Losing Romeo (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The TV played in the background, but Bryson couldn’t focus on it.

What if she doesn’t come back?
The thought made anxiety gnaw on his insides. Earlier today, he’d gone into the garage to fix bikes, only to find that he couldn’t stop thinking about Rosaline. How she usually sat in the foldout chair, feet propped up, showing off her amazing legs. How she renamed the tools and bike parts instead of learning their actual names. How she made him laugh and told him stories to cheer him up. How she looked at him like he was someone worth having.

I think I dreamed kissing her. There’s no way she actually feels the same way about me as I do about her.

Before she left, she’d mentioned the motocross tickets she’d bought. He’d never go without her—like Lowell, he avoided motocross events now, not wanting to run into people he’d known in that past life where he had a fully functional leg. But if Rosaline was going to be there with him…

I just need to hear her voice.
He dug out his cell phone and scrolled to Dafne’s number. He stared at the screen, finger hovering over the call button.
They’re probably with family. I shouldn’t interrupt.

With a growl, he shoved his phone back in his pocket and picked up the remote. He flipped all the way through the channels, not finding anything that could hold his attention for more than a couple seconds. Winslow had said that the funeral was today. Bryson wondered how many more days Rosaline and Dafne would stay.

I don’t think I can take many more.

Winslow walked into the room, sat on the couch, and scrubbed a hand over his face. Over the past few days, he hadn’t bothered shaving, and his clothes were sloppier than usual. “Work’s building up, but I can deal with that. It’s the quiet. It’s too damn quiet around here without them.”

“Way too quiet.” Bryson turned up the TV, but it was empty noise that didn’t help. He was about two seconds away from throwing out courtesy and his manhood, calling Rosaline and begging her to come back.

“Well, aren’t we a sad pair?” Winslow asked.

“A sad, cursed pair.”

Winslow barked a laugh. “Oh yes, the curse.” All humor drained from his face, his eyes glazing over. He shook his head like he wanted to shake loose whatever memory he was lost in. “I think our luck is turning around.”

Bryson wanted to believe that. He was too anxious, though, his thoughts on how he was going to deal with life if it threw a wrench in his plans again.

***

Physically and emotionally drained, Rosaline and Dafne made their way up the steps to the house. Rosaline was so full of food she could hardly move. Cannelloni, manicotti, ziti—basically, all cheesy pasta food dishes ending in
i
had been thrust at her by relatives insisting she was too skinny and needed to “eat something already.”

Dafne closed the door behind them and turned to face her. “You ready to go home?”

Home. No Capulets versus Montagues. Simple life with Dafne. Bryson. Her heart skipped a couple beats. “Beyond ready.”

“I’ll go look at tickets, see how soon we can get out of here.”

The whine of the garage door opening made Rosaline quicken her step. Ever since speaking to Juliet, she was desperate to talk to Bryson. She needed to hear his voice—it was the only thing that could chase away the cloud of sorrow hanging over her. Which meant she needed to track down a phone and sneak into her room before Mom and Dad could tell her she couldn’t make the call. Because, as the saying goes, it’s easier asking forgiveness than permission.

She ducked into Dad’s office, grabbed the phone, and sprinted up the stairs to her bedroom. The phone beeped as she dialed Bryson’s number. Her finger hovered over the last digit.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, nearing her door. She hid the phone behind her, slipping it into the waistband of her skirt in the nick of time. Dad burst into her rom, followed closely by Mom. A comment about not knocking was on the tip of her tongue, but she was going for a peaceful last night at home, so she bit it back.

“We need to talk,” Dad said, his tone ominous.

The phone chose that moment to fall to the floor, where it clattered on the hardwood for a noisy eternity. Rosaline scooped it up. “I was about to call Clara.”

“We didn’t agree to phone calls.” Dad held out his hand, and she handed over the phone, her mood darkening as her chance to talk to Bryson disappeared.

“I didn’t know I needed permission for every call.”

“You do until you’ve proven yourself trustworthy again,” Dad said.

“I thought that’s what I’ve been doing.”

“How would we know? You’re all the way out in Arkansas.”

“Because
you
sent me there!”

Dad exhaled, making it clear he thought she was the one being exhausting.

Rosaline ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t want to spend my last night here fighting with you. I still need to pack and—”

“Your mother and I haven’t decided whether you’re going back to Arkansas yet.”

Dread stole the air from her lungs. For a moment, all she could do was stare. “But you can’t…Dafne’s already getting the tickets.”

