Only he didn’t.
Miracle did an amazing job of avoiding him all week, and the longer it went on, the pricklier Hardy became. Not only was he bothered by her reaction to the whole stomach debacle, he’d come to the realization that he was increasingly miserable without her.
He couldn’t help but wonder if avoiding him was taking a toll on Miracle. Although she acted no different—she was still her dreamy, sweetly smiling self when he saw her—the dark circles beneath her eyes and the uncharacteristic pallor of her skin made him wonder. It also scared him. He couldn’t discount her having a legitimate health issue, which worried him even more than her avoidance of him. All in all, Miracle was driving him crazy.
By the time Friday rolled around, Hardy was in a terrible mood and he’d decided that he was going to pay Miracle a visit on Saturday. If he could wait that long. At the very least, he had to know that she was okay, physically.
“You coming over this afternoon?” Nate asked that morning when Hardy arrived at his locker. Hardy was almost completely out of touch with what was going on with his friends. He’d done nothing but obsess about Miracle. He knew his friends had kept him in the loop; he’d simply paid their words—and their plans—zero attention.
“Huh?” Hardy was clueless as to what Nate was talking about.
“Dude, I told you on Tuesday that I was having a pre-game party at my house this afternoon. You said you were coming.”
“I did?”
Nate snorted. “Yeah, you did. What’s your deal, man?”
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“A lot of a five foot brunette maybe?” Nate teased with a knowing grin.
“Drop it, Nate. I’m not in the mood.”
“I can see that,” he murmured. “But, if you want some cheering up, especially the kind that involves eighty proof, stop by.”
With that, he shut his locker and sauntered off. Hardy sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair in frustration, as he’d done a thousand times of late. Miracle had turned his world upside down and now he was lost without her. She was all he could think about and it was wrecking his life.
After lunch, Hardy decided to go to Nate’s. He could use the distraction. Besides, he wanted to prove to himself that he could do just as well without Miracle as she seemed to be doing without him.
Hardy drove around for a while before he went to Nate’s. Before he realized where he was going, he was on Miracle’s street. He’d wondered several times what she was up to this Friday afternoon. When he saw a Jeep parked in front of her house, the rag top and doors taken off to enjoy the beautiful, sunny afternoon, Hardy thought with a sinking heart that he knew exactly what Miracle was doing. Or at the very least with whom she was spending her time.
Jonah.
Gritting his teeth and using every ounce of his willpower not to speed away, Hardy turned his car in the direction of Nate’s.
When he arrived, the party was in full swing. As usual, Cheyenne was at the center of everything, surrounded by a group of her friends. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop her from seeing him. Immediately, she left them and made her way to him.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” she gloated.
“I’m not here to see you, Cheyenne. I’m here because it’s my best friend’s party. That’s it.”
Hardy started to walk off, but Cheyenne stepped into his path.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this. You know we belong together. But if you really need to have your…fling with this girl, then I can wait. I love you that much.”
Hardy examined Cheyenne’s flawless face. He smirked when he saw absolutely nothing beneath that perfect exterior. She was cold and shallow and had no clue what real love was. Until recently, he hadn’t either. But he did now. The way he felt about Miracle made what he’d felt for Cheyenne pale in comparison. It made him want to laugh at Cheyenne’s ridiculous statement. But he didn’t. There was no sense stirring up a hornet’s nest.
“I’m not having a fling, Cheyenne,” Hardy stated matter-of-factly before turning to go find Nate. He was beginning to regret coming.
When Hardy finally found Nate, he was in the rec room with Charlie and Robert. They were standing at the bar behind the pool table, preparing to do shots of tequila. He knew from experience that they were just blowing off steam. Getting drunk or even getting a buzz before a game was strictly a no-no. They’d get kicked off the team, no questions asked, if that ever happened.
“Shot time, dude!” Nate called when Hardy stopped in the doorway.
Hardy considered it. He wanted desperately to forget about Miracle for just a little while, but he knew it wouldn’t happen. All the tequila in the world couldn’t get her out of his mind and he knew it. She was in his head and in his heart to stay.
With a smile, he politely declined. “Nah, but thanks, man. I’m headed home. I just wanted to stop by for a sec. I’ll see you guys tonight.”
Shaking his head in pity, Nate walked around the pool table and approached Hardy. “You got it bad, don’t you?”
Hardy knew Nate wasn’t harassing him; he could tell by his tone. He was simply stating what he thought to be fact. And he just happened to be right.
Smiling, Hardy tapped his fist against the one Nate presented. He didn’t answer Nate’s question, didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard him. But in both their minds, that meant agreement. “See you tonight.”
With that, Hardy turned and walked out of the house, not even glancing in Cheyenne’s direction as he passed. He just wanted out of there. If he couldn’t be with the one person he wanted most, he’d rather be alone.
********
Because of his ritual on Fridays and his usual absence from the house, Hardy’s family had made a habit of going out to dinner before his games. Clay would ride the bus to the country club where their mother, Olivia, was found every Friday afternoon, ruling the Middleton world. Then, later, the two of them would meet up with Hardy’s father at a restaurant when he got off work. Wayne Hardy believed in ritual, even in his own life. That being the case, Hardy knew he would have the house to himself, which was exactly what he wanted—to be miserable in peace.
He was stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, when he heard the garage door. His father stomped into the living room.
“What are you doing here?” His face was a thundercloud and Hardy was immediately cautious, never mind that he could’ve asked his father the same thing.
Slowly, as if the speed of his movements could somehow soothe his father’s temper, Hardy sat up. “I went to Nate’s for a while then decided to come home before the game.”
“Where’s Cheyenne?”
“Dad, I told you—”
“And I told you that your future is more important than anything else right now. How could you be so selfish and irresponsible?”
