Brady Remington Landed Me in Jail (4 page)

"Well, I just said that because—" He sputtered to a halt, remembering Clarissa's presence. "We can talk about that later."

"I'm sure we will."

"So…" Clarissa's eyes lingered on our enjoined hands. "It looked like you were enjoying yourself, Rayna. Until you slapped him, I mean. What's up with that?"

"Nothing," I said primly. "He just said some stuff that I didn't like hearing."

"About what? Or who?" Her eyes sparked at the 'who'. Something told me that Clarissa knew exactly who we had been talking about. And when her eyes snapped to measure Brady for a moment, I knew I was right.

"About me." I WAS different. I didn't fit in with this crowd, but what infuriated me was that he had put Brady in one group and me in another. He said I didn't belong with him. Maybe he was right. Maybe I wasn't experienced or sophisticated like Clarissa, but I had something going for me that Joshua or Clarissa couldn't take away.

Brady was my best friend.

I repeated that statement to myself. It was true. He was my best friend, not Clarissa's. Joshua was wrong. I did belong; at least I belonged with Brady.

Brady might've sensed my inner turmoil, or maybe he did that 'best friend mind reading' thing, because he turned me around and started to move us beyond the trees. "What's wrong, Ray?"

"Nothing." I gritted my teeth and hoped he'd let it go.

He didn't when he turned me in his arms, gripped my shoulders, and forced me against a tree trunk. The bark bit into my skin, but I didn't feel it. My eyes were entranced with his as his bore down on me. "Don't lie to me, Ray. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I slapped his hands away.

Brady grinned as he caught my wrists with his, but I wrenched them free. When he tried to capture them again, I slapped away his hands—and Brady slapped mine away instead. Before long, his deep laugh came out and I was grinning when I dodged one of his playful slaps. It wasn't long before he wrapped his arms around me, squashed my hands between our chests, and rocked back and forth in a soothing motion.

It felt good. It felt comforting.

I chuckled and rested my head on his shoulder. Then I closed my eyes when Brady soothed a hand down my hair. "I don't know what that guy said, but he was wrong. Whatever he said, he was wrong."

I tightened my hold. Joshua hadn't been wrong about all of it.

"And I'll make sure that he leaves you alone, okay?" Brady whispered.

I looked up. "You're going to beat everyone up if they say something that pisses me off?"

"Depends."

"On what?" I couldn't hide my grin.

Brady smiled back. "On whatever he said to hurt you."

I saw a clear genuineness in his eyes right then. It took my breath away. "It's done with. It don't matter anymore."

Brady tipped his head back, scrutinized me for a moment, and never bothered to point out the incorrect grammar. He just shrugged. "Okay."

"Can you take me home? I'm tired."

"What? You don't want to loosen up some more?" He let me go, but then his hand slid down my arm and found mine. He entwined our fingers and led me to the parking lot.

"Shut up," I groaned.

"You did hit someone. And that make out session, woohee—if that wasn't hot then I don't know what is." Brady squeezed my hand again.

I flushed. "I did not make out with that guy."

"Yes, you did. He even did the leaning thing with you."

"Shut up."

"I can lean for you. You want me to lean for you, Ray?" As Brady turned to walk backwards he caught both my hands in his. His eyes danced as he waited for my answer.

I held my breath.

Brady just chuckled. "I'm way better at leaning than that prick."

"Could you please shut up?"

Brady tightened his hold and jerked me close for a hug. He whispered, "Next time that guy tries something; remind him who your boyfriend is. That should send him running."

I just shook my head, but a grin tugged at my lips.

As Brady pulled into my driveway and parked the car, I couldn't move for a moment.

Bent over the garden gnome was my grandfather in overalls, a John Deere Hat covering his greying hair. His old leather boots had duct tape around them. The sight of Neil fidgeting with the garden gnome shouldn't have stopped me, but it did. I was my grandpa's little girl. When he found out that I'd had sex…

I swallowed and closed my eyes.

"Ray…" Brady murmured gently.

I knew that he'd read my mind.

"Come on…it's not like you have to tell them."

"I have to."

"Why?"

"Because when they ask why I didn't tell them after it happened—I'm going to have to tell them that I chose to lie."

"It's not lying, it's just…sex is personal and you don't have to tell them everything."

"Of course you'd say that."

"Come on, don't be like that. I know that I can't understand where you're coming from, but it's not like—I was a virgin too once."

"You were a boy!
You are a
boy," I cried out. "It's not the same thing at all, Brady. And you don't even—" I stopped myself, just barely.

The silence was heavy.

"I don't what?" Brady asked quietly, but I heard the savagery beneath the surface. "I don't have parents like you? You don't either, Rayna."

"It's not like that," I murmured softly. "I'm sorry. I'm the good girl. I'm the…I'm the one who makes Viola and Neil go to church. I'm the one who insists on sitting at the table for our meals and not in front of the television. Having sex is not me."

