Twenty-six
I don’t know what exactly to expect when we come back to my uncle’s house, but it’s definitely not this.
He’s waiting outside for us, back against the porch railing with his arms crossed over his chest. And he’s smiling. Maybe the average person would take that as a good sign, that things really are looking up, but I know better than that. It’s not a happy smile, one that shows he’s glad to have us back. It’s more… cunning. Like his plan is unfolding exactly the way he wants it to.
“Hey, you two,” he calls out, ushering us inside. “How are you doing? Are you hungry?”
April squeezes my hand, her eyebrows drawn together. She’s just as baffled as I am. In the whole time we’ve been living here, he’s never once acted like this. We’ve had to fend for ourselves, getting our own food and keeping ourselves safe, mainly from him. Fuck, he’s even cleaned the house. I’ve never seen this place so spotless. Unease crawls down my spine, the instinct to get the fuck out of here damn near overpowering. But I force myself to stay put, the reminder of his threat against Mrs Sanderson at the forefront of my mind.
I pull April tighter against me, clear my throat to try and stop my voice from wobbling. “No, we’re good. Thanks.”
It’s eerily silent for a minute as he looks us over, white-knuckling the back of a chair at the breakfast table. My heart pounds in my ears, body locked up tight and ready for whatever’s about to come. To my surprise though, he just chuckles.
“That’s okay,” he says, nodding. “At least you’ll have an appetite later.”
I frown. “Later?”
“Yeah. We’re going out for dinner. Kind of a welcome home thing.” When I don’t say anything, he narrows his eyes. “That’s not a problem, is it?”
I go to tell him that it is, in fact, a problem, that I don’t trust him whatsoever, but right as the words are about to leave my mouth, he leans down and smooths out a crease on a piece of paper sitting on the table between us. An eviction notice, I realize. My spine stiffens, fear making my gut churn.
“It’s no problem,” I rush out. “No problem at all.”
“Good. Dinner’s at six.”
I nod. “We’ll be ready.”
I pick up our bags and lead April upstairs, holding my breath right up until the bedroom door clicks shut behind us. My forehead falls against the wood, eyes squeezed shut. April’s bed springs squeak as she collapses onto it, a deep sigh escaping.
“Why’s he being so nice to us?” she asks.
I shake my head, my brain already hurting from trying to figure out his motives. “I have no idea, April.”
“Can’t we just go back to Mrs Sanderson’s?”
“No. Not right now.” I spin to face her, giving her what I hope is my most encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be okay. I’ll… figure it out.”
Somehow.
Her forehead creases. “Are you sure? Because I don’t think—”
“Trust me, April. I’ve never let you down before and I’m not about to start now, okay?” Blowing out a breath, I walk over and ruffle her hair. “Hey, why don’t you read your book for a while? I’ll unpack our stuff.”
She chews on her bottom lip, looking like she wants to say more, but finally she nods and fishes her book out of her bag, before settling back against the headboard.
I set to work unpacking, using April’s distraction to my advantage to double check that my other hiding place hasn’t been compromised. Crouching in the closet, I gently lift the loose floorboard and sigh in relief when I see my journal’s still there. It’s been days since I’ve gotten my hands on it, flicked through the pages of memories.
And there’s definitely a few more to add now, too.
Some really fucking good ones.
I can’t get last night out of my head, can’t fight the shudder that runs through my body every time I think about being inside him. The way his face screwed up in pleasure, the way his moans rattled my eardrums. Jesus, just the memory of it is enough to have me feeling hot all over.
I shake the inappropriate thoughts away, replace the floorboard and turn my focus to my phone. Specifically, mine and Asher’s message thread. The unread icon taunts me, has the already uneasy feeling coursing through me ratcheting up higher. We texted for a while after I dropped him at home last night, but today… nothing. I can’t say it’s not worrying me, but the rational part of my brain keeps telling me that he’s probably just busy and will hit me up later. Between football, his dad and worrying about his future, he’s got a pretty full schedule.
Besides, what the hell am I worrying for? Last night was incredible. He basically told me he loved me. There’s no way things can do a complete one-eighty after that.
Right?
* * *
My suspicion only grows as the day wears on.
About an hour after getting back, Jamie knocks on our bedroom door and lets us know that the dress code for tonight is formal. And when I start to argue, he waves the eviction notice in my face again.
So, at a quarter to six, April and I are both standing by the front door wearing the smartest clothes in our closet. Her, a pale pink dress that our mom bought her just a few weeks before they died that’s a little too small on the sleeves. And me, I’m wearing the suit I wore for my parents funeral. As if today couldn’t get any worse.
He comes down the stairs wearing a fucking tuxedo, looking like he’s going to the opera or something, and flashes us a bone-chilling smirk, making my stomach churn. We pile into his cruiser and I fidget my way through the journey; jiggling my legs, gnawing on my lip, biting my thumbnail.
“So, where are we going?” I ask after a few minutes, breaking the silence.
He just smirks again. “You’ll see.”
That doesn’t appease me at all. And the dread coursing through me reaches radioactive levels when he takes the turn for the rich part of town. My mind screams at me, begging for this to not be happening. But, it is. Everything’s becoming crystal clear. My uncle’s sick enjoyment, the radio silence from Asher. It all makes perfect fucking sense now.
