Playing for keeps

Chapter Thirteen – Megan
“Did she really never tell you about your dad?” I ask, drawing circles on Aston’s arm with my fingertip.
“No. Gramps told me a few years ago that she went away for a friend’s birthday and a few weeks later found out she was pregnant. She swore there was only him, but she couldn’t remember his name,” he replies. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I have my Gramps, and that’s what matters. He was there when no one else was.”
“He sounds like an amazing man,” I say, tilting my head back and staring into his gray eyes. “It makes it easy to understand where you get it from.”
He makes a noise of disbelief. “I’m not amazing, baby, far from it.”
“The beauty of being an outsider is that I can see what you can’t,” I argue. “You might not see it yet, you might never see it, but you are.” I raise my hand to his face, stroking my thumb down his cheek and across the faint stubble on his jaw.
“If you say so.” He catches my hand in his and brings it to his mouth, kissing each of my fingers softly.
“I’m sorry I made you remember those things,” I say in a small voice.
“I’m not,” he replies firmly. “I’m not sorry you did. You were right yesterday. You have to get lost in the dark to appreciate the light. My head is full of darkness, full of shadows and horrors, and then I look into your eyes. It’s like finding the light at the end of the tunnel – the light I never thought I’d find.”
I flatten my hand against his cheek, his resting atop mine, and move my face forward so our lips brush. “I like that. I love that I make you feel that way.”
“It’s true. Who else could I threaten about spanking across the kitchen table?” His lips twitch, a bit of the normal light returning to his eyes as the darkness recedes.
“I’m sure you could find someone” I shrug a shoulder.
“I probably could, but I don’t want to find someone.” His face turns serious again, and his hand trails along my arm to my back where it rests. “I have to tell you something else – but you have to promise me you won’t get mad and leave.”
“I’m. Not. Leaving.” I put extra emphasis on each word. “Okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
For a second, I see a glimpse of the little boy he keeps inside flash in his eyes, and my heart breaks a little. A tiny crack forms for the pain he must feel.
“A few nights ago, I went to this bar. It’s out the way, and I went there because I had to prove to myself I’m not like my mom was.” He closes his eyes, gathers himself, and opens them again. “I knew if I went in there and left with someone, I’d be no better than she was.”
I swallow, trying not to let my facial expression change as a little bile rises up my throat. Even as my whole body tightens, a part of me believes he didn’t. A part of me has to believe that.
“And?” I say in a deceptively calm voice. Inside my body is raging, raging that he’d try it, raging at the people who made him this way, raging at the words he must have heard so many times to make him believe he’s no better than his mom.
“I couldn’t. I was in there for maybe five minutes, tops, and I had to leave. I had to run. It wasn’t me.” He looks steadily into my eyes. “And you’re the reason I left. Hell, you’re the reason I went. I told myself that if I went and left alone, I was good enough for you. If I left alone, I cared, I had feelings. If I left alone, I wasn’t hollow inside.”
“You’re not hollow inside.” I prop myself up and look down at him, running my fingers through his hair. “You do feel – you must have felt to go in the first place. And as for being good enough for me…” I shake my head. “Who dictates that? Society? A TV show? A romance novel? No. Not even Braden can dictate that, Aston. The only person who decides if someone is good enough for me, is me, and I say you are most definitely good enough for me.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear. “How do you know?”
I smile a little. “Well, you’re no Mr. Darcy, but you know…”
His fingers move against my side, tickling me, and I fall backwards onto the bed, laughing. He rolls so he’s leaning over me, his leg slipping between mine and his hips pinning me down. His hand leaves my side and travels up my body to my hand where he links our fingers.
“‘You have bewitched me, body and soul,’” he murmurs, looking down into my eyes. “I forgot the accent, but I’m sure that’ll do. That’s all I can remember of the book when I look at you.”
“One of my favorite lines,” I smile. “Do I make you forget things often?”
“All the time.” He lowers his lips, moving them softly across mine for a long, lingering moment.
