Breaking Ties

  Breaking Ties

  Breaking #3

  Tracie Puckett

  © This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Tracie Puckett. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author: traciepuckettnovels@gmail.com

  Manufactured in the United States

  First Edition September 2014

  © 2014. All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Damonza

  To Lexy, for talking me down from the ledge.

  Every. Single. Time.

  Chapter One

  “Whoa, what’s gotten into her?”

  “Couldn’t tell ya,” I said, twisting my neck to look down the hall. Bailey disappeared around the corner, and I looked back to Dad with wide eyes and a shrug.

  If this was her desperate cry for attention, she was doing a marvelous job, given the way she’d stomped into the house and slammed the front door.

  Dad looked up from his spot on the couch, marking a page in a script with his finger. A frown settled across his face, and I could tell from that look alone that he was just as clueless as me.

  “Is she mad at you or me?”

  I sat, facing him at the coffee table in front of the couch, and leaned over the beginning pages of an article I was outlining for the Sugar Creek High Herald. Prior to Bailey storming in, Dad was also engaged with work, evaluating a script and making notes in the margins.

  Since giving up his job as mayor only weeks ago, Dad hadn’t had much luck in the way of prospective careers. Yesterday, though, he got a call from a guy, who knew a guy, who knew him, and he offered him the role of director for a series of community one-act plays out in Desden. Dad wasn’t thrilled about accepting the minimal pay or the position itself, but a job was a job, and money was money. Plus, working meant he’d make some contacts. Contacts meant networking, and networking could lead to something much more substantial in the long run. That’s how he justified it, anyway.

  “Mandy?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your sister,” he said. “Which one of us screwed up?”

  “I don’t think it’s anything we’ve done.” I focused my attention back to the pages sprawled in front of me. I skimmed the first few lines before looking back to him. “She was like this with her friends at school today, too. Everyone’s been in her line of fire since she rolled out of bed this morning.”

  I couldn’t pinpoint the precise moment it happened, but whatever it was that caused her moodiness must’ve been a real doozy.

  As far back as I could trace it, it all started this morning. She was short with both Dad and me, when we sat down for breakfast. She stomped through the hallways at school and rolled her eyes at our teachers. She didn’t even show up in the cafeteria for lunch, and that was a big deal, considering her friends had waited all day for the latest gossip. When she was a no-show at lunch, her absence started a new string of gossip and speculation all on its own. It wasn’t like Bailey to blow off her friends.

  But that was the thing: it wasn’t like Bailey. The Bailey I knew would’ve covered up her feelings and concealed them with a smile. And by acting out, she wasn’t staying true to her character. That’s how I knew this was a big deal.

  She was a master at disguising her pain, heartache, and agitation. When she wanted to, she could make a person believe she was the happiest person on the planet, even if the world was crumbling at her feet—but not this time. The last time Bailey had acted out like this, it had all been for show. She threw her little hissy fit to con me into showing up at the Sugar Creek Park re-opening, but even then, it wasn’t real. Trying to remember the last real time … I couldn’t.

  Bailey’s silence and distance was one thing, but the mean and hostile comments came in waves, when she was feeling particularly irked. Whatever happened to spark her bad mood, she was taking it out on nearly everyone in her path. I was among the many. Not only was she not in any mood to look at or talk to me, she’d left me stranded in the parking lot after school today. I had to bum a ride from Fletcher just to get home. Bailey was, to put it nicely, being the biggest brat on the face of the planet.

  “Trouble in paradise, you think?”

  “You mean with Jones?” I asked. “No way. I can’t imagine it’s anything he’s done. They were practically sucking each other’s faces off just yesterday.”

  “Nope. No.” Dad held up a hand to silence me. “There are some things I don’t need to know.”

  “Well, it’s true,” I said, sitting straighter. “Jones seems to be the only person she’s not mad at. Maybe he knows something.”

  He probably did, and I’m sure if I pressed hard enough, Jones would spill the beans, especially if he thought it was something I could help her with.

  No. It definitely wasn’t Jones she was mad at. Just yesterday they were inseparable—holding and kissing, whispering, and acting all lovey-dovey … like they always did.

  A sigh escaped me.

  They were kinda perfect together, Bailey and Jones. They had everything they wanted and needed in each other. Bailey could rely on him, and Jones would never let her down. They told each other everything. He was always there, just like she was always around for him. He cheered her on; she celebrated his successes. Every departure included a hug, a kiss, and a promise to never stop thinking about the other. They were together, and they were happy. They were a walking definition of everything I wanted with Gabe. And even though I was incredibly happy for my sister and her boyfriend, I couldn’t help but feel the slightest twinge of jealousy when I saw them together—especially as of late. I wanted what they had.

  I was so close to having exactly what it was that I wanted, but it still felt so far from my reach. There were still these tiny moments when the insecurities got the best of me. Why hadn’t Gabe and I shared that one, earth-shattering, passionate moment? Why didn’t he hold me? Kiss me? Tell me his deepest, darkest secrets? Doesn’t he care for me the way Jones cares for Bailey? Am I good enough?

  I sighed again.

