Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(45)

Silence again. Air crackling on the line. When he lets me      go, I’ll fall apart. I’ll have nothing to hold on to. Nothing to anchor me. I’ll      be exactly what everyone wants me to be—nothing.

“I’m okay with silence, Beth.”

I’m still here in this house in the room with too many      windows. I’m still exposed—raw—and living in hell. But I have Isaiah and he’s      anchoring me. I slide down the wall until I can curl into a tight ball on the      floor. “I need you.”

“I’m here.” And we sit in silence.





Chapter 25

Ryan

SITTING ON MY BED, I read the      text message. First the fight with Dad, then, at ten at night, Gwen sends me      this: Beth Risk???

She waits on the other end for my reply. At least when I play      baseball, I can catch the balls being thrown at me. Dad and Gwen? I’m getting      the hell pounded out of me.

I shouldn’t answer Gwen. I should pretend I never read the      message. She loves drama. I love baseball. She hated my games and I hated hers.      We stopped kissing and touching and dating, yet somehow, like that night at the      dugout, we’ve never stopped the games.

I text back: what about       her?

The wait for her answer stretches into eternity. I glance away      from the phone as if that will make her respond faster. This summer, after Mark      left, Mom repainted my room blue. She loves to redecorate as much as Dad loves      to build. They used to work together on projects, but that was before our world      fell apart.

Gwen: you tell me

I hate texting. You never know what the person is really trying      to say. I take a risk. One that will make me an idiot and her dangling monkey if      she ignores my request.

Me: call me

My heart picks up a few beats. Will she do it or will she leave      me hanging? Since our breakup, when we play the text game, I call her.

My cell rings and I smile. On the third ring, I answer.      “Gwen.”

“Stone,” she says without much emotion.

“What’s going on?” It’s an awkward dance. One I despise. We      used to spend hours on the phone talking and now we overanalyze every word and      pause.

“You knew who she was the entire time.” There’s a hint of      accusation in her voice.

I work at staying nonchalant. “And if I did?”

“You could have told me.”

I stare at the posters of my favorite teams. Why would I have      told her that Beth is Scott Risk’s niece? They share classes together. They went      to the same elementary school. She could have talked to Beth herself.

“Why did you nominate her?” she asks.

I hear ruffling. The sound is Gwen lying back onto her pillows.      She has five of them on her bed and she sleeps with every last one. I can      picture her golden hair fanning out.

“You know how much homecoming queen means to me,” she says.

I do. I used to listen as she rattled on about her dream of      winning that sparkly tiara. Actually, I faked interest, then pretended to      listen. “You seconded the nomination.”

“Because I’d look like a sore loser if I didn’t, and now I have      to scramble for votes. This would have been a lot easier if you told me sooner      she was Scott Risk’s niece. Really, Ryan, I thought we were friends.”

“What do you care? No one knows her and she doesn’t want      friends.”

Her frustrated sigh sets my muscles on edge. “She’s an instant      celebrity and for some insane reason certain people think she’s cool. You      nominated her and everyone at school knows you’ve asked her out, so you give her      credibility. If you had told me who she was from the beginning, I could have      done some damage control. Befriended her or something. Because of you, she has a      shot at winning.”

We broke up and I shouldn’t have to deal with this. I go with      the old standby answer: “I’m sorry for ruining your life, Gwen. The next time I      do anything I’ll be sure to get your permission.”

Gwen blurts out, “She’s not your type.”

I blink. “What?”

“Beth’s a little, I don’t know, freakish. I mean, she is kind      of pretty if you like the weird my-life-is-a-dark-room sort of pretty. I guess      I’m saying you won’t be able to give her the attention she needs. You know,      because of baseball. I guess I’m just saying...not her.”