Losing Romeo (9 page)

Chapter Twelve

Bryson lingered near the office at closing time on Thursday, waiting to talk to Rosaline. He heard her mumbling to herself, telling someone he should’ve paid his bill so he wouldn’t have to go in the Frowny Face Pile.

Last night in the barn had destroyed all the willpower he’d had to stay away from her. Not that he’d had much in the first place. She’d been wet from the rain, cheeks flushed, his too-big sweatshirt drowning her. Then she’d told his horse a fairytale, and he’d thought,
Screw it, I’m going to kiss her.

Then she’d said the dreaded “friends”
word.

Not that he didn’t want to be friends. He just wanted more.

Okay. Friends, friends.
He stepped into the doorway.
Damn, she looks hot.

Rosaline glanced up, and a huge smile spread across the lips he was trying not to think about kissing. “Bryson.” Her voice held such happiness.

Happiness for a friend
, he reminded himself. “Thought I’d come down and say hi. Maybe see if you want to watch a movie later tonight.”

Rosaline looked to Dafne.Dafne raised an eyebrow. “Here at the house?”

Bryson nodded.

“I suppose that would be okay,” Dafne said.

“We’re done for the day, right?” Rosaline tossed the papers in her hand into a plastic tray. She crossed the room and linked her arm through his. “So, what are you doing now?”

He swallowed past a throat that was slowly starting to close up. “I was going to work on the bikes for a while.”

“I’d like to see them. Maybe you could even teach me about fixing them. I could help—you know, hand you parts and…whatever else you need.”

Fixing motorcycles in his cramped shop. With her. Looking like that. Smelling like that. Hearing him swear, watching him wince as his leg got stiffer and stiffer. Letting her help with the bikes was a bad idea all around. He opened his mouth to tell her it’d probably be best if he worked on them alone but that he’d meet up with her later to watch the movie. What came out of his mouth instead was, “Okay.”

***

Rosaline sat, back against the cool concrete wall of the garage, watching Bryson work on one of the motorcycles. It wasn’t like the ones she’d seen on the street. The bike had skinny wheels, and the seat and engine were smaller than she thought they’d be. Bryson’s bike was red, with the number 207 in black on the back of the seat.

The muscles in his arms flexed as he tightened the screws on the part he’d replaced. He’d told her what it was, but she’d already forgotten what he’d called it.

A clank sounded as the wrench hit the floor. Bryson’s hand went to his leg, and she wondered how badly it hurt him. She opened her mouth to ask, but from the few times he’d mentioned his injury, she got that it was a sore subject.

He winced, then straightened, a forced I’m-okay expression on his face. “Time to see if it works. If you could hold it up while I start it, that’d help.” He motioned for her to get on the bike.

She stood, wiping the butt of her jeans. She straddled the bike, bracing her feet on the floor.

“Hold that lever down until it starts,” Bryson said, pointing to the lever on the left handlebar. She squeezed it, holding it against the rubbery handle.

Bryson gripped the back of the seat and the right handle, his chest pushing against her shoulder. “I’m going to have to jump on it to get it started, and I need you to keep it steady.” The air in the room changed, heavier somehow. From this close, she got a better look at the scar on his face. Her heart knotted at the thought of it bleeding—of him being hurt that badly.

His eyes met hers, and she stared back at him.
Wow, his eyes are so blue.
They reminded her a little bit of Romeo’s, but they were totally different at the same time.

“Ready?” he asked.

Right. I’m supposed to be concentrating on holding up this motorcycle.
She tightened her grip on the motorcycle’s handlebars. “Ready.”

He blew out his breath, then jumped on the kick start lever. He winced, leaning heavy on the bike. The engine gave a low grumble.

And puttered out.

“Shit!” He turned away and banged his fist on the wall.

Rosaline flinched.

Shoulders hunched, Bryson leaned his head where he’d punched. After a moment, he turned to face her. “Sorry. It’s just really frustrating. I keep thinking that I’ll be strong enough and then…” The muscles along his jaw tightened, and he dropped his gaze.

“If you want, I can try to start it.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “If you can, I’ll feel even worse.”

Slowly, she climbed off the bike, making sure it could stand on its own before letting go. “You’ll get it. It just might take more time.”

“It’s been almost a year. And the doctor said I might never recover enough to ride again—in fact, he told me I
shouldn’t
ride again. I’ll probably have to use the stupid cane for life, too.” He unhooked his cane from the wall and threw it across the room. The clinging of the metal echoed through the small space. He took deep breaths and ran both hands through his hair. “This is why I shouldn’t have let you come out here with me. Now do you want to be my friend?”

