“Okay, okay. Who’s overreacting now?” His voice was so gentle when he spoke to her. He stood and looked at his view of the Gulf. It really was a beautiful office. “Will’s back in New Orleans. I’ll pick you up tonight.”
Just then he turned and saw me in the doorway. Gentleness gone. “Someone’s here. I need to go. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
He swiped his phone. “Do you have it?”
“No,” I shook my head and looked down, away from his frown. “I forgot it at my house, but I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
“About what.”
“Julian?”
Mr. Kyser went back to his desk and sat, then he motioned to the chair in front of it. “What about him.”
I walked forward and took the seat. “Well, I just… you’d asked me to keep you posted if he needed anything.”
“That situation’s changed,” he said, lifting a silver pen off his desk pad. “I’m not as out of the loop as I was then.”
His reconciliation with Julian’s mom was to thank for that, I knew. I decided to let it go and cut to the chase. “Have you thought any more about telling him the truth?”
“We’ve discussed that enough,” he said with a deep exhale. “I’m sorry you found out, but I would expect you to understand my position now, knowing the whole story.”
“I do,” I said quietly. “You don’t want to lose her again.”
For a moment I saw the wall come down behind his eyes, then just as fast it was back in place. “Alex has her reasons for waiting.”
Placing my hand on his desk, I studied my ring. “Remember the night of the reception?”
He nodded, “Of course.”
“I was Julian’s date, remember?”
With a loud sigh, he leaned back in his chair. “What’s your point?”
My eyes went to his. “Well, after everyone left, I had to help Julian push his car to get it started.”
That got the response I wanted. “What?” His brow furrowed, and now he was listening. I’d touched his pride.
“His car wouldn’t start,” I repeated, my eyes back on my ring. “We had to push it to get it going.”
Mr. Kyser’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.
“He ended up staying at my house that night. He was so angry, and he said some things…” I looked at his dad then. “He needs to know the truth. Your secret is hurting him.”
He turned back to the windows, answering slowly, thoughtfully. “I’m very proud of Julian.”
“You should be.” My voice had grown louder. “He’s great, and I’m not just saying that because we’re dating.”
“Look,” he swiveled in the chair again to face me, giving me that old, stern look. Only now I wasn’t afraid of him. “I’ll speak to his mother again, but that’s all I can do. It’s her decision.”
I nodded and looked down. “You asked me to tell you if he needed anything. Now you know.”
I wanted to tell him more, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t say I’d been in his house the morning he’d argued with Ms. LaSalle, and I agreed with him. That he was right, and there were things Julian needed from a dad. That Julian simply needed a dad. Frustrated, I had to figure out another way. Maybe I could try and talk to Ms. LaSalle at some point. I wondered if I could catch her alone at the store.
Mr. Kyser stood as if ready to end our meeting. “Thanks for telling me about the car,” he said. “I did ask you to tell me these things. Maybe I can help with that at least.”
“He deserves more,” I said, meeting his blue eyes.
“I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do.”
I left Mr. Kyser’s office and went to the elevators. The doors opened, but as I was getting on, I heard his voice and stopped. “Anna?”
“Yes, sir?” I looked back to see Mr. Kyser standing out in the foyer.
“Is Julian… interested in cars?” He rubbed his palms together. “I mean, has he mentioned any one in particular?”
I thought for a second. “BMW three series.”
“That’s what Will drives.” He turned his head, eyebrows pulled together. Then he nodded. “Thanks.”
I let the elevator doors close and couldn’t stop the sneaky grin from crossing my lips. I couldn’t wait to see how that played out.
Later that night, I was getting ready for bed when the house phone rang. I snatched it quickly. Mom and Dad were already in their room, and I was the only one still up.
“And she’s gone,” Julian’s voice said quietly on the other end. I hated that he sounded sad.
I lay back on my bed and wondered just how much trouble I’d get in if I got caught sneaking out. A lot. I’d probably lose car privileges, and I needed the car for my newspaper job. I chewed my bottom lip and exhaled. “You’re home alone?”
“Yep,” he clipped. “What if I just came through your front door?”
I rolled onto my side, sliding my finger over the pattern of my quilt. “I think that’s definitely when you’d get caught.”
He sighed into the phone. “So what’re you doing now?”
“Getting ready for bed. Thinking of you.”
“Same here.”
My lips pressed together as I studied the ceiling. “How are the ribs?”
“Painful. Mom sent me to this specialist today. Some fancy place on East End Beach with lots of interior design.”
I nodded remembering the phone conversation I’d overheard. He’d gone to Mr. Kyser’s doctor. “What did he say?”
“Oh, he took a bunch of X-rays and then said I had three cracked ribs.”
I laughed. “He’s very good.”
“Gave me more painkillers, though. Should help me sleep.”
Longing twisted a dull ache in my chest. “I miss you.”
“Same here.” His voice was quiet again.
“Did your mom say where she’s going or anything?”
Sounds of him moving were followed by a low grunt of pain. “I don’t think she knows I know,” he breathed. “She leaves on foot, so I guess he must pick her up somewhere.”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “Very cloak and dagger.”
