The breaking point, p.3
The Breaking Point, page 3
“They aren’t like that.”
I could tell Brady didn’t believe me. It made me feel sad for him. Had his other foster parents hit him? Did he expect that now, no matter where he went?
“You said you couldn’t swim,” I said.
“Yeah. So?”
I felt my cheeks heat but pushed through to reply, “I can teach you.”
Brady didn’t say anything. I had a feeling he was going to tell me to go to hell, but he didn’t. He just stared off into the distance, almost like he hadn’t even heard me.
“You don’t have to do that,” he mumbled.
He wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t know why. But even though he was a big kid and seemed intimidating, I had a feeling it was all for show. I moved into the water until I was standing waist-deep.
“Come on. I’ll show you how to float,” I said.
To my surprise, he agreed. He wore shorts and a T-shirt, but he didn’t take off his shirt.
“Uh, you shouldn’t wear your shirt,” I said, wanting to die.
“What? Why?”
“I mean, you won’t drown, but the fewer clothes, the safer it is. More clothes mean you’ll get dragged down easier.”
I remembered my swim instructor telling me and the rest of my class that we shouldn’t jump into the water fully clothed. We especially shouldn’t do it wearing shoes.
“But if you do fall into water wearing street clothes and shoes,” she’d said, “there are ways to keep yourself safe so you can get out of the water.”
Brady finally took off his shirt. I couldn’t help but stare at him. He had a sprinkling of hair on his chest already. How was this boy only fourteen? I’d never seen another boy his age look like him.
He was tan, too, and muscular. He also had bruises on his ribs that I wanted to ask him about, but I bit my tongue just in time.
Brady then went to the last step and just stood there, the water up only to his knees.
“Come on. You can’t float in the shallow end,” I said.
“Why not? It’s all water.”
I snorted. “Fine. Here, watch me.”
I’d taken swimming lessons since I was little. I’d even swum a few times in swim meets, although I’d gotten bored with the sport after a few years. I preferred to read inside most days.
But the muscle memory remained. I began floating on my back, staring at the bright-blue sky. There was nothing like the blue sky of the desert. The world was always bright and illuminated here—no rain, no clouds, no cold.
“Come on.” I waved Brady over.
He finally waded toward me. When his arm brushed me, I nearly came out of my skin. I couldn’t look at him as he tried to start floating.
I had to help him the first few tries. He got frustrated easily, and I didn’t know how I managed to keep him from stomping inside after his third attempt resulted in him kicking and flailing.
“Don’t! You’ll make it worse,” I said.
“This is stupid,” Brady just kept saying.
But on the fourth try, he floated. I could tell he was uncomfortable, but he didn’t say as much.
After that, he let me show him how to dog paddle. He was better at that, but when his mouth dipped below the water, he burst upward and returned to the steps.
“That’s enough,” he said, breathing hard.
I went to stand next to him. “Good job. You’ll get better the more you practice.”
After we got out of the pool, Brady’s gaze took in my wet, swimsuit-clad body, and I wanted to melt into the ground. I instantly regretted doing this.
He probably thought I looked like a silly, chubby baby. I hadn’t even gotten my period yet like some of the other girls in my grade. People tended to think I was younger than I was, and maybe Brady did, too.
“I’ll see you later,” I said and hurried inside, not caring I was dripping water throughout the house as I ran upstairs.
That evening, I braided my hair and put on some lip gloss and eye shadow. I knew I couldn’t put on too much or Dad would freak out. I was almost late to dinner. By the time I came downstairs, everyone sat at the table, waiting for me.
Brady didn’t even look my way. Ben stared at me, his forehead creased like he didn’t recognize me.
“You look nice,” Mom said as I sat down. “Are you wearing makeup?”
“Makeup? Since when do you own any makeup?” Dad responded.
I turned bright red. “Dad . . .”
“She’s too young for that kind of thing,” Dad kept saying to Mom. “Did you buy her some?”
