In Ruins (20 page)

Present Day

“Shh, kid. Let her sleep. There's some flu going around campus and she hasn't been feeling well.” Tucker's voice breaks through my dreamless slumber.

“But we're almost there,” Billy whines.

My eyes flutter open to trees and telephone poles flying past the car window my head rests against. I groan.

“Finally!” Billy exclaims.

I lean around back to look at his adorable face—thirteen, yes, but never more than seven or eight in my eyes. “Hiya, Billy boy,” I croak. I clear my throat to rid it of the residual sleepiness.

“Carski.” He uses his childhood nickname for me. “Are you sick? You kinda look like shit.”

“Billy!” Tucker and I chide in unison, but Tuck's lips twist into an amused smirk. “You never say that to a woman,” he admonishes.

“She's not a woman, she's my sister,” Billy corrects him. “And she does look…
under the
weather
.”

I flip down the vanity mirror and determine that Billy actually had it right the first time. I look like shit. I grab my overnight bag from under my feet and rifle through it until I find my emergency makeup kit and blend some concealer under my eyes. I brush some bronzer and blush onto my cheeks to counterbalance the lingering pallor. Then I add a light shimmery shadow to my eyelids and smudge a deep brown line above my lashes, finishing off with some mascara.

I turn back to Billy and raise my brows.

“Much better,” he approves.

I slip Tucker a tentative glance as I turn forward again, and his smile of appreciation makes my chest swell.

“Beautiful,” he mutters.

I turn away so he can't see my smile.

We pull up to Cap's right on time, a beautiful red-brick mansion, impressive in its own right, yet still only about a quarter of the size of my own monstrosity of a home.

Billy heads straight to the guest bathroom off the Caplans' grand foyer, and Tucker and I head around the bend toward the kitchen, where I expect people will be. We both stop in our tracks at overhearing what seems like a mildly heated conversation between our respective best friends, and we exchange an uneasy glance.

“I just don't get why you're being so fucking stubborn!” Cap growls.

“I'm not being stubborn, Sam!” Rory replies, her swirling southern accent sliding off her words as it does when she's worked up over something. She's the only one besides Cap's immediate family who calls him
Sam
, and it comes out more like
Say-um
in this moment. “I'm never around anymore, and it's Thanksgivin', and it just isn't right!”

I feel bad for listening; Rory is such a private person that she can barely kiss Cap in front of someone without blushing bright red. I take a step forward to make ourselves known, but Tuck catches my elbow and shakes his head. “Let them finish.”

I acquiesce, but it unsettles me. They're not the kind of couple you'd expect to break up over some petty fight—or at all, for that matter. When two people are so inherently created for each other, you like to believe their love can endure any hardship, great or small. But I know better than most—sometimes it isn't enough.

I'm so put off by the thought of Cap and Rory fighting that I actually start to sweat. Tucker's hand squeezes my shoulder.

“They'll be fine,” he assures me, careful to keep the rumble of his voice below a whisper.

My gaze swings to his as I try to regain control of my emotions—something I used to excel at.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“How can you be so sure?”

Tucker scoffs, his mouth slipping into an ironic, crooked smirk, obviously trying to put me at ease. “Because, Carl. Cap loves that girl more than his own life. He isn't letting her go—not for anything,” he assures me.

My breath blasts from my lungs in a sudden rush of air. It's like a sucker punch to my stomach. Because he's right. Cap would never leave Rory. I've seen his love for her firsthand. And when you love someone like that, you don't let anything steal that from you. Not a fight, not a lie—even a devastating one. Nothing.

And for the first time, I consider that maybe I'm not entirely to blame for my and Tucker's downfall. Because I know I loved
him
like that. So if we couldn't make it, then it's very possible Tucker never loved me that way in the first place. Not like Cap loves Rory. Not like I loved him.

Love him.

