Show Me How (It's Kind Of Personal Book 2) (3 page)

I lean up and press my lips to hers, trying to show her how I feel without the words. Once I speak them, I can’t take them back, and I’m too much of a pussy to tell her yet. I wrap my hand around her ponytail and pull her head back, then set her on the couch and walk away, needing to distance myself before I do what I really want to do. What I’m craving. What my body tells me is right.

“Brandon. Stop. Don’t leave.”

I stop in the doorway and turn with one foot on the step. She rises from the couch and grabs her controller. When I realize what she’s doing, I shake my head.

“Boom. I beat you, sucker!” She dances around with the controller and kisses it, taunting me. When she makes her way to me on the stairs, she leans up and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Love you.” Her ass shakes when she walks to the fridge.

“You’re evil.” I grab my crotch and adjust myself, not giving a shit that she’s watching.

“I am not. I can’t help it all you think about is sex.”

“I’m an eighteen-year-old man. What do you expect? You sitting there, pushing your boobs up and rubbing yourself all over me.”

She tosses a soda at me and I catch it, grateful for a distraction. The cold bubbles do nothing to cool down the heat inside as they slide down my throat. For good measure, I slam the entire can. It serves as both a distraction and also to give myself a minute to calm down.

“Boy.”

“Huh?”

“You’re an eighteen-year-old boy, not a man.”

“Okay, little girl. Whatever.” I again grab at my crotch, and she laughs.

“What is it with you and that thing? Seriously. You act like if you don’t touch it every ten minutes it’ll fall off.”

I crush the can and toss it into the garbage, purposely not answering her. I only touch it so much because every time I’m around her it has a mind of its own, and I have to move it so I don’t get permanent indentations from my zipper.

“I’ve gotta go to practice. Want me to give you a ride home?”

She lowers her head and gives a rough shake.

“No?” I ask.

“No,” she whispers, “I’ll just go to the library.”

Dammit. I wish she would tell me why she refuses to go home. I know her parents suck a big one, but there’s gotta be more. I’ve begged her to tell me, but she shuts me down right away.

“Just stay here,” I offer. My family loves her. I’m sure she could move in without an argument from my parents. Travis is fourteen, so he really doesn’t care about anything.

She raises her head slightly, just enough to connect with me. The piercing green of her eyes takes my breath away.

“No. It’s fine. I have to study for finals anyway.”

I know she’s lying, but I don’t push her. I’ve found very quickly that it’s the easiest way to piss her off.

“All right. Come on.”

I grab her hand and we walk to my car. Once inside, I cringe when she puts country music on. It’s worth listening to just to see her smile, though, so I don’t say a word.

* * *

“Hell yeah, Brandon!”

“We won!”

“Woohoo!”

All the yells and cheers in the locker room are deafening. I laugh and celebrate along with my friends, but the one person I wish was here isn’t. Mary is back at home, and I miss her, even though it hasn’t even been a day since I last saw her.

“Let’s go celebrate! I got the room number to those girls who invited us,” Donnie, my friend and the team’s catcher, says.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Come on. One night away from the ball and chain. Live a little.”

I shake my head and laugh him off. The guys are always giving me shit about Mary. They say I spend too much time with her, I’m pussy whipped, and I follow her around like a puppy. All of which are true on some level, I guess. But I don’t give a shit.

“Dude. You’re going to college in a few months. You’re really telling me that you ain’t gonna tap another ass aside from Mary?”

Little do they know that I haven’t yet. What we do or don’t do in our relationship is our business. Nobody else’s. And I want to, and I will. Just not yet. Soon, so fucking soon.

“Why are you so worried about my sex life? You should worry about your own, buddy.” I hit him with a towel and finish getting dressed.

“’Cause, man. You’re a good dude, and I hate to see you tied down by one chick.”

“I’m not tied down, all right?”

“Whatever, man.” He slams his feet into his shoes and stands to readjust his hat. “I just don’t know how one bitch can be—”

I grab him by the collar of his letter jacket and slam him against the wall. “Don’t call her that.”

“Yo. Chill, Parker.” Juan grabs me and pulls me away.

“I’m fine.” I throw my shirt over my head. “It’s cool.”

“Hey, my bad, man. I didn’t mean it like that.” Donnie sticks out his hand, and I shake it.

