Show Me How (It's Kind Of Personal Book 2) Read online

  SHOW ME HOW

  ANNA BROOKS

  Show Me How

  Copyright © 2015 Anna Brooks

  Published by Anna Brooks

  Cover design by Cover to Cover Designs

  Cover Photography by MHPhotography

  Editing by Editing4Indies

  Formatting by Champagne Formats

  Proofreading by Vivid Words Editing

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Acknowledgements

  Author Bio

  Dedication

  To my mom.

  For being the strongest woman I know.

  Thank you for always being there for me.

  Chapter 1

  Seventeen years old

  Mary

  I take in the faces surrounding me at the kitchen island as they sing to me. I smile, though not nearly as big on the outside as I do on the inside. They’re not my real family, but I love them more than my own blood. Hell, they love me more than my real parents do, which is why I consider Steve and Elizabeth Parker just that.

  “Make a wish!” Elizabeth says and pushes the cake in my direction. She was the mom I always wanted. When I got my period, she bought tampons with me. If I had a make-up question, she was the one who told me less was more. Help with my homework? I asked her. If it weren’t for her son, I’d make my wish that the Parkers would adopt me, but the thought of Brandon being my brother makes me want to barf.

  “Brandon first.” I elbow him, desperate for the attention to be directed to someone else. We share a birthday, and as much as I try to make it about him, he always puts me ahead of himself.

  “Nope. Ladies first,” both he and his dad, Steve, say at the same time.

  “Fine.” I pretend to think, even though every year I wish the same. I blow out the candles and close my eyes while wishing Brandon saw me as more than a best friend.

  Everyone claps, and I open my eyes to Brandon’s blue ones staring back at me. I nervously twist my long brown ponytail and grab the matches.

  I relight the numbers one and seven I just blew out, and then step back. “Your turn,” I say, trying to fade to the back of the room. Brandon grabs my hand and pulls me to stand next to him while he makes his wish.

  “Here, Steve.” Elizabeth hands him a knife. “Can you cut this? It’s still really frozen.”

  “Sure, sweetie.” The knife slices through the ice cream cake with no effort. He swipes his finger across the dessert, and when she turns with the plates, he smears the white frosting across her cheek.

  “Steven . . .” She laughs and wipes it off. “Just wait, mister.”

  “I’m counting on it.” He laughs and waggles his eyebrows.

  “The kids are here, stop it.” Her face is flushed now. I love the way they still joke with each other after being married for so long. They have fun together and are truly happy. It’s what everybody wants, the happy ending.

  What I see at home with my parents is nothing but two people who co-exist. There’s no hate or abuse, but there’s no love either. More of a mutual understanding of two people who live together and happen to have a child. A kid who they forget even exists.

  “Here, darlin’.” Elizabeth hands me a plate. I smile and take it, then retreat to the kitchen table.

  Travis, Brandon’s younger brother by four years, joins me. He smiles at me before he eats his cake, not saying anything, which is fine by me. He’s always been a quiet kid, content on his own.

  “You all right?” Brandon grabs a seat next to me, his thigh pressing against mine. I force myself to keep still and not pull back; I don’t want to give anything away.

  “Yup. Fine.”

  “You tried to disappear.”

  Every time. He catches me every time. “I did not. It was your turn to blow out the candles. I was just backing away.”

  He eyes me before turning his spoon upside down and licking the ice cream off it. “Uh-huh,” he mumbles, unconvinced. He knows I hate being the center of attention.

  “So, you like your present?” I ask. His parents got him passes to go on the field during a spring training session. Brandon loves baseball. He’s been on the varsity team since our freshman year, and if it wasn’t for his passion of becoming a police officer like his dad, he could go pro.

  “Hell, yeah. It’s awesome.”

  I love seeing him so happy. It makes me happy, too. We’ve been best friends for almost ten years. My family moved down the street, and I met Brandon when I was riding my bike around the block. I was by myself, like always. The baseball he was tossing in the air missed his glove and rolled toward me. I hopped off my bike, picked it up, and threw it back. We started talking like kids do, no pretense or motive, and our friendship has only grown from there.

  We used to walk to school together until he was old enough to drive. Now he picks me up and drops me off, since I don’t have enough money for a car. When he has baseball practice, I hang around until he can take me home. I could walk, but I have nothing to go home to, so I don’t mind waiting for him. I either catch up on my homework, run, or read a book until he’s ready.

  On the weekends, I am at the Parker’s house. Days off school, the same thing. I celebrate holidays in their home and sneak into Brandon’s room at night when I can’t sleep. He holds me and makes me feel safe until I can finally drift off. I'm not sure what his parents know, but they don’t say anything. In fact, they rarely bring up my home life.

