Fool Me Once (New England Bay Sharks #2)

Chapter 9

M y knees bounce nervously as I sit in the passenger seat of Smith’s truck on our way to Wellton. Storm is snoring in the back seat. I asked Smith as we were getting ready to leave if he could ride with us. I know he’s used to being alone while Smith is at the arena, but leaving him at home felt wrong. And selfishly, I think I needed a form of support, and since I don’t trust his owner, Storm was it.

I’m nervous to see my parents. My own father just went through fighting cancer, and I have been the world’s worst daughter and wasn’t even around for his treatments. My brother, William, and Mom have picked up all the slack and handled things themselves. Once I get my head on straight, I’m going to move home to help him.

“When’s the last time you were home?” Smith asks. The entire time we’ve been driving, it’s the first thing he’s said that isn’t completely surface level. “Don’t answer that if you don’t want to. Sorry.”

“Oh, well … I’m pretty sure it was last December.” I think about it for a second before nodding. “Yes, we came a few weeks before Christmas and spent two nights.”

“That was a year ago,” he whispers, almost as if he doesn’t believe it.

This version of him is so different from what I’m used to. It’s almost as if he overthinks every word he says to me. Until yesterday, he was tiptoeing around me heavily. But then, when he got mad …

I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut and inhaling. I know he’s not Richie and he’s not an abuser, but for so long, my brain has been trained to shut down to survive. It’s become a defense mechanism, and I hate that he saw me that way.

I’d thought he already knew my situation, and when I told him to talk to my mother, he only confirmed that, but I didn’t want him to see me in such a weak state. And now, he has.

“Yeah, well … things got busy, and it’s such a long flight that it just didn’t seem to ever be the right time.” I hate myself for lying. I don’t know why I can’t tell the truth or why I mask everything with my bullshit. I should be able to open my mouth and say, I was with a fucked-up man who convinced me not to come around my friends and family . It shouldn’t be that hard, yet it is.

“It’s okay if none of that is true,” he says with one hand resting on the wheel.

I stare straight ahead, deep in thought, yet not really even thinking about anything important. I just keep wondering if I can trust this man at all. Why would I? Didn’t I learn the first time around that he was no good? But for some stupid reason, I want to open up to him.

“I don’t have a driver’s license anymore,” I blurt out, though it comes out in a whisper. I rub my hands against my thighs nervously. “That’s why I was going to Uber to my parents’ yesterday.”

From my peripheral vision, I can see his head turn toward me for a few seconds before returning to the road. Even before he talks, I can tell he’s on edge and he has a million questions. Still, being this new Smith that he is, he remains calm.

“Since when?” he utters. “Why?”

I could lie. I could tell him it expired. Could say that I forgot to renew it or maybe that, since I was living in California, I was trying to be greener and ride a bike. There are so many things I could come up with, but the only thing I can do is just tell the truth.

“About two years ago, he persuaded me into thinking I didn’t need to have a car. Or drive anymore.” My voice is weak, like a cricket stuck under a rock, as I relive one of the dumbest decisions I’ve ever made in my life. I’m ashamed to say the words out loud, yet I still feel the need to do it. “And I guess I just … believed him.”

I can feel him tense beside me. The air in the truck’s cab changes, and I watch his knuckles turn white as he grips the wheel tighter. I wait for him to yell or flip out, but when he does neither, I find myself incredibly grateful.

“So, you—you couldn’t go anywhere. You were … trapped.” As that last word leaves his lips, a squeak escapes his throat, and he brings his free hand to his eyes and wipes it across them.

It takes me a long time to get any more words out. There’s a burning sensation in my throat, and it feels like it might close up. I’m not going to cry though. I’m just … numb.

“I don’t know how to go about life and pretend that everything is okay,” I whisper, barely hearing myself. “I don’t know how to get over it.”

“Gemma,” he says thoughtfully, “would it be okay if I held your hand?”

My eyes fly to his, and he glances at me for a split second. I don’t know what comes over me when … I nod.

When his hand reaches over, taking mine inside of it, my entire body prickles, huge tears well in my eyes, and that lump of emotion in my throat grows bigger. And I don’t know if any of that is a good thing or a bad thing.

I shouldn’t find comfort in a person who has proven to be untrustworthy. And yet a calmness still washes over me, just from his hand holding mine.

There are so many things I’ve done in my life that I would change if I could.

In our second game of the season, I fucked up and almost lost us the game because I had gotten too cocky.

A few weeks ago, I got too drunk at an event, and I made an ass out of myself in front of some important people.

Just last week, I bit my mother’s head off for calling me too many times in a week and made her sad.

I fuck up all. The. Time.

But not a single one of those fuckups has ever been as big as what I did yesterday when I lost my temper and gave Gemma a panic attack. Yesterday was fucking traumatizing, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for losing my shit in front of a girl who’s barely holding on.

Her hand is soft but cold against mine. I don’t push my luck by running my thumb along hers, like I probably did years ago when we were holding hands. Instead, I just hold on to it.

