Tripp Read online

  “Ah, yes, when Marcus stole my virtue and left me with the scandal of being a pregnant teen. Well, don’t forget it was you who tried to steal it first—you just weren’t as convincing as the pothead I finally gave it to.”

  What the… I blink twice, barely hearing her when she tells me she’s going to crash in the guestroom. Her phone buzzes and her smile tells me it’s most likely college boy already texting her. She mentions going for our Sunday run tomorrow, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak again as I listen to her footsteps receding down the hallway.

  I wait until her door closes before blowing out a breath and swinging my feet to the ground. We’ve never spoken about that night—ever. For as long as we’ve been friends, for everything that we’ve ever said, not said, fought about and so on, that’s the one regret I truly have. I spent the night with Rachel, and before I fully grasped the impact it had on me, on us—she was crying on my shoulder and telling me she was pregnant—and there was no reason to bring it up. Until now, apparently.

  My own phone buzzes. I see that it’s Lauren. She tells me she’s still at the party and that she’ll call me tomorrow. I don’t respond, but I do wonder why she’s lying to me. Then I wonder why it doesn’t bother me as much as the thought of Rachel and her college boy.

  7

  Past

  There are times in life that it’s best to throw in the towel and admit defeat. Any competitor knows that while comebacks are possible, they’re not always likely. Even a hard-fought battle in many instances can’t change the fact that it’s a losing one.

  I’ve been fighting a losing battle since I was ten, and in the last twenty-seconds I just realized one thing: I’m well and truly sunk. There is no coming back from the fall I just took; there is no more fighting, there is no changing the outcome.

  I’m in love with my best friend, but I can’t tell her, because even now as I fall all of the way—as my heart lodges in my throat and threatens to choke me—she sits in front of me with tears streaming down her face and says the words that prove some battles are over before they begin: I’m pregnant.

  Ten minutes ago, she walked into my class and made eye contact with me for the first time in two months, but it wasn’t the expected death eyes I’ve been waiting for. Instead, it was sheer terror on her face. Somehow, I knew what she was about to tell me was going to change both of us forever. I took her hand and led her to the parking lot, setting her in the passenger side of my truck before getting into my own. When she sat there sobbing, I put my arm around her; I understood that whatever it was—it was bad. But I hadn’t prepared myself for just how bad.

  She’s pregnant, and the only person she’s ever slept with is Marcus Kash. Which means it’s his baby… oh goddammit, no.

  I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting here, how long it’s been since she stopped crying and started staring out the window, but I do know I have to break the silence, to ask her what she needs me to do—what she wants to do.

  Her hands are grasped tightly in her lap now that she’s pushed away from me. I can see her pulling herself together, miniscule bit by miniscule bit, reaching for every piece of strength she has, and stretching it until it’s wrapped tightly around her and she can hold herself up. I want to reach over and bring her against me, to tell her that we’ll deal with this together, that I’m here, and she doesn’t need to worry because I want her—all of her. She’s mine…only I can’t, because she isn’t. And neither is the baby.

  Reality is rarely kind. In this moment, I understand why people think life is too hard to deal with at times. Rachel’s pregnant; this is going to rock her world, no matter what she chooses to do. The selfish part of me goes where I’ve been trying to avoid, and I realize Rachel’s never going to be mine—and I didn’t know just how badly I really wanted her to be until this moment.

  Fuck you, Karma, you’re an asshole.

  Not about me, not about me, not about me. I recite this mantra over and over until I’m strong enough to reach over and take her hand as a friend would, to wait for her to meet my eyes and understand that what I’m about to say is the truth.

  “I’m here. Whatever you need from me, whatever you want, I’m here, Rachel. You’re not alone in this.”

  And so began our journey back together. We’d been best friends since we were little, and though neither of us was ready for the night we spent together, or the repercussions, after that day everything else just disappeared. I was the only person who knew about her pregnancy for almost six months, which meant I was the one to drive her to her doctor’s appointments, to hold her hand when she was sick and could barely get out of the girl’s bathroom, to make sure she ate enough and that it was the healthy stuff.

