Play Safe (Make the Play #1) (20 page)

Chocolate cake is Christian’s favorite.

Honestly, he’ll eat anything with chocolate. One Halloween he ate through all his chocolate candy before we even finished trick-or-treating, and he got so sick he missed school the next day. That’s why Mom and I bake him a chocolate cake every year for his birthday.

That’s also why I get so upset today when I trip and fall, dropping his chocolate cake into the grass outside of his house. Dark brown frosting paints the yard, coating the edges of the blades of grass. I’m sprawled out on the ground, my new pale pink dress hiking up my thighs. And I’m sure my body is now covered in dirt and cake frosting. Hoisting myself up to a seated position, I glance down.
Yep, I’m a mess
. But at least I’m not hurt too badly. Just a scrape on my knee and a few on my forearms. Groaning, I wipe frosting and cake crumbs from my arms and off the front of my dress.

Cal chuckles from over my shoulder. “Only Emmy,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “Glad you can find enjoyment in this.”

“Be nice to your sister,” Dad says, but I can hear the amusement in his tone. “You all right, Em?”

I nod, frantically attempting to clean myself up. A car drives by, and I hide my face, hoping it’s not someone I know. The chances of that are slim though. This is Prairie Creek, after all.

“Oh, Emmy.” Mom sounds as flustered as I feel. Probably because she spent the past hour baking the cake with me. And now all our hard work is splattered across Olivia’s front lawn. “I’ll go get a towel or something.”

As Mom races toward the front door, Dad and Cal at her heels, I reach up and cringe, realizing that the cake is in my hair too.
Great
. I had spent a considerable amount of time trying to look nice for Christian’s birthday party. Cal’s right. This kind of thing only happens to me.

“Emmy?” My head snaps up at Christian’s voice. He’s heading toward me, holding a towel.

Great.
Why did Mom send out Christian? As if this isn’t humiliating enough.

“You okay?” He lets out a light laugh as he hurries down the stairs.

“Stop laughing at me.” I pout, staring dejectedly at the ruined cake.

“I’m sorry.” He kneels in front of me. “It’s just that you look so cute.”

My lips tremble a little as I assess the situation.

“Don’t cry.” Christian looks mortified.

“But I ruined your cake. Your chocolate cake that I made special for your eighteenth birthday.”

“It’s okay. I don’t need cake,” he says.

“But you love chocolate cake.”

He studies me, his eyes growing serious. “You’re right. I do.” His face nears mine. “And I like it even better…” his voice trails off. Moving closer to me, I feel warm breath on my cheek. Then his tongue slips out, sweeping over my skin. I shudder. “on you,” he finishes.

“Did I have it on my face?” I ask in horror.

“You did.” He smiles, licking his lips. “You don’t anymore.” His gaze lowers, his eyebrows jumping up. “You do have some here though.” Dipping his head, his mouth softly nips at my neck, his tongue sliding over the sensitive flesh. A chill runs down my spine as his mouth trails down my neck. A car drives by, but I hardly register it. My whole body heats up like it’s on fire. It takes all of my effort to hold myself upright. My arms tremble, my stomach quivers with desire. He smiles when he draws back, and I take a steadying breath. Holding the towel in his hand, he reaches out and wipes cake from my arms. Then he pries my fingers from where they are gripping at the earth. One by one he swipes the towel over my fingers. “Let me get this too.” Lifting his hands, he picks some crumbs out of my hair. With every motion, his flesh brushes against mine. I know it shouldn’t be sensual, but honestly it’s the most intimate experience of my entire life. Holding my breath, I scarcely move. He’s so close our faces are almost touching, and I feel each puff of air, each breath as it fans over my skin. Before finishing, he brushes his lips over mine.

My heart beats manically in my chest. “Was there cake on my lips?” I asked, wondering how it got there.

“No. That was just because I wanted to.” He smiles. “But I gotta be honest. That’s the best chocolate cake I’ve ever had.” He winks. “You better watch out, because next year I might trip you.”

A giggle bursts from my throat. “You better not.”

After standing, he extends his hand. I glance at the cake on the ground.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says as if reading my mind. “The neighborhood dogs will get to it.”

Taking his hand, I allow him to help me up. “I’m sorry.”

Once I’m standing, he hooks an arm around my waist and tugs me forward. Our chests bump, and then he wraps both arms around my middle. “I don’t need the cake. I’ve got everything I want right here.”

****

Christian may have been okay with not having cake, but no one else was. And since I ruined the first one, my mom sent me to the store to get a replacement. The cake from the store can never compare to the one I made, but I figure it will have to do.

When I return back to the house, I take deliberate steps up the walkway. For added insurance, I grip the railing as I make my way up the front porch steps. Clutching tightly to the edges of the cake box, I press open the front door and step inside. Olivia’s house smells like pizza, Christian’s favorite food. I figure by the time I reach the kitchen Christian will be hunched over the counter wolfing down a piece, cheese dribbling from his chin.

