Carson did neither.
“You’re not crazy,” he said vehemently.
“I’m not?” Tears that had been building finally spilled over, coursing down my cheeks. “I really can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not real anymore.”
He inched closer, chasing the tears away with his thumb. “Look, there’s got to be an explanation for a lot of these things. You said Scott saw the first note, right? And I saw you with the yellow piece of paper in bio that one day. Those notes existed.”
“But what about the one in the car? I didn’t even have my purse with me, and I would have sworn that it was there.”
“Look, I’m not ruling out stress. When my…when my mom died, my dad thought he did so many things that he didn’t do. Once he left the car running and blamed me for it. He even wrote notes, like to-do lists, and then forgot he did it.” He caught another tear, wiping it away. “And you said the guy was kind of like a black blur?”
I nodded, sniffling.
“In class that one day you were drawing a dark figure. I think what’s happening is your subconscious is pushing through. The guy in the woods and in the car—it could be a memory.” A muscle popped in his jaw, but his eyes, so vividly blue they looked violet, were still incredibly soft. “You don’t know what happened to you. Someone could’ve been chasing you. The hallucinations could all be memories.”
“My reflection talking to me is a memory?” I blushed even though I’d told him about it.
“Like I said, some of it’s probably stress, and that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said gently. “You’ve been through a lot, Sam. And you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself to remember so you can help find out what happened to Cassie.” He paused, cupping my cheek. “Please. Please stop crying.”
His softly spoken plea reached down inside me, clamping around my heart. I nodded, doing my best to stop my tears. It was hard, given how freaking perfect he was being about all of this.
“Thank you,” I finally said when the tears subsided, and he pulled his hand back. “I mean it. I don’t feel so…so crazy right now.”
A small grin tugged at his lips. “I’m happy to hear it.”
My chest fluttered again, and I rolled onto my back, taking deep, steady breaths. I’d told him about the vision with Dianna, and I wanted to know what that was about, but I knew better than to push it right now.
Carson also flipped onto his back. Several moments passed between us; the silence was soothing, not at all awkward. “You really think going up on the cliff would help?”
“Yeah,” I sighed, wiping my palms over my damp cheeks. “I think it might. Mrs. Messer keeps suggesting that I visit familiar places.”
“I can go with you,” he offered. “I know the layout pretty well. You used to know your way around there, too.”
I used to know a lot of things. Turning my head toward him, I smiled. “If you can…that would be great.”
“Would Del the Dick get mad?” One dark eyebrow arched mockingly.
Good question. I gave a lopsided shrug. “I don’t think so, but you shouldn’t call him that.”
Carson chuckled. “Do you care if he gets mad?”
My immediate response was on the tip of my tongue, but I squelched it and changed the subject. “I doubt my parents will let me out of the house this weekend, but maybe after school…”
“Whenever you want, just let me know.”
“I will.” I looked at him again, my eyes crawling across the broad cheekbones and parted lips. Part of me knew then that I would never grow tired of looking at him, but it was so much, much more than that. Carson made me feel normal—sane. That was worth more than anything I could ever say or do to repay him. “Thank you for coming by. I really mean it.”
He smiled again, revealing that chipped tooth, and my breath caught. “It’s no problem. I’m surprised you haven’t kicked me out yet.”
“Really? You shouldn’t be. I like you,” I said, flushing. “I probably shouldn’t admit that, but I do. I like you, and I can’t figure out why I didn’t see it before.”
There wasn’t surprise in his expression, just curiosity as he watched me. He rolled back onto his side. His knee pressed against my thigh, separated only by the quilt. His proximity made the bed seem much, much smaller.
“It’s weird,” he finally said. “There’re parts of you I recognize. Your…boldness is familiar. The way you just say whatever you’re thinking.”
Right now I was thinking about how crazy it was that my entire leg was tingling and how nothing in this world could make me look away. Our faces were only inches apart. The space was sweet and torturous. None of these sensations occurred when I was with Del. That had to mean something.
“And then there’s this whole different side that’s new.” His lips tipped up on one side. “The funny thing is, this new version of Sam reminds me of how you were when we were kids.”
My gaze dipped to his lips. They were so full, so soft-looking. “Is that a good thing?”
Carson’s smile faded. “It’s different.”
“Oh.” I met his eyes again, wondering if I could just will him to kiss me and if I should even want that, all things considered. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“Different is good.” He drew in a stuttered breath and looked away.
When I realized I was still staring at his profile, I forced my eyes to the little stars on the ceiling.
“You were my first kiss,” he said quietly.
I nearly jumped from the shock, and from the fact that I oh-so-liked the sound of that. “I was? Was it good? Were you my first kiss?” Please say yes, please say yes.
Carson tipped his head back, shoulders shaking in a silent laugh. “We were ten, so I’m hoping I was your first kiss.”