  And months later, it’s me sitting in the car waiting for her on the day she finds out it’s not just a baby, but a little girl—one whose profile is a replica of her mama’s. Rachel opened the truck door a second ago and I saw the look on her face—one that said it all—she handed me the photos the doctor had taken to make sure there were no birth defects that would cause complications. And there weren’t, but there is one complication that has been sorted out today.

  “I’m not giving her up,” Rachel says, looking down at the photo I’m holding. I look over and see her staring at me, the words hitting her. I grip her hand and nod, knowing she’s been battling this decision for a while. After the first ultrasound she had, she knew she wasn’t getting rid of the baby. Now with this, she can’t give her up. And I get it. This is a piece of her—however the baby came to be—she’s hers.

  “I need to tell my mom and Coach.” I nod. Then her strength falters for just one instant; it’s me she needs. “Tripp, what am I going to do?”

  I hold her hand and look at the picture again. She’s not talking about how to tell her mom; Dr. C. is the best—and there’s nothing that Rachel has to fear about being kicked out or unsupported. She’s not talking about how to tell Coach, I don’t think; she’s talking about what she’s going to do now that she’s made the decision to change her life—a life that she’s only ever envisioned one way. This isn’t like changing allegiances and choosing Oregon over Oregon State, or taking time off club ball to run track or play basketball.

  She’s about to have a kid, a little person, one who’s going to depend on her every day for every little thing—and Rachel isn’t even seventeen. Her life just changed, but her dreams didn’t, and in making one decision, she’s paying for the other.

  Still holding her hand, I squeeze her fingers and give her back the picture of that beautiful growing baby girl. I tell her the only thing I can think of, the only truth I have for her, and wish like hell it was more, “I don’t know, Rachel, but whatever happens, I’ll be here.”

  She smiles and takes the photo, but for a second our eyes lock and we stare at one another. If this were a different time and we were different people, I’d lean over and kiss her. But we’re not. We’re Tripp and Rachel—best friends—I only smile and hold her hand, and wait for her to tell me what she needs.

  8

  Present

  After almost thirty minutes of straight drills and running, I’m getting water when I hear my name called from the gym door open to the outside. I ignore it, thinking it’s Lauren’s friends who are always calling out weird things to me. As much as I enjoy the flattery, there are times it gets to be a little ridiculous; they always turn away and laugh when I look at them. We’re eighteen, not twelve; why not just say hi and talk to me like a normal person?

  Thinking the voice is one of them, I don’t look up, but then Huey asks me why Crazy Katie is shouting my name and running into the parking lot.

  “What?”

  He motions with his water cup to the darkening lot. “Crazy Katie? The hot chick your girl Flow is always hanging out with. She just yelled your name and took off into the parking lot. Think you better check it out?”

  I nod and head out the door, something pushing my feet to go faster—images from the last ti
me Rachel needed me and I was too late slipping in and out of my head until I’m sprinting through the rows of cars and calling out Rachel’s name. I have no idea why I’m assuming she’s the reason Katie said my name, but something inside of me tells me that she needs me, my fear too great to question it.

  I hear a car door slam, and an engine starts. I glance over the rows to see that familiar Beemer peel out of the parking lot. My fear, no longer a supposition, takes on a life of its own as I recognize Marcus and his car.

  Goddammit. Impotence slams into me. Flashes of Rachel from last year race through my mind—tears on her cheeks, sitting on that bench outside school, Katie next to her as she cupped her hands around her belly and explained what Marcus had done.

  I remember her tears, “He’s said a few things to me since it came out that I was pregnant. I guess someone mentioned something to him today about being a daddy, and he decided to take care of it.” She hiccupped a little, “He told me to get rid of it.”

  Katie had held her hand, but her eyes swung to me and in one look, we agreed on something for the first time in years: Marcus Kash was bad news.