“Dafne!” Dad charged across the hall and flung open the door to the guestroom she was staying in. “Don’t buy those tickets. I’m thinking it’s time for Rosaline to come home.”

Dafne stepped into the hall, arms crossed. “Our agreement was for the summer at least, if not longer.”

“Well, now I’m reconsidering running for office, and it wouldn’t look right if my entire family wasn’t by my side. Besides, I’m sure Rosaline has learned her lesson.”

“Earlier today, you told me I gave her too many freedoms,” Dafne said. “That her activities should still be restricted.”

“Well, you let her wreck your truck, and she shouldn’t have been driving in the first place.”

“A deer ran into the road!” The injustice of this whole situation burned through her chest. Her breaths came faster and faster, but she couldn’t get any air to her lungs, and she was pretty sure this was what a panic attack must feel like. This couldn’t be happening. All she wanted was to go back to living a low-key life in Arkansas, where she could be with Bryson and forget about the drama here in Verona.

“Well there aren’t any deer here to wreck into,” Dad said.

“No, there’s just a war between us and the Montagues. I have a feeling being shot wouldn’t be near as easy to get over as a car wreck.”

“Didn’t you say the Mercer boy has been shot?” Mom asked, looking to Dafne.

Great. Just great.
Desperate to change the subject, Rosaline scrambled for something to say. “You said I ruined your chance at running for office.”

“Your arrest certainly didn’t help,” Dad said. “But I believe I can overcome it. People are fired up about what’s happened. I want to make a difference. I want to make sure what happened to Ty never happens again.” He gestured to Rosaline. “You’ll be the perfect example of what happens when good kids get caught up because of the high crime rate. We’ll show how we’ve gotten you the help you need, and how now we’re all working together to change the city.”

Everything inside of her turned cold and hard. “In other words, you didn’t want me, but now that it would be good for politics, you do.”

The muscles along Dad’s jaw tensed. “We always wanted you. We just wanted you to make good decisions. So now you’ve learned your lesson, and it’s time to come home.”

“I admire you for wanting to change things, Dad, but you can do that with me gone. You can run your campaign without me.” Tears choked her words. “Please let me go back.”

Dafne put her hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Don’t make her the poster child for problem youth, Enrico. Besides, Rosaline has already committed to working for Mercer Trucking this summer. She promised Winslow she’d get his database up to date. She helps take care of the horses. The Mercers rely on her.
I
rely on her. Rip her away now, and you’ll be teaching her responsibilities don’t matter.” She arched her eyebrows. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to teach her? Responsibilities? Who’s got the counseling degree, me or you?”

“You do but—”

“That’s right,” Dafne said. “I know what I’m doing. Are you willing to have everyone in the city know every detail of her life so that you can advance yours? You really are turning into Papa.”

Dad’s face reddened. “I… You…” He looked to Mom.

Mom wadded the bottom of her shirt in her hands. “Dafne does have that degree. Maybe it’s for the best, dear. I only want what’s best for Rosaline.”

“Like I don’t.
I’m
the one who pulled all the strings to get her out of trouble.” He threw up his hands. “Ganged up on. In my own home.” He stormed out, the way he always did when discussions didn’t go the way he wanted—he’d always been a hothead who saw life in extremes.

“Oh dear.” Mom wrung her hands together. “He was so excited about this new plan, too.”

Rosaline bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Mom. But I need to go. Like Dafne said, I’ve got a job. I made promises I need to keep.”

“Are you happier in Arkansas, away from your own mother?”

Temper tantrums were Dad’s specialty; guilt trips were Mom’s. Buttering up seemed like the way to go. “I miss you and Dad, of course, and I miss Clara. But Arkansas has been good for me. I want to go back. At least for the summer.”

Mom glanced toward the hall. “I’ll go see what I can do.”

***

“I can’t believe you want to leave me,” Clara said, brushing her fingers across the sand. She and Rosaline had decided to stick to the north side of the beach, where they wouldn’t be accosted by crazy Angelica Montague.

“I kind of can’t believe it either.” Rosaline drew her knees to her chest and looped her arms around them. “I fought so hard to not go to Arkansas. Now I’m fighting to go back.”

“Because you’re all sappy in love.”

Rosaline smiled, the lightheaded floaty feeling taking over. “I can’t help it.” A horrible thought popped into her head, stealing her happiness. “What if he doesn’t want me anymore? Guys get over me in record time—sometimes mere hours.” Panic wound through her, jacking her heart rate into the danger zone. “He hasn’t called.” She clamped on to Clara’s arm. “Tell me this time it’s different.”

