Fragile(36)
Author: M. Leighton

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?”

She sounded calm and rational. She also sounded clueless. Cheyenne had no idea what his father was really like, what kind of a monster lurked beneath that polished surface. Hardy had always taken great pains to hide any marks his father had left on him, first out of fear of his father’s wrath then out of fear for his mother and brother. He worried that if Social Services removed him from the home under those type circumstances, humiliating his father that way, that there would be hell to pay at home. Pure hell.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Cheyenne.”

“Then tell me. Help me understand. I don’t see why this is such a huge deal.” She paused, casting her eyes down docilely. “Unless you had plans with someone else, that is.”

Hardy knew better than to fall for her ploys. Cheyenne was up to something and he knew it. He just didn’t know what.

Biting his tongue, Hardy rubbed the back of his neck, squeezing the tense muscles he felt there. He knew arguing was not the wisest way to start the weekend, not when he would be locked up with two people that irked him most in the world. He was smart enough to realize when to play it cool.

Hardy sighed. “I’m just surprised. That’s all. And, after that game, I’m grouchy. But I’ll get over it. Let’s just try to get through this, okay?”

That must’ve been something close to what Cheyenne wanted to hear. She perked up immediately.

“Just pretend like things are getting better between us and he’ll be fine. He just wants you to be happy.”

“Cheyenne, I’m gonna go along with this weekend thing, but you and I both know we are not getting back together.”

Although she looked thwarted, Hardy could tell she wasn’t convinced. He doubted her ego would allow her to believe it was possible to be dumped and spurned by the same person in less than a week.

“Whatever you say, Hardy,” she said, smiling sweetly. Nope. She wasn’t convinced.

Resigned, Hardy grabbed the bag he’d packed earlier. He made a point to slide his cell phone charger into the side pocket of the long, blue duffel. Even though he doubted he’d use it, it was some small comfort to him knowing that he could at least call or text Miracle if he was so inclined. It made him feel not so separated from her.

Walking past Cheyenne without a word, Hardy carried his bag down the stairs, out the door and into the garage where he tossed it into the back of his father’s Navigator.

Hardy was almost back in the living room when he had a moment of inspiration. He decided to drive himself to the lake. At least maybe he wouldn’t feel so trapped if he had a means of escape.

As he retraced his steps and transferred his bag from the Navigator to his car, he debated the best way to go about it. It was then he realized his father had provided him with the perfect excuse. He just didn’t know it.

When Hardy stopped in the living room doorway, he announced without preamble, “I think I’ll drive, too, so that Cheyenne and I can talk.” Hardy smiled at Cheyenne, really selling it. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

Cheyenne was beaming. “That sounds perfect.”

Although his attention was trained on Cheyenne, Hardy didn’t miss his father’s smug grin. He didn’t let it bother him, though. Daddy dearest just didn’t know who was playing whom.

Hardy had the sudden urge to laugh. It felt incredible to finally get one over on the great Wayne Bradford.

Soon after, both Hardy and his father were pulling out of the driveway, heading inland toward their house on a small lake there. Most people thought they were crazy for leaving the coast in favor of a lake, but Hardy’s father liked the solitude of the spot and, in the Bradford household, that was all that mattered.

Knowing that he’d succeeded in outwitting his father kept Hardy smiling for the lion’s share of the seventy minute trip. He even managed to engage Cheyenne in some small talk.

He was nice. She was nice. It wasn’t his nature to be mean and rude after all, and he had led her to believe that they’d talk. So he talked.