The realization shatters the tattered ruins of my heart all over again, and I know I have to escape before the moisture in my eyes becomes too much to pass off as concern over our friends. But by the way Tuck's eyes widen and his mouth parts, it's apparent he's realized not only what he just said, but its implications. But he can't even bring himself to deny it; he just watches me with a mixture of pity and regret.

Well, now I know.

I murmur something about needing the bathroom and head in the opposite direction, through the den, before I realize I can't go any farther without either running into Cap and Rory or turning back and returning to where Tucker still waits. It's just as well, since my legs need a moment before they can be depended upon anyway.

I mold myself to the wall and suck in deep breaths, telling myself nothing has actually changed. The knowledge that Tucker never quite loved me the way I thought he did should make our breakup easier to stomach, shouldn't it? If anything, it should at least explain why he was so quick to end us. No discussion, no chance to explain—nothing.

God!
Why does this hurt so damn much?

Cap and Rory have been arguing this whole time, but Tucker was right; it doesn't sound like anything they won't resolve by the day's end, and after another minute or so, Rory tells Cap she's going to help his mother in the kitchen and for him to “just let it go.”

I peek around the corner to see if the coast is clear, but not only is Cap standing there running his hand through his hair in aggravation, not two seconds later, he's joined by Tucker.

Fucking great.

“Trouble in paradise?” Tuck asks.

“Fuck off,” Cap snaps back.

“Whoa, man. Chill.”

Cap sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters under his breath. “She's just being fucking stubborn. She's giving me a hard time about staying here tonight. She wants to go home with her mom after dinner.”

“And you're worried about her nightmares?”

Rory suffers from night terrors. Debilitating ones. But she confided to me—and Cap to Tuck—that somehow when she sleeps with Cap, he manages to keep them at bay. Maybe it's knowing he would kill to protect her. Maybe it's simply the comfort of his love for her. I remember what it was like to feel that secure, brief as it may have been.

“She says they've gotten better,” Cap replies. “But she hasn't spent a night without me since I moved into the apartment. Since
we
moved in.”

“She's still keeping the dorm?”

“I think she'll give it up next semester. The fucked-up part is she's worried about
me
. Like I'm suddenly going to feel pressured and it's going to fuck with us. You know—backfire on our relationship or something.”

“And it pisses you off that she still doubts you.”

“Yeah,” Cap says simply, but the word carries weight. “How's Carl feeling?” he asks.

I startle at the tone Cap uses, and I realize Tucker must have called Cap at some point today and told him what happened last night.

Tucker sighs. “Better now, I think. She slept in the car.”

“You figure out what the guy's deal was?”

“No.” The single word hums with frustration. “But I motherfucking
will
.”

“I still say you report him either way. It's not your job to play detective, man. He put her in danger—he should pay for that whether he intended to or not.”

“Yeah, Cap. And he will. But it's his
intentions
that I need to figure out. Because if they were what I suspect, then you know I'm not going to handle it by fucking
reporting him
.”

Shit
.

“You could lose your scholarship.” But Cap's warning is half-hearted. I know it wouldn't stop Cap if he were in Tucker's shoes, but that's different. Cap loves Rory. “You could end up in jail.”

And then I hear Billy's voice echo through the foyer, his end of a phone conversation—what must have kept him so long—and judging by the way he lowers the cadence of his voice, I suspect he's talking to a girl, and I almost let loose a giggle, grateful for the comic relief he's unwittingly supplied.
My baby brother.

He ends his conversation and calls out a greeting to Cap.

“Billy the Kid,” Cap replies, and I retreat back into my hiding spot while they exchange playful male teasing and friendly ball-busting comments. Moments later Cap's sister Beth emerges from the kitchen and joins in on the fun.

I need to get myself together.

Billy instantly focuses his attention on Beth, who very much resembles her older brother in her own feminine version of his trademark gorgeousness, only her hair is dirty blond where Cap's is chocolate brown. Billy targets her with a smooth smile, and asks her what she's been up to, telling her how much better school would be if he had her beautiful face to pass in the halls. Beth doesn't take him seriously since he's three years younger, but she's clearly amused by his attention.

