Chapter 14
MILLER
Dad had texted that he was bringing home pizza for dinner so I tidied away the tools. I’d fixed the loose bolt, tightened my brakes and wiped down my bike. I was about to close the garage door when Hamish came bounding out as Dad’s truck turned into the driveway.
Three doors opened.
Everything happened in a rush. I saw Mason holding a shopping bag, Dad carrying three red pizza boxes and Quinn hoisting her big bag over her shoulder. That’s right, Quinn Devereaux had gotten out of the backseat of Dad’s truck.
And now Hamish was sniffing around her like they were best friends and she was patting his nose.
“Look like that dog’s taken a liking to you,” Dad said with a laugh.
Yeah, I could barely comprehend the situation. The absurdity of it left me speechless and brainless. Since when would Dad say something nice to a Devereaux?
“He’s got the cutest face,” Quinn said the split second before she looked up at me.
Color flooded my cheeks because in my head I’d wanted her to be talking about me. Not that dang dog!
“Heyyyyy,” I said, overdoing the elongation as our eyes connected for a brief moment in time, her deep blues capable of drowning me on dry land. But while I was trying to catch my breath and stay afloat, she was thanking Dad for the ride home.
“You don’t want to join us for pizza?” Dad said, “there’s plenty to go around.”
What? Okay, it was a shock to see Quinn arrive home with Dad, but for him to be inviting her in for pizza? Now things were just getting outright ridiculous, and I suddenly remembered she’d gone out on a date with Ronan King, so how the heck was any of this possible? I’d clearly missed something.
“Thanks Mr. Trask, but I better get home,” Quinn said.
“I thought your mother’s gone out?”
There was a slight hesitation from Quinn before she said, “Ah, she won’t be long, but thank you. And thanks for giving me a ride.”
“You’re welcome,” Dad said in the most pleasant and agreeable tone I’d ever heard uttered from his mouth. “Anytime.”
Like a stunned bystander, I watched as she turned to leave, only for Mason to yell out, “Wait!” And he pulled something out of the shopping bag and hurried over to her. “This is for you.”
I stepped forward, leaning against the truck, bewildered and baffled.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” Mason said. “Thanks for...you know.” My little brother shyly dropped his head.
“I love it,” Quinn said, looking into a small box. “It’s so kind of you.”
And then my body went stone cold rigid as she swept her arms around Mason in a hug and said, “You’re the sweetest.”
I was still staring as Mason’s face beamed, his grin as wide as the freaking Grand Canyon. From the pizza aroma, I knew Dad was standing behind me.
“What’s going on?” I said.
“He bought a little something for Quinn, a thank-you,” Dad said with just enough disdain and sarcasm to invoke guilt, all trace of niceness gone. “He was bullied on the bus and she helped him.”
My pulse spiked. “I didn’t know,” I mumbled. “I mean, I only heard about it today.”
“Of course you didn’t know,” Dad said, his voice low but with all the venom of a king cobra. “For some reason you’ve been too busy sulking and acting like a first class jerk all week.”
Before I could offer any kind of defense, Dad shoved the pizza boxes in my arms, “Make yourself useful and take these inside.”
I didn’t dare object, even though I wanted to watch Quinn and Mason.
I dumped the pizza on the kitchen counter and peered out the window.
I filled the water jug, my heart beat accelerating as Quinn walked down her driveway.
Moments later, Mason came skipping in, plopped a bag on the table and pulled out two books.
“What was that?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant . “What’d you give Quinn?”
“A candle. Peach and cherry.”
“Peach and cherry?”
“She said she loved it.”
Air seemed to be in short supply and my chest tightened, heaving with some random anger—but why? I was the villain in the story. Not Dad, not Mason and definitely not Quinn.
“You should’ve told me about the kids on the bus. I would’ve done something,” I fumed in frustration.
Mason’s chin wobbled and he looked away, examining the front and back covers of his new books.
“Huh?” I prompted, fighting hard to contain my anger, “So why didn’t you tell me?”
Mason shrugged. “You didn’t care,” he sniffed.
My heart didn’t just drop—it plummeted, like off the top of a skyscraper. My little brother didn’t think I cared about him. That hit hard.
And yet my rage kept raging. “What are you crying for?” I snapped. “Don’t be such a baby.” Mason rubbed his eyes, tears dripping down his cheeks, and I continued to lash out. “I told you to stay away from the back of the bus, to watch out for those bullies. You should know that by now.”
“Hey!” Dad’s voice boomed like a clap of thunder. “Miller!” He filled the doorway, eyeballing me with the death stare usually reserved for Mrs. Devereaux. “What’s gotten into you? Don’t you talk to your brother like that!”
I knew I was in the wrong, but my mouth ranted on its own accord. “I can’t protect him all the time. He’s gotta learn to stand up for himself. He can’t be a doormat his whole life!”
I really thought Dad was going to hit me.
His body jerked and I instinctively flinched, expecting a strike to the face, but he stiffened and fisted his hands.
Dad had never hit us, but the effort to restrain himself caused his face to redden and the veins in his forehead to bulge. “Get out of here!” he exploded.
“Oh yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I spat back. “Keeping it nice’n’cozy, just the two of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad’s head twitched as lines etched across his brow.
It’s kinda crazy how emotions can unleash. Because in a blink of an eye, I became a wild beast on a rampage, cold-blooded but hot-headed.
I turned to Mason, my eyes flashing, spit flying off my lips. “You’ve been lying to me. I thought I could trust you, when I’ve done everything for you. But you’re nothing but a traitor.”
Mason stared with eyes the size of saucers, his mouth quivering, but he had no comeback, no rebuttal. Just the silence of guilt.
