It Was You (28 page)

I waited because I didn’t have anything to say.

“So we’re there for a little while and I saw some guy talking to Kayla,” he said, still staring at his hands. “He put his arm around her, was laughing with her.” He turned and looked at me. “And all of a sudden I had an outlet for my anger.”

I felt selfish for being irritated that he’d been upset by seeing Kayla with another guy. It was the absolute wrong emotion to feel as he was talking, but I couldn’t help it.

“I went over to them and just cut loose,” he said, still staring down at his hands. “I mean…cut loose. Everything I was pissed off about—the baseball, the money, my dad, everything—I just let it out. And destroyed the kid.” He sighed, rubbing at his chin. “Broke his jaw and his ribs. Someone called the cops. I got arrested.” He paused, frowning. “The guy’s parents were both lawyers and they wanted me punished. Which, I guess, was the right thing.” He turned and looked at me. “I did three days in jail and I’m on probation for another year. I was too busy with the legal crap to even enroll at Mesa last year. That’s why this year is my first. And I doubt any school will ever let me play ball for them, given that I have a record now.”

I took it all in. I felt guilty for making him tell me, but I was glad to know the truth. It was like he’d just unlocked the door to the year that he’d been hiding from me. Maybe not necessarily hiding on purpose, but something he’d avoided sharing with me. It was the gap that we hadn’t yet bridged. The picture was filling in.

“And I know what you’re thinking,” West said. “But you’re wrong.”

“
About what?”

“
I saw you flinch when I mentioned Kayla,” he said. “I didn’t go off on that guy because he was talking to Kayla. I went off on him because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me just being pissed off at the world. It wasn’t about her. It was an excuse. That was all.”

I wanted to believe him, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to.

“So there you go,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”

“
My turn?”

He nodded, piercing me with those eyes. “Yeah. I told you my so-called big secret. Now it’s your turn.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” I blurted out.

He stared at me and I was uncomfortable under his gaze. It was like he was waiting me out.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t realize this was just a one-way conversation. I guess the whole thing about lying to me about your parents on the billboard and never bothering to tell me you had a twin sister were just simple mistakes.”

Blood rushed into my face and my cheeks got hot.

“I thought we were trying to figure out what had gotten between us,” he said, his words sharp, angry. “But I guess it was just my fault. My bad.”

“
West,” I said. “Stop.”

“
Then talk,” he said, his eyes blazing.

So I did. It was hard at first, explaining why I’d lied about my parents being on the bus bench and wanting to be me rather than someone attached to a last name. And it was harder still to explain the relationship that Annika and I had and why I would’ve done anything to not be related to her. But the more words that came out of me, the easier it got. He sat there, listened, nodded occasionally, never interrupted. Just listened. And I realized that I wanted him to know. I wanted him to know everything about me.

I teared up as I spoke. I’d been just as guilty of keeping things from him as I’d accused him of being. It wasn’t a one-way conversation.

It went both ways.

“I can’t explain Annika,” I said. “I just can’t. I wish that I could, but I can’t. It’s always been like this between us. I don’t know why. But ever since I can remember, all she’s tried to do is…make me feel awful. In every way possible.”

He nodded slowly. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of me.

Tears welled in my eyes. “And I can’t stand the fact that you were with her.”

“
Abby,” his voice soft. “We didn’t…”

I held up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t tell me anything. I know. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine for not telling you about her. I didn’t think she'd find you. I didn't think you'd ever cross paths. Obviously, I was wrong.” I looked at him, my vision blurring. “And I know it seems like some bad movie, my identical twin coming on to you and you not knowing it was her. But I don’t blame you. I blame her. But I just don’t know…” My voice trailed off.

“You just don’t know what?” he asked.

The knot in my stomach felt more like a frozen boulder. I tried a couple of times to spit the words out, but couldn’t find them. I cleared my throat, wiped at my eyes, looked at West.

“I don’t know if I can ever get past that you were with her,” I said, my voice breaking. “I know you didn’t sleep with her. But…you kissed her. That’s enough. I’m not sure I can get over that. Ever.”

I looked away from him, the tears running down my cheeks. I wasn’t lying to him or making an excuse. I meant it. She had taken something from me that I couldn’t get back, no matter how much I wanted it. It was gone.

West came over to me and sat down next to me on the bed. He put one arm around me, then the other and gently laid me down next to him. I turned into him, my face buried in his chest, tears staining his torn T-shirt. He pulled me close as we stretched out on the bed. I felt safe in his arms and wanted desperately to kiss him, to run my hands over his body, to feel his on mine. But all I could think about was Annika touching him and it just made me cry harder.

He kissed the top of my head, let his lips linger there for a moment.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered. “We’ll figure it out, Abby Sellers.”

FORTY FIVE

West pulled the truck to a stop in front of my house and turned to look at me. “Promise you’ll call me later?”

It was nearly noon. We’d fallen asleep on the bed, me wrapped up in his arms, and woke when the sun peeked through the partially drawn curtains. The ride back to San Diego was quiet, the only noise the soft murmur of the radio. He’d held my hand while we drove and I didn’t try to pull it away.

I nodded. “Yeah. I promise.”

He sighed, then nodded. “What are you gonna do now?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Not sure.”

He looked at me for a long time. “Alright.”

I pulled the bag from between us and pushed open my door. “I'll call you later. I promise.”

He nodded.

I slid out of the car and shut the door. He stared at me through the window of the pickup, the engine idling loudly.

