5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Levi
“Welcome to the team, man. You killed it out there today.”
I grunt in response and take a sip of my beer. The words come from Ryan, one of my new teammates. The last thing I'd wanted to do was get stuck playing football again, especially for a crappy, broke team like the one here in Easton Creek. Everything from the faded bleachers to the ragged, weed-filled end zones screams disappointment. I know I'm supposed to try to blend in as much as possible, but holy hell, why does it have to be so hard?
It's been a little over three years since my mom and I left my father. Three long years, since we packed a few bags, closed a couple bank accounts and left in the middle of the night. Four moves later and the places we land keep getting worse. Mom insists we need to do everything we can to not draw attention to ourselves—the less visible we are, the harder it will be for him to find us. She's fooling herself, and I don’t have the heart to tell her so.
My father is as smart as he is ruthless. He has a long reach and I have no doubt that he knows exactly where we are. It wouldn't surprise me if us ending up in this hell hole was his idea. He's a master at pulling strings and getting exactly what he wants. To him, the world is a chess board and everyone, including us, is nothing but a pawn.
The only reason we're still here and not back under his roof and under his thumb is because, for now, for whatever twisted reason, our being here serves his purpose. This taste of freedom? It only exists because he's seen fit to grant it to us. It's not going to last forever.
Rolling my shoulders, I stretch my neck groaning at the loud pop when it cracks. My muscles ache from the try-outs and the hours of practice after. It's been a while since I played—but thinking about all the time and energy I'm going to waste playing for a team like this one is what really hurts. But, here I am. The new quarterback. Lucky me.
Ryan is leaning against the wrought iron railing running along the balcony outside my room. He's been nursing the same beer for the past half hour and it's driving me nuts. Not that I want to get the guy hammered, but it has to be warm and undrinkable by now. He doesn't seem to notice though—he's too busy checking out the view from up here. You can see all the way to very edge of town.
This house—our house—is three stories which makes it the tallest in the whole neighborhood, and almost the whole damn town. It's ridiculous. I don't even want to know what kind of mental gymnastics my mom performed to make it fit into the whole 'not drawing attention to ourselves' idea. As she told me, " We might've been forced to downgrade but there's no reason to settle for less than the best. Even if it's only the best of the worst. " And this place, this town, and from what I've seen so far, the people, are definitely the worst.
My bedroom is on the top floor, by itself. There are double doors that open out onto the balcony. When I saw it, I hadn't been above using guilt to get my way and make sure this part of the house was mine. It's private and quiet and gives me plenty of space to call my own. I love having a bird's eye view of everything. Especially Angel's backyard.
I take a swig of my beer, the bitter taste not doing as much to distract me as I'd hoped. It's been a little over two weeks since I stood on Angel's porch wanting to check on her, and I can't seem to let it go. Every time I close my eyes, I see the violence that covered her skin—as if someone had taken a paint brush and covered her in the ugliest shades of purples and blues and yellow-greens. But it's not just what I saw—it's what it all meant.
Each one of those marks told a story of pain and fear and things I don't even want to put a name to. It's no wonder she thought I'd come over to keep her quiet.
And the way she stood there—trying so damn hard to convince me she was fine… Every nerve in my body still feels raw, unsettled. Nothing seems to help.
I force myself to stare at the peeling paint on the outside of the house, my knuckles turning white around the bottle neck as I try and resist the urge to look over at Angel's house.
I'm doing my best to stay away from her. Doing my best to do as she asked. But I don't see it lasting. I don't think I'll be able to keep it up much longer.
I take another sip of my beer. Ryan is right. I didn't do too bad today. Especially for a guy who hasn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep a night in the past couple of weeks.
“Thanks, man, I —”
"The party tonight was a good idea. The guys'll come around eventually, it's gonna take a little time is all. Zack on the other hand..." he pauses to take another sip of his beer, "He can be a real dick sometimes, and he holds on to things forever. You need to watch your back around him."
