Pretending

by Shanna Clayton

  I squeeze the handle on the basket I’m carrying, unsure where to begin. Hayes has known us for years. He’s watched Wesley and me keep our distance from one another without asking a bazillion questions. He’s always been the don’t ask, don’t tell type, and I appreciate that about him. Charlotte and Gwen mean the world to me, but sometimes it’s a relief to hang out with someone who doesn’t press to know all your baggage. Moving here right after my mom died, that was incredible to find in a friend. He just accepted me, no questions asked. But I guess I couldn’t expect him to stay that way forever.

  I let out a small sigh. “The other night Wesley and I spent some time together. It’s hard to explain, but something happened. It’s like we finally saw each other.”

  “That’s…interesting.” Hayes scratches the side of his head, blonde pieces of hair falling across his forehead. “So your weird estrangement is ending. Doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.”

  “Not at all,” I say, stressing that point. “Getting to know him has been a great experience. He’s actually sort of likable, and since I’ve always thought otherwise, I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

  “So why are you opposed to going out with him?”

  There’s the loaded question. I stare at scuffmarks on the floor, thinking. There’s no right way to answer that. “He and I simply aren’t a good idea.”

  Hayes’s eyes drift over the line of people. “Still quite a few people in line.”

  I rest the weight of my shopping basket to one hip. Enlisting Hayes as my pretend boyfriend may have been more trouble than it’s worth. I prefer the don’t ask, don’t tell version of him.

  “I’ve lived with Wesley a long time,” I say, thinking back to when he first moved in. “I may not know him that well, but I’ve seen enough of his history with girls. And before you say anything, I know I shouldn’t judge people based on their past. It’s just…he’s Harland’s son. Whatever relationship I have the ability to form with him, I want it to be a positive one.”

  I look up, seeing that Hayes is listening to me thoughtfully. The line moves and we take a few steps.

  “And you think if there’s romance involved, it won’t be positive?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He considers that for a moment. “Do you remember how we met, Doll?”

  I smile, picturing that day in my mind. “Yeah, I remember.”

  It rained most of the morning, and when it finally stopped, Harland sent me to pick up take-out for dinner. Along the way, I noticed Hayes trying to push his car out of a muddy ditch. Being the compulsive freak he is about dirt, he wasn’t getting very far on his own. I stopped to help him push his car back on the road, and he looked at me like I was an angel sent from heaven. We’ve been friends ever since.

  “I’ve never told you this,” he begins, his tone intriguing me. “But when you and Harland first moved in, my mom told me go over to your house and make you feel welcome.”

  “I don’t remember that happening.”

  “Because I never did.”

  I lift a brow. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. You were this beautiful girl, a few years older than me.” He pauses, and I see his mind working to explain himself. “I figured we’d have nothing in common, and worse, that you’d want nothing to do with me. And Harland—well Harland was intimidating. I’d heard the stories about him. He was known as the famous archeologist around town…do you get where I’m going with this?”

  “I think so.”

  “My point is, we’d have never become friends if I didn’t give you a chance.”

  “Lesson learned. Never be nice to the weird kid. You’ll get stalked for life.”

  Hayes grins. “In all seriousness, I’m glad you pulled over for me that day.”

  I set the basket down on the floor and stretch out my arms. “Aw, Hayes. That deserves a hug.”

  He backs up, holding his hands up to ward me off. “We’ve touched enough today to last me a lifetime.”

  I start to laugh when the woman behind me taps my shoulder. “You’re next,” she remarks brusquely, waving me on to the checkout counter.

  “Sorry.” I quickly pick up my basket. Hayes and I exchange a small smile as we scamper toward the register like children who’ve just been scolded.

  “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” I say to Hayes on the way back to the car. “Did you have anything to do with the bar fight Wesley got into?”

  “How did you find out about that?”

  “I heard his friends mention your name.” I unlock the car doors, and we both slide into our seats. “It was the night he came back.”

