Seven Years (6 page)

A woman screamed downstairs and laughter followed. I wondered what Wes would have thought about my life. I still saw him as the cool guy and he might have gone downstairs to join them. But he would be thirty and who knows… maybe married. It was hard to imagine him as anything but the young man I once knew.

I could still remember the last time I saw him, two nights before the accident. I was living at home and he stopped by to have a talk with Dad. He walked me into my bedroom and told me I needed to get a full-time job and move out. I’d been slacking off at my job because I hated flipping burgers. Wes shared his concern with me and wanted to know if Dad had been giving me a hard time. He told me about a job at Sweet Treats and suggested I could move in with him until I found a place. “
Call me tomorrow and we’ll go to a movie
,” he said.

God, why didn’t I call him? I ended up blowing him off and it had become one of the biggest regrets of my life. A last chance to see him, or maybe that could have changed his fate and he would never have gone out on the night he died.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at my front door. I catapulted off the sofa and grabbed the fireplace poker—my weapon of choice.

Through the peephole, I watched Naya impatiently pacing in circles with her arms folded.

I opened the door.

“This is the last straw. I called the police this time,” she announced, rushing past me and going straight for the can of Spanish peanuts in the kitchen.

“The party girl called the cops?” I smirked.

Naya strutted into the living room and plopped down on the floor, leaning against one of my chairs with her long legs crossed.

“Lexi, on more than one occasion I’ve invited them to my parties, but they’ve never
once
returned the courtesy.”

I flopped onto the couch and grabbed a magazine from the coffee table. “Do you really want to party with a bunch of college kids?” My gaze flicked up. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

She popped a peanut into her mouth and brushed the salt from her fingers onto her tight shorts.

“Crash it,” I suggested.

Naya rolled her eyes. The root of her irritation wasn’t the noise but that she wasn’t a part of it. Naya hated exclusion. “I have more class than that, chickypoo. So are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you?”

I slowly turned the page, glancing at an article about the top twenty ways to turn on your man. “Nope.”

She set the peanuts down and hopped on the sofa beside me, lifting my legs onto her lap. “Ooo, it’s a man, isn’t it?”

“Naya, it’s—”

“A
man
.”

I snorted. “Drop it.”

“Dish, Lexi. I can tell it’s not about Beckett because you have a totally different look on your face when you’re stewing over him. So who has your feathers all ruffled up?”

I hurled the fashion magazine to the floor. “A ghost from my past. Just someone who took off years ago and never once contacted me.” Now I was irritated all over again and sat up with my knees against my chest. “He just showed up out of the blue and now he wants to talk.”

“Someone you dated?”

“No. Just an old family friend.”

“Hmm,” she pondered, setting her feet on the coffee table. A silver anklet slithered down to her foot and a tiny heart dangled from her toe ring. “Maybe he was in trouble.”

Something I’d considered. “Maybe he was in prison.”

“That’s kind of sexy.”

“That’s kind of not,” I said. “I have no desire to graduate from a cheating bastard to an ex-convict.”

“So talk to him. Either that or sit here night after night, wondering what happened while wearing your bitchy face.”

“I don’t have a bitchy face,” I argued, trying to conceal my smile.

An unexpected knock at the door startled the both of us. I glanced around but forgot where I’d set down the fireplace poker.

“Shhh.” Naya tiptoed over to the door and peered through the peephole with her index finger pointing up.

“Who is it?” I whispered over her shoulder.

“I can’t tell. Oh, shit.”

“What?”

Naya looked at me and winked. “It’s a cop. He flipped a badge.”

After using her pinky finger to pick a peanut skin from her teeth, she casually opened the door. “It’s about time!”

The man raked his gaze up and down Naya before looking in my direction. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but his stature was tall and he had a short buzz cut many of the cops sported. When he held up his badge and folded it back into his pocket, Naya leaned comfortably against the doorframe.

“That’s been going on for two hours,” she pointed out.

Cops turned Naya on. Period. If there was a reason she could call them, she would. Even at her own parties. I tried not to laugh when her right leg rubbed against the other, as if she were scratching her left thigh with her right knee and beckoning her panties to drop.

