Six Years Gone (Gone #1)

by Jessica Gouin

  She all but snorts and crosses her arms, releasing the death grip on her bag resting on her lap. “Oh yeah, we may not have had any classes together, but I know exactly who you are. The Australian charmer who moved here a few years back, one of the most popular guys in school. On the baseball team with your best mate, Nathan. Friendly with the cheerleaders. Former Boy Scout, probably.” She snaps her fingers as if a thought just came to her. “Oh, and let’s not forget the newest revelation, handy with engines. Did I miss anything, Lachlan Williams?”

  Ouch. I would be offended if she wasn’t so gorgeous. Scary, but sexy as hell at the same time. Her angelic appearance shatters the instant she opens her pretty little mouth and expels obscenities. I love it. It’s amazing how quickly she can go from battered puppy to a ferocious great white with the whip of her head.

  I must put up one hell of a front if she considers my life to be perfect. “Wow. My life sounds sweet.”

  “Isn’t it?” she deadpans, choosing to look out of the window instead of at me. It makes me wonder what expression I have on my face.

  Amusement? Lust? Fear? All of the above?

  I work my jaw as I attempt to shake the shock of her lashing and come up with a response. My life in Woodsview would seem perfect to someone from afar, I suppose. Life in Australia, though…. That life was far from perfect in the end.

  Before I can come up with any words, she sighs and hooks me in with blue eyes so big her pupils seem almost non-existent. “Sawyer Mathews.”

  A smile creeps onto her face. She has a raw beauty about her. I can tell she’s real. Not one of those girls with fake nails and hair and a gallon on makeup hiding who they really are. From what I know of her—which isn’t much, to be honest—she speaks her mind. I bet she’s someone who will call you out for something instead of burying it deep to keep the peace.

  I smile back at her. “Nice to meet you, Sawyer Mathews.”

  She stares out of the window again, almost dazed. I’m glad I’m driving her home, she seems tired. I return my attention to the road, mentally will my heart to slow down, and take a crack at small talk. “So, Sawyer? What kind of name is that, anyway? I’ve never heard it before. Is it common in America?”

  She shrugs. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve never met another Sawyer. It was my grandmother’s maiden name. She died the week before I was born and I’m her namesake. For real though, I don’t think my name is any more unusual than yours. What the hell does Lachlan even mean?”

  “Whoa, Lachlan is a very common name in Australia. It means warlike.”

  “Warlike, huh? I’m not even sure what to make of that. Well, you’re in Woodsview now, mate.”

  I shift in my seat, recalling how many times that phrase ran through my mind in the past three and a half years I’ve lived here. “Yeah, I sure am.” I mutter as I absentmindedly surf radio stations.

  My body tingles as I sense her eyes roaming over me. I can only imagine the thoughts sprinting through her mind. She’s under the impression I’m just like Nathan and the rest of my friends. In actuality, I’m nothing like them at all. I never really was.

  Nathan was my first friend when I moved here four years ago. My Aunt Claire and his mom are in the same book club so our friendship was prearranged. He didn’t seem to mind. We had similar interests, and even though he can be a real ass sometimes, he’s never been a dick to me. We’ve been friends for so long I got used to looking the other way when it comes to his antics. How he treats people that don’t come from the same money we do, for instance. At first, I didn’t stand up to him, or anyone else, because I was the new guy. I wanted to fit in with Nathan and his friends. It was nice to belong somewhere again. Also, I didn’t want to upset Aunt Claire. She’s not someone you want to see angry, and I can’t think of anything that would make her more upset than causing a rift in her circle. So, I played along with the shit Nathan and the rest of the crew did. Lately, it’s getting hard to keep my head turned. Not too many people, including the other guys on the team, will call Nathan out or stand up for the bullied. So far, there’s only been one exception that just so happens to be sitting in my passenger seat.

  She intrigues the hell out of me.

  I lean her way, tilting my head forward, giving her a sly grin. “Can I tell you a super top secret?”

  “Sure?” It comes out more of a question, like she’s unsure of what I will say to her.

