I had no clue what that phone call was about from Cruz, but the rest of the weekend was surreal.
In a good way.
Taz and Race hung out at my house Friday and Saturday night. Taz was chummy with Skylar and Zoe while Race was becoming buddy-buddy with Darren. Wade surprised everyone when he brought a girl over Friday. She was the same girl I recognized from hanging out with the hockey team. Angela. Seeing her and Wade together, I was wondering if maybe I’d been too hasty in my judgment call. She seemed nice, sweet. She was tiny, with long luscious black hair. Her and Zoe also knew each other from an art class, but she stuck with Wade the whole time.
They were super cute, holding hands. She blushed a lot.
Miles was the one most flabbergasted by her, or the image of Wade with her. He kept staring at them the whole weekend until Wade finally said something. The two had a private conversation, and Miles was all forced smiles when they came back.
Angela looked ready to die from mortification, but Taz decided to take her under her wing. Big shock there.
Now it was Sunday.
Cruz was supposed to come over to study. They won their Saturday game, but it’d been just as close as the first one. Everyone had watched at the house, though so many were distracted, but I noticed that Cruz played harder than he had the first night. When they won, words were exchanged between a couple of the opposing teams’ guys and Cruz. They went at him first, and his teammates backed him up. No fists were thrown, just words. The refs got involved right away, but it looked intense. I wanted to ask him about it, but I was also a mess at just him coming over.
I was nervous and confused, and I had no idea what was going to happen today.
Knock, knock.
It was soft, but I recognized Cruz. Maybe it was the air. It settled over me before I went, opened the door.
He was there, a slight crooked grin on his face, his backpack over one shoulder. Jeans and a Grant West hockey T-shirt. His ballcap was pulled low over his face, and damn, I was always such a sucker for that look on him. His prominent jawline so square and rough-shaven.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
I stepped back, feeling the room shrink in size as he came in behind me, his hand grazing mine as he went to set his bag on the couch.
My stomach fluttered.
He was glancing around, a restlessness to him, as he stretched.
I frowned. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He barely skimmed a look at me before going to the bathroom. “One sec.”
My frown just deepened.
Cruz was being weird. I’d never gotten this vibe from him. Like he was distracted, and on edge. I didn’t know what that was about, but hearing the toilet flush, my sink run, he came out a beat later. Still, barely a look at me.
He gestured to the kitchen area. “Mind if I make a drink?”
I held my hand out, giving him the go-ahead. “Help yourself.” But he was already going for it, opening the fridge, grabbing one of my juices, putting it on the counter. He took a glass, poured himself a healthy dose of pineapple juice, then filled the rest with my vodka.
My eyes almost popped out. It was nearly half and half.
“Cruz.” I took the vodka from him, and put the cap on it. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.” He took his glass, going back to the living room and sinking down. “Let’s study.”
Oh no, no, no.
I went over, took his glass, and put it on the stand by the couch. Then I pushed him back. A part of me wanted to sink down, straddle him. The old me would’ve, but this was a new me. The real me, or the one I was trying to let out. And because I didn’t want to go back to my old ways, I forced myself to perch on the side of the couch.
“Does this have to do with your game yesterday?”
“What?” Understanding dawned. “No. That’s just hockey.”
“Then what’s going on?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Nothing.” Hunching forward, his arms moved ahead, his shirt tightening over his broad shoulders and back.
“Hey.” I poked him in his biceps, his very sculpted biceps. “It’s me here. I got that phone call from you on Friday. Remember? Remember who I am? You’re the one person who’s seen my dark shit. Share. What’s going on with you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Mara. Let’s study.” Then a different look came over him, sensual and dark, and I could feel the air in the room shift. It was more sizzling, electrifying as he focused on me. He leaned back, raking his eyes over all of me, and going slow. Purposeful. My clit was contracting from the perusal, and I shifted, but he clocked my reaction, saw how I started to move my legs. A measured grin spread over his face. He leaned over, his hand going to my knee.
