1. Lilah #4
My mouth watered at the mention of his mom’s chicken alfredo.
Thank god he hadn’t said spaghetti and meatballs.
I’d never be able to eat them again after wearing a full tray of it in the dining hall last week, which ruined one of my only two white button-down shirts.
After three washes, I’d given up and had to scramble for a secondhand one, burning through some of my precious cash.
But the parmesan-heavy, creamy goodness with expertly grilled chicken? I’d never wanted to curl up into a bowl of pasta more than when I was at his house. I could smell it already.
Smiling, I held out my hand toward him. “Deal.”
Rye ran out, got the deserted uniforms from the driveway, and set them inside the door. They looked untouched. A ripple of relief went through me. One less thing to worry about.
“If Mason’s still giving you shit at school because of me, tell me and I’ll handle it.”
Since what Mason was doing had nothing to do with Rye and seemingly everything to do with me, I didn’t feel like I was lying. “There’s nothing for you to handle. Seriously, I’m fine.”
He looked at me with an assessing gaze before he broke out into a grin.
I backed up. “Rye, don’t.”
Instead of waving goodbye like a normal person, Rye picked me up and squeezed me, spinning me around.
The day he’d discovered he could do that back when we were thirteen had been an annoying day for our friendship.
There was no evading that goodbye, no matter how hard I tried.
I’d learned not to fight it, or he’d find another embarrassing way to say goodbye. Probably a headlock and a wet willy.
From my single step to the stone path leading to the parking area, the main house towered, always casting a shadow.
Nine months until the High School Plan finished and the Med School Plan began. Somehow, that pushed away some of my hopelessness. In the kitchen, I’d cobble together some semblance of a meal for my dad and the twins.
Dad survived on sunlight and topsoil. Maybe that was why he loved plants so much.
The orangey-red glow of the sky lit up the last blooms of the garden with an ethereal haze.
Everything was lush green and a rainbow of colors, each given everything they needed to thrive.
What must it be like to be cared for and looked after so meticulously?
To have someone aware of every tiny change in your mood and willing to put in the effort to get you back to feeling your best?
I’d never find out. I was just trying to survive high school.
Leaning against the lamppost in the small alcove circled by purple and pink flowers, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. Floral scents enveloped me. Birds chattered, singing their predusk songs on the way to the rest of their nighttime routine, twirling through the sky.
A familiar, probing weight settled over me. I snapped open my eyes and peered at the imposing house. Beautiful from the outside, but the inside was filled with barbed wire and landmines in human form.
Of course, Mason stepped out of the shadows.
He leaned forward on the balcony, overlooking the sprawling backyard gardens.
The cords of his muscles strained, veins in his arms prominent as he rested them on the railing.
Music drifted from the open doors of his bedroom. I tried to pretend he wasn’t there.
The rest of Havoc laughed and shouted, their voices traveling the gap between us not only in distance, but in money, reputation, and popularity.
The Havoc moniker had stuck to the four of them when they made first line as sophomores, a first in Hawthorne Prep history. They’d won every regular season game while racking up double-digit penalties—according to Rye. Mayhem and destruction on the ice. That’s how Havoc was born.
I looked away.
Even in a T-shirt and jeans, he was the guy girls tripped over in the hallways when he walked by.
They were already preening, competing to be the one he’d give his #11 jersey to once the season started.
Most of those girls would shove their friends into traffic to live this close to him or get one of his half smiles or eye-raking gazes. I’d do a house swap with them anytime.
From his tower, he hadn’t been surveying the horticulture and wildlife.
His molten gaze locked onto me like he was standing beside me, trailing a scorching finger over my skin.
The thread of connection between us tangled. Every raw, painful twist tugged at me.
Then he was gone. I could feel it, and before I crossed the threshold back to my house, I chanced a glance under the pretense of tucking my hair behind my ear. An empty spot where he had been, the balcony door closed and curtains drawn.
How taut was the bowstring with me in his crosshairs? I could only hope I bored him soon. The cat batting the toy had to get bored if you played dead long enough, right?
I ignored the looks, ignored it all because Mason had made it painfully clear that our paths crossing would never end well for me. Tomorrow would be another day and one step closer to breathing without the crushing memories, although I couldn’t imagine a time when they wouldn’t still haunt me.