past her pouty mouth and tight little body to appreciate her nod to pop culture greatness. “Why so serious?” she quipped. When I didn’t respond, she quickly grew timid under my harsh gaze. My heart rate, my breathing, it just wouldn’t slow. Did I mention that I couldn’t form a response? Instead of backing down, she stiffened her tiny form and reached out for my hand.

  With pursed lips, she examined the gashes across my knuckles, gashes I hadn’t even felt or noticed. “You’re bleeding,’’ she said, and the next thing I knew, I was being led out of the room and towards the front of the facility. No one so much as batted an eye when we walked behind the front desk, down the hall. Nor as we passed one office after another until finally, she led me into a small, brightly lit room that housed mats, a couple of bars, and weighted balls. There were a couple of scales and a basic desk with a chair on each side.

  “Sit,” she insisted, and since I still hadn’t found my voice, I did just that. I watched in both confusion and fascination as she made her way around the small room, opening drawers and cabinets. While she tossed bandages, alcohol, and a tube of God knows what onto the table, I took the time to get a better look at her.

  Legs, she was all legs. Long and lean. I may have been young and stupid, but even back then, I knew an athlete when I saw one, and whatever this girl did, I was willing to bet she was damn good at it. With a quick glance at her runners, or lack thereof, I guessed dancer. I later discovered that I was right. Fuck me, was I right.

  “Hey, you okay? Do you need me to call someone?” Right. I had been caught staring. Drooling too? What. The. Actual. Fuck. Given the situation, I managed to blame it on lack of hydration. Whether she believed me or not, she let me have it. The twitch at the corner of her mouth when she shoved a bottle of water into my chest didn’t go unnoticed, however.

  I soon discovered the little Drill Sergeant was named Presley. By summer’s end, she was Pres…my Pres.

  Belle kept her promise. She let me ramble on and on without so much as a single word. For whatever reason, once I stopped talking, I felt that sudden fight or flight urge, and every muscle in my body started to go ridged. I’d just spilled more to her than I had to my therapist in six months. Belle either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Instead, she rolled her shoulders back and cleared her throat.

  “Okay, this will hurt, but only for a second.”

  “Come on, Greyson, it’ll make you feel better, I promise. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just...what would you say to her if she were here right this
second?”

  Mama. She’d been gone for a couple years, yet it still hadn’t gotten any easier. Presley had the idea of me writing to Mama and letting the waves carry it out to sea. I had brushed it off as nonsense, but once I began to write, I was astonished by how much I had to say.

  Presley stayed close. She sat behind me on the hood of my old Jeep, her arms around my waist, and her cheek pressed between my shoulder blades. She was at peace here. The ocean called to her; it’s where she found her ‘zen,’ she said. The steady drumming of her heartbeat pressed against me. The rhythm was soothing, and the next thing I knew, I had written two and a half pages.

  Presley never pried. Instead, she sat patiently, completely content as I lost myself in the thoughts of what could have been. Mama would have loved Presley. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine Pres trying to decline one of Mama’s homemade meals. She would insist she put some meat on her bones while at the same time admiring Presley’s strength and dedication to her craft.

  They both loved calla lilies. Would Pres have wanted to help Mama in the garden? Presley must have felt my anxiety start to peak cause she wrapped her arms tighter around me, and I gave her hand a gentle squeeze in return. This perfect girl, my other everything. Why did I have to lose one in order to find the other? Why?!

  “Why?! Why?!” my own voice rang in my ear, but I barely recognized it.

  “Because you passed out again. That’s why. You were mumbling in your sleep, and it looks like your bruises have darkened.”

  I flinched when Presley pressed the ice pack to my face. Wait. She hit me. That crazy woman hit me! I didn’t realize I had a smirk on my face ‘til Presley started barking at her friend. She asked her if I had taken more pills and gone was my smirk. That’s how she remembered me. Popping pills, passing out, and mumbling incoherently.

  It was a mistake. I needed to get out of there, now.

  I hadn’t realized I’d said it out loud until Presley shut me down, reminding me of doctor’s orders. She was right. As much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t drive. Sleeping it off was my best option. Without reopening my eyes, I gave a stiff nod and felt Presley pull a blanket over me. Before she walked away, her thumb lightly grazed the scar that ran across the center of my chin.