Defending Taylor (Hundred Oaks #7) (9 page)

I think some of Coffee County’s best players graduated last year. Still, they had some great juniors and sophomores, so today will be no cakewalk.

As usual, I’m the first player warming up on the field. It surprises me when Sydney, the freshman who’s pretty good, joins me in front of the goal.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey.” Her voice is meek, which makes no sense given how good she is on the field. I was pretty impressed by her on Saturday, and she was playing a position she typically doesn’t play. She should have more confidence.

“You played well the other day.” I pass her the ball I was playing with.

She stops it with her cleat. She looks toward the locker room, almost as if she’s embarrassed to be seen talking to me. Or maybe not embarrassed, per se, but scared.

“Pass it back,” I call.

With a deep breath, she plants her left foot and kicks the ball with her right laces.

I run to meet the ball, snapping it back to her. I grin, excited to have someone to play with, but Sydney doesn’t look like she’s having all that much fun.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nicole doesn’t want any of us talking to you because you teased our team last year.”

“Nicole doesn’t even
know
me, Syd. I just want to play soccer, okay?”

“That’s all I want too.”

“I’m going to talk to her privately,” I announce. “I don’t care what she says about me, but she has to start passing the ball.”

“I don’t think you should confront her,” Sydney replies, biting her lip. It doesn’t surprise me. As a freshman, I never would’ve had the balls to confront the St. Andrew’s captain. On the other hand, I very much respected her. Who knows what I would’ve done if the captain had been a bully.

“If Nicole’s not a team player, she needs to be called out for that,” I say. “It’s not like she can play a game without the rest of you. She can’t be everywhere at once, even if she thinks she can.”

Sydney dribbles the ball, does a fake, then passes it back to me. “I made all-district on the middle school team last year.”

“That’s awesome,” I say with a smile. Only ten girls make it each year. I never did.

“I was really excited I made the Hundred Oaks team as a freshman,” she says softly. “I usually play forward, but Nicole won’t let me anywhere near the front line.”

“Because she knows you’re good. I bet she doesn’t want to share the spotlight.”

Sydney nods slowly. “My mom says it’s only one year. Nicole will graduate, and then I can go back to my regular position.”

“That’s bullshit. What does Coach Walker say?”

“He doesn’t care. He’s the freshman guys’ gym teacher. Coaching soccer is just an extra paycheck to him.”

I hate the bitterness I hear in her voice.

“I want a scholarship,” Sydney goes on. “I don’t want scouts seeing me play D. It’s not what I love. I don’t want to end up playing that position all through high school.”

“I totally get what you’re saying.”

That makes her smile, but it fades when the locker room door opens and the other girls begin to trickle out. When I see how terrified Sydney is of Nicole, an idea comes to mind. Dad always says,
“If you want someone to do something, trick them into thinking it was their own idea.”

I smile mischievously to myself, then kick the soccer ball way out in front of me. I dribble toward Nicole, doing a few fancy tricks along the way to show off. As I get closer to her, I pretend to trip over the ball and let it roll out of bounds.

Nicole enjoys this, of course. I hustle to retrieve the ball. Once I have it, I move close to her again. I point over at Sydney.

“Sydney’s really good,” I tell Nicole. “Thanks for putting her on defense with me. I couldn’t do it without her.”

Nicole looks from me to her. “Sydney! You’re playing left forward today.”

The look of pure excitement on Sydney’s face makes me so happy. I’ll play D for the rest of my life just to keep her smiling like that.

I fake anger toward Nicole. “No, you can’t do this! I need her on D.”

With a smirk on her face, Nicole tosses a ball in the air and catches it. “You’ll just have to hustle more, I guess.”

That was ridiculously easy.

As soon as Nicole is off torturing someone else, I watch Sydney and the other freshman do their drills, which I’ve been encouraging players to do before scrimmage starts. Julia isn’t bad. She has control of the ball and clearly knows how to move. I gaze around at the other girls. Chloe has excellent footwork. A couple others have great mechanics too. Alyson is awesome in goal. And of course there’s Nicole. But about half of the team seems to be here simply to have something to do. They don’t appear to be all that interested in playing; instead, they gossip and watch the boys playing pickup basketball.

But having seven girls with skills is good. Really good.

Maybe we could make a real showing this year.

• • •

I decide to buy Ezra’s coffee today.

After all, he’s agreed to talk with me, which should ultimately get me out of meeting with Miss Brady once a week. I like the woman, but spending five hours a week with her is just too much.

