Tripp (20 page)

“Hey, Tanner, come out here and see who’s all hot and heavy.”

Of course he did. Being the youngest sucks. “Griff, Jesus, go away.”

“Whoa, looks like Jackson finally got himself the girl he’s always wanted. Well played, little bro, she’s a hottie. Hey, Rae.”

I shoot them both a death glare and receive nothing but wiggled eyebrows and assholian gestures in return. Idiots. Turning back to Rachel, who hasn’t moved or looked up since Griff came out and interrupted us like some fifth grader, I put my hand under her chin and tilt her face until her eyes are on mine. I can see her embarrassment, but underneath it is still the passion, and there’s a part of me that wants to take her hand and drag her somewhere—anywhere— so we can be alone for more than an hour. Somewhere I can explore and touch all of her for as long as I want. Since that’s not something I can do right now, I settle for pressing my lips to hers one last time—firm, quick, and powerful, so she knows exactly what I’m thinking. Then I remind her of the promise she made me:
tonight
.

“Eight o’clock. I’ll pick you up.” She nods. I know that’s all she’ll give me with
Dumb and Dumber
standing as audience members a few feet away. But because I can, I get her to give me more. I press my lips to hers once again, deeper, stronger, promising her with this small bit of contact that tonight we won’t be interrupted.

Of course there are whistles and catcalls from the idiots, but I grin. I know they’re jealous. I mean, I’ve got Rachel, and she’s everything. “I’ll see you later.”

When I walk away, she’s still leaning back against the wall. Her eyes are heavy as she watches me go, amusement mixed with desire in her expression. I send her one last look as I head into the shop.

“Jesus, do you two do anything but smolder when you’re around each other?” Griff asks.

“Yeah, and if you hadn’t interrupted, I might still be doing it.”

“I’ve got to hand it to you, little brother, she’s one fine piece. No China doll exterior—she’s the Malibu Barbie 2.0.”

I laugh because there are times Tanner is so far out there I don’t always understand him, and because—however ludicrous his statement—he’s not far off. Rachel’s the real deal, the girl who’s so ignorant to her own appeal I can’t understand how she doesn’t see what I see. Then I talk to her and understand she’s so much more than beautiful.

We’ve been together,
really together
, for a week, but it feels like forever. In the past few days of touching her, loving her, and laughing with her, I’ve come to realize that the person I thought I knew is so much more. She’s the heart and soul and center I’ve been searching for. She’s tough and opinionated. Rather than tell me what I want to hear, she tells me exactly what she’s thinking, and then sticks her chin out, waiting for me to disagree. I usually respond by grabbing her and satisfying us both until we’re not even sure what we were disagreeing about.

Still, there have been moments where I’ve had to step back and ask myself if this is real—if there’s such a thing as perfection. There are moments I know she’s holding back…moments I know she’s waiting for me to walk, or she’s remembering that time not so long ago when I wasn’t there, when I was somewhere else with someone else. I don’t know how to get us past it.

That thought plagues me as I walk through the garage and meet the man who just bought a thousand-dollar lift kit for a five-hundred-dollar Jeep that looks like it’s been taken apart and put back together with bubblegum and shoestring. I raise my eyebrows at Griff and he nods.

“This is Matt. He wants new tires and a bigger lift. Like, four inches.”

“I’m thinking off-road man, major derby style.”

I nod as I stare at the hunk of ill-maintained metal in front of me and wonder how to tell the guy that this is like surgery, and his Jeep is sure to die on the table.

“Let me get underneath her and take a look first, see what she can handle without any tune-ups,” I tell him. He nods and follows Griff back to the office to fill out paperwork. Griff opens the door and sends a look my way that says
good luck
. Yeah, I’m gonna need it.

I’m on my back on the creeper, sliding under the already slightly-raised Jeep when I hear a shout from Tanner. I ignore him because he’s always shouting. As predicted, the outside wasn’t half as bad as the underside. Sweet Jesus, this is a deathtrap.

“Dickhead, I was calling you.”

“You’re always calling me. I sometimes worry you call my name out when you should be calling out someone else’s.”

