We settle into our seats with our food when an earlier conversation I had pops into my head. “Remember last winter when Drew wanted to set you up with his cousin from San Francisco but then we broke up and we never met the guy?”
She nods, a hand covering her mouthful of salty fries. “Vaguely, yes. Side swiped a land mine, didn’t I? Could you even image if I got involved with his cousin? Probably identical to Drew, too. So, what about the loser?”
I clear my throat. “Umm, he died.”
“Oh, shit. Seriously?”
“Yeah, he was killed.”
“Holy crap, that’s crazy! How’d he die? Was he stabbed or shot or something?”
I shrug, not knowing too many details, having heard only a snippet from a friend of mine who hangs around with Drew’s friends. “I’m not too sure. Tessa told me this afternoon. She also said Drew was there when it happened. Some other girl died, too. Insane, right? He hasn’t said anything to me about it, though. I just keep thinking if things were different, it could have been us there. We used to go to parties with Drew all the time, and you were so close to being introduced to his cousin.”
“Sawyer, you’re so twisted to think of it that way. You’re freaking me out.” Sloane sips her drink, and we’re both quiet for a few minutes. “I can’t believe you even dated the guy. I’m sorry but his lifestyle scares the crap out of me. And I’ve seen some crazy things before.”
I know bad things happen around Drew and he’s a cheating asshole, but I never felt unsafe around him. As odd as it is. I just knew he would never let anything or anyone hurt me. Besides him I suppose.
“Okay, enough doom and gloom. I can’t stand talking about him after what he did to you. Let’s talk about Mr. Williams instead because he’s nothing like Drew. What’s the plan for today? Are you just going to ring his doorbell, throw the money at him, and walk away? Are you going to make it rain? Tell me you’re going to make it rain with a straight face and just glare at him.”
I mentally shake away all dark thoughts of Drew’s life and laugh a little as I take a bite of my Cali Lovin’ burger. In between chews, I say, “I won’t so much throw as shove it at him. And no making it rain, playa. You can’t make it rain with four ten-dollar bills, anyway. You sound ridiculous when you talk gangsta lingo.”
“Well, as much as I wish I could be there to witness the epic scene that is sure to go down, it breaks my heart I will not. I’ll be too busy being hella bored answering phones. I hope the gorgeous sales guy is working so I can have a decent view at least.”
“You’re sick. I’ll fill you in on the details when I come over tonight,” I say, with a devilish grin.
She snickers, and we spend the rest of our meal imitating potential reactions that will appear on Lachlan’s face and talking about the new guy at the dealership who asked for her phone number.
The predictable sun descends behind the tops of the evergreen trees, playing a game of peek-a-boo with every other step I take toward the address scrawled on the napkin in my hand. I stop at the end of a cobblestone pathway leading to a log-style cottage on the outskirts of town. The porch stretches the length of the front of the home with a peaked black roof resting on the log walls. Window panes fill the majority of the wall next to the French-styled front door with two hanging lanterns guarding either side. Adjacent to the front door are matching white Adirondack chairs with a cobalt-blue café table nestled in the middle.
Whelp, I expected a nice house, but this is just ridiculous.
Letting out a fast breath at the front door, I ring the bell. All of a sudden, my jean shorts, loose tank, and Doc Martens make me feel a little underdressed—even if I am just standing on a porch. The duel lanterns light up, and the door opens. An older woman with light-blonde hair, leathery tanned skin, and manicured nails appears in the entrance.
“Hello, young lady, can I help you?” Her demeanor is surprisingly friendly. Sloane told me his aunt and uncle bought Lachlan’s car from her father’s dealership last year when he got his driving permit and apparently his aunt was a real snob to the salesman.
“Hi, is Lachlan here?”
“Lachlan? You are here to see…Lachlan.” It’s not a question. In an instant, the fake smile disappears.
“Uh, yeah, is he home?” I try to glance past her, but all I see is an empty picturesque kitchen at the end of a wide hallway.
She purses her lips and makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “No, as a matter of fact he’s not home. Sorry you wasted your time.”
She tries to close the door, but I block it with my hand. “His car is in the driveway.”
“Young lady, I assure you there is no one here for you.”
An older man appears behind the shrew. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Lachlan’s friend.”
Aunt Shrew lets out a spent breath and tells me to stay where I am. Then closes the door.
Screw this!
What a stupid idea it was to come here. I should have just cornered him at school again.
I take the potted plant from the table and, for a split second, the thought of flinging it through the window crosses my mind. I don’t want to spend the rest of my senior year in juvy, so instead, I put the money on the porch then place the pot on top. I all but fly off the porch, needing to put a lot of space between me and this house with that woman as soon as possible. The precious door—which, let’s be honest here, costs more than my entire house—opens and closes behind me, but I ignore it and keep walking.
.
Chapter Six
Lachlan
Aunt Claire knocks on my open bedroom door, and I pull out my earbuds to hear what she’s saying.
“Someone is at the door for you.” Those seven words shouldn’t repulse someone simply by speaking them, yet the way the sentence is delivered out of her tight lips sends shivers down my spine. Clearly, whoever’s at the door isn’t someone that’s welcomed at this house, which makes me think I know who it is.
