Hitting to win over the.., p.10
Hitting to Win (Over the Fence #2), page 10
"Haven't you ever loved someone? Loved them so much that you can't even imagine..."
I see red. "That I can't imagine what, Chloe? Losing them? Nice."
Her sharp cheekbones colored under the weight of her embarrassment, and her eyes filled with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Miles. I didn't mean that, I know how-"
"You don't know shit. You have the perfect little family, am I right? A loving mom, a dad who treats you like the spoiled brat that you are.You have no idea what its like to not have one single person on this earth that loves you. To have the only one that ever did get ripped away from you, leaving you with the two shittiest people ever put on this planet. So sorry if it's a little hard to act like I'm hopelessly in love with a girl that I'm only just fucking. I'll try to be more emotional next time."
Chloe looks like I've slapped her. Her skin is ashen, and she looks like she might be sick. It's not until I get a handle on my rage that I realize what I've done.
"Shit, Chloe, no I..."
"Hey, campers! That was so great, I thought the performance—" Minka takes one look at Chloe and rushes to her, taking Chloe's fragile body in her arms. "What the fuck did you do to her!?"
She's screaming, demanding to know what happened, because Chloe's just standing there, frozen, not speaking. Owen puts a hand on my arm, his futile attempt to keep me calm while he questions me.
"Hey man, what happened here? Everything okay?" His gentle tone pisses me off, and I violently shake his fingers off me.
"Don't touch me." I take a step towards Chloe. I had to take those words back, she had to know I didn't really mean them. "Chloe, I'm sorry—"
Minka cuts me off when a tear spills down Chloe's cheek. "Get away from her, Farris. You're a fucking prick, you know that? She deserves so much better than your piece-of-shit self. A boyfriend who actually sees her for the kickass chick that she is."
"Who the hell said I was your boyfriend? We're hooking up, I thought I made that clear." I direct this question at Chloe, who starts to cry harder and shake her head.
"Just go," she finally says, her voice sounding like broken glass.
I look around at the three of them, their eyes filled with varying stages of anger and disappointment. Even Owen's.
This was how people in my life looked at me. Like some kind of damaged joke. I'd better be used to it by now, it's how my father had looked at me my whole life.
I turned and walked swiftly from the dressing room.
* * *
"Dude, that dance chick of yours is hot. You smash that?"
Nate Hudson's words float over me, my body a puddle of mush on the Kappa couch. Someone passes another joint in front of my face, too fast for me to intervene and take another hit before someone else is reaching for it. Shit, I'm high as fuck. The room is spinning, but in slow motion.
"Huh?" I say to no one in particular.
"I asked if you fucked that sexy little partner of yours?"
The fury I should feel pulsing through my veins never comes, thanks to my good ole friend Mary Jane. But now I'm ticked that I don't feel furious. This is what I wanted, to mellow out. Right?
"None of your fucking business, Hudson." My tongue feels fuzzy in my mouth.
Nate laughs. "Woah, alright buddy. All I'm saying is she has some nice dick-sucking-lips. I'd like to test them out, that's for sure."
"Watch your fucking mouth." I'd meant for that to come out with a sharp edge, but instead it sounded like I was singing.
Some of the others brother who'd stayed up past the after-party chuckled. It was about 2 a.m., and I'd been glued to this couch, high as a space cadet, for about four hours. Ever since I'd left Chloe in her own pile of tears. I was such a disgusting prick.
"Just win us the Mount Olympus trophy, man, and all is forgiven." Ryan Warry slapped me on the back.
I sat up, suddenly thinking about how I didn't even like any of these guys. Why was I even hanging out with them? I could never remember why I wanted to belong here, when these guys were total pricks half the time. Or all the time.
"I'm going home." I try to get up from the couch, but fall when the floor slips out from under my feet. That sends the guys into a shit-fit of giggles again, and I manage to hunch my body up into a standing position. Staggering for the front door, I burst outside, into the late October air that felt cold to my skin without a jacket on. I swayed down the street, unaware of where I was heading until I was standing on the Zeta steps, pounding on the front door.
