Chapter 3

THREE

CARRIE

S he's sitting between us, her hand on his thigh as if she owns him. As if he's her boyfriend. I know a bullshitter when I see one and he is. He's never been a good liar. To either my mother or me. He doesn't want her touching him anywhere, now he's trying to prove that woman is his girlfriend but I can see his tight jaw, muscles jumping every time she touches him. His tells.

"I'm going to get a soda. Anyone want anything?" I can be polite. I stand, glancing at both of them, shrugging my shoulder and snagging an orange soda. I pick up a piece of warm bread, butter oozing between the slices. Yum. I haven't eaten since this morning and it's like five or six at night.

I go back to the table with my biggest, fakest smile I can achieve. I know I'm more to Cal than a daughter, I see how he watches me. The dark want in his eyes, the tight muscles in his body as he gazes at me. It's almost a physical touch. I know.

He's trying to hide it but he can't. I don't even know what to call her. She's not his girlfriend. It's pathetic actually, she thinks they're real, not a game he's playing. A game trying to keep me away. Not going to happen. I'm off school for the summer so he's going to be stuck with me for a while whether he likes it or not.

Coming back, I watch their interactions and it's not good. Cal is digging into his meal ignoring her; Casey struggles hard to get him to pay one ounce of attention to her. No matter how hard she waves her arms, raises her voice or glares at him, trying anything to get his attention, she's nothing to him.

I knew he didn't care. He's only pretending she's his girlfriend. To get to me, to get me to leave. I'm not going to make it that easy for him. He's going to have to work harder.

"Dude, that was awesome."

Cal turns his head and stands to greet the other man with a back-pounding hug. "Thanks, Manny. The way you caught that fly ball to win the game. That was something." That must have happened when I was in a daze earlier. I haven't even realized they had switched teams on the field. How long had I been in a mind-fuck?

"Go ahead and finish your meal. We ate while you were with doc. The kids are whining. They're done." He slaps Cal on the back, a last-minute goodbye. "See you tomorrow at practice."

Cal nods and sits back down going back to his meal, back to ignoring both of us. Well, if he's going to be like this I can do my own thing.

"I'll let you two alone for now. I'll wait for you at home." Cal jerks his head up, bending forward, choking on his taco, one hand on his throat, I think I might have to do the Heimlich maneuver to save his life. My heart turns to lava, boiling and bubbling with what can happen, he makes one more deep, hard hack coughing the food into a napkin.

I rush to his side, kneeling on the floor beside him, one hand on his thick, muscled thigh, the other on his bicep, my face upturned to his. "Are you okay?"

Rubbing my hand up and down on his leg, I gaze up, concern crinkling between my eyebrows.

"Fine." His voice is hoarse, cheeks reddened with embarrassment at the commotion he's caused. Cal picks up the water bottle taking a sip. And another, standing, pushing his plate away. "I'm going home. Really tired."

I stand beside him, running my nails down his t shirt, down to the waistband of his jeans and linger, rubbing my finger back and forth, skin underneath soft to my touch. His gulp is not only visible, it's audible. Something you'd watch in a cartoon.

Nerves crawl along my skin, raising goosebumps at the what-the hell-am-I-doing acting like a slut.

He pushes me away, making me stumble at the force. "Go back to school."

"But Cal. I'm off for the summer. Thought I'd spend it with you. We haven't really talked or seen each other since Mom died. I'd like to reconnect." I hate the pleading in my voice and I'm sure are visible in my face. I hate to be that kind of woman, like Casey. Crave a man's attention above all else. Force him in any way to notice me. I won't be her.

His heavy sigh splinters through me, disappointment shattering my heart to a bloody blob.

"Okay, you can stay. I'll probably not be there much anyway with being gone to games. Use the pool, whatever you need." He doesn't even glance at me as he walks away in strong and tired strides. "Come on."

I bend down, gathering my bags and purse onto both shoulders, a voice simpering behind us, "but Cal. I thought we could go out and party."

Now he glances behind him at her, "not tonight, Casey. Maybe not for the rest of the season." He sees me struggle with the bags and marches over, grabbing two, slinging them over his shoulders. I see him wince when he picks one up with his bad arm, his face goes bland, the twitches his left cheek makes doesn't fool me like it will everyone else. He wants to make sure no one notices how badly it hurts.

He turns away and does his march out the open doorway of the room we were in, out into the rest of the tunnel to lead back outside through the side of the stadium. I gape at the outside of the stadium, the changes made in the past two years. It was a work of art then, now it resembles a coliseum of Roman times. All white, shining marble-like columns and stone.

I gaze at the filled parking lot, cars leaving in droves, lots of excited voices at the game, a satisfying feeling grips my chest watching Cal walk ahead of me. He has a slight hitch in his walk and he has both bags on one shoulder and hand. His bad one must be hurting.

He still doesn't say anything when we reach his truck and he throws my bags in the second row seats, grabs the bag I carry and throws it in after. He throws his arm out waving at the other side, slipping into the driver's seat, waiting. Rude. Arrogant. Asshole.

I stomp around the front of his truck, fuming, wanting to tell him off and forget this whole thing but my want is deeper than my anger. Anger is momentary, the want I have swirling inside my tight chest is everything. It's forever. No matter what this feeling will never disappear, it might transform to regret or disappointment but it'll never disappear.

Opening the passenger door I slide in, crossing my arms over my chest, my head turned to the window. I'm not going to beg, I'll give both of us time. This is his issue though, pushing me away, the heat in his eyes when he lets himself look at me.

He stomps on the gas, my body surges forward fast enough I have to thrust my arm out to not bruise myself on the dashboard even with the seatbelt on. Asshole.

The tangible silence in the car on the way home fuels the murkiness between us.

This is not winding out to be a good evening, if he keeps this up, it'll continue being an infuriating evening. One filled with disappointment. Loathing. And being irate with him.

Welcome home to me.