  Ever since one night about four years ago, I haven’t been able to sleep well. A strange man stumbled into my bedroom around midnight. I screamed and my dad came in. He didn’t yell at the guy or anything, just grabbed his arm and dragged him out of my room. I had no idea what the man was going to do. The next day, I bought extra chain locks and put them on my door. I also pushed my dresser against it. It still wasn’t enough to make me feel safe some nights.

  Strange people are always in my house on the weekends, but they usually ignore me, which is pretty easy to do since I’m usually not home. As I’ve gotten older, I realize it’s because they’re high. I look back on things I had seen just a couple of years ago, before I knew what it really was, and can’t believe the kinds of things my parents are involved in.

  I’ve never told
Brandon a lot about my parents, despite his insistence. He’s gotten a few things to slip from my mouth, but as far as I know, he hasn’t said anything to his dad. The Parkers all just think my parents are losers who don’t care about me. I don’t want Steve to know the truth. If he does, they’ll go to jail. Where would I go, then? To the state? I don’t want to be taken away, so I stay silent.

  Brandon nudges me with his leg. “Where’d you go?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You were staring at the wall.” He laughs.

  “Oh. Umm, just thinking about finals.”

  He pulls his head back. “Finals are over a month away.”

  “More like only a month away. I need good grades if I have any hope of getting an academic scholarship. Not all of us are as gifted as Brandon Parker and get offered a full ride when they’re a sophomore.” I tease and poke him in the rib.

  “Don’t be jealous.”

  “Whatever.”

  I throw my garbage out then give Steve and Elizabeth a hug. “Thanks so much for everything. You guys didn’t have to get me anything.”

  “Nonsense.” Elizabeth waves me off. “You’re like our own daughter. It’s not much anyway.”

  Like hell, it’s not. They got me a gift card to a bookstore and new running shoes. Expensive shoes.

  “Well, I love it. Thanks again.”

  I hike my backpack up on my shoulders and flick Brandon’s ear. “I’m heading out.”

  “Hold up. Let me throw my shoes on.”

  “I’m fine. I can walk half a block by myself.”

  “Don’t,” he says and walks to the back hall.

  I roll my eyes and Elizabeth shrugs. “Night, honey!” she calls.

  “Night. And thanks again!”

  “I’m ready now.” Brandon appears beside me and reaches for my backpack.

  I reluctantly hand it over. He always carries my stuff, drives me everywhere, and pays for everything. I don’t mind chivalry, but I’m capable of doing some things on my own. He acts like it’s the fifties or something.

  On the short walk back to my house, the streetlights buzz and the crickets chirp. The silence between us isn’t awkward; it never is. We can be in each other’s company and not fill the quiet with small talk. Or we can talk nonstop. Either way, it’s never awkward. It’s always easy . . . so easy.

  When we reach my back door, he pushes it open for me. We walk quietly inside and up to my room. Nobody else is home, which is not a surprise. My parents usually don’t get home until after bar close during the week.

  I walk ahead of him on the stairs, and right at the top, I open my bedroom door. He sets my bag down and goes to the dresser.

  “Glad you got ’em,” he says, rubbing the delicate, light purple petals between his fingers.

  I take him in for a moment while he’s distracted. His muscular body looks great even in black track pants and a t-shirt. The dark brown mop on top of his head is in desperate need of a cut. And when he finally turns to look at me, his light blue eyes are a shade deeper.

  “They’re beautiful.” I point to the sweet peas on my dresser. Seventeen of them, one stem for every year old. He gets them for me every year. And this year, he also got me a pair of diamond earrings. He must feel bad that my parents never get me anything because he always spends a lot on me. When I told him that they were too much, he shrugged and said, “You’re my best friend. You should have nice things.” The earrings aren’t too big; he knows I’m more of a tomboy. Maybe that’s why he only sees me as a friend.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you more.” I hang my head in shame. I never have extra cash to buy him nice things since any money I make bussing tables at the restaurant goes toward food or clothes for myself. All I could buy for him were some nosebleed tickets for the baseball game in a few weeks.

  “Hey,” he whispers and stands in front of me.

  I raise my head a little, and he gently grabs my ponytail to force me to look him in the eye.

  “I love them. We’re going to have a great time, and anything from you means the world to me. I don’t care how much it costs.”

  I blink back tears because he’s so perfect. And in another year, when we graduate, he’s going to go off to a big fancy college and I worry I’ll never see him again. Plus, he’s never seen me cry. I’m not starting now.

  “Sure.” I smile and duck out from under him. I busy myself with taking my books out of my backpack, even though I did all my homework already.

  It’s so hard being in my room alone with him. I want him to kiss me so bad. I’ve wanted that for years, but there’s always been an invisible line. It’s never crossed. We’re friends. Best friends. Who don’t kiss. He may hold me at night and always have his arm around me or hold my hand, but we don’t kiss.

