"Do not go after him." Her eyes flare and she comes closer than I've ever seen to showing an emotion in public other than placid composure. "He's trash, and he proved it years ago. Don't you remember the way he destroyed you?"
It's almost as though she's going for motherly concern with that reminder, but instead of love beneath her words, I hear something else. Fear… But…that wouldn't make sense. "He's never been trash. If you're afraid I'll end up with him…" Fuck it. "Maybe you should be."
I've never wanted to hit my own mother, but when she laughs, I come close. "Don't be ridiculous," she says. "Have you met his father? Trash breeds trash."
I'm done. "Have you met yourself? Class is something in your soul, in the way you treat people—not based on how much money you have. You're the perfect example. Loaded, and yet beyond tacky—and, in case you couldn't tell by my tone, embarrassing."
"Lower your voice." She tightens her grip when I pull my arm again. People are looking at us.
So I raise my voice instead. "Trash breeds trash, though, Mother. If you weren't trash maybe you would've raised a better behaved daughter." Okay. Maybe this is taking it a little too far. But she's still holding on to me and she's throwing insults at Sawyer he doesn't deserve and he's not even here to stick up for himself and she is really, really pissing me off.
Her face pales. "I was there for you when he broke your heart. Where was he?"
Damn it. Now I feel a tiny bit bad. "I will always be thankful you for being there for me then—but right now you have to let me go." I yank free and spin away from her, shoving through the crowd. I fling myself through the doors to the outside, racing into the parking lot.
But Sawyer's gone. God. I don't even know what type of car I should be searching for.
And I still don't have his freaking number.
I might murder my mother for the havoc she just wreaked on my night. I was doing a fine job of sabotaging it all on my own in my head before she appeared and turned it into a complete shit show.
I step back into the bar to tell her off some more and tell her to leave—and to have another drink or sixteen—but instead of heading straight to my mom, I arrive just in time to see a crowd forming on the edge of the dance floor. Right as Danny slams his fist into Chase's face. And then Gianna jumps on Danny's shoulders, driving an elbow into his neck.
Oh, Jesus.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SAWYER
"FUCK." I SLAM my hand on my steering wheel over and over until my entire arm vibrates with pain.
I put everything at risk, and running into Quinn's mom could've destroyed it all.
Why am I so weak around Quinn?
One smile. One bat of those long lashes. One peek at one of her slender shoulders under a dress strap. And I lose the self-control I've built for years.
"Goddamn it." I blow through the start of a red light. Yeah, because getting pulled over right now will help things.
I yank the volume up as loud as it'll crank, until the heavy beat of screaming rock music is almost enough to make my ears bleed.
I want to punch someone.
Streetlights blur into neon yellow lines in my peripheral vision.
I need to punch someone.
Because if I don't, if I don't give in to this pull to destroy something, there's no way I'll be able to keep tricking my mind into thinking it's anger I feel.
Because what it really is is fear.
I'm on the cusp of losing everything and I'm fucking terrified. I can't walk away from Quinn again, but I don't know how to save the rest of my life if I don't.
"Fuck." I have to leave. There's no question about it. I have to leave. Because it's not just my life that will be affected by being discovered back in town. Logically, I understand it. But Quinn has a hold of my heart and it's there, that exact spot, where I don't have any control.
Forcing her from that hold is going to kill me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
QUINN
I WAKE UP hungover as a mother effer. The entire space from my lips to the back of my throat is so caked with dried-out alcohol-laced saliva, that peeling my tongue off the roof of my mouth is painful.
I crack an eye open, expecting Gianna to be beside me in bed, the way I vaguely, dreamily remember her climbing in last night, but she's not here. I do find, however, a half-empty water bottle on the nightstand on her side of the bed. I really, really need it. But thinking about crossing to reach it feels like running a marathon. With blades sewn into the soles of my feet.
It's definitely too far away.
I close my eyes and drift off again.
