Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (17 page)

The first week of class, I had the kid pegged as a lone wolf. He was cool, unfazed, and seemed like the type to just go with the flow. He did his own thing and excelled in the back of the room. He didn't seem at all concerned about fitting in, and ignored whatever attention he received, which was almost unheard of when it comes to teenage boys.

It didn't take long before I started to realize that something seemed off. Of course, I was by no means an expert on the field, but even then, I could tell that Aiden was more secretive from the walls he built around himself than he was naturally quiet. And then there was that damn striped hoodie he just refused to take off – even when the AC broke and I, along with the rest of the kids, were reduced to tank tops and rolling our pants up over our ankles.

When I saw the bruises, I finally understood the hoodie. The lack of steady eye contact. The reluctance to approach others, and vice versa. At the same time, it brought on a barrage of new questions.

Was he getting into fights at school? Was it his overbearing father? Could he have gotten himself involved or roped into something illegal? Could it have been drug or gang-related, and was he being threatened into silence? Whatever it was, other than his silence, he seemed resigned, as if this was enough of a regular occurrence that it was like any other day for him. It was heartbreaking, but I knew that coaxing it out of him would be far from easy. All that mattered right now was that he was safe...

“Brooklyn? Brooklyn, you seem a little distracted.”

“Hmm?”

I tore my eyes away from the crooning woman onstage and turned back to the table. Dad leaned back in his stuffed chair, tilting his boxy head inquisitively. Next to him, Mom peered at me with narrowed eyes, her glass of Bordeaux raised to her lips.

“Sorry, did you say something?” I rested my cheek against my fist, glancing back at the stage. “She definitely does Dinah Washington justice, don't you think? Shame, with a voice like that, you'd think she'd be selling out stadiums by now.”

“Yes, well unfortunately, she is quite lacking in the aesthetics department. I don't believe they offer stages big enough to accommodate a woman of her size,” said Mom in her snooty, highbrow voice. She had this maddening and cringe-worthy habit of disguising the most obnoxious things with her $2 words, especially in public. As if people around us – more so servers and public servants – didn't speak perfect English. “Now, come on, eat up. Your duck is getting cold.”

My eyes rounded at the plate of crispy roasted duck and asparagus in front of me. I didn't even realize my food had arrived. Dad was right. All I could think about was the bomb Aiden dropped on me 3 nights ago.

Needless to say, I was stunned. A moth could have flown right into my open mouth and I probably wouldn't have noticed. When I regained my motor skills, I urged him to set down his things and left to fetch him some water. But by the time I'd returned from the kitchen, he was curled up in a ball on my sofa, fast asleep.

Since then, Aiden had retreated right back into his shell. He busied himself with his homework, shutting out the rest of the world with his headphones. At dinner, he kept his eyes on his food, only opening his mouth when he needed salt.

Incidentally, Aiden was already proving to be a better house guest than Tabitha was. The kid was quiet, but he exhibited exemplary manners. He thanked me after each meal, cleaned up after himself, made his bed, and always remembered to keep the toilet seat down.

“Brooklyn, honey, please, don't eat with your elbows on the table. And sit up straight. Don't bring your mouth to your fork, bring your fork to your mouth,” Mom nagged, her mauve, bee-stung lips pressed in a tight frown. “I was afraid this would happen when you left home. It's like you never even read that book on ladies' etiquette I got you for Christmas. With gilded edges, too, so I certainly hope it's not sitting around somewhere in your tiny apartment, collecting dust –”

“Of course, I did, Mom. I read it on the toilet all the time,” I said loudly, wiping the orange glaze from my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Good God, Brooklyn, keep your voice down –”

“Never mind that, Barbara.”

I was about to thank Dad for coming to my rescue, but he wasn't finished.

“What's this I hear about you and Xavier splitting up?”

