Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series

by Pogue, Lindsey

  Bobby nods, rakes his fingers through his hair again, and with one long stride is inside. He studies me for a second. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’m okay.” I set my glass down on the bookshelf by the door.

  “When Dad said you weren’t coming home I wanted to make sure.” He wraps his arms around me, and amidst my surprise, I feel a pang of sadness.

  Closing my eyes, I let out a long, easing breath and squeeze him tighter. “I’m fine, Bobby, really. I’m just taking some time to figure out a few first-world problems.”

  Eventually, he pulls away and peers down at me, his six-foot-one frame to my five-nine. Bobby and Sam give each other a little wave in greeting.

  I motion toward the couch, for him to sit, but he shakes his head. “No, I have to go. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It’s weird not having you in the house. And with the whole Mom thing . . . I dunno. I was in the area.”

  Bobby’s not the most emotive or perceptive person, and he’s definitely not one to dwell or get lost in his feelings, at least that I’ve ever seen, so the fact that he’s here, that he’s concerned, sort of surprises me. It’s endearing, and it means more to me than he could possibly know.

  “Well, I’ll definitely be okay,” I say with a reassuring smile. Staring into his crinkled baby blues, I ask, “How are you doing with all of this?” There’s a disquiet in them I wonder if I should be worried about.

  Bobby shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs, looking between me and Sam. “The Mom stuff doesn’t bother me so much. It’s different for me, not really remembering her much. You not being home, though—it just feels like there’s too much changing at once.”

  “Yeah, I hear ya, but we’ll all be okay. And just because I’m not staying at the house doesn’t mean I’m not around.” I swallow and give his arm a little rub, still a little numb to the idea that we’re even having this conversation. “Maybe we can have Christmas at my new place, assuming I have one by then.”

  He nods and then we stand there for a few seconds as the reality of everything starts to really sink in for me. I clap my hands together, making him start, when I notice he’s wearing his letterman jacket, which generally means one thing: a girl. “So, what sort of trouble are you getting into tonight?”

  Bobby flashes me a cocky smile like he didn’t almost just bring me to tears. “I’m going out—on a real date.”

  “Say what? Like with a real girl and everything?”

  He glowers.

  “Who is this girl? Do I know her? Is she good enough for you?”

  Bobby shakes his head. “She’s nice, you’d like her. I met her in my statistics class.”

  I glance at Sam. “Oh, she’s smart, too.” Sam gives Bobby a thumbs-up, and I nod in approval. “So,” I say, placing my hand firmly on my hip. “When do I get to meet this . . .”

  “Natalie,” Bobby says. “And I don’t know if we’re ready for that yet.”

  I frown.

  “Besides, I’d let her meet Dad before I let her meet you—”

  “What!”

  He laughs. “I don’t want you to scare her off. I’m trying to settle down and stop playing the field so much.” He winks at me, and I can’t help but bark a laugh.

  “Okay, Romeo.” I wrap my arms around my brother again, only three years younger and probably nearly a hundred pounds heavier. “I don’t want you to be late for your date. Thank you for coming to make sure I’m okay, though. That was sweet.”

  His hold around me tightens, so much that I feel his phone vibrate in the pocket of his jacket. After a few seconds pass, he pulls away again and readjusts his coat. “I better go. That’s probably her.” He glances between Sam and me. “I don’t want to be late on our first date.”

  “Just tell her you were checking in on your sister,” I say, opening the door. “She’ll love it. And make sure you drive safe. It’s going to start snowing any day, I can feel it.”

  “You’re so weird like that.”

  Sam snorts. “Word. See ya, Bobby. Have fun!”

  “Oh, hey.” I reach for him. “You didn’t really answer me. Have you talked to Mom yet?”

  He huffs a breath through his nose and shakes his head. “Want to do it together?”

  I’ve barely thought about it in the past twelve hours, but I feel a little lighter at the thought. “Yeah, actually. That’d be great.”