“I’m Officer McNeal, responding to a report of a noise disturbance. Are you the one who made the call?” he asked.

“Guilty,” she purred.

“I’ll need your names for my report.” He took out a tiny notebook and I backed up, folding my arms. I didn’t want to get involved in this shit.

“Naya.” She spelled it out. “Naya James.”

“And?” he said, locking eyes with mine. It made me nervous. More nervous than it should have since he was the good guy.

“Um, is this necessary? I didn’t call.”

The tip of his pen remained firmly pressed against his little notepad. “Name?”

My stomach knotted. “Alexia.”

He didn’t move his pen. “Alexia what?”

Why was he making me so nervous? “Alexia Knight.”

“Do you live alone?” he asked.

I glanced at Naya.

“Ma’am, if there’s anyone else on the premises, I need it for my report. If we come back for more information, we’ll need to know the names of all residents within the building.”

“I’m alone, she’s alone,” Naya quickly said, smiling with her ruby lips. She stepped a little closer to him. “Were you on your way home? Sorry if we pulled you back on duty, officer. Can I make it up to you?”

She batted her lashes and I gave her
the look
. Not that she noticed since her eyes were eating up Mr. Undercover Cop.

Without writing down my name or any additional information, he tucked his little notepad in his back pocket. “I’ll go down and have a talk with them. If they bother you again, give us a call and you can come down to the station and file a formal complaint. Have a good evening.” He tipped his head and walked off.

“Damn,” Naya said, slamming the door. “He was kind of hot, and so not into me.” She put her arm around me. “But he sure had his eyes all over you.”

“Yeah. In a creepy way.”

“I’m going to have to put in a personal request for Officer McNeal next time,” she said with a giggle. “I’d love to rub my hands all over his head.”

“Which one?”

She slapped my arm and feigned a shocked expression. “A little seasoned by the look of salt and pepper in his hair, but I bet I could crack a smile on that stern face of his. Try to get some sleep, and don’t forget about my party on Tuesday.”

Naya shut the front door behind her. “Lock it!”

I turned the bolt and wondered how I could possibly forget about the party she reminded me of at every opportunity. That night, I slept with a pillow over my head.

The music downstairs went on until four in the morning.

The next day, I found Naya’s cell phone on the floor by the sofa
. I decided to swing by the strip club and drop it off since she had tiny conniptions whenever she misplaced it. I never understood how a man could walk into a strip club on a Sunday and not turn into a puff of smoke as soon as he crossed the threshold of the establishment.

Club Sin was on the far end of town and I had a few other errands to run, one of which included laundry. I stuffed two large bags of clothes into the trunk of my car. We had a laundry room in the apartment building, but it was dark and had only one door. The Laundromat I frequented had televisions, ample seating, and a few classic arcade games in the back. I felt safe in there and it gave me time to read my magazines or paint my toenails.

Her phone was tucked in the back pocket of my shorts along with Austin’s card, because I planned to call him on a phone that wasn’t mine so he wouldn’t have my number.

And wasn’t
that
childish?

Before going to a strip club on a Sunday, I made a detour over to the cemetery because something had been bothering me, and that was the possibility of having left a whiskey bottle on top of my brother’s grave. I parked the car on the little pathway and walked across the stretch of high grass until I reached his marker. There were a few blades of grass on the plaque, so I dusted them away, but no signs of a whiskey bottle or vomit.

Thank God.

That’s when every muscle in my body froze.

A merciless snarl stirred the balmy air behind me. A prickling sensation touched the back of my neck and I slowly stood up and turned around.

A menacing dog with matted brown fur bared its sharp canines at me. Dog? Who was I kidding? It was too big to be a dog. With cautious steps, I backed away.

My throat dried up as it paced in my direction with stiff shoulders, malicious eyes, and a drip of slobber dangling from one side of its mouth.
Could I take down a dog? Maybe kick it or punch it? Shit. What if I got rabies? Wasn’t that a bunch of shots to your stomach?

Then I remembered all the stories about people attacked by dogs who ended up with their faces torn off.

Without batting an eyelash, I spun on my heel and leapt for a branch on the tree beside me. I swung my legs up just in time as he snapped his massive jaws, then climbed as high as I could, as if Mr. Big Bad Wolf could grow arms and come up after me.

