My forehead furrows. “Who? Who’s lying to me?”
“She is. You like to visit here.” She scans the room then out into the hallway. “The hospital, I mean. Not many people like to come here. Why do you like to visit? Aren’t you afraid?”
Feeling discombobulated, I shove my hands into my pockets. “Afraid of what?”
“Death.”
I don’t know. Am I? Is that why I’m drawn to Evelyn’s diary? Am I scared of death? I’m scared of hurting Lucy and my mom, but do I fear death? Naw, that doesn’t feel right—at least it’s not why I read the diary. I read it because … “Reading about Evelyn … I don’t feel alone in all my problems. What I face sucks, but what Evelyn faced was worse and yet she still tried to find a way to be happy.”
The girl jumps as if startled and grabs my hand. “You need to get to Lucy. She’s not safe.”
My eyes snap open, and I shoot up with Lucy’s shout. “Sawyer!”
She screams and the sound sends a sickening chill down my spine. I’m out of my room and into hers. My little sister sits in the middle of her princess bed, drenched in sweat. Her hair sticks to her face, her light nightgown clings to her body. Tears fall down her face.
Nightmares. Like clockwork, they hit her at midnight. That crap got old the first week here, but there’s not much I can do other than be here for her. Mom suggested giving her sleeping pills, and I reminded Mom that the only way that was happening was if she got the certified approval of the American Academy of Pediatrics. That doctor’s visit would mean another day off for her, so that was a no-go.
Lucy sniffles and chokes on the sob, and when she doesn’t put her arms in the air for me to hold her, I realize she’s still in the middle of the dream, but living it out in our reality. At least this time, she stayed in bed.
I smooth her hair back from her face and gently ease her onto the pillow. “Shh. It’s okay, Lucy. I’m here.”
Lucy allows me to mold her back into bed, and she grabs on to the covers as I lift them to her chin. “There’s a … a monster.” She hiccups midsentence.
“And I scared it away. Just like I always do.” Just like I always will.
She takes in a quivering breath, and I’m encouraged by the longer exhale and how she snuggles down into the pillow and closes her eyes. I sit on the edge of the bed and mumble-sing the wrong lyrics to a lullaby because I never tried learning them right. Lucy reaches out, places her hand over mine, and for a moment the constant barrage of chaos stalls. She loves me, and I love her back.
Taps on the wall of her room, and my head jerks up. Another tap, then another, and my eyes follow the sound as it continues along like it’s making its way to the front of the house. Something dangerous coils within me as I realize—those aren’t taps, but footsteps in the foyer.
Careful not to wake Lucy, I creep to the window and spot nothing moving outside. More steps rap along the opposite side of the wall, a door closes somewhere in the apartment, and I whip my entire body around to spot nothing in the room.
I’m on the move and out into the living room. My bedroom door is open, the bathroom door open, the closet doors still closed. I make my way down the hallway and dim light shines from beneath Mom’s closed bedroom door. She murmurs something I can’t make out, and I shake my head. Great. She’s probably talking in her sleep now, too.
Footsteps upstairs and the creaking of the heavy door from Veronica’s apartment and my heart pounds. What is going on? I sprint for our front door, and my mind trips over itself when I notice the lock undone and the door not closed all the way. No. No way. I checked that mother before I went to bed.
My pulse beats in my ears as I open the door the rest of the way and strain to look out into the darkened foyer. The faint light from the stained glass around the main door to the house casts intimidating shadows into the corners that grow darker with each second that I stare.
A few more taps, the gentle sound as if someone is walking toward me, and the blood drains from my face as the sound expands and magnifies. A cold gust of air, and I shiver as a frigidness peels back my skin and leaves frostbite on my bones.
Overwhelming sadness rolls through me like violent waves from the ocean, nearly driving me to my knees. Wave after wave pummels me, and the more that I fight to stay standing, the more that I lose the ability to breathe.
“Sawyer?” A familiar voice, and it’s as if someone threw me a life raft from this pit of despair.