"CHLOE!" I knocked louder, not caring that about 50 girls were probably sleeping soundly at this hour. "CHLOE!"
I window screeched open from above, and a girly voice yelled out. "Get out of here, you creep! Before I call the cops!"
"Where's Chloe?" I screamed up into the dark night. I'd probably just about woken the whole house.
The front door wrenched open violently, and there stood Chloe, in her fuzzy pink robe and slippers. Her face was so flushed it almost matched her robe.
"What do you want, Miles?" I looked closer at her when the porch light flicked on, and I could see the red, raw circles around her eyes. She'd been crying.
"I wanted to, uh, I'm sorry, baby." The nickname just popped out of my mouth, surprising me and making her flush another shade of red.
"Baby? Give me a break, Farris. You made it clear I am absolutely nothing to you. Go home."
She'd called me by my nickname, instead of my real name. Like it wasn't even worth addressing me. I could feel myself starting to break. "Please, just let me explain..."
I feel the hot tears popping out of my corneas, and I was too high to stop them. Chloe looks alarmed at how emotional I'm getting.
"What's wrong with you? Are you drunk?"
"This is what you wanted right? For me to get emotional. Well, here I am. I'm a fucking mess, Chloe. My life is a fucking mess. But you, you make me feel like something could actually be okay."
Her features filled with pity. "Miles, I'm sorry that your life isn't what you want it to be right now. But only you have the power to change that. And I can't wait around, being your punching bag, until you figure it out. I'll see you at practices, and we can even be friendly when we see each other out. But this," she points back and forth between us, "Whatever this was, it’s over now. Minka's right, I deserve to be treated better. All of these years, I thought you were this amazing, unattainable guy. I didn't realize that maybe it was because you are such a mean person. I'm one to talk, being the doormat for everyone else to lay on, but I'm standing up this time."
She blows out a breath, and I swear it hits me straight in the chest and almost bowls me over. "Go home, Farris. And try and do so safely."
She backed up quietly, turning to find the door handle and close herself into the dark, silent mansion.
I stumbled backwards down the steps, the high I was working with quickly fading. My skin felt prickly and uncomfortable, like Chloe has just stuck me with a thousand needles that were still lodged deep into my skin.
Somehow, about twenty minutes later, I'd let myself into our ramshackle house, tripping down the hallway and landing face first on my bed.
As I laid there, fully clothed and drifting off into a restless sleep, one thought passed through my mind.
I had to fix this. All of it.
17
Chloe
Rushing through the blustery wind whipping through the campus quad, I shielded my face from the unexpectedly chilly November air. Apparently Mother Nature detected Thanksgiving Break was only a week away, and she'd decided to put an even bigger damper on the last week of classes. As if they weren't going slow enough, now it was unbearable to walk outside to your next class.
Not that I was complaining about class. I was excited for all of the new courses I'd be taking next semester. Even my Pas de Deux class, where we'd be dancing with partners. I'd nearly overcome my fear, and I wasn't bitter that Miles was the reason.
I really didn't have any bitterness towards Miles. I had sadness, sympathy and heartbreak, but not bitterness. Not anger. I couldn't give in to those emotions, because as I'd learned all too well from Minka's experiences, that made you hollow. It made you linger in that negative space, and I was all about the positive. So I'd had my good four days of crying, and then I'd picked myself up, dusted myself off, and got on with life.
I'd spent eleven years trying to win Miles over, and only after I sort of had, did I realize just how much I didn't want what he had to offer me. The past month had been strained, but not horrible, when we were forced to see each other. I came to our Saturday rehearsals with choreography already mapped out, racing through to have him learn the steps and perform it together so that we'd spend as little time as possible together. Dancing With the Greeks performances were easy, I had the natural ballet theatrics down pat, and could pull my acting hat out at the drop of a dime. We'd even made it all the way through to the finals tomorrow night.
