Page 28 of The Score We Never Settled

Cruz might play the role of being a Southern gentleman now, but I remember the things he used to say to Briggs. I recall the way he would taunt and pretend we were more than what we were and what I asked.

The moral of the story is this: I asked Cruz to be my fake boyfriend in name only so I could go to the baseball games to watch Briggs play, and anywhere else he may be. Since Uncle Ben approved of Cruz—for whatever reason—I was able to go out to parties where Briggs would be and give Uncle Ben a sense of security that I wasn’t going off the deep end with the town bad boy.

But I had already gone down the deep end.

The whole plan was purposely made to dive off, headfirst, and go exactly for the boy he didn’t want me by.

Did I feel guilty about it?

Sure.

Did it suck having Cruz sit at our dining room table instead of Briggs while we lied about what we were to each other?

Absolutely.

It was never supposed to keep going. However, Uncle Ben’s blood pressure started to become a problem, and the thought of losing him after I’ve already lost both my parents wasn’t a card I was willing to play.

“It’s not a problem,” I mutter. “Good to see you, Cruz.”

“You too.” He gestures to Zoe and Fallon. “As well as you ladies.”

“Drop dead,” Fallon retorts with her sass at the same time Zoe replies, “get lost, dweeb.”

Cruz chuckles. “Dweeb? What are we five, Zo?—”

“Get lost, Weston.”

Immediate dread fills my veins and chest cavity before Cruz turns around, giving me the full spectrum of Briggs Kerrigan standing behind him.

Crap, now I’m saying his full name.

His expression is murderous, literal daggers boring into the back of Cruz’s head, and for a split second, I think he’s going to throw a punch; that’s how pissed he appears.

His shoulders are tense, his fingers are coiled into tight fists at his sides, and I’ve seen this version of Briggs before.

In fact, I’ve seen it several times, in different places, but with the same guy.

Cruz.

“Didn’t your manager tell you to stay away from me?” Cruz has the complete audacity to say to him like he’s never been punched in the face by Briggs before. “I’m gonna file a restraining order against you.”

“Get in line.”

Cruz glances over at me, appearing to look for some help in the manner. “Layla Jean, baby, will you?—”

Without realizing it, at first, I’m rising to my feet, knowing damn well I shouldn’t get in between them if they’re going to fight.

Once, Cruz accidentally elbowed me in the face, and I had a black eye for weeks.

Briggs was so mad, he poured wet concrete into Cruz’s Jeep and left it out to bake in the sun. He was upset fordays, and there was nothing I could do or say because, every time he looked at me, he was reminded of what happened.

So, I faked being sick for a few days, and that made him even more irate because he couldn’t see me, while I was trying to keep him from becoming more town gossip.

I swear, when he’s furious, there’s no calming him down. It took Cruz over two days to find his car, and by that time, it was a mess, and the damage had already been done.

“You’re not gonna fight me in front of these ladies, are you?” Cruz drones, sounding bored about the prospect, but he really should be concerned that Briggs actually will. “Didn’t yourdaddyteach you any manners?”

Okay, that’s enough.