The sight of beautiful blue eyes snaps me back to reality. Veronica stands at the bottom of the steps, appearing like an angel in the midst of a nightmare, and looks awestruck as she watches me. “You heard it, didn’t you? You heard and felt the ghost?”
I rub my hands along my arms, searching for warmth, for some grasp of the situation. As I go to tell her no, I’m struck mute. Veronica offers a hesitant grin. “That’s okay. I didn’t know what to say either the first time it happened to me, but it gets easier.”
I cock an eyebrow at “easier,” and she giggles. “Once the ghost finds you, she’ll visit again.”
Again.
Again.
I jumped with Veronica because I wanted to feel the rush again. That wasn’t okay. Not at all. “Are you okay?”
Veronica tilts her head as if she’s confused. “Me? I’m fine. We’re talking about you.”
“The jump,” I practically spit out. “Are you okay from the jump? Your dad said you weren’t feeling okay, and I was worried that maybe something had happened from the jump.”
Veronica recoils and that makes me want to pound my head against the wall. If I hurt her with the jump, that’s on me. That’s—
“No, that’s not what made me feel bad.”
Silence in my head, but then my brain starts to race again with the possibilities of what hurt her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Those words coming out of my mouth stun even me. I’m not the guy who talks feelings. “Or we can just talk. About anything.”
Veronica nibbles on her lower lip and glances back up the stairs. “Sure—on the anything. On the front porch maybe? I don’t want to wake Dad. He hasn’t slept well recently and he’s sleeping great tonight. I don’t want to ruin that for him.”
I don’t, either. I want to know what’s upset Veronica, but I also need to be the one talking. I did something wrong and she needs to know. I need to be held accountable for my actions, and the thought terrifies me. “Will you take a ride with me? I want to show you something.”
Veronica glances up the stairs again and then down at her clothes. She’s tempting in a spaghetti-strapped tank top and low-cut cotton shorts. “Can you give me a few? I need to grab my phone and leave Dad a message so he won’t worry if he wakes.”
I push a hand through my hair as I wasn’t thinking straight. “It’s late, don’t worry—”
“No, we’ll go. My dad won’t care. He just wants to know what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with. He only gets mad when I’m not straight with him on things.”
“Okay.” A slice of guilt needles me as I watch Veronica scale the stairs. I should go in and do the same with Mom. But she wouldn’t understand, and at the end of the day, as long as I don’t get into trouble that would make her look bad, I don’t think she’d care.
Besides, this isn’t the first time I’ve snuck out at night to go to this place, but it is the first time I’ve taken someone with me. Question is, will doing so cost me the one person I want to be around? Maybe, but I need to start doing some things right, and Veronica is the one to do them right with.
VERONICA
A twenty-minute ride later and Sawyer turns off the engine. He doesn’t say anything as he takes the keys out of the ignition and exits the car. Sawyer comes around the front, like he’s going to open my door, but I’ve beat him to it. Still, he places his hand on the door as I ease out.
I scan the area in the moonlight, but I don’t see much other than rocks, trees, what appears to be a black abyss ahead and the stars i
n the sky. The ground beneath my feet feels solid, like stone, and that’s confirmed when Sawyer turns on the flashlight of his cell.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“One of my unfortunately favorite places.”
“‘Unfortunately’?”
“It’s an abandoned rock quarry.” He flies right past my question. “I should mention we’re trespassing, and that you’re the first person I’ve brought here.”
“I admire how you admit bits and pieces of truth, but then breeze through a shocking part with another shocking part in a way meant to confuse the mind.”
Sawyer’s lips tug up in that cocky way of his. “I’ve learned from the best.” He winks at me. I mock gasp and put a hand to my chest as if I’m offended, but quickly smile, because yeah, I do it, too.
“Which part was shocking?” he asks.
I tap my finger to my chin. “Hmm. Let me think. Your ‘unfortunately’ favorite place is an abandoned rock quarry, we’re going to be arrested if caught and I’m special. I’ve never been arrested so that could be fun.”
