Beneath His Darkness (Healing Hearts #3) (4 page)

People at home didn’t know how to deal with me.  I dropped off the baseball team and joined the drama team.  I devoted all my time to polishing my manipulations.  Everyone thought I had cracked, but no one knew how to help me.

Girls doted on me.  The guys on the team were pissed off.  Teachers gave me more time for assignments and tests even though I didn’t need it.  I fed off all their uneasiness.  Everyone was on edge and it gave me a high I couldn’t describe.

Even the school guidance counselor was fooled.  The teachers must have gone to her, worried about me.  She called me down, insisting I start seeing her once a week.  It was just one more way for me to hone my skills.  I never spilled the secret of being a bastard child.  No one ever thought my depression was anything more than grieving the loss of my dad.

I was that good.

I thought pissing off the guys was bad when I dropped off the baseball team, leaving them without a starting pitcher.  That was nothing compared to trying out for the school play and snagging the lead role.  The guys who had been in drama for the last two years created a scene about how unfair it was, but the drama teacher stated everyone had to try out and the person who had the best audition got the part.

I listened to the bitching and snide remarks every rehearsal and I loved it.  Those little bastards whining about how the jocks should stick to their turf made me smile on the inside.  They didn’t understand that I would invade any turf I wanted, just to prove I could.  These guys thought they were the supreme actors, but they couldn’t understand that I was fooling everyone.

I wasn’t going through a depression.  I didn’t give up baseball because I had lost myself.  Hell no.  I had a calling and I was just getting started.

My senior year was more of the same.  Everyone thought I would take the summer to get myself “worked out”.  When I came back and talked about the acting classes I took, people looked at me funnier than they had the year before.  Apparently, this new Grant had people a tad on edge.  I always thought high school was supposed to be a time for finding yourself, but I guess that’s only if you fit into the mold people made for you.

The guys on the baseball team went from being my friends to trying to pick on me, but they forgot I used to be one of them.  I saw them coming a mile away and turned their pranks around on them.  There were a couple fists fights and I walked away without getting in trouble every time.

It’s amazing how quickly you can make the principal feel bad for you.  It only takes a little head hanging and sniffling, wringing your hands and saying how sorry you are for letting your old friends make you feel so bad about yourself.  But what always got him to take the bait was when I would say, “It’s just when I come down from being angry…all I can think about is how disappointed my dad would be if he were still here.”

I’d get a slap on the wrist while the rest of the guys got full punishment.  It never mattered whether I threw the first punch.  Hell, I could have instigated the whole situation.  I manipulated things to my advantage and came out looking like the victim each and every time.

The jocks tried to start stories around the school about me being a liar, but no one believed them.  They had bullied too many  kids to rise to the top ranks of popularity.  When I dropped off the team, I suddenly became one of the everyday kids.  I blended.  Their stories about me angered the masses of teenagers sick of being pushed around by the kids who thought they were only superior because they played a sport.

Why were they so great?  Was it just because they could run faster or catch a ball?

It infuriated my old teammates that they couldn’t take me down and I rode the high straight through graduation.

I was a king and they could do nothing to dethrone me.

I left that behind me a couple years ago when I moved to L.A.  I don’t miss any of those people from my old life.  Well, maybe Candy Winston.  She will forever hold a special place in my mind, but the rest have faded into the background.  They were just a stepping-stone to something greater, to my higher calling.

The last couple of years, I’ve spent time honing my craft.  Taking classes, gaining teacher accolades, and small gigs have gotten my name scattered around here and there, but nothing prepared me better than high school.  It was a perfect stage with such a large audience, willing to watch me perform.

All of that practice in manipulation led me here, to this moment.  I should be nervous, but I’m not.  I’m more prepared than anyone in this line, and I can think that with great certainty.  I will walk into that room, I will nail this part, and it won’t matter that this is the first time I’ll be coming face to face with Tucker in four years.