“Those almost relationships didn’t work out because you freaked yourself out,” Clara said. “Luckily, you’re not doing that now.”

“Clara!”

“Well, you’re kind of scaring me, and guys are so flighty.” Clara nudged Rosaline. “I’m kidding. This one is different, Roz. It makes me sad, because I don’t want to do senior year without you, but you’re so happy when you talk about him, I can’t help but cheer for it to work out.”

Clara’s words brought her enough calm to return her heartbeat to normal. “He is different.” Already she cared about him so much it hurt to not be around him. She was in deep. Maybe too deep. She ran both hands through her hair. “Oh crap, I’m going to be so screwed if he’s not different.”

“I’m sure he’s as crazy about you as you are him.”

“It might not matter either way. Dad wouldn’t even talk to anyone last night.” Which meant she might not be heading to Arkansas anytime soon. Man, she needed to get off this emotional rollercoaster ride, because puking seemed imminent. Then there’d be tears. So, so many tears.

“The thought of never seeing Bryson again…” Rosaline lay back in the sand and put her hand over her aching chest. “Great, now I’m going to get all mushy like Juliet. Next thing you know, I’ll be saying something about wanting Bryson’s image in the sky for all to appreciate.”

Clara patted her shoulder. “If it goes that far, I’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back from the edge of insanity.”

Rosaline twisted her head to look at her best friend. “If Dad actually lets me go to Arkansas, I’m totally smuggling you in my suitcase.”

“If you end up staying past the summer, I’m coming to visit. Then I can meet this Bryson and make sure he’s worthy.”

Catching sight of Dafne coming toward them, Rosaline sat up and held her breath. She wanted to fast forward this moment so she could deal with whatever happened after it. She pushed herself to her feet and brushed off the sand covering her clothes. “Time to see if prayer works.”

Chapter Thirty

Anticipation roiled through Rosaline’s stomach as she and Dafne neared the turn off that would take them to the Mercer Estate. “Will sprinting to the door look too desperate?”

“Yes,” Dafne said.

“Race you there?”

Dafne grinned. “Oh, be prepared to lose.”

The taxi pulled up to Winslow’s house, and Dafne tossed a wad of cash at the driver. In a flash, they were out of the car and rushing up the front steps. Dafne opened the door and stepped inside, instantly composed. “Winslow?”

He appeared in the doorway to the living room, and a huge smile stretched across his face.Rosaline pointed upstairs, too excited to bother with small talk. “Is he in his room?”

Winslow was staring at Dafne like she was a steak and he was starving. He vaguely waved a hand toward the front door. “Out in the garage, I think. He said something about working on his bikes.”

“Later, then. Bryson and I will be out there for a while, so you two can enjoy your alone time.”

Red colored Dafne’s cheeks—it was almost too easy to embarrass her. “Rosaline.”

“I meant talking, of course. Jeez, dirty. Where’s your mind?”

Winslow laughed, wrapping his arms around Dafne’s waist. Before Rosaline had to witness their kissy reunion, she bolted for the door. She had her own kissy reunion to attend to. She hurried to the garage, half-speed-walking, half-running.

Alternative music leaked out of the garage, vibrating the windows. She thought about knocking, but decided Bryson wouldn’t hear it over the music anyway.

His back was to her, his attention on the bike in front of him. His cap was on backward, and the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed as he worked on the motorcycle.

Rosaline’s nerves frayed and short-circuited, her wild mix of emotions colliding and making a mess of her insides. He seemed bigger than she remembered. Maybe it was being around the beach and guys in suits, but he looked more rugged, too. All manly and hot and…

Oh my gosh, I can’t feel my legs.
Sure she was about to tip, she steadied a hand on the doorframe, her bracelets rattling against it.

Bryson glanced over his shoulder. A slow smile curved his lips, and her heart jumped into her throat. He dropped the tool in his hand and straightened. He strode toward her, then abruptly stopped about a foot too soon and looked down at his clothes. “I’m covered in grease.”

“I’m not worried about a little grease.” She took a giant step forward and threw her arms around his neck.

His strong hands gripped her waist. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back.”

“I had to fight for it, but I made it. Then I worried I’d get here and you’d have changed your mind about me.”

“All I could think about was you.”

She ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. “I wanted to call, but the service on my Sleeping Beauty phone is so spotty.”