“You skimmed over the best part,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“That you’re special.” His eyes meet mine then and the intensity of his gaze steals the air from my lungs.
I quickly glance away because this is the reason I’m here with him in the middle of the night. Because I like feeling this way. I like how my blood is flooded with this exciting pins-and-needles sensation whenever he casts his gaze in my direction, how he makes me laugh in the most unexpected moments and how he finds me funny when I mean to be. I like the ease of our conversation and the supreme ease of our silences. I just like him.
A swift cool breeze blows through the trees. I run my hand along my arms and curse that while I had changed into jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, I didn’t bring a jacket. September has been warm, but we’re nearing October, which means cooler temperatures.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
I could lie. It’s my natural instinct to not rely on anyone besides Nazareth and Jesse, but I don’t feel like pretending with Sawyer. I did that too much with Leo and it got me nowhere. “Yes.”
Sawyer rummages through his backseat, pulls out a blanket and then hands me a sweatshirt. I hold it out and it’s his high school sweatshirt. Our bland colors of maroon and baby blue. It’s so big I could wear it as a dress. Another gust of wind turns my skin into icicles so I pull the sweatshirt over my head.
The fleece on the inside is warm and the first inhale brings the rich scent of Sawyer. I turn my head and fit my nose along the seam of the sweatshirt to take in the dark, spicy smell again before I draw the rest of the sweatshirt down along my body.
“Thanks,” I say, then grin when the end of the sweatshirt falls just above my knees. “Has anyone told you you’re too tall?”
I expect a “you’re short” crack back, but instead he gives me a glorious smile. “Yes. My mom always told me to quit growing, but I’m not good at listening.”
That makes me laugh, and he’s gorgeous with how he brightens, as if I’m the one who gave him a gift. I follow him as we walk toward the edge.
“We’re not jumping again, right?” I ask as a tease, and it’s unsettling how he grows grim.
“Not in the game plan.”
A few feet away from the edge, Sawyer spreads the blanket, but he doesn’t sit. Instead he walks scarily close to the drop-off, so close that the toe of his athletic shoe dangles off the edge. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stares down into the pit. “There’s water down there. About a high dive’s distance away. The pool is deep, but it’s not the safest jump. If you jump wrong, you could end up hitting the rocks that jut out of the water.”
“Have you jumped from this place before?”
“Yes.” Something in his tone makes me ache for him. I’m slow as I walk toward him, as if I’m scared if I make too loud of a noise that he’ll lose his balance and fall. I reach out and touch his arm, the spot right above his elbow, and Sawyer immediately turns toward me, away from the edge. Our eyes lock, my heart reacts and my fingers trail down his hot skin until I can lace hands with him.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Sawyer’s silent for a beat then squeezes my fingers. “When I’m with you, I am.”
His admission warms me from the inside out, which is totally unlike me. But maybe that’s what I like about Sawyer. Being with him causes me to explore unknown things about myself, learning things when I thought I knew it all.
“What made you feel bad?” Sawyer asks.
“Same old, same old. A baby brain tumor that can cause migraines.”
“Yeah, but something in how your dad looked when he talked…” He trails off. I really need Dad to stop talking about me. I sigh heavily, and as if sensing my inner turmoil, Sawyer lightly tugs on my hand and leads me to the blanket.
We sit and he doesn’t let go of me like I expect, but instead he scoots so close that we’re able to rest our joined hands on our outstretched legs. Sawyer’s hands aren’t quite what I expected. They aren’t super rough, not super smooth, but a strong and gentle in-between. While he holds my hand as if I’m fragile crystal, there’s power in his grip. As if even his hands are as precisely muscled as the rest of him.
I skim my finger along the top of his hand and Sawyer sucks in a small breath as if I surprised him, as if he likes my touch. The idea causes a pleasing sensation to course along my veins so I do it again.
“You’re quiet,” I softly say.
“I’m giving you time,” he answers.
“For?”
“To decide whether or not you want to tell me why you were upset.”
“What if I don’t want to tell?”
