Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1)

by Laura Clark

  My parents don't get home until well into the afternoon. They seem to be happy, as if they had a really good time, but they are also pretty wiped out. They ask me about where Kyle and Sam are, but I just shrug, not wanting to elaborate on our current predicament. Luckily, my mom is too tired to press me on the issue. She and my dad are so drained that they end up taking a nap in the early afternoon.

  Avery leaves to go home shortly before dinner, claiming to have plans. She can be vague like that. Normally, I would pry, but I just don't have the energy tonight.

  As I set the table, I realize Kyle and Sam are still nowhere to be seen. I set a place for each of them, hoping and praying that they both return home in time to eat with us, preferably as friends who have decided to forgive each other.

  "Kyle isn't going to be here for dinner, honey," Mom informs me. "He is going out to dinner with Georgia's family tonight." She doesn't even try to hide her elation about this news.

  "Meet the parents? He must be pretty serious about her, huh?" I ask, pretending that my mother knows more about Georgia than I do. I pause before removing the second plate from the table. "What about Sam?" I ask nervously.

  "You know, I'm not sure. I haven't seen him or heard from him all day. Hey, why don't you grab my cell phone and see if you can get ahold of him?" she suggests.

  I jump at this opportunity, wondering why I didn't think of it myself earlier. There is no way he will ignore a call from Mom. I find his name, touch the screen, and wait anxiously. As I had suspected, he picks up after only a couple of rings.

  "Hey Mrs. P. How's it going? How did you and Mr. P like the bed and breakfast?" he asks cheerfully. I didn't realize just how badly I've been craving his voice.

  "Sam, hi. It's . . . Laila," I say hesitantly, as I watch my mom toss salad dressing into the big salad bowl. She glances at me a couple of times, which only makes my voice shakier.

  "My mom asked me to call to see if you are going to be home for dinner," I say quickly, as if to explain my reason for calling him on her phone. I'm trying to make the call seem natural in front of my mom, but my voice catches, and I suddenly feel a sharp sting in the back of my throat. I have to turn away so Mom doesn't see the tears pooling in my eyes.

  "Hey you. Is your mom right there?" His voice is just above a whisper, even though she couldn't possibly hear him right now.

  "Yes, but you can come back to eat with us if you want." When I hear him sigh, it makes my hollow stomach wrench. I lower my voice and I walk away, so I am out of earshot from my mom. "Kyle's not going to be here for dinner, if that is what you are worried about."

  "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Laila." The pain in his voice thickens, as if it physically hurts him to speak to me.

  "We can't hide from this forever, Sam. Plus, my parents don't know what is going on." I am pacing behind the couch impatiently, waiting for his response.

  After a long pause, he finally sighs and agrees to come home. I'm not sure why, but there is something about the way he is speaking to me that makes me feel nauseous. I am now dreading our inevitable conversation. I have a feeling there won't be much of a discussion, and that he has already made up his mind.

  "Laila, don't make any plans tomorrow, okay?" The sound of my mom's voice pulls me out of my head. I slip her phone back into the pocket of her purse, and give her a questioning look.

  "We pushed our dinner plans with the Maddoxes back to tomorrow."

  I had completely forgotten about how they were supposed to come over tonight.

  "Yeah. We figured it would be a good idea to do a swim day with them after church, with an early barbeque instead of dinner."

  Yippee. This is just what I need; to spend another whole day with Trevor Maddox, so he can further confuse, taunt, and humiliate me. I must admit that I am thoroughly relieved to have the extra day as a buffer, though. I've had about all of the drama I can handle for one weekend, and for some reason, Trevor seems to have a knack for stirring it up.

  "Sure Mom, but I'm going to go out tonight then, okay?"

  "That's fine. Your father and I are staying in. You can even take the Murano if you want, but you'll need to get some gas. Just use your emergency credit card."

  "Thanks, Mom." I don't really have any plans, but I know that I can't really stay here all night. Plus, I'm hoping Sam and I can take our discussion off-site, so we can speak freely.