  He clears his throat and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You good?”

  “Umm, yup.” I sit on my bed and open a textbook to no particular page. “Happy birthday. And thanks again for the earrings.” I touch the square stones and smile at him. “I love them.”

  “I love you,” he says back in a baby voice.

  If only he meant it the way I feel it, deep down and soul crushing. “Love you, too. Now go, it’s getting darker.”

  His laugh makes me laugh. “I’m not scared of the dark.” He walks over and squats down in front of me. The tip of his index finger slides down the side of my face, and I suck in a breath. His lips find mine in a soft, gentle kiss. Slow, sweet, perfect. “Happy birthday, Mary.”

  I fight the urge to pull him back and demand more from him, but the shock has me firmly planted, unable to move.

  “It is the perfect date,” I whisper, quoting a line from my favorite movie.

  “Not too hot, not too cold,” he says back, just as soft as I did.

  “All you need is a light jacket.”

  His eyes sparkle and he kisses me again then walks out and shuts the door behind him.

  * * *

  Brandon just parked the car in the lot of a Halloween haunted house, and I’m already regretting my decision to come. It was originally supposed to be a big group of guys from the baseball team along with us, but they all bailed at the last minute, going to a house party instead. I tighten the earrings he got for my birthday six months ago, a habit I’ve developed for fear they’ll fall out.

  “Why are we still going?” I ask him.

  “Because it’ll be fun.” He walks around to open my door.

  “I hate these things, Brandon. Who purposely wants to be scared?” My hand pulls at the door, showing him my hesitation.

  “Come on. It’s not scary. It’s fun.” He grabs my hand and tugs me toward the entrance.

  “Fine, but I plan on keeping my eyes shut the whole time and following you.”

  He laughs. “How are you going to follow me if your eyes are shut?”

  “I’ll just hold on to your shirt or something.”

  “You’re such a baby.”

  I punch him in the shoulder, and he mocks injury. He pays for the tickets, and as we stand in line I shiver from the cool fall air. Strong arms come around me and his hands run up and down my arms, trying to bring warmth. Little does he know that every time he touches me, my body ignites, starting a fire low in my belly that only he can put out.

  “Next!”

  It’s our turn in the line, and before we enter, a man offers to take our picture for five bucks. I stand in front of the gory backdrop, huddled into Brandon while the creepy clown snaps the shot and prints it quickly then hands it back to Brandon. He puts it in his back pocket and leads me into the dark, abandoned warehouse.

  A chainsaw revs, and I scream, burying my face in the back of his sweatshirt. Shuffling my feet along the floor, I try my best not to run into him, but every time he stops or jumps back, I kick him. “Would you let go and walk next to me? It’s not that bad, I promise.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’d never lie to you. And I’d never put you in a place where you can
get hurt. We’re already halfway through.” His voice holds so much sincerity. I nod and grab his hand as my eyes try to adjust.

  I scream every time someone jumps out, which is about every five seconds. We’ve gotta be almost done. My heart is pounding from fear, but I can’t help laughing. As we round a corner, we’re suddenly in a pitch-black room, and I’m ripped from Brandon’s grasp.

  “Brandon!”

  “What the fuck? Mary!”

  Loud, creepy music plays and colored lights flash. Doors squeak open and closed. I’m not sure if it’s the sound effects, or if they’re real. The cackling and yelling are so loud, I cover my ears, trying to squint through the darkness to find Brandon.

  I yell for him, but there’s no way he can hear me. Someone grabs my arm roughly, and I scream. I’m dragged through the dark room into an even darker hallway and shoved hard against a brick wall.

  “Let me go!” I push and hit, trying my best to get away. It’s really hard because I can’t see anything. “You can’t touch me!” I yell at the worker. At least, I think it’s a worker and this is a sick part of the experience.

  “I don’t work here, bitch.”

  My brain scrambles as I try to take stock of what in the hell is going on. A door opens down the hall, and for a brief moment, light shines through. I open my mouth to scream, but it’s quickly covered. The man holding me—teenager, I should say—is wearing our rival school’s letter jacket and baseball hat.

  “Your boyfriend thinks he can embarrass me? First, he hits me with a pitch, then he strikes me out. Then the fucker has the audacity to wink at me when he rounds the bases after his homer.” His voice is filled with so much hatred, my fear rises even more.

  “Let me go. Please,” I beg him, but his grip tightens.

  “On my home turf!” His spit hits me on the cheek and mixes with my tears as they roll down my face.

  His hand releases from my mouth, and he pinches my breast through my sweatshirt, hard.

  “Ow! Stop!” I’m not strong enough to push him off me, but I try. I’m panicked and frenzied, trying to fight him. My hand somehow has enough strength to hit him in the face, but it only fuels him on.