  Now, I’m sprinting and yelling Rachel’s name—cutting through cars until I’m at the row where she parks. When I’m still a half a row away, I see her leaning down on her knees with Katie beside her.

  My heart stops and then jerks back to life with a vengeance, beating so hard I’m afraid I’m going to pass out. I ignore it, and don’t stop until I’m right in front of her. My feet halt only when I grab her shoulders and yank her to her toes, barely registering the fact that I’m being rough.

  My heart is slamming into my ribs; my anxiety high, I can barely breathe. All I can think when I’m looking at her—is I wasn’t here the last time, either.

  “What the hell just happened?” I bark and shake her, my fear whipping the words out and into her face with a blast. When she gives me a smartass comment about family meetings and shoves me back, I go from terrified to irate in point two.

  Jokes? About a guy who’s already hurt her more than once? Hell no.

  “Jesus, Rachel, what were you thinking? Haven’t I told you not to talk to him? He’s dangerous, and you better get that through your head before something happens to you. Think about Gracie if you refuse to think about yourself.”

  I know I’ve crossed a line before the words have even finished leaving my mouth. I don’t stop. I don’t take them back—don’t pause and apologize, or try to explain I was worried—because, just like every time I need to tell her something important, my brain has stopped functioning. What comes out is so far from what I meant to say. When Katie lights into me and shoves my shoulders, calling me every name in the book—including my own real name which darkens my already black mood—I stand there with my arms crossed and take it, letting my anger go to a low simmer as I watch Rachel out of the corner of my eye.

  Her head is up and the expression on her face is still scared, but now that Katie’s come to the more graphic portion of suggestions for just where I can shove my head, there’s also amusement. My fear only gets larger when I see her smile.

  How can she laugh at a time like this? He found her again—just like last time. He knew where she would be, when, and he knew he could get to her. No matter how hard she’s trying to put on a brave face, I can see exactly how much he rattled her, which tells me he did a hell of a lot more than yell at her. Doesn’t she see the danger here?

  It’s a stupid question, because I know she does. I know that when cornered, Rachel’s always going to fight. Rather than fight against her, I should be hugging her and fighting with her, praising her for standing up rather than cowering back…. Instead, I ran out like a demon of Hell and shook her, yelled at her, then hit below the waist when I asked her to at least think of Gracie. Christ, no wonder Katie wants to chop my balls off.

  I slide my eyes to Rachel again as she steps in and removes Katie, but right as I go to apologize, she turns those eyes on me and they go flat while she shuts me out.

  “I’m fine, and though I appreciate what I think was your concern, don’t bother, I can take care of myself.”

  Goddamn stubborn woman. She must sense this is about to come out of my mouth, because she holds her hands up and asks me if I need a ride home. I shake my head no, afraid if I attempt to speak I’ll mess it up even farther.

  When she asks Katie the same thing, Katie’s eyes slide to mine and then back to Rachel. “We’re supposed to meet Dean and Doug and some of their friends for dinner at seven, remember?”

  Dean. Right, her college boy, the one who takes her on dates and probably has the good sense to call her the next day—or at least not yell at her when what he means to do is ask her if she’s okay. I’m such an idiot.

  Turning on my heel, I walk back toward the gym without bothering to say goodbye or look over my shoulder. Huey’s waiting for me at the edge of the sidewalk. Without a word, we walk back toward the gym together. I pause outside of the door and give in to the pressure to close my eyes and press the heels of my hands to them.

  “So, that seemed pretty intense.”

  I laugh, leaving my eyes closed a second longer. “You could say that.”

  “Everything all right?”

  Since I have no idea, I nod to keep it simple. “Yeah, just things that can’t be avoided.” And that’s the problem. I wanted to yell at Rachel, to make her see that this can’t happen, but the reality is that the only way it’s going to stop is if Marcus escalates enough to show just how dangerous he is. Again.