“Maybe it’s not a boyfriend. Maybe she’s a trained assassin.” His playful tone made me smile. “She’s actually in pretty good shape.”
“I can see her now,” I joined in. “Scaling the side of a building, laser target set on some guy’s forehead. She’s just pulling the trigger, and—”
He laughed. “I think it’s a boyfriend.”
I giggled, and then we were quiet again. My eyes felt heavy. “Did you take a pain pill?”
“No, but I should. You getting tired?”
I rolled onto my side, holding the phone as if it were his cheek to mine. “A little.”
“What are you wearing?” His tone sent a charge to my stomach.
“You know what I’m wearing,” I said as a grin crept across my lips.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
“Okay,” I whispered back, following instructions.
“Now, I’m kissing your cheek,” he said in a low voice. “Now your lips…”
“Mmm.” With my eyes closed, I could almost feel him doing it. “Julian,” I said softly.
“You’re in that little sleep shirt that shows your panties, right?”
My eyes popped open as my face flamed red. “You could see that?”
“Oh, yeah. I like that one.” That tone was in his voice again, and my body grew warm. I pressed my eyes closed. “My fingers are just at the edge of it. Feel that?” I nodded, which again was silly. He couldn’t see me, but I couldn’t speak. I was actually feeling it. “I’m sliding my hands under it. Your skin is so soft. I can smell that fresh soap you use. Now my lips are touching your stomach, moving higher, right up to your little—”
“Hang on,” I breathed, a little shaky. My whole body was flushed. “You called the house phone. What if my mom picked up?”
“Hi, Mrs. Stanley!” His voice was l
oud and friendly. “Anna was just having a problem with her shirt.”
Hopping of my bed, I walked to my window. “I don’t think I can sleep now.”
He laughed. “Works, doesn’t it.”
“Yes.” Then I paused. “But it’s not the same.”
“I know.” He exhaled again, and again I heard him move followed by a grunt of pain. “I should let you go. It’s late.”
“Will you sleep?” I lay back on my bed, forehead creased. I considered throwing caution to the wind and driving to his house—journalism career be damned! Instead I shook my head. “Take a pain pill.”
“Bad influence.”
“Goodnight, Julian.”
“’Night.”
I hung up and sighed. Then I let out a little laugh, remembering what he’d said. I just might make it through these next few weeks if that was my nightly call. Next time I might not stop him so fast. Next time he’d have to call my cell.
Sliding between the cold sheets alone I shook my head. Nope, I took it all back. Phone calls weren’t enough.
Chapter 12
Basketball wasn’t nearly as popular in South County as football, but Julian was bored. And I was learning when he got bored, my life got interesting. Friday’s game was also a match-up against Crystal Shores High School, and while the guys who’d jumped Brad weren’t on the basketball team, it was turning into a grudge match.
Game day was almost too exciting for school. Teachers attempted to go through their lesson plans, but everyone was distracted waiting for the showdown. The last bell rang, and the parking lot was already filling up with additional boosters and parents. The entire football team promised to show up, and I’d heard the coaches talking about calling for backup with crowd control. Two police cars turned into the parking lot as I pulled out.
It was a sell-out basketball game, a first in the school’s history, and staff and parents were doubling their efforts to prepare for whatever might happen. I went home to change and get ready. Julian was picking me up in a few hours, and I was nervous and excited and maybe a little scared. I pulled on my jeans and a navy sweater. I fiddled with my hair and makeup until I heard Julian downstairs. It wasn’t super cold, but I grabbed a grey scarf as I headed down. It made me look the part of a loyal Dolphin. Julian was not in navy or gray.
“Rah-rah,” he grinned as I skipped down the stairs.
I kissed his cheek when I reached the bottom. “You know, if anything happens, it’ll be as much for you as for the team.”
He frowned. “I don’t get it.”
Our fingers laced as we headed to the door. “They’re including you in their payback.”
“Whatever.” Julian dug in his pocket for his keys. “I just wish I healed faster.”
“Me, too.” I smiled as we started for the door.
Dad stopped us. “Some of the parents are concerned there might be trouble at the game tonight,” he said. “You two be careful.”
I glanced at Julian. “I haven’t heard about anything,” he said. “And I’m not looking to get more beat up.”
“Right.” Dad said. “Well, have fun. Let me know how it goes.”
We went out to the T-bird, and I thought of my car conversation with Mr. Kyser. It was too soon for him to have done anything, but I wondered what would happen and when. Julian stopped me at the passenger side and turned me around for a real kiss. His warm lips pushed mine apart, and he tasted like mint. I reached up to slide my arms around his neck. His lips moved to my cheek, and I looked in his eyes.
“What was that for?” I said softly.
His hands slid down to clasp mine. “Just don’t get the chance as much anymore.”
“It seems that way now that we’re only together at school.” I laced our fingers. “But aren’t you excited about the game?”
He shrugged. “You’re more interested than I am.”
Gently I pulled his arms around me. “Don’t you want some revenge?” I rose on my tiptoes and kissed his lips again.