Brady was quiet. I was afraid to look over at him, but I did and what I saw halted my own misery. The sparkle in his eyes was gone.

"What'd I say?"

His shoulder jerked in a shrug.

"Come on, Brady. What'd I say?"

"Nothing," he growled. "Leave it alone."

"What?" I insisted.

"Leave it alone, Ray. You don't want to go there."

I looked down at my lap.

"Look…," Brady started. "…you can just…tell them that you wanted to say something when you knew what to say, but you didn't know what to say for a while. How’s that?"

"Thank you and I'm sorry for whatever I said to upset you."

"I'm not upset."

"I know, but…" I knew better. "I'm sorry. Will you tell me later?"

He jerked his head in a nod and I knew an emotion was just simmering underneath the surface. I reached for the door, but Brady's hand stopped me as he squeezed my shoulder. I needed that.

"We'll, um...we'll talk later…okay?" Brady stumbled out.

I nodded my head, thankful, and squeezed his hand in return. "I'm glad Mr. Stephens dropped the charges."

A scowl appeared. "You talk to that asshole, you tell me."

I nodded, but when I straightened and moved away from the car I realized that I didn't know who he meant; Kid, his father, or Joshua. I didn't think Brady would've wanted me to talk to any of them, but that's a confrontation for another day.

When Brady's door slammed shut, I glanced back and watched as he stuffed his hands in his jeans. He had a shirt on now as he strolled to where my grandfather was bent over with a poking stick in hand and a gnome to torment. As the two started to converse I sighed, ducked my head, and reached to open the screen door.

Viola called from the kitchen, "Well, at least you had the nerve to walk through the main door and not crawl back through your window. I'm supposed to thank you?"

My grandmother arched an eyebrow and lifted her potato peeler. "I love Brady. I want that to be said, but you hear me—if I come into your room again and have a heart attack when I find that you're not there—I will use this peeler on his hide."

"Okay."

"And another thing…" Viola skimmed a hand through her greying hair pulled back in a ponytail. "I talked to Sharon and she said that boy did not have supper last night. I know you two have breakfast, but I didn't see it so I don't count it. You call him in here and we're all going to sit down for a good meal."

I nodded promptly and spun on my heel. Brady was on his haunches, studying whatever my grandfather was poking at. Neil would always poke around those weeds by the gnome. I was thankful for a moment that no matter what occurred, some things never changed.

Viola yelled behind me, "And then later tonight, you can explain to me why Kid Stephens called this morning."

"What?" I whirled back around.

She pushed the bowl of half-peeled potatoes away and skimmed a hand down her red pressed shirt. "That boy's nice and all, but I don't want you spending time with him."

"Wait a minute—Kid Stephens called here?"

"Hmm mmm," she harrumphed as she turned to place the bowl in the sink.

"And he wanted to talk to me?"

"Hmmm mmm." She rinsed off the potatoes.

"Why?"

"Why do boys usually call girls?"

I was floored. I was beyond—no, I was just clueless. "I have no idea."

"Rayna." My grandmother turned and rested against the kitchen counter. She assessed me, a variety of expressions flashed across her blue, clear, and wrinkle-free eyes. Viola would never need Botox. Not that she'd use it if she had the thought to, but my grandmother was a beautiful woman. One of those classic beautiful types and she scared the living daylights out of me.

"What?" I shifted uncomfortably.

There it was. All those different expressions again: approval, disapproval, disappointment, and impatience. "One day a boy is going to call this phone and he's going to ask for you. I'll admit that I started to think that day would never come. And now that it has I'm going to tell you a part of me rejoices and a part of me wants to handcuff you inside your room. I
do not
want you spending time with Kid Stephens."

Rejoice? Handcuff?

My grandmother looked pale, more pale than usual, but it could've been the potatoes. She hated peeling potatoes.

Viola waved her hand in the air. "Get Brady in here. Food's ready."

She turned her back before I moved from the doorway. My grandmother was sixty-three, but she'd live till she was in her hundreds.

"Grandma…" I started.

"What?" She glanced over her shoulder.

Here it was. Do I confess or not? What do I say? I wasn't dumb. I know that she worried Kid Stephens was interested in me in a romantic way, but I also knew the only reason she didn't approve was because of his father. The joke was on her because Kid would never be interested in someone like me. He liked girls like Clarissa. If she was that worried about Kid, I had no idea how she'd react to the idea of Brady.

I bailed. "Nothing."

"You sure?" She studied me again.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm just tired."

"Okay. Go get your boy," she shooed.

As I moved back through the living room, I scowled. He wasn't my boy. I wasn't his girl. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all. Then I looked up and my hand halted before it touched the screen door. Brady tipped his head back and laughed at something Neil had said. And then it happened—my grandfather patted his shoulder in approval.

Warmth flooded me and I choked back tears. It didn't mean a thing. It wasn't a secret that my grandparents adored Brady. I was just emotional. That's all it was. I ignored my trembling hand and scratchy throat when I opened the door. "Brady! Breakfast!"

