Unafraid (Beachwood Bay) (25 page)

“I’ll go put the suit on,” I agree, resignation smothering my plans to get away.
It’s just another night
, I tell myself.
You can head back home tomorrow
.

My mother brightens, moving to kiss me on the cheek—and smooth back my hair. “We’ll need to get you a haircut, you look like a vagrant.”

“Sure,” I sigh, turning to head back upstairs.

“And don’t forget the tie!”

Dinner is unbearable, like every other damn party in this house. My parents laugh and make small talk with all their society friends, gossiping about local scandals and politics while I pick at my fancy food and wish desperately I was a hundred miles away, eating burgers at the bar with Brit, just hanging out, messing around to make her laugh, stealing kisses between her shifts.

Watching the look in her eyes when she comes…

I feel a buzz in my pocket. I check my phone, sneaking a glance under the table.

How’s it going? I miss you.

Warmth seeps through my body, melting my tension for one brief, blissful moment. Even from a hundred miles away, Brit can make all this bullshit go away.

I start to tap out a response.

“Hunter?” my mother’s voice comes sharply.

I look up to find her giving me a deathly glare. Cellphones at the dinner table are strictly forbidden. I grit my teeth, and tuck my phone back in my pocket.

“Yes, mom?” I ask in a fake-polite voice. I look at the clock on the mantle. Jesus, only 8:30 p.m.?

“Bitsy was just saying her niece is in town, she’s about your age,” my mom adopts a sugary tone. “You two could get together for lunch later this week.”

“Oh yes!” Bitsy claps her hands together. She’s a brittle blonde with a forehead that hasn’t moved all evening. “That’s perfect.”

“Sorry,” I tell them both, not even trying to sound like I mean it. “I’m not staying. And I’m seeing someone,” I add in my mom’s direction, in case she gets any more bright ideas about fixing me up.

Mom raises an eyebrow. “That girl from the hospital?”

“Her name is Brit,” I reply, ice-cold.

“I thought she was a hitch-hiker you picked up,” Mom smirks, turning to the table. There are titters of amusement from her friends. “Honestly, you should have seen her: shorts up to here and a shirt down to there. These country girls—”

“That’s enough.” My voice is harsh over the ring of china. I scrape back my chair.

Mom’s face changes. “Where are you going? We haven’t served dessert.”

“I’m not hungry,” I tell her, striding out of the room before I lose it completely. I don’t know where to go, but instinct takes over: driving me upstairs, down the hallways to the back of the house, and through a door I haven’t brought myself to open in years.

Jace’s room.

I catch my breath, my heart pounding fast in my chest. It’s quiet up here, away from all the other bedrooms; the windows overlooking the side of the yard, with a tree in easy reach for all those times he snuck out to go fool around with a girl, or grab some beers with his buddies out at the lake.

I look around. They haven’t touched a thing. It’s like a shrine to him: sports trophies still lined up on the mantle, school medals and his college diploma framed proudly on the walls. The bed is made with fresh navy sheets, and his computer is sitting there with a stack of magazines on the desk, like at any moment, he’s just going to come strolling in the door, back from playing tennis at the club, yelling at me to get my ass in gear.

I sink down in the desk chair, memories hitting me like a tidal wave. Mom never let us pin up posters or photos, but there are pictures of him everywhere, framed in heavy gilt and black. Jace with the lacrosse team, celebrating a win. Jace in his cap and gown, looking bashful up on stage. Jace and I, laughing together on the docks, that last summer in Beachwood Bay.

My brother.

Damn, I miss him. I feel it every day, but now—here—it’s more than I can stand. Some siblings have a love/hate thing going on, but we were always tight, even when I felt like I could never live up to him. He drove me crazy with his confidence, acting like there was nothing in the world he couldn’t get once he decided he wanted it. I used to joke that one day he’d meet a problem too big to charm his way out.

I guess I was proved right, that terrible night when we both discovered that all the wanting in the world won’t un-break bones, and mend torn flesh. No amount of swagger and easy smiles will re-start a heart that’s stopped beating.

A noise comes from the doorway. I look up to find my mom.

“I’m not coming back down,” I tell her, my voice gruff in my throat.

“Dinner’s over,” she says softly, stepping into the room. “They left hours ago.”

I jolt with surprise. I didn’t notice the time pass, wrapped up in memories, but the sky is dark outside, and it must be late.

My mom looks around the room, and I can see her thin body strain with tension.

“You should pack all this away,” I tell her. “It’s not healthy, keeping it here.”

“I know. I keep calling them to come, but then…” Mom swallows. “I guess I’m just not ready to let go.”

That makes two of us.

There’s silence for a minute, the two of us alone with our ghosts. I look at her, and a terrible thought creeps into my mind, the one that haunts me only at my darkest ebb.

Does she wish it was me?

I get up. “I’m leaving in the morning,” I tell her abruptly.

“But what about the party next week?” she asks. “It’s our anniversary.”

Shit, I totally forgot. “The party will go great without me. I’m sorry, I need to get home.”

“This is your home.” Mom looks wounded.

“Not anymore.”

She moves to block my path. “Please, think of your father. He’s been so proud, showing you around, introducing you to everyone.”

Guilt twists in me, hard. “Mom—”

She grips my hands. “It’s all he ever wanted, to build something and pass it on to you both. And now…”

“I’m not him, Mom.” I plead. “I’ll never be him. Just look around.”