Beth says she's going back to the kitchen to help, and my little brother follows after her, murmuring facetious, furtive admonishments about how misogynistic the other guys are to let the women do all the work while they stand around and bullshit.

Tucker places his hand over his heart and smirks. “Damn, he's doing me proud.”

“Can he
do you proud
on someone other than my fucking little sister?” Cap grumbles, but his eyes smile with amusement.

I use the distraction to make my way to the guest restroom, where I quickly retouch my makeup, fixing the minor smudge caused by the tears that pooled but never fell. It takes me no more than five or so minutes to pull myself together—at least outwardly—a testament to my talent at concealing my feelings.

Shortly thereafter I join the others, and I'm welcomed warmly by the Caplans and friends. It's weird seeing Mitch—Cap's dad—here. I haven't seen him since Cap's parents divorced back when we were in middle school.

Billy stays within five feet of Beth, attentive and helpful, and while I'm fully aware that he's mostly motivated by Beth's pretty smile and tight sweater, I also know most guys his age would go about flirting in a decidedly different manner, what with chivalry being dead and all.

While the guys park themselves in the den to watch football, Rory and I offer to finish setting the table, and when the last glass is set down, she pulls me aside in the dining room.

“Are you okay?” she asks, careful to keep her voice contained to the otherwise empty room, and I swallow anxiously, wondering if Cap told her what happened last night, and what the hell would possess him to do such a thing when she still has her own demons to deal with.

“I know it must be weird to be here with Tuck, but Sam said you guys were trying to be friends, right?”

I breathe a subtle sigh of relief. “Yeah,” I agree. “Friends.”

Rory smiles in sympathy. “It seems to be going okay so far, right? I mean, you drove over together…?”

“So far so good,” I reply noncommittally.

“I'm glad you're here,” she murmurs.

“Me too.”

We spend the next thirty minutes catching up, and when we notice that the boys have been enjoying bottle after bottle of beer, I ask Elaine how she feels about us having a glass of wine. She starts laughing, embarrassed that she hadn't thought to offer. We're only eighteen, but she's fully aware that a little drinking is par for the course for college students. Or more than a little drinking, depending on the person and situation. Frankly, between last night and spending a family holiday with my ex today, I could use a glass or two.

Or four.

The end of the third quarter sends Tucker into the kitchen to retrieve more beer and snacks. He reaches for the artfully arranged platter of Elaine's famous butternut squash mini quiches, and starts stacking them three deep on an appetizer plate before her spatula meets the back of his hand with a resounding
thwack
.

“Ouch!” he whines through his chuckle. He manages to snatch two more before she lands another smack, and he grins smugly as he sidesteps her to escape mostly unscathed back toward the living room.

His gaze meets mine as he flees with his haul, and my eyes return his bright smile, even if my lips can't quite manage it. I can't banish the memory of hearing him so sure that Cap wouldn't let his girl go for anything, knowing that Tucker
did
.

But his eyes drop to the maroon liquid in my glass, and they go instantly stern, delivering some silent message I don't receive. Rory hands me some cloth napkins to take to the dining room, and when I turn back to where Tucker stood, he's gone.

By glass number two, thankfully I'm starting to relax. But it doesn't last long. Tucker corners me on my way from the bathroom and tugs me into the empty study.

“What's wrong?” I gasp, startled.

He shakes his head, expression impassive. “You need to stop drinking.”

I narrow my eyes, programmed to react to his bossiness only one way. “I don't need to do anything, Tucker. What is your problem? How many beers have
you
had today?” Apparently he's decided to go all hypocrite on me, and I'm just not up for it right now. I turn on my heel and walk out the door, but he catches me in the empty hallway no more than three steps later.

Tucker sighs, raking his hand exasperatedly through his soft, dark blond locks, and my own fingers itch with the memory of how his hair feels against my skin. The feel of it locked in my grip, against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs…