“Ugh,” I groan, standing to pace the length of his office. “It hurts my brain.”
He laughs and the chair squeaks as he gets up. “I think a good healthy debate is fun.”
“That’s what old people say.”
Something flickers in his eyes and he looks away, clasping his hands behind his back. “Want something else to read?”
“Might as well.” I shrug, stopping beside him. His cologne fills my nose. It’s something fresh, like bergamot, with a hint of something light like water and oak. “It distracts me,” I admit softly. My head bows with shame. I don’t know why I feel ashamed of that fact, but I do. “It’s an escape.”
“Reading is a good escape,” he agrees, looking down at me. His blue eyes hold me in my spot, unable to move or even breathe for a second. “It’s nice to be lost in another world for a little while. But we can’t forget reality forever.”
His tone holds a warning, reminding me that I have to choose to face that day head on, the months that followed of pain and rehabilitation.
When I don’t respond he clears his throat. “You’ll have to come by my place again this afternoon. I’ll set some aside this weekend to bring here.”
“Actually, can I pick it up tomorrow morning?” I hedge, biting my lip.
His head tilts questioningly. “Plans tonight?”
It’s the first Friday in forever that I’ve actually had plans. “Yeah, I’m going out with my friends.” First to the football game and then the after party where I’m sure there will be copious amounts of alcohol and other illegal and illicit behavior.
“Mhmm.” He nods, licking his lips as he fights a grin. He’s not stupid, I’m sure he knows what’s going on tonight. There have been plenty of whispers in the hallway. “Enjoy yourself. Stop by around nine. I try to sleep in on the weekend, if that’s too early I’ll be home around four.”
“That’s sleeping in?”
He chuckles, crossing the room and looking out the window. “I’m normally up at five-thirty every morning, so if I can sleep in until seven or eight it’s a miracle.”
“What are you doing tomorrow? You said you wouldn’t be back until four.” I wince as soon as the words leave my lips. I sound nosy as fuck and it’s none of my business. He’s an adult, the school guidance counselor, someone in charge of me and I have no right to expect an answer but I still want one. I don’t know why, he probably has a girlfriend, it’d be crazy if he didn’t. He’s hot, nice, smart. He probably has plans with her tomorrow, some woman beautiful enough to be a Victoria’s Secret model. “Don’t answer that,” I say suddenly. “That was … not my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He laughs, clearly amused at my unease. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’m going out with friends. We’re going to the batting cages.”
“That sounds fun.” I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding, all because he didn’t mention a girlfriend.
I’m insane.
The bell rings. It always cuts my time with him short. Fifty minutes five days a week is all I get and I’m beginning to treasure every second of it. In these precious minutes I feel like myself again, the girl I was before I was struck by tragedy and unimaginable pain. Sure, that part of me is still there, and he’s the one person I feel like I can confide in, but even when I do he never pities me.
I’m just … Dani.
Chapter Eighteen
“Does your brother know where you’re going?” Ansel asks with amusement when I slide into the passenger seat of his car.
“He knows I’m going to the football game and I’ll be home late. I’m sure he suspects, but he won’t be too mad. I mean, he partied all through high school. It’s not like he can judge.”
“Whatever you say, I don’t want to be murdered.”
“He’s not going to kill you.” I roll my eyes, pulling the seatbelt over my body. “Maim you, possibly.”
Ansel looks at me wide-eyed and I laugh.
“Not funny, Meadows,” he grumbles, pulling away from the building.
“A little funny.” I hold my thumb and forefinger up a tiny bit apart.
The drive to school isn’t too long, but the lot is already full. We end up parking a block or so over in a grocery store parking lot and walking. People pass by with golf carts to pick up people and take them to the football field, so we hop on.
Sasha: Where are you guys? Waiting at the ticket booth.
Me: Almost there.
Sasha: Hurrrrrry.
The golf cart drops us off and we meet Sasha at the ticket booth, paying our five dollars so we can get in.
The dull roar of the growing crowd sends a shiver of fear through me.
Closing my eyes I take a moment to center myself. I can’t spend the rest of my existence hiding in Sage’s condo. I have to get out here and live. If I don’t face my fears they’ll drown me.
I follow them through an archway and around the track to the stands. The end of the field nearest the scoreboard is painted red with white letters spelling ALH for Aspen Lake High.
We make our way up through the stands, scooting past students and parents until we get to a spot where all three of us can sit somewhat comfortably.
I shiver, tucking my hands into the front pouch of my hoodie.
“Cold?” Sasha asks. “I brought hot apple cider.” I open my mouth to ask where the heck she has it, when she pulls out a thermos from her bag and plastic cups. “Want some, Ansel?”
“Sure.”
She fills up a cup and I pass it to him before taking one for myself.
I take a sip, and it’s surprisingly good with the smallest hint of alcohol.
“Do you normally carry around hot apple cider?”
She shrugs, pulling a red beanie out with the school’s mascot, a jaguar, on it. She puts it on, tugging it over her ears.
“Only to football games. It gets cold. Gotta have something to heat you up.”
“Do you make it?”
“My mom does. But I add a little somethin’-somethin’ if you know what I mean.” She winks, taking a sip of her own cup.
“Yep, I do.” I finish mine and she fills it up again. “How much do you have in there?”
“Two thermoses. Games can get long,” she reasons, lifting her shoulders and letting them drop.
Ansel holds his cup out so she’ll top him off.
The game starts, but I don’t pay much attention. I’m more entertained by Sasha and Ansel’s commentary and cheers.
After Ansel’s second drink he stops, since he’s driving Sasha and me to the party.
The game ends, our team winning, and the atmosphere is buzzing with life. My body flushes from the excitement, or maybe it’s from whatever Sasha put in the apple cider.
We ride a golf cart back over to the parking lot and get in Ansel’s car. Sasha piles in the back. “Do you have anything on you I can smoke?”
“Always. You have any money?” Ansel asks her, looking in the rearview mirror before pulling his seatbelt over his body.
She passes her hand up through the middle console and hands him some cash. He pockets the money and pulls something from his pocket.
She takes it and soon the vehicle is filled with something that smells vaguely of grass and it grows foggy inside when she exhales some smoke.
“Where’s this party exactly?”
“It’s this old abandoned farm out on Todd Hilton’s family’s property,” Ansel explains, turning into the street. The red of the stoplight reflects into the car, bathing him in an eerie glow.
“You do realize I have no idea who that is, right?”
Ansel chuckles, turning left when the light changes. “He’s on the football team. Don’t ask me what position he plays. I don’t pay attention to that shit.”
I laugh, looking out the window at the passing buildings. “Wasn’t going to. I don’t care.”
Fifteen or so minutes later he turns onto a dirt road. Five more after that and he parks in a field with
a bunch of other cars. We get out and walk toward the barn. There are lights strung through the inside that reflect out here and there’s a bonfire and keg to the right of it. As we walk toward the bigger crowd people continually stop Ansel to score a deal. It’s amusing, but still surprises me because Ansel doesn’t strike me as the drug dealer type. Sure, he’s not selling the hard stuff like cocaine or meth, but that doesn’t change the facts of what he is.
Sasha shrieks and runs off to mingle with some of her tennis buddies. I stay by Ansel’s side and he pours me some beer from the keg, passing me the red Solo cup. So typical.
Ansel bumps fists with some guys and I hang back, not quite comfortable. I went to a couple parties back … well, before, but they’ve never really been my thing.
I suppose I’ve only gone, even now, in an effort to fit in. I feel even less a part of things now. All of this, it’s so simple and what’s expected, but I’ve seen the hard facts of life and now this seems dumb and a waste of time.
Ansel introduces me to people as we move along. I promptly forget all their names. Not on purpose, but because the minute I’m hearing it from one, another person is greeting me.
“Do all these people go to our school?” I hiss to Ansel under my breath. I know our school is big, but this seems like an awful lot of people to be at a party for it to only be our school.
He laughs, pocketing more cash. He’s bound to have made at least a grand in the short time we’ve been here. “Nah, a lot of the other nearby schools show up here too.”
“I’m sorry for just hanging around you.” I take a sip of warm, stale beer.
Ansel’s pale blue eyes sear into me and I stop walking. “You don’t have to apologize for wanting to be near me, Meadows.” He cracks a grin and I laugh. “I’m fucking awesome.” He sobers and clears his throat. “Seriously, you’re my friend, so don’t say you’re sorry. Friends hang out together.”
“I … I feel like I’m in your way.” I duck my head when I admit it out loud. It sounds silly once the words are out there.
“Definitely not.” He tosses an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Meadows, let’s have some fun.”
It’s a couple hours before we load up and leave the party. Sasha catches a ride with some of her other friends, so it’s only Ansel and me.
“Did you have fun?” he asks, maneuvering his car out around all the other parked vehicles.
“Actually, I did.” Ansel ended up pulling me onto the makeshift dance floor inside the barn. Perspiration still clings to my skin from the sweat I worked up.
“Good.” He grins, driving down the dark dirt road.
“I’m tired, though,” I admit. “I might actually sleep tonight.” I barely utter the last part.
“Don’t sleep much?”
I shake my head before I realize he can’t see me. “No, not usually. Too much on my mind.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“That’s okay.”
The rest of the drive is quiet and I thank him for the ride as I head inside the building and up to the eleventh floor. Sage is wide-awake, sitting on the couch. A cooking show hums in the background, which makes me laugh.
“You didn’t have to wait up.” I close and lock the door behind me.
“It’s kind of late.”
“I know.”
It’s well after one.
He exhales a heavy sigh. “Next time, come home sooner.”
“Are you giving me a curfew?” I stifle a laugh. I’m entirely amused, not angry.
“Yes. Midnight on Fridays and Saturdays and if you go out on the other days you have to be home by ten.”
“Okay.”
He looks surprised. “You’re not going to fight me on this?”
“No. Should I?”
“I would have,” he admits reluctantly. I sit on the couch beside him and he sniffs the air. “Have you been smoking pot?” he accuses, looking murderous.
“Not me, but other people were.”
I conveniently leave out the part about Ansel supplying most of it.
