He pushed the speedometer up to eighty. If his dad caught him, he’d be grounded a month. That didn’t sound so bad. He’d take a month of house arrest as punishment for what he did to Faith. He hated himself, every last cell, but he had to do it. He had to. He couldn’t hurt her more by letting her believe in him. She’d hate him more if he tried to keep her, rather than doing the right thing and letting her go before she was too caught up.
He swerved into the driveway and screeched to a halt in front of the garage. The light over the stairs at the front door turned on. Cursing under his breath, he pulled into the garage and climbed out of the car. Once there, though, his feet wouldn’t carry him, and he turned to punch the kickboxing bag Dad had given him to work out with. He punched it again. And again, and again.
The automatic lights in the garage shut off, leaving him raging in the dark. He threw himself against the Charger, slamming his back onto the driver’s side door, and covered his face with his hands. He ruined everything. Everything. Was his disguise worth it? After Dolly’s, Cameron and his buddies were going to be on his ass anyway, and they weren’t in eighth grade anymore. Kyle was bigger. Stronger. And now he had his team to back him up. At this point, though, it was three months to graduation. Dropping the act now would screw him over worse. People would look back over the last four years and school would be unbearable. He’d never be able to show his face around town.
Better to forget Faith and finish what he’d started.
The overhead light snapped on. Kyle dropped his hands, worried it was Dad, but Grandpa stood framed in the side door that led to the house. “Kid? What is it?”
Kyle slid down the side of the car and sat on the garage floor. “I blew it, Grandpa.”
Grandpa frowned, hitched up his jeans, and walked over to him. It took a little grunting and groaning, but he took a seat on the floor by Kyle. “Tell me about it.”
The old man was the only person who understood, so he poured out the whole thing, not sparing himself anything. “So I broke it off with her,” he finished, “because I was too goddamned afraid to let go of the fake me. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I do it?”
Grandpa patted his shoulder with a heavy hand. “Listen here. Being concerned about what people think of you isn’t always a weakness, boy. You’ve always been a sensitive person, but that’s a strength. Most teen guys would do just about anything to nail a girl—including taking advantage and letting her believe in a lie. You aren’t like that.”
“And I say it is a weakness,” Kyle snapped. “Being a gentleman is different than being a coward.”
“It’s gonna happen. At some point, you’ll unknot everything that ails you. When the right girl comes along, she’ll understand why you did what you did. Okay? Maybe it wasn’t to be with the ballerina. Maybe she wasn’t the one.”
“That’s the thing,” he muttered. “I think she might’ve been, but I was too scared she’d hate me for lying to her. That she wanted me because she thought I was something I’m not. If I told her the truth, she was going to turn me loose…and she would’ve been hurt more because of it.”
“Then maybe you should apologize, see where that gets you? Tell her you lost your head a little bit after the show at the ice cream place?” Grandpa scratched the side of his head. “But what do I know? I’m a seventy-one-year-old widower with three lady friends. Maybe I’m not the best person to ask for advice.”
Kyle slumped against the car. “I don’t mean to be a jackass, Grandpa. You’ve helped me out so much.” He managed a small smile. “I almost broke Cameron Zimmerman’s wrist today. He’s Faith’s ex, cheated on her. He wasn’t happy to see her with me.”
Grandpa chuckled and smacked his knee. “Bet that little punk thought you’d just roll over and die, did he? We’ve come a long way since eighth grade, haven’t we?”
“Yeah.”
Just not far enough.
“Come on inside.” Grandpa pushed himself off the floor. “This calls for a beer.”
“Uh, you do remember I’m only eighteen, right?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, of course. But you’re a man, whether you feel it or not. And a man drinks a beer when his heart hurts.”
Kyle chuckled sadly. “Then your heart must heart a lot, old man.”
“Heh, that’s only one reason why a man drinks a beer. Beer’s also good because there’s a game on, it’s a hot day…and just because.”
“Works for me.”
Before they went inside, Grandpa squeezed his arm. “You’re a good kid, and you’re going to be a good man, Kyle. I want you to know I’m proud of you. Every damn day.”
Kyle ducked his head so Grandpa wouldn’t see the shine of tears in his eyes. “Thanks.”
They stood awkwardly for a second before Grandpa snorted. “Okay, enough feelings crap. Let’s drink. If you promise not to tell your dad, I’ll let you have two beers.”
The hard tangle of pain twisted up in his chest loosened a bit. “My lips are sealed.”