“I can’t believe you actually know some Jane Austen,” I muse, moving his hair from his face.
“It was the first classic novel my Gramps made me read.” He props his head on his hand next to my head. “He said that although Darcy was a pompous ass in the beginning, if I grew up and loved a woman the way he loved Elizabeth in the end, then he’d done his job at raising me.” He trails a finger down the side of my face.
“He gave you the book to teach you to respect women,” I say in awe. “He wanted you to take Darcy’s journey of respecting and loving Elizabeth and apply it to real life. Your Gramps is a genius.”
“I’ll tell him you said that.” He grins.
“I’ll tell him myself if I ever get to meet him.”
“You can. If you want to.”
“Really?”
Aston nods. “I’ve already told you the worst. Gramps… Well, he’ll probably be happy to have someone to talk to who actually enjoys discussing literature’s greatest love stories. Hell, I don’t have much patience for that shit.”
“I would love to meet him,” I say honestly. “And discuss literature’s greatest love stories.”
“Tomorrow?” Aston questions, the little boy showing in his eyes again, and I realize he’s letting me in.
By taking me to meet his Gramps, he’s giving me more of himself. He’s letting me meet the one person who really knows him… The one person that knows the little boy inside.
I run the pad of my thumb along his bottom lip. “Tomorrow. I’ll be sure to bring Mr. Darcy.”
“No need.” He drops his face to mine again, taking my bottom lip between his and sucking lightly. “I’ll be a real life Mr. Darcy.”
“You don’t have the top hat and tails,” I protest, clasping my hands behind his head.
“Who needs them? They’d end up on the floor anyway.”
I giggle as he kisses me again, his body pressing into mine. “You’re probably right.”
~
I feel like I’m fifteen and sneaking back into my room after breaking curfew.
I never intended to stay at the frat house last night – it just happened. After Aston told me everything, I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t walk away, leaving him with his memories I made him drag out.
So that’s why I’m creeping out in yesterday’s clothes to change quickly before he takes me to meet his Gramps.
I silently pad my way down the stairs, hoping everyone else is still in bed or doing what they normally do on a Sunday morning, and pause at the bottom.
“A blonde girl?” Kyle’s voice asks.
“Yeah. I didn’t see who it was, though. As far as I know she was still in his room last night.”
“You mean Aston didn’t come down and pull some chick?”
F*ck.
I press my hand over my mouth to stifle the stream of curse words that want to come out vocally as well as mentally, and glance at the front door. If I turn the corner right now, whoever is outside will see me and know I was the girl in his room.
“Megan?” a voice asks, and I bite my tongue, looking around.
“Nah. Braden would kill him.”
That’s it.
I slip my pumps off and skip up the stairs on quiet tip toes. My hand slips Braden’s key from the pocket of my jeans and I slip it in the lock, sneaking into his room and taking one of my books from his desk.
Thank you, Braden, for your constant need to copy my English notes.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I put my shoes back on. I know I look on the rough side of human – but hey, it is a Saturday – and I walk casually down the stairs.
Kyle and the other guy, Mark, both look at me as I appear in their line of view.
“Morning.” I smile and wave slightly.
“Uh,” Kyle says awkwardly. “You’re here early.”
I lift the book. “Braden had my notes again. It’s exactly why I have a key for his room.”
“Seriously?” Mark narrows his eyes, looking at me suspiciously.
“The book is in my hand, isn’t it? Want me to take you up and show you how many of my damn books he has sitting on his desk?” I offer, pointing to the stairs more calmly than I feel. “It’s no big deal.”
“Nah, you’re all right,” he replies, relaxing.
“Great.” I fake a smile. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a paper to write. See ya.”
“Bye, Megs.” Kyle waves as I turn and leave the frat house.
All the air rushes from my lungs when the door shuts behind me, and I force myself to walk instead of run. Shit. That was close – too f*cking close – and I’ve exhausted my number one excuse for being at the frat house when Braden or the girls aren’t.