  “Alright, well, you know my schedule. Let me know when and where and I’ll be there.” He steps out into the cold, the sky almost black beyond the glow of the porch light. “Oh, and give me a heads-up if you’re planning on coming home any time soon, would ya?”

  I look at him askance. “Why?”

  Bobby glances over his shoulder with a devilish grin. “I haven’t picked up my practice uniforms from the living room at all the last couple days. You’d probably yack all over the place.”

  I smack him playfully on the shoulder and shoo him away. “Robert Calvin Carmichael, you should be ashamed of yourself. Please don’t tell your date that.”

  He laughs. With a final wave, Bobby turns for the stairs on the side of the building and hurries down the steps.

  I wrap my arms around myself and step to the railing, watching as he trots toward his car. The wind is bitingly cold, and I can smell snow in the air, a reminder that the holidays are only weeks away. Everything will be so different this year, I realize, and for the first time, I feel a little alone.

  “Stay out of trouble,” I call as he walks around his silver Shelby Mustang. “And try to eat something other than hot dogs for every meal, okay?”

  “I’ll try!” He waves. “Call me if you need anything.”

  I vaguely realize that Sam has come to stand beside me as I register a familiar blacked-out Ducati parked in front of the ‘Stang. It takes a minute before the pieces fall into place. “No . . .” I rasp. Then I notice Colton, walking up the stairs toward us. “You’ve got to be joking me.”

  I gape at Sam and find she’s grinning at me, quite wickedly, as a matter of fact.

  “That’s what you were so smug about? You knew?”

  Sam’s grin only widens and all my surprise and panic in seeing Colton coalesces as he pauses a few feet in front of us, his helmet under his arm. He looks as stunned as I am, and a little perturbed, too. I tense immediately.

  “Hey, Colton,” Sam says with a happy smile, and she gives him a quick little wave and turns back for Nick’s apartment.

  He glances at her. “Hey.” When Sam disappears inside, Colton’s ice-blue gaze locks on me and lingers a second or two. Then he nods and walks past me, unlocking a door two apartments down before stepping inside.

  Eleven

  Colton

  Pulling my Tundra to a stop in the last open spot outside Viva la Dia, I zip my leather jacket up so the collar covers most of my ears. The wind is getting crueler by the minute, the snow just barely falling, and nothing sounds better right now than a Mexican beer and a loaded burrito, reclined on the couch in my pajamas with the heater blasting so I can decompress. Kylie’s changed our plans enough times this week to give me whiplash, and I’m ready to be done for the night.

  Not to mention seeing Mac this morning before work was strange. Given Nick’s schedule, I rarely see him, but I have a feeling that won’t be the case with Mac. Her schedule is similar to mine, something I’ve never had to think about until she started staying next door. That was a curveball I wasn’t expecting. Now I keep wondering if I’ll see her when I get home, walking up or down the stairs or parking her Jeep, and it’s distracting. The more I see her, the more I think about her. I want to know how she’s doing after the other day and if something else has happened to make her stay with Nick. Even though none of it is my business, I have a dozen questions for Mac despite myself. The more concern I have for her, the more complicated things become. But I do care. It’s a mindset I’m still getting used to.

  I push the door open to brave the cold and hurry to the door, opening it
for a couple leaving before popping inside and letting out a relieved breath. Warmth—it feels amazing. My stomach rumbles as I process a few people at the counter, waiting for their pickup orders. Shaking a few fresh flakes of snow off of me, I walk over to get in line but hesitate when I hear a rich, familiar laugh. I look over and see Nick and Mac sitting a couple booths down, against the wall.

  Nick’s back is to me, his cowboy hat hanging on his knee, and Mac’s scarfing down a taco. She has sour cream on her cheek—the cheek that brushed the back of my finger the other day—and she practically beams at Nick between her valiant efforts to lick the sauce from her pinky finger. Then she takes another mouthful. So, Miss Put-Together Mac isn’t always worried about looking so perfect. I feel a strange sense of relief for that. I can’t help that I’m smiling when she looks up to find me watching her. She freezes mid-chew.