He flashed her the devastating grin, the one that made her lose the ability to think straight, then leaned down and covered her mouth with his. He gave her a couple light kisses, then pulled her tighter against him, parting her lips with his and tangling his tongue with hers until they were both out of breath.

Rosaline put her hand on the side of his face. “You look cute in your hat.”

“You must be suffering from severe jetlag.” He reached up to take it off, and she grabbed his hands.

“Leave it on.” She liked being able to see both eyes. “So, how are the bikes? Do you need me to help put in any more bendy things?”

“The bendy things are all good. Actually…” Bryson led her to his red racing bike and boosted her onto the seat. “I installed a compression release lever. I hoped I wouldn’t have to, because it’s not very badass to have one, but I’ve accepted the fact that I need it.”

“Need it to what?”

“To be able to start my bike without anyone else’s help. Wanna try it out?”

Rosaline nodded.

Cool air came in as the garage door opened. Bryson handed her a helmet, replaced his baseball cap with his helmet, and then started the bike. The engine roared to life, and a huge, soul-melting smile spread across his face.

He sat in front of her, the bike dipping with his weight. She wrapped her arms around him, inhaling his familiar grease and fresh-cut-grass scent.

Then they were off, riding into the nothingness she now loved.

***

Most of the names on the computer screen were familiar. Bryson used to race against several of them. Used to beat them, too.
Am I ready to face them at the track tonight? Do I take my cane or stumble along?

A knock sounded on the door of his bedroom, followed by Rosaline poking her head in. “You ready?”

At least he’d have his sexy girlfriend by his side. Most of the guys would probably be too busy staring at her to notice him. “Almost. Come on in.”

“Is what I’m wearing okay?” She gestured to the pale pink shirt that showed off her curves and light denim jeans that looked like they’d gotten into a fight with a barbed wire fence and lost. “I know all the holes in my pants make them look like I’ve had them forever, but I totally bought them like this. Who has the patience to make their own holes?”

He tugged on her hand as she neared, pulling her onto his lap. “I like it. But if you wanna look like you’re a motocross groupie, you’ll need this.” He grabbed his Fox Racing hat and placed it on her head. She peeked out from under the bill, looking ridiculously cute. “Guess my head’s too big. You’ll have to settle for being my arm candy.”

She took off the hat and draped her arm over his shoulders. “Deal.”

Bryson glanced at the racing information on the screen one more time, took a deep breath, and closed his laptop. “I’ve just gotta get my shoes on and we’ll go.”

Rosaline perched herself on the edge of the desk as he reached for his shoes. She picked up the now-glassless framed picture. “Who’s this in the picture with you?”

“That’s my mom.”

“She looks so young. Then again, so do you. I saw it the first time I came into your room, so I thought you were going to be, like, twelve.”

He tugged at the back of his shoe and slid his foot in. “I was about that in the picture. My mom looks young because she had me when she was sixteen. She…” A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed past it and forced himself through the ache thinking about her brought. “She’s the reason I freaked out when you told me you’d gotten into trouble because of drugs. She was an addict—started with pain pills; then she was taking more and more, trying other drugs, mixing in a lot of alcohol. Shortly after that picture was taken, she OD’d.”

Rosaline’s mouth turned down, sympathy washing across her features. “I didn’t realize that’s how she died. I’m so sorry, Bryson.” She placed the photo back on the desk. “So you moved in with Winslow right after?”

He nodded. “Winslow took care of me long before I moved in with him, though. He tried not to give my mom money because he didn’t want to support her habit. Even put her through rehab. Which worked for a little while. But she slipped.” He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing himself not to look away from Rosaline, even though that’s what everything in him wanted to do. He couldn’t force the rest of the story out, though. How he’d come home from school one day to find her dead.

“What about your dad?”

He shrugged. “Some rodeo star who came through in the summer. He’d already moved on by the time my mom found out she was pregnant. All my life I felt like I needed to prove something—that I was more than the bastard son of the town druggie. Probably why I got in so many fights.”

Bryson grabbed Rosaline’s hand. “I know everyone’s entitled to a few stupid mistakes, and obviously I’ve made more than my fair share, but promise me you’ll never get caught up in drugs.” He pulled her hand to his chest and covered it with his other one. “I watched them destroy my mom, and I never want to watch anyone else I care about go through that.”

Her eyes locked onto his. “I’ll never touch them again, I swear. And you don’t need to prove anything. To me. To anyone.”