“Where the f*ck were you last night?”
Kay’s voice sends a bolt of panic through me. Hell. Can I get a break today?
“Why do you need to know?” I ask, letting myself into the dorm block.
“Because I came round here to bring your ass to a party – not with those dicks at Braden’s house – and you weren’t here. Where were you?”
I put my hand on my doorframe, grinning, and decide to play it coy. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
She smirks. “F*cking right I’d like to know. Did you finally get some?”
I shove the door open. “A lady never reveals her secrets!” And slam it shut before she can question me further.
“You bitch!” she yells, banging on the door. “I’m not letting this go!”
“I know!” But at least now I have time to come up with an excuse.
I exhale, a long, tortured sigh, and rest my forehead on the door. Who thought a secret relationship was a good idea?
Oh, yeah, me.
That was before the secret relationship became something complex, with more than just a boy and a girl. Now, it’s entwined deeply in a past filled with horrors I can’t even imagine, voices I’ll never hear and memories I’ll never see fully. It’s not just a passing college fling, something to pass the time.
It’s real.
I straighten and chuck the book on my bed carelessly, not caring when it slips to the floor, and strip as I head to the shower. A quick hot shower should sort me out and relax me from this morning’s close calls. Too many in such a short space of time. There’s only so many excuses I can come up with before the truth will have to come out.
I know that moment will be so explosive that even the Chinese New Year won’t be able to touch it with their fireworks.
I step from the shower and run through the motions of getting ready, standing in front of my closet for longer than necessary. I mean, this is the equivalent of the “Meet the Parents” moment, right? So a good impression – literature aside – is necessary. But what the hell do you wear to meet someone’s grandfather?
The gray sky outside makes me rethink my skirt idea, and I pull out a pair of jeans instead. Those, coupled with a nice shirt and wraparound sweater will do wonders. I blast my hair with the hairdryer, clipping it away from my face with a flower clip, and smudge on some make up.
My cell buzzes and a message from Aston pops up. Ready when you are.
Give me five.
I grab a jacket and sunglasses and make my way outside, leaving the dorm room behind. The sky is darkening a little more, but not enough for rain. Yet.
The walk downtown doesn’t take long, and I find Aston parked exactly where he said he’d be. I knock on the window, smiling, and he leans over to open the door. I get in, sitting, and he leans over the gearstick to kiss me soundly.
“Risky,” I mutter.
“And being seen in a car with you isn’t?” he shoots back, amused.
I produce my glasses from under my jacket and slip them onto my face. “See? I’m in disguise.”
“You still look like you.” He grins as he pulls out. “We’re not passing campus, anyway. It’s still early, so I doubt many people will be about.”
“You say that. If I was Pinocchio, my nose would be about ten foot long I’ve told so many lies this morning.”
“Who to?” He glances at me.
“Kyle and Mark, then Kay,” I grumble. “Kyle and Mark think I’d slipped in to grab a book from Braden’s room, and Kay thinks I was with a guy all night.”
“Which is right. But she doesn’t know?”
“No. She doesn’t know. I slammed my door in her face.”
“She won’t let that go.”
“I know. But I have time to make a decent excuse as to why I can’t tell her who I was with.”
He sighs. “You know she’s gonna tell Lila and Maddie and they’ll be on your case, right?”
I tuck my hair behind my ear and chew on my thumbnail. “I know,” I mumble. “But I didn’t have to think. I was still reeling from Kyle and Mark. She caught me off-guard. I’m a real crappy secret girlfriend.”
“I like that.”
“That I’m a crappy secret girlfriend?” I frown at him as he pulls up outside a tidy, two-story house with perfectly pruned bushes and flowers.
“No, well, yeah.” He turns in the seat, his gray eyes light and piercing straight into mine. He smiles, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward him. “The girlfriend part.”
I blush a little as I realize we’ve never clarified what we are. “Oh, um…”
His lips touch mine, probingly, and he mutters against me, “Don’t. I like the thought of you being my girlfriend, even if you are secret.”