It felt like thirty minutes had crawled by, and the dog continued to circle restlessly around the tree like a soldier. The unrelenting heat planted frightening thoughts in my head that I might die of thirst in a cemetery. Could
I live off leaves and bark?
My fingers clawed at the trunk and I shifted my hip uncomfortably on the angled branch where I squatted.

Then I remembered the phone.

Very carefully, I reached around and pulled Naya’s phone out of my back pocket. I dialed her work but no one answered. The thought crossed my mind to call the police, but I had reservations about calling 911 over a dog. The city was full of crime and car accidents, and after Wes’s crash, the last thing I wanted to do was take a cop away from helping out someone in serious need.

Although, being stared at like a T-bone steak felt pretty serious.

I put the phone in my mouth and pulled Austin’s card out of my pocket. Maybe now was a good time to talk and by then, the dog would be gone.

He immediately answered, which took me off guard.

“This is Cole.”

I mentally wrestled with the thirteen-year-old inside me who wanted to hang up on him.

“Austin?”

After a brief pause, I heard the sound of rustling sheets. “I wondered if you’d call.”

“So, talk. Now’s your chance.”

His voice was kind of soft and growly, like he’d just woken up. I could hear his skin rubbing around, as if he were stroking his face with a tired hand. “I don’t want to do this on the phone. You pick a place and I’ll meet you there.”

I snorted. “I’m a little tied up at the moment.”

My foot suddenly slipped and I lost my balance. A piece of bark tore off the tree and the dog barked ferociously. I pulled my leg up and resumed my squatting position.

“What’s going on?” he asked in an alert voice. “Where are you?”

“I called so we can talk, Austin. I don’t know if we should continue accidentally running into each other before I finally want to kill you. Was it that easy to cut ties with us? We’ve moved on with our lives, but I think I’m entitled to an answer. Losing my brother was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through, but you were like family to us. You didn’t think we’d care that you just took off without a word?” I licked my salty lip and waited for an answer.

When he spoke again, the tenor in his voice gave me chills. “
Where
the fuck are you?”

“Up a tree. I’m at the cemetery with a dog eyeballing me like I’m a meaty bone. Guess I’m in the right place if something goes wrong, huh?”

The line went dead.

Did he just hang up on me?

I was so upset that I threw the phone, which was a completely stupid idea because now I’d lost my chance of calling animal control or 911, thanks to my temper. I cursed and thumped my head against the trunk, which roused another bloodthirsty snarl from the dog below.

“Oh, shut up!” I yelled.

That pissed him off. He stretched out on his hind legs and showed me how tall he was. His predatory eyes were enough to make me hug that tree even tighter, and I was never a tree hugger.

He didn’t just look mean, he looked
mad
.

Time drifted by with no signs of life in the cemetery. A couple of ants bit me on the ankle and I continued scratching it as the heavy afternoon sun became a scorcher. Sweat trickled down my brow and my upper thighs began to get stiff. The cicadas in the neighboring trees were chanting up a song that lulled me into a state of relaxation.

I jerked back to alertness when thunder rolled in the distance. No, not thunder, but an engine. It sounded like King Kong roaring as the car increased in speed and a cloud of dust appeared on the other side of the cemetery, moving around the winding road.

Down below, the dog perked his head up and grew skittish, pacing frantically in a circle. The car ate up the road in my direction and I waved to get their attention. The dog suddenly hauled ass and relief swam through me.

The engine cut off and heavy footsteps crunched across the gravel road, treading over the soft grass until Austin came into view.

For a fleeting moment, I wanted to stay up in the tree. There he was, looking sexy as hell with his shaggy brown hair, all disheveled with bedhead. His black T-shirt was thrown over a pair of jeans.

Thrown
. Wrinkled and untidy, like a man who had been pulled out of bed and barely had time to zip up his pants. I even glanced down at his zipper before giving myself a mental slap.

Austin’s style had always been casual and cool. Back in the day, it was all about muscle shirts and jeans that were shredded at the knees. Now he filled out his clothes like a man, and they wore him more than he wore them. There I was, sitting in a tree wearing flip-flops, black jogging shorts, and a pink tank top. Not to mention I was wearing a ponytail and sans makeup.