  It was hard not to have those doubts. I’d pretty much given him the perfect opportunity only a week ago, when we were standing on the front porch. I confessed my love to him, I opened up my heart, and I let him see the rawest of my emotions. But as Gabe seemed to do so well, he didn’t respond. He didn’t whisk me into his arms, pull me against him, and kiss my brains out. He just walked away, leaving me a little stung and confused.

  I yearned for that first kiss—my first kiss.

  But you’re being impatient.

  “I know I’m being impatient,” I muttered under my breath as I started scribbling notes into the margins. “I know.”

  I had to give him some credit. We were getting closer. Still, setting what was probably a record pace for slowest start to a relationship in the history of the world. But there was hope. Yesterday he’d given me a note, asking me to meet him Saturday morning for a sunrise breakfast in the park. And if I’d learned anything from watching Bailey’s dating history, I knew that dates always ended one of two ways—badly, or with a kiss.

  And a date with Gabe could never end badly.

  So that only left one possible option …

  “What’s with the goofy smile there, Mandy?”

  “Hmm?” I looked up to Dad.

  Oh, crap. Dad. And here I was talking to myself, sighing like an idiot.

  “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  “Right,” he said, opening his script again, but I didn’t give him tim
e to start reading before I blurted—

  “Gabe asked me on a date.”

  There. I said it. I told him. And I’d expected Dad to ignore me, maybe look right back down at his script, like I hadn’t said a word. I thought he might grunt or groan, maybe even shrug or roll his eyes as he mumbled, “There are some things I don’t need to know.” But he didn’t do any of those things.

  He leaned forward, scooting to the edge of the couch, and shut the pages in his hand. He angled his head downward, holding my stare with his big, brown eyes.

  This could go very, very badly, I told myself, remembering the way he’d first reacted to Bailey’s dating adventures.

  I mean, the first time Bailey brought a boy home, Dad shut the door in his face. The second time, he sat on the porch and grilled the poor guy for an hour before he ever let Bailey leave. Then there were the third, fourth, and fifth boyfriends, and they all got pretty much the same get-out-of-here-you’re-not-good-enough-for-my-daughter treatment.

  And then there was good ole Jones. It took almost two months for Dad to agree to let him take Bailey on a real date. In time, though, Jones grew on Dad, and our father could actually admit that he liked the guy. But leading up to that, it was exhausting, watching Bailey and Dad dance around the whole dating thing. There were so many disagreements, so much disapproval, and so many arguments.

  And now it was my turn.

  “Well?” I asked, hoping he’d say or do something soon. I didn’t know how to read him.

  “Well?”

  Yes. This was definitely going to end badly for me.

  “Are you … going to say anything?”

  “It’s about damn time.”

  “It’s about damn time?” I asked, almost as quickly as he said it.

  That’s it? That’s the response I got?

  I’d kept it from him for an excruciating twenty-four hours, mainly because I didn’t have a clue how he would react. I was too nervous to tell him yesterday, when it happened. I was a nervous wreck blurting it out just now. So I said it as quickly as I could to spare myself some grief. And then I braced myself, expecting (at the least!) that he would internalize his anger, which Dad rarely ever did. Any shred of anxiety added fuel to his temperament, and unfortunately for all of us, Dad lashed out when he felt even the slightest bit uncomfortable. But this time was entirely different. There wasn’t any indication of anger evident on his face, and I couldn’t see anything nasty bubbling below the surface.

  It’s about damn time?

  Was Dad happy for me?

  I didn’t want to ask, but I felt like maybe I should. I didn’t want to assume a thing! There were so many things wrong with my assumptions lately that I didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t want this to be another thing to add to my growing list of misunderstandings.

  “What’s with the open mouth?” Dad asked, breaking the minute-long silence. “You want to go on the date, right?”

  “Of course I do,” I said, breathlessly. “But I assumed that, when I decided it was time to hit the dating scene, you would put me through the wringer the same way you did with Bailey.”

  “You’re not Bailey,” he said without pause. “And Gabe’s … Gabe.”

  “Oh.”

  “But don’t think you’re getting off so easily,” he said. “I’ll need a detailed list of your plans before you leave this house—where you’re going, when you’re headed out, and when you plan to be back. Curfew’s at midnight.”

  “We’re having breakfast on Saturday, so I don’t think curfew comes into play here.”

  “A morning date?” he asked, creasing his brow. “For your first official date, he’s taking you to breakfast?”

  Oh, if he only knew. But I decided to spare him the details, because he wore the same confused look my sister and Jones wore when they found out about Gabe’s pizza-and-sunrise-at-the-park idea. Bailey said it was corny. She seemed to think that Gabe should take me someplace where we could both get dressed up and enjoy small talk over a candlelit dinner. Jones just thought the whole thing was bizarre, but what did he know? Jones had a hard time distinguishing between normal and bizarre behavior on any given day. The guy mixed hot dogs in ice cream and wore flip-flops in the dead of winter! He didn’t get a say. And Dad? Well, he’d probably agree with Bailey on this one.

  “Breakfast,” he said again as if the idea was still too foreign to grasp. “That was his idea?”

  “Yup.”