“Like Romeo and Juliet?”
“Save the literature for Gramps.” He leans back and smiles. “But, yeah, kinda. Just without the dyin’ and stuff.”
I put my hand on the door handle and smile at him over my shoulder. “I can totally go for that.”
My feet touch the ground and I realize how nervous I am. When it’s me and Aston and we’re messing around, talking, I don’t feel nervous. But now I’m standing in front of the house his Gramps lives in, my heart is pounding and my palms are getting sweaty. I run my tongue over my lips, wetting them since they’re suddenly dry, and I swallow.
Aston takes my hand, linking our fingers, and pulls me towards the house. “Don’t be scared.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
He grins, his hand on the door handle. “Nope.”
My mouth drops, and he pushes the door open, letting out the smell of cigar smoke.
“I wish you wouldn’t smoke those damn things, Gramps!” he calls.
“So you keep sayin’, boy, and I keep sayin’ I ain’t gonna stop.”
Aston grins again, and I get the feeling this is a routine for them. “Well if you’re smokin’ now, put the thing out. I brought company.”
“Better not be one of those jackass frat boys you live with,” his Gramps grumbles.
“No, it’s not one of those jackasses.” Aston chuckles slightly. “Better than that. Much better.”
“What, you bring me a stripper?”
“Uh, no. Maybe next time.”
I smile, loving the easy banter between the two.
“Well? Who is it?”
We step into the front room, and an old man is sitting quietly in an armchair at the far end of the room. He turns his head from where he was looking out the window, and I can see interest spark in his gray eyes. Gray eyes the exact same shade as Aston’s.
“This is Megan,” Aston introduces us. “Megan, this is my Gramps. Just call him Gramps.”
“Hell, she’s a pretty thing, ain’t she, boy?” Gramps says, looking at me and smiling. “Come sit down, darlin’, and don’t you mind him. His manners are a bit iffy since he started hanging around with those jackass frat boys.”
I laugh slightly and let Aston lead me over the sofa opposite his Gramps. I sit on the cushy material, and Aston stops mid-sit.
“Let me guess. You want me to remember my manners and go get Megs a drink?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Off you go.”
I smile at Aston’s exaggerated sigh, and I can almost see the closeness in their relationship. It’s not just the fact Aston is his Gramps, just sixty or so years younger, it’s in their easy banter and the affectionate smiles they have.
Gramps looks at me and winks. “Gotta keep the boy on his toes. So, Megan, are you the girlfriend?” He looks so much like Aston in that second, I can’t help but smile wider.
“That’s me.”
“He never mentioned you before.”
“It’s, um… Complicated.”
“Protective older brother ready to kick some pretty-boy ass?”
I think I love this man.
“Something like that.” I grin. “Best friend.”
“Jackass frat boy?” he questions. I nod. “See, boy? I told you they’re all jackasses. Were in my day, still are now.”
“And you raised the biggest one,” Aston pats the old man’s shoulder, putting a tray of drinks on the table and passing me one.
“Thank you.” I look up at him, feeling a little shy now we’re in front of his gramps.
“Damn right. Even if he is a pretty boy.” Gramps grins, raises his glass of lemonade, and takes a drink before setting it back on the table. “So, Megan, do you like literature?”
Aston smirks, resting his arm on the sofa behind me, and I smile. “It’s my major.”
Gramps’ eyes light up and he sits up a little straighter. “Favorite novelist?”
“Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice, before you ask.”
“By God, boy!” he exclaims in glee and claps his hands. “We have a keeper with this one!” He turns to me again. “Second favorite?”
I chew my lip for a second. “Dickens or Louisa May Alcott. It’s tough, but Alcott might just win out. Her ability to create a whole cast of compelling, lovable characters – not just one or two – is something I’ve yet to find in another writer.”
Gramps shakes his head. “You’re telling me Little Women is better than Great Expectations?”