“Then you don’t, but I’ll be sad if you stop touching my hand.”
I smile, so does he, but then he turns serious. “To be honest, I need to tell you something, too. Something private. And I’m using the time to work up my own courage.”
“There’s nothing you need to tell me,” I whisper.
“Yeah, there is. I don’t want to, but I have to, and there’s no doubt it’ll change how you look at me so I’m okay if you decide to talk first or if you want more time.”
Time. It’s such a weird concept. Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year. Twenty-four hours in a day. Sixty minutes in an hour. Sixty seconds in a minute. Fifteen breaths per minute.
How many breaths do I have remaining? How many more moments will I ever have like this in my life? To be pain-free and alive as I am right now? When will I ever sit on this quarry edge and live this moment again? Never. Probably never.
What do I tell Sawyer? That I was sad because I was once in love with Leo, and I realized that sometime, someway, without conscious thought, that I fell out of love with him?
That for well over a year, if not longer, I’ve known that Leo has been in love with me, but he was never strong enough to love me past my tumor. I convinced myself he was oblivious to my feelings because that was easier than seeing the truth—that the tumor made me unlovable.
Do I tell Sawyer that I finally understood my feelings changed because I now have feelings for him? I can’t tell him that though. How can I start something with him when I’m going to die?
Sawyer knows I have a small tumor, a tiny tumor that causes headaches. Leo saw my mother’s slow and excruciating death. Sawyer has never witnessed my debilitating migraines. Leo’s watched me writhe in pain from a distance as Nazareth has smoked me up to help with the agony. Leo knows my fate. Sawyer doesn’t. He deserves to know, but I want to be selfish, just for tonight. I deserve that. I deserve, if only for this heartbeat, to live.
Tonight, Sawyer looks at me with possibility. Tomorrow, Sawyer can join Leo in viewing me as something that could have been.
“I don’t want to do this,” I say.
“Do what?”
“This. If you want to do this, have this conversation about why I was upset, about why you’r
e upset, we will. But once we do, at least once I talk, nothing will be the same between us again and I’m not ready for that yet.”
Sawyer’s gaze flickers around my face as if he’s trying to find the secret way into my brain so he can read the thoughts I so desperately want to keep hidden. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t? Because I do and I think you do, too. You’re holding my hand and I’m holding yours and we’ve snuck out in the middle of the night to be alone to share our deepest thoughts, but we’re both terrified that those deep dark secrets are going to mess everything up so why share them? Why share them now when, if your eyes hadn’t tracked over my shoulder to Leo, you would have kissed me and I would have kissed you. We can talk another time, Sawyer. Whatever it is you have to tell me will still be there in the morning. But tonight, I need you to kiss me.”
SAWYER
My heart beats wildly. Kissing Veronica is my dream, but I never thought it could be a reality and I try hard to focus on rational thought instead of this driving need. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she says as she angles herself toward me.
“But we do need to talk.” I need to do the right thing.
“We will, but can you let me have tonight and then we’ll worry about the rest tomorrow? If you don’t want to kiss me—”
I cut her off as I cup her face with both of my hands. Her skin is so incredibly soft. Her mouth beautifully perfect. I’ve never wanted anything more than her lips against mine. I look straight into her eyes as doubts war within me.
If I kiss her then I talk to her, will she regret it? If I talk to her and she does change her mind, I’ll regret that I let this moment slip through my grasp. I lean forward and her lips are so close to mine. I take a breath in, and her sweet scent envelops me.
“Veronica,” I murmur in a plea to help end this torture of my indecision or to give her the opportunity to run.
“Let’s live tonight,” she whispers as if she can hear my internal struggle. “I want you to kiss me, Sawyer. You. It has to be you.”
And it has to be her. I close the distance between us and press my lips to hers. An explosion in my chest, in my brain, and heat races through my veins with how warm she is, with how soft. Her mouth moves with mine. In question, in hunger, and when she takes my bottom lip into both of hers, I’m lost.
Echoes Between Us Page 18
