The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance)

by Laura Drake

  “We’re going to check out the Y-M-C-A.” She sang the last part.

  “What’s there?”

  “Art classes.”

  “For you?”

  She reached over and ruffled his hair. “No, my cute little brother, for you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Why would you think I’d want stupid art classes at the YMCA?”

  “Well, Bear said you had talent. This is a way for you to develop it without getting arrested.”

  “What will help is for me to work with Bear, not finger painting with a bunch of losers.”

  “Nah, they don’t do finger painting with kids your age. Anyway, how do you know they’re losers if you’ve never been there?” She turned left into the parking lot of the community center, next to the library.

  “Because I’ve been there.” He slouched down in the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “When I bitch—complained about hanging at the library with Mom, she took me over here.” He pointed to the one-story stucco building. “It’s just a giant babysitter.”

  So Mom did try to keep him busy and out of trouble.

  While Mona settled, Priss unbuckled her seat belt. Nacho didn’t move. “Hey, look at me.”

  He held still long enough to let her know he didn’t want to, but not long enough for her to protest. He turned to her with a bored adolescent look on his face. “What?”

  “I’m trying, okay? Do you think you could try a little, too?”

  He grunted, undid his seat belt, and got out of the car. But when she rested her hand on his shoulder as they walked to the building, he didn’t shrug it off.

  They were greeted at the door by the squeak of tennis shoes on waxed wood, shouting and the smell of kid sweat. Walking to the front desk, they passed a picture window to the gym, displaying a basketball game in progress. After getting directions, Priss led the way down a hallway of classrooms to the last one.

  The cavernous room was filled with round tables and smelled like tempura paint and library paste. A college-age guy looked up from helping a girl about Nacho’s age, who was working with clay.

  Nacho heaved the sigh of a prisoner facing a life sentence as the young man came over to greet them.

  A half hour later, after renewing Lord of the Flies, Priss sat in a comfortable chair at the library, studying. The book club was next week, and though she’d finished her reading, she wanted to make notes so she had at least a shot at not embarrassing herself at the meeting.

  But she shifted in her chair, realizing she’d just read the same paragraph twice. She checked her phone. Nacho wouldn’t be done for another hour and a half.

  Forget about the date with Adam, already—what’s wrong with you?

  Looking up, she noticed the row of public-use computers. Nacho had said their mom had spent hours at the library, researching something. But what?

  She still didn’t understand what the wad of money she’d found at her mother’s apartment had been earmarked for, or what the cryptic list she’d found meant. Priss closed the book, stood and pulled her wallet from her back pocket. Thumbing through it, she pulled out the scrap of paper that listed all the states with Nevada, Florida, Michigan and Ohio crossed off. Maybe that was a place to start.

  It was over an hour later when she gave up. Apparently research on the internet only worked well if you knew what you were looking for. All she knew was that what she wanted wasn’t in four states.

  What were you doing, Mom?

  * * *

  HAIR STILL WET from the shower, Adam walked out the back door of his house carrying his picnic carton. Balancing the box on his knee, he pulled the door closed and double-checked the lock.

  He was a little leery about having left the afternoon’s baseball schedule in the hands of Willie the bookie, but the day was pretty, the Winos had won the game and he had a date. Better than a date—no upscale restaurants or elevator music. This was more like a playdate. He bounced down the back stairs and trotted to the one-car garage. Well, if a threesome could be considered a date.

  He’d definitely rather leave Nacho home. But he understood that Priss couldn’t very well trust the delinquent to stay out of trouble all day. He whistled the opening notes to Clapton’s “Layla” while he stashed the carton in the trunk of his car, slid into the seat behind the wheel and backed the Camry out. Even Nacho couldn’t ruin this day.

  When he pulled up behind the store, Nacho and Priss were waiting beside her land yacht of a car. Nacho wore his usual uniform: crotch-to-knee shorts, untied tennis shoes, and a T-shirt sporting a stylized skull oozing something that didn’t bear thinking about.

