Not Your Fault (10 page)

I don’t know what I’m expecting to happen in the first time I see Kris since our unexpected shower make out fiasco, but this isn’t it. Besides that stupid sideways smile that he probably does to make my knees weak, Kris doesn’t talk to me anymore for his entire visit to the gym. He heads into his office, closing the door behind him and still hasn’t emerged by the time my shift is over in the morning.

I drive home from work feeling pissed off and annoyed, but I’m more angry at myself than at him. He’s just being a typical guy. I bet he’d make out with Susan in the showers if she wasn’t married. Or maybe he would even though she is married.

When I reach the turn for my neighborhood, I keep driving. Deep down, I know where my subconscious is directing my car to go, but part of me wants to pretend that I’m just driving without a destination or a care in the world. I’ll save my worrying about where I’m going for when I get there.

Grace Memorial Park is not a real park. That was my first thought when I saw it from the window of the black limo I rode in with my family ten years ago. And I still think it every time I drive past it as an adult. You shouldn’t be allowed to call something a park if there are no swing sets, slides and laughing children.

No one laughs a cemetery. They aren’t
parks
.

Tyler’s headstone is a large piece of white marble that stands out from the mostly gray headstones marking the graves around him. A permanent glass photo frame is embedded on the top of the headstone, displaying Tyler’s senior class photo for all of eternity. I hate that my parents chose that particular photo. Sure, he looks handsome and sophisticated in this photo, but it doesn’t represent the real him. My brother did not walk around wearing a graduation cap over his shaggy hair and he wore skateboard brand T-shirts, not dark green gowns.

Tyler has a good place in the so-called park. His grave is in the front row next to a sidewalk, which means I don’t have to walk over and in between other graves on a trek across the dead to get to him. The sidewalk has a nearby bench so I have a place to sit down when I visit.

I go to sit on the bench like I always do, but something on the ground catches my eye. I walk to the side of his headstone, not wanting to step right in front of it where I know his body rests six feet below. Not that he could feel it or anything.

Resting in the grass in front of his headstone is what looks like someone’s discarded trash. I’m about to turn into full out Hulk rage mode until I realize the Mountain Dew can is unopened and the stick of beef jerky is still inside the wrapper, sealed as if it was just bought from the store.

I kneel to the ground in front of his grave and rock back on my heels, staring at the food. Mountain Dew and beef jerky were Tyler’s favorite snacks. I can’t believe I forgot that. He used to use Mom’s Costco card to purchase bulk packages of the stuff and then tear through them in a weekend. Who would have left this for him? Cat doesn’t visit the cemetery because she feels that her loved ones are watching over her wherever she is, and that the bodies in the ground are just that—bodies.

Mom and Dad have been so massively busy with school that I don’t think they have time to go to the store to buy junk food, much less bring it here. I run my fingers over the etching of Tyler’s name in the marble. I bet he knows who brought this for him. But he’s not going to tell me.

“So…” I say aloud, feeling exactly as stupid as I always do when I talk to my dead brother’s gravesite. I used to think it’d get easier over time, but talking out loud to someone who isn’t there, who may not even be hearing you from the afterlife, never gets easier.

My cheeks blush with the next thing I say, but, if Tyler really is listening to me then I suspect he already knows this story anyhow. “I accidently made out with Kris in the locker room.” A ton of weight lifts off my shoulders at this confession. I sigh. “I don’t know why I did it, Tyler. And I hope you aren’t mad at me.”

I look away from his graduation photo, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes after confessing that I made out with his killer. My eyes fall to the snack food instead. The soda can has droplets of condensation around it, and I reach out and pick up the can. It’s cool to the touch, despite this eighty-degree weather. Jealousy prickles at me when I think that someone else was here visiting him, not much sooner than I arrived. Tyler is
my
brother, not theirs. I don’t want anyone else coming to him for unspoken advice.

It’s stupid to feel that way, I know. Tyler had a ton of friends in school so it’s possible that even now, after ten years, some of those friends still miss him and want to visit him. I should be happy that so many people adored him.