I nod. I get it. It has to suck to be the top dog for most of your life only to have a new guy come in and steal your thunder senior year. I wish I could tell him to just take it. He can have it—I don't want it. I never did.
"Damn! I didn’t realize you lived behind her .” Ryan lets out a low whistle and turns his full attention to the yard directly behind me. “She may be fucked up, but damn, I could get used to a view like that.”
I come to stand next to him and follow his eyes down to the spot they’re glued. I see exactly what he's talking about. Walking carefully down the broken steps leading to her backyard, Angel is balancing a full plate of food and a can of soda on top of a thick book she's holding like a tray.
It's good to see her out. This is the first time I've laid eyes on her since that day at her house. Long, sand colored waves fall carelessly over her shoulders and frame her perfect heart-shaped face. Her nose is scrunched up—crinkled in intense concentration.
She's fucking adorable.
I'm pretty sure none of that is what drew Ryan's attention though. It's probably the same thing that I can't drag my eyes away from. Today, Angel's wearing a pair of tight denim jeans that hug her full hips and thighs in a way that look as if she's been poured into them. Her thin black T-shirt is obviously a size or two too big for her, but she’s knotted the bottom of it at her side to adjust the length. The knot sits at the dip of her waist and pulls the cotton material tight over her full breasts.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the look on Ryan's face and anger flares in my chest. My jaw clenches so hard it’s a wonder my teeth don’t crack. He's looking at Angel like she’s his next meal. I can't tear my eyes away from her either, but she's not for him. She’s for me. Only me.
When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, she looks up, and her gaze finds mine. Her lips curl into a small, shy smile and she tips her chin to me. I can't help it—a smile takes over my entire face in response.
Her smile fades into a deep scowl when she notices Ryan gawking at her. With a stiff gait, she makes her way to a spot under the tree and lowers herself with a grimace to the ground. Her back is to us. An intentional cold-shoulder.
“So. You know Angel?” I casually turn my back on the girl sprawled out on her lawn when it becomes obvious she's not going to turn around again. I work to keep the edge out of my voice.
“Angel? Who’s…?” Ryan runs his hands through his hair, chuckling when he realizes who I’m talking about. “Oh, you mean Sunny. She’s something else, isn’t she?” He takes another swig of his hot beer. “But, she is definitely not an angel. Where’d you get that from?”
“Nowhere,” I mumble and shrug. The image of the outrage on Sunny’s face when I called her Angel flashes in my mind and I have to force myself not to laugh. “Yeah, she’s something else alright. She seeing anyone?”
Ryan laughs. “Um, no. Well, not exactly. Sunny doesn't... Sunny isn't... "
I can tell Ryan's thinking, weighing out his next words carefully. Too carefully. He tips the bottle and swallows the last of his beer. Setting the empty bottle on the table, he takes a seat in one of the cheap wicker chairs.
"Sunny doesn't what? C'mon man, spill." The words come out tightly controlled. Do I know I'm too invested in this girl already? Yes. Yes I do, but no one else needs to.
"Well, Sunny's...um, different. I know she's amazing to look at, and she used to be a lot of fun to hang out with, but, seriously man, keep your distance. She's trouble. And not the kind it's fun to get into."
Taking the chair across from Ryan, I think about going in and getting us another beer. But, I begin peeling the label off my beer instead, waiting for him to continue. As if I don’t already know that Angel—Sunny—is trouble. On the day we moved into this place, I’d stepped out onto this balcony and all it took was a few minutes of watching her under that stupid tree with her nose in a book and I was hooked.
Without knowing anything about her, including her name, I'd been willing to risk everything to help her. And even after everything was said and done, and all I got out of it was a warning to stay away, I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
The stupid piece of shit had it coming. I saw those bruises on her arm and it was like holding a lit match to gasoline. One look into those big, brown eyes and I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t do for her.
