Chapter 3 CASSANDRA
CASSANDRA
Leo wanted to talk. I wasn’t sure what surprised me more—him on my doorstep or the fact that he was asking for a conversation. After the coffee shop, I’d been certain he wouldn’t speak to me until I had a paternity test to prove I wasn’t lying.
“Um . . . sure?” It came out like a question because talking was, well . . . questionable. Yelling, no problem. But a civil conversation? I wouldn’t hold my breath.
I looked over Leo’s shoulder. A walk around the neighborhood would be best. We’d be less likely to cuss and scream at one another if there were people outside. But four houses down I spotted my parents. They’d gone on a walk themselves, likely to talk about me.
Thank God, Leo had parked his bike across the street at Luke and Scarlett’s.
Leaving now wasn’t an option. Mom and Dad would see us and there’d be questions. Lots of questions. The ones I’d escaped so far because my parents were taking it easy on me. But if they saw Leo, those questions would be much more pointed and impossible to ignore.
“Uh, come on in.” Shit. I was going to have to hide him in my room.
He nodded and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, then followed me inside.
The moment I closed the door behind him, my house felt too small and too hot.
He was wearing the same black T-shirt he’d been in at the coffee shop. The same jeans draped down those long legs to a pair of scuffed black boots. Simple. Casual. There were guys at school who wore variations of the same, but the way those clothes looked on him gave off an entirely different edge.
Leo was temptation personified, rugged sex appeal entangled with the thrill of the forbidden. He was the flame I’d known would burn but I’d touched it anyway.
I hated that I didn’t hate him. How he’d treated me in the past twenty-four hours deserved nothing less than loathing, but one long look at his handsome face and I was dragged back to our night together. A night when he’d treated me like a goddess and made me feel desired. Erotic. Special.
He’d flashed me his straight, white teeth in a perfect smile and I’d fallen under his spell. Leo had a way of smiling that made me feel like it was only mine. That he’d never looked at another person the way he looked at me.
I guess I was special. I was the woman having his baby. Unless there were others.
Oh, God. Were there others? When was I going to stop being so na?ve? I’d been played. Perfectly and beautifully played, but played nonetheless.
“Cass?”
I blinked and tore my eyes away from his shirt. “Sorry. I’m . . . I’m a mess.”
I’d told Scarlett the same thing yesterday. A mess. That four-letter word was too small for what I was feeling, and for a woman who had an extensive vocabulary, it was too inconsequential. But mess . . . that was the right word.
“Admitting it sounds like an excuse. It makes me feel like a failure. But never in my life have I looked into the future and not known what it looked like. It’s . . . unsettling. Maybe I’m a mess because I haven’t ever not known what I wanted.”
The future had always been this crystal-clear picture since the day I’d picked up my first copy of The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank.
Or maybe it was The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom.
I’d read both books when I was twelve and though heartbreaking, they’d both made such an impact that history had become my future.
I’d wanted to learn more about true stories.
Leo studied my face, his eyebrows coming together.
“I don’t know why I just told you that.”
He ran a hand over his jaw and goatee, drawing it to a sharp point at his chin. “Do you want to go somewhere?”
“Oh.” Right. He’d come here to talk. And my parents would be here any minute. “Um . . . let’s go to my room.”
We passed the living room and walked down the hallway toward my bedroom. The walls were lined with pictures of our family. Camping trips. High school graduation. There was more than one photo of me with a book tucked under my arm or resting on my lap.
Most people slowed when they saw the photos. When Olive had been here, she’d inspected each and every one, and there were fifty-three. Mom loved her pictures.
But not Leo. He walked faster, like the last thing in the world he wanted to do was catch a glimpse into my life. I didn’t have much of an ego, next to none really, but he kept slicing the tiny pieces. Maybe when he was done with me, I’d be able to hate him.
I wanted to hate him.
I should hate him.
I didn’t.
We reached my bedroom and I stepped inside just as the front door opened and my parents’ voices drifted down the hallway.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Leo, waving him into my room, then shut him inside.
I sucked in a deep breath, then hurried to meet my parents.
“I thought you were going to keep the door locked,” Dad said.
“Oh, I saw you guys coming down the block.”
He frowned, then walked over and put his hands on my shoulders, bending to kiss my forehead. “How are you feeling?”
Raw. Bruised. Scared.