  When the easiness and openness of her expression fades, my gut turns over and I have the knee-jerk reaction to feel a bit injured, despite myself.

  Nick turns in his seat and flashes me a goofy grin before he motions me over.

  Officially caught staring, I can’t ignore that I’ve seen them, and I can’t help the heat that crawls up my neck as I walk over, either. Mac sets her taco down and her eyes flit to mine again.

  “Hey, my man,” Nick says and shakes my hand. “Want to join us?”

  From my periphery, I notice Mac pause from hastily wiping her face, and she glances between Nick and me.

  “Nah, thanks. I was just picking up a to-go order.”

  Nick takes a quick gulp of his beer and licks his lips. “Nice.” He gestures to Mac. “We come here all the time.”

  She nods with a sheepish smile and gestures to their nearly devoured plates. “Yeah, as you can tell, we like the food.”

  I get the impression she’s embarrassed, like she’s not allowed to chow down when she eats, like the rest of us, and I allow myself a slight smirk. I’ve never known Mac to be embarrassed—forward and unabashed, even angry, but definitely not embarrassed. Then I remember the incident with her mom the other day, how much she was trembling. I guess she’s a little more vulnerable than I’ve ever given her credit for. And full of surprises. My smirk falters in my sudden curiosity to know more about her, and I look at Nick. “Yeah, they’ve got great Mexican food.”

  “No better half tonight, huh?” Nick asks and takes another bite of his burrito.

  Shaking my head, I try not to notice the way Mac’s eyes widen ever so slightly before she takes a sip from her water glass. “Nope, I’m a bachelor tonight.” Mac doesn’t look at me again and everything falls silent. I’m lingering too long. “Right, well . . . I better get going.”

  Nick nods with a wry expression. “That’s probably a good idea.” Not so slyly, he points to Mac. “She tends to get a little scary with her tacos—acts like a rabid animal.” He winks at her but she throws one of her many balled-up napkins at him.

  “I’ll leave you to it then.” I chuckle and turn to leave. “See you later. Enjoy your meal.”

  It takes everything I can muster not to look over there again to see if she’s smiling.

  Twelve

  Mac

  Skootching out of the back seat of Nick’s Explorer, I’m careful not to slip on the slick pavement. Even the god-awful, itchy wool sweater I’m wearing doesn’t stave away the wintry night air that bites at my nose and cheeks. “Why did I let you guys talk me into this again?” Especially given that Colton’s the one who invited us—well, them—and will surely be here tonight.

  Nick laughs and reaches in for the six-pack of some beer or another that we brought before he slams the driver’s side door shut. He’s taking in my outfit, from preened head to booted toe. “Wow, Mac, I have to say, you sure do clean up nicely. I love that color on you.”

  I bat my eyelashes. “I’m sure.” Ugly Christmas sweater garb has never been my thing, especially when an explosion of snowflakes and poinsettias are involved.

  “Hey”—Nick’s palms fly up—“this was all this chickadee’s idea.” He points to Savannah, who’s trying not to laugh as she walks around the front of the car. Her sweater is from the early 1980s, with kittens and reindeer and snowmen . . . it looks like Christmas threw up all over her.

  “At least I’m not the only one who looks absolutely ridiculous,” I say sweetly as we make our way down the street toward the party house. Savannah grins, all too familiar with my glib comments.

  “Come on, now. I thought you loved Christmas.” There’s enough amusement in Nick’s tone to know he’s trying—and failing—not to smile; I don’t even have to look at him. Of course, the extent of his themed yet satirical attire is a long-sleeve shirt with a T-rex wearing a Santa hat, chasing a reindeer across the chest.

  The echo of our footsteps in the still night bounces off the oak trees and cars that line the frontage road. I’ve never been to the outskirts of Benton before. It’s different than the bustling city and hard to believe it’s all the same place.

  “So . . .” Savannah drawls. When I glance over at her, she’s assessing my shoe choice. “How, exactly, does one get drunk wearing shoes like that and not kill themselves?”