  I run upstairs to quickly freshen up. If Sam is thinking about breaking things off with me, I don't want to make it easy on him. I need to figure out a way to change his mind. Screw Kyle. If he can't support his best friend, what kind of friend is he anyway?

  I shuffle through hanger after hanger in my closet, in desperate search of the right outfit. I almost shout out in joy when I see the clean dress hanging there under the clear plastic. Bless my mother for picking it up from the dry cleaner. It is the dress I wore the first time he really noticed me. It was the dress I wore when he first kissed me. This is the perfect thing to wear. Hopefully, it will remind him why he likes me in the first place.

  I realize I might be a little overdressed for dinner at home, but I can play it off as what I am wearing out tonight. I slip it over my head, satisfied that there might still be some small shred of hope. After a few sprays of his favorite perfume, I slip on my wedges, and make sure my new necklace is centered perfectly between my collarbones.

  I take a deep breath and begin my descent downstairs. The foreboding that consumes me is making my wedges feel like cement blocks, as I drop down each step. This short walk feels like I am stepping down into my own private prison.

  As I wait for Sam to arrive, my heart pounds hard against my chest. My palms are sweating so badly that I've had to wash my hands more than five times already. I'm trying to keep myself busy by helping my mom finish dinner preparations.

  I realize that Sam must have sneaked into the house with Dad, because I can suddenly hear them talking jovially in the family room. When they finally do make their way into the kitchen, my stomach starts doing summersaults.

  He immediately greets my mom, and sits down at the table next to where I am planning to sit. I grab a glass of ice water and set it on the table next to my plate. I keep sneaking glances at him, but he won't even make eye contact with me. Why is he punishing me? This isn't my fault, not entirely.

  Sam makes sure to keep the conversation focused on my parents, which makes breathing a little easier, even though my stomach is still tied up in knots. They tell us all about the bed and breakfast.

  "Again, we can't thank you enough for setting all of that up for us, Sam. It was the perfect anniversary gift. Please make sure you tell your parents how grateful we are," Mom says warmly.

  Sam set that up for them? I guess it makes sense. He had to be sure we would be home alone in order for the date to go off without a hitch.

  "It was mostly all them, really. I mean, I just made the suggestion. They were looking for ideas for presents when they heard that your twentieth is coming up. Dad called Rich and made all of the arrangements." He pauses and takes a sip of water. "They'll be delighted to know you enjoyed it, though," he adds with a quick nod and a half smile.

  Sam often speaks like an adult when he is talking to my parents. I doubt he'd ever use the word delighted at the fraternity house. He can be quite the politician when he wants to. I'd probably kick him playfully, just to tease him about it, if I wasn't so worried right now.

  In fact, I'm so nervous about what might happen after dinner that I remain quiet the whole time. I'm twirling my pasta around my fork over and over again, only halfway listening to my parents describe the place where they stayed. The noodles just spiral around and around, splattering droplets of red sauce across my plate. Every time I think I have them securely wrapped around the prongs of my fork, a noodle or two slips loose and dangles off the edge, as if they are purposely taunting me. I can't help but feel like this whole situation is just like my slippery fork-full of noodles. No amount of twirling can reel them in and
make them seem manageable enough to actually eat.

  "Lays, are you going to eat any of that?" Dad asks in between bites. "You've been swirling your fork around on your plate this whole time, but I haven't seen you eat one bite. I thought you loved Mom's linguine."

  "I do love it. I guess I'm just not all that hungry." I drop my fork and push my plate aside. "I just have a lot on my mind," I say quietly.

  My dad's eyes soften as the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. "Oh yeah? Well, you know what I say when you have a lot on your mind . . ." he starts to say.

  "Ask for some help to lighten the load," we say together in unison. Dad has been preaching this to Kyle and me since we were little. If only this was something I could get his help with.

  "It's fine. I'll be okay. I probably just need a good night's rest. That's all." I force myself to smile.