  Priss, on the other hand, looked as fresh and wholesome as the tomboy next door in straight leg jeans, Converse sneakers, and a numbered baseball jersey.

  He pulled up beside them. “Hop in. Daylight’s burning.”

  Nacho rolled his eyes.

  Priss put her hands out, palms up. “On a beautiful day like this, we’re going to drive up Coast Highway in a metal box when we have a convertible we can take? Are you high?”

  Adam’s heart plunged onto the floorboard with a splat and lay fibrillating as panic mainlined into his blood. Arguments did laps around the inside of his skull. “That thing doesn’t even have a roll bar. Aren’t you worried about driving Nacho in that?”

  The two did an identical head-cock and studied him as if waiting for the punch line.

  Shit-shit-shit. If he made a big deal of this he was going to look like a freaked-out wimp. He eyed the monstrosity. “Okay, we’ll take your—that.” At least when they got in a wreck, they’d have a ton of Detroit steel around them. Of course, that wouldn’t matter, because they’d be ejected immediately.

  He turned off the engine and raised his car windows.

  He should have known that reclaiming his life wouldn’t be as easy as it had seemed when he made that vow.

  One fear at a time.

  If he survived, surely he’d come out on the other side of the drive less afraid, right?

  Survive being the key word. He took a deep, steadying breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the car door. “Okay, but I’m driving.”

  Priss opened her mouth, but after squinting into his eyes for a few seconds, closed it. “Okay.”

  He unlocked the trunk of his car and lifted out the picnic box.

  Nacho bounded for the passenger door as Priss called out, “Dude. Backseat.”

  The boy huffed, but pulled the front seat forward and plopped into the back.

  When she opened the trunk of the Caddy, Adam set the box inside. Priss reached for the towel covering it, but he grabbed her hand. “No peeking. It’s a surprise.”

  She grinned. “Bet it’s KFC.”

  “You’d be very wrong.” After making sure her fingers were clear, he slammed the massive trunk lid.

  Once they were on the road the wind made it feel like he was going much faster than the posted twenty-five through Widow’s Grove. When he turned onto the highway to the coast, he sped up a bit.

  “Did we get a hotel room? ’Cuz there’s no way we’re gonna make it there and back in one day.” Nacho whined from the acreage of the backseat.

  The seat belt cleaved Priss’s chest when she turned. “We talked about this. But it is going to be a long day if you start this crap already.”

  Nacho, who had been strapped into the middle seat, moved to the seat behind Priss.

  “Fine, be that way. Buckle in.”

  The seat belt clicked.

  Adam stopped at the intersection with PCH and turned right. When he hit the gas the engine growled and the car surged, spraying gravel. “Whoa. This thing has got some power.”

  “Hello V-8.”

  He took it to the speed limit, settling in behind an SUV. Warm wind slid behind t
he windshield, stirring the hair on his arms, brushing his face. The sun hit the ocean’s chop, breaking it into eye-slicing mirror shards.

  He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and rested his elbow on the door. Contentment settled over him. This wasn’t too bad. Pretty cool, in fact. He glanced at Priss and met her smile.

  “Told you.”

  “Okay, you were right. This time. But under less skilled hands, this would still be a dangerous machine.” He ignored her smile. “Where did you get it?”

  He let her animated voice flow over him as she told him about the day she found the “unloved gem.” God, she was cute. He kept his eyes on the road as much as he was able, nodding in the pauses to keep her talking. How had she not been snatched up by some hip local by now? Maybe she’d scared them all off. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Or her brother had.

  “I know there’s still work to be done, but Mona is going to be awesome when I get her cherried out.”

  Nacho leaned in from the backseat. “I’ll paint her when I learn how—black with orange flames like Bear had on that bike. Wouldn’t that be bad?”

  She smiled. “You’re right, Nacho, it would. Can you imagine rolling through downtown in a car like that? Man, everybody would drool.” She scrubbed a hand over his head, and Nacho ducked out from under. “But that’ll have to wait.”