I pulled my scarf tighter across my mouth and nose, trying to shield them from being frozen off in this wind. I ran for my life, grabbing the doors of Grover Grub and catapulting myself in like a hit-man was chasing me. Spotting Owen and Minka at a table across the café, I scurried toward them.
"Come on, Minks, just at least say you'll think about it!" Owen's stroking his girlfriend's curly tresses as he whines at her.
"Owen! I am a freshman. Just adjusting to this college life. Not to mention my dad would blow your balls off with his Glock."
"Did you seriously just say Glock?" He smiles, that devastating, I-know-Minka-will-give-in smile.
"What're you guys talking about?" I interrupt as I throw my bag into a chair across from them, unbuttoning my olive-green fall jacket. They would be sitting on the same side of the table. hopelessly in-love
"I want Minka to move in with me, and she's being stubborn." Owen says this as if it's totally normal for his freshman girlfriend to leave her dorm and get an apartment with him.
"Um...I don't know Axel. I think she may have a point."
"Oh come on, Bucs. anyway She hates everyone, except for us of course. Get her to move in with me!"
He had a point. Minka couldn't stand most people, her roommate included. The girl had sexiled her too many times for Minka's liking. So the last time, she'd waltzed right in and poured a cup of water all over her bunkmate and the no-so-lucky guy. I had to smile just thinking about it.
"It’s up to her, but it might work. Only if you don't annoy her too much though, Owen. Our girl can be prickly."
"Um, hello? Assholes. I am right here." Minka folded her arms and scowled. Owen wrapped her in his big arms and planted kisses all over her face. My life was sad. "I'll think about it, though."
"Yes!" Owen gave a victory pump in the air, and then spoke to someone behind me. "Hey, Bryant, what's up?"
I turned in my chair to see Steven hovering over our table, his big, wiry body jammed into the space due to the lunchtime crowd.
"Hey guys. Hi, Chlo. How was your day?"
I smiled up at his handsome face, his thick chestnut hair cropped high and tight in a fade. His brown eyes twinkled down at me, the dimple in his jaw widening when he smiled.
"It was okay, too cold for me though! How was your's?" I ask politely.
Steven was nice, easy. We'd been on three dates in the past two and a half weeks. He'd taken me to the movies, bowling, and then just out to dinner. And they'd gone well. As well as dates could go. As well as dates could go when you felt absolutely nothing for the guy. Steven was great, polite, sexy, and only hinted once or twice at how bad he wanted to get physical with me. But for some reason I just couldn't do it. Every time I went in for a kiss, I was picturing his eyes. One green, one blue.
"It was great. So listen, I thought maybe I could take you out Thursday, before we leave?"
I should say no. Because I already knew I wasn't interested in him. But this was part of moving on. Meeting different guys, experiencing different things. I needed to keep driving forward. I needed to forget Miles Farriston had ever caught my eye.
"Sure. That sounds great. Why don't I text you about what we could do?"
"Sounds great, Chlo! Alright, I'll talk to you." With that, he turns and strides away from the table with a beaming smile on his face.
"He sure looked happy." Owen rolls his eyes and grunts when Minka elbows him in the ribs. "What? I just know she's not interested."
"Let her do what she wants." Minka's tone could cut diamonds. They'd clearly argued about this before.
"Whatever. Bucs, would you be willing to do me a favor?" Minks elbows him again, causing him to tickle her mercilessly until she hits him hard in the stomach.
"I told you not to ask her!"
"Well, he needs help! So shush!" Turning back to me, Owen smiles. "Anyway, I don't know if you know, but Miles is undergoing some...life changes. And he needs to find some work, especially over winter break. He needs to work his ass off. And since he's never had a job, well, not many people are going to hire a Farriston to wait tables at their restaurant in Mitchum. Which is why I though maybe you'd put in a word at your family's place?"
Owen looks like a hopeful puppy, and I know now why Minka can't usually say no to him. Miles is making life changes? What did that mean? And why did he need money? Of course I wouldn't let myself ask these questions, I didn't care.