At some point later a huge clanging crash sounds from outside my bedroom door and scares the complete shit out of me, and I sit up so fast the world spins. I slide out of bed and tiptoe—because every step causes an earthquake in my brain—out of my room.
Gage looks up from the floor across the living room at the start of my kitchen. "We, um, broke your vase." He sweeps a hand over a pile of red broken clay by his feet.
"I'm so sorry," Cassidy says, walking out from further back in the kitchen. Her cheeks are bright red, her lips a little swollen…like maybe she's been kissing someone. Gage. Against my kitchen counter where the vase just happened to be sitting.
"Oh, God," I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. "I don't care about the vase. I don't even care that you were getting it on in my kitchen. Just. Stop. Shouting."
"We weren't getting it on!" Cassidy faux-whispers.
I open my eyes, staring at her with a lifted brow. Gage stands, laughing. "Yeah, we were."
I throw a hand up toward them—and immediately relocate it to press on the pounding at the crown of my head. "Seriously. Volume control. Please."
"How about coffee?" Gage says, quietly. He pads into the kitchen and bangs around at a much lighter volume, returning with a cup still steaming.
He passes it to Cassidy, who meets me halfway as I stumble toward my dining table and slump into a chair. "Why aren't you guys hungover? And where are Gianna and Chase?"
"Gage never gets hungover," Cassidy says, rolling her eyes in his direction. "And I drove us all back here last night."
"You did?" I have…zero memory of this.
"You might want to buy a new couch," Gage says, his eyes laughing.
"Why?" I ask. He drops his eyes and Cassidy starts to giggle. "Oh, God. Did you guys—"
"Not us," Cassidy says, pointing to a still blown-up air mattress in a corner near my bedroom door. "We were there."
"Right." I have a vague, vague, vague memory of them bickering about forgetting the pump… "Then why—"
"Chase and Gianna, man," Gage says.
I shake my head. "She slept with me."
Didn't she?
"Yeah, well, she came out of your room around four thirty," he says. "I can tell you the time with accuracy because she wasn't exactly quiet—and then—"
"Neither were they," Cassidy finishes, still giggling.
And even as hungover as I am, I giggle, too. Because go, Gianna. "Right in front of you guys?"
"Technically the back of the couch was facing us, but, uh, yeah." Cassidy walks into the kitchen and returns with her own cup of coffee. "They gave an impressive vocal performance."
"I can't believe I slept through that."
"I can't believe you're functioning… Hey, cool—does this thing still work?" Gage picks up the handset of the old-school navy blue rotary phone I keep on a stand by the wall. He listens for the dial tone, hangs it up. "It does—that's awesome."
I make a sound that's at least close to resembling a laugh, both because he appreciates the old technology I'm fond of…and because I'm not sure how I'm functioning, either. Then I remember the fight. The memory slams into me so hard I get dizzy. "Shit—is Chase okay?"
Quinn nods. "His eye was barely bruised. No doubt that other guy's hating life this morning, though."
Danny. Dick of the century. I almost ask what the fight was about, but I ha
ve no doubt Danny ran his mouth to Chase about Gianna. It's what he does. "And Gianna?"
"She winked at me when they snuck out a few hours ago, so I think so."
Guess if they screwed on my couch they weren't in too bad shape. "What…" Oh, God. "What happened to my mom?"
Gage stands. "How about I make some eggs?"
"That bad, huh?"
He winks at me, slipping out of his seat. "I was on stage. I wouldn't know."
"Liar." When he's back in the kitchen again, I turn to Cassidy. "Give it to me straight."
She bites her lower lip, considering. "Okay. Your dad? Total sweetheart."
"Not a single memory of him being there."
"I know how it goes." She reaches across the table to grab the top of my hand, squeezing it before letting go. "Your mom? She's…an experience."
"What'd she do?" And why is my heart beating faster?
"Nothing that bad," Cassidy says, maybe a little too fast. "She might have, uh, yelled at me a little bit."