I was about to bask in my own smugness, knowing my brother couldn’t deny the facts, when Dad stepped in, his voice a low growl. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“What am I talking about?” I echoed with light sarcasm, my blood at boiling point. “He’s a traitor,” and with my finger repeatedly pointing at Mason, seethed, “He’s getting cards from her.”
My brother shrunk back, probably scared I was about to stab him in the eye, his face crumpling and his chest heaving.
But still I offloaded my barrage of disgust. “She abandoned us, but you think it’s all right to take from her?
She’s not worth anything. She’s never been here for you. I’m the one who’s here. Not her!”
I felt a hand on my shoulder, fingers pressing into my t-shirt, but the touch fluttered with comfort. Yet, I battled on. “She doesn’t deserve one minute of our time. Not a second.” I paused, drawing deep for a breath, trying to maintain control. “I saw it! I saw that she sent you a birthday card.”
“I...I...d..” Mason tried, but couldn’t utter a single word, his throat thick with tears.
“Mill—er.” Dad muttered, barely able to speak my name. At the same time, he pulled Mason in beside him and handed him his inhaler. “Boys. Boys. Sit down.” He pushed us toward the table.
Mason kept swiping at his eyes and cheeks, struggling to stem the flow of tears. He sucked on the inhaler, breathing in deeply. My heart cracked a little. I’d caused him to cry, to gasp for breath, I was the one who’d upset my little brother. And I wasn’t proud of myself.
It was easier to look away.
“Listen up.” Dad’s voice had taken on a rasp, and he cleared his throat. “Listen up now. You’ve got this wrong, Miller.”
“I ain’t got it wrong,” I said adamantly. “I saw the envelope. She sent him a card. And he opened it.”
“No, I, I did...” Mason brushed away more tears.
“No, I opened it,” Dad interjected. “I was the one who opened it, Miller. I showed Mase the card.” And then his words were deliberately slow and precise. “And he gave it back to me.”
My heart thumped, a sickening swell of shame stealing the air from my lungs. I’d presumed Mason had taken the card, presumed he’d been disloyal. I owed my brother an apology but words stuck in my mouth and I stammered, “I...I...thought...”
Dad blew out a heavy sigh as he sat down on the chair between us, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t like you being harsh on your mother.” His voice rattled with tension. “She’s your mother, she’ll always be your mother. She’s made some mistakes and she has her issues.”
“I don’t care about her issues,” I butted in, adrenaline flowing through me like a raging river.
Dad extended his hand in a ‘calm down’ gesture. “But you could give her some grace. She’s trying, Miller. She keeps sending cards, even though she knows you don’t want them. And she’s been putting money into a college fund for you two boys. That’s something.”
My chest seized, shocked by that news, and I blurted out, “I’m not going to college.”
“College, trade school, whatever, it’s there for you.”
I nearly said, “I don’t want her money,” but who was I kidding? Free money was a no-brainer. Pride was a luxury I couldn’t afford, especially when there was a Mustang to restore.
“Now eat that pizza before it gets cold,” Dad said.
“What about you?” Mason asked.
“Yeah, I’m just gonna change out of this,” Dad said, acting as if his button-down shirt was about to choke him. He picked up a red bag from a clothing store and disappeared to his room.
I grabbed a slice of pepperoni, took a bite and, with my mouth full, said, “Sorry.”
“I needed a bookmark,” Mason said, picking up a slice.
“And I wished you’d told me about the bullying.”
Mason shrugged, taking a tiny nibble. We ate in silence, my mind churning with a 101 questions, but I didn’t want to sound too eager. I finished my second slice, chugged on some water and said in a hushed voice so Dad wouldn’t hear me, “Why did you give Quinn a ride home? Where was she?”
“At the bus stop,” Mason said, still taking minuscule bites of the pizza.
“The bus stop? What was she doing there?”
“Waiting for the bus,” he said like I’d asked the stupidest question.
“Dad just stopped and picked her up?”
Mason nodded, carefully flipping over his books, examining the front, then the back cover. “She didn’t know the buses stop early on Saturday.”
“I saw her go out with Ronan King earlier,” I said, hoping he could give me more info about the date.
Maybe it had been a disaster and she’d stormed out on him.
I loved that—for me, but I didn’t love it for Quinn.
What had Ronan done that made her have to take the bus home?
“She hugged you.” The words slipped out with absolutely no context, just a random observation.
“Oh.” Mason bent down and picked up the paper bag. “I forgot I got a bookmark for her too.” He waved around a thin delicate marker with a tassel on it. “She likes reading. She’s got the whole Silver Dragons series.”
I was struck with a wave of jealousy—that Mason knew more about Quinn than I did. He knew she liked scented candles, that she read books, that she owned books. I had a sudden wish that I’d read a book that wasn’t assigned school reading, that I was into dragons and wizards and Harry Potter.
“Do you want me to take it to her?” It’s like I was possessed by someone else, those words coming from my mouth but somehow not from me. Why would I be offering to go to Quinn’s house? It’s not like I wanted to see her or anything.
“I’ll give it to her on the bus,” Mason said, not mentioning my heated cheeks or manic eyes, if in fact, he noticed them. He held up a second, silver bookmark. “I got one for me too.” His voice dipped to a whisper. “Miller, I don’t want anything from her.”
Our eyes connected, his shiny from the tears. He’d been so young when she left. Perhaps it wasn’t right that I denied him the chance to get to know her. Like Dad said, she was our mother, would always be our mother.
I gave him a chin lift, but didn’t say anything.
All I could hope was that he wouldn’t wonder why I volunteered to take Quinn the bookmark.
I reached for another slice of pizza, stuffed it in my mouth, looking up to see Dad standing against the doorframe wearing an old black tank, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.