Page 16 of Four Simple Rules
“Hi?” Nat says mockingly, with a cruel grin. No doubt she's concocting some wicked plan to humiliate her.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. In horror, I watch without saying a word.
“Move along, loser,” Posey says, waving her hand.
“Can I sit with you?” Blake asks with a quivering voice, pleading with me.
“Tables full. Besides, we don’t let weirdos sit with us,” Melody giggles. "Those shoes," she stage-whispers to Nat with a cackle, nearly falling from her seat.
“The back of the cafeteria is where the freaks belong,” Nat says with a sadistic grin, pointing toward the back of the room where one lone girl sits, pushing her food around.
"Jesse?" Blake's broken whisper will live in my mind on repeat for the rest of my life.
I shake my head, shoving food into my mouth. Coward. I can't even tell her to sit beside me or that I'll protect her. Not with the way my friends continue to talk about her. It's better if she leaves. It's better to convince her she doesn't want to be their friend, or mine, during school hours.
Blake offers me one more hurt-filled glance before wandering away, clutching her tray.
“Who does that freak think she is?” Posey chides, taking a bite of her salad. “It’s only us. We're going to rule this school, and we won’t let some loafer-wearing freak sit with us. God. So ugly." Not by a long shot. The only ugly people at this school are the ones surrounding me with their horrid chatter.
I lick my lips, faking a laugh with the rest of my friends. I look around, playing it off as if I'm amused. Except I'm anything but.
A protectiveness settles deep inside me, begging me to keep Blake out of their grasp. I'll do anything to keep her protected. These people aren’t nice. Cruelty is their number one game. But I have no choice. I’m either with them, living my baseball dream so I can potentially get the hell away from my father, or I’m a freak, too.
I can't afford any complications. And by the look of it, my best friend is the biggest complication of them all.
I wince, adjusting my posture in the plastic chair. None of my friends notice the movement or the pain spearing through me. But Blake does. She always does. I feel the heat of her eyes judging me from a mile away. Just last night, I crawled through her window with blood on my lip and a fresh boot mark on my ribs. She didn’t turn me away. Instead, Blake nurtured me and let me stay with her to get a reprieve from my dad.
Now, if I could only grow some balls and do the same for her.
An ache forms across my chest when I pull into the driveway of my former sanctuary—the place that built me. It’s odd to think my mother finally escaped the grip that my father had on us both. The man who beat her senselessly and left her in a heap of blood. The same man who… I squeeze my eyes shut and throw my car into park. Tears burn the back of my eyes, thinking back to the pivotal moment that sent my mother onto another path.
It was the night my father walked through our front door with a gun and evil resting in his eyes. His loud, hysterical shouts filled the house with wrath, threatening to drown us in bullets if we didn’t heed his warnings. My mother hid in my closet. And me? I took the brunt of his evil as he marched into my room, slamming my door against the wall. My mom’s quiet, muffled cries had my hair standing on end. It wasn’t until my father raised his weapon with a malicious grin, promising days of pain, did I realize what he was about to do.
I shiver at the barrage of memories assaulting my mind. Absentmindedly, I rub my hand along the scars on my stomach. It’s a constant reminder of who I protected and why—the constant reminder that not so long ago, I was on my deathbed, pleading with God to let me hang around; I had too much more to do.
My injury may have ended my baseball career before I even had a chance to explore it, but it brought me something new. Coaching. I’m still on the field day in and day out with a baseball in my hand and a whistle around my neck. I’m the man everyone turns to when they’re having a fucking hard time.
I blow out a breath, reeling my feelings back in. You’d think after driving this route almost every Sunday that I’d be used to the evil, boarded-up structure beside my mother’s new home. A home I once found refuge in, leaving her to deal with the pain my father had in store for her. But that’s more guilt for another day. I have so much…
My stomach drops when my mind returns to the land of the living. Sitting right in front of me with California license plates is a red car I’ve never seen before—all shiny in the sun, with dead bugs from a presumably long drive sticking to the surface.
Blake. My Tulip. My mind screams with joy at the thought of her finally coming home.
My first peek at her happens when my eyes shift to the open front door. My mom stands with a grin, hugging Blake with all her might, letting her love pour through her. Blake’s long blonde hair hasn’t changed much in the past ten years. And her body. Fuck.
“I always thought you and Blake would be married by now,” my mom says through a sly grin, sipping her coffee over breakfast one Sunday morning at our usual stomping grounds—Aunt May’s Café.
I snort, sipping my coffee, trying to remove myself from this conversation. How can I tell my mom what happened? That I was an asshole who pushed the only girl I’ve ever loved away for her protection? Or mine?
“Yeah, well. Tulip had more plans than hanging around here, Mom,” I say with a shrug, trying to act as indifferent as ever. But I know by the shining in her eyes I’m not fooling anyone. Thankfully, she drops the subject, going straight into the colleges that have accepted me, injury and all.
Desperation claws at my chest when my eyes lock on my mom's. Her lips move, and Blake tenses behind the glass door. Not once does she look over her shoulder, but by how she scurries past my mom, I know she knows I’m here. I wonder if she feels it in her soul, too.
The calling. The longing to be nearby. If I’m lucky, she’ll feel an ounce of what I feel after one look.
Only once will I give Blake the space she wants. She can run. She can hide. But I’ll always fucking find her. I knew that girl like the back of my hand ten years ago. And I have a feeling she hasn’t changed very much.
After watching Blake bolt away from the front door, I enter, hauling my overnight bag.