Perfect.

Austin scanned his eyes around the cemetery. “Where did he go?”

“Who?”

He slowly looked up. “The wolf.”

“The dog,” I corrected. “I don’t know. To take a piss, I guess.”

After a quick glance over his shoulder, Austin rubbed his jaw and then looked up at me again. “Climb down. I got you.”

Well, getting
up
a tree is a piece of cake. But I can testify to the fact that going down is no easy feat. Now I knew why cats got stuck in them and needed a fireman to come to their rescue. Of course, having seen some of the sexy local firemen in their gear, I’d pretend to be stuck in a tree too.
Damn, that story would have totally made Naya’s day.

As I swiveled, my shoe fell off and I froze. “I can’t.”

“You will. Sit on the branch and put your feet on the one below it.”

My legs were locked up and stiff, and what scared me was the branch below was farther down than I thought. I’d have to let go of the trunk and sit down, but as I did this, I wobbled. “I’m going to fall,” I warned.

“Then I’ll catch you,” he said, not attempting to conceal his soft laugh.

Screw it
, I thought. I spun around, lowered my legs, gripped the branch, dangled in midair, and slipped.

I squeezed my eyes shut and Austin caught me from behind.

His right arm tightened around my stomach and it punched the air out of my lungs. My legs were shaky and he held me for a minute before I noticed my tank top had slid out of place. As he let go, I quickly pulled it down and wiped pieces of bark off my shorts.

“How long were you up there?”

I picked a leaf out of my hair and turned around. “Long enough that I have to pee.”

He spun on his heel to give me privacy. I walked over to Naya’s phone and stuffed it in my pocket, then limped toward the car and grabbed my shoe.

“I’m not sure what kind of girl you think I am, Austin, but I’m not going to pee in a graveyard.”

“I seem to remember you having no problem reliving yourself behind a church.” Austin looked away, no doubt to hide his smile.

“Hey, you said you’d never bring that up again. That was supposed to go to the grave.”

Then I looked around at where we were and snorted.

The back of my arm burned and my joints were stiff. Austin jogged up beside me and pulled a piece of bark from my hair.

“What were you doing out here?” he asked.

“Making sure I didn’t leave a mess behind.”

“I cleaned that up,” Austin replied matter-of-factly.

I broke my stride and studied his thick brows that framed the clearest eyes I’d ever seen. “Why did you let me drive home drunk? I could have been killed.”

He folded his arms and I stole a glimpse of his tats. They disappeared beneath the sleeves of his shirt.

“I didn’t. You think I’d let you drive off in that condition?” He huffed with irritation and shook his head. “I didn’t want to rifle through your purse to find out where you lived, so I left you in front of your mom’s house.”

“How did you get back home?”

“Meet foot one and foot two,” he said, pointing down at his shoes. “Let’s go somewhere with air conditioning.”

“I have to do laundry. You get one rinse and spin to tell your story and then I have errands to run.”

Without another word, we got in our separate cars and he followed me to the Laundromat. Austin said he’d join me in a minute and took off toward a convenience store across the street where I sometimes grabbed a hot dog and soda. The laundry bags weighed a ton, but the handles at the top allowed me to drag them across the polished floor. I put in the first load and pumped a few coins into the washer.

Minutes passed and I hopped up on one of the machines to read a magazine.

“Let me see your arm,” Austin said, coming up on my left. He held a bottle of peroxide in one hand and a box of bandages in the other.

“Huh?” I spun my left arm around but couldn’t see anything.

“Your arm is bleeding, Sherlock. Lift it up and let me have a look.” He set the supplies down and raised my left arm over my head. That’s when I could see the scrape on my upper arm. It was deep and pretty gnarly-looking.

“So, are you going to tell me your life story, or are you stalling again?” I prodded.

“
Christ
,” he said under his breath.

“What?”

He shook his head. “I forgot to buy cotton balls.” He set the brown bottle of peroxide on the washer.

Before I could make a suggestion, Austin peeled off his shirt, wadded it into a ball, and doused it with peroxide.

I was pretty sure I would never buy another cotton ball again if this was the alternative solution.