Fragile(35)
Author: M. Leighton

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.