He kissed me back. “It’s not even the same team. Those guys are getting what they wanted with all this.”
My forehead lined. “What did they want?”
“Attention.” He released me, opening the door. “It was a stunt. Why else would they go after Brad?”
I thought about that a moment. “It was Montage who had the problem,” I said. “And Brad has already decided to go to Tulane.”
Julian nodded, and I considered this twist. “So now what?”
“We go and see how it plays out.”
I climbed into the car, thinking as he walked around to the other side. “Rachel’s headed to Loyola,” he said once we were on the road. “Just like you.”
“Not yet. I’ve only applied.”
“You haven’t heard anything?”
“Nope,” I said. “I’m hoping I will soon, though. If I don’t, I guess I’ll end up staying home and going to Sterling.”
“Would that be bad?”
“I guess not. Mom thinks I’ll do fine wherever I go. I just… I applied to some really good schools, and it’d be neat if I got into one.”
His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. “One in New Orleans?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “I just think it might be my best chance with the paper connection. And it’s not so far from home.”
The muscle in his jaw moved. “And that’s all you’re thinking about?”
Turning in my seat, I studied his profile. Our drive had become unexpectedly tense. “What do you want me to say, Julian?”
“Jack’s at Tulane.” He said it flat out, and my breath caught. I was not expecting that. “Loyola and Tulane are blocks apart. I know the score.”
“What?” I gasped. “There’s no score! I mean, yeah, that was part of my motivation to apply in the first place, but I really would like to go there.”
He nodded, but didn’t answer. My throat was tight, and I actually thought I might cry.
“You can’t make a big deal about that now.” I managed to say. “We weren’t together then.”
He glanced my way and seemed to relax, pulling me to him in a careful hug. “You’re right,” he said softly.
After a few moments of quiet driving, me hugged into his side, I felt a little better. I rocked my head back so I could see his face. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “I think it’s this rib thing. I can’t work, I can’t be with you. I don’t like being at that house alone.”
I tucked my face into his neck, hugging him again. “Do you want to skip the game?”
“And see you pout?” he laughed. “No way. Let’s go watch Wade and Montage get arrested.”
My head snapped up. “You think that’s going to happen?”
“I hope not,” he said. “But they’d better be careful. Vigilante justice is a bad idea.”
The gym was packed when we arrived, and people were spilling out into the parking lot. A group of trucks was parked on one end of the lot with a pack of football players hanging around it. Police cars were prominently situated with the officers standing out front, chatting and looking official.
Additional cops had been hired for the game, and everyone was waiting to see how the players would react to facing each other on the court. The whistles blew, and it looked like both teams were ready to fight. Out of the jump, players were pushing and reaching high and low. Whistles kept going off and Brazil Lewis, our point guard barely made it two steps before a player was in his face. Wade and Montage were standing with a line of brutes in front of the stands, and the ball was knocked out of bounds, in their direction several times.
More than one near-fight on the court prompted yellow flags to rain down like a Mardi Gras parade, and by the end of the night, the Dolphins had racked up the most fouls of any game played in the last four years. But Crystal Shores couldn’t match us for baskets and the Devils left Fairview in defeat.
The players were mollified, and post-game interviewers pulled Brad int
o the discussion, focusing on his parking-lot beating and the satisfaction he must feel watching his fellow athletes win. Even Julian’s mood had improved by the end of the game. He accepted Brad’s invitation to a party planned by Mr. Brennan at the Tiki club in Phoenician VI on East End Beach.
When we reached the high-rise, Brad’s father greeted us at the door. It was the first time I’d seen him since the car accident, and when we arrived, he seemed particularly interested in Julian. I could tell he’d been drinking.
“You’re a good kid jumping in to help Brad like that,” Mr. Brennan said, slapping Julian’s back. I saw Julian wince, and tried not to smile. “You got guts.”
“Brad would’ve done the same for me.” Julian replied, catching the big man’s hand and shaking it before he could cause any more discomfort.
“But Brad spends half the year taking hits like that,” Mr. Brennan continued. “You’re a good man.”
Julian nodded. “Thanks.”
We tried to pass, but Mr. Brennan held on. “I knew your Mom way back. How’s she doing these days?”
At that, Julian stopped trying to get away. “Good,” he said. “She has a business on Dolphin Island. You should stop by and say hello.”
“I might do that.” He looked at Julian for a long second, and then started to say something but stopped. Instead he looked at me. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Anna Sanders,” I said over the music that had started playing loudly.
“Anna, welcome to the Phoenician,” he said, shaking my hand. “Best friend and I built these blocks of concrete years ago. Nothing’s knocked ‘em down yet.”
“They’re amazing,” I said. It was the first time I’d been in this complex, and I was bursting with all I knew about its history. Or rather the history of the people who built it, present company included.
“Julian’s mom designed the interiors of all the Phoenicians,” he continued. “But you knew that.”
“It was in the article Anna helped write for The Bugle,” Julian said.
“You write for the paper?” Mr. Brennan asked me.
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