Growing up, Friday nights at our house were movie and pizza nights. And Christian was present for most of them. He and Cal can put away more pizza than any two people I’ve ever met. It makes me sick simply watching them.

Wearing a triumphant smile, I round the corner. “I made it! And the cake is still intact.”

I’m expecting a collective round of thank yous, but no one says a thing. My gaze sweeps the room, and my stomach tumbles to the floor. Olivia’s bottom lip quivers. Mom puts a hand on her shoulder. Dad scratches the back of his neck nervously, and Cal clears his throat. I lower the cake onto the counter.

“Where’s Christian?” When no one responds dread sinks into my gut. “What’s going on?”

Cal snatches something off the counter and takes a step forward. He holds it out to me. I narrow my eyes, staring at the blue birthday card, a candle drawn on the front. “What’s that?”

“It’s the birthday card from his dad,” Cal responds.

Olivia sniffs, running a hand under her nose. I don’t get it. Christian’s dad sends him a card every year, and I know it’s hard for him, but he deals with it.

“Just look.” Cal thrusts the card into my hand.

I close my fingers around it. My hand shakes violently. When my gaze connects to the words on the card, disbelief fills me. I feel dizzy, lightheaded. Reaching out with my free hand, I grip the edge of the counter. This can’t be happening.

“Where did he go?” I ask, my voice wobbly.

Cal shakes his head, worry etching his features. “Don’t know.”

“You just let him leave?” My gaze darts around the room. “He must be devastated.”

“Honey,” Dad speaks gently to me. “He took off. We couldn’t stop him.”

“He probably just needs some space. Some time to cool off,” Cal says.

But I can’t do that. I can’t leave him alone right now. Not when he needs me the most. Flinging the card on the counter, I pivot on my heels.

“Where are you going?” Mom calls.

“To find Christian.”

When I reach the door, Cal catches up to me. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t try to stop him, Cal. I thought he was your best friend.”

“He is.” Cal’s eyes flash. “That’s why I didn’t stop him.”

“He needs us.”

“I know Chris. If you push him when he’s hurting, he’s gonna push back.” He clamps a hand down on my shoulder. “Are you prepared for that?”

I’m not sure if I am, but there’s no way I can sit idly by when I know that Christian is hurting. He’s protected me so much. He’s held me when I was sad. He’s wiped my tears and helped me when I needed it. Now it’s my turn to do the same for him.

Christian,

I regret to your inform you that your father passed away last month. In his will, he asked that I send you one final card wishing you a happy birthday. Also, he wanted me to inform you that he set up a bank account in your name and deposited a substantial amount of money in it. It should be enough to put you through college. Our attorney’s card is enclosed. Give him a call, and he will give you all the details.

Happy birthday.

Sincerely,

Bridgett Thomas

Bridgett Thomas. My dad’s wife. The woman he chose over my mom. The woman he chose over me. Thinking of her last name, I’m grateful Mom decided to give me hers. There were times when I wished I had my dad’s. Mainly when we first moved to Prairie Creek, since everyone knew who’s child I was the minute they heard my last name. But today I’m glad I have my mom’s. It’s fitting since she raised me. Not him. He’s a stranger.

And now he’s dead.

Left me with nothing more than a birthday card and some money. Not that I should be surprised. It was all he gave me when he was alive too. Apparently it’s all I’m ever going to get. Worthless money and worthless cards. A few sentences scrawled on paper. And the last one isn’t even from him. He could take the time to write out a will, but he never penned a letter for me. Not a final goodbye or some words of fatherly knowledge or advice. Nothing.

It seems unfathomable that I’ll never have anything from my father – my own flesh and blood – other than money and store bought birthday cards.
Wow, what a legacy.

Livid, I kick at the grass with the toe of my shoe. Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he know? I never wanted his money. It never meant anything to me.

And it means even less now.

How dare he leave this earth without ever speaking to me. Without ever giving me the chance to tell him how I felt. To tell him what a worthless piece of shit he was. To tell him about everything he missed. To throw my successes in his face. To prove to him that I never needed him in the first place.

Groaning, I move over to the bleachers and kick one of them as hard as I can. Pain shoots through my toe, and I hiss.
Damn it.
I better not have broken it. The last thing I need is to hurt myself over that loser. He doesn’t deserve it. In fact, he doesn’t deserve any of it.

I should be at home celebrating my birthday with my family and friends. Instead, I’m at the baseball field throwing a fit like a baby. Exhausted and beat down, I climb up the bleachers. At the top, I sit. The bleacher moans beneath my weight. From up here I can see the whole field – the green grass, the shimmering sand, the dugout, batter’s box, home plate. This place knows me better than my own father. It’s seen me through season after season. Through crushes, breakups, conflicts, makeups, losses, and wins. It’s seen me at my best and at my worst.

And it’s where I feel most like me.