“Whatever. I’m outta here.”

I elbow my way out of the locker room and walk to the hotel. I’m supposed to wait for the team, but I don’t give a shit. As soon as I get into my room, I fall face down on the bed and punch the pillow a few times. The frustration of not actually
being
with Mary is starting to drive me crazy.

My phone rings, and I catch my parents’ name on the caller ID.

“Hello.”

“Brandon! You won, I’m so proud of you!” my mom yells. She and my dad couldn’t come because he had some banquet for the station this afternoon.

“Thanks.”

“What’s wrong?”

She’s not only my mom, but also a therapist. I get both sides, sometimes at the same time. Both a blessing and a curse. She’s taught me so much about communication and shit. But sometimes, when I don’t want to talk, it’s really annoying that she can read me so well . . . even over the phone.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not true. Can I help you with something?” Her voice has dropped an octave now. I swear she’s better than any lie detector test out there.

“No. It’s just . . . Nothing. Nevermind.” What was I thinking? Attempting to talk to my mom about Mary.

“Brandon. I may be your mom, but you know you can talk to me about anything and I won’t judge you. If this is about a girl—”

“Mom, no. Just. Stop. It’s fine. How was the banquet?”

“It was great. We had a good time, but we wish we could have been at your last game. I feel horrible.”

“You’ve been to every other one, it’s fine.” And they have. They’ve always been my biggest fans, too. I got lucky with a great set of parents.

“Well, I’m off to bed. Just wanted to say congratulations.”

“Thanks, Mom. ‘Night.”

“Good night. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

I hang up my phone and rub my hands down my face. I just need to do it. Tell Mary that I’m actually
in love
with her. We’ve skirted around the subject, but our feelings for each other are just . . . there, and it’s about time we sit down and actually talk about it. It’s fucking time. High school’s done, which means Dad’s rule is done, too. Tomorrow. When I get home, I’ll tell her. I can’t pretend anymore. When I leave for college, I need to know that she knows she’s mine.

The phone rings again, and I answer it without looking at the caller ID, ‘cause I’m assuming it’s my mom again.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, son. Wanted to say congrats. I didn’t know your mother called otherwise I would have talked to you then.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You don’t sound too excited. And I don’t hear a bunch of yelling, so that must mean you’re alone. What gives?”

What is with my parents? God, I can’t get anything past them. I don’t want to talk to my dad about this again. He knows how I feel. I’m eighteen; I don’t need his permission anymore.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll let you go. Congrats again. I’m proud of you.”

I hang up and grab a quick shower. Right as I’m getting out my phone rings again. Jesus, they’re annoying sometimes. I race to my bed and pick it up.

“Yes? What did you forget to tell me?” I laugh.

The silence on the other end confuses me, and I pull it back to see Mary’s picture on the screen. Her beautiful face always makes me smile, but my gut tells me something different right now.

“Mary?”

Her breathing is heavy, but she’s not talking.

“Mary, talk to me.” I pick up my hotel phone and dial my dad. I tell him to get over to her house because something isn’t right. He doesn’t question me, just says he’s on it. He’ll call for backup, but because we live so close, he’ll get there first.

“You’ve gotta give me something, babe.” Still nothing. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and images of her hurt and bleeding flash in front of my eyes. Hoping to get her attention or some kind of reaction, I yell into the speaker, “Mary Jane!”

Chapter 3

Mary

“Somebody’s here, Brandon. I’m scared,” I whisper into the phone.

“I know you are. Where are you?”

“Under my bed.”

“Just stay there and don’t move. Stay calm.” The breath he blows out is audible. He’s trying to be strong, but his voice trembles with as much fear as mine. “I called my dad. He and the cops are on the way.”

“Okay.” I attempt to cry quietly, not wanting the sobs to alert the stranger in my house to my presence. I’m in my sleep shorts and a tank top, hidden under my bed on the second level. Staring at the slit beneath my comforter and the floor, I’m waiting. The only light is coming from a dim lamp on my nightstand. Since I’m home alone, I didn’t lock my door for the night because I had just gotten out of the shower.

“What’s going on now?”

“More glass breaking. So far, they’re still downstairs.”

“You’re doing well, Mary. Just stay quiet and still.”