I jumped from the touch, even though it was just my knee, but my knee was close to my vagina and he knew he only had to move his hand north a little, following the path. He’d know I was already wet.
His thumb rubbed over my knee, holding still for the moment.
Tingles spread behind his caress.
“Unless you want to spend the day doing something else?” He knew how his touch was affecting me. “You still on the no sex thing with us? Holding firm?”
I gritted my teeth because it was like pushing through wet cement, but I reached for his hand and lifted it off me. I pushed up from the couch. “You’re an ass.” I stalked off to the kitchen.
“I was just asking.”
He knew better. That was the point. He so knew better.
My chest was rising, heaving, and my pulse was racing. Goddamn him, I was pissed. I went back, my arms hugging myself something tight, more to keep myself in check. “Fuck you.”
“That was the point.” But he didn’t sound mad. He was resigned as he got up and began reaching for his bag.
He was going to leave.
“Hey.” I went over, grabbing it out of his hand. I held it behind me. “What was the point of that? Having you over is a big deal. We’re friends now, right? Aren’t we?”
He was standing, his hands in his jeans pockets, and his head fell back. “Yeah. I guess.”
My nostrils flared. “You guess?”
“Yes. We’re friends.” His head jerked up, and his own nostrils flared. He was all intense. “We’re more than friends. I’m not the one hiding from that.”
I moved back a step but stopped.
His words were a punch, and I felt it.
“You don’t get it.” I was shaking my head.
“Then explain it.”
“I have! This is new to me. You and me, we have sex today and I’ll go back to my old ways.”
“What’s the old way? Fucking and running?”
I sucked in my breath. That was another hit from him, right to my sternum.
“That’s right. That’s what you do. You screw me and what? Don’t take my calls for another week? Two this time? Cut me off? You fucking someone else, Mara? You’re trying the friend route with me, but I know you. I know you need sex. You’re not using me for that need so who you using? Miller? He finally get in there? Maybe your roommate. The swimmer. Saw him this morning at the campus coffee place. He looked like he got laid last night, he was all beaming and shit. That from you?”
“Shut up.”
His eyes narrowed. “Make me.”
This was the dick side of Cruz. Why was it coming out? Why now…? That Friday call.
“Why did you call me Friday?”
“Maybe I wanted a screw.”
“You weren’t here.”
“Maybe I thought I could get you to drive to see me.”
His words. So biting. They were clipped out. He was on edge, and he was pushing for a reaction.
It hit me. He was doing a Mara. He was trying to push me away. And when it all connected, a calmness settled through me, anchoring me. I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I don’t think this is about me. Did something happen with your family?”
He cursed, low and long, his head folding down.
“Your sister? Mom?” I moved closer.
He was shaking his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I–don’t push this.”
My throat swelled up. “Is it your sister?”
He let out a ragged breath. “Seriously, Mara. Don’t.”
I took a step toward him, but only one. “Cruz.”
“Let’s–” He was looking around, lingering on his bookbag, then his gaze went to my bedroom. He cursed under his breath again before looking up, pinning me with his gaze. They were so haunted. “Let’s get out of here. How far’s the beach? Let’s go to the beach.”
“The beach?”
“There’s one an hour away. Let’s go there.”
He was talking about a beach that a lot of Grant West students used. Chances were high we’d see others there. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” He nodded to his bag. “You and me. Let’s just get out of here. Clear our heads. What do you say?” He glanced back to me. The haunted look hadn’t left. It increased. He needed to clear his head. Not me, but… We were friends. I felt myself nodding. “Sure. Yeah. You and me.”
He expelled a sudden burst of air. “Thanks. Uh, how long till you can go?”
I motioned to my room. “Ten minutes?”
“I want to run and grab something. I’ll be back. Ten minutes?”
He took off right after, and I–well, okay then.
This is what friends did. We went to the beach when one of us needed to clear his head.