“Honey, she got some in her stocking for Christmas. It’s just for fun.” Mom looked over at me. “You look very pretty, sweetheart.”
I felt even more embarrassed at my mom’s kindness. I wished I’d never put on the stupid stuff. And it wasn’t like Brady was even paying attention to me.
“You look weird,” said Ben as he leaned closer toward me. “Babies don’t wear makeup.”
I was close to crying when Dad told Ben to knock it off. Ben shrugged, unfazed.
What was worse was that Brady ignored me the entire dinner. I wanted to tell everyone about me teaching him to swim, but I bit my tongue. I could tell Brady didn’t want to talk about it.
Was he embarrassed he’d let a girl help him? Or worse, was he just embarrassed of me in general?
I probably looked like an idiot, with my hair all braided and with all this makeup on. I swiped at a tear, but I refused to let any boy see me cry.
I went straight to my room after dinner, despite Mom trying to get me to stay downstairs to watch TV. I lied and said I wanted to read my book.
Instead, I flopped onto my bed and hugged my pillow close.
Boys are stupid, I reminded myself. Don’t let them ruin everything.
I must’ve dozed off, because when I woke up, it was almost dark outside. I heard someone open a door and then walk down the hallway. I usually could tell the difference between my family members’ footsteps. Mom was quick and light; Dad was slow and heavy; Ben was a combination of them both.
But these footsteps . . . they sounded like somebody didn’t want to be noticed.
I waited but didn’t hear anything else. I eventually went to my window that faced the part of the yard where our tree house was located. I watched as Brady tried to climb the tree and then fell on his butt.
I stifled a giggle. Didn’t he know there was a ladder you could pull down? I watched as he tried a second time and failed.
When I approached him at the tree, Brady was wiping dirt off his backside.
“Why do you keep following me around?” he said, annoyed.
“You know there’s a ladder, right?”
He just stared at me. I reached up and pulled said ladder down. It clicked when it reached the ground.
“Huh.” Brady shook his head. “I didn’t see it.”
“It’s dark out.” I wanted to make sure he didn’t feel embarrassed.
He didn’t protest when I climbed up after him into the tree house. He didn’t say much, either. We sat in silence, listening to the sounds of twilight.
“I come up here to write,” I said. “In my journal.”
Brady looked around. “Is your journal in here?”
I laughed. “No way. Ben would read it if he could. And I’d never let him.”
Brady just grunted.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” I asked quietly.
Brady, to my surprise, shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s your tree house after all.”
“I’m not a scaredy-cat,” Brady said suddenly. “About swimming, I mean.”
I blinked in surprise. “What?”
“I mean, I’m not afraid of the water. Not exactly. But every time I try to learn how to swim, I think about how my mom’s boyfriend threw me into the ocean. A riptide caught me, and I thought I was gonna drown.”
“Your mom’s boyfriend threw you?” I was horrified. “How old were you?”
“Uh, three? Four?”
“What!”
Brady shrugged. “I mean, it’s whatever. I didn’t die. But ever since then, I can only take showers. I don’t swim.”
“Did anyone try to help you?”
Brady was incredulous. “What, like Rick? Rick was laughing when I got to shore. My mom was drunk, passed out somewhere. Rick told me he’d never seen anything funnier.”
I felt so sad for Brady right then. Had no one ever protected him? Loved him? No wonder he didn’t know how to swim.
“Well, if you keep practicing, that won’t happen to you again,” I said.
“We can’t practice again. Your dad told me to leave you alone.” Brady grimaced. “You should probably leave before we get in trouble.”
My dad had told Brady to leave me alone? I was outraged. He didn’t even know Brady!
“That’s stupid,” I said. “And besides, my dad is gone by eight o’clock Monday through Friday. Tomorrow’s Friday, so we can keep swimming after my dad is gone.”
Brady just stared at me; then he let out a laugh. “Seriously? You don’t care about getting into trouble?”
“I wouldn’t get into trouble. You would.”
That made Brady’s expression close. “Right.”