He doesn’t laugh, which has me putting my wrench down and sliding forward until I can see his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Rae just ran out and drove off. Gracie’s sick,” he says. I’m sliding the rest of the way out from underneath the Jeep and standing. I whip my phone out of my pocket while I press through the garage to the outside, tapping her name. A second before she answers, I hear Griff and Tanner step out with me.

“What’s wrong? Tanner said you ran out.”

“G called. Gracie’s sick—her fever’s high and she’s been throwing up.” Over the line I hear a blasted horn and a muttered curse from Rachel. I close my eyes, praying she’s wearing a seatbelt. She drives like she does everything else in life—full throttle, guns blazing.

“I’m on my way. I’ll meet you there.”

“Tripp, there’s nothing you can do. I’m going to get her; G’s called Mom.”

“Rachel—” I start, but she interrupts before I can finish.

“Tripp, I’m turning into G’s. Finish at work, go to the party tonight. I’ll call you later, okay?”

No, it’s not okay. Not. Fucking. Okay.

I stare at my phone screen when the line goes dead, rage causing my hand to shake. Before I can do something idiotic—like throw my phone against the wall, or call her back and scream at her—I click the power button and shove it into my pocket. Pacing a few steps back and forth, I drag my hands over my short hair and breathe deeply. The whole time I try to remember that this is Rachel I’ll-do-it-my-own-way-because-I-don’t-need-anyone-else Reynolds.

She’s strong and that’s why I love her. She’s also a giant pain in my ass right now. And my heart. Goddammit. I press my hand to my chest and try to ease the pressure that way.

“She okay?”

It’s Griff. I nod without looking at him.

“You okay?”

I don’t nod this time, just stand with my back to them and my hands over my head while I stare down the street. Here’s where we get stuck—she doesn’t want to need me, and I can’t move forward until she understands I need her to depend on me… and to trust me to be there.

I don’t say any of this to Tanner and Griff, mostly because it makes me feel like an idiot. I’m pining after a girl who’s made it abundantly clear—however much she loves me, she doesn’t need me…not like I need her. They seem to get it anyway. After a second, they’re both next to me, flanking me on either side as we stare straight ahead.

“Women, never satisfied,” Tanner says and it brings a small smile to my lips.

Griff grunts. “Maybe not when you’re done with them. Do you speed through everything in life, Tanner? Because that’s not how the bedroom’s supposed to work.”

I laugh despite the gnawing ache inside of me and I shove Tanner away when he lunges across me halfheartedly for Griff. Then I scrub my hands over my face. “Christ, I thought we were past this. I thought she trusted me enough to let me help.”

They settle down and say nothing for a second. “Maybe it’s not that she doesn’t trust you,” Tanner says and I look at him. “Maybe it’s that she doesn’t want to.”

“But why? Lauren?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe because she knows that who she is, or rather,
what
she is…is a lot to take on. No matter how easy it is for people to say they’re ready for it, it’s just as easy for them to change their mind. Maybe she’s protecting herself, so if you do that, she’s already prepared.”

Rage isn’t something that’s unfamiliar to me. I’ve thrown as many punches as I’ve taken in my life, but Tanner’s words bring the red-hot spurt of anger so quickly, my hands are shaking and clenched before I even register what’s coursing through me.

I slam my palms into his shoulders, getting up in his face so fast both of us are surprised. We might be the same size, but I’m the youngest—very rarely do I initiate the fight.

“When I said I was ready for her, I meant it. Goddammit, I’m not some useless piece who’s afraid of hard work. I’m not Marcus Kash or any other bastard who would do that. I
love
her.”

I feel Griff’s arm around my chest, but he’s quiet and calm just like Tanner as he stares straight into my eyes. My anger starts to fizzle when I see the approval in his, and the understanding. “We know that, Jackson, but maybe your girl still needs some time to come to terms with it.”

I want to slam my fist into the wall—or Tanner’s face, just because—but we hear Mom’s voice. We all head back in through the side door, knowing if she catches us standing around having a pissing match while the shop’s full of cars and customers she’ll give us an earful—or worse, ask us what’s wrong. When I’m on the creeper and under the Jeep again, I wonder about Tanner’s words and just how much truth they hold.