“We know.” Her voice breaks. “But you’re all we have left now. We need you more than ever.”

She collapses into sobs against me, and I stand, holding her up, feeling the loss sweep through her body. She’s trying to manipulate me with grief, I know—more of the same family loyalty stuff they’ve been holding over me for years, driving me through college and internships and every other milestone on the map laid down from birth. I want to fight it, Goddammit, I want so bad to be done, but all the fight has drained out of me now. The sad truth of the matter is, she’s right.

I’m all they have. And whether it’s my fault or not, it’s because of me.

I thought I could escape all this, and build a life of my own. Beachwood, the horses, Brit. But standing here in the wreckage of the past, surrounded by broken dreams––dreams I smashed with my own damn carelessness––I wonder if I’m ever getting out. Hell, maybe it’s what I deserve. The punishment for my crimes, to live here in his shadow forever, and never be free.

“Fine,” I whisper, missing Brit more than I can stand. “I’ll stay.”

“Will you put that thing down for like, five minutes?” Garrett complains, calling over from behind the bar.

I lower my phone, looking pointedly around the empty room. “What, so I can serve all our imaginary customers?” I ask. I’m perched on the empty server’s station, drumming my heels against the cabinets. “I hate to break it to you, but summer season’s over. Lunch is going to be dead until next May.”

“Which means I can get by without another waitress,” Garrett points out.

I roll my eyes. “If you fire me, you’ll be stuck hanging out here all alone. You’ll die of boredom.”

Garrett shakes his head with amused exasperation. “At least try and look like you’re working, instead of just killing time until you hear from lover-boy.” He pauses wiping down the surface and gives me a sympathetic look. “Still no word?”

I shrug, self-conscious. “He called a couple of days ago. Said everything was fine, that he’d try and talk to me today…” I trail off. “I’m sure he’s just busy with family stuff.”

“Sure,” Garrett agrees, too quickly.

I look up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he replies. “You’re right, I bet he’s got a ton of shit to catch up on. It’s just…” he makes a face. “I hate seeing you like this. It’s been a week now. How long does it take to send a damn text?”

I grit my teeth, trying not to flinch at the sharp blade of insecurity that slices through me at Garrett’s words.

He’s right.

He’s right, and I wish to God he wasn’t. It’s been forever since I left Hunter in that hospital, and even though I told myself everything was going to be fine, with every day that passes, my reassurances sound more like naïve hope than the truth. He said he would call, but every time Hunter picks up the phone, he’s distracted and distant, and we barely have a chance to talk before he gets cut short by some plans he’s got with his folks. He says it’s important for him to try and build bridges with them, and I know it’s true, but every night I lie awake longer, waiting for his response to my goodnight text to come.

Last night, it didn’t come at all.

“That thing works both ways, you know,” Garrett notes. He pulls out a can of Diet Coke from the fridge and slides it down the bar to me.

I shrug. “I know, but whenever I do call it’s a bad time. I feel like I’m intruding.”

If there’s anything worse than the nervous anxiety of waiting for his calls, it’s dialing his number, and feeling the crash of disappointment when he makes his excuse to hang up. It sends me straight down a spiral of self-doubt, wondering if all the things he told me were just pretty lines to get me falling at his feet; if he only ever liked the thrill of the chase, and now that I’ve given it all up to him…

I stop that thought dead in its tracks. I believe in him, I have to.

“Any plans later?” Garrett asks, blatantly trying to change the subject.

He means besides waiting on Hunter to call? “Nope, nothing much.” I reply. “I’m nearly done with my mock-up pattern on the dress though.”

“That’s awesome!” Garrett congratulates me, and I let myself feel a small glow of pride. With all my nervous energy to burn, I’ve made tons of progress.

“I don’t know,” I hedge, “Something’s still not right with the drape. I want to get it perfect before I risk cutting the pattern on the fabric for real.”

“Wanna take a break, watch a movie or something tonight?” Garrett asks. “I figure on shutting this place down early. Maybe grab some takeout.”

I give him a smile. It’s clear he wants to distract me from my silent phone. “Don’t you have a girl coming by?”

He shrugs. “No girl right now.”

“What?” I exclaim, teasing. “There’s always a girl!”

Garrett looks bashful. “I don’t know, I guess I could use a break. So many women, running me ragged,” he jokes. “A man needs some time to recover!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I laugh. “More likely, they got together and decided to post a warning: Beware, manwhore!”

My phone suddenly lights up, sending my heart skipping. “It’s him!” I slide down from the counter and answer. “Hey, what’s happening?”

“Hey,” As usual, Hunter’s voice sounds distant, in a way that has nothing to do with the quality of the cell line. “Sorry I didn’t call last night. My parents had tickets to the opera, and I couldn’t get away.”

“That’s OK,” I swallow back my disappointment. “How’s your dad doing?”

“He’s great,” Hunter says. “He dragged me out for a morning at the country club playing golf. It’s like nothing ever happened.”

“I’m glad,” I say, sincere. “So when are you coming home?”

There’s a long pause.

“They want me to stay a while longer,” Hunter says at last. “There’s a bunch of stuff to deal with at the company. Mom was right, he’s doing too much on his own. The least I can do is help out, after everything that’s happened,” he adds, and it sounds as if he’s parroting his mother’s words straight back to me. “It’s family.”

“But what about the ranch?” I ask, feeling a cold chill sweep through my body. “Don’t they need you there too?”