Hardy wanted to point out that breaking up with someone you had come to loathe was hardly the definition of irresponsible, but he said nothing. He knew from years of experience that, in instances like these, silence was his best option. So he sat, calmly watching his father, wishing he’d stayed at Nate’s after all.
“Well, pack a bag while you’re here. I’m taking us to the lake for the weekend.”
Wayne Bradford turned and stalked off toward his office, slamming the door on any further conversation. In a way, Hardy was relieved. It could’ve been much worse. But his father’s dictatorial rule still burned in his gut. Hardy couldn’t wait to get away from home and start his own life somewhere else.
As he made his way up the stairs, his desire to escape his father gave way to the familiar feelings of guilt and obligation. Hardy was afraid of how his mother and brother would fare in the house without him there to protect them, to bear the brunt of his father’s temper. Although he was much younger than Clay when his father first took his fists to Hardy in a fit of rage, Hardy knew that in his absence, his father might turn on his baby brother after all. And Hardy could never let that happen.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Hardy obediently packed a bag. His visit to Miracle’s house might have to happen sooner rather than later.
********
Hardy didn’t think he’d ever had a worse game. He’d been sacked three times, he’d fumbled twice and he’d thrown four interceptions. That had to be the biggest career fail in the history of the world. His concentration hadn’t been the best from the start, but once he’d seen Miracle in the stands with Jonah, things had gone downhill at an alarming rate.
It didn’t help that occasionally Hardy would glimpse his father, glaring at him from the stands. He could almost feel the heat of his anger and disappointment all the way down on the field. His mother had no doubt noticed; she looked as nervous as a turkey on Thanksgiving. Clay was curiously absent. Hardy hoped he had enough sense to stay near the concession stand with his friends, far away from Wayne Bradford.
As important as all of that was, however, Miracle took up the majority of Hardy’s available brain space. Even when he wasn’t looking at her, he was picturing her in his head. Once, he looked up and saw Jonah with his arm around her, his head bent toward hers as he spoke into her ear. Hardy’s blood boiled with the desire to throw the football into the stands as hard as he could and ping Jonah right in the side of his perfect blond head.
But he didn’t. Instead, he just played incredibly bad football.
Yeah, that’ll show him, Hardy thought snidely.
By the end of the game, Hardy was a little less conflicted about spending the weekend at the lake. Yes, he would be trapped with his disgruntled father, but he would hopefully find distraction there. Anything to help him not think about Miracle constantly was a good alternative as far as he was concerned. The one definite upside would be that he couldn’t go see her, which would’ve been a bad idea anyway, what with Jonah obviously hanging around. At least he knew she was all right. If she were sick, she wouldn’t be at the game. Maybe the pale skin and dark circles meant she was just as miserable as he was. Then again, she didn’t look very miserable tonight.
Shaking his head to clear it, Hardy decided he wasn’t dreading the trip nearly as much as he had prior to the game. He needed to be away from Miracle. If he couldn’t be with her, he needed to find a way not to torture himself over her. Maybe he’d find that at the lake.
********
As usual, there was a party after the game. This time, Hardy didn’t have to think of a plausible excuse not to go. He had to get home for the family trip to the lake.
It wasn’t until he pulled into his driveway and saw the familiar little red convertible that Hardy became uneasy. What was Cheyenne doing at his house?
With a deep sigh, Hardy parked and made his way inside. Cheyenne was sitting in the living room, laughing with his family.
“There you are,” Wayne Bradford said cheerfully. “Glad you made it home. You’re lucky you had a car to drive after a game like that.” He laughed to take the sting out of his words, but everyone in his family knew was that there was more than a grain of truth to what the elder Bradford was saying. He’d obviously contemplated taking Hardy’s car. His charade was strictly for Cheyenne’s benefit.
Hardy smiled tightly at his father’s “teasing.”
“I could’ve skipped the lake trip and spent the weekend with Nate. I’m sure he’d have let me borrow his truck.”
“But that would’ve been rude to poor Cheyenne. She’s going along specifically to keep your company.”
“What?” Hardy couldn’t keep the surprise and displeasure from his voice.
Wayne’s eyes glinted, daring Hardy to embarrass him. “Yes, I invited her to come along. You two always loved the lake so much, why not make it a happy reunion?”
Hardy wanted to inform his father (and Cheyenne) that there would be no reunion of any kind, but he could tell that his father was still in a snit. Likely an even worse one than earlier. After the game, Hardy was surprised that his father hadn’t done something drastic, something much worse than taking his car and shoving his ex-girlfriend down his throat.
With another tight smile, Hardy excused himself, needing a minute to cool down and think.
“I guess I’d better get my bag then.” He didn’t wait for anyone’s permission; he just stalked away toward the stairs.
He took the steps two at a time, his blood on fire. He didn’t stop until he was seated on the end of his bed, behind closed doors.
He dropped his head into his hands. He still couldn’t believe how high-handed his father could be sometimes. There were no limits to what he’d do to get what he wanted, to force others to bend to his will. None.
A light knock made Hardy grit his teeth. Unless it was Clay, he had no desire to see anyone else in his house. At times like these, he blamed his mother just as much as his father, mainly because she’d stood by all his life and let his father do whatever he wanted. Even beat his son.
“What?” he snapped.
There was no answer, only the creak of the door as it slowly opened. When Cheyenne stepped through the opening and closed the door behind her, Hardy jumped up from the bed and walked to the other side of the room, stopping to cross his arms over his chest.
“What do you want, Cheyenne?”
“Look, Hardy,” she began, moving to perch on the edge of the bed in the exact spot he’d just vacated. “I know this isn’t the way you wanted to spend your weekend, but your dad called me before the game tonight, begging me to come. He just wants what’s best for you. Can’t you just humor him for one weekend and pretend like we’re getting along?”