Chapter 9
MILLER
Ileft the front door open, knowing Mason would be home shortly and stood at the kitchen counter to make a peanut butter sandwich.
It was Hamish scratching and pushing at the door that made me look up, and a flash of movement out the window caught my eye.
Expecting it to be Mason, I moved to the door ready to greet him, only to come to a sudden stop.
Quinn Devereaux was at our gate petting Hamish, and Hamish was loving it.
“Good boy,” I heard her say, which for some reason sent my heart into palpitations. I didn’t move a muscle, didn’t take a breath, stuck there next to the doorframe. Wondering why she was talking to my dog, wondering why I was hiding and suddenly shy.
But when I did make the decision to approach her, she’d already moved on down the Devereaux driveway. I let out a long exhale like I was relieved. But in truth, I wasn’t. I was disappointed. And annoyed. And ticked off with myself.
Because deep down I knew I’d frozen due to fear that I’d say something stupid, like I always did around her.
Try to be funny but end up sounding rude or dumb.
No matter that I called Quinn the enemy because of her snooty mother, she wasn’t the problem.
No, the problem was me. Quinn was cute and full of class and style and I could pretend to hate her but in reality I wasn’t up to Quinn’s league, didn’t fit into her world.
She was too smart, too rich, too sophisticated for little ol’ me who’d never lived anywhere but Snow Ridge, never left the state and had no ambition to do so.
I was no Ronan King or Chase Masters or Darwin Rune. I wasn’t cool or popular or sporty.
It took several attempts of calling before Hamish finally responded to his name and even then he was disinterested in me, only sniffing at my sandwich.
“Traitor,” I growled, pulling off a piece of bread for him.
“Why do you like her? Did she give you a treat?” He took it and scarpered off outside.
I sat down and ate the rest of my sandwich while scrolling through my phone, assuming Mason would be home at any minute.
But I went down the rabbit hole of searching for Mustang parts and when Mason’s footsteps bounded on the front porch, I saw that over ten minutes had passed.
“Where have you been?” I asked in the same tone I’d used on Hamish.
“Just walking,” Mase mumbled, brushing past me.
“Who with?” I asked, but he’d already gone into his room.
Seemed no one wanted to be around me today, human or animal.
Riding my motorbike to school meant I wasn’t tethered to the bus schedule and could sleep a little longer.
When I dragged myself out of bed, Mason had already left.
My little brother was handling school better than I dreamed and was certainly more diligent than me with his studies.
Noticing his book on the table, I was pleased he was mingling with others and not burying his nose in it.
I pushed his book aside as I sat down and made space for my bowl of cereal and glass of juice, thinking that nutritionally it was pretty good and would get a tick of approval.
Health and Nutrition class had me analyzing everything I ate now.
Frosted Flakes might have been high in sugar but according to the packaging they contained iron and B vitamins, and milk was protein and a good source of calcium and the OJ was full of Vitamin C.
Miss Deeley hadn’t asked us to record our morning meal but it made me wonder what Quinn had eaten.
I cringed at how I’d teased her about avocado toast, wishing I hadn’t been such a jerk.
But it had been mildly surprising that she’d eaten pizza for dinner.
And from Pizza Blast as well. Would have thought that Mrs. Devereaux was too good for that place.
I spooned every last flake into my mouth and pushed the bowl away, glancing at Mason’s book.
It was kind of impressive how he could read such thick books—I flicked through the pages, checking the page count—467—but it was his makeshift bookmark that caught my eye.
It was a folded envelope addressed to Mason Trask of Ambrose Lane.
Heart beating faster, I drew it closer to me, examining the blue ink, the handwriting vaguely familiar.
Mason’s birthday had been in July and we’d celebrated with a day trip to the wildlife park, Mason’s choice.
I could have done without the five hour round trip drive time but Mason wanted to see the bears.
Admittedly, watching the cubs wrestling and playing and being fed was cute and Mase had loved it.
And he was just as excited for the elk and bison and stopping for fast food on the way home.
I’d bought Mason a t-shirt and Gramps and Grandma had sent him a voucher for the bookstore and Dad’s friend, Earl had given him a big bag of candy. But I hadn’t known that Mom had sent him something. Because the size of the envelope looked just right for a birthday card.
Mom had left two weeks before my eighth birthday.
We’d planned a trip to the transport museum in Pine Ridge, because I’d been a wheels geek back then.
At that time, Dad said she’d gone to visit her parents who lived in Florida.
She sent me a birthday card with a big rig on the front so I thought we’d still go to the museum.
But Mom never came back.
At first, Dad kept saying soon, she’ll be back soon, a few days, next week, always next week.
I’d hear him on the phone late at night, whisper-shouting, distraught, throwing things, kicking things.
It was months before he told us she wasn’t coming home.
He read us a letter she sent but I didn’t hear anything beyond ‘Dear Miller and Mason, I love you so much but Mommy can’t stay with you anymore. ..”
On Christmas and our birthdays, she’d send Mase and me cards, but when I was ten, I sent her a letter saying I didn’t want her silly cards or anything from her ever again. They stopped coming and I thought that meant she finally got the message.