  “He’s not like other guys, is he?”

  “Nope, but you already know that, don’t you?”

  “You know I’ll need his number.”

  “Oh, God, why?”

  “In case you’re not answering my calls.”

  “Do you plan to call a lot while we’re on our date?”

  “No. It’s more of a just-in-case kind of thing—for emergency’s sake.”

  “I’m not giving you Gabe’s number, Dad,” I said, wagging my finger at him. “But nice try.”

  “Nice try?”

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your whole ‘people with our kind of influence need to stick together’ thing,” I said. “You’ve been trying to buddy-up with Gabe since the moment you heard his name. Bailey’s already cozied up and claimed his friendship. I’m trying to date the guy. The last thing I need is my Dad swooping in and stealing any more of his time. You guys have gotta leave something for me.”

  Dad half-laughed and settled himself into the couch. He opened his script and searched for the page he’d lost.

  “Listen,” I continued, eliciting his stare again, “if you call, I promise I’ll answer. And if I don’t, feel free to send a search party. But you know Gabe, and you should know me well enough to know that I’m not going to do anything stupid. We’re having breakfast, which obviously means we’re not going to be out late, and I’m not going to miss curfew.”

  “Okay,” he nodded, satisfied for the moment. I sensed that even though he’d relaxed and released a long breath, Dad wasn’t quite satisfied with what little information I’d given him so far. He would probably push harder later, especially when it was crucial to have the details. For now, though, he seemed content enough with what he had. “Okay, then. I suppose you can go.”

  “Yeah, but here’s the kicker, Dad: I wasn’t exactly asking for permission. I am going,” I winked at him and then gathered all of my pages on the table. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve gotta go find out what’s wrong with my sister before she blows a fuse and decides to murder us in our sleep.”

  ###

  I knocked three times on her bedroom door and waited for a response. Nothing.

  Two months ago, I would’ve expected Bailey to ignore me, but something had changed in the recent weeks. Minus a small rift and a minor silent treatment, we hadn’t fought much lately. Ever since Gabe came into our lives, Bailey and I both changed for the better. Suddenly, I was open to the idea of new friendships—relationships I would’ve never considered without his guidance. Bailey became kind and tolerable. Or she had been up until this morning.

  I wanted to break through and find out what was bothering her. The few attempts I’d made earlier today had gone mostly unnoticed, so I hoped that reaching out one more time would do the trick. Hopefully, she would see how much it meant to me that we talked, and maybe it would actually mean something to her that I was trying.

  And yet another knock resulted in nothing more than silence.

  “Bailey?” I asked, rapping softly on the door with the tips of my fingers. “Is everything okay in there?”

  “Go away, Amanda,” she moaned, her voice muffled as if she were crying into a pillow. And if there was ever any doubt that she was in a bad mood, there wasn’t any more. She’d called me Amanda—and I thought the days of her using that word as a weapon were far behind us. Apparently, they weren’t.

  Maybe it was something I’d done.

  “Listen, I know you’re upset and you don’t want to talk, but we’re worried about you.” Whe
n she didn’t say anything, I stood a little taller and placed my hand on the doorknob. “I’m coming in, okay?”

  “Go away,” she said again, but this time I cracked the door, just in time to have a pillow thrown at my face. “Get out.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I walked in and kicked the pillow at my feet before starting toward her. My voice was strong and steady, but my steps weren’t as confident. Bailey had inherited Dad’s short fuse. While he expressed his anger in words, she took to throwing and breaking things—lots of things. I still carried a scar on my right shoulder from her outburst at learning about Mom and Dad’s separation. It wasn’t anything major, just a deep enough cut to leave a scar and a daily reminder to stay out of her way when she was on the warpath.

  I found myself dragging my heels across the carpet as I reached the corner of her canopy bed. I didn’t want to risk having anything else thrown at me, but I couldn’t very well leave her alone. Lucky for me, all she had left was one last pillow at her disposal, so I ruled out any potential injuries.

  I took a seat on the corner of the mattress. She didn’t waste a second to sit up, throw her feet over the side, and stand. She stomped across the room, keeping her back to me, and sank into her desk chair. I didn’t have to see her face to know she was crying.

  “Bailey, what’s going on?” I watched as she lifted her hand to wipe a tear. “We’re worried about you.”

  “I never asked you to worry.”

  “Well, of course not,” I said. “But that’s not how things work around here. We’re family. We love you; therefore, when you start acting out, we’re inclined to worry. See how that works?”

  “Just go away, Mandy,” she said, and this time she didn’t seem so angry. This time, she sounded defeated.

  I sat on the bed, watching her. I could sense there was something she wanted to say, something she felt like I needed to know. But I already knew she wasn’t going to say anything. Bailey always took it upon herself to carry the weight of the world. Just like when she’d overheard Dad on the phone with Ripken all those weeks ago and knew we were moving back to California, she kept it to herself. Like Dad, she was stubborn in that way. She didn’t think it was necessary to open up, to let people help her when things got too hard. She was always the kind to keep everything on the inside, letting it boil up until it boiled so hot and so high that she couldn’t manage it on her own.