Footsteps echo on the stairs, getting louder as they ascend. When they get to the top, a shadow passes, and I almost drop the phone because my hands are shaking so badly. The telltale creak of my parents’ door opening gives me an idea. I’m fast. He can’t catch me.

“He just went into my parents’ bedroom. I’m going to run downstairs.”

“No!” Brandon shouts, and I pull the phone away from my ear to turn the volume down. “Don’t you fucking dare. Stay there. Don’t you move, Mary.”

“Okay. I’ll stay.” Still whispering, but it’s so quiet, I feel like I’m yelling.

A few more minutes pass before the footsteps pad to my room. Black loafers take up my line of vision, and I suck in a breath, dropping the phone. My hand flies up to cover my mouth while Brandon’s voice, muffled, still comes through the earpiece.

“What do we have here?” I’ve heard that smooth, creepy voice before. I can’t place who it belongs to, but he’s been to my house.

My mind is in overdrive, and I freeze for a moment, terrified. I try to crawl out the opposite side, but he seizes my ankles. As I’m pulled from under the bed, the cold wood burns my skin as it stretches. My shaky and sweaty fingertips grip the box spring, and I kick a foot free from his gloved hand.

“Let me go!” I yell.

My foot connects with something, a leg maybe, and he curses. “Bitch.”

He roughly grabs it again, and tugs, hard. My right arm gets caught on a piece of wire from under the bed. With a renewed strength, he pulls, and I scream in pain as the dull metal rips my skin from elbow to wrist. Blood drips onto the floor and I continue to cry. He’s managed to get me all the way out from under the bed. I don’t stop kicking and screaming. My right arm is throbbing, but I still use it to hit as much as I can.

He leans down and growls. “Shut the fuck up.”

I recognize him now. Skinny, tall, pale. My parents’ dealer.

“Chicago PD! Freeze!”

Relief briefly courses through me at the sound of Steve’s voice.

The dealer grabs me in a headlock and I claw at the arm constricting my throat. His other arm rises and without a warning, he shoots his gun. Steve’s body violently jerks, and he stumbles by the landing of the stairs. His eyes find mine and through my tears I see fear on his face. Something I’ve never seen in all the years I’ve known him.

The man pushes me away; my head slams on the nightstand on my way down to the floor.

The dealer turns his gun on me, and images of Brandon’s face flash through my mind while his muffled voice is still yelling through the phone.

Another thundering shot rings in the air, and the dealer’s gun flies across the room. He grabs his shoulder and shouts in pain as the bullet from Steve’s gun rips through his flesh. I watch in horror as Steve’s lifeless body tumbles down the stairs, each thud sending a jolt of nausea through my bones.

Sirens sound outside, and the dealer turns his cold gray eyes on me. “Watch your back, bitch. You’ll pay for this.” Then he shatters the window and jumps outside onto the huge overgrown maple tree next to the house. The same tree I use as a ladder when I sneak out.

I crawl to the top of the stairs and see Steve lying at the bottom—body unmoving and bent in a way you only see in the movies.

* * *

“Miss, it is not advisable that you do this.”

I squint my eyes at the nurse after I sign the
Against Medical Advice
form. Her brightly colored pink and yellow scrubs do not match the patronizing tone dripping from her words. The other nurse who was present as a witness shakes her head as she walks out.

“I realize that. You’ve already told me seven times.” I snap.

“I’m just doing my job.”

The fingers of my left hand squeeze the bridge of my nose, and I take a deep breath. “I know. And I’m sorry. But you can’t change my mind. Can I please just get my prescriptions so I can go?”

“Fine. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I don’t even know what time it is. Really late, or really early, depending on how you look at it. I’ve been at the hospital for a few hours. The doctor stitched up my arm and gave me a tetanus shot. I’m lucky there’s not more damage. Steve is still alive and in surgery, though the bullet that hit him grazed his spinal cord, so he’ll probably never be able to walk again.

As soon as the nurse gave me that information, even though she wasn’t supposed to, I asked for my pain medicine and antibiotics. I need to go. I can’t be here when Brandon comes home, which I guess will be soon. I can’t look at his face when he tells me how much he hates me for what I caused. He was about six hours away, and if he got a ride back as soon as it happened, that would put him back here in a couple of hours.