Page 87 of The Masks We Wear

Amora leans against my car, eyeing me with those piercing blue orbs that I swear can read my mind. “I’ve already talked to the girls, no one gives two fucks about your shitty ass Mom. They know the team wouldn’t be half of what it is today without you. You got to have more faith in them.”

Even though my throat is dry, I still attempt a harsh swallow. Over the past few days, it’s settled in that I don’t really care how I’m perceived in terms of the Hierarchy at Emerald Falls. I created a facade of being distant to keep everyone away in hopes of never feeling neglected. When really, I never had to worry about it in the first place.

The people thatmatter, the ones that show up every day, have taught me what love is. How it looks when times are tough, and you need a kick in your ass. Or when you need the help of a doctor. Or when you’re being stupid and giving up that once-in-a-lifetime type love.

So while I’m glad the girls are fine, not bothered by my parentage, I’m even happier that they are ready to show out, despite it.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” I finally answer, grabbing my pom-poms and joining Amora inside.

The colossal stadium is packed. Bodies squeeze past one another to find seats in the college basketball stadium. The smell of popcorn flits in the air, along with accidental taps of blow horns and chatter, making it impossible to think.

I catch a quick glimpse of the mat in the center of the court. It’s double the size from last year, I assume, to accommodate the new outrageous routines, and it lights up like the Radio City Music Hall.

Amora jerks my hand, weaving us through the bodies into the honeycomb hallways overridden with cheerleaders. Colors of every combination clash, reflecting off the polished walls. Music of all kinds stream in between the bodies, counts are recited, and girls dry heave into paper bags.

When we finally get to our room, a giant EMERALD FALLS sign is posted on the door.

But when we pivot inside, the room is quiet. Dead silence, actually. Stacy stands with her back to the entrance. A frail hand on her hip, the other gesturing in the air. Tonya catches us in the corner of her eye and slips a quick finger over her lips.

“Are you serious right now? No one fucking cares that this peasant son of a bitch is going toleadus out there? We’ll be the laughingstock,” Stacy scoffs, both hands on her hips now.

My stomach somersaults, landing with a sickening thud, while my blood turns into nothing more than boiling liquid, flowing through my veins so fast I start to see double. Nothing else matters except the vision of red, swaying her hips in front of me. All I need to hear, all I need to know is-

“So I did all that work, exposing the little bitch and it was all for nothing!?”

That’s all I needed.

“Stacy.” That’s her only warning because, frankly, I don’t give afuckwhy she did it. There is not an excuse in the world that could justify her sticking a knife in my throat when I have done nothing but help groom her to take over next year.

She turns, her red pony swinging before her primped face connects with my fist. There’s a crack in the air, echoing through the narrow hallway, and then the pop of her ass hitting the floor.

I may have put the past eighteen years of neglect in that one punch, sprinkled with some of the abuse. And maybe a little bit of the closure Dr. Floren talked about.

Even though I’m seventy percent sure I fractured my hand, the relief is immediate. It spreads through my limbs, relaxing the muscles like the best dose of endorphins I’ve had in a week. But it’s a short high. I’m not stupid. Without Stacy, we are missing a near vital part of the crew, and our stand-ins won’t be enough. Dread creeps in. I let the girls down, in one weak moment, when I couldn’t control my emotions. They’ve worked so hard, and just like that…

“Wherever your head is at… stop. Focus.” Amora leans in with her whispers, the heat of her words combating the chill wrecking through my body. “Fuck her. She deserved it. We got this.”

I muster the best smile I can, turning to the crew that’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Amusement dancing in their eyes, excitement in their bouncy steps. Amora is right, and after we win, I’m racing home to get my damn man.

“Alright, ladies. Showtime.”

THIRTY SEVEN

To say I’ve been a fucking wreck the last five days is the understatement of the century. Sleeping, eating, hell, even thinking has become a daunting task I have to force myself to do. There’s no way I can prove I didn’t do it. Hell, it makes perfect sense that itwouldbe me. But that’s not going to stop me from trying to prove tooth and nail until the truth does come out.

Too many times have I let this girl walk out of my life, with me in the rear, willingly letting her.

Not this time.

She needs to know that without a shadow of a doubt, she is for me. I am for her. And that’s it.

Which explains why my dumbass drove out to regionals as a one last grand gesture. I have no fucking clue what to say or how I might persuade her, not to mention I’m a ball of nerves. Thisalsoexplains why William drove me, lecturing me the entire way. It wasn’t until we pulled up and saw the flock of cheerleaders, he relaxed a little.

“She’s hot, no offense.” He holds his hands up, a silent surrender to the wrath he dealt with after he mistakenly kissed her during a Halloween party. “But jeesh, man. How many signs are you going to need from the universe before you grab some new snatch?”

“Are you done?” I ask over my shoulder, meandering through the dense crowd.

He always brings up how long it took me to get her out of my mind back in Idaho. How long I moped around until I finally found something to keep my mind busy. But I never moved on, and those girls were only a distraction. She’s it for me.

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