“You’ve listened to all my drama. All about how dumb I was over a stupid guy who left me for my cousin. If you ever want to rant or yell about how unfair the world is, feel free. Sometimes life just sucks.”

He leaned against the wall, not saying anything but looking like a weight had been lifted.

“So, we’re still friends.” She nudged him with her elbow. “But only if you use the cane. It’s totally pimp, and I’ve always wanted a pimp friend.”

A smile broke through his steely mask. “All right. Let me get my pimp cane. Then we’ll teach you to kick start a bike.”

***

Like his feet had a mind of their own, Bryson found himself standing on Dafne’s doorstep Friday evening. Last night he and Rosaline ended up spending hours in the garage working on the bike. They’d ended the evening by taking it for a spin. After several tries, she’d started it, and he’d shifted—it hurt like hell, but he’d managed. Together, they almost made one decent rider.

He knocked on the door, planning on telling Rosaline they might as well watch the movie they hadn’t gotten to last night.

Then she stepped out, and he had to focus on breathing. A gray ruffled skirt landed a couple inches above her knees, showing off her legs. She had high heels on, making her several inches taller. Tall enough her lips were lined up with his. All he’d have to do is step forward and kiss them.

A stack of bracelets rattled together as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I thought you were Leanne.”

“Leanne?”

“From Lowell. Shoot, I don’t even remember her last name. Anyway, she’s coming to get me, and we’re hanging out at some place called Weekends. You know it?”

Bryson nodded. “I used to spend a lot of time there, back in the day.”

“Oh, good. You can tell me if this is a good outfit for the place.” She lifted her arms. “Will I blend in okay?”

“Blend?” He shook his head. “You’ll definitely stand out.”

She frowned, getting this adorable little crease between her eyebrows.

He reached out and squeezed her arm, right above her elbow. Dang, her skin was soft. “In a good way.” Jealousy churned in his stomach as he thought about all the guys who’d be there checking her out. Dancing with her. Touching her.

“You should come,” she said.

For a crazy moment, he considered it, just so he could keep her all to himself. But as soon as a guy who didn’t need a cane to dance came around…. Heat burned through his veins. Yep. He’d end up in a fight, and he’d sworn off that lifestyle. “Not my thing. But have fun.”

“How about tomorrow we take the motorcycle for a spin again? I think I’m kind of addicted.”

He was thinking the same thing. Only about her instead of the bike. A white car turned into the lane. Not wanting to deal with one of the people from Lowell staring at him, he threw out, “I’ll catch you later,” and hurried away.

Before she’d come along, he’d resigned himself to his fate. Now she was going to go make new friends, probably even land a boyfriend, and he’d have to get used to being a loner again.

Because there was no way she’d ever feel about him the way he felt about her.

***

Country music blared through the speakers in the tiny wooden building. The place was half bar and restaurant, half dance hall.

“What do you think?” Leanne asked.

Rosaline stepped out of the way of a couple headed toward the bar. “I can honestly say I’ve never been anywhere like this before.” Bryson had been right about her standing out, too. Everyone else was wearing Wranglers and boots—several even had on giant buckles and cowboy hats.

“Here comes the rest of the gang.” Leanne jerked her chin toward a group of teenagers coming through the door. Two girls and three guys.

Great. I’m gonna be odd man out. I should’ve dragged Bryson here with me.

The group came over and exchanged greetings. The tall guy with sandy-colored hair grinned at Rosaline. “So this is the girl who’s living at the Mercer place now.”

“This is Rosaline.” Leanne pointed to him. “This is Sam,” she went down the line, “Emily, Billy, Frank, and Megan.”

“Everybody, Rosaline.”

They squeezed around a table, Sam sitting so close his thigh pressed against hers. He had that confident vibe guys got from either being a top athlete or popular with the girls. Or both. In other words, the type of guy she should steer clear of.

The group chatted, mostly about their days and other people in the town, and when they asked her about Verona, Rosaline told them about the beach and a few of her favorite restaurants. When they asked how long she was staying, she replied that she’d be here at least for the summer, if not longer.

“I hope it’s longer,” Sam said, putting his arm on the top of the seat behind her. “You should at least stick around for football season. It’s big around here.”

So she’d guessed right about the athlete part. Well, at least she knew how to play this—smile and act all impressed. Guys loved that. “You play?”

“I’m the running back.”

“I’m afraid those terms mean little to a girl used to an all-female Catholic school.”