But was she still sending them to Mason? I hadn’t seen the envelope arrive, not that I ever checked the mailbox. But Mase had never told me, never shown me...what did that mean?
I grabbed my helmet, revving the throttle unnecessarily, filled with a wild rage. Had my own brother been keeping secrets from me? Did he have a relationship with our mother, the woman who had abandoned us?
Riding down the lane, I powered up my motorbike, the front tire coming off the ground in a wheelie. My anger was probably misdirected, right? Mason wouldn’t purposely hide stuff from me. Surely it had to be Dad.
And yet my resentment festered, my heart burning with betrayal, and at lunchtime, I skipped the quad, joining my friends in the cafeteria.
Also, when I’d rampaged out the door, I’d forgotten my lunch bag so I kind of had to if I wanted to eat.
I collected a tray and stood in line, totally resisting the urge to check on him.
If Mason was secretly in contact with Mom, he was capable of looking after himself and didn’t need me playing the overprotective big brother.
Only when I sat down next to Sienna did it occur to me that Quinn might join us, but it was too late to do anything about it.
Except to eat as fast as I could and come up with a reason to get out of there if she did.
But only Brayden showed up, Darwin was with his football buddies and Elise had a meeting of some sort.
I don’t know why I even worried about Quinn.
After school, I made an impulsive decision to get my hair cut.
Joe’s Quick Cuts didn’t require an appointment.
You turned up and waited. There were three barbers working the floor and I sat there calculating that it might be a thirty minute wait with the two old men and a guy with a bushy beard before me.
Before today, I probably wouldn’t have waited, wanting to get home for Mason as soon as possible, but my mindset had completely flipped.
If Mason was hiding stuff about Mom from me, then I felt no obligation to rush home to babysit him. Let him wait.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled. I even gave up my place and let a whiny little boy go before me. His mother thanked me profusely, removing any guilt over Mason being home alone. Not that I needed to feel guilty, heck, he was in high school now.
Holding grudges was something I was good at. After all, I’d held one against Mom for years, also Mrs. Benseman in the school office. Back in freshman year she told me off for not returning a permission slip—which I had—so I’d never forgiven her for that, always giving her a stony glare.
After Joe’s, I headed home, but instead of turning into Ambrose Lane, I impulsively kept going, out past the farms, through the countryside.
There was a lot going on in my head and I could have just asked Mason the simple question, “Did Mom send you a birthday card?”
But maybe I was too scared of the answer.
It was a weird thing, my animosity toward my mother.
I barely remembered her, and had vowed never to forgive her or give her a second chance—and yet deep down, the envelope had ignited a spark of hope, an unspoken wish that all this time she still had been reaching out, sending cards and letters and gifts.
It didn’t make any sense; I didn’t want her in my life, I didn’t need her in my life.
The speed and rush of air was exhilarating and I kind of wanted to keep riding, but a half tank of gas and common sense told me it was time to turn back.
Slowing down as I approached the edge of town, I could see Quinn Devereaux out running along the side of the road, not far from where I’d seen her with Hamish the other night.
My stomach twisted with a strange mix of excitement and curiosity, wondering if Quinn would be running regularly as part of her soccer training.
Her legs were distractingly long in her short shorts and she glided along like it was effortless, her ponytail swinging behind her.
I jolted as my front tire started to swerve off center.
When I came inside, I didn’t call out to Mason, figuring he’d heard me slam the back door and dump my backpack down on the kitchen floor. I made a sandwich, turned the tv on, threw some balls to Hamish. In frustration, I finally knocked on Mason’s door, ready to confront him.
“You all right?” I shouted quite aggressively, poking my head in the door.
“Just...just fin..finishing my...homework.” Mason’s reply was a soft stutter, which immediately made me feel bad as he turned around from his desk, a bunch of books stacked around him.
I scouted the space like a detective, the book that he’d been reading now on his bed next to his backpack and his inhaler, his bookcase orderly, a row of colored pens on his desk.
“Whatcha doing?” I stepped into his room, avoiding the heap of clothes on the floor, needing a few seconds to look around.
“My geography homework,” Mason said, “I have to research—”
But I switched off as he carried on about the Great Lakes, while I scanned the post-it notes above his bed. It was a list of dates and assignments due, all school related. There were definitely no birthday cards displayed, no bunch of letters, nothing new that looked like it was from Mom.
And that was almost worse. That meant he was literally keeping it secret, hiding it in his desk drawer or under his pillow or bed or some place.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, cutting off his chatter as my frustration compounded.
Bouncing down onto his bed, I casually picked up his pillow, only to see his pajamas folded beneath it.
Annoyed with myself for believing my brother would deliberately keep something from me, I jumped up and headed to the door. It had to be Dad, right?
“Did you just get your hair cut?” Mason asked as I was about to leave.
I swept my hand across the side of my newly trimmed hair. “Yeah,” I snapped, “and you need one too.”
I stood outside the door, highly annoyed with myself. My brother was everything to me so why was I treating him like the enemy?