  “I hate my name. Always have. Like what the hell does warlike even mean? God, that feels good to get off my chest. You have to promise you won’t tell anyone my deepest, darkest secret. I would really hate to ruin my life-is-perfect facade.”

  She lets out the smallest of laughs, and it’s unlike anything I’ve heard.

  Shit, I sound like a douchebag.

  She leans closer. “Your secret’s safe with me. But only because I agree with you, it’s a really stupid name.”

  Her light manner is like a tiny reward. I have to earn her smiles. And I intend to earn a lot of them. “Thanks. I knew I could trust you. So, if you could pick any name in the world, change it to anything at all, what would your new name be?”

  “Uh…a new name? I’ve got bigger problems in my life than the name I’m stuck with. I’ve never really given it any thought.”

  “You’ve seriously never thought about changing your name? It was the one thing I wanted to do the most when I was younger, five or six years old maybe. I swore when I grew up it would be the first decision I made as an adult. I loved this book about a kid named Noah. He was always getting into mischief with his brothers and sisters, and, since I’m an only child, I envied him. I would have given anything to have all those siblings. I wanted to be Noah.”

  In the middle of my rambling, a new song plays on the radio, and, as I speak, I turn the volume up a bit to hear it better while I talk. She cringes, and I’m fairly certain she’s unaware she did. She obviously hates this song and is trying to pay attention to my story without being rude and interrupting. She reaches for the dial and turns it down.

  I turn it up again. She turns it back down.

  This is too much fun.

  “Sawyer, what gives? This is a good song,” I proclaim, completely amused. I really only like the beat of this song, but the fact she doesn’t like it makes me like it more. She twists me into an unrecognizable person, and I’m not sure who I want to learn more about; this new Lachlan or the mysterious Sawyer Mathews.

  “You can pull over right there, mate,” she says, pointing to a red brick house and sighing. “Such a shame. You were doing so well in the beginning, offering me a ride home and making stupid small talk, but your horrible taste in girly music has now ruined everything.”

  I was doing well? Her words flip a switch inside of me. I turn the dial so the volume reaches an earsplitting level, and I belt out the lyrics. I’m a bit surprised, and thankful, that I even know the words.

  And there you go, and here I’ll stay.

  You reach for me, yet I turn away.

  It’s always your choice, but I refuse.

  I can never, ever be the one to lose.

  I know I’m a horrible singer. But she’s laughing, so I keep going.

  I’ve suffered from everything you’ve put me through,

  But even after all the heartache, what can I do?

  I still pick you, my heart still wants you….

  I turn the dial down as my singing fades. She’s laughing so hard tears form in the corners of her eyes then trickle down her cheeks and she wipes the dampness away.

  “That was one of the worst karaoke versions I’ve ever heard. I sincerely hope you never put another victim through your torture again. Ever.”

  I puff out my bottom lip, making my eyes bigger and sadder. “I sang my heart out to you just now.”

  “Wow, Warlike’s sensitive. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You’re not horrible. Just promise you’ll never sing to me again.”

  “I don’t make promises if I know I can’t keep them.�
�� If singing makes her face turn angelic and laugh from the pit of her stomach, then singing is what I’ll do. I’ll sing every day.

  She holds my stare for a moment then we burst out laughing again. The rest of the song continues on the radio. I don’t think she hates it anymore.

  She reaches for the door handle, and I expect her to just walk away. Out of my car, out of my life. The thought of not talking to her again makes me uneasy.

  “I should probably get inside. You know, I figured you were just like Nathan, spokesperson for rich bitches. I don’t know what made you decide to be nice today, but thanks for the ride home.”

  Now more than ever I hate being who I am. I hate that she groups me with Nathan and my other friends. I haven’t hated myself in a long time, yet here I am, wishing I could change everything about myself. “You know, I never liked what they do to other people. How they bully and belittle them. They’ve been my friends for years and I still don’t even know them. I’ve noticed you around before today. I didn’t decide to be nice on impulse.”