“Oh, no,” I say. “Not better – the stories are on par with each other, but their styles are very different. My preference runs with Alcott’s style, and I have a bit of a crush on Laurie.” I shrug a shoulder.
“How many boys in books are you dating?” Aston pokes my shoulder. “First Darcy, now Laurie…”
“The proper term is book boyfriend,” I correct him. “And there are many swoon-worthy characters in the literary world, new and old.”
“What about if I was in a book?” he grins. “Would I be your book boyfriend?”
“God help the world if someone ever wrote you into a book, boy,” Gramps grumbles. “That would be a literary disaster.”
Aston sticks his tongue out, and Gramps laughs.
“Be nice, old man, or I’ll hide the walking stick.”
“Hide the walking stick and I’ll kick your ass with it!” Gramps threatens. “Not the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last!”
I smile, looking at Aston and tuning the conversation out a little as they continue to banter back and forth. His body and expression are relaxed, his smile easy, and his eyes light. This is the real Aston, the one he doesn’t show. He’s happy and playful, yet there’s an underlying shadow to him.
If I ever had any doubt whether or not I was falling in love with Aston Banks, it’s been completely wiped out.
There is no doubt. There is only certainty.
Aston’s expression darkens slightly, and I listen back.
“Gramps…”
“I just want to know if you went.”
“No. I didn’t go, and I don’t plan to.”
I look between the two, trying not to appear nosey.
“It might do you good.”
“I’m not ready.”
“It’s been thirteen years, boy.”
“I don’t care if it’s been thirteen or thirty, Gramps. I’m not ready!” Aston stands and leaves the room, leaving his Gramps sighing.
The old man turns his face towards the window, his own shadows passing over his face. “Did he tell you? About himself?”
“Some,” I reply honestly. “He got so far and… It was too much.”
He nods his head. “I got him when he was six, day they found out his mom had died. She was my baby – my only child. Losing her near killed me, but he gave me something to live for. I had to protect him and give him the life she couldn’t.
“He spent two days in hospital while he was checked out. He was underweight, dirty, and completely starving. But that wasn’t the worst. There was a big gash on his palm with tiny pieces of glass in that had been left, scratches and healing cuts across his legs, and a huge bruise on his back.” He looks at me, and I don’t try to disguise my horror.
“How could…” I trail off, putting my hand to my mouth as what he’s just said processes in my mind.
“He blames his mom for what happened. He blames her for never protecting him – but I’m the one that should be blamed. I knew she wasn’t fit to keep him, yet I left it anyway. His gran died when he was four and I was stuck in a loop of grief.” He looks back at the window, and I follow suit, seeing Aston leaning against a tree. “I should be blamed for not protecting him.”
“You didn’t know what was happening, did you?”
“No.”
“Then how can you be blamed for something you knew nothing about? You took him in and brought him up to the person he is today, and as much as he doesn’t believe it, he’s a credit to you. He doesn’t see it, but he is. You did your best to make your daughter’s wrongs right again.”
“You’re very wise.”
“It’s the books.” I turn my head and we both share a small smile. “You mentioned about him going somewhere…”
“His mom’s grave. I try every year to get him to go, but he always says he’s not ready. Stubborn ass.”
“I don’t think he’s accepted what happened to him. I don’t think he’s let himself deal with it.”
“I hope he can. I hope you can deal with it.” Gramps looks at me seriously, his gray eyes granite. “It’s not easy, what he’s dealt with. What you know is only a small part of the crap my boy went through.”
“I can deal with it,” I reassure him. “And I can help him deal with it. I want to.”
“I like you,” he says suddenly. “You come across as a total romantic, but you have a kick-ass, hard edge to you. You won’t take his shit, will ya?”
“I never have taken his shit, and I don’t intend to start now.” I smirk.
“Do me a favor?” Gramps leans forward. “One day, get him to his mom’s grave one day. Even just for a minute. And for God sake, don’t let the pretty ass walk all over you. He thinks he’s Mr. Darcy.”
“Then call me Elizabeth.” I smile.