CHAPTER FOUR
Ledger
Seventeen Years Ago
“Pace yourself, Callahan.” I glance over to my brother who has just shot-gunned his third beer in less than twenty minutes. He glares at me, crushes the can in his hand before tossing it over his shoulder, and then flipping me off.
“Okay, Dad.” He rolls his eyes and then points to one of the girls to his side. “Grab me another, will you?”
I grit my teeth. He’s out of control as per usual. Dad’s been chill with us doing our own thing here—more so than he’s ever been in our lives. The last thing I want Callahan to do is fuck it up by getting so shit-faced that Dad will notice and tighten the reins on our freedom.
Then again, it’s Callahan. Screwups are allowed when you’re him.
But not when you’re me.
I glance at the beer in my hand and wish like hell I could say fuck it and be more like him. The problem? I’m sure if I did, our punishments would still be different.
You’re my first born, Ledger. The one most like me. I expect more from you than anyone else.
Fucking great. Perfect. I down the beer and try to forget who I am. Try to enjoy this newfound freedom here in Montana when every second at home is academics and sports and positioning myself for a future that’s preordained.
When I toss my can to the side, it’s then that I see her standing on the outskirts of the party.
Long legs. Tan skin. A red tank top with lacy white bra straps just beneath the fabric.
Reddish-brown hair down her back. And . .
. there’s something about her standing to the side, observing like she doesn’t exactly belong, that owns my curiosity.
That and the fact she’s a walking wet dream.
I can’t help but stare.
“Ledger. Bro. Can I grab another?” the local kid we’ve been hanging around asks me. Hell, in reality, everyone’s been hanging around us considering we have the beer, but he’s actually one we’ve befriended in the two weeks since we arrived.
“Sure. Yeah. Uh—who’s that, though?”
“Who?” he asks as he steps forward to look in the direction that I lifted my chin.
“Her.”
“Lavender Girl?” He snorts.
“Lavender Girl? What are you talking about?” I ask, desperate to look again but afraid to seem too interested.
“That’s what we call her around here.”
“Why?” But he’s headed toward the cooler before I get the word out.
I chance a glance toward her again. And this time when I do, I’m met with a pair of gray eyes that don’t look away.
I walk over to her, my nerves dampened by the beer. Her eyes grow wide, almost fearful, as I approach. Skittish. For some reason I get the impression that she doesn’t normally run with this crowd. Doesn’t quite fit.
Maybe I feel the same in a different way.
She’s even prettier up close. Way out of my league.
Her breath hitches when I stop in front of her.
“Lavender Girl, please tell me you’re not going to run away? I just want to say hi.” I hold my hands out to my sides, my confidence bolstered by my buzz. “I’m Ledger.”
Her lashes flutter as her eyes lift to meet mine.
Thud.
“Hi.”
Then she smiles . . . and I’m a goddamn goner.