I'm silent for a moment, staring at her, kind of…not comprehending. And then I do. "What?"
"I came over to see if she was okay after the fight, but someone slammed into me and I spilled my drink on her very expensive shoes."
Humiliation is hot and swampy against my hangover. "I'm so sorry."
"Nobody's parents are perfect," Cassidy says, her eyes kind. "Believe me—I stood there, took it, apologized, and then walked away. Your dad took her home right after."
"Where was I during all of this? Please don't tell me I let her get away with that."
"Slamming shots at the bar with a girl named—"
"Morgan." Shit. I hate the fragments my memory's staring to glue together. "She and Sawyer… We were… We were taking shots and talking shit about how stupid Sawyer is." My heart lurches and rips halfway down the middle. "I'm such an asshole."
It's like…it's like I've cheated on him. Like bonding over him with someone else breaks a code we've developed since he came back to town. The one where we might not always understand each other, but we have each other's backs anyway. Like when he defended my honor and punched Danny even though I was on a date with Chase.
Like when I tell him I want to be with him and I'll keep it a secret and not ask about the past because I trust his heart anyway.
Like when he kissed my tears away that day by the fence of my old house. Even though I cried them out of happiness, because of him.
I hate myself.
"You were pretty mad at him." Cassidy swallows some coffee, watching my face. "Wanna talk about it?"
"No." I drag a hand through the tangles of my hair, yanking when my fingers snag, and immediately regretting the resulting boost in headache. "Well, yes." Am I still sworn to secrecy if there's a chance I told people—even freaking Morgan—last night anyway? "I don't know."
"Why did he leave?"
I shake my head, remembering the way he stared at my mom. The way he turned and walked out without looking back…
"He left because my mom showed up. They never got along before, when we were together growing up—but last night was a whole new level." As soon as the words leave my mouth, something tugs at the back of my mind.
Last night was a whole new level.
I think… I think Sawyer was scared of my mom.
I put my coffee mug down, slowly, on the table. I really don't like the way anxiety's wrapping itself around my heart, squeezing like a damn boa constrictor.
When we were teenagers, my mom didn't like Sawyer, because she's a stuck-up snob. Sawyer didn't like her because, well, she was a bitch to him. But he never backed down. He took what she threw at him, stayed respectful (respectful-ish, at least), and stood by my side because he loved me and our being together meant more than his pride about my mom being a shallow snot. Plus, his dad worked for my parents, so I think Sawyer didn't want to rock the boat too much. Maybe my mom didn't either, for the same reason. Because she certainly never held back on my account, but she never actually forbid us from seeing each other. Like that would've worked, anyway.
But last night…
Sawyer left. He didn't even look at me.
It doesn't sit right.
What am I missing? If Sawyer's a puzzle, and let's be honest, he definitely is, it's like the pieces are trying to come together to at least form the edges for me… But the main image is still broken apart in the box. And I freaking suck at puzzles.
"You okay?" Cassidy asks. "Need to go back to bed?"
I lift my eyes to her. "No. I…I'm so sorry, but I have to leave. Will y'all be okay here for a while? The beach is two blocks up the road, just go left out of the parking lot. I'll meet you there—in an hour, tops."
She looks up as Gage comes back with a plate of scrambled eggs. They exchange a glance weighted with something I can't quite read. "Actually," Cassidy says, "I think we're going to head out a day early—don't hate me!"
"Why?" I ask, though, honestly, I'm a little relieved. I'm too distracted to be as fun as I wanted to be for Cassidy. "And of course I won't hate you. Never, ever."
"I just… I think Teagan could use a friend. She's…" Cassidy glances at Gage again.
"Having a meltdown," he finishes for her.
"Go rescue her," I say.
"And you go rescue Sawyer," she says, because she obviously knows he's who I'm going to see. Really, Cassidy's smarter than I sometimes give her credit for. I mean, I always think she's smart—but sometimes she's just on another plane with her intuitiveness.