“Right.” Taking a deep breath, I set down my knife and fork, reaching for my wine. I hadn't even had the heart to break theirs yet, but I guess they would have found out sooner or later. “I know how much you guys adore him, but it just...wasn't working out. We decided it would be best to part ways.”

“Oh, honey. Don't you think you're being a little rash?” Mom reached over, tapping the back of my hand. Her face softened as much as her Botox allowed her. “You've been together for nearly 2-and-a-half years now. We thought it was going so well – when Xavier called us last Tuesday, I thought he was going to tell me that he had proposed! Imagine my –”

“Wait, wait. Xavier called you?” I cocked an eyebrow, frowning. “This isn't why you invited me out to lunch today, is it?”

“Well, of course.” The grooves on Dad's forehead doubled. He exchanged a brief, puzzled look with Mom. “Why else would I have canceled my golf day with my buddies today, other than to talk you out of this terrible mistake you're –”

“Why else?” I grumbled, stabbing my duck. “Oh, I don't know, because you miss your daughter and you want to spend some quality time with her?”

“Don't be so melodramatic, Brooklyn,” said Mom stiffly, cutting her watermelon arugula salad with her knife and fork. “Now, tell us, what's the problem? A relationship is all about compromise, don't you know.”

“That's right,” Dad pitched in, nodding. “There isn't a problem that exists that can't be worked out, unless...well, please, honey. Do tell us what's wrong. We are your parents, after all. We care about you, and all we want is to see you happy.”

“Okay.” I sighed, my fingers loosening around my fork. “Here's the thing. Things were going well for the first few months, but we've just been fighting nonstop. It wasn't all his fault, but he's been getting increasingly jealous and obsessive –”

“Sweetheart, that just means he cares about you.” Mom gave me a small, pitiful smile, holding her hand over her heart. It was the kind of smile you gave to an idiot.

“I highly doubt that. It just – trust me, Mom. It took me way too long to realize that it wasn't normal. But when I found out he was cheating on me, I had to end it –”

“Was that it?” Dad cried. He relaxed against the back of his chair, bursting with relieved laughter.

“What?” I breathed, shaking my head. “Cheating on me with multiple women for over a year? Probably the whole time we were together?”

“Oh, honey, what did you expect?” Mom asked breathlessly. She clutched onto Dad's arm, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “Xavier is young, wealthy, and devilishly handsome. It's completely normal for a man to want to explore his options before he settles down for marriage. Isn't that right, Hal?”

“Your mother's right. You have to understand, Brooklyn – you're looking at this at too narrow of a scope. Things are different when you're rich. Love isn't as black and white as it's often portrayed on those sappy movies and books you loved so much as a teenager. Those stories often come from poor, working-class folks with, frankly, not much else to look forward to in life.”

“Precisely.” Mom tittered some more. “And here I was thinking that Xavier had run into some kind of problem with the estate, or that his father was cutting him off. Maybe it's time you apologize –”

“Wow. You guys can't be serious?”

“Of course we're being serious,” Dad snapped, clearly miffed. “Your 'problems' with Xavier, on the other hand – wait, Brooklyn, where are you going?”

I grabbed my purse and rose to my feet.

“Thanks for lunch, but I've lost my appetite. I'll see you guys later.”

“Oh, now, honey, wait!”

Without bothering to look back, I gave them a half-assed wave and headed for the exit.

Chapter Two:
Brooklyn

2005

“Hey, Brooklyn! You look lovely tonight.”

I lowered my phone, glancing up at the sound of the deep, cheerful voice. A bald, bull-necked man stood before me, dressed in a black dress shirt and a pair of red-and-black plaid suspenders holding up his pants. I slipped my phone back into my pearl clutch, smiling back at him.

“Thanks, Mr. Hill. So do you. Love the suspenders!” I put my clutch down on the drinks table and ladled up some fruit punch for him. “There you go.”

“Oh, hey, thanks!” Mr. Hill took the red cup from me, looking around at the gym. “So, where's your father?”