I stepped around the front end toward the walk that led to my front door.

He forced a resigned smile on to his face, put the truck into gear and pulled away from the curb.

The house was empty and quiet when I went inside. It felt like forever since I’d been home, but I’d barely been gone. I was tired and worn out in every possible way. I dropped my bag in my room, stripped my clothes off and walked straight into a hot shower.

The water stung my neck and shoulders as I stood under it, turned it on full blast and all the way up. I tucked my chin into my chest and stayed that way for a good five minutes, hoping the water might wash away the pain in my chest and stomach. It didn’t, but it felt good to stand there, to try to relax and clear my head.

I got out, toweled off and walked back to my room, collapsing on my bed. I stared up at the ceiling.

I didn’t know how to fix anything. I didn’t know how to make it better. And I didn’t know how to get my life back on track. I was tired of being an emotional wreck, of feeling like I was on some never-ending ride that just kept taking turns and dives that I couldn’t see coming. I needed a long, slow straightaway where everything fell into place.

I pulled the towel tighter around me. I just wanted a simple answer when there wasn’t one.

The garage door rumbled and I sighed. My parents. One of them, anyway. Coming home in the middle of the day for lunch. And as soon as they saw me, probably with a ton of questions.

The door to the house opened and I realized my car wasn’t out front, so they didn’t know I was there.

“I’m home,” I yelled. “Just so you know.”

No one responded, but I heard footsteps coming upstairs.

“My car broke down,” I said out loud. “Had to get a ride home.”

The footsteps came down the hallway.

I sat up and tried to run a hand through my tangled, wet hair.

Then I froze.

It wasn’t my parents after all.

“
I didn’t know you were gone,” Annika said.

FORTY SIX

The red marks on the side of her face had faded to pink and there was a tiny cut at the corner of her mouth that she’d done her best to hide with concealer. There was also a faint bruise just beneath her eye, not quite a black eye, but definitely noticeable.

“
Get out.” She was the last person I wanted to see, the last person I wanted to talk to. Now, more than ever.

She ignored me and leaned against the door frame. “I didn’t know you were gone.”

I stood from the bed and walked over to my dresser. “Well, I was.”

“
Where?”

I pulled out a pair of panties, slipped them on under my towel, then found a T-shirt and denim shorts. I dropped the towel, pulled the shirt on over my head, then tugged up the shorts. I shook out my hair, letting the beads of water spray the dresser. Then I looked at my sister.

“Fuck you, Annika,” I said.

Her cheeks colored and her mouth twisted. She shifted against the wall. “I just asked where you went.”

“None of your goddamn business,” I said, wadding the towel up and dropping it into the laundry basket near my closet. I grabbed my brush from the nightstand and sat back down on my bed. “Now leave.”

But she didn’t, of course. Instead she came and sat down on the foot of my bed. I clutched the brush, ready to take a swing at her. She didn't flinch, just kept her eyes on me, her expression neutral.

“You know how many guys I’ve been with?” she asked.

I stared at her. “Is that a rhetorical question? And I asked you to leave.”

“Do you know how many guys I’ve been with?” she asked again.

“
I can’t count that high. And I don't care.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t her usual condescending laugh. It was a laugh of almost agreement, like my sarcasm was on the money.

“I actually don’t know,” she said. “How sad is that?”

I didn't say anything, just stuck the brush in my hair and pulled through the first knot of tangles.

“Like, I actually don’t know,” she said, glancing at me. “If I sat here for awhile, I could probably figure it out. But off the top of my head?” She shook her head. “I really don’t know.”

I pulled through the tangles, splashing water onto my thigh and stayed silent. I had nothing to say to her. And I was pretty sure nothing she said would get me to talk. I was done. For good.

“For as long as I can remember, it seems like I’ve just been with guys,” she said, staring down at the bed. “No one special. Just…guys. That I met at parties or school or the beach or wherever. As long as they were hot, I was willing.”

I brushed through the wet strands. Even though I wanted to tune her out, wanted to cover my ears with my hands, I couldn't. I listened.

“But I’ve never really had a boyfriend,” she said. “Do you realize that?”

I might have been listening but I still wasn't talking.

“Not that you were paying attention or cared,” she continued. “I’m just saying. I’ve never had an actual boyfriend that I, like, dated for longer than a couple of weeks. And I’m pretty sure a couple of weeks doesn’t really count.”

I thought for a moment. She really hadn’t had a boyfriend. I’d never thought about that before. She was always with a guy, but she was right. They weren’t boyfriends. They were just guys she hung out with.

“But guys have always looked at you differently,” she said, glancing at me quickly, then casting her eyes back down at the bed. “They’ve always seen you as the one who was girlfriend material.”

Her statement caught me so off guard that I spoke before thinking. “I don’t think so,” I said, switching the brush to the other side of my hair. “Not like I’ve had a ton of boyfriends.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said. “No, you haven’t had a ton of boyfriends. But guys at school? Guys that we know? They look at you as the one that could be a girlfriend.” She glanced over at me again. “Not a bathroom hookup for a Saturday night.”

I wasn’t sure that was true about me so I didn’t answer, just continued working the brush through my hair.

“We may look alike, but we're different,” Annika said. “Everyone sees us as different. They know who you are and they know who I am.”

I felt the sting of her betrayal, hot and painful.

“Not everyone,” I said quietly.

Her cheeks filled with color and I knew she understood what I was saying.