Ten? My shoulders deflated. Way too young to mean anything.
“We were playing spin the bottle or something lame like that,” he added, tipping his chin down so he was looking at me. “Your parents caught us. Your mom flipped out, but your dad laughed.”
I frowned. “I can imagine.”
We sat there for a while in silence, and once again it wasn’t silence filled with pity and discomfort. Just two people who were able to sit—or lie—side by side in peace. It was perfect.
“Should I leave?” Carson asked, his breath dancing over my forehead.
I shook my head. “I don’t want you to…yet.”
He seemed to understand and didn’t push it. A few minutes later, he shifted, and before I could feel the cold bite of disappointment, he lifted his arm and waited. My heart pounded off my ribs as I realized what he was offering. Dizzy and breathless, I scooted toward him and slowly placed my cheek on his chest. There was a heavy, tense pause, and then he wrapped his arm around me, curving his fingers over my shoulder.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands, but he smelled like citrus and soap—a scent unique to him. Eventually, I folded my hands against his side, and he jerked a little. Worried that I’d done something wrong, I lifted my chin and my breath stalled again.
Carson was looking at me, and our mouths were only an inch or two apart. Sooty lashes hid his eyes, but I felt them, their power. And the need in them, as if it were my own—it was my own.
And suddenly it didn’t matter that everyone believed I didn’t know who I was anymore, because with him—with Carson—I knew who I wanted to be, and that was all that mattered.
He made a low sound in the back of his throat and moved toward me, pressing his forehead against mine. My hand seemed to know what to do. I placed it on his cheek, my thumb smoothing over the skin below his lip, and he shuddered at the slight touch. It felt as if I’d never done this before, even if Del claimed we’d done everything before.
This was my first—that I remembered—with Carson, and that felt right.
My thumb found his lower lip, and the sharp edge of his teeth grazed my skin. The act was strangely intimate, rough and sensual
. My eyes fluttered close, and I waited for my second first kiss….
Carson wrapped his hand around mine, gently pulling it back.
Not what I was waiting for. Damn it. I opened my eyes, confused. “Why?”
“Why? Why is your favorite word now, isn’t it?” Humor laced his words, not annoyance or frustration. “You’re still such a freaking terror.”
When Scott had said that before, it hadn’t sounded like a good thing, but Carson made it sound endearing, fun. I smiled. “I want you to kiss me.”
Heat flared in his eyes, and something inside me knew how to respond to that. The edge of the quilt slipped a little, and I pressed forward, our chests touching. Everywhere our bodies met, my skin warmed in a way that felt completely new.
A sudden deepening of his eyes occurred, and his jaw tensed. “Sam…”
“Carson?”
Carson closed his eyes briefly. And then he rolled over me, supporting his weight with one arm so quickly that the air left my lungs in a harsh rush. He stared down at me, eyes a mosaic of every blue possible. “You shouldn’t be asking me that.”
There was barely an inch separating us, and I had trouble focusing my thoughts. “I know.”
He reached down, brushing the thick strands of hair off my cheek. His fingers lingered against my skin, sliding down to my jaw. Staring at his lips, I needed to know how they felt. How they tasted. I inhaled sharply, bringing my chest against his once more. A dizzy rush of sensations cascaded through me, and again, I was struck by the sense of how right this was.
Carson lowered his head, and my heart stuttered. He pressed his lips against my forehead, then my temple, a sweeping brush along my cheek, and then he placed a wickedly chaste kiss on the corner of my lips. He spoke into the warm space between our lips. “You’re not mine to kiss, Sam.”
I felt the extreme urge to pout, and Carson must’ve sensed it, because he laughed softly and cupped my cheek. His body lowered onto mine in a way that said it was completely at odds with what was coming out of his mouth. Wishing the quilt wasn’t between us, I shifted under him. His eyes closed, and the hand beside my head pushed into the mattress as his jaw worked. I moved my hips again, and then gasped at the raw shiver that whipped through me.
Carson dropped his forehead to mine again. “Sam, you’re really making it hard to be a good guy.”
I placed the tips of my fingers on his cheek, and his lashes swept up. “What if I don’t want you to be the good guy?”
“I want to be the good guy with you.” He took another breath. “You deserve that.”
Oh.
“I don’t like Del,” he admitted, staring straight into my eyes. “He’s a dick, and you’ve always deserved better than him, but I’m not that kind of guy. At least, I’m trying to not be with you.”
“But I’m not his.”
His brows rose as he pulled back. His fingers found the silver chain around my neck. I caught my breath when the back of his knuckles brushed over my collarbone as he held the Tiffany’s heart between us. “This says differently.”
chapter fifteen
Spring had greeted us with a brief rain shower on the morning of Cassie’s funeral, but then the dark clouds parted an hour before and the sun shone, casting light over the large funeral home. School hadn’t been canceled, but it might as well have been, as it seemed the entire student body was there, shuffling up the walkway that separated the old part of the cemetery from the new. Everyone was dressed in black. Some wore slacks while others had dug out black party dresses.