  Hayes fastens his seatbelt. “Last year I helped him map out a side project for his Egypt expedition.”

  “A side project?”

  “Yeah, but don’t ask me anything about it. Wes was extremely secretive about what he was looking for.”

  “What did he want from you?”

  “He asked me to decipher a few hieroglyphics he couldn’t figure out.”

  “Were you able to?”

  Hayes cocks his head to the side. “Seriously? Have we met?”

  “All right, all right. Enough with the ego. So are you saying Wesley used the school’s expedition as a cover for his own personal treasure hunt?”

  Hayes nods. “I think so.”

  I shake my head, wondering why I’m surprised. Harland used to do the same thing, using his role as a professor to buy him access to whatever locale he had in his sights. Wesley is definitely his father’s son, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

  “So what does all this have to do with him getting in a fight?”

  Hayes stares at the dash. “The night Wes got back, he asked me to meet him at bar near campus. He wanted to celebrate and thank me for helping him. I think he found whatever he was looking for.”

  “You? A bar?” I ask, smiling. “I’m shocked.”

  “Despite being closely confined with a ton of strangers, it was fun. That is, up until these guys cornered me outside. They caught wind of the research I did for Wes, and they thought I knew more about it than I did.”

  “So they tried to beat the information out of you?”

  “Well, not exactly.” Hayes tugs at his shirt collar. “First they tried to scare me, but apparently I’m an aggressive drunk. The liquor gave me a feeling of invincibility, making me believe I could take on three guys by myself.”

  I clamp a hand over my mouth, picturing Hayes trying to be a badass. He probably looked like a feisty Chihuahua trying to take on three Rottweilers.

  “I’m glad you find this amusing, by the way.”

  Beneath my hand, my grin spreads wider. I try to remind myself it’s not funny, and that Wesley was seriously hurt as a result of this, which finally gives me the ability to put on a straight face.

  “Sorry. Please continue.”

  “After that, Wes found out what was going on, then came outside and stepped in. If he hadn’t been drinking, I honestly think he could’ve held his own.”

  I don’t tell Hayes about the stomach wound Wesley had at the time of the fight, and how that probably limited his capabilities as well. “Good thing he stepped in when he did.”

  “Yeah. Guess I’m pretty lucky.” Hayes shifts in his seat, and I know he’s thinking about what might have happened if Wesley never came to his aid. “You should give him a chance, Doll. He’s not so bad.”

  Now that I think about it, Charlotte said something similar. It’s ironic to me how everyone says Wesley isn’t so bad, but no one talks about how great he is either.

  “You should go to dinner with him.”

  “Maybe.”

  I start the car and twist the knob on the stereo. I’m silent on the drive back to the house, thinking about my conversation with Hayes. The logical part of me knows he’s right. Fearless people intimidate me, and Wesley is one of the most fearless people I’ve ever met. He carries himself as if he can belong anywhere, whether it’s in a whol
esome American college campus or deep in the deserts of Egypt, radiating an unwavering comfort within his own skin. It’s the type of confidence fear deprives me of having for myself.

  My fear of Wesley gets in the way, but that only scratches the surface. I’m still bitter, I think. For years I’ve wondered why we avoid each other, but I’ve never brought it up. I’d rather pretend he’s an empty shell like his bedroom, allowing myself to feel justified in not trying, than to simply ask him why we never speak. God, and it’s such a simple question. Why didn’t I ever walk up to him and say, “Wesley, why are you ignoring me?”

  I’ve been too afraid to ask questions. Too afraid to find out why he couldn’t stand be in the same house as me.

  If I tried and failed, it would be like failing Harland. After everything he gave me, the thought of failing Harland is just…unbearable.

  “Isn’t it strange how blue and cloudless the sky is?” Hayes murmurs, staring out the window. “The sun is shining bright, no detectable wind or sign of a storm coming. It’s like Mother Nature wants you to let down your guard, and then she goes in for the kill.”