28

Past

I’m halfway through my new Madden game in the den when I hear a knock on the door. Both Tanner and Griff are in high school and always on dates. I know it isn’t for either of them. I’m getting ready to yell for my mom and see if she’ll get the door—something that’s as likely to get me a boot in the ass as it is to get me what I want—when I remember she and my dad are out for the night.

Crap.

I throw one last pass to my receiver and groan when he drops it. Someone knocks on the door again. “Hang on!” I shout and grab my beeping phone on the way. I see the messages are from Rachel, but before I text her back, I hear her on the other side of the door.

“Tripp, I know you’re in there because I know you’re still grounded for failing our math test. Open the damn door.”

I roll my eyes, partly for her and partly because I can’t
believe
my parents grounded me for one bad grade on my math test. I’m a seventh grader and I’m going to the NBA when I grow up. Who needs Algebra?

“You could have let me cheat off you,” I say as I rip open the door.

I stop because I see her wearing her OSU Women’s Volleyball shirt with her Chucks and her jeans. I remember she was supposed to be at a game tonight because it’s her birthday. Which means…

“Where’s your dad?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” she says as she shoulders by me.

Yeaaa, that’s a lie, but I know better than to call her on it right away. Instead, we head back into the den and sprawl on opposite sides of the couch, facing the television. I hand her the second controller and restart my game, stealing small glances as she picks her team—the Bengals, lame. We start and she’s losing handily by the end of the first quarter, and not just because she chose one of the worst teams in the league like she always does (something about loyalty and their roster of former OSU players, but seriously, they suck), but because she’s barely paying attention as she slams the buttons on her controller.

“So, you didn’t go to the game?”

“Obviously.”

Rachel’s not really a talker. When she’s mad, one-word answers are about all I’m going to get, so usually I let it be. I mean, I’m a guy. Silence is kind of something I understand, but the longer we play—the harder she stabs the controller, and the more glances I steal.

She was supposed to go to the game with her dad tonight for her birthday. Since it started an hour ago and she’s here stabbing at my controller like it’s the Devil and must be killed now—I’m going out on a limb and guessing he no-showed on her…which isn’t unheard of. Rachel constantly says she doesn’t care, but I know she does. Every time he does this, she comes over and sits in silence for a few hours. Usually, I can joke her out of it, but tonight I know that something’s different.

“You want to talk about it?” I ask, knowing full well I’m taking my life in my hands as she could decide I’m a handy target to take her anger out on. I’m no sissy, but Rachel’s almost as tall as I am, and she hits harder than any guy our age, and she doesn’t always need a reason.

“Nope.”

Girls
. People say boys are complicated? Please, you don’t see me showing up at her door angry and then refusing to talk about it while I take my anger out on her controller, do you?

I hit pause and she yells at me, gesturing with her hands. “Oh settle down, Carson Palmer, you weren’t going to complete that pass anyway.” She flips me off and I want to laugh. “Let’s try using our words, hmm? Tell me what’s wrong, Rachel.”

“Jesus, you sound like Stacy. Nothing’s wrong.”

I want to wince when she compares me to her older sister, mostly because Stacy is a neurotic pain-in-the-ass we’ve both mocked more than once for being uptight. Instead, I sit and wait, using Rachel’s own stare-tactic against her. Sure enough, it only takes ten seconds, which is a record, so I know something’s wrong. She usually beats me in the silent-stare game; instead, she throws her controller on the couch and starts talking.

“
Fine
. You already know anyway, so I don’t know what the hell you want me to say.”

“How about why you’re here?”

Her face is all kinds of hurt for a second before she throws on a scowl and goes to stand. “You want me to leave? No problem.”

I grab her arm and pull her back down to the couch, silently praying not to become an abused piece of meat as I try to do the right thing. “Don’t leave. That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure as shit sounded like it.”

Again,
girls.
Deep breath in, deep breath out—now try again. “
I meant to say
why are you here instead of the game? What happened with your dad?” She sits in stony silence staring at me. I want to laugh as much as I want to say “To hell with it,” and go back to my game. With anyone else, I probably wouldn’t have started this conversation, but with Rachel…I don’t know, it’s like I know if she doesn’t at least tell me, she won’t ever tell anyone. And I kinda think she needs to. Not that I’ll say that to her. “Come on, Rachel, tell me what happened.”