I suck in a deep breath and place the can back where I found it. “I wish I knew what to do,” I say, glancing around as a warm wind blows across my face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I think I like Kris. But I’m supposed to hate him. I mean, I
do
hate him.” I snap my mouth closed when I realize I’m babbling to a chunk of granite rock and some junk food.

The silence doesn’t last long though, because being trapped in my mind with my thoughts and emotions swirling around out of control is way worse than speaking out loud, saying only one thought at a time. I stare at Tyler’s graduation picture, almost willing it to move and turn into the real Tyler. It doesn’t, of course, but I can almost imagine the way he probably jumped out of that chair, ripping off the borrowed graduation cap and gown as quickly as possible, happy to be done with his last school photo.

“So…Tyler,” I say, finding my voice again. Out of embarrassment, I glance around, making sure no unseen visitors are near to watch me talk to a dead teenager’s graduation photo. “If you could maybe…give me a sign? Or something?” I shake my head, feeling exactly as stupid as I sound. “Can you use your dead guy heaven powers to show me a sign that it’s okay…or not okay…for me to like Kris? And not just a vague sign either, I need something very real and tangible that I will know is from you and not in my imagination.”

I don’t know what I expect to happen, but nothing is what does happen.

My shoulders fall as I sink into a cross-legged position on top of my brother’s grave. If I’m squishing him, then so be it. This is the closest I can get to a big brother hug now. “He didn’t mean to hurt you, Ty,” I assure him. “I wonder if he meant to hurt me.”

Chapter 14

Crushing on a guy is fucking exhausting. Not only are my every waking thoughts spent daydreaming about Kris Payne, my regular way of life has been given a hard shove out of the way to make room for my stupid crush. Every time my phone makes a noise, even if it’s just to alert me that my battery is dying, I dive across the room or speed to the next stop sign, or ignore the customer talking to me so that I can check my phone, hoping against all odds that it’s a text or call from Kris.

I don’t wake up twenty minutes before work anymore—I wake up an hour before. Perfect hair and shine-free makeup and polished nails don’t come without sacrificing time and sleep. Because of my pathetic crush, my brain is determined that I need to do all of these things every single day.

Because one day, the text or the call I rush to answer might actually be Kris. And one day he might compliment my hair. Or the sparkly clear polish on the tips of my midnight blue nails. One day, unlike the last twelve fucking days, he might actually show up to the business he owns and talk to me again.

I lower my mascara wand and glance at the date on my cell phone’s home screen. Yep. It’s now day thirteen since the day after make out day, and I’ve had no word from Kris. Cat insists that I should text him first, but that isn’t happening. I didn’t run after him when he left me all those years ago. I’m not going to run after him now.

Unlucky thirteen. Tyler was always superstitious about things like that. He would warn not to go out on Friday the thirteenth because something bad would happen. I always told him superstitions are for idiots, but he’d just shake his head and tell me I’d have to learn the hard way. I wonder if anything will happen today. If the sign I asked Tyler to send me will be revealed, on this the thirteenth day after make out day. Honestly, I don’t even care. If the sign is bad news then it’s bad news. I just need to know.

Today is Wednesday and it’s the one day a week I give an adults only dance class. It’s a lot like our other aerobics classes, where we dance to upbeat songs, working the core and butt and thighs, only the moves are more sexual. Most of the dances are equivalent to giving an imaginary lap dance. Some women balk at the moves, but I love this class because it works my backside muscles like nothing else, short of actually being a stripper, can. Occasionally we’ll have some men join the class, saying they want to ditch the weights for an hour of cardio. I always smile and pretend they aren’t here to check us out.

“You think he’ll show up today?” Cat asks, suddenly in my bedroom doorway when I had thought I was alone in my own house. I let out a yelp and flinch so hard my mascara swipes across my face, leaving an army-style line under my eye.

“Jesus, Cat you could knock to announce your presence, ya know.” I lick my finger and rub it across my cheek, then reapply some BB cream on the freshly spit-cleaned skin. “Don’t make me take your house key away.”