When Ezra arrives at Donut Palace, he opens the door, looks around, and spots me sitting in the corner booth away from the noise of the cash register. I wave him over, and as he’s making his way to me, I check out his Braves ball cap, long-sleeved black shirt, ripped jeans, and work boots splotched with dirt. His biceps and forearms seem to be getting bigger each day. Demolition is physically demanding work.

“Morning, Tease,” he says, stifling a yawn.

I slide him his coffee. He lifts the lid and peeks inside. “How’d you know?”

“You order the same thing every day.”

“So do you.”

“I know what I like.”

His mouth lifts into a mischievous smile. “I know what I like too.”

He takes a sip of his coffee and sets the cup down on the table. Together we gaze out the window at the farmland to the east, where the sun rose about half an hour ago. That’s one of my favorite things about this café—it’s on the outskirts of Franklin, and all the green reminds me of St. Andrew’s. And with Ezra sitting across from me, it’s almost as if I’m back there.

As much as I didn’t want to be around him, because I’m afraid my crush will come back, I feel very relaxed sitting here. I sip my latte and sigh.

Then Ezra’s cell phone makes a noise like someone bowling a strike. He digs in his pocket and pulls it out. I’ve never seen him look at his phone before. It’s totally un-Ezra.

He stares at the screen for several seconds and laughs. He types back.

“What’s going on?” I ask, a little miffed. I hate it when people look at their phones while they’re spending time with me. It makes me feel like I’m not worth their time.

“It’s my friend Svetlana.”

Svetlana?

“From Cornell,” he clarifies.

“Oh,” I say in a tiny voice. “Your girlfriend?”

His eyebrows pop up. He takes a little too long before responding, “No, she’s not.”

His cheeks blush pink, and it’s not from the coffee. If she’s not his girlfriend, then what is she to him? Has he hooked up with her? What kind of a name is Svetlana anyway? I start imagining a Russian gymnast who contorts herself into fancy sexual positions while spying on the United States.

“Do you talk to friends from Cornell a lot?” I ask.

He lifts a shoulder. “Mostly just Svetlana. And my old roommate, Justin.”

“Do you miss college?”

“Yeah, I miss my friends and intramural soccer. And I loved my frat.”

“Oh. I guess I figured you didn’t like it there. Since you’re back, you know?”

“I liked all the social aspects of college, especially the Sloppy Joe bar—”

“Sloppy Joe bar?”

“The dining hall had a Sloppy Joe bar on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

My mouth waters at the idea. Unless there’s a Sloppy Kale Joe thing I don’t know about, Sloppy Joes will never be served at my house.

“But there were parts of college you didn’t like?” I press.

He rests his chin on his fist. “Yeah, the whole
college
part. The classes.”

Huh. Oliver and Jenna settled right in at their schools. “Really?”

“The business courses sucked. College writing sucked. It pretty much all sucked.”

“Is that why you left?”

He adjusts his ball cap. “I’m taking some time off. I need to figure out what I want to do.”

“So you’re going back in the spring? Or next year?”

“That’s what my father wants…and expects.”

As the largest shareholder in the Tennessee Asset Management Group, Mr. Carmichael is the wealthiest man in the state. He’s even richer than the royally connected Goodwins. He has tons of influence. He endorsed my dad’s reelection campaign. Lots of people depend on Mr. Carmichael. In turn, Mr. Carmichael expects a lot of Ezra.

“But?” I prompt.

“But the longer I’m away from Cornell, I’m not sure I should go back.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to be a business major. The classes…just aren’t for me.”

“Maybe change your major?”

“Try telling that to my father.”

I totally get what he’s saying. I care a lot about my future, and I work very hard. But if my parents—my dad in particular—hadn’t always been pushing me to be the best I can be, would I work so hard in school? Would I care? I don’t know.

“If you could change your major, what would you pick?” I ask.

He stares at his coffee cup. “I’m not sure. I like working on houses though. I like using my hands.”

I glance down at his strong, tanned hands and swallow hard.

I hope he didn’t use them on Svetlana.

• • •

Today Miss Brady left us a prompt that reads,

What’s the best gift you’ve ever gotten?

“That’s easy,” I say. “Chickadee!”

Ezra bursts out laughing. “I forgot all about him.”

“My mom sure hasn’t. I can still hear her hollering about that rooster poop on the back deck.”

When I was eleven, Ezra came over to our house bearing a gift for me,
just because
. He opened his hands, and out popped a little yellow chicken. It was so cute. I named him Chickadee.

Mom and Dad hated Chickadee, but I wouldn’t part with him. He was a gift from Ezra! Then Chickadee grew from a tiny chick into this giant rooster. He attacked anything and everything with his beak and flapped his wings like Dracula.

“Chickadee loved eating chicken,” I say. “It was sort of cannibalistic.”