“When I was winning all those races, people finally had something new to talk about. Then I got jumped and it was back to talking about the Mercer Curse and how it’s inescapable. Makes you start wondering if it’s not true. Winslow would never admit it, but he’s thought it, too. I guarantee that’s why he took so long to go for Dafne.”

“You’re not cursed.” Rosaline leaned into him and kissed his cheek. The ache inside him dulled, and holding her close, he started to believe his luck had finally changed.

“Okay, that’s enough of my sad life story.” He grabbed his cane and took Rosaline’s hand. “We’ve got a race to go to.”

***

“You’re going for number 181, then?” Rosaline asked over the noise of the crowd. The buzz and the excitement were contagious, giving a magical air to her and Bryson’s first real date.

“He’s a good guy.” Bryson leaned in, wrapping his hand around her thigh. “And the guy behind him, number 175, is a real prick.”

“181 it is.”

When they’d first arrived Bryson seemed nervous, but now he was into the race, telling her all the terms and rules. Only now that his hand was on her thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth, that was all she could focus on.

“Don’t swing so wide,” Bryson said. “I can’t believe he still does that. It’s how I was always able to get around him here at the end.”

A surge of affection for him ran through her. She wrapped both of her arms around one of his, tucking her head on his shoulder. Telling everyone he was all hers.

Keeping his eyes on the race, he grinned and squeezed her thigh. Heat zipped through her core, and her heart fluttered like mad. Then the crowd shot to their feet as the racers neared the finish line. The guy Bryson didn’t like was about to catch up, but then 181 punched it, gaining a couple of vital seconds. He crossed the line just ahead of the other motorcycle, and the crowd erupted.

Eventually, the cheers died down and people gathered their things to go. Bryson took Rosaline’s hand, intertwining their fingers, and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Now that was fun. Thank you for getting me to come here.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, and then they made their way down the bleachers. Instead of going along with the rest of the people, Bryson veered them toward the track. Number 181 was there, helmet off. “Hey, man,” Bryson said. “Good race.”

“Mercer!” The guy slapped Bryson on the back. “When are you going to get all recovered so you can get back out there and eat my dust?”

“As I recall, you were usually the one behind me, eating my dust. But I’m…” Bryson tapped the end of his left foot with his cane. “Guess you could call it early retirement.”

“Sorry, man.” The guy looked to Rosaline. “And who’s this?”

Bryson wrapped an arm around her. “This is Rosaline. She’s from California, but I’m trying to turn her into an Arkansas girl.” He jerked his chin toward the guy. “Rosaline, this is Ian Young.”

Rosaline gave a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ian!” A girl with short brunette hair ran over and threw her arms around him. She pulled back and spun to face Bryson and Rosaline. Then her face dropped. “Bryson?”

He tensed, every muscle in his body going rigid. “Jen.”

“You look…”

“Surprisingly good for someone who almost died?”

An uncomfortable smile flitted across Jen’s lips. “I was…I meant to call.”

“Instead you found yourself a new champ. No worries. I lived.” Bryson’s grip on Rosaline tightened. He looked at Ian, a hint of betrayal in his features. “Later, man.”

“Don’t go,” Jen said. “We could…have dinner or something? All catch up?” She tapped Ian’s arm. “Right, Ian?”

Ian nodded. “Sure. Meet us at Bubba’s Burger Joint. For old time’s sake.”

Bryson looked at Rosaline, eyebrows raised.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to hang around Jen and Ian, especially with the way Jen was staring at Bryson. But she didn’t want to be the reason he didn’t reconnect with old friends. “I’m down.”

***

Bryson opened the passenger door to his truck for Rosaline. She could feel the anxiety coming off him but didn’t know what to do to make it better. “You were supposed to say you didn’t want to go,” he said as she moved past him to get into the truck.

“Next time, give me a signal.”

He closed the door and walked around the hood. When he got in, she turned in her seat to face him. “We don’t have to go.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then reached up and started the truck. “It’ll be fine,” he mumbled, putting the truck in gear. “This time, I know better than to get in a fight over a stupid girl.”

Rosaline crossed her arms. “Am I stupid girl?”

He put the truck back in park and sighed. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, I know you’ve been acting weird since seeing your ex-girlfriend who couldn’t stop staring at you.”

Bryson gave a humorless laugh. “You’re jealous?” He reached for her, but she twisted away, keeping her arms firmly crossed. “Baby, you’re the only one crazy enough to be with a has-been with a limp. You’re way too good for me, and I guarantee you won’t have any competition.”