  “Bear said—” The happy kid dissolved to a cranky toddler.

  “Stop.” She put up a hand. “Can we have a Bear-free zone, just for this afternoon?”

  The kid flopped back against the seat.

  The sun still shone warm, but the car went cold. Adam raised an eyebrow at Priss, but she just shook her head. “Bear. Free. Zone.”

  He turned on the radio, surprised to find it tuned to his favorite station. Jim Morrison wailed at him to keep his eyes on the road and his hands upon the wheel.

  Priss leaned back in the seat and turned her face to the sun. “Oh, man, I love the Lizard King.”

  Then I guess we’re not total opposites after all. He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel to Densmore’s backbeat. The road cut inland for a few miles at San Luis Obispo, and when they met the ocean again at Morro Bay, the hills on their right steepened. The coastline tipped into the ocean, exposing its rocky skeleton at the surf. They tooled along in silence.

  “Wow, look at that, Nacho.” Priss pointed to the vista of grass-covered mountains.

  “Seen it.”

  Priss looked over her shoulder at Nacho. “Mom brought you?”

  “Yeah, right. No car, remember? We went to Hearst Castle on a school field trip last year.”

  “Oh, there’s a castle?”

  “As close to a castle as money could buy, back in the twenties.” Adam pointed to a white spot at the very top of a brushy mount, then put both hands back on the wheel.

  Priss clapped her hands. “Oh, I want to see that!”

  “It’s too late today. They’d be booked up. But I’ll bring you back another time, if you’d like.”

  “Oh, I’d really like.” She may have only been referring to the castle, but he read more into her smile.

  “Boooorrrringg,” Nacho said from the cheap seat.

  Adam glanced in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry, Nacho, I promise something really cool is coming up.” He slowed and turned left at the sign for the Hearst-San Simeon State Park.

  He pulled into a parking space and turned off the key. The breeze carried the smell of dampness, salt and shellfish. Nacho stood on the seat and vaulted out. The car chugged.

  Nacho sprinted to where the grass ended and the rocks began.

  “Hey, wait up,” Priss yelled, opening the car door.

  The car continued to cough and sputter. Adam took his hands off the wheel, but hovered, just in case. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

  Priss stepped out and closed the door. “Oh, she’ll quit in a second. Come on, show us the cool stuff.”

  When he pulled out the key, the car settled with one last wheeze and a fart. He opened the door and stepped out, watching to be sure it was truly done, then followed Priss to the edge of the continent.

  The edge dropped four feet onto a floor of black rocks. Small waves pushed in, replenishing the tide pools in the cracks and bowls formed by time and ceaseless pounding.

  Nacho said, “Cool starfish.”

  “This is the second cool thing. The first cool thing is over there.” Adam pointed to a sheltered beach, a hundred yards away. “Come on.” They walked, grass brushing their legs. He enjoyed watching Priss take in everything at once: the hills, the ocean, the horizon.

  A parking lot lay nestled around a white sandy cove that was sheltered by a jutting escarpment.

  Nacho squinted. “What’s so big about a beach full of rocks?”

  “Because those aren’t rocks.”

  Nacho ran up to the rope strung at the edge.

  “Don’t go any farther.” Priss’s breath caught. “Oh, gosh, look at that!”

  Elephant seals lay sunbathing on the beach. Half-grown pups humped around their seemingly comatose parents, mock-fighting with each other. Their honking bellows sounded like a sugar-fueled, too-loud playdate.

  “Way cool,” Nacho said.

  “The pups will be weaned in a couple of weeks, and then they’ll all leave until next year, when they come back to give birth again.”

  Nacho pointed. “Look at that huge one yelling at her baby.”

  “See? All kids get yelled at when they screw up,” Priss said.

  “Yeah, and adults are the same in every species. Look over there, at the one with the spots.”