  I glance across the seat at Hayes, giving him a look that lets him know he’s freaking me out. “Good thing Doppler radar does what it’s supposed to.”

  When we pull into the driveway, a few of the windows have already been boarded up. I look for Wesley and spot him on top of the ladder, hammering away. I sit there in my car for a few seconds, unable to look away from the muscles straining through his white T-shirt.

  Hayes shuts the passenger door, and I flinch. I get out of the car, start walking up the long driveway, and the next thing I know, I’m being screamed at. Loudly.

  “I’ve never been so disgusted in all my life!”

  My eyes round on Hayes incredulously. His normal, eloquent speech reverses to a deep southern twang within a matter of seconds, and he’s furiously pacing the pavement.

  “Um, why are you yelling at me?”

  “Drop the act, sweetheart. My momma warned me you weren’t nothing but a two-timing hussy!”

  My gaze flicks to Wesley. He pauses his hammering to listen to us, and I suddenly get it. Hayes is creating a scene on purpose.

  “This isn’t necessary,” I whisper. “I can just tell him we’re not really dating.”

  “Don’t try to sell me your sob story, sweetheart. It won’t work!”

  I roll my eyes, groaning. “Hayes.”

  He spins around, pointing at me. “You and I are over. You got that? O-V-E-R, over!” With a dramatic huff, he stomps off to the side of the house where he keeps his bicycle, leaving me standing there, speechless.

  I look up and catch Wesley doing a bad job of hiding his grin. Heat rushes to my face, and I hurry inside the house before I die right here of humiliation. I can’t believe Hayes did that to me—and in the way that he did it—God I’m never going to forget that. If Wesley didn’t suspect we were lying before, he certainly knows now.

  I shut the door behind me and drop my bags. I dig through my purse for my cellphone. When I find it, I send Hayes a text.

  Hope u burn in hell!

  Only a few seconds pass before it dings again.

  :D

  Nothing else, just the stupid little smiley face. I throw my phone back into my purse, wishing I could punch something.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WESLEY

  I want to laugh my ass off, but I wait until Dahlia’s inside before I do. From the look on her face and the way her cheeks turned bright red, she didn’t know Hayes planned to dump her so dramatically on our front lawn. She looked like she was dying, and I couldn’t help but enjoy every moment of it—serves her right for trying to feed me that shit about Hayes being her boyfriend.

  I’m boarding up the last window and still chuckling when Francisco pulls up in his black Audi. He steps onto the circular driveway, takes a look around, and lets out a low whistle. “Look at you, stepping up to be a real man of the house. Here I am, thinking I need to come over and help you out with this stuff, but you’ve already got it taken care of.”

  I wipe the sweat from my brow, squinting at him through the sunlight. “I’m not an idiot, Francisco.”

  “No, you’re not.” He takes a few steps toward me, carrying a brown paper bag. “But you’ve never seemed to care much about this place.”

  “I don’t want to see it destroyed, especially while I’m living in it.”

  “Point taken. But why didn’t you get one of the staff to see to it?”

  “I gave them all time off.” I shrug one shoulder. “Figured a hurricane was a good enough reason for them to spend time with their families.”

  “Is that so?” He looks over me as if he’s sizing me up. “You look different today. Happier.”

  “Classes were delayed. Everyone’s happy.” I can’t tell him Dahlia is the reason I’m grinning like an idiot. More questions would follow, and I don’t have the answers to those questions. “What’s in the bag?”

  “A lock for the library door.” He holds it out for me to take. “In case the electric goes out.”

  “You really think someone would try to rob us in the middle of a hurricane?”

  “You never know. There are a lot of valuables in there. Better to be prepared.”

  I take the bag and tell him thank you, even though I doubt anyone would be that stupid.

  “So how is everything?” he asks casually.

  “Fine. The same.”

  “Have you applied to any schools yet?”

  “Getting my master’s isn’t the right path for me, Francisco. You know that.”