Thinking his name still ignites a rage so hot, I’m afraid I’ll burn from the inside out.  I do the breathing exercises I’ve taught myself and bring myself back to thinking about Candy Winston.

She has no idea about the role she played in my life or the ways she changed me.  Maybe someday I’ll find her and tell her what an impact she had, but for now, I’ll continue to use her as my tool to calm my growing anger.

I breathe in and think back to my freshman year of high school.  I exhale and allow myself to be back in Brad Davies’ house.

“It’s so cool that Brad’s parents are never home.”

I’m not sure who made the comment, but everyone nods their head in agreement or says something that sounds similar to an “I know”.  I’m walking around, feeling lost.  I’ve never been to a party before.  The freshmen normally aren’t allowed to come, but when coach announced me as the starting pitcher next year, suddenly I became a big deal.

An arm snakes around my waist and I look down to see Jessika Finley smiling up at me.  Last I knew, she was dating one of the seniors.  I don’t remember which one, but I’m not looking to get my ass kicked, so I smile as I work myself out of her grasp.

She pouts at me and I’m not sure what to do.  This whole thing is out of my comfort zone.

“The party is here,” someone shouts,  “we have beer!”

Jessika jumps up and runs away as if she weren’t just clung around my middle.  I breathe a sigh of relief and look around to make sure no one saw.  I can’t be sure.  My nerves are shot.

“You heading over for a drink?”

I whip around to see Candy Winston standing there.  Shit.  Where did she come from?

“You alright?” she asks.  Her head tilts toward her shoulder and she looks at me like she’s inspecting me.  I don’t know whether I like that.  It makes me uncomfortable—more uncomfortable than I already am.

“Uh…yeah.”

“To the drink or being alright?”  She giggles lightly and I decide I like her laugh.

I smile at her.  “Both, I guess.  I’m Grant,” I say, extending my hand before I realize how geeky that makes me.

She takes my hand and shakes it with a smile on her face.  “I know.  Everyone knows about the superstar freshman pitcher.  Everybody is talking about you, Grant.  I’m Candy.”

I want to tell her I know who she is, but I don’t.  Her popularity came to fruition for all the wrong reasons.  She came from the poorest section of town and the kids in school pick on her behind her back.  They talk about how she started mowing lawns when she was eleven so she could buy name brand clothes to fit in with the popular kids, but they say she’ll never really fit in.

I think it’s awful how they treat her.  She works her ass off.  She gets the highest grades in her class, works a job, and is in several school activities and sports.  Quite frankly, I don’t know how she functions day to day.

I often wonder if she knows how the others talk about her.  She doesn’t act like it.  In fact, she’s extremely kind to everyone.

We walk together to where the drinks are and I’m relieved that there’s soda.  I’ve never drank alcohol before and I’m not sure I want to start tonight.  Candy grabs a soda as well, which makes me feel like less of a loser.

The party goes on for a couple hours and almost everyone here is drunk.  There are people making out and groping each other all over the place.  Some have disappeared into rooms.  I don’t know if this is what typically happens at these parties, but I feel totally out of place and I’m ready to go home.

“Hey, freshman,” Brad says, grabbing my shoulder.  His grip is really strong.  I tense.  Something isn’t right in the way he’s holding onto me.  “I hear you were getting cozy with my girl earlier.”

I look at him, dumbfounded.  I don’t even know who his girl is and I wasn’t getting cozy with anyone.  I talked to Candy for a little while and Jessika…oh, shit!  Brad must be the senior Jessika is dating.  And she was wrapping herself around me, in his house.  I’m going to get my ass kicked.

I go to open my mouth, but nothing comes out.  This guy is going to use me as a punching bag.

“There you are.”

Brad and I both look over to see Candy smiling at us.  I don’t know what she’s smiling about, I’m trying not to shit my pants.

“Thanks for keeping my date company for me, Brad,” she says grabbing my hand.

“Your date,” he says, obviously confused by her statement.