“Remember that time he bit Oll’s finger?”

I clap my hands, laughing. “Yeah, and after that, Mom thought Chickadee needed a distraction, so she bought those hens. Bow-chick-a-wow-wow,” I sing.

“But he wasn’t interested in the hens.”

“Yup, because Chickadee was gay.”

Ezra snort-laughs, which makes me laugh even harder.

“Only you would manage to give me a gay rooster,” I say.

“You loved it.”

“Yup. I was so sad when Chickadee died.”

“But then I brought you that betta fish.”

“Mom was much happier about that. She probably thought you’d bring me a baby goat next. Which I would love, by the way.”

Ezra smiles widely before drinking from his cup.

“So what’s the best gift you’ve ever gotten?” I ask.

He takes another long draw of coffee before answering my question. “It’s not really a gift. It was more of an experience. Dad took me camping in Arkansas for my eighteenth birthday—it was just me and him and the river. We caught trout and cooked it over the campfire. Then we drank beer and just talked. I liked how he treated me like a man.”

I smile. “Sounds nice.”

“It was. I think it was the longest he and I have ever been alone together. He doesn’t usually have time, you know?”

“I get that. Both our dads are busy.”

His face darkens. “I doubt Dad and I will ever do anything like that again.”

“Why not?”

“He’s pissed that I left Cornell. We haven’t been talking much lately. I don’t really know what to do about it.”

I shouldn’t pry, because I understand how it feels having people poke around in your business, but I care about him. I need to know more. “So did you, um, officially drop out of school?”

Ezra gives me a hard look. “I took a leave of absence.”

“So you can go back?”

“Can we talk about something else?” He peers at the envelope Miss Brady left us at the counter. “Any other prompts in there?”

“You can talk to me,” I say quietly. “You know, if you want to.”

He eats the last doughnut hole and crushes the white paper bag into a ball. “I don’t want to talk about it here. You’ve got school, and I need to get to the work site.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay, so tell me when and where you want to talk.”

“Friday night? You, me, the Cumberland Science Museum?”

I’m scared to put myself back out there again, but this is Ezra.

The guy I’ve known forever. The friend I can talk to.

The one I can trust?

“I don’t understand how we’re getting away with this.”

I’m walking with Ezra through the deserted Cumberland Science Museum on Friday evening, drinking a chocolate milk shake. I feel like I’m breaking every rule of museum etiquette.

“The curator owes Dad a favor.”

“I thought things are weird with your father.”

Ezra winks. “The curator doesn’t know that.”

We sit on a bench by the human body exhibit. Mechanical displays demonstrate how the intestine digests food and the heart pumps blood. It’s a little grotesque and probably not the best thing to watch while eating, but there aren’t many places to sit. I squint, trying to read the placards next to the displays. Ezra reaches into a white paper bag that’s spotted with grease and pulls out a shrimp Caesar salad (for me) and a cheeseburger and fries (for him).

When I snap the lid off my salad, Ezra shares a few of his fries, setting them on top of my lettuce. It makes me grin. I eat one of the fries immediately but decide to save the other two for last. He bites into his cheeseburger, then licks mustard off his finger. Oh, to be that mustard. Maybe if I “accidentally” get some salad dressing on the side of my mouth, he’d lick it off.

I nearly groan at the thought. I shouldn’t be thinking such things. I should be protecting my heart, but Ezra’s intoxicating, spicy smell has me under a spell. He’s wearing dark jeans and a gray
Iron Man
T-shirt he’s had for years that looks soft and comfortable from being washed so many times.

“What’d you do after school today?” he asks between bites. “Soccer practice?”

“No, this coach doesn’t make us practice on Fridays.”

Ezra’s eyebrows scrunch together. “How’s he expect you to win?”

“I asked the same thing.” I pop a crouton in my mouth and chew. “After school, I worked on my college essays. I’m having a tough time with the prompts. I keep trashing what I’ve written and starting over.”

Ezra starts to bite into his burger but then he stops and pauses. “Yeah, they’re hard.”

“I’m so worried,” I say quietly. “What if I don’t get into Yale? I got kicked out of St. Andrew’s. What if they question my character? What if—”

“Tease.” He sets a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

I smile sadly. “I just don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get into Yale.”

“Why do you want to go there?”

“It’s what I’ve been working toward forever.”

“So?”

“So?” I snap. “It’s important to me.”

“But why?”

“It’s a great school where I’ll learn a lot so I can help at my family’s firm. Plus, my dad expects it.”

Ezra removes his hand from my shoulder and rips into his burger. We chew in silence.