“He's running a little late, but I'm sure he'll turn up soon.” I sounded much more convinced than I actually was. I widened my smile for good measure.

“Of course, of course.” Mr. Hill hid his mouth behind his drink. He didn't sound entirely convinced, either. “I'm sure he will.”

“Hey guys, what are we talking about?”

Tabitha joined us at the punch table, her lace-up army boots clicking against the polished gym floors. She wore a strapless petal dress with an embroidered black skirt and a red-and-black plaid bodice that matched Mr. Hill's suspenders. Next to me, Mr. Hill's face lit up.

“Tabitha! Great. There you are.” Mr. Hill passed me off to her awkwardly. “I think I see some shrimp at that buffet table over there, so I'll catch up with you girls later.”

“See you later, Mr. Hill.”

“It's really nice of Mr. Hill to come out today.” I smiled, watching the man shovel shrimp onto his plate happily.

“I think so, too. He's my favorite of all of Aunt Tracy's boyfriends,” said Tabitha with a small, sad smile. “He rescheduled with a college buddy who was in town tonight. He even asked Aunt Tracy what I was wearing and went out to get those suspenders so we could match. I just hope he lasts. My aunt works all the time, so I don't know where she finds the time for all these guys, but she goes through them like I go through Twizzlers.”

“Aww, that's sweet.” I felt a sting of jealousy, but I kept smiling, anyway. With everything Tabitha's been through, she seriously deserved it.

“Your dad's still not here, huh?”

“Nope. He's not answering my calls either, so looks like he's a no-show to –”

Before I could finish my sentence, my clutch started to vibrate. My eyes widened at once. I popped my clutch open and grabbed my phone.

“Oh my god! It's Dad!”

“Well, there you go!” said Tabitha brightly, nudging me on the elbow. “And you were all worried. He's probably walking over here as we speak.”

I grinned, flashing her a thumbs up as I walked off into the corner, answering the call.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, sorry, Brooklyn. I've just seen the missed calls.
”

“No problem,” I chirped, tugging on the ends of my bubblegum-pink dress. “Are you here? Do you need me to come pick you up?”

“Oh, no, I'm afraid not. I'm at St. Paul's for the christening of one of my client's nephews.”

“Oh. But you are on your way, aren't you? It's okay if you're late, I mean, better late than never, right?” I laughed, but it sounded strangled.

“
Sorry, Brooklyn, but I don't think I'm going to make it. There's still the luncheon at the Park Hyatt afterwards.
”

“But Dad, this is the last school event I'm ever going to have before I leave for college –”

“I'm sorry, honey, I don't know what to tell you. I was going to call you a few hours ago, but I got a little busy. You're a big girl – you understand, don't you
?”

“Yup. I understand perfectly. But that doesn't mean –”

“
Great! I knew you'd understand. Listen, sweetheart, I have to go now. You have fun at that party. I'll talk to you later!”

I clenched my jaw at the sound of the dial tone. And of course, with impeccable timing, the lights of the gym dimmed. A young guy with shaggy black hair and a hoop earring strode up to the microphone stand, adjusting his collar.

“
Go back to sleep now, my darlin',

And I'll keep all the bad dreams away.

Breathe now, think sweet things,

And I'll think of all the right words to say...
”

Fathers all over the room took their daughters' hands and led them to the dance floor. Mr. Hill and Tabitha took up the spot next to the shrimp station. He twirled Tabitha around as she grinned from one ear to the other, rolling her eyes. My heart swelled with warmth at the sight of them.

Across the room, Charlotte Freeman danced with her father. He was a handsome, wheelchair-bound man in a wrinkled brown suit. Charlotte and I were both in the dance club, and though I didn't know her all that well, she had a serious case of the resting bitch face, and was thought of as unapproachable by the other dancers at the club. But as Charlotte took the lead, gently pushing and swaying Mr. Freeman's wheelchair, the rare smile on her face could have lit up a thousand stadiums.