Leanne folded her forearms on the table in front of her. “It means he’s fast. And he scores a lot.”

Rosaline arched her eyebrows and grinned. “Sounds like trouble.”

Pink crept into Leanne’s face, and her mouth dropped. “I didn’t realize how it sounded until—”

The group broke into laugher, and she turned a deeper shade of pink.

“I think you better stop trying to help me, Leanne,” Sam said in a teasing tone, like the one she’d heard Clara’s brother use with her. From the looks of it, these guys were all friends, nothing more. Sam extended his hand to her. “Come dance with me.”

The music was all fiddles and overlapping twangy words. “I don’t really know how to do the kind of dancing they’re doing.”

Sam tightened his grip and pulled her toward the floor. “No worries. I’ll do all the work.”

Over the next hour she danced with all the guys, but with Sam more than the others. She’d barely caught her breath from the last dance when he put his hand on her back. “You wanna go again?”

She glanced at the dance floor. “I haven’t broken my ankle yet doing all those twisty spinny things, and it seems like I should walk away before I do.”

He mocked a hurt expression. “I’m offended. You know I’ll take care of you.”

Sure. That’s what you say now. Because you’re in the Chase Phase.

A slow song came on, and Leanne and Billy came up behind them. Leanne raised her voice over the music. “One more dance and I’ve got to get Rosaline home.” She and Billy disappeared into the sea of couples on the dance floor.

Sam raised his eyebrows, and Rosaline gave in. He led her to the floor and wrapped his arms around her. “I almost didn’t come tonight, thinking we should do something new for once. And now I get to end the night dancing with the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“The last guy I dated told me the sun had never seen beauty like mine,” Rosaline said. “Then I heard he told the next girl he’d ‘never seen beauty until he looked at her.’ So lines like that don’t work on me anymore.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, the shock in his expression clear.

That’s right. I’m done being the dumb girl who melts at every little compliment.

He shrugged. “Hey, I just call it like I see it.” He pulled her closer, and even though she was trying to resist his charms, she still got that butterflies-in-the-tummy feeling.

Damn guys and the way they made her common sense go all fuzzy.

Chapter Thirteen

As usual, the blender served as Rosaline’s alarm. She supposed she should be happy Dafne started it at 8:00 on Saturdays, a whole hour later than usual. The temptation to stay in bed called to her, but she doubted sleep would come, so she figured she might as well get up. Weirdly enough, she was starting to crave her morning smoothie, liquefied spinach and all.

“You want to go to yoga with me again?” Dafne asked when Rosaline entered the kitchen.

“I guess. Maybe it’ll help limber me up for that crazy country dancing they do at Weekends.”

Dafne poured two glasses of her fruit and veggie concoction and handed one over. “How was it?”

“Fun. Thanks for letting me get out. I suck at country dancing, but no one seemed to mind. The people are so nice here.”

“Including the guys, I imagine.”

Rosaline smiled, thinking about Sam. Yes, she always liked the wrong guys, but Sam gave off a friendly All-American Boy vibe. Maybe he’d be different—there was potential there, anyway. “They were nice, too.”

“I knew your swearing off boys wouldn’t last long.”

“I’m still taking it slow.” Rosaline sat on one of the stools and sipped her smoothie. “What about you and Mr. Mercer? Anything new there?”

Dafne sighed. “Not really. Part of me wants to shake him and say, ‘Hello, I’m right here! Do something about it!’ But part of me thinks it’s best if nothing ever happens. It would be awkward if we tried it and it didn’t work out.”

“Well, if he’s not going to do anything, you should go somewhere where someone will. I’m sure there are plenty of guys who’d love to take you out, even if it’s not Mr. Mercer. Of course, it’s so hard to know which ones are the good ones. We should invent a bullsh—” At Dafne’s raised eyebrow, Rosaline changed to, “crap-o-meter.”

“They have those. They’re called lie detector tests.”

“This one would be different. It would boil down what a guy says to what he really means. Guys always accuse us of being confusing, but they’re the ones who say one thing one day, then change their mind the next.”

“Who’s the guy?” Dafne asked.

Rosaline gave her best casual, no-big-deal shrug. “I danced with a guy named Sam a couple times.”

“Light brown hair? Tall? Running back for the football team?”

“That’s the one.”

Dafne leaned across the counter. “Sam Webster. He’s very popular with the ladies.”