I’m confused, too.  Everyone knows Candy doesn’t date.  She’s always been too focused on school and working toward scholarships.  Plenty of guys have tried, but she’s blown off every one.

“Yes, my date.  When I heard Grant was coming tonight, I asked him to come with me.  I couldn’t find him earlier so Jessika found him for me.  Can you thank her for me?”  She smiles again at Brad and I see his stance loosen.  “Is there somewhere more private Grant and I can go?”

What?  Now, I know something isn’t right.  Candy doesn’t date and she sure as hell doesn’t go somewhere private with guys.  What the hell is she doing?

“Uh, yeah,” Brad stammers out.  “I don’t think anyone is in the room at the end on the right.”

“Thanks, Brad.”  She pulls me behind her without saying another word.

I follow behind her, feeling stares on my back with every step I take.  I know stories are already starting.  Guys are asking what I have that they don’t.  The girls are thinking there’s either something special about me or I’m just as weird as Candy.  Either way, there’s more talk going on about me than I want.

There’s been enough this week.

When Noah Kent threw out his shoulder in our championship game last weekend, everyone thought we were doomed to lose.  No one expected the freshman back up to come in and save the day, but that’s what I did.  I pitched a no hitter.  It wasn’t a fluke thing.  I knew that, the coach knew that, but there’s this thing called seniority and he didn’t want to upset his players when he already had a decent pitcher and a winning team.

Then, Coach announced I would be next year’s starting pitcher and tongues started wagging, stories flying about the freshman that could go all the way to the pros.  I don’t know what they heard Coach say about me, but they heard enough to think I’m the real deal.  Since the game everyone has been treating me differently.  I went from being a nobody to everyone wanting to be my friend.

It’s all so weird.

The party grows silent as Candy and I make our way to the back room.  I wish someone would say something, even if it’s inappropriate.  It would be better than the tension of knowing they are watching us walk away.

Her hand is gripping mine tightly, telling me she’s as nervous as I am.  I wish I knew why she was doing this.  I want to tell her to stop, but I fear it will make the situation worse.  Rejecting her in front of all these judgmental gossipmongers would be social suicide.  So, I continue to walk behind her in silent awkwardness.

She stops in front of the door and my heart stops beating for a second.  I watch her hand grab for the knob and slowly turn it.  I swear I can hear her swallow.  She doesn’t look back at me as she opens the door and starts to walk in, and I don’t look back at the crowd watching us, picking apart everything we do to tell juicy stories later.

I step in behind her and close the door with my foot.  Sound erupts from behind the door.  I can hear comments that I wish I couldn’t.  Things like, “she’s finally loosening up and letting a guy between her legs”.

I know she hears them too because I see her flinch.  I want to comfort her, protect her from their crass words.

I just wish I knew what to do or say.

She drops my hand and walks over to the bed while I stand against the door, staring at my feet.  My nerves keep me planted in place.  I can’t look at her or the surroundings of the room.

“Grant,” she says quietly, “why don’t you come sit down?”

I think I nod my head, but I can’t be sure.  My body doesn’t feel like my own as I creep over to the bed and sit a couple feet away from her.  Creep.  That’s what I feel like.  I ruined this girl’s reputation by being in here with her and I still don’t know why she stepped in to help me.

“Candy, why are we in here?” I ask in a whisper, afraid the others might be listening at the door.

She smiles at me again.  She really is pretty and for a split second, I wish we were in here because she likes me.

“I saw Jessika hugging you,” she whispers back.  “A couple other people did, too.  I knew it would get back to Brad and he’s a really jealous guy.  He knows she’s a flirt, but he never blames her.  He always blames the guys for her behavior.  You seem like a nice guy.”

She shrugs and looks to the floor.  I look at the floor, too.  Guilt consumes me.  She tarnished her reputation to save me.  How can I thank or repay her for that?

“I’m sorry.”  It’s all I can think to say.