On the drive out, riding shotgun with the windows open and some Phillip Phillips on the radio, I was enjoying this. I was feeling a sort of contentment that I never knew I could feel. While I acknowledged that, there was a small, the tiniest, feeling of fear kickstarting inside of me, but the contentment was so massive.
I was leaning toward the good feeling.
I was going to lean all the way into it and stay there. I was going to enjoy the day because no matter how I sliced it, the beach was going to be awesome. Booyah.
Cruz didn’t talk the whole way there, which was fine with me. I wasn’t in the mood to talk either. I was riding the wave of feeling my ‘positive and not panicky’ feelings.
We were heading to Outpost Breakaway, a locals’ place, and one of those locals was a guy in the Alpha Mu fraternity. Word got around the party group about this particular place, but I was hoping not many would be there when we showed up.
After stopping for food and booze, we pulled into the parking area. It wasn’t overloaded with cars. A few trucks. My hope came true.
“I grabbed chairs and a blanket.”
I was getting out, my backpack in hand. Cruz reached into the back of his truck for the groceries.
“You did?”
He nodded, hefting the cooler up and out. “And tossed a thing of wood back there if you wanted to stay for a bonfire.”
He didn’t wait around for my response, just grabbed two bags of groceries with his free hand and went down the trail.
Well, then. A beach bonfire was the best.
I loaded up my arms, going after him. Once we got to the beach, he picked a spot a bit away from the steps. Enough where people could pass by and we wouldn’t hear their conversation, but they’d still see us.
He tossed everything down, going back, so I began spreading out the blanket. The chairs were put up, and by then, he’d brought everything else. I was on the blanket, my abnormal psych book out, and I glanced up as he placed his book bag next to me. He was staring off at the water, that same haunted look on his face. I could see the shadows going over his face as he tightened his mouth, his jaw clenched.
I sat back, my arms circling my knees. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
His gaze met mine as he sat down, and such sadness looked back at me, taking my breath. He shook his head, blinking, and looking away. “No. I just want to forget all about it.”
He settled down, pulling out his own textbook.
My phone began buzzing as texts rolled in.
Miles: Where are you? Library?
Gavin: Beers tonight! Where are you?
Wade: That quiz you thought we were having last week, it’s happening tomorrow. Want to do a study sesh?
Taz: I’m at the library with Skylar and Zoe. Darren is here too. Where are you?
Miles: You’re not with our roommates. I just found them. Headed to the hockey house. You there?
I had more texts coming through, but felt Cruz’s attention.
I moved to silence my phone, but as I did, my screen flashed. One last text.
Dad: How are you, sweetie? I’m coming through Grant West this week. Give me a call. Let’s do dinner.
A sudden knot formed in my throat. My dad coming through where I go to college? This didn’t happen. It wasn’t how our relationship worked. I didn’t believe in coincidences. He wasn’t phrasing it that he was coming to visit me, but dinner. Something was happening. Something Mom-related.
I changed my mind. I turned off my phone.
Three hours later, our sandwiches were out and a bag of chips was between us. Cruz had mixed both of us some drinks. I’d also crammed for another abnormal psych quiz. Cruz, I didn’t know what he was studying, but he was quiet the whole time.
It felt nice. The whole day. The sounds of the waves.
“We should talk.”
I jumped, spilling my drink, then laughed.
“What?”
I shook my head, dabbing at my legs. “I was just thinking that I liked that we hadn’t been talking.”
“Oh.” He frowned, his knees bent, spread out. His book sat between them, but he was lounging forward, his arms loosely resting on his knees. “I mean, we’re doing the friends thing, right? Friends talk. We should talk.”
I closed my textbook, and leaned back, my drink in hand. “You talk.”
He glanced up to me, his eyebrows pinching down.
“Friends tell each other what’s going on with them.” I took a sip, giving him a pointed look.
He snorted, fighting a grin before looking back to his textbook. “Real subtle, Daniels.”
“Last names.” I whistled. “Have we progressed or regressed with that?”