There’s only one person who can make this kind of impression.
I toss my iPod and laptop aside, cross the room, and peer out of the window to see the back of Sawyer as she storms away from my house. Why would she come here just to leave before she saw me?
I thank my aunt as I pass her and jog down the stairs to catch Sawyer.
“Sawyer!” I holler loud enough for her to hear. She doesn’t turn around or even slow her pace. “Wait up a second.”
I finally reach her down the street and clasp my fingers around her upper arm to stop her. Blonde hair whips around with such force it nearly knocks me over. My skin is set afire by her glare locked on my hand around her arm. I can’t help focusing on the contact, our skin on skin. The fury emitting from her causes my body to throb. I unwillingly release my hand and run it through my hair to keep myself from touching her. It’s the only thing I want to do when she’s near. The need to brush her silken hair from her face, or interlock our fingers, or even press my lips against hers is paralyzing. It takes half a moment to compose myself enough to speak.
“This better not be what I think it is.” I hold up the cash I found on the porch under the plant.
She crosses her arms and shifts her weight, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, well, I told you I didn’t want your pity money, so I’m paying you back for the gas. I didn’t want to bother your family any longer, so I left it on the porch.”
“If you didn’t want to bother anyone, why’d you knock in the first place?” Her only response is silence. “I don’t want your money, Sawyer. I just…I just wanted to be nice to you. Why can’t it be enough? Is it really so hard to let someone do something nice for you?” I want to curse at her, tell her not everyone has ulterior motives, but it wouldn’t matter. She’s not the type of person to believe words, that much is obvious. I’m going to have to show her.
“As I said, I don’t need anything from you.”
I’m momentarily defeated by her stubbornness. “You came here for a reason and I ha
ve a hard time believing paying me is your only intention. I understand you didn’t need anything from me, but have you ever stopped to think maybe life would be a little easier if you weren’t such a bitch all the time?”
The words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them. I didn’t mean to be callous, but Sawyer isn’t the kind of girl who’s made of sugar and spice and everything nice. I doubt I’m the first to call her out for being a bitch.
She can be nasty. She knows it, I know it, everyone who has ever met this girl knows it. And I still can’t help thinking she’s the most radiantly sexy, angelic-seeming, smart-mouthed girl I’ve ever come across, and I want her like I’ve never wanted anything before. She has to understand I’m not some bored rich boy looking to slum it or play games. That’s not the kind of person I am, and I’m going to prove to her I am one of the nice guys.
I could be good for her.
Space is the only thing in our immediate future, though. Time apart to collect my thoughts and regroup.
I back up a few steps, unable to blink away our connection. It’s hard to not watch her chest as it lightly heaves up and down in irritation. Her slightly parted red-stained lips are hypnotic, and I battle an impulse to close her mouth with my own. I tilt my chin up, stand straighter, then turn around and walk away. I make it all the way back to my house and close the door behind me before I let out my breath and suck in air.
“So. Was she a friend from school?”
The voice startles me. My aunt is leaning against the kitchen island, sipping tea. I know its tea because it’s afternoon. She’s nothing if not predictable. The smile she wears, which is half hidden by a steaming mug, doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which leads me to believe she is not asking this out of curiosity. No. She’s asking out of uncertainty. Uncertainty about who it is her nephew is spending his free time with and how this will seem when the women in her book club hear all about it.
I nod as I make my way into the kitchen, grabbing an orange from the bowl. “Yeah, we go to the same school.” I’m not sure I can call Sawyer a friend of mine. She watches as I peel patches from the orange and make a pile on the countertop.
Aunt Claire lowers the mug from her mouth and arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “And what was she doing on our front porch, requesting to see you?”
“She was just bringing back something I lent her.” Technically not a lie. Not the truth exactly, but with the intense look in her eyes and the tone in her voice, I can’t exactly share my feelings for Sawyer. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know where to begin.
“Will she be coming by the house again?”
“Would it be so bad if she did?”
She clears her throat and places her mug on the counter. “As a matter of fact….” She smooth’s the front of her dress then clasps her hands together in front of her. “You know what, Lachlan? You’re a smart boy and I know I’ve had an influence on you in the last few years. I’m sure you can figure out what happens when you get involved with people like that.”
People like that.
It’s funny how I suddenly group my aunt, uncle, Nathan, and the rest of my friends in the people like that category now.
Thankfully, the telephone rings and I use the temporary distraction to slip away.
A blue light blinks on the top of my cell from my dresser. When I swipe a finger across the middle, the screen illuminates with three unread texts. One from Nathan, and two from Courtney Harper. Both of them want to know if I’m still coming to the party tonight. Yet another party. With the same people.
I lob the phone back onto my dresser, longing for silence. If I had a universal remote to control my life, I would pause the world.
Breathe, Lachlan. Breathe.
She’s just a girl. Get a grip on yourself.
Even my subconscious is laughing at the inaccuracy.
Sawyer is anything but just a girl.