  I am thankful when Sam steers the conversation away, and starts asking Dad about some baseball statistics. If there is anything that can pull my father on to a new topic quickly, it's sports. Nobody loves baseball the way he does.

  Sam reaches under the table discreetly. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it gently. I can't tell you how relieved I am by this small gesture. It just shows how in tune with me he still is, despite whatever may still be brewing between my brother and him. I accept his hand and grip it tightly in mine for the rest of the dinner. I'm afraid to let go, because even though I may have his hand right now, I can't help but worry that it is about to slip away, just like my stubborn linguine noodles.

  Sam and I force my parents to leave the kitchen while we clean everything up. They don't fight us much because they are still pretty tired from their trip. I'm starting to wonder if my parents got any sleep at all last night. They have been complete zombies all day long.

  While I'm appreciative to have this time alone with Sam, it's not exactly the ideal situation for us to talk. After all, my parents are still within an earshot of us in the family room. After last night, I think we are both going to be overly cautious.

  "Are you okay?" he finally asks, as I hand him a clean dish to dry.

  "Yeah. I was just really worried when you didn't come home,” I say. “And you never responded to any of my texts."

  "I'm sorry," he says without looking at me.

  "I'm a little confused, though. Are you mad at me?" I ask him.

  "No, not at all. How could I be mad at you? I'm mad at myself, Laila. I got so caught up. I was so careless." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Your brother has every right to be pissed at me. I mean, you are only sixteen and you're his little sister. I've been so freaking selfish."

  His words feel like salt in the wound. I thought maybe it would all be okay, since he had reached for my hand under the table at dinner. However, the more he says now, the less sure I am. That same creepy, unsettled feeling from earlier today sneaks back into my weary system.

  "Sam, that is ridiculous. I'll be seventeen next month and Kyle knows that. He's just being stupid. I'm sure he'll be fine with it, eventually. He just needs some time to get used to the idea of us as a couple."

  Sam shuts his eyes again and bites his bottom lip. The pained expression that takes over his face causes the back of my throat to sting. I suddenly feel like I can't breathe.

  "Sam, please don't do this. Don't let him ruin this. It's Kyle. He loves you and he will forgive you. Just give it some time."

  He looks away, as if it hurts him too much to look at me while he speaks. "I don't want to do this, Laila. You know how much it hurts me to see you upset. It is the last thing in the world I want for you."

  The tears are on the verge of breaking through. There is nothing I can to do to stop them. I just can't believe it. He's actually going to break up with me because of my stupid brother.

  He sighs when he looks up. "Damn it. You can't look at me like that, Laila."

  After the first tear rolls down my face and off of my chin, it's as if the dam suddenly breaks. After that, there is a steady stream of hot, salty tears that just keeps flooding down my cheeks endlessly.

  "I think we need to talk about this somewhere other than here. My parents are right there in the next room." I look over my shoulder to be sure they aren't going to suddenly pop up anywhere. "I told them I am going out tonight. Will you at least go somewhere with me, so we can discuss this?" I ask in between my stifled sobs.

  He nods while handing me a napkin.

  "We'll just tell them I'm dropping you off somewhere," I suggest, as I pick up the car keys.

  "That's okay. I don't want it getting back to Kyle. Just meet me at Westbrook Skate Park on Vassler in about a half hour, okay?"

  "Sam, that's like four miles away," I protest.

  "I know. Look, I could use a good run. It will help me clear my head. I'm just going to go upstairs to change real quick, and then I'll be off. I'll see you around seven?"

  "Okay. Enjoy your run," I say sarcastically.

  I hate that he feels the need to clear his head before he can talk to me about this. He reaches over and lightly brushes his thumb along my cheek, wiping away some of the tear tracks, before disappearing. His touch sends sparks flying through my body. I am just starting to get used to the way his touch makes me feel.

  I can't imagine going back to the way things used to be, with my body lying dormant inside after so much activity. I guess there really is no going back. I can't erase the past week, no matter how hard I may want to right now. Once you know what that kind of electricity is like, you are bound to find yourself longing for it and chasing after it endlessly when it disappears. I can't imagine ever feeling that same way with anyone other than Sam.