His eyes snapped to mine. I felt my heart pound—it was suddenly so loud that I almost couldn't hear Brady when he called back, "Sweet! I call baby chair."

I rolled my eyes.

The baby chair wasn't a baby chair. It was a wooden chair that had been carved by someone to look like an actual baby. Viola swears that she found it at an auction, but I knew there was a reason why Grandpa constantly tried to burn the thing. And yet, it always stayed where it had been placed and kept over the years, right at the table. The chair had a head where ours was supposed to rest against. A bib had even been carved into the chair, but Brady only said it warmed his back. The entire thing was wood, but it still looked like a baby.

I had taken the chair against the wall when Brady swooped in and dropped into it. The screen door squeaked again, and then Viola rushed into the living room. Just as my grandfather lifted his foot to step inside, Viola shook her head and closed the door on his face. Neil didn't look shocked as he stared at his wife of forty-three years. He just readjusted his John Deere hat and pushed one of the overall straps back in its rightful place on his shoulder.

Viola placed her hands on her hips. "Oh no. You said you had things to do outside. You do those things outside, I got the inside today."

Neil didn't blink. He turned around and went back outside. It wasn't long before we heard his truck go past.

Brady chuckled. "He didn't want to peel the potatoes, huh?" Then he reached over the table and helped himself to five pancakes.

My grandmother cleared her throat and took her chair. "Now, you two—what happened, Brady?" She looked at him sharply and pointedly.

I would've choked in his place, but Brady finished swallowing his bite of pancakes and smiled. "What do you mean, Viola?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You had my granddaughter scurrying out of here at some ungodly hour this morning. You better tell me why I had a heart attack when I went and found her gone this morning. It had better been worth it."

Brady raised his fork for another mouthful.

Viola cleared her throat and leaned closer. "You come clean with me or don't think I won't call Deputy Dog. He'll tell me."

He lowered the pancakes and frowned.

"I think we should pray before we eat."

"Brady. Talk."

"About what?" Brady asked, but Viola had him in her sights and she wouldn't let him out. Slowly, she got up and reached for the phone on the wall.

"Fine. Fine. I got into a fight." He sent me a furtive look that was noticed by all of us.

My grandmother slid her eyes to me, but slowly replaced the phone back in its receiver.

I coughed and raised my linked hands. "Can we please pray before Brady eats some more? We're supposed to pray at meals."

"Fine." Viola folded her hands and resumed her seat.

Brady wiped at a bead of syrup that lingered on the corner of his mouth before he folded his hands and bowed his head.

I prolonged the prayer longer than the normal twelve second chant. It lasted a good minute or two before Viola grew impatient and ended it with a final 'Amen.'

Brady tried to hide a grin as he reached for more of his pancakes, but Viola slapped his hand away. "Brady. Talk."

"I can talk. I can talk about a lot of things, Viola. What would you like to hear about? I can talk about how we went to Ned's. Did you know that Bob growls now?"

Viola grumbled, "I don't know why he named that damn station after his dog in heat. It makes no sense to me. And Bob. Who names a stupid Bigfoot? He wasn't supposed to keep the damn thing after all these years."

I relaxed after that and enjoyed a bowl of oatmeal as Brady dodged more questions. He kept her entertained with comments about Ned, Neil, and even the dog that Ned had named his gas station after. An hour later, I excused myself to my room and shut the door with a long drawn out sigh. I felt like I'd run a marathon. Collapsing on my bed, I curled into a ball.

This was where Brady found me an hour later when he landed on top of me and I shoved him off before I saw the door was shut.

"Thank God," I muttered.

"Thank who?" Brady snuggled underneath my blankets with me. "It's just me."

"Get away." I pathetically shoved at his shoulder.

Brady batted my hand away, wrapped both of his arms around my waist, and threw his leg over mine. I was trapped in place. Then he moved to lay behind me and rested his forehead on the back of my neck.

"You can thank me now, you know," he mumbled.

My skin tickled from his breath. "Thank you for what?"

"I distracted Viola. And she went outside to work in the garden."

We both knew what that meant. She'd be out there for hours.

"You didn't have to do that."

Brady yawned and I felt his chest rise and fall against my back. His arms tightened, but he still mumbled, "Yeah. I did. And you know it."

Tears pricked at my eyes, but I ignored them. He was right. I'd thought about confessing, but then breakfast happened and Brady was being questioned instead of me. That was how it was. My grandmother hadn't even wondered what I might've done that I shouldn't have.

His arm rested heavily on my waist. "Brady?"

His deep breaths answered me. He'd fallen asleep. Here's my confession to myself: sometimes Brady scared me. It wasn't him in particular, but how he affected me. I knew if anyone could coax me into doing things I shouldn't—it was the guy holding me. I felt a yawn coming and as it broke free, I turned in his arms. Instead of slinking out from underneath them—I snuggled into his chest and felt my eyelids close.