Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,55
at the floor. Tears trickle out. I hope my hair is hiding them. Ford tucks my hair behind my ears. Damn.
His arms envelope me and he presses his cheek against my wet one. It’s a sacred momena sidtt, and neither one of us speaks.
Ford pulls back enough to look at me. “Why don’t you trust me with whatever is upsetting you? At least give me a chance.”
“I don’t know. Things are too complicated—too messy.” A little sigh shudders through me.
“What you mean is, what if I make things worse?” He massages my hands, relaxing them from the tight fists they were balled into.
I shrug my shoulders. “Sounds pretty crappy, huh?”
“No, just real. What if I promise on my honor not to make whatever it is worse?”
Considering my options, it seems like talking to Ford might be the best one. “Which includes not telling anyone else?”
Ford repeats, “Which includes not telling anyone else. Which I might add, is the business of trust. You confide in me and I don’t share your secrets. And vice versa. Pretty nice concept—huh?”
“In theory, yes.” My tears have dried up. “You swear?”
“A man’s word is his bond.” Ford grins.
I feel like I’m about to jump off the edge of a cliff. My pulse speeds up and my hands start sweating. “I’m serious. Swear?” I give him a pleading look. I have to know he’s not just screwing around being silly.
“On a stack of Bibles. Pinky promise.” His fingers interlock with mine. So yeah, he’s keeping it light, trying to make me smile. But his eyes are serious and concerned, which is enough for me to feel safe.
“Okay, I’m gonna hold you to it.” I scrutinize his face.
He gently takes my hands in his. “Jeez, Grace. Tell me already.”
“Well, I don’t even know where to start.” I shift back and forth.
He scrunches in next to me against the TV pillow. “How about the weird vibes I get from your family?” he asks. “What’s with that?”
My mouth dries up. I swallow as I absorb the question.
“Well … um, things aren’t as happy as they seem. My folks don’t exactly get along. And sometimes my dad can get carried away.”
My cheeks burn. I squirm. What if Ford thinks I’m stupid? Or what if everybody’s family is like mine? It’s like part of me is freaking out about telling even this much, and another part of me is relieved.
“Like, overprotective? Carried away how?” Ford asks. His voice has a hard edge to it. He scoots closer to me.
“I don’t know … he just does.” I fidget with the frayed ends of my jeans and keep my eyes focused on the rug. I’m afraid to see the expression on Ford’s face.
“Like he’s a prosecutor in a courtroom?”
“No. Never mind. Life isn’t all courtroom drama. Forget I said anything.”
Ford bristles. “I’m trying to figure out what you mean. Carried away … ”
I’m exhausted. “Why do we have to talk about this right now? About my crap? What about yours? Like, tell me more about Brittany?” The momentary escape is slipping through my fingers with every word I speak.
Ford gives me a puzzled look before scooting away from me. A long silence stretches on into eternity, like he can’t decide whether to push or be okay with what I’ve said. I hold my breath.
He says, “I don’t know who Brittany is … why don’t you tell me what you’re talking about?”
The fact that he’s playing stupid irritates me. Like I want to put up with that kind of crap. What kind of friend is he anyway? I stand up and put my hands on my hips. “The girl. The hot one that you’re coaching.”
He forces a smile. “Brianna? She’s not training. I just gave her a beginner’s lesson that one day. She’s a girl from work. What’s up?”
Even though we’re not together, it feels like he’s cheating on me. I swallow. It’s like I’m playing chicken with heartache. “Nothing. It’s just … she seemed like a nice girl. Pretty. You should … you know. Go for her.”
Ford crosses his arms. “You know, Grace, I don’t need your approval or permission to date anyone. And Brianna and I have gone on a date—bowling. But … thanks for the advice.” He stares me down, a puzzled look on his face.
I steel my insides, wondering what in the world is wrong with me. Why do I keep pushing him away?
twenty-four
advice: recommendation regarding
a decision or course of conduct
—www.merriam-webster.com
You should … you know. Go for her.
Those seven words,