  Scratching the itchy wool on my arm, I peer down at my high-heeled ankle booties and shrug. “I don’t generally get drunk—or go to parties, for that matter. So it’s never been an issue.”

  Savannah bites the inside of her cheek in confusion, though I’m not sure if it’s because of my shoes or my lack of partying.

  “Don’t bother contemplating it,” Nick says, his eyes on the road ahead. “I don’t think Mac owns a pair of shoes with a heel shorter than twelve inches.”

  “Oh, give me a break. They’re not twelve inches. In fact, I don’t own a single pair of shoes with a twelve-inch heel, buddy. But I’m glad I can provide you with such ample teasing material tonight. Anything else you’d like to throw into the ring? My perfume, maybe? Does it smell like a potpourri sachet exploded everywhere?”

  “No, actually, I like the way you smell.”

  “Any quips about the corner of your house I commandeered? What about my snoring?”

  “You do snore,” he says, then grins over at me. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Mac. You wouldn’t be you without all the baggage—and I mean that in a normal, suitcase sort of way. I’m just trying to loosen you up a little. You’re too tense. I know you and Bill Stranton are besties now, but Lick’s doesn’t count as ‘getting out more.’” Nick winks at me. “I’m glad you came.”

  My heart swells a little, and I give Nick a small, grateful smile. “You know,” I say with a shrug. “Bill is a pretty nice guy. He’s really good at dice and he’s kind of poetic, actually.”

  “He’s got a PhD in psychology,” Savannah says, and for some reason I’m not really surprised by that.

  “Ha! Well, he has ample material to analyze me now.”

  She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “He had to go work at the family bank years back when his dad died unexpectedly.” I wonder if she’s thinking about the turn of events in her own life. She’s quiet for a couple of steps then peps up again. “You find out a lot of interesting things when you work at a bar. Like you being a whiskey drinker, for instance.” A knowing smile quirks the corner of her mouth. “That’s unexpected.”

  “Agreed,” I breathe.

  We walk in companionable silence as we make our way through the crowd of parked cars, toward the giant Spanish-style house at the end of the drive. Although I know Colton is somehow related to these people, I don’t know the specifics.

  “So this guy’s a football coach at the U?” I ask, wrapping my arms around me as we hurry closer. I’ve only ever seen photos of houses like this—clay tiled roofs on what look like bell towers jutting throughout, everything arcaded and boasting browns and reds.

  “Ben’s the athletics director at the U and Colton’s cousin, and his wife is Spanish.”

  “Cousin, huh?”

  Nick nods. �
��And they definitely have money. I think Colton’s entire family has money.”

  That tidbit of information surprises me. I take in the house again, trying to picture the home Colton grew up in. Although he’s clean-shaven with a preppy shine to him, he’s also very “greaser” in a James Dean, boot-wearing sort of way with his slicked-back hair and that arrogant attitude he has about him. The longer I try to imagine it, the more realistic the scenario seems, though. I can picture Colton as the rebel child with his fancy motorcycle and blatant tattoos—all of it an F-you to his overbearing parents.

  “They’re nice people, very generous,” Nick says, and I try to push thoughts of Colton aside. Knowing I’m going to see him isn’t a deterrent to coming here, but it does make me a little uneasy. The giant house in front of me and the stifled, steady thud of music emanating from inside doesn’t help either.

  “Bobby’s mentioned the Hughes family to me before,” I realize aloud. I know he’s come to parties here with the team. I glance around at the higher-end cars and jalopies that line both sides of the street and are double parked in the cul-de-sac. “It looks like they’ve invited the entire university.”

  “Yeah, well, this place is big and they’re great at throwing grade-A house parties.” Nick nods toward the house. “There’s a pool, sauna, arcade, outdoor fireplaces—you name it and you can probably find it somewhere on the property. Needless to say, people like partying here. And I know Ben through friends at the U, plus, Colton, of course . . .”

  “It’s weird,” I think aloud. “I think you know Colton more than me, and I’m the one that sees him every day.”