“Why’re you having trouble with your essays?” he asks through a mouthful.

“I’m supposed to write about a time I took a big risk and what I learned from it. Other than getting kicked out of St. Andrew’s, I haven’t really done anything bad.”

Ezra is thoughtful. “Risk doesn’t always have to be a negative, you know. Sometimes, it’s good to take risks—calculated risks—and hope you get a payoff. Life is a lot like poker.”

I see what he’s getting at. “You took a risk leaving school. Was it worth it?”

“Ultimately, I think so. I mean, I’m happier overall, but my parents are really pissed at me. Dad took away my trust fund, and he’s talking about writing me out of his will.”

“What?” I screech, dropping my plastic fork on the floor. I lean over to pick it up. How could a father separate himself from his son like that?

“I don’t care about the money. It just sucks how Dad is treating me.”

I squeeze Ezra’s knee. “I understand what it’s like to disappoint your parents.”

He stares at my hand and clears his throat. “It’s the risk I took. I knew my dad would be pissed, but I couldn’t stay at Cornell. I hated the classes.”

“So you want to keep doing demolition and get promoted to construction?”

He focuses on the mechanical human heart urgently pumping blood—
whoosh, whoosh, whoosh
. “I would love to design houses. Like architecture.”

“That sounds really cool,” I say eagerly. “Have you told your dad that?”

With a shake of his head, Ezra eats the last bite of his burger. “To Dad, I either major in business and take over his company, or I’m not part of his life. He can be such a dick sometimes.”

“Maybe you could go back to school and study architecture. Pick the school you want and pay for it yourself. Take out student loans.”

His face flames red. “I’m not sure I want to go back to school, even to study architecture.”

I steal a few more of his fries. “I don’t see how you can give up college.”

“Like I said, I took a risk. There are other options out there. I wish you’d consider them yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t even know why you want to go Yale, other than it’s where everyone in your family has gone to college. You don’t even know what you want to study.”

I set my fork down in my plastic bowl. I’m not hungry anymore. “I already have my parents judging me. I don’t need you doing that too. I need a friend.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that—I just want you to be happy.”

“That’s what I want for you too.”

Ezra takes my hand. Gazes into my eyes. The low museum lights emphasize his handsome face. He’s a great work of art.

Then he says softly, “Let’s walk around.”

• • •

Our next stop is the beekeeping exhibit.

Hundreds of thousands of bees zoom around behind the glass, serving their queen by feeding young bees, collecting pollen and nectar, and making honey. The dripping honeycomb looks delicious. The little placard says the queen lays three thousand eggs per day! My stomach hurts just thinking about that.

“Bees scare me,” I tell Ezra.

His lips curl into a smile. “Oh yeah? I love them.”

“Of course you would, you weirdo. Next, you’re gonna tell me you love rattlesnakes and black widow spiders.” I tremble, recalling a time in my grandparents’ backyard. “Once, at Nana and Grandpa’s, I lifted this clay pot, and I found a black widow inside it.”

Ezra shudders. “What happened?”

“The spider was so pretty and plastic looking, I nearly picked it up, ’cause I thought it was a toy! Mom and Dad were always on my case to share my toys, so I wanted to give it to Oliver.”

Ezra laughs. “You tried to give Oliver a black widow? Why have I never heard about this?”

“Probably because when I handed him the pot, he screeched like a girl and peed his pants.”

At that, Ezra barks out a laugh and gives me a hug. It starts as a friendly pat on the back, but then he wraps his arms around me, and I do the same to him. His warm hands slide across my shoulders and glide up and down my spine. I’ve been waiting years for this moment. Since the first time I met him when I was ten. The hug makes me feel like I’m lying in a field, enveloped by the sun. But bees are swarming nearby.

I gently pull out of his arms and avoid Ezra’s gaze, trying to hide the fact that he steals my breath away.

“Why do you love bees?” I ask, so he’ll talk while I get back in control of my faculties. And by faculties, I mean lady parts.

“I like that every bee has a job and knows what he’s supposed to do.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have choices though?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he asks bluntly.

I cross my arms. I should call him an ass, but he’s not wrong.

“Bees don’t know any better,” he goes on. “It’s all instinct for them. I wish all we had to do is follow our instincts.”

“How would you follow them?”

“Well, I’d eat pizza every day for dinner. I’d design houses and help build them. I’d take apart whatever I want, and nobody would care. Weekends would consist of watching sports and maybe playing a few games of poker during the day. And then at night, I’d go out and listen to live music. And instead of wearing swim trunks, I’d always skinny-dip.”

My face heats up at that visual, which I think was his intention, because he smirks.