Her flicker of hope that he might be different snuffed out. Popular almost always equaled player. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“From what I hear, he’s a very nice boy. Polite, well-mannered—everyone in town speaks very highly of him, actually. He works at the Trading Post, and I know he helps out on bingo nights down at the community center.”

Hmm. So maybe he is one of the nice guys rumored to actually exist.
Good to know, but still, she wasn’t in a hurry to jump into anything. Not after the last time.

She’d thought about it here and there the past several days, and sure, Romeo might’ve been hers if she’d kissed him sooner, but if that was really all a guy cared about she didn’t want him anyway.

She kept thinking if she told herself that enough times, it would make it true.

***

After yoga and a quick trip to the grocery store, Dafne was in such a good mood that Rosaline decided it was time to push for some privileges. Plus, she was missing Clara like crazy and hoping her best friend hadn’t forgotten about her.

So as she put the groceries away, she asked, “Can I check my email?”

“Your parents wanted you cut off from all your bad influences,” Dafne said.

“I’ll only read the messages from Clara. She’s not a bad influence, I swear.”

“Like you’d tell me if she was one.”

Rosaline spun around to face her aunt. “I’d tell you. I’d say she’s of sound mind but questionable morals.”

Dafne raised an eyebrow, giving her that you’re-seriously-exhausting look.

“She gets mad at me when I swear, and she’s been my best friend forever. That night of the party, if I’d told her what I was about to do, she would’ve tried to talk me out of it.” Rosaline was about to add that when she had given Clara all the details of the night she ended up in jail she’d given her a ten-minute lecture. But since that was a conversation she’d snuck in on the Mercer’s kitchen phone while Dafne was on a long business call, she clamped her lips and left it at that.

Dafne sighed. “Okay. You can check your email.” She opened her computer, put her body in front of it and typed in her password, then moved to the side.

Rosaline logged on, hoping Clara hadn’t forgotten about her.

Unfortunately, Clara wasn’t on IM, so Rosaline opened her email. One message from Clara. The subject line read OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The click, click as she impatiently opened the email managed to sound ominous. She read the first paragraph, her disbelief growing as she read the words. Romeo had bought Juliet a promise ring? She skimmed to the next paragraph.

You know Juliet & I don’t exactly hang in the same circle, but I saw her the other day, and she was totally far away, but the sun was glowing off the freakin huge rock on her finger. I don’t know how she’s hiding the sucker from her parents, but last I heard, they still don’t know. Oh & Ty found out that Romeo was at the party you got busted at & he keeps telling everyone he’s going to kick Romeo’s a**. Apparently he’s called him out again & again, but Romeo refuses to fight him, saying that his love for Juliet makes him and Ty family, & he’d never do anything to hurt her. Tell me if you want me to stop telling you what’s going on with them, but I thought you should know. Other than that, life’s pretty boring. Soph & I hit the beach & hang out still, but she’s already ditched me two different times for guys. I seriously miss you like crazy!! We NEED to find a way to get you back here. Like NOW!!! Unless that Bryson guy is giving you a reason to stay. Then go for it, because the guys here suck! But you still better be back here for senior year.

xoxo,

Clara

A cold knot formed in Rosaline’s gut. Now she wished Dafne had kept the email ban on. She didn’t want to know that the guy she’d ruined her life for had not only moved on but was also crazy enough about Juliet to buy a ring. It was too much to process.

All the back and forth with Ty was bad news, too. Ty ran some group that called themselves the Jaguars. While they were hardly the hard-core gangsters they thought they were, they weren’t totally harmless. Ty had shown her his weapons collection one day when she was at his house, and she’d been terrified he might actually use them on someone.

The room suddenly seemed too small, the air too thin, and she had to get away from this message. Away from everything. She needed to get her mind off of all this. She needed…

Bryson. I need to go find Bryson.

***

The doorbell finally cut off, but two seconds later, steady knocking followed.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Bryson said. Didn’t whoever was frantically ringing the doorbell and knocking realize that canes and stairs took time?

He opened the door and Rosaline stood on the other side. Something was wrong—he saw that immediately. The usual spark in her eyes was gone, the lines of her face harder.

She forced a smile on her face that didn’t reach her sorrow-filled eyes. “Let’s go riding. Horse. Bike. I don’t even care which.”

Realizing he still had his baseball hat on, he took it off and shook his hair free. “Yeah, okay.”

Relief washed over her pretty features.

He jerked his thumb toward the stairs. “Let me just grab—”

She clamped on to his hand. “No grabbing. Let’s go.”

He dug in his heels, stopping her from pulling him out the door. “I appreciate your enthusiasm over hanging with me, but I don’t think I better ride barefoot.”

