Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1)

by Laura Clark

  It's a miracle I was able to get ready this quickly. I am actually sitting on the loveseat in our family room, drinking a mug of hot coffee, waiting with my dad. The pain has lightened up a little, thanks to the Tylenol and the caffeine. I have a sneaking suspicion the headache will linger faintly for most of the day. Again, it is so much like a dreaded hangover that I'm starting to wish I had drained my sorrows in a bottle of liquor. After all, I am suffering the consequences anyway.

  My mom is still racing around, trying to finish getting ready herself. I have no idea where Kyle is. I savor each minute though, because it just means another minute of sipping my coffee and remaining still. Dad is too engrossed with the newspaper to notice how miserable I must look. Even if he did, he would never be as blunt and cruel as Kyle was about it. I suppose that is a special role that is reserved for jerk brothers.

  I chug the rest of my coffee when I see Mom and Kyle race out the front door. Here we go.

  It's almost strange having the four of us together in one car. It so rarely happens now that Kyle is away at school. It kind of takes me back to our childhood, when we would spend our lazy Sunday afternoons gallivanting around town after church. Dad would drive us through the windy, tree-lined back roads that are on the outskirts of Westbrook.

  It is always beautiful here, no matter what season it is. In the fall, it is like flying through a maze of unending, blazing red and orange. During the winter, the bare branches are often iced with a mystical, white, wintery glaze. In the spring, the budding flowers and leaves sprout, reminding us it is a new day and that new life is emerging. I love the promise that comes along with spring. It's like we are all given a fresh start. It's a clean slate, where you can make the season be whatever you want it to be.

  Right now, it is a full, thick mass of various shades of green, complemented by the occasional sprinkling of vibrant and colorful flowers. Life is already fully in bloom. It's the climax of nature's beauty. Being with Sam was exactly that. We were summer.

  Unfortunately, my season has already changed. An abrupt cold front has moved in, robbing me of my summer early, and destroying everything in its path. The beautiful and fervent life that was once there, is now becoming just a distant memory. It will surely continue to fade and wilt, until the rain eventually washes it all away.

  I feel like one of those barren trees, stripped of my leaves, frozen in the frigid air as I wait for the harsh winter storms to pass. It seems unfair. Everybody deserves to relish in the glory of summer. Why did ours have to end so quickly, before it ever really started?

  Kyle nudges me with his elbow. I turn to glare at him, but realize the car is off and is now parked. Mom and Dad are already out. "Are you planning on hanging out here all day, or are you going to grace us with your presence at church today?"

  I just want to smack the snarky tone right out of his voice, but decide the church parking lot may not be the best place for me to unleash my fury with my brother.

  "Relax, lil sis. You know I'm just messing with you. Is your head still bad?" he asks. I ignore him. We trail behind our parents, who are already lost in the sea of people charging through the old, intricately-carved wooden front doors of our church. He seems like he is being extra chatty with me today, but I'm not sure why. Does he feel bad about ruining my life? I sure hope so. Jerk.

  A cheery older gentleman shoves a light blue, folded piece of paper into my hands, and welcomes me with a grin that looks natural, unlike the forced smile that I return. We file into the sanctuary with the rest of the congregation, and make our way to an old, hard wooden pew in the middle of the church, where my parents are already seated. Kyle starts to sit down, but pops back up and disappears. He either saw someone he knows, or suddenly remembered that he has to use the restroom.

  I spot Peter Sanchez walking through the double doors at the back of the church, and groan to myself. He is not wearing his white robe, which means he will be looking for a seat with the rest of us parishioners. I slouch my body as much as I can, but I know I'm pretty much screwed. My mom is wearing a bright red and orange floral dress that might as well be a flashing neon sign that says, "I'm right here, Peter."

  Sure enough, he walks right up to us and peers down at me with an amused expression on his face. "Having back cramps, Laila?" he asks. A cheesy smile breaks across his face and he winks. He actually winks at me. He thinks he is so smooth. What an idiot.