  She’s quiet, and now I’m thinking I said too much. In Woodsview, there are two sides. Two worlds. We’re divided, with a tall, impenetrable barrier in between us. I know this as well as she does. Probably better because I get subtle reminders almost daily from my aunt.

  “I’m not a social experiment or someone you can use as a toy to play with when you’re bored.”

  My attention finally shifts away from the radio and I really look at her. “A lot of thoughts have crossed my mind when it comes to you. That was never one of them.”

  Her mouth twists as she studies me. I can practically see gears turning in her head. The same ones are turning in mine.

  “I guess you aren’t as much of a douchebag as I thought you were. Thanks again for the ride.”

  I rub the stubble on my jaw. “Well. You’re welcome for the ride and thank you, I think. It was nice to officially meet you, Sawyer. And for the record,” I say as I lean toward her, “you’re not as badass as you think you are.”

  She drops her chin. “Yes, I am.”

  She strolls to her porch, and I can’t take my eyes off her the entire walk, or lose the grin she tattooed on my face. Once she reaches the door, she turns around. For a moment, I think she’s going to flip me off or something, but she doesn’t.

  She winks.

  One bat of her long, black eyelashes is all I need to officially claim victory on our first encounter.

  She disappears inside, and I smile to myself as I drive away, thinking tonight is the night I met the girl I’m going to fall in love with.

  I wonder if she can feel it yet.

  Chapter THREE

  Sawyer

  Owen is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, eating a bowl of cereal when I walk in. He looks up, and his shoulders rise then drop when I raise a brow at him.

  “I know, I know. It’s my night to cook. But, I got to pick up an extra shift today, and I’m way too exhausted to do anything but pour. Sorry, sis. I’ll make something good tomorrow, I promise.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Cereal works for me.” I grab a bowl from the cupboard while peering sideways at him and gauge his mood. He seems calm enough, but that could be because he’s so tired. Sorry, brother.

  “So...um, I’m sorry to drop this on you right now, but the Jeep kind of ran out of gas. It’s on Ashmore, near the park.”

  His hand halts halfway to his mouth. A bead of milk trickles off the end of his spoon and lands in his bowl. He lets out a breath and mumbles, “Fuck.” I hate how Owen has to work twice as hard to be the dad who left and the mom who might as well have. “All right, I’ll get some cash tomorrow and take care of it. How’d you get home? I thought Sloane was working tonight?”

  I would question where the cash will be coming from, but I know better. Owen will do whatever it takes to provide for the two of us. I used to think Drew was dangerous, and then I witnessed Owen going to bat for him and me when it came to survival. Drew’s drug deals and shady friends seem like Mickey Mouse in comparison to my big brother.

  “She is working but she isn’t my only friend. I got a ride from someone at school. And why do you know her schedule?”

  He chuckles, moving to the sink to rinse his bowl. “She works the same shifts every week. And, yeah, I’m pretty sure she is your only friend. The only good one anyway.”

  I never even realized Sloane has the same schedule every week. Score one for Owen on observation.

  After my magically delicious dinner, Owen and I hang out in the living room to watch The Walking Dead. There’s some comfort in witnessing other people’s lives turn to shit instead of ours for a change. The apocalyptic world is usually a great escape for me, except I can’t seem to concentrate tonight. My mind slips away and ventures toward another world—the boy who drove me home. And, the motive behind his supposedly good intentions. If there’s any wisdom my parents passed onto me, it’s that people generally don’t do nice things without expectations in return. Nothing in this world is free. Nothing.

  Maybe I need sleep to wrap my thoughts around the last few hours.

  “Fucking Carl.” I stand from the couch to stretch my legs.

  Owen laughs. “Every time. Why do you hate the kid so much?”

  I reach around to scratch my back. “He just irritates me. Like, take off the stupid hat for crap sakes. You’re not the sheriff.”

  “That poor kid has been through enough. You need to be nice to him. And why are you so itchy? What’d you take?”

  Besides Drew, Owen and Sloane are the only ones who know I take pills regularly. They don’t approve, but they don’t say much to stop me either.