She glanced down at his feet, and all the frantic energy drained from her. She continued to stare, but it was a blank, unseeing stare.

“My shoes are in my room,” he said, tilting his head to catch her gaze. “Why don’t you come up with me?” In her current state, he didn’t want to leave her alone, even for a few minutes.

Focus slowly returned to her eyes. “I’m being invited to your room? Wow. This must be a really special day.”

At least she was still okay enough to make a joke. Only it didn’t hold her usual feistiness. They climbed the stairs, and he tried to remember how messy his room was. Or if there was anything out that would embarrass him.

He flipped up his bedspread to cover his unmade bed, smoothing it the best he could, and gestured for her to take a seat. Rosaline sat on the foot of the bed, and the image of laying her back on it and kissing her popped into his mind. He turned around, trying to clear his mind before his body reacted to—too late.

Okay. Think of that time I had that awful high-side crash during semi-finals. Right over the top of the bike and broke my wrist.
A couple deep breaths and he got himself back under control.

He grabbed his socks and shoes and slowly made his way to sit by her on the bed. He handed her his cane. “Hold this for a second?”

She took it and then wrinkled her nose. “Ew. I never noticed the silver knob was a skull. That’s kind of gross, holding on to a skull all the time.”

“It would be gross if it were an actual skull instead of a silver hunk of metal.”

“It’d be one tiny dude if it was a real skull. I could put him in my pocket. But only if he had skin and hair. Of course, if it was just a head, that would be even more morbid.”

Bryson shook his head, unable to suppress a smile. Good. She was talking her cute nonsense again, the color returning to her face. Now to keep her from thinking about whatever had made her so upset. “My uncle tried to talk me into one with a big, polished wooden handle. It’s bad enough I have to use one; I wanted it to at least have something cool.” He nudged her with his elbow. “You know, instead of lame. ‘Cause I’m already lame enough.”

That got him a fleeting half a smile, gone before it fully caught hold. She put her head on his shoulder, her hair brushing his cheek. “I’d go crazy if you weren’t here. And I know we haven’t known each other for long, but being around you makes me happy, even with all the other crap going on in my life.”

His chest tightened as emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time swam to the surface. In the weeks after his wreck he knew he’d lost the one above average thing he could do—motocross.

“And I swear if you try to pull away again…” She lifted her head and locked eyes with him “Just don’t, okay?”

He swallowed, his heart beating a rapid rhythm in his chest. “I’ll be here. Whatever you need.”

“Right now, I need to get away from it all. Preferably, as fast as possible.”

***

Rosaline tried to open her stinging eye but she could still feel the bug in there. Once again she tried to dig it out with her fingertip, but it wasn’t budging. “It won’t come out, Bryson! Make it come out!”

Bryson tightened the arm he had around her waist. “We’re almost there, city girl.”

“Oh, like a country girl never gets a bug in her eye?”

“No, it happens. She just doesn’t screech and almost wreck a motorcycle over it.”

The sun had already set, and her vision was blurred from the stupid bug, but she swung at him, smacking him in what she was pretty sure was his chest.

She stumbled up the steps to the house, Bryson’s firm grip on her keeping her from falling. He led her to the nearest bathroom, and she splashed water in her eyes, blinking until she got out the disgustingly huge bug—okay, so it wasn’t that big all balled up, but it was still gross and too big to be sharing space with her eyeball. She dried her hands and turned to face Bryson.

If I hadn’t been going so fast, trying to distract myself from all the noise in my head…
“I am sorry about the almost-wrecking. Did it hurt you, having to catch the bike with your bad leg?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I managed to switch most of the weight to the other leg before the engine choked.”

She doubted he’d tell her if it had hurt him, and she worried she’d pushed him too hard today. Like he could read her thoughts, he grabbed her hand. “Hey. It happens. I’m fine, you’re fine. Although we should probably wear helmets from now on. It’ll help with the bug problem, too.”

“I, like, saw it zooming for my eye.” She used her finger to mimic how the bug came at her. “And I tried to close it in time but it was too fast.” She shuddered. “I feel like one of his creepy legs is still in there—or maybe it’s an antennae or something else equally disgusting.”

Bryson gently tipped up her chin and peered at her eye. She knew from what she’d seen in the mirror seconds ago it was red, her eyeliner smudged. “All I see is an eyeball,” he said.

Suddenly she was aware her chest was against his and that she could feel his breath coming in and out. Heat spread from where his fingertips touched her skin.