  "Peter, what hole did you just crawl out of?" I ask him sarcastically, without making eye contact. We are way past pleasantries at this point. I usually start with the insults right away and yet, each week he comes back for more. I pull my nail file out of my purse and pretend to file my nails.

  "Laila, you are something else, you know that? But that's okay. I happen to like the feisty ones," he says to me, while wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Why don't you scoot over and make some room for me?" I can tell even from my peripheral vision and the creepy way he says this, he is checking me out from head to toe. Never have I been so glad to look like crap.

  "My brother is sitting here, Peter. Why don't you go find someone else to annoy?"

  "Oh, senorita. Don't be so nasty. I'm just trying to be nice. I thought I was your friend. No?"

  My mom turns around and shoots me a dirty look. "Laila, why on earth are you being so rude? Scoot over and let Peter sit down. There is plenty of room for all of us," she scolds me through clenched teeth, under her breath, but Peter hears the whole thing.

  I briefly consider ignoring her, but her eyebrow is doing that thing that let's me know I'd better do what she is asking or else. As much as I don't want to be anywhere near Peter Sanchez right now, I am in no mood to take on my mother.

  A huge shit-eating grin breaks out on Peter's face. "Why thank you, Mrs. Patterson. I would be happy to join you for mass. It is so kind of you to ask. My mom and brothers are out of town, and I am all alone today since Dad is preaching."

  He is such a kiss ass. What really pisses me off is how my mom plays right into his slimy little hands. She flashes him a motherly smile while her eyes display compassion. I feel like I might just hurl right here, all over the church pew.

  "Oh, how is your mother, dear?" she asks.

  I let out a deep groan, as I scoot my body as far away from Peter as I physically can. He doesn't seem to be fazed in the slightest. Jerk. He is too busy chatting with my mom to notice my discomfort. Even if he did notice how miserable I am, he'd probably just get off on it. That's how twisted he is.

  I'm anxious for Kyle to return, so I can sandwich myself safely between him and Mom. Where is he? I scan the aisles and the back of the church until I spot him standing over in the far corner of the cathedral. I'm surprised to see Georgia next to him, her arm linked with his. He brought her to church? Well, that sure is an interesting development.

  I keep glancing back at them nervously. They better hurry up and get over here before the service starts, or I will be stuck sitting next to Peter. I want to gouge my eyes out when I see them settle into an empty pew at the back of the church.

  After staring at them relentlessly for what feels like days, Kyle finally looks at me. His eyes dart between Peter and me, before he starts chuckling to himself. He knows how much I despise Peter. I try to tell him to get his ass over here by making my eyes really big, but he just looks away and starts talking to Georgia, as if he never saw me. He is so dead.

  I am just about to excuse myself to use the restroom, so I can return late and be forced to slip into one of the back pews, when Trevor walks up.

  "Laila, there you are. I've been looking all over for you." Trevor is standing in the aisle, peering over our pew. "Oh, hey Peter," he adds casually.

  I look at him, completely baffled. What am I missing?

  "Well, are you coming, Laila?" he asks me. He looks back over his shoulder. "Come on, my mom and dad are saving us a seat on the other side." He nods his head in their direction a few pews up from where Kyle and Georgia are sitting. I seriously want to throw
my arms around Trevor's neck and kiss him right now.

  "Right. I almost forgot," I play along. "Sorry, Sanchez. I promised I'd sit with the Maddoxes today. You should stay here, though. My mom is more than happy to have you join her," I say in a sickly sweet tone. This time I wink and flash him my best shit-eating grin.

  I don't even pause long enough to see his reaction. I am too worried that Mom will suddenly jump in and force me to stay. Luckily, she is too busy chatting with the family sitting behind us to even notice.

  The organist starts playing the opening processional, right as Trevor and I shuffle into the pew with his parents. Mrs. Maddox smiles at me warmly and squeezes my hand, to let me know that she's glad that I am joining them.

  "I owe you big-time, Trevor. How did you know?" I whisper, as we scoot across the bench. He leans in so close to me. His hot breath on my ear is making me shiver. Good Lord, he smells delicious. Did I mention he is wearing a white button down today? Is he trying to torture me?