  I'm having trouble keeping the crying under control. I have a really bad feeling that I won't be able to talk Sam out of breaking up with me. This whole situation just makes me so mad at Kyle. He is the one who is being selfish and insensitive.

  I stare down at my dress with frustration. It was supposed to be my secret weapon. When did the magic wear off? Through the pools of tears, the flowered print looks all muddled, much like a Monet painting. That is exactly how I feel inside, muddled and smeared with doubt.

  I attempt to wipe away the blotchy mess that was formerly my makeup, but now looks more like the grease-stained floor of an auto shop. I consider reapplying, but decide against it. I'm done trying to win Sam over. If he is stupid enough to let Kyle come in between us, I'm not going to fight him on it. In fact, I'm changing into sweats. Why should I be all dressed up when he is going to be wearing sweaty running clothes?

  I force myself to wait until seven before I leave. I know he'll probably beat me there, but I don't want to appear desperate. I grab my keys and dash out the door, sporting a big neon-green oversized tee with a black tank top underneath, my black leggings, and my neon-green-soled Nikes. My hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and I am wearing my neon Lululemon headbands that Avery gave me for Christmas. I definitely look like I'm on my way to soccer practice or the gym.

  When I pull up to the parking lot, I see Sam, pacing by the park bench, shirtless, with his arms up behind his head. He must have booked it because he is completely out of breath. Watching the sweat trickle down his bare chest makes my stomach dance with anticipation. My first instinct is to run to him and throw my arms around his neck. That would be a normal girlfriend sort of thing to do. I suppose our situation is anything, but normal, though.

  I reluctantly restrain myself and saunter up to him casually, instead of hurling myself at him. He doesn't notice me at first. His back is turned away. He has his white t-shirt twisted up and tucked into the waistband of his loose basketball shorts, so it hangs about halfway down his thigh.

  I decide to stand there a moment before saying anything. I've never had an opportunity to really appreciate his beautiful, muscular back in all of its glory. His gorgeous tan skin is flushed all over, making him look even sexier. I watch a stream of sweat roll down his spine, and disappear into his shorts at the small of his defined back.<
br />
  I take a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to remind myself why we are here in the first place. My wretched stomach is writhing with an unsettling ache, as our earlier conversation resurfaces in my mind. I suppose we should just get on with it.

  "How was your run?" I ask in my most enthusiastic voice, as I hand Sam one of the cold bottles of water that I snagged from the refrigerator on my way out of the house.

  A huge smile spreads across his face as he grabs the bottle. "Good. I'm a little out of shape, but it was good." He pumps the water bottle up in the air towards me. "You are an angel."

  If he considers this out of shape, I'd hate to see his body when he is in shape. He twists off the cap and gulps half of the water down, before pausing to take a breath. He wipes some sweat from his forehead with his forearm, and returns the bottle to his lips again.

  When the bottle is just about empty, his eyes flicker open. "Are you planning on going for a run, too?" he asks breathlessly, with a lopsided smile sneaking onto his face.

  While it is refreshing to have him flirt with me, I don't want to get my hopes up just yet. "I just wanted to be comfortable," I say casually, as I fight back my own smile.

  "I like you in this, Lis. You're cute. I don't think I've ever seen you in workout clothes before." He tugs on my t-shirt playfully as his infectious smile becomes impossibly wide.

  Who would have thought that this would be the outfit he would end up noticing? Guys are so strange.

  "So . . ." I start to say, but as soon as I speak, the words seem to vanish from my mind. I can't think of anything to follow that up. So, I just wait for him to jump in.

  "I know. This sucks, Laila," he finally says. "I'm just trying to figure out what is the right thing to do. I've been thinking about us, and this whole screwed-up situation, and how to fix it. No matter which way I look at it, it's not the way I want it to be." He sips his water and sighs again.