Resting my head against the railing, I close my eyes. Wind whisks over my face, carrying with it the scent of damp earth. It’s cold, but I don’t mind it. The image of my dad watering his plants that day I watched him from my car fills my mind. I think of the man he embraced in his yard; the one I assumed was his son. I wonder if he stood by his dad’s side when he died. Did he hold his hand, whisper reassuring words in his ear? More importantly, did he know about me – his brother?

Apparently, Bridgette did. Or at least she does now.

If she knew before he died, why didn’t she contact me? Why wasn’t I given the opportunity to say goodbye? To say anything?

Shaking my head, I curse myself for going in circles. This line of thinking isn’t getting me anywhere. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s gone. It’s time to let him go. And it’s not like that should be hard, since I never had him to begin with.

Thinking of the card sitting on the counter at home, my heart hardens further. I’ll take his crummy money, and I’ll use it for college. But I’m doing it for Mom, and only her. She’s the one who matters.

He doesn’t. He never did. And he never will.

Bitter tears sting my eyes, and I blink them back furiously. No way am I crying over that bastard.
Never.
Sniffing, I swipe under my nose with my hand. When the bleachers creak, my head snaps up.

“Christian?” Emmy’s voice startles me.

I freeze, spotting her climbing towards me. “What are you doing here?” The words come out harsher than I intended, but I don’t apologize. I don’t take them back.

“Wanted to make sure you were okay.” She continues climbing.

My chest tightens. “I’m fine. Just want to be alone.”

She stops, her eyebrows knitting together. I pray that she’ll take the hint. But she doesn’t. She starts climbing again.
I should’ve known.

“I don’t want wanna hurt your feelings, Emmy,” I plead with her. 

“Then don’t.”

“If you don’t leave, I can’t make any promises.” I turn my head away from her. “Please just go.”

“But I want to help you,” she says softly, her voice coming closer.

Annoyance flares. “Damn it, why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” She’s close now. Too close.

“Pushing me,” I say.

“I’m not pushing you. You don’t have to say anything. I just want to be here with you.”

Desperation blossoms in my chest, and I fight to breathe. “I can’t do this right now.” This is why I don’t do relationships. It’s why I stick to hanging with Cal and the guys. Girls don’t know when to back off. Cal gives me space when I need it. Clearly, Emmy doesn’t. She plops down beside me, her thigh brushing mine. I scoot away.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” she says firmly.

And I might think it was sweet, sexy even, if I weren’t so pissed. If I didn’t feel so claustrophobic, so boxed in.

“Fine.” I stand, sucking in a breath. “Then I’ll leave.”

“Why are you being like this?” She stands too, facing me. Frowning, her eyes are steely. She places a hand on her hip.

“Because this is who I am. I’m broken, damaged, wrecked. I tried to warn you. I tried to keep you away.”

She sighs. “You’re upset. It’s understandable. But this isn’t you.”

“Yes, it is. I’m the loose cannon. The boy with the bad temper whose dad doesn’t want him. It’s who I’ve always been.”

Emmy’s eyes scan my face. “That’s not true.” She reaches for me, her hand touching my arm. It’s more than I can take. I can’t handle pity or comfort right now. It’ll tear me apart, break me open. My insides will be laid bare, scattered all over this field. And there’s no way I’m letting that happen.

“Don’t.” I shake her hand off, and her eyes widen. “I can’t be with you right now.” I can tell she’s not buying it. I can see that she’s going to keep trying, and I can’t have that.

When I first realized I was attracted to Emmy, I kept my distance and told myself it was because of Cal. That it was because of our family. That it was because I didn’t want to mess with what I had. But deep down, it must have been because I knew it would end like this. I must have known I was too damaged to ever really love her. I have this hole inside of me that my dad’s love should have filled. But it’s always been empty, and over the years it’s spread; become larger and larger. His death seems to have widened it to astronomical proportions. And now I’m certain I can never be that guy for Emmy. The kind of guy that will love her like she deserves. As much as it kills me, I know I have to put the final nail in the coffin. “Truth is, I’m not sure if I ever can be.”

“What?” She reels back, hurt splashed across her features. It’s what I wanted, but it’s harder than I thought. Still, I have to keep going. I have to be strong.

“I thought I could be a normal guy. The kind of guy who falls in love. The kind of guy who can let someone in. You made me believe that could be possible, and I wanted to be that guy for you. But today I realized that’s not me. I’m not that guy, and I never will be.”

“I don’t understand. What about back at the house. With the cake….on the lawn.” She’s grasping at memories. I can see the wheels spinning as she’s trying to pluck them out, to bring them back to life. But it’s no use. The guy I was an hour ago is gone.

Or maybe he was never here at all.

Either way, I feel numb, empty. I want to give Emmy something, but I can’t. I’m hollow inside like a pumpkin after being cut open, my insides scraped out. There’s nothing inside. Nothing to give. Nothing to share. She deserves so much more than that.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can formulate. Then, shaking my head, I bound down the bleachers. I take them two at a time so I can get to the bottom faster. Emmy calls my name, but I ignore her.

There’s nothing left to say.