“What about you?” he asks, leaning so close our foreheads nearly touch. I can feel his warm breath on my lips. “I mean, other than stealing all my fries.”

I lean back against the guardrail surrounding the bee exhibit. It’s Friday night. I’m not in the mood for hard questions. “Can I get back to you on that? I’m busy right now.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks with a laugh. “Busy doing what?”

“Beating you at a museum race!” I take off in a sprint down the long, wide hallway. Ezra runs behind me, his boots nipping at mine. Our laughter rings out in the empty museum. It’s then that I can’t deny it anymore.

I like him chasing me.

• • •

When I get home from soccer practice on Monday afternoon, I sit down at the kitchen island to work on my homework and essays. I pull my notebooks out of my bag and set them on the counter on top of a newspaper. Today’s
Tennessean
. I ignore it at first, but then notice Dad and Mom on the cover.

They’re at Centennial Park in Nashville, waving to a large crowd. A campaign event. I scan the article. Blah blah, tax reform, blah blah, farm bill, blah blah. Nothing new there. I’m not mentioned at all. Tossing the newspaper aside, I let out a breath of relief.

My cell buzzes. Oliver.

Dad came to visit today.

Yeah? At Princeton?

He brought a camera crew.

What!

It was ridiculous. He wanted footage of us playing catch. We put on gloves and pretended to throw a ball around for 3 mins. Then he left.

Ha! Why?

New commercial. He took footage of Jenna this morning.

So Dad flew to Connecticut and then New Jersey to video my brother and sister? Does this mean I need to be ready for a candid close-up? I rush to the powder room to check my skin. Thanks to stress, I have a few blemishes that might be visible on TV. Hopefully, a little concealer will do the trick. Wait—what if Dad doesn’t want me in the ad? No, when he makes a campaign video, the whole family is in it.

I’d check with Mom, but she’s at the Vanderbilt hospital today, meeting with young cancer patients. It’s something she enjoys doing to honor her sister’s memory.

Dad doesn’t come home until later that night. I’m in bed, checking over my AP chemistry homework, when I hear him trudging up the stairs and going into the master suite, the door shutting with a loud click.

The next morning, I find him at the breakfast table.

“Good morning,” we say to each other.

“Want your omelet?” Marina asks me.

“No, thanks. I’m meeting Ezra for doughnuts.” If Mom were up already, she’d scowl about me not eating a healthy breakfast. What surprises me is that Dad scowls. He totally sneaks fancy cheeses and sweets when Mom isn’t looking.

“Have you been hanging out a lot with Ezra?”

I shrug. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think he’s the best influence for you right now. You should find someone else to spend time with.”

“What are you talking about? Ezra’s a great guy.”

My father stares at me. “Everyone’s saying he dropped out of college.”

“He took a leave of absence,” I say defensively.

“That sounds like dropping out to me.”

“C’mon, Dad. Don’t be like his parents. Ezra just didn’t like his major.”

“I don’t want him filling your head with crazy ideas.”

“That won’t happen,” I say, even though Ezra’s already been pressuring me to think about what I truly want. “Look, Ezra’s nice.”

“You thought that boyfriend of yours was nice too. But you never once got in trouble before you met him. Then I started getting calls from the dean about you kissing under the stairs between classes. Sneaking out to meet him after dark. And then there were the pills.”

I hesitate for a moment at the mention of the drugs. “Look, Dad, I don’t understand why Ezra’s acting the way he is, but it’s not like he’s out drag racing every night. He’s a normal guy. He’s just trying to figure things out.”

“Until Ezra Carmichael gets his life in order, I suggest you spend time working on your applications. Do your homework.”

“That’s insulting. You know I always do my homework. I work really hard all the time!”

Dad puts his napkin on the table and stands up. “I know, I know.” He pulls me into an awkward hug. If I weren’t so angry, I might appreciate the grand display of fatherly affection.

“I love you,” he says with a pat on the back.

“I love you too,” I mumble. This is the first time I’ve talked to him in days. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“My interview with Yale Admissions is in two weeks. Um, are you still coming with me? If you can’t, that’s okay. Jenna said I can stay with her. She’ll take me. Mom would come, but she has that big fund-raiser at Vanderbilt that day. It’s been on her schedule for, like, a year,” I ramble.

Dad looks down at me. “I’ll take you up there. I’ll visit with your sister while you’re doing your interview.”

Of course he’ll spend his time with Jenna. I’m a lost cause.

I’m too pissed to even bring up the fact that Dad visited Jenna and Oliver to record them for a commercial. It’s not like I’m about to offer my help now.

But it never occurs to me that he doesn’t bring it up either.

A day later, I find out why.