When Cicadas Cry (2 page)

Chapter Two

Past (2 Years Earlier)

Ashley

“T
he whole town already thinks we’re in love.” He bends down low and almost whispers the phrase into my ear. I don’t know what else to do but smile, so I do that.

He finds my eyes once more. I’ve been locking gazes with him from across this space all night, and now, my heart races. I don’t know if I expected him to come over here. I wanted him to, I think, but I also didn’t think he would.

Without saying another word, he holds out his hand and eyes the little dance floor. It’s just a little hardwood floor, surrounded by a sea of soft, cool grass and lit only by the stars and a couple strands of little white lights.

I look around and notice the eyes planted on the two of us. I don’t know how long they’ve been staring, but I can’t help but notice the ease at which their eyes roam over us. It’s almost as if their stares come as naturally as breathing. I feel almost like an exhibit at an art gallery, where everyone is trying to read into the meaning of every detail. But then I look back into his eyes, and the burden of being watched suddenly disappears. In this moment, this perfect stranger is all that matters.

“Well, let’s not disappoint them then,” I say, surrendering my hand.

He smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back. And as he stands there—his eyes never leaving mine—I study him. I study the way his lips slowly, but gradually turn up—in a way that lets me know he might be used to smiles from the opposite persuasion. I study the way his eyes stare back at me, as if we both share some kind of secret, and we both know it, but neither one of us is going to be the first to tell. And yet, there’s still something else about him that I just can’t put my finger on. And it’s that something else that makes me feel as if I can trust him. I don’t know if it’s on his lips or in his eyes or written somewhere on his face, but somehow, he’s got this way about him that makes me feel as if it’s all going to be okay. And it’s this way about him, I think, that makes me wish I knew him more...or at all.

He gently takes my hand and leads me out to the middle of the dance floor. I can feel the eyes follow us there. I can feel them as if they’re literally a weight on my shoulder. I sense them speculating, assuming. They don’t even know us, and it’s as if they’re already pulling for us...or against us. But little do they know, we’re not even an
us
.

“Ashley Westcott.”

My eyes immediately dart to his shadowed face as he turns to me, rests one palm on my lower back and gently draws me closer to him. “How did you...?”

“Just trust me on this one.” He smiles and then looks away. “It’s one of those things that by growin’ up here, you just know.”

“But I’m not...”

“I know,” he says, nodding his head. “That’s how I know your name...because you’re not from here.” His eyes meet mine, and this time, I take notice of their color. They’re this light kind of bluish green—the kind that makes you a little seasick just looking at them.

“So you know everyone’s name around here?” I ask.

He seems to pause as he drops his gaze to the floor. “Pretty much, but yours in particular.”

I laugh once. I don’t know if I’m nervous or flattered that this stranger knows my name. He finds my eyes again. And despite the fact that I’m still trying to figure him out, my lips involuntarily turn up. “Does my reputation precede me?”

He sucks in a big breath and then slowly nods. “I’m afraid it does.”

My heart instantly plummets in my chest. And I think it must show on my face because there’s a subtle shift in his expression. Does he know? I take a quick survey of the room. Their eyes are still on us, but now, I’m wondering if their eyes are really just on me.

“In a good way,” he clarifies. “In a good way,” he repeats.”

I search his new expression. He’s showing off his white teeth in a big smile, and from what I can tell, there’s not an ounce of hesitation in his eyes. I silently say a thankful prayer. He doesn’t know.

Several heartbeats pass between us, as I gently bite my bottom lip in an attempt to keep it all together. But all the while, I still manage to keep a watchful eye on him. Him. I still don’t know his name.

“Remington,” he says, as if reading my mind. “My name is Remington, but you can call me Rem.”

I start to ask the obvious question—how he knew I was thinking about his name—but it never leaves my tongue. Instead, I just smile at him. “Do you have a last name, Remington?” I glance down at our feet before finding his eyes again. “You know mine. I think it’s only fair that I should know yours.”

“Of course.” His grin slowly reaches his eyes. “It’s Jude. Remington Jude.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Remington Jude.”

He bobs his head once. “Likewise, Miss Westcott.”

I try not to blush. I hate it when I blush; it gives away everything I’m trying to hide.

Suddenly, I feel him pulling me closer. I don’t resist because I want this to feel normal, even though it doesn’t, even though it still feels new and strange and wonderful.

“I think we just made them believers, Miss Westcott,” he breathes into my ear.

I look up. There’s several couples surrounding us now, swaying back and forth to the old slow song, but most are only on the outskirts, and their hands are to their faces, as if they’re trying to hide the thoughts pouring out of their mouths.

“Is it always like this?”

“What?” he asks. “The curiosity?”

“Yes.” I laugh. “If you can call it that.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” His eyes trail to the people lining the dance floor before finding me again. “Most get used to it. You probably will too...if you plan on stayin’ awhile.”