  "Patterson, you could not look more miserable there, sitting next to him. You don't even try to hide how much you hate him, do you?" he asks with a coy, sexy smile.

  I simply shake my head.

  "I couldn't let you suffer through the whole service like that. Plus, that guy is such a tool." He shakes his head with disgust, but I can still see the faint evidence of his dimples, as if he is trying not to smile.

  The service seems to fly by. I really enjoy sitting next to Trevor. He has an amazing voice and he doesn't hold back like most people do when they are singing at church. I could probably listen to him sing for days and never get bored. Both of his parents are good singers, too. I've always wanted to be able to sing really well. I'm not terrible, but I certainly won't be landing any lead roles in the spring musical, either.

  Trevor and I file out of the sanctuary as fast as we can, hoping to lose Peter in the crowd.

  "I'll meet you in the closet. I'm just going to snag some cookies and something to drink from the lobby. Do you want anything?" he asks me.

  He's going to hide out with me in the closet again? This really shouldn't make my heart race, but I'd be lying if I told you it didn't. Avery is your best friend, Laila.

  "No, I'm good. Thanks," I respond, willing my cheeks to remain pale. This never seems to work, but I still try to anyway.

  I make my way over to the coat closet and discreetly slip inside. I look around at the clusters of empty, wire hangers scattered across the rod. There is a single ray of light sneaking through the partially open blinds from the tiny window that is high on the opposite wall. It is illuminating a perfect little path in the otherwise dark closet. The triangular ray reveals a thick cloud of lively dust particles that are hovering in the air, reminding me just how unused this space is in the summer. I'm going to have to find a new hideout when the weather changes this fall, and people start wearing coats again.

  I find an old, tattered pew cushion on one of the shelves, and pull it down for us to sit on. I was so preoccupied with Trevor during the service, I had almost forgotten about Sam. I take a deep breath as the pain inside tugs at me, reminding me of our break-up.

  I am more than relieved when Trevor returns. For some reason, it is easier to forget about everything when he's around. His beautiful, dimpled smile and emerald eyes are just the distraction I need right now.

  He hands me a small paper cup filled with what appears to be pink lemonade. He sets a plate piled high with an assortment of cookies directly in front of me, before he kneels down beside me.

  "I know you said you didn't want anything, but I got you a drink and brought extra cookies, in case you change your mind."

  I look at the plate doubtfully. My stomach is too raw right now to eat anything. "Thanks, but I'm just not hungry."

  "Are you sure, Patterson? I mean, just look at these." He picks up a cookie and holds it in front of me. "These are not your run-of-the mill store bought vanilla wafers or Hydrox Cookies. I'm pretty sure these are the real deal. Homemade Chocolate Chip Cookies." I laugh at the way he makes his voice sound like a voice over from a movie trailer. I must admit they do look good.

  "Anyway, I didn't want to be teasing you by eating them right in front of you, and make you regret your decision to not have any. That just seems cruel. Plus, you need something to wash the cookies down with. I just hope you like good old powder-made, pink lemonade," he says while pointing to the cup he just handed me.

  I shake my head and laugh. "Thanks. You are too funny, Trevor," I say weakly, while tucking my legs under me.

  I appreciate the fact that he is trying to cheer me up. It makes me wonder if Avery told him about Sam and me. She doesn't really know that we’ve officially broken up, though. I am dreading that phone call.

  "I try," he says, flashing me one of his double-dimple, faint-worthy smiles. The butterflies are fluttering around in my stomach again, kicking up with them a fresh dusting of guilt.

  "So, what's new with you, Patterson?" he asks, before chomping into one of the cookies.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I really don't want to discuss my break-up with anyone, much less Trevor. It's almost as if I keep it all to myself, I can pretend that it didn't really happen. It’s as if saying it out loud will some how solidify everything. I realize this isn't logical, but I'm acting as if it were.

  When he looks at me again, his light-hearted expression instantly falls. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, while setting his half-eaten cookie back down onto the plate.