“But I’d tell Dad to leave you alone. Anyway, we’re not doing anything wrong. I’m just teaching you how to swim.”
Brady smiled at me, which made me blush and feel warm and fuzzy inside.
“You know, you’re not as annoying as I thought you’d be,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks. I don’t get why you’d think I was, anyway.”
“Because pretty girls are always a pain in the ass.”
The butterflies in my stomach turned into an entire flock. I didn’t know what to say to that. And apparently Brady didn’t know what to say, either.
When I returned to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I stared up at the ceiling, my heart full, determined not to let anyone stop me from being around a boy like Brady Carmichael.
GRACE
PRESENT DAY
It was family dinner night on Fridays, and we all fell into our usual routine like I’d never left for college. Mom was in charge of the cooking; Dad was in charge of the cleanup.
I was in charge of everything else—setting the table, plating the food, and making everything look pretty. I also helped Mom with any cooking tasks. Dad usually tried to get me to help him with dishes, but as a kid I always managed to slip outside before he could rope me into that task.
I was pouring salad into a large wooden bowl and adding a few other toppings when Mom said, “When is Will coming?”
It took me way too long for my brain to register what she was asking. Will? Oh. The guy I’m dating.
I winced inwardly. I’d been so focused on Brady that poor Will had basically disappeared from my thoughts recently. It didn’t help that I kept running into Brady while at the arena.
I didn’t run into many of the other players. Just Brady. Strange coincidence, that.
Brady only ever said hello, maybe with a wink added on for good measure. Even that short salutation never failed to get my traitorous heart racing.
“Will. Oh, yeah. Um, six o’clock?” I finally answered, hoping Mom took the blush on my cheeks as me being excited to see the guy I was dating.
“Be sure to put out five plates tonight,” Mom said before her attention turned back to the risotto she was carefully stirring.
Five plates. I grabbed the dishes before my brain realized five would be too many.
“Mom, isn’t it just four of us tonight?” I called from the dining room.
“I invited Brady,” Mom said offhandedly. “I saw him at the arena and invited him. I hope you don’t mind.”
I gritted my teeth. I eked out a vague response that tried to sound casual, but I was sure it didn’t.
Brady, here. Tonight. When my new boyfriend would also be here.
Will isn’t your boyfriend, I reminded myself. Will was just the guy I was dating. We hadn’t even talked about making things official. We’d been on two dates. We’d only just kissed on the last one.
And if I were being honest, the kiss had been lackluster at best. Will’s lips had been overly moist, and I’d had to surreptitiously wipe away the saliva he’d left on my chin after kissing me.
But I’d agreed to keep seeing him because I knew that sometimes chemistry took time to build.
Or you’re just too nice to call things off, I thought morosely.
How would Brady react to Will? And why did I care? I shook myself. I had to play this cool. Brady was a brother to me. I just had to hope he wouldn’t try to razz Will like an older brother would.
After I set the table, I took out my phone and googled Brady. It was rather masochistic but a good reminder of why we’d never work out. The top pages were all posts and photos of Brady out with various gorgeous women. There were multiple photos of his arms around two women, with other women following him like starry-eyed ducklings.
If ducklings had huge boobs, huge lips, and wore basically scraps of fabric that somehow equaled an outfit.
I scowled and returned my phone to my pocket. Brady will never change. So you might as well get over him.
I busied myself with finishing up dinner preparation, although Mom got annoyed when I nearly let the bread burn in the oven. She gave me a look that she’d perfected over the years, one of exasperation mixed with affection.
“Get out of here,” she said, hitting me lightly with a dish towel.
Will arrived promptly at six o’clock. Brady, who’d told Mom he’d be there at six as well, was late. As per usual. Brady had never been one for punctuality.
“Hi there,” Will said, forcing me to stop thinking about Brady.
Will was in IT, and he looked like it. He wore glasses, along with a button-down that was two sizes too big. He’d recently shaved, and I had to pick off a piece of toilet paper he’d left on his jaw.