He laughed again, before letting out a soft sigh. “Friends. Right.”
I took another sip. “Friends.”
“You asked about my towels, long time ago. You remember?”
I frowned. “Yeah?”
“Where’d you get this thing?”
He laughed, laying back. “No personal questions, Daniels.”
“I didn’t know that was a personal question. My bad.”
“It is because my sister made it.”
I remembered, giving the blanket another glance. It looked like the towel that day. “What–that was a towel. This is a blanket?”
“They’re the same. This is just the bigger size. They’re called beach towkets.” He grinned, looking out at the ocean. “That was her word for them. We went to the beach a lot. Our family. She started making them one summer, and fuck, if I should hate them, but I don’t. It’s the one thing from her that I can’t bring myself to hate.”
I frowned. “Your little sister used to make these?”
He shook his head, leaning back and putting his hands behind him. He stretched his legs out. He never stopped looking at the ocean. “Not that sister.”
Two sisters? I was still frowning, but I also shut up. This was his moment, his time to talk.
“Her name was Sarah. She was best friends with Burford. Titi called her Sissy, calls her Sissy.”
I almost twitched from my reaction. Sabrina? The same girl I had a smackdown with in the library? The first time I’d met Cruz?
He laughed to himself, looking down. “I hate that girl, but that day, Miles invited me to your table. You were there. Gavin. And her. I walked up, saw her, and started to turn around, and then you spoke, and fuck, man. Fuck. Just your voice made me hard.” He flashed me a grin, a wry look in his eyes, but he stared at me steadily. “I stayed because of you that day. Burford didn’t call you a cunt because Miller was flirting with you that day. She was pissed because she could tell I wanted you.”
“Are you serious?”
He nodded, going back to staring at the ocean. “All cards on the table, I figured I should fess up to that part.”
“She wanted you?”
He shook his head. “No. She wanted my attention. Since…” He looked down, swallowing again before lifting his chin once more. “I seriously hate that girl, but it’s not even because of her. It’s because of what she was a part of that day. She was in the car. Sarah was driving. Titi was in the back. Titi–she was obsessed with Sarah and Sabrina. Obsessed. I know I should blame Sarah, but…” A harrowed expression crossed his face. “If it hadn’t been for Burford, Titi wouldn’t have been in the car. I… How fucked up is it that I’m more mad Titi lives how she lives because of that accident and not that I lost my other sister? Sarah died. She… She was messed up. Burford and her were best friends. I have no idea how they met. Sarah was a year younger, but they were. Sarah wasn’t the queen bee, but she kinda was at the same time. Not that I give a fuck about that shit, but just laying it all out. Sarah was popular, but she was such a bitch. Normally she didn’t give Titi two fucks. She’d just ignore her and go on about her selfish life. Not that day. Sabrina was nice to Titi when she was around and it’s because of Sabrina that Titi was in that car. Only goddamn reason Sarah pretended to be okay with it. That car accident.” He cursed, low and savagely, shaking his head and his hands balled up into fists. “Sarah died, and Titi lost her chance at a normal life.”
I was aching, wanting to go to him.
“You asked me how I knew how to handle your mom?” He looked my way now, his whole face twisted up. “It’s because that’s how Sarah was.”
I was bowled over, but I wasn’t at the same time.
“I know I should miss my sister, and I know she was sick. They gave her so many fucking diagnoses, but man,” his voice grew hoarse, “here’s the worst shit ever. I’m glad she’s gone.” He looked my way, that same stricken look coming over him. Bitterness flashed in his eyes before he turned away again. “I can’t remember a time when life was fine at the house. No peace. No quietness. Just always fucking Sarah, and her problems, and whatever she decided to hate the second she got up for the day. She was never happy. She was never–and she was vengeful. If I had a good day, and she didn’t, she’d break something in the house and blame it on me. Mom was scared of her. Titi doesn’t remember her the way she was.