Chapter SEVEN
Sawyer
Someone calling me a bitch isn’t exactly unfamiliar ground, but hearing those infamous words shoot from Lachlan’s mouth felt different. Bad different. I don’t know him very well yet, and I say yet because I really don’t think he’s done messing with me. However, during the small chats we’ve had, he didn’t come off as the kind of person to be anything but optimistic. Annoyingly so.
The thought of him harboring hateful feelings toward me is physically painful. My belly twists in an ache as I remain staring at his silent house. I squeeze my eyelids shut to try to erase the image of Lachlan’s puzzled face.
Shit, I am not going to cry.
This is not how I envisioned my plan going down.
By the time I get to my Jeep, my guilt increases dramatically. Lachlan’s right, I am a bitch. I snapped at him when he genuinely thought he was doing something amiable for a girl he’s seen around school. He told me he wanted to be nice and I should relax and let people be good to me. Well, as far as I’m concerned, when people claim to be good, they turn out to be cheaters and break your heart just to leave you more damaged than you thought possible. Whenever they’re supposed to care, they walk away from you without another thought of your well-being and choose everyone and everything else over you.
Behind every shut-off person lies someone who betrayed them.
Broke them.
Owen and I don’t accept help from people. We managed to get this far on our own, and that’s how I’ve come to face myself in the mirror every morning. Life is more gratifying when I earn things myself. I would rather have only one dollar in my pocket than to listen to another person say I wouldn’t have it without them. I don’t want to owe anyone, and I want to be able to say I made it on my own.
My reputation gets put up for judgment to maintain my independence.
I lose either way.
After I go home and grab some clothes, I drive to Sloane’s house. Neither of us have to work in the morning, so I’m spending the night. A good old-fashion sleepover should do the trick of curing my boy-blues.
When I stroll into her bedroom, tossing my bag onto her bed, she beams. “Hey! I was just thinking about you. For real, longest shift ever. I’ve been dying to hear this all afternoon. Sooo, how’d it go?”
I plop down on her bed next to my bag. She gets comfortable on her window bench, pulling her legs up to hug them, waiting for details I don’t want to give her.
I let out a breath and puff out my lips in response.
“That bad? What happened?”
I hate how much entertainment she’s going to get out of this. “Everything just…went wrong. It was so stupid. His snooty aunt answered their million-dollar door and all but spat on me in disgust. She actually lied to my face and said he wasn’t home when he was. I know I’m not a prize, but, Christ, she made me feel as if I’m a walking disease or something.”
Sloane holds up a finger to stop me. “Don’t say things like that. If I were a guy, I would date you in a New York minute. You are the prize, trust me. Just because you’re not worth a million dollars does not make you worthless. Now, stop playing poor-me and tell me what Lachlan said. Did you even talk to him?”
I roll onto my back and twirl a strand of my hair with my fingers. “Yeah, I talked to him. I left the money on the porch, but he caught up with me down the street. Naturally, he was upset I tried to give him money. I had my speech all rehearsed and everything. But I kind of froze. I told him I didn’t need anything from him. Then he called me a bitch.”
Sloane bursts out laughing. She cackles so hard she falls off the window bench and onto the wood floor. I roll over onto my stomach and glare at her.
“Are you done yet?” This is not a funny situation.
“Oh, that’s good. I like him a little more. So, what are you going to do?”
“Do? I’m not going to do anything. It’s over. I gave him money for the gas. He hates me. I hate him. Everyone goes on with their lives like none of this happened. The end.”
She scoots closer and rests her head next to
mine, looking at me with soft-green eyes that peek through pieces of ginger hair. “Oh, Sawyer, my love. It’s kind of funny you think everything will go back to normal. You and Lachlan are so far from the end.”
Yelling rips me from my slumber Monday morning. I fucking hate Mondays. In haste, I rub the sleep off my face and sunlight assaults my vision.
Not again.
I don’t want to deal with this shit. Throwing my blanket to the side, I jump out of bed and rush into the living room, where the screaming is coming from.
My mom is facing my brother with her arms crossed. Her hair is blonder than when I last saw her—she must have gotten is done. Funny how she finds money for her hair but not for groceries. Or bills. “You little shit, in case you’ve forgotten this is my house you’re living in. You have no right to treat me this way.”
Owen grabs jeans from the floor, a belt from the couch, and a few other things scattered around the living room and hurls them out the opened front door. “Yeah, well you can call it your house again when you pay a goddamn bill. What the hell are you thinking, bringing this guy in here? Sawyer and I were sleeping in our rooms. He could have been a fucking serial killer for all you knew!” He finishes tossing what I assume are the serial killer’s things out the front door and slams it shut.
“Jesus Christ, Owen.” My mother rushes toward the door to go after her knight in shining armor that was just thrown out, but Owen grabs her arm to stop her.
She yanks away and stares up at him like a defiant child. “You’re so dramatic. I didn’t know mothers needed to run their guests past the child security check before they brought them home for the night.” She huffs and turns to storm from the room.
“You haven’t been a mother in a long fucking time,” he yells after her just before her bedroom door bangs closed.
Six Years Gone (Gone #1) Page 4