“Don’t be nervous,” I said, taking him by the hand.
Will laughed awkwardly. “I might not be a sports guy, but even I know who Coach Dallas is.”
When I’d first told Will who my dad was, he’d looked at me like I was an alien. I’d been surprised—and a little annoyed at myself for revealing my dad’s identity.
I usually kept that a secret for a while longer. I’d been on too many dates with hockey bros who thought getting close to Coach Dallas’s daughter would get them close to the hockey coach legend himself.
I’d never understood it. It wasn’t like Dad would add a guy to the team because he’d bought me a drink. But when I’d pointed that out once, my date had gotten so defensive that he’d ended the date early.
I introduced Will to Mom first because she was nicer. Mom smiled kindly at Will and shook his hand. She asked him the usual questions that moms loved to ask: Where do you work? Did you grow up in the area? Is your family nearby? Will answered them all without breaking a sweat.
But when Dad finally came inside after mowing the lawn—because of course he had to mow the lawn before dinner—Will’s calm exterior didn’t last long.
“What are your plans with my daughter?” Dad asked after perfunctory introductions were done.
Mom rolled her eyes. “Mike. Don’t scare the poor guy away.”
“I’m not scaring him.” Dad’s intense gaze narrowed as he looked Will up and down. “Am I, son?”
Will swallowed. I was about to take Will into the living room for a reprieve when the doorbell rang.
“That must be Brady,” Mom chirped.
I made a face, which Dad saw. He just raised an eyebrow at me.
And then Brady Carmichael, the man I couldn’t escape, was in my parents’ house again, taking up every bit of space he could.
Brady wore jeans and a black fitted tee, his hair was damp, and sexiness dripped from every pore. He didn’t have any bits of toilet paper on his face, and his clothes fit perfectly.
Don’t compare him to Will. It wasn’t fair. Brady was on another level from any man I’d ever met. Poor Will could never compete with a man like Brady.
“Grace,” Brady murmured before pulling me into a brief hug. “Nice to see you again.”
I inhaled the scent of his cologne, my heart pounding, which only made me feel horribly guilty.
“Brady,” I said hoarsely.
“I’m so glad you could join us,” Mom said. “It’s been too long since you’ve joined us for family dinner.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Dallas. It’s nice to see you,” said Brady.
Mom waved a hand. “Call us Mike and Elise, won’t you?”
“Or Coach. Since I’m still your coach at the end of the day, right?” said Dad with a raised eyebrow.
Brady’s gaze landed on me. “It has been a long time since I’ve been over for dinner, though, hasn’t it? Not since Grace left for college, right?” He shot me a look that spoke volumes.
I wanted to die. I’d been an idiot back then—a young, lovesick idiot. I’d hoped against hope Brady had forgotten about that night, but . . .
“And who’s your friend?” Brady asked.
I blinked. Then I blushed scarlet, because poor Will had been forgotten entirely.
“This is Will,” I stammered, “we’re dating.”
Brady’s eyes narrowed. “Really?” he drawled.
Will, for his part, shook Brady’s hand firmly. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
“The feeling’s mutual.” Brady’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
Thankfully, dinner was ready, and we all went to the dining room to eat. Brady made a point to sit on my right; Will was on my left. And I realized Brady had done that because he was left-handed, which meant his arm would brush mine throughout dinner.
“Do you want to switch with Will?” I asked Brady sweetly. I gestured to his left hand. “Then you won’t feel so crowded.”
“Oh, you never crowd me,” Brady replied. “Don’t worry about it.”
I knew that was code for Are you going to make a fuss about this? I wanted to stab Brady with my fork. It didn’t help that Will was watching the exchange with suspicion in his gaze.
Dinner was awkward, to say the least. My parents seemed divided on which guest to pay attention to. Mom focused all her efforts on Will, while Dad preferred to grill Brady. And of course Brady made a point to brush my arm with his every chance he got. He even made sure to “accidentally” pick up my water glass and drink from it.