“Fine. And hungry,” I lied. “Mom mentioned my favorite spinach and artichoke dip earlier. It sounds pretty good.” It sounded awful, but I’d rather force down some dip than have my parents realize that Leo was in my bedroom.
“Then we’ll go to the store.” She nodded, coming to stand behind Dad. “What else do you want?”
“Whatever sounds good to you guys. Maybe some ginger ale.”
“I’ll get some more saltine crackers too for tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks. I might take a nap.”
“Good idea, Buttercup.” Dad pulled me into a hug. “We’ll be back. There’s a motorcycle at Luke’s place, probably one of those Tin Kings, so you stay inside, okay?”
“Okay.” If only he knew who that motorcycle belonged to and why it was on the block.
Soon. I’d tell them soon. But in this moment, I dragged in a long breath, inhaling Dad’s woodsy cologne, the one Mom bought him every birthday, and letting it soothe a few fears. My life was falling apart, but at least I had amazing parents.
Though they had to be disappointed. If I was disappointed in myself, then they had to be ashamed. What would they tell their friends and our extended family? How would I face anyone at the next Cline family reunion?
God, I’d messed up. How could I have been so foolish? Tears threatened but I blinked them away.
Dad let me go and held out his arm for Mom. “Come on, Rose Petal. I have a hankering for an iced coffee on the way.”
Mom took his arm, smiled at me, then let Dad escort her to the garage. I waited, listening until they backed the car out and the door came down behind them. Then I swallowed the lump in my throat and went to my bedroom, finding Leo standing in the middle of the room.
He didn’t move when I came in. He stared at the corkboard above my small desk, the one where I’d pinned notecards and photos.
“What is this?” he asked.
“A vision board.”
“What’s a vision board?”
I walked to the bed, collapsing on the edge, too tired to have this conversation standing.
I hadn’t been sleeping for obvious reasons, and I’d spent my energy reserves this morning.
“It’s a way to organize goals. Get my PhD.
That’s why there’s a photo of the graduation hat.
Quotes from people I find interesting. People I’d write books about. ”
“You write books?”
“No, I go to school. Or . . . I did. I am—was—getting my master’s degree in history. I have a meeting on Tuesday morning with my thesis advisor to drop out of the program.” Not a conversation I wanted to have.
Leo backed away from the corkboard and I followed his gaze as it traveled around the room.
Not much had changed in here from when I was a teen.
There was a shelf above the small TV positioned at the foot of the bed that held my once-beloved trinkets.
A hand-painted teacup and saucer that my grandmother had given me before she passed.
A dried corsage from my senior prom. A friendship bracelet from a friend who I hadn’t spoken to since undergrad.
Beside the shelf was a row of necklace hooks where I’d once hung my jewelry. It was mostly empty now because most of my necklaces were on a similar set of hooks at my house in Missoula.
There was a poster of a glitter butterfly beside my window. Beside me was the ragged teddy bear that I’d had since I was little.
Tomorrow, I’d probably be mortified that Leo Winter was standing in my high school bedroom, but at the moment, I didn’t have the energy for it.
“Did you grow up here?” he asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he stayed in the center of the open space. Tension radiated off his muscular frame, making the air heavy and cold.
“Sort of. Mom and Dad were the first to build on this street when the development was new. We moved in my junior year. Before that, we lived by the elementary school. What about you?”
“Yeah, I grew up here. Lived in the trailer park off Sundale Road.”
I nodded, not sure what to say or where to look. I decided to keep my mouth shut and stare at the plush cream carpet. Mom would freak if she knew Leo was in here wearing his scuffed boots. She had a strict no-shoes-on-the-carpet policy.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-four. You?”
“Thirty-two.”
Why did this feel like a job interview?
“So you’re quitting school.”
“Yes.” I choked on the word. Acknowledging it, admitting it, was enough to fill my eyes with tears. “It makes the most sense. I need to move home. It’s more affordable here and with my parents around, it will be easier when the baby—”
That word was like a ticking bomb in the room. If Leo had been tense before, now he was practically vibrating.
“Anyway . . . yes, I’ll quit school,” I said, clearing my throat.
“One summer session and a fall semester away from my thesis. But there’s no way I can work and go to school.
I’m surviving on student loans as it is.
My scholarship . . .” I glanced up only to find Leo staring at a wall with a blank expression in his eyes. “Never mind.”