Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
DUSTIN
February 2001
N ot seeing Echo is torturous. Not being able to talk to her about what happened hurts even more. Stupid Vo-Tech keeps me from getting to see her at school, and the unknown keeps me from seeking her out other ways. This living in a town where everyone knows your name is bullshit. Not only do they know your name, they know your every move. At first, sneaking around seemed romantic, but after a while, it began to take a toll. It especially was wearing Echo down. She has more at stake to lose. Of course I argue that idea because I’d lose Echo, and to me, she’s everything. But I worry just how far her dad would take it. I don’t want to chance her losing out on getting signed to play college ball as a way out of here. Even though I’d pack her in a suitcase and haul her away from here myself, need be. I don’t want to be the reason that dream of hers isn’t fulfilled.
I sink back into our couch and groan loudly. Dropping my head back, I close my eyes. My mother called me downstairs for my birthday celebration, but it’s the last thing I want to celebrate. For a moment, I debate packing my shit and hitting the road since I’m of age now, but what kind of future could I secure for myself doing that? Echo deserves better than the unknown. And that route, without a shadow of a doubt, would be unknown.
“Bro, why do you look like someone killed your puppy?” Dax jokes, landing next to me on the couch. The force bounces me out of my zone. I debate slapping his chest with my hand but think better of it. I peek over at him, and I swear he sits taller than me. His eyes are fixed on the TV, so I know he’s not expecting a reply to his question. It’s not like I was going to give him one, anyhow.
My mom walks in, carrying a cake covered in white frosting, with two lit candles on top. As she gets closer, I take notice of the image on the cake. It’s one of my senior pictures with the one and eight candles to the side. My dad follows behind her, camera in hand. I’m so thankful no one else is here to witness this monstrosity of a cake.
“I get his face,” Dax shouts, turning toward me to join in the singing. This time, I don’t hold back as my hand slaps his chest. “Ow.” He winces, not missing a beat with the song. My mom narrows her eyes, and my dad says cheese.
Picture-perfect family.
“Your brother’s right, you know?” my mom admits as she hands me a slice of cake. I’m thankful it’s not my face.
“Of course I am,” Dax says with a full mouth. “What am I right about?” He licks his fork, getting up for a second piece.
She sits down in her recliner, careful not to drop her cake. Taking a bite, she slowly pulls the fork out of her mouth, looking off to the side as if she’s in thought. I’d say she’s choosing her words cautiously, but that’s something my mother never does.
“I just think…” she begins, treading with ease. “That it’s time for you to stop walking around here sulking, with that sour puss look on your face.” She finishes, throwing caution to the wind in true Donna fashion.
“Uhhh,” Dax stammers, sitting back down next to me. “I never said that.” He looks at me, offering a weak smile, all traces of humor gone. Just like most of his boyish features. When he’s serious, I can notice how grown he’s starting to look; all defined features as he thins out with height.
“Not in so many words.” My mom gives a wave of her hand, looking our way. “But I agree with Pastor Price.” The mention of that prick’s name has my body tensing and my jaw clenching. She better choose her next words carefully. I’m about to ask what exactly she agrees with, but she begins without my ebbing her on. “I’m glad whatever you and that girl of his had going on ended. It was only going to end in disaster and mess up your future,” she says matter-of-factly like she’s expecting a ‘Mother of the Year’ award.
“Oh, shit,” Dax whispers at my side. “Abort, abort.” I’m unsure if that’s intended for me or our mom. Probably both. I sit my cake down on the ground before pushing to my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dax bend down and grab it. If I wasn’t so incredibly pissed off, it’d make me laugh.
“You’re glad?” I all but snarl, giving her a chance to abort like Dax insisted.
She straightens in her recliner and my dad stands for good measure, always being the middleman. Obviously, not where I got my balls from.
“Yes, I’m glad.” Her shoulders rise and she tilts her chin up toward me, holding my stare. She’s not backing down, and neither am I. “You have a prominent future in baseball ahead of you. There’s no way I’m going to let some girl screw that up.”
“Some girl?” I seethe, clinching my fists. If she wasn’t my mom or a woman, I’d lunge at her. And I’ve been putting all the blame on Echo’s dad, accusing him of being the culprit. Now I’m starting to wonder if my own damn mother conspired against us as well. My chest heaves and my neck feels hot. These people are turning me into someone I don’t even recognize or like.
“Dustin,” I hear from beside me, breaking through the noise in my head. I avert my gaze to Dax, who’s standing at my side. His brows furrow and he swallows hard. “Let’s go outside.” His hazel eyes plead with me and my shoulders sag in agreement, not defeat.
Echo’s dad and my mother might have won the battle, but they won’t have the final victory.