The service…it was what I’d expected, but worse. There were so many tears, even from those I figured Cassie would have never been nice to. I had to squelch the urge to get up and run several times. It was hard to breathe in there. Hard to even think with the remembrances and the songs played. But with Del keeping his hand clamped tightly around mine, and my parents behind me watching like hawks, I didn’t dare move.
For the hundredth time, I closed my dry eyes and dragged in a ragged breath. The sorrow for the girl I couldn’t remember built in my chest, but it wouldn’t break free. Just like I couldn’t break free.
I looked at the well-manicured fingers curled around mine, and in the middle of all this sadness, I felt guilt. Guilt for not being able to shed a tear—for holding this boy’s hand when I’d begged another to kiss me a few days ago. My life was a mess, but as my eyes were drawn to the casket’s polished mahogany, I knew that my life—as screwed up as it was—had to be better than no life.
Tulips surrounded the coffin, and a picture rested in a bed of baby’s breath. I hadn’t gone up during the visitation, but I could see the photo from here.
It was of us.
We were sitting on a bench at school, backs against each other, cheesing it up for the camera. It was the first time I’d seen the picture, and we looked younger in it, our smiles real, connected somehow.
“I took that picture,” Del whispered in my ear, catching me staring at it.
Nodding, I slipped my hand free. Scanning the front of the church, I caught sight of Cassie’s mom. The only reason I knew it was her was because she was sobbing, clutching a picture frame to her chest during the entire service. My heart broke for her.
Even with the tears, Cate Winchester was beautiful. Young. Her light brown hair was cut in a fashionable bob, accenting high cheekbones and a graceful neck. Some of Cassie’s features were there—the lips and the slender frame.
There was a moment of silence as the pastor returned to the podium. The back of my neck tingled. I twisted around in the pew, and my gaze slid to the back row. My eyes locked with Detective Ramirez’s dark eyes.
“Samantha,” my mother hissed, drawing my attention. She looked mortified. “Turn around.”
Scott rolled his eyes.
Biting my lip, I whipped around and faced the front. Del dropped a heavy hand on my knee and squeezed, causing me to jump. Veronica shot me a look over the rim of her sunglasses, and then her gaze dropped. Her plump lips thinned, and she stiffly turned away.
I took a deep breath and lowered my head in prayer. Familiar words resonated through the church. Del’s hand crept up my thigh, and my body locked up. Not just because it was completely inappropriate on about a thousand different levels, but because somewhere over the long weekend, I’d made up my mind that the two of us needed to have a serious talk.
Without any warning, my vision dulled, turning gray. The church, coffin, Del’s creeping hand—everything—broke away, leaving just Cassie and me.
She plopped down on a bed—her bed. “Stop bitching. You’re lucky to have a dad who wants to be in your life.”
I rolled my eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed as I stared down at my toes. A jar of red nail polish was in my hand. Everything else lacked life and vibrancy. I looked over my shoulder. “You can have him.”
“Really?” She rolled onto her side, flipping her long hair over her slender shoulder. “I’ll take him. And that supercute sweater you’re wearing. Oh, while we’re at it, can I also have Del?”
Annoyance flashed and grew in me like a weed. “You don’t even try to hide the fact that you always want what I have. And you aren’t getting my sweater.”
Grinning shamelessly, she watched me with catlike interest. “But I can have Del? Awesome.”
My eyes narrowed as I twisted the lid back on the polish. Standing, I placed it on her bedside table and picked up the music box. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She sprang from the bed and grabbed the music box out of my hands. Holding it close to her chest, she smirked. “You don’t really want him, but you won’t let him go.”
For a moment, I thought she was going to clunk me over the head with the box. “I’m out of here,” I said.
Cassie laughed. “Don’t be pissy, Sammy. It brings out the lines around your mouth. Wouldn’t want to age yourself prematurely.”
“Don’t be a bitch,” I retorted, heading for the door.
She dashed
in front of me, grasping my arms. Her eyes, greener than mine, filled with regret. “Don’t be mad at me, Sammy. I wasn’t being serious. You know that, right?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Part of me wanted to push her away. She thought I didn’t have my suspicions—that I didn’t know. But the other part of me, well, it felt bad for her. After all, I understood Cassie better than anyone else. Knew why she did the things she did, even to me—her best friend.
“Please?” She bounced on her heels.
Forcing a smile, I nodded. “Yeah, I’m not mad at you.”
Cassie let out a squeal and wrapped her arms around me. “You know, when we’re old and ugly, we’re still going to be best friends, right?”
I laughed. “If we don’t kill each other before then.”
Don't Look Back Page 17