  Adam could watch seals any time, but these two humans were much more interesting. He could easily see they were related when they stood side by side with their matching shiny, stand-up hair and widow’s peaks. Their faces were small and heart-shaped, but Nacho’s eyes were brown, and Priss’s were green. Priss’s skin was lighter as well—a milky latte to Nacho’s coffee tone. Nacho must have inherited his short square body from his father, because Priss had the long, fluid lines of a cat. Or a dancer. Or—

  “I’m starving. Can we eat now?” Nacho broke Adam’s musings.

  “Sure. Then after lunch, we’ll explore the tide pools.”

  The wind played with their clothes on the way back to the car.

  Adam opened the trunk and carried the box to a chained-down state-owned picnic table. “Now, for the pièce de résistance.”

  “We’re having pizza?” Nacho peered over the side of the box.

  “Not hardly.” Adam hadn’t been able to find his mother’s wicker basket, but other than that, the lunch would have made any foodie proud: French cheeses, duck pâté, Greek olive tapenade, salmon-orzo salad, savory ham and butter croissants. He’d have loved to include a bottle of wine, but knew he’d be driving, so he’d settled for sparkling cider. He laid everything out. “Ta da.”

  “What the h—” Nacho shot a long-suffering look at his sister.

  Their faces would have been comic, if this had been funny. Priss’s brows scrunched and her lips spread, but her mouth teetered between a smile and a grimace. “Um. Nice.”

  Their reaction smacked his brain. Standing beside them now it seemed so obvious. A kid and a street warrior are going to eat pâté? You’re such an arrogant idiot—thinking only about what you’d be impressed with, instead of considering your audience. He felt the blood pounding in his face “There may be a KFC in Cambria. I can just—”

  “No, no, it’s great.” She surveyed the dishes. “Do you have any mustard?”

  He lifted a small jar of Grey Poupon from the box.

  She smiled. “This will work. Here, Nacho, we’ll make you a sandwich.”

  He’d forgotten about Nacho. Well, not forgotten, but when he walke
d into the Tasteful Widow Italian Market and Deli, he’d gotten carried away, imagining him and Priss on a bluff overlooking the ocean, eating pâté and staring into each other’s eyes. You are pathetic.

  Adam ducked his head, busying himself with the plates and napkins. He should have known that Priss wouldn’t like this meal any more than Nacho would.

  This was a lunch that June would have liked. Except June would never have agreed to come out and see a bunch of smelly, noisy seals. He’d set out to make a good impression, and ended up making a bad joke.

  Priss split two croissants down the middle with a cheese knife, smeared brie on one side, Grey Poupon on the other, and placed thin slices of prosciutto ham between.

  “Make me one, too, will you?” He sighed. “Nacho, how’d you like to try some salmon?”

  “No!” There was no smile in his grimace. “No, thank you.”

  To her credit, Priss put a dab of everything on her plate.

  They ate in inelegant silence.

  Priss pointed her fork to a gray blob on her plate. “This is good. What is it?”

  “Pâté. Here, it’s better this way.” He snatched up a cracker, spread some on it with a knife, and held it to her lips.

  She bit into it. “Yum. What’s it made of?”

  “Goose—” He caught the word before it escaped. “Stuff. I’m glad you like it.”

  Kicking the metal support of the picnic table with a rhythmic, metallic bong, Nacho drained the last of his cider. “Can I get up now?”

  Nacho wasn’t the only one grateful for a reprieve. Adam stood. “I’ll get this cleaned up. Why don’t you guys check out the tide pools?”

  “You go, Nacho, but stay close to the edge, and don’t get wet.”

  Nacho took off.

  Adam crumpled trash in his fist. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”

  She stepped up close, wrapped her hand around his bicep and looked up at him with those huge green eyes. “I think you’re sweet.” She stood tiptoe to kiss his nose. “Thank you for thinking we were worth all this effort.”

  He put his hand over hers. “Why would you say that? You’re worth a lot more than some pâté.”