“Fuck, Dani,” he stands up and paces in front of the coffee table, nearly stepping on my toes, “I don’t want you hanging out with those kinds of people.”
I snort. “Yeah, Sage, because we know you’ve been the poster boy for good decisions.”
He narrows his eyes. “Exactly, don’t be like me.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I grumble.
He musses his hair. “I … fuck, I worry about you, D. You’re all I have left. I want to keep you safe.”
I stand up, wrapping my arms around his middle. He hugs me back. “I love you, Sage, but I’m trying … trying to live, to be normal.”
“Now I feel like an ass.” He lets me go and looks down at me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Be careful and from now on if you go to a party call me to get you. I don’t want that kid driving you anymore.”
“That kid has a name.” My lips twitch with mirth.
Sage rolls his eyes and bites out, “Ansel.”
I laugh and hug him one last time before I shower, change into my PJs, and climb in bed. My body is tired and I fall right to sleep, but I dream, good dreams for the first time in nearly a year.
Of blue eyes and clasped hands and tangled sheets.
Of things I cannot have.
Chapter Nineteen
Knocking on Lachlan’s door at five minutes until nine I step back and wait for him to answer. I hear barking on the other side of the door and a bang when Zeppelin must catapult his entire body into the door.
“Zep, man, cool it!”
With that exclamation the door swings open and my breath catches as I see a glimpse of tan, smooth, muscled stomach a second before he pulls his shirt down over his body. My eyes travel his body, from the gray sleep shorts, to his bare feet, back up to the dimple in his chin, thick scruff, shimmering blue eyes, and sleep mussed hair.
Zeppelin pokes his head around Lachlan’s leg, tongue hanging out of his mouth.
“I’ve got that book for you,” he says, waving me inside. I inhale the smell of freshly cooked bacon and my stomach growls. Lachlan looks over his shoulder with a tiny boyish grin. “Hungry?”
“Yeah,” I admit, looking around his home. I didn’t pay too much attention to his décor and personal touches when I stopped by Monday. He’s painted it warm white compared to Sage’s stark white, and where Sage’s place plays off the black, white, and chrome of the kitchen, Lachlan has opted for rich wood accents and leather furniture. There’s a rumpled worn patchwork quilt piled on the couch like he was lying there sometime before I knocked.
He notices where I’m looking and says, “My gran made that for me when I was four. It’s old and falling apart, but…”
“It’s sentimental and you love it,” I finish for him, reaching down to pet Zeppelin. The large dog rubs his whole body against me and I swear he hums.
He smiles and nods. “Exactly.” He picks up a book from the counter, handing it to me. I study the cover, dark blue with a geometric pattern that has images of a castle peeking through. “It’s fantasy, I thought you could try another genre. You’re welcome to stay for breakfast if you want.” He bites his lip, brows furrowing. Maybe he realizes that it wouldn’t be normal for a school counselor to invite his student for breakfast, but he doesn’t take it back.
“That’s okay, I need to … um … get back.”
I kind of do, since I snuck out when Sage went down the street to grab coffee and muffins for our breakfast.
“You can take some with you if you want. There’s plenty. I kind of go overboard when I cook.”
“You cook a lot?”
“I do. I enjoy it.”
“I can’t cook,” I admit with a quiet laugh. “Neither can my brother. We’re supposed to take lessons later today, actually.”
Sage finally scheduled us for culinary classes and while I’m looking forward to spending time with my brother that doe
sn’t involve moping around his condo, I’m mildly afraid of the chaos we’re about to bring to some unsuspecting chef.
Lachlan laughs. “It’s not all that difficult and it’s fun to experiment with flavors. See what works together and what doesn’t,” he muses, pulling a carton of eggs from the refrigerator.
“Tell that to the gelatinous eggs my brother makes and the pasta water I burned.”
He stifles a laugh. “You burned water?”
“It’s an oxymoron, I know, but it happened.”
“Interesting.”
I want to keep standing there talking to him.
“So, fantasy, huh?” I find myself saying.
“Yeah,” he turns the stove on, adding some olive oil to a skillet, “I mostly read psychological thrillers, but I’ve been known to dabble in other genres. In my opinion you can learn anything from any book.”
“That so?” I open the book, flipping through the pages.
He shrugs, cracking an egg into the hot skillet. “Anyone who says you can’t doesn’t have an open mind.”
“Interesting,” I muse, and his lips twitch. I realize it’s because he used the same word for me. “I better get going.” I bend down and love on Zeppelin.
“I’ll bring some more books to school so I’ll have them when you finish. That one is a series, and I have the rest if you like it.” He points at the book clasped against my chest.
“Okay, I’ll let you know. Bye.”
I wave and let myself out so he can finish cooking his breakfast.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator down to Sage’s floor. I slip inside the apartment and close the door, locking it behind me. I’ve barely set the book on my bedside table when I hear the door open with Sage’s arrival.
Fixing my hair since it’s fallen out of the messy bun I put it in when I woke up, I walk out to the kitchen.
“Cinnamon dolce latte.” Sage passes me the Starbucks cup. “And a red eye for me.” He takes a sip, letting out a low whistle. “That’s good, and much needed.”
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