We pull into the familiar driveway and my vision turns spotty. My brow beads with sweat and… shit, am I having a heart attack?
“W-what are we doing here?” I choke out.
“This is where we’re having dinner. Alistair Brooks is an old friend of mine.” He cocks his head. “Did I not mention that?”
I’m hyperventilating now, on the verge of passing out. “I don’t think I can— I can’t—”
He chuckles, clapping a hand on my shoulder, the action making me wince. “Relax, boy. I can take you home. But, I’ll have to make a little pit stop first. Do you think Mrs Sanderson is home?”
Fuck.
I squeeze my eyes shut, try taking deep breaths. What the fuck is going on? Is this payback for our fight? Or does he know? About me and Asher? Jesus, is Asher in on this? Is that why he’s been ignoring me? I can’t deal with this. I can’t—
But, I have to. I can’t let him hurt Mrs Sanderson. I won’t.
I open the door with trembling fingers, almost tripping a couple of times as I follow my uncle to the front door. April’s eyes are wide, ping-ponging between us. She knows something’s happening, and I try to reassure her with a smile but it comes out more like a grimace.
A woman, who I’m assuming is a housekeeper, opens the door and leads us inside. I try to keep my gaze ahead, to focus on taking in enough air, but I can’t stop myself from looking around, letting the memories assault my mind. The stairs he helped me up the night I was hurt. The pictures of him throughout the years lining the wall that gave me my first glimpse into the real Asher.
Was it all a lie?
I don’t want to believe that. That every word and kiss and adoring look was dripping with deceit. Surely this is all just a big misunderstanding. He probably doesn’t even know I’m here, doesn’t know what scheme my uncle and his dad have cooked up. He probably broke his phone or lost his charger or—
Or not.
I step one foot into the dining room then freeze in place, my stomach plummeting to the floor. Asher’s already seated at the table, looking irritatingly good in a button up shirt and tie. And who’s beside him? Fucking Peyton. She’s got one hand gripping his arm, while the other fusses with his hair, and when she sees me enter, her red-painted lips lift in a sardonic smile. Everything inside of me coils tight, blind rage making me tremble.
Is he fucking kidding me?
“Ah, you made it,” Mr Brooks announces, rising from his chair. “Come in. Have a seat.”
My uncle and April move toward the table, but I’m too busy burning a hole into the side of Asher’s face. Because the fucker won’t even look at me. He’s too busy inspecting his shirt, picking off pieces of imaginary lint. Being a damn coward. My uncle clears his throat and I push down my anger just enough to take the seat next to April, directly opposite Asher and Peyton. Perfect.
Mr Brooks claps his hands together. He’s far peppier than the last time I saw him, obviously enjoying my misery. “Drinks?”
My uncle asks for a glass of some ridiculously expensive scotch, his sobriety clearly a thing of the past, and April squeaks out a request for some juice. Then, all eyes fall to me.
“I’m good,” I bite out.
Silence descends, the tension so thick you can practically taste it, but I don’t give a shit. I’m too pissed to care what anyone else thinks.
Somehow, I make it through the first course without exploding. I don’t eat anything, though. Just push the food around my plate, mentally replaying every single second Asher and I spent together. Trying to pinpoint every one of his lies. But when him and Peyton clasp their hands on top of the table, I can’t take it anymore. I push the plate away, ignoring the sound of the cutlery clattering.
Mr Brooks clears his throat, eyebrows quirking at my outburst. “Jamie, you remember Bart and Patricia Harris, don’t you?” He waves a hand to Peyton’s parents sitting at the other end of the table. “Bart and I have been friends for a long time. I’ve spent years trying to convince him to go into business with me, but he’s been a tough nut to crack.”
“And you don’t know how to take no for an answer,” Mr Harris jokes.
Mr Brooks shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, it seems my persistence has paid off. We’ve finally reached an agreement.”
He turns his gaze to Asher who shifts uncomfortably. Dread pools low in the pit of my stomach. I already know. I knew it the minute I walked in the room and saw them sitting together. And for once, I wish I was fucking wrong. My head spins and bile rushes up my throat.
“Our families are joining. As soon as Asher and Peyton graduate from college, they’ll be—”
I can’t fucking hear this.
I shove away from the table, standing up so fast that the chair almost topples over. My breath rushes out of me, everything inside of me feeling raw and wrong. It’s like someone’s just reached inside of my chest, pulled my heart out and stamped on it. How could he do this to me?
“I, uh…” It takes three attempts to swallow around the colossal-sized lump in my throat, try to blink back the hot tears burning in my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just not… feeling that well. I think I’m gonna— April, come on. Time to go.”
April immediately comes to my side, slotting her fingers through mine.
Asher stands too, and the asshole actually has the audacity to pretend to look hurt. “Oakley…”
I shake my head and turn away, jaw clenched so hard that my teeth almost crack. “Congratulations,” I choke out. “I’m sure you’ll both be very happy together.”
And this time when I storm out of Asher’s house, I’m never coming back.