“Why can’t he just work for his family or something?” Whoops.
“That’s…not a possibility right now. If he wants to tell you what’s going on, then that’s up to him. But right now, he needs a job. I thought maybe you’d be able to help him.”
“And why would I help him?” Tamp down on the bitterness, Chloe. Don’t let it swallow you.
“Because you’re the nicest person I know, and it’s the right thing to do.” Owen smiles, and just like that I feel horrible for even arguing with him in the first place.
“Okay…I’ll mention it to my papa next week. But I can’t guarantee anything, they usually have a rigorous process for choosing their wait staff.”
“Thank you.” Owen nods, and Minka looks at me with such appreciation in her eyes. “And Chloe…don’t give up on him just yet.”
18
Miles
Sitting in the car, I feel dejected. Again.
I’d just left the swanky pet grooming store near Grover’s campus, and I knew by the look in the owner’s eyes that I was definitely not getting the job. I didn’t have anything besides a bunch of baseball awards on my résumé. Who the hell would hire me?
I rested my head against the back of the seat in my truck, thankful that it had been paid off and my father couldn't care less about this car. Over the past month, it was like a hurricane had waged wreckage through my life, and then ran back over it again.
But it was weird, I’d felt better than I had in years.
I’d started at the obvious place…by telling my father to fuck off. I would rather rake hot fucking coals all over my body than work for him. I’d started rationally in the conversation, trying to explain to him my dream of becoming the best hitter major league baseball had ever seen. He hadn’t taken it well.
In his usual brusque manner, he’d railroaded me, dismissing my dreams as a “child’s silly fantasy.” I’d lost it then. I told him I was done, I wasn’t working for the family business, and he could do with that information what he wanted. The last words I had ever heard from my father, because I really didn’t plan on ever talking to him again, were, “Your brother was a greater man than you’ll ever be.”
I agreed whole-heartedly. But I was going to live the rest of my life trying as hard as I fucking could to be as close to my brother’s greatness as I could.
The second thing I’d done was go to coach. We hadn't been especially close up to this point, with my aversion to authority and all that. But I'd gone in, tucked my tail between my legs, and told him the entire sordid story. If there was anyone who had the heart to help me out and steer me on a straight path, it was him. A former Army vet who'd come home and gotten into teaching, and then coaching, Coach Larry Kent was a hardass with a mushy center. He'd hand you your ass out on the field and then drive you home and make sure you locked the door before he left. He was a genuinely good guy. And I needed that kind of figure in my life right now.
After I'd spit out the entire story to him, getting teary on the parts about Jay, he'd gotten up, slapped me on the back, and said, "Son, thank you for coming in. I am going to do everything in my power to keep you here, at this school and on this team."
So that took care of tuition and my spot on the team. Hopefully. Coach still needed to come through with it, but I wasn't too worried about that. I knew we had scholarship kids on the team, and there was no way Grover was letting its best hitter walk off the field.
After him, my next stop was the Kappa house. I walked in, told anyone within earshot that I was quitting the frat, and walked the fuck out. Brett Mullins, the Kappa president, came bounding down the steps like a little bitch, screaming about how making me do the dance competition was only a joke, that they loved having me as a brother. I kept walking, got in my car, and drove away without another glance. Good riddance. Those fuckers were making my life toxic. I'd actually gone home after that and apologized to my real friends, the guys in the house. They all fist-bumped me and told me they were glad I was done being Satan's bro.
But it was the last task that was proving hard. I needed to get a job, start up a savings account for myself. The scholarship would cover tuition, but I needed money to live. To buy new uniforms and equipment, put gas in my car. And I needed a nest egg just in case my pipe dream of making it to the big leagues didn't work out.
I'd gone to the bank and set up accounts in my name, something I'd never actually done. I realized then that I hadn't done a lot of stuff for myself growing up, and that I had no idea how to do it now. Like making meals, paying bills, being responsible in general. Now that I looked at it, who was really the spoiled one?