“To Titi, Sarah was loving and the best big sister ever. Every time she says something, Mom and I just give each other a look and don’t say anything. I mean, fuck. My God. She’s been gone a year and four months and I still can’t bring myself to remember the good times. Swear to fucking God, I don’t remember any. I’ve tried. I hate that I feel this way, that I still loathe her, even when she’s gone. I think there was one Christmas where she was nice, one fucking holiday. And by her being nice, she didn’t throw a temper tantrum that the whole day wasn’t about her. I hate my sister. She’s dead. I should be mourning her. I was told that when someone dies, you automatically remember the good because that’s what we should remember. Not the bad. The bad doesn’t matter anymore. Just the good, but not me. Not for her. I can’t remember shit, and I get mad about that, that I can’t because fuck me.
“There should be something. Right? She couldn’t have been bad all the time. What kind of brother am I, that I’m unable to do that? Everyone thinks I’m this easy-going guy. Jokes on them. I think of her and I’m relieved she’s gone. That’s the twisted shit inside me. And Burford went to see Titi yesterday.”
Now it made sense.
Now the dots were connecting.
Now I knew what we were doing here.
I reached over, my hand sliding into his.
“I have no idea how the visit went. I can’t bring myself to call and ask. I don’t want to hear that it went well. That Titi lit up, seeing Burford because of course she would. She’d be so happy, not having any clue that Burford’s the reason she’s half paralyzed. And I know, in my head, I know that’s wrong to think. Sarah crashed the car, for whatever fucking reason, and trust me, some switch flipped in her. Burford’s account, the eyewitness accounts. Even a cop saw it. It was on camera. My sister was driving along. Everything was fine, and you can see in the car that Burford is smiling, laughing at something. She turns around to say something to Titi, and Sarah got this look. She got all hard and vengeful. I know that look. Seen it all my life, almost every day, and she yanked the wheel. She drove head on into a semi. Swear to this day. I can’t shake the feeling that she wanted to kill Burford or Titi that day, but she didn’t realize she might go too. I can’t shake it. Burford walked away with barely a scratch. Semi tried to turn, save them, but because he did, he hit Sarah head-on, and Titi was right behind her.”
He drew in a breath.
“I can’t figure out what I’m pissed about, that Burford wants to make amends? That Titi will love that? Or fuck, because I think that in some way, of both of them making amends, that Sarah’s going to be let off the hook? She did that. She wanted to hurt herself, or Burford, or Titi. They’ll heal and move on and what? No more blame put on Sarah? Fuck that. I know that’s what they’ll do. Burford blames herself, feels bad about the whole thing, but she never knew Sarah for who she really was. Not really. Titi, she’s all good. Sarah was all bad.” He turned my way, his whole face so hard. “I knew how to handle your mom because I grew up handling someone just like her. My own sister got off easy by dying. How fucked am I, that I think that? This is the guy you chose to fuck.” He shook his head, shoving up to his feet. “I can’t–I need some time.” He took off, heading down to the beach.
I let him go, because I understood.
I let out a small sigh and reached for my phone, turning it on.
More texts buzzed through, but I went to my dad’s and hit call.
He picked up right away. “Hey, honey. How are you?”
“If you’re coming to town because something new has happened with Mom, I don’t want to hear it.”
He was quiet on his end, and that told me he was coming because of her.
I’d made my decision. “I’m done, Dad. I’m done with her.”
“Honey. Mara. She’s your mother–”
“No. She’s never been my mother. I have no idea what it’s like to have a mother, but I do know what it was like having a father. I wanted to call and thank you for that.”
“Mara, this doesn’t sound like you. Are you okay? Did something happen?”
I closed my eyes. It’d been so long where it was about me, not her. I smiled to myself, looking down at the towket with a tear in my eye. “Thank you, Dad. But I don’t want to hear about whatever new is going on with her. I’m done.”
I ended the call.
Turned the phone off.
And sat there, watching the ocean waves, waiting for Cruz to come back.
