Page 36 of Rebellious

No, I didn’t tell him I was representing Cooper, but he didn’t tell me he was considering transferring schools. Just call us both a couple of secret-keepers.

“So, you’ve stayed in contact with Cooper?”

Bennett wants to die, I swear it.

I side-eye him over my drink, taking a minute to wash down the enormous bite I took. “Yes, he asked me about college ball and the draft.” I give Bennett a look like he better not pursue the conversation. We’ll end up discussing transfers, drafts, and Cooper. Neither of us want to have that conversation right here, both being in a shitty mood, in front of our parents and nosy Liam.

I kick Bennett’s chair and narrow my eyes. “I feel like I’m taking up most of the conversation. Fenn,” I say with an arched brow, tearing my eyes from Bennett and over to my brother, “Why don’t you tell everyone how college baseball is coming along for you?”

Like my father, Fenn is a pitcher. Except my father is a southpaw—a left-handed pitcher—and my brother is a righty. “It’s going great,” he lies, mouthing “fuck you” over his fork.

“I haven’t seen your stats lately,” my dad adds, a confused look on his face.

“That’s because he hasn’t been playing,” I offer with a smirk.

Fuck me? Fuck him and his shitty attitude. I refuse to sit here, getting the third degree, when Fenn has much bigger skeletons in his closet.

My dad straightens in his chair, his brows furrowed. “Why haven’t you been pitching?”

Fenn hesitates and I want to blurt out he was suspended, but I don’t. The little shit might get on my last damn nerve, but I won’t make his weekend worse. My brother can’t help that he’s an idiot who can’t control his temper.

“His shoulder’s been bothering him,” I sort of lie. His shoulder had hurt, but probably more so from hitting the bottom of the pool when he dove in drunk at the frat house.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My mom stands from the table. “Come on, let me look at it.”

“It’s fine.” Fenn moans and I smother a laugh. I can only imagine the shock on Mom’s face when she sees the gigantic bruise that takes up most of his back. She’ll know it’s not from pitching. “Let me eat. I’ll let you look at it later,” he pleads.

It always sucked growing up with a doctor for a mom. There was never a day we could fake being sick and miss school.

“Alright,” she agrees, taking her seat. “When you’re finished eating.”

This time, it’s me who flashes Fenn a look, mouthing “fuck you” over my cup.

I can’t sleep.

Dinner ended hours ago when Liam handed me his card, promising the best baseball game and hotdog I’ve ever had. Bennett may have shoved away from the table and I may have reached for him before he shrugged me off and disappeared outside.

Basically, the entire night went to hell.

Bennett’s not answering my messages or calls. Aunt B assured me he was with Cade and they went for a run to settle him down. It crushed my heart a little when he didn’t ask me to run with him instead.

Is itthatawful I didn’t tell him about representing Cooper? Does it mess up his transfer to another school idea? I don’t know, but I would have liked the opportunity to talk it out with him.

Slipping out of the sheets, I sit up, my bare feet hitting the wood floor. It’s one a.m. and the house is finally quiet. Fenn is no longer outside throwing the ball into a bucket and Dad is no longer yelling out the window for him to go to the actual practice baseball field on the property.

Knowing I won’t be able to sleep without talking to Bennett, I stand and decide that if I’m caught sneaking through his window, I’ll lie. I’ve done it a million times: I heard a noise. I was looking for Fenn. I thought Mom was over here.

Same old, same old.

Did my father believe me? I doubt it. At twenty-three-years-old, you would think I wouldn’t give two shits what my father approves of, but in our house, under our parents’ rules, we honor their wishes. Well, at least Bennett does. Clearly, I disobey those rules on the regular, but I still give my father the perception that I don’t.

In nothing but one of Bennett’s old t-shirts and a pair of flip-flops, I ease open my bedroom window. The night air is sticky as I ease out onto the balcony, which extends the whole back side of our house. It’s something my mother had built a few years ago so she and my dad could look out at the pond in the morning. Chairs and round tables occupy the space. To an outsider, it looks as though this upper deck is used for entertaining, and it might be when we aren’t home, but I doubt it. I think it’s probably just something my mom decorated for the heck of it.

I throw one leg over the wood railing and then the other, wedging them in between the slats. Squatting, I inch myself lower and hang by my hands. Silently, I count to three and take a deep breath and drop. My flip-flops hit the grass with a thud.

I wait for any noise, but it never comes. Only the crickets and the frogs sing into the darkness. That’s a good sign. I sprint down the hill and across the wheat fields, tripping over sharp stalks every now and again until I reach the house at the bottom.

The house is an updated farmhouse with an American flag hanging from a pole in the front yard. When I was growing up, we called this house the spare barracks. But as time went on, and veterans came and went, it was just called The Jameson House. To me, it was always where Bennett and Drew lived. I never thought of our house as being a foundation or a place for veterans. It was normal for me to see new people in and out of our property all the time, but what was always consistent was the boy next door. The one with the emerald eyes and broad shoulders.

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