  My blood chills. I remember the last time Rachel was cornered by Marcus Fucking Kash—the rage that comes each time I remember she was alone, terrified, and subject to the whims of a psychopath who’s never been denied anything in his life.

  Huey slaps me on the shoulder again. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, big T. And if Coach asks, you were puking your guts out from a burrito at lunch.”

  I nod my thanks and go back to practice. The entire time I’m running my drills, I’m thinking of Rachel and wondering if I’ll forever be scared for her safety.

  9

  Past

  “Tripp, where are you going?”

  “Where the hell do you think I’m going?”

  “Tripp, don’t. It’s over.”

  “No, it’s not. But it’s about to be.”

  “Tripp—”

  “He pushed you into a wall, Rachel. There are bruises on your hip. He made you cry.” The words rip out of me, and I have to take a deep breath, knowing that she’s been through enough today—she doesn’t need me to yell at her, too. But Jesus Christ, over? No, it’s not close to over. That asshole started a war, and he’s about to see exactly what kind of pain I can bring him.

  She shifts on the couch where I laid her earlier, wincing only slightly, but it’s enough to make me clench my hands into fists. She’s seven months pregnant, and even though her belly just really started showing last month, I know she gets sore—she gets tired. There are things that she used to be able to do that she just can’t right now. Handling Marcus Kash is one of them.

  “Tripp, he’s not dangerous—he just wanted to scare me, to make me think he is so I won’t make him claim responsibility for the baby. Since I wasn’t planning on doing that anyway, there’s no need to make a big deal out of this.”

  “This is a big deal, Rachel. I don’t give a flying fuck what his motivation was. He threatened you. He put his hands on you. I could kill him for that alone.”

  Her eyes fill again, the look of desperation and fear—and something more, so hard to see. I give in enough to sit next to her, but my anger won’t fade completely away. “What do you want me to do, Rachel? You won’t go to the police. You won’t tell your mom what he’s been saying. You won’t tell anyone that he’s now threatened you. Do you really expect me to sit back and do nothing after someone’s hurt you? I can’t—” She looks up at me. “I can’t let this go, Rachel. Don’t ask me to.”

  Our eyes s
tay locked. Though I can see the hurt and exhaustion in hers, there’s something else there too—a sadness that isn’t what it was a moment ago when she was talking about Marcus. I want to ask her about it, want to run my fingers over her cheek and into her hair and pull her close, but I ignore those wants because Rachel is my best friend, not my girlfriend. She’s someone I love, but can’t be in love with.

  “Okay, but I’m texting Tanner and Griff. You’re taking them with you. I don’t want you going at all,” she says when I attempt to argue. “But if you really think that this is what needs to be done, if this is the only thing you’ll accept, fine—but your brothers are going with you.”

  I nod and stand, being careful not to touch her when I do. “Get some sleep. And I still think you should tell your mom and Stacy—at least enough they know where Marcus stands. I don’t want you hurt again,” I tell her. She nods that sad smile back.

  “Tripp,” she says when I’m halfway to the door. I turn and look at her, waiting while she stands slowly. Her hands go to her belly for a second and I have to swallow, worry and anger eating me alive from the inside. “This, what Marcus did? It’s just bruises. I’ll get over these. It’s the stuff you can’t see—the things that happen when you least expect them that hurt the most.”

  She walks away from me, down the hall toward her room. I’m left standing near the front door, wondering if she just sucker punched me for leaving her alone all those months ago. And wondering if this is all somehow my fault.

  ~

  “Dude, you have to let it go. You both made your choices; now you have to live with them.”

  I nod at Tanner from the front seat, but I don’t say anything. Griff’s driving, having made the valid point that of the three of us, he’s the one with the car least likely to break down. I love Betty, but she’s inconsistent on a good day, and Tanner’s GTO can be heard in the next state over. We’d likely get cited for a noise violation before we ever even got to Marcus. So, we’re in Griff’s classic Bronco. He’s at the wheel, and Tanner is leaning over the center console from the back while I ride shotgun.