I hug them—and shovel some of Gage's scrambled eggs into a tortilla for a breakfast burrito on the road. If I don't eat something, I'll pass out before I get halfway to Sawyer's shop. Which, annoyingly, is still the only way I know how to get in touch with him. One more hug, and Cassidy promises to lock up, and then I'm on the road.
Getting to the shop takes both years and no time at all. But once I'm there, time stands still completely. My blood—my stomach—is running on undercurrents and I'm…scared. I want to see him, hell—my heart's dancing just knowing how close he is—but there's a nervousness coursing underneath the want and I can't put my finger on why. I think he'll be able to tell me, though—if he chooses to. Which makes my anxiety even stronger.
I walk into the shop. Rajesh is behind the counter and Brandy is showing another girl a surfboard. When Rajesh sees me, his face slackens, purposefully expressionless, and it makes me want to throw up.
"Sawyer's gone," he tells me when I walk toward him.
"Gone?" Gone. Gone. The word echoes through me. "What do you mean?" Gone. Gone.
Just like last time.
Rajesh's eyes fill with empathy. "He's not coming back."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
QUINN
I DON'T KNOW how long I stare at Rajesh.
A second.
A minute.
An entire year.
Everything's gone to cracked glass inside of me, and one little motion is going to send it all to shards.
"Give me his number." My mouth barely moves to form the words, and even that's enough to send another fissure racing through me.
Rajesh sighs and his expression turns pained. "No."
"No?" I blink. "What do you mean no? You guys work together. You have his number."
"Worked together," he corrects, and the crumbled glass begins to avalanche through me, making my breath hitch. "I can't give you his number. It's…an invasion of privacy."
"I will come here every single day," I say, trying to push steel into my voice instead of the terror I actually feel. "Every. Single. Day. Until you—or someone—tells me how to get in touch with him."
"I can't."
"Well, what about Brandy?" I glance at her. She's twirling a strand of hair around her finger, hand on her hip, laughing at something her customer's said. "You think she'll be as taciturn as you? Because I don't."
I start to turn toward her, but Rajesh says, "Wait."
I look at him, not saying anythin
g.
And he sighs. "God. I could get in so much trouble for this."
"Thank you." Relief is the smallest bit of sunshine. "I won't tell anyone you gave me his number."
"I'm not," he says. "But… Come back in a couple of days, okay? Give him some time. Let me try to talk some sense into him."
"Wait." Suddenly, the situation becomes a bit clearer. "You're friends with Sawyer. Not just coworkers?"
He nods.
"And you know things about…me and him?"
He hesitates. Then says, "He's going to kill me for this."
Never has the thought of anyone getting killed given me hope before. But his remark eases some of the weight in my heart. Sawyer has someone he can talk to. I wish it was me, but God does it feel nice knowing he's not totally alone. Then, I take a chance: "Tell him something for me, because I know you'll call him the second I'm gone. Tell him I know. Tell him I figured it out—that my mom has something to do with his leaving." My words come out more certain than I actually am; I'm really grasping at straws here, but last night…there's something I'm not getting. But it's there, right below the surface.
And when Rajesh's eyes widen, I know I'm on the right track.
And it makes that broken glass crystallize into something more like dried ice, burning through the pit of my stomach. A different kind of pain. "Tell him I'll be dealing with her. Immediately."
Rajesh struggles with what to say, opening his mouth, closing it, looking into the distance… When his eyes meet mine again, he looks resolved. "Good."
It's the last straw needed for grasping. He's confirming my worst fear. She does have something to do with why Sawyer left. This time…and—Oh, God—the first time, too? I grab a pen attached by a chain to a credit card signing pad and snatch a surf lesson flyer from beside the cash register. I scribble my number on it. "Tell him to call me. Tell him I begged." Tell him we're fucking idiots for not exchanging numbers before this. Jesus.
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