I feel my lips turning up because I have no plans of leaving any time soon. I needed a change of pace. This place is a change of pace all right. And I needed a dance in a town I don’t know with a boy I really don’t know either. I needed this.

The slow song fades away, but he continues to hold me against his warm body. And he doesn’t just hold me. He holds me tightly, securely, as if he’s afraid I’ll run. His arms are strong—wide and muscular. It almost makes me dizzy thinking about how one of those arms is currently wrapped around my waist and how only a thin layer of fabric separates his skin from mine.

“Maybe next year,” he whispers in my ear, “we can give them an even bigger show.”

His raspy whisper surprises me and sends chills through my core. I look up and catch an older woman smiling at us from a table in the corner. “Oh,” I say, trying to sound unfazed by the hypnotizing way his sultry voice moved through me, “and what did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know.” He pulls away so that I can see his face and the sea-colored waves in his eyes. “Maybe we could actually come to the dance together, or at least, sit at the same table. That’ll get ‘em talkin’.”

I laugh once. “Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” I look away before finding his eyes again. “I mean, coming together is one thing. But sitting at the same table? That might be moving a little too fast for me.”

He chuckles a little. I like that I’ve made him laugh. He’s even cuter when he laughs.

“Well, maybe I can just settle for a table on the same side of the room then. Then, I wouldn’t have to dodge so many heads tryin’ to catch your glance.”

I lower my eyes and laugh softly to myself, as he backs away, still holding my hand. “It was an honor makin’ rumors with you, Ashley Westcott.”

I lift my gaze back into his eyes. “Anytime, Remington Jude.”

And even as I say the words, I know I mean them. For the first time in a really long time, I feel as if it might not be so bad to fall head over heels for a beautiful stranger. And maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like a stranger at all, really. In fact, nothing about this town feels strange. It’s almost as if I was always meant to find myself here. I mean, this place isn’t anything like home—even down to the red clay stuck to the bottom of my shoes—and yet, I feel as if I don’t belong anywhere but here.

Chapter Three

Past

Rem

“S
o, I met the girl last night.”

“What girl?” Jack looks up from his phone, swivels around in my kitchen chair and faces me. “Ohhhh...
the
girl?”

I just smile and nod.

“Well, did she live up to your crazy fantasy?” He goes back to fiddlin’ with the screen on his phone.

“Even better,” I say, grabbin’ a can of soda out of the fridge.

“What? You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me?” He tosses the phone onto the table. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. She was at the dance, and she was wearin’ this short, little dress, but not too short...you know?”

He nods as if confirming he knows what I’m talkin’ about.

“Anyway, she was beautiful. It was seriously like a dream.”

“Well, I’ll be,” he says, leanin’ back and liftin’ his front, two chair legs off the floor.

“Yeah, she came with a friend, I think. And she was sweet and easy to talk to.”

“So you actually talked to her this time?”

“Even better; I danced with her.”

Jack doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at me with his dumb mouth agape. “No shit?”

I shrug my shoulders and just keep smilin’—because I can’t seem to stop.

“Well, hot damn!” He gets up and walks over to the fridge. “All these months of stalkin’ her actually paid off.”

“I wasn’t stalkin’ her.”

He stops and looks up at me with a straight, sober look on his face. “Buddy, you go to the grocery store on Saturday afternoon. Saturday afternoon! You know how many games are on Saturday afternoons?” He opens the refrigerator and pulls out a can. “But you go there because you know she’ll be there. We all know it. And that, my friend,” he says, holding up a finger, “is stalkin’ at its finest.” He pulls the tab and leans up against the fridge.

“All right, all right, whatever.” I take a drink. “You know, you did miss one hell of a party last night.”

“Aw, you know I don’t care for that shit. Yeah, the band’s all right, but that’s just another way for this town to keep tabs on ya.”

I laugh once and shake my head. “You’re just like Owen.”

He stops mid-sip and lowers his can from his mouth. “Yeah, well he had it right.”

With that, I take a deep breath, force out a sigh and just nod, as silent moments take over the space around us.

“So, what is this mysterious girl’s name again?” Jack asks, squashing the quiet.

“Ashley,” I say. “Ashley Westcott.”

“Yeah, that’s right. So where’s she from?”

I sit down and think about it. “I don’t think she ever said. But I don’t think she’s from a small town. I think all the eyes kind of weirded her out.”

“A big-city girl. No shit?”

“Must be.”

“So when are you seein’ her next?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “I guess next Saturday at the grocery store.”

Jack laughs to himself and then walks over to the table again and sits down across from me.

“But this time, I’m askin’ her out.”

“Shit, if you don’t ask her Saturday, I think I will, just to put you out of your damn misery.”

“Aw, no,” I say, leanin’ back in my chair. “This ain’t misery. This is the chase. This, my friend, is the best part.”

Jack shakes his head, lookin’ as if he’s tryin’ to swallow down a grin. “Shit. Whatever you say, buddy. Whatever. You. Say.”