  “Just some shit from Drew. For my face.”

  “Yeah well, if I see Nathan around town, he’ll need more than pills to get over his injuries.”

  I wave him off and head toward my room. “You know I can handle those jerks. Night, bro.”

  “Night.”

  On the way to my bedroom, a realization makes me smack my palm against my forehead. I forgot my bag in Lachlan’s car when he dropped me off. As if I need another reason for his chiseled jaw and inviting brown eyes to flash in my mind.

  Damn it.

  When my brain finally gives up running in circles, I fall asleep. Only sleep wasn’t the escape I needed. I dream of full lips curving into a sexy smile. A thick accent murmuring my name. Hard arms, hidden by a baseball shirt, wrap vise-tight around my waist.

  It is a long and agitating night.

  Relentless morning light filters through my window before I’m ready for it to be a new day. Getting out of bed is a challenge. I pull the blanket over my head and ignore the birds chirping outside so I can get a few more minutes of much needed shut-eye.

  Just as I begin to drift back to sleep, two quick raps on my bedroom door rip me away from my slumber.

  Owen pops his head in. “Morning, sunshine. You seem…not alert.”

  “Shut up and get out.”

  “Will do. But, before I go, I need to ask you something. Did you tell Mom about the Jeep?”

  I rub my face and try to comprehend what he’s saying. “The Jeep? No, I haven’t seen her in like…three days. Why?”

  “That’s what I thought. It’s parked out front.”

  “Of our house?”

  He nods.

  “How the hell could it be parked out front when I left it on the side of the road last night with an empty tank?”

  “Well, Princess, there lays my question for you.”

  I hate it when he calls me Princess. Our dad used to call me that when I was little, before he walked away from me—from all of us. I’m not sure if Owen even realizes he says it or if it just comes out automatically because he tries to replace our father. Either way, it pisses me off.

  I trudge past my brother to go outside, barefoot, in my pajamas. Sure enough, the Wrangler is parked in the middle of the driveway. Dumbfounded, I glance up and down the street but notice nothing o
ut of the ordinary. I pull on the handle and the door opens.

  Why wouldn’t it be locked?

  I hop up and finger the keys dangling in the ignition. Shifting my squinty glare to the passenger seat, I’m even more confused by my bag resting there.

  What the hell?

  Returning my attention to the ignition, I turn the key forward. My stomach sinks to the floor once the fuel gauge jumps to FULL. I left the keys in my bag and the bag in his car. Lachlan must have found my bag and…. Motherfu—

  “Want to explain?” Owen asks, as I storm past him back into the house.

  “Nope.”

  Inside, I stomp to my bedroom to get ready for school, so consumed with frustration my vision blurs. I have no idea what clothes I’m yanking from the drawers and hangers in my closet. Owen’s positioned at the end of the hall as I exit my room and tramp to the bathroom, watching me, his expression half confusion, half amusement. The steamy shower water peppers my skin, and every minute that passes, my anger surges. Twenty minutes later, my hair is dry, I’m dressed, and racing the Jeep down the road to school.

  It doesn’t take long to find Lachlan in front of his locker with a cheerleader all over him. I don’t notice much else. It’s hard to see past all the red clouding my vision. I approach the lovebirds and wedge myself between Barbie and Australian Ken.

  “What the hell are you trying to prove?” I demand, and Barbie takes an awkward step back out of my way.

  Lachlan clears his throat while glancing around, clearly uncomfortable with me approaching him in front of everyone. “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank’ and ‘you.’”

  I almost forgot how the honey dots sparkle in his brown irises when he smiles.

  What? No!

  “Australia, I can assure you, those are not the words I’m looking for. I don’t want or need anything from you. You shouldn’t have done that.” His calmness fuels my rage. My limbs tremble and vision is hazy around the edges.

  He scans the hallway once again as more people slowdown to watch the scene I’m initiating. I couldn’t care less who’s a witness to the morning showdown. He places his hand on my elbow to guide me away from the growing audience.