Yeah, I have no doubt that she’s trouble. Big trouble. I’m just waiting for Ryan to tell me how truly and deeply fucked I am.
“Huh. What’s her story?” My eyes settle on her, and I take a deep pull on the bottle I’m holding. Easy boy, not too anxious.
“She's been through a lot the past few years," he says. He's lost in thought for a moment as he rolls his empty bottle along the edge of the table. "All of us pretty much grew up together. Sunny was always cool as hell. Everyone loved her.”
“But, then, her dad disappeared. And things kind of fell apart for her. And her mom." Ryan looks out, his attention still focused on Sunny.
"What happened to her dad?" I ask.
"No one knows exactly, but people talk. Rumor has it he pissed off the wrong people." When he continues, his voice is laced with a tinge of sadness. "It destroyed Sunny."
"After that..." Ryan trails off, taking another sip. "Her mom moved that guy Garrett in and started dancing out at The Foxhole." He glances at me. "You been out there yet?
I shake my head, jaw tight.
"Yeah, well, it's a dump. Brings in the worst kind of people." His voice turns razor-sharp with disgust as he scuffs his feet against the weathered deck. Leaning back, he tilts his face to the sun, eyes closed tight. "But Garrett? The things I've heard about what goes on in that house—" he breaks off, jaw clenching. "He's the worst of the worst. Everyone knows to stay out of his way."
I nod and pick at the pieces of sticker that didn't come off, trying to remember to breathe. My heart feels stuck in my throat.
The worst of the worst. Fuck.
"Zack is the one and only guy who ever asked her out. They went to the movies. Garrett showed up halfway through and threatened to kill Zack right there in the theater. Caused a huge scene and dragged Sunny out like he owned her or some shit." Ryan shakes his head. "He's a sick bastard."
My grip tightens around the bottle. If I’d been there... he wouldn’t have walked out with her .
Ryan opens his eyes and looks at me. He must see something on my face that concerns him. Frowning, he holds up his hands in front of him. “Hey, don't go getting all pissed off. Sunny's been through a lot, but it's not like no one's tried to help her,” he says defensively. “She doesn’t want anything to do with anyone and I don't blame her."
Ryan whistles through his teeth, “But damn, she’s easy to look at, right? Maybe now that Garrett’s out of the picture for a while, I’ll—”
“Don’t.” The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it, a low warning rumble in my throat.
Ryan pauses, glancing at me. “Whoa, calm down, man. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
I clench my jaw, turning away from him, and stare down at Sunny again. She’s sitting under the tree now, reading, completely unaware of the conversation going on up here. She's oblivious to the fact that now, more than ever, I'm determined to make sure she knows I'm here for her. That she never has to worry about anyone hurting her like that ever again.
Ryan stands up and walks over to the railing again. I stand up, and again, it takes every ounce of control I have not to slam my fist into his face. My glare burns into his back, but he’s too busy drooling to notice. I turn away before I do something we’ll both regret.
"Listen man, I gotta get out of here and get ready for tonight. I'll be back about eight." Ryan hands me his empty bottle and grabs his backpack off the table. "Look, I didn't mean anything. I’m gonna say it again though. Forget about Sunny. There will be plenty of girls here tonight who can't wait to get their hands on the new guy," he says with a chuckle.
I don't answer him, but silently lead the way down the stairs, through the kitchen and hold the front door open for him. "See ya later, man." The words slide out between gritted teeth. As Ryan heads out the door, I finally let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
I take my time heading back inside, stopping in front of the refrigerator and grabbing a fresh, cold beer and twisting the cap off. I take a deep draw off the bottle trying to cool down. Once I feel like I can breathe a little easier I head upstairs to hit the shower. I'm definitely not in the mood for a party tonight. But it's the best way to find my way in and make it easier to stay here for a while.
I’m halfway up the stairs when my mind locks on to a single, unshakeable truth that's as solid as the ground beneath my feet. Sunny’s going to be mine. She just doesn't know it yet.