  I was sure that after last night, I could not possibly shed one more tear, but I can already feel the liquid pooling in my eyes. I swallow hard and open my eyes, hoping the tears do not escape.

  "Seriously, Laila. What happened? Did I say something wrong?" He looks completely baffled.

  "No, Trevor. It has nothing to do with you. I'm sorry. I'm just really emotional right now."

  His eyes flicker with concern and he bites his bottom lip. "Well, you know you can talk to me, right? I know I'm not Avery, but I've been told I'm a pretty good listener," he offers.

  The barrier that was holding everything back before is suddenly broken, and the stream of tears that follow, are almost a relief. Sometimes, holding onto all of that pain hurts more than the pain itself. You have to release it, so you don't end up drowning in it.

  He scoots over closer to me, and wraps his strong arm around my shoulder. I wipe my face with my hands several times, but I can't keep up with the endless flow of tears. I'm about two seconds away from full-on sobbing. I'm thankful I opted to skip the make-up part of my getting ready routine this morning. Otherwise, my face would be a complete train wreck.

  "Laila, whatever it is, it's going to be okay." He wraps his other arm around me, and pulls me against his chest. I can feel his hands gently massaging my tense shoulders.

  "I wish I believed that," I say with dismay. I sigh once before unloading on him. "Kyle caught Sam and me . . . kissing in my room." I force the words out. He doesn't need to know everything we were doing. I wait for him to respond, but he doesn't say anything. He just squeezes me into a tighter embrace, and rubs light circles along my back.

  "I've never seen Kyle that mad before, Trevor. I really thought he was going to kill Sam." I find it surprisingly easy to talk to him, once the words start coming out. I am staring at the crinkled, white cotton fabric of his shirt, and breathing in his intoxicating scent.

  "Well, yeah. I'd probably be the same way if I found out one of my friends was making out with Sasha," he starts to say, before he realizes how it must sound to me. He sighs and shakes his head, as if he is chastising himself. "I'm sorry, Laila. So, what did you guys tell him?" he asks, without releasing his ironclad grip on me.

  "It was so bad, Trevor. I doubt he and Sam are even speaking to each other now. I wouldn't be surprised if Sam is forced to take a bus back to school today. That is how completely mad my brother is at Sam."

  "It'll probably just take some time for him to get used to he idea. Once Sam prove
s to him that he isn't just screwing around with you, it'll be fine," he says reassuringly.

  I know he isn't trying to rub it in, because he doesn't even really know that we already broke up. Still, hearing him say this makes me almost lose it. The sobs are getting to the point where I should be mortified that Trevor is even in the same room with me. I not only have tears spewing out of my eyes uncontrollably, but there is also this disgusting stream of snot that seems to be hell-bent on flowing from my nose, no matter how many times I swipe at it.

  He hands me a napkin so I can wipe my face, but I've already soaked through his shirt.

  "It's not going to be fine, Trevor. He . . ." I sob again into my napkin, as I try to choke out the words. "He broke up with me," I finally spit out the rest of my sentence in between gasps.

  "What?" Trevor looks genuinely shocked by my confession. "Why would he do that?" he asks, while scooping me up so I am now cradled in his lap. He gently pushes me off of his chest just enough, so he can look me directly in the eyes.

  The moment his green eyes connect with mine, I shut my eyes and bury my face back into his damp shirt. I can't talk to him with those piercing eyes fixed on me. It's like they are reaching right through me, deep down into my soul, where I have been trying to bury all of this pain.

  "Kyle is his best friend."

  "So? You were his girlfriend," he says sharply. His hand is still stroking my back affectionately.

  "You have to understand that Sam has been so close to us for so long now, he is practically part of our family. I think that makes it even harder for Kyle to accept." I'm not sure why I feel like I need to defend Sam to Trevor, but I do.

  Trevor is shaking his head repeatedly, as if he isn't buying my excuses. "It doesn't matter. It's still not right."

  "I just wish Sam would have given it some time, instead of just ending things with me so abruptly. I know it isn't what he wanted to do. It's what he thinks he should do. Kyle made him feel immensely guilty for everything."