She disregards my threat because we both know it was an empty one. “Well?” she asks, crossing her arms and giving me one hell of a mocking glare as she watches me finish my new makeup routine.

“Well what?” I ask, rising from the chair and smoothing my hands over my spandex pants. “I’m just going to work and I do not care who else will be there.”

She shoves me in the shoulder as I walk out to grab my purse and car keys off the kitchen counter. “You are so full of shit,” she says, following me like a puppy wanting a treat. “I’m starting to think ya’ll are hooking up secretly and you’re keeping me out of the loop here.”

“That’s not happening,” I say as a snort of laugher escapes me. “He doesn’t like me. He’s too—” I stop myself midsentence and walk out the door, giving my sister a half-assed goodbye. I can’t believe the words that almost came out of my mouth.
He’s too good for me
. Why the hell do I think that? Because he’s so unbelievably gorgeous and I’m just me? Plain and average? Because he has money and probably dates models, except for that one girl who was so not a model, and I don’t have money and I date losers like Nathan?

I shake my head, wishing I should shake all thoughts of Kris out of it. Nothing good will come from liking him and our make out session was just a one time mistake. I’ve had one time make out mistakes before, so I know I can handle this one.

Shaking my head, telling myself empowering thoughts and even pretending to daydream about movie stars does nothing to ward Kris out of my mind. This man will drive me insane, if I’m not already insane. But that’s the thing about being insane—if you think you are then you’re probably not. It’s when you think you’re perfectly normal that you should start to worry.

All my regulars are in class today. The atmosphere overflows with enthusiasm for a night of fun dancing and a hardcore calorie burn. I head to the front of the dance room and queue up my mp3 player to tonight’s playlist on the big stereo system, anxious to let my body move and my mind take a break from thinking about Kris.

He wasn’t at the gym when I arrived a few minutes ago, and if all goes as it has for the last twelve days, he won’t bother showing up this late. My guess is that he’s working only in the day shift now, or possibly not at all since the place runs itself just fine without him. But who cares what he does; the only thing I care about is the next sixty minutes of carefree sexy aerobics.

The warm up song, a naughty R&B track, begins and I lead the class in slow hip circle stretches and deep lunges. My muscles unwind and my body falls into step with the music. Halfway through the song, I’m feeling both sexy and relaxed. The door at the back of the room swings open with a screech, and I try not to get distracted from the late comers by keeping my eyes closed as I squat down low, arch my back and bring it up slowly.

“Three more, ladies,” I say in a soothing voice, directing them on what to do for the ending of the song. As I lean back into the second squat, my eyes open. I study the mirrors in front of me to make sure everyone is in sync. My arms stretch in front of me for balance as my ass pokes out as far and low as I can go, which luckily is farther and lower than anyone else in class is. I don’t need my students upstaging me.

When I arch my back and slowly rise out of the squat, a bright white shirt catches my attention from the back corner of the dance room. My muscles tense, freezing me in a half squat as I blink to make sure the reflection in the mirror isn’t just a mirage.

Kris Payne positions himself at the back of the room, legs shoulder width apart and ass bent into a squatting position. Still caught in disbelief, I whip around and see him with my own eyes and not through a mirror’s reflection. A few people in the front row rise from their squat and stare at me, wondering what to do next. Soon, everyone else follows.

My brain knows enough to force my body back toward the front of the class, but I’m so shocked at Kris’s arrival that my mind goes blank. I stare into the mirror while the music plays and my vision goes blurry, obscuring everything in my peripheral vision until all I see is my own pale face, watching me in horror from the other side of the mirror.

“You okay, Delaney?” A small Hispanic woman asks me from the front row. She’s a regular in my class, showing up early every week to ensure her front row spot. She touches my arm as the music slows to the last few beats before the song is over. “You look sick,” she says.

I shake my head and force a smile. “I’m fine,” I say, deciding to use her observation as the perfect excuse. “I just got dizzy for a moment, but I’m better now.” It’s a lie but it’s better than admitting to everyone that my boss just walked in and now my knees are weak and my face is flushed and it’s not from the dancing.