  He manages to both smile and look sad at the same time. “Shame you don’t think so. Archeology is in your bones.”

  “Doesn’t mean I have to give it up.”

  “True.” He looks over his shoulder at the white Nissan parked in the driveway. “Dahlia here?”

  “Yeah, she’s inside.”

  “I noticed her car wasn’t here yesterday.”

  My muscles stiffen. Although I’ve been close to Francisco for years, I feel the need to protect Dahlia from him. I’m not sure if her moving out for two days gives him the power to remove her from the will, but either way, I’d prefer he didn’t find out. “It was her friend’s twenty-first birthday.”

  “So she stayed out all night?”

  “Last time I checked, we didn’t have curfews.”

  “Take it easy, man. I was only asking because that’s odd behavior for Dahlia. I’m happy she went out to have some fun; she needs to do it more often.” He looks up at me, studying me closely. “Is everything okay with you two?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know. You don’t usually involve yourself in Dahlia’s business.”

  “I’m not involved now.” My hand tightens around the bag, crinkling the paper. “Just wanted to make sure the rules hadn’t changed.”

  I can tell he’s doing his thing again—trying to read between the lines. “Well I better get going,” he finally says. “I have my own fort to hold down.”

  “Thanks again for the lock.”

  He stares at me a few seconds longer before heading for his car. “Call me if you need anything.”

  I wave goodbye, feeling strangely relieved. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I run into the house, and keep running until I’m upstairs inside my dad’s old bedroom. Standing there in the middle of the room, I look around, wondering what the hell I’m doing. I haven’t been in here since his funeral, and I really had no intention of ever coming back in here.

  Everything looks and smells the same. Mahogany furniture, desk in the corner, and the scent of the cologne my dad wore in the air. It’s almost like he isn’t gone.

  Almost.

  I do my best not to think about why his presence is still so strong. When people die, everything they leave behind should die with them. This room shouldn’t still smell like his cologne. The furniture should be just that, furniture. I shouldn’t see a
desk my dad imported from Morocco. I shouldn’t see the chair he shipped from India because the craftsman told him it would bring him luck. Or the bed he and my mom bought right before he disappeared.

  My dad is everywhere in this room, and it fills me with anger all over again. I’m angry because when I look around, I see only the good parts of my dad. I’m angry because I never got the chance to tell him how much I hated him for leaving without an explanation. How much I hated him for throwing away the perfectly good life he had with Sam, my mom, and me—and it was fucking perfect too. If my dad was unhappy, he did a damn good job of hiding it. That’s what pisses me off more than anything. He walked out on us without leaving me any bad memories to hate him for. I sort of wish he had. Would’ve made things easier.

  I walk to the desk drawer and open it. Inside there’s an unopened envelope with my name on it. I never saw any point in reading it. Whatever my dad needed to tell me, he should’ve said while he was alive. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he righted his wrongs.

  Carefully, I pick up the envelope, feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Something has changed between now and my dad’s funeral. I’m not sure if it has to do with Dahlia, or if it has to do with this being my last year in Kent House, but for the first time since I moved in, I want answers. I want to understand.

  Everyone in the room is quiet as Francisco explains the details of my dad’s will. I’m listening, but I don’t hear him. The things he’s saying, what my dad wants me to do—it’s too much for me to swallow.

  My mom tenses in the chair beside me. No one else apart from me knows her well enough to know she’s barely suppressing her anger. I send her a look to tell her to stay calm. Her face tightens, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “So you’re saying he wants me to enroll at the university?” I ask Francisco. My voice sounds as confused as I feel. He’s already explained it once, but I can’t seem to let the information sink in.

  “That’s right.” He shuffles a pile of papers together, then pushes them toward me and my mom. “It’s all there in his will. You and Dahlia must remain in Kent House for the term of four years, obtain any bachelor’s degree of your choosing, and then you’ll both stand to inherit the house, Harland’s belongings, and all of the monies in his accounts, which total to approximately four and a half million dollars.”