I fling open the front door with such force Dax has to catch it before it slams into the wall. He curses under his breath, and my lip curves up at the corner. I walk off our porch and pace the sidewalk in front of our house, trying to calm myself down. Happy eighteenth birthday to me. The idea of taking off floods my thoughts even more.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I stop mid-stride and look at Dax. He’s sitting on the bottom step of the porch, with his elbows resting on each thigh, watching me intently. My heart drops, hating that I’ve put him in this position. He’s too young to have to step in and play Devil’s Advocate over something that doesn’t even concern him. Hell, it doesn’t concern anyone in our house, yet they seem to think it does.
I throw my hand through my hair in frustration. I want to scream, but the prickle behind my eyes says otherwise. The urge to drop to my knees and let it all out tries to push through my iron exterior but fails. To do so shows weakness, and weakness is a sign of defeat.
And I will never accept defeat.
I start focusing on my breathing, slowing it down so I can think rationally. I thread my fingers together, cradling the back of my head against them. Walking back toward the porch, I stop directly in front of Dax.
“What do you do when you feel like the entire world is against you?” I ask, letting out an exasperated breath. Dax scoots over and pats the spot next to him. Without hesitation, I sit and let my head hang down.
“You do what you’re best at,” Dax commands, placing his arm around my shoulders.
“And what’s that?” I glance up, angling my head toward his. His eyes widen and his mouth curves up into a devious smile.
“You give the world the middle finger.”
I laugh, being extremely thankful for this brother of mine.
He pulls me in closer, giving me a brotherly side hug, and continues, “For real, Dustin. When have you ever cared what people think? Don’t start doing it now.”
I’m never one to admit my younger brother is right about anything. But he’s right about this. I just needed someone in my corner—someone who shows faith in me. Never would’ve expected that person to be Dax, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Thanks, bro.” I stand up, clamping my hand on his shoulder. “I really appreciate you.”
“I’m writing that down.” He chuckles, teasing as he stands by my side. “Now go get your girl back.”
I look at my watch and begin jogging backward to my Blazer. Super thankful practice for spring ball is in full swing.
“Can I have another piece of cake?”
I raise a brow, hoping he’s kidding, but he begins rubbing his stomach.
“Eat all you want.” I laugh before turning around, wondering where it all goes.
I head to practice early because the idea of walking back into our house isn’t an option. I really need to regain my focus before dealing with my mother again. Now I get a glimpse of what Echo has been dealing with, and I feel like an ass for not being more careful.
I pull into the parking lot like hell on wheels. Echo and I have been avoiding each other. A lump settles in my throat, fearing she might really be done with me. The way she’s always worried I’ll get tired of the situation and not feel it’s worth it…maybe she finally has instead.
Desperation to see her takes over—even just a glimpse. I scan the parking lot, not seeing either parent’s car. To be on the safe side, I park behind the weight room so they don’t see my vehicle if they show up to pick her up. The girls have been practicing at different times than us, and now I wonder if her dad is responsible for it as well. I open my glove box and pull everything out onto the floorboard. Ahh, that’ll work. I grab an old receipt and write a quick note. I fold it in half and jump out of my Blazer, hoping my plan works.
I stand at the back side of the locker room that faces the school, knowing it’s the side she always uses. My palms begin to sweat, and I rub them on the cool cement as my back leans against the wall. Butterflies engulf my stomach and for a heartbeat, I second-guess this plan. Then she emerges and all doubt ceases to exist.
She startles, then stops in her tracks, staring. The color leaves her face, and a mixture of sadness and madness fills her eyes. It’s like she’s battling which she should feel. I want to cup her face and pull her into me, but I don’t want to overstep. I push off the wall, closing the distance between us.
“Dustin,” she says breathlessly, dropping her bag. That’s all it takes for me to close the distance and wrap my arms around her. “I’ve missed you.” Her words are barely audible as her mouth moves against the crook of my neck. A couple warm tears fall to my skin before she sniffles and pulls back, gaining her composure. “What are you doing here?” She looks past me, scanning our surroundings.
I trail my finger down her cheek. “I came to get my birthday gift from you.” I cock a brow and grin.
Worry fills her eyes, and she begins shaking her head, stammering. “I don’t have a gift for you. I barely even leave my?—”
I press my lips against hers, stopping her. Since time is of the essence, I refrain from deepening the kiss. I pull back, both of us breathless, with smiles on our faces. I push the loose hair behind her ear, then cup her chin.
“That was my gift. And it was the best damn gift ever.” I lean in and kiss her forehead.
I grab the note out of my pocket, slide it into her front pocket, and kiss her one last time. Then I book it before we are seen together and my recovery mission blows up in my face.