I wish I could tell her that I’m here and that I’ll always be here .

That I’m not going anywhere. Ever. But I’m in uncharted territory, and I never want to say or do anything again to make her uncomfortable or upset.

I want to ask her more questions, but I will let her decide how much more to share today. When we pull into her parents’ driveway in about thirty seconds, she will have to talk to them about everything that’s been going on.

I just hope they listen and let her speak.

I know her old man has cancer and just finished treatments because last time my parents were in Portland for a game, they told me. I might resent him for ruining what his daughter and I had, but I wouldn’t wish harm on him. I know he was just doing what he thought was right.

When I put my blinker on and we turn down Essex Street, it feels like old times—when we were back in high school, driving home after being out way too late. Only, back then, she would have been in the middle seat of my truck with her head against my shoulder or kissing my neck. Now, she just stares blankly out the window, watching the houses roll by like she’s never seen them before.

“You all right?” I ask, giving her hand the smallest squeeze just before we pull in front of her house and park along the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” she utters.

It’s a lie, but I don’t call her out on it.

Her neck cranes toward her house, and she stares up at it, not reaching for the door handle to get out and rush inside.

“I can go over and see my parents, or I can go inside with you,” I say, keeping her hand in mine. “Whatever you want, Gem. Whatever will make you feel more comfortable.”

Slowly, she pulls her hand from mine and sighs. “I can do it alone. I’m fine,” she whispers, and I watch her swallow. “You should go see your parents. You drove all this way.”

Even though I’m disappointed with her answer, I don’t show her. This isn’t about me; it’s not about her parents either. It’s about her opening up to her loved ones about the things she’s been keeping inside way down deep.

“All right.” I nod. “I’ll keep my phone on. You can call or text me if you need anything.”

Pushing my own door open, I jog around to get hers. Once she steps out and Storm follows, I lightly close the door and turn my attention to her.

She eyes the house over, fidgeting her hands together .

Not wanting to make her feel like she’s on display, I clear my throat. “I’ll head across the road. Remember … my phone is on if you need me.”

She doesn’t acknowledge my words, but I know she heard me, so I take my time heading to cross the street. Just as I step onto the road, her panicked voice stops me.

“Smith?” flies from her mouth.

I spin around quickly to find her turned toward me, her eyes huge. “Yeah, Firefly?”

She looks down at the grass, still wringing her fingers together, before lifting her gaze back to me.

“Maybe you could go in with me after all?” She shrugs her slender shoulders. “I mean, if you wanted.”

I miss the light that always used to be in her eyes and the smile that would pull at her plump red lips. She’s a ghost now, and it’s the most fucking painful thing to see.

Walking toward her, I stop directly in front of where she stands and smile. “I would love to. You ready?”

Her head barely bobs, and she turns and starts taking steps toward the house. Before her foot lifts to the first porch step, the house door flies open, and her mother is looking at us, covering her mouth like she’s trying not to cry.

“My girl,” she whimpers before bolting outside. “You’re here.”

What I don’t expect to happen is for Gemma’s eyes to fly to mine just before her mom throws her arms around her body. She tenses up on impact but gently wraps her arms around her mom, still watching me.

After they embrace for a few more moments, the door opens again, but this time, it’s Will. His eyes fly to mine, and there’s no mistaking the panic written all over his face. I made a deal with him long ago—that I’d never tell anyone that he forced me out of her life. I’m sure he’s worried that I’m about to break our deal.

When Lori releases her, I see Gemma staring up at her father, who is much skinnier, paler, and frailer than the last time I saw him. And the crew cut he always wore has turned into a balding head.

“Hey, Dad,” Gemma whispers, her lips trembling.

He stares down at his daughter as if he isn’t sure she’s really here right now. With a cane in his hand, he takes a few steps closer to the edge of the porch.

“Hi, Gem,” he rasps. “Good to see you, girl.”

The old Gemma would have run up the stairs, wrapped her arms around her dad, and held on tight. That girl is gone, and the one left behind moves nervously as she heads closer to him. And even when she reaches the top of the stairs, she looks uncomfortable. But when he holds his arms out and pulls her against his chest, she erupts into sobs, letting go of everything inside.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been home,” she cries against his shirt. “I should have been here. You’re sick.” She sobs harder. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

“Shh,” he whispers against her hair. “You’re here now, sweetie. That’s all that matters.”

I know her parents probably aren’t happy I’m here, but I don’t really give a fuck. And even though I know her father needs her, I’m not letting her stay here. It’s not safe. Not until her father gets better.

“Is William around today?” She asks about her brother, but her parents both shake their heads.

“Not today,” Lori answers. “He went to visit his girlfriend in Boston for a few days.”

“I see,” Gemma says, and I can instantly hear the relief in her tone.

Seeing her parents today is hard enough. I’m sure she was nervous that her big brother would be here too.

This is the first step to healing, I believe. She’s finally going to admit everything out loud, and I’ll be here for her every step of the way.