As I walked, I hugged my new sweatshirt closer to my body. There were so many emotions overcoming me—thoughts of the baby now growing inside me, my heart breaking over leaving Quinton, and the sheer terror that came from being in a strange new city, walking down a random street at night. On the other hand, though a part of me was terrified, another part began to feel something completely opposite. I couldn’t deny the rush of excitement bubbling under my skin.
Had this town ever heard of street lamps? Seriously.
I could barely see where I was stepping as I continued down a neighborhood street. I passed plenty of houses, some that even looked unoccupied, but I kept going, my pace quickening, the mini-high I hadn’t felt in years growing.
I only walked for about fifteen minutes before I ran into a street running perpendicular to mine. This was the street I’d been pursuing, the street that ran parallel with the ocean. There were houses sitting in front of me, ginormous and beautiful houses with driveways wide enough to fit at least ten cars. These were the beach front properties, rentals that easily went for 10k plus per week in the high season, and these were what I’d come all the way to the Outer Banks for.
I inhaled a deep breath.
Now that I was here, I had to choose the right house. The first one I approached had several cars parked in front and nearly all its lights on, obviously occupied. So I kept moving. The next one was dark, no cars, and nothing that screamed ‘someone’s home.’
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” I mumbled, my teeth chattering.
I ran from the street, through the yard, around the house. There was a gate, which easily pushed open, and led me to a back yard with a pool. I had what I needed in my pocket—one bobby-pin and one paperclip. All I needed was to find a door that didn’t have a deadbolt or a security alarm. Although I knew how to disable a few different brands of alarms, I wasn’t an expert on all of them. So I crossed my fingers that I wouldn’t have to deal with something I couldn’t handle.
This day was already complete shit, I didn’t need more of it.
But as fate would have it, the back entrance into the house wasn’t deadbolt locked and there was no alarm. Thank my lucky stars. And approximately twenty-two seconds later, I had the lock picked and was behind the safety of the door.
Crazy how alive simply breaking into some random house could make me feel. The truth, though, was that I was pretty darn good at petty crimes. Picking locks, shoplifting, pick-pocketing—these were all survival skills I’d developed out of necessity in my teenage years. I mean, it wasn’t like my mom was going to get up off the couch and provide for us. I had to provide. But I’d put my juvenile delinquent days behind me long ago. Even if small acts of defiance still brought on a little rush of excitement…that just wasn’t me anymore. I wasn’t fifteen anymore, fighting to survive and make sense of the world. I was an adult. But this whole day had reduced me down to a former version of myself. One I hated and had left behind a long time ago.
It didn’t matter though. Nothing mattered. The only thing important was the baby.
I walked through the dark, my boots echoing on the tile floor. I felt my way along the wall and found the stairs, heading for the main level. Everything opened up to a large open floor plan. Damn. It was a beautiful house with giant windows, modern décor, and enough room for a family of twenty. Even coated in darkness, I could tell it was easily a million dollar home. It was perfect.
Welcome home, I thought to myself.
Then, exhausted and emotionally drained, I plopped down onto one of the living room couches.
CHAPTER 3:
BEN
Georgina was pregnant. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t run away in the first place, she’d probably still be dating Logan Tyler—my best friend growing up, and her now ex-boyfriend. She never would have tried to commit suicide and she never would have left college. She probably wouldn’t have gotten pregnant and all would be right with the world.
I guess it was possible all of this would have happened regardless of my decisions. But I still felt shitty either way, which was a feeling that had taken up residency and made itself comfortable in my chest. I could never shake the constant uneasiness. Which made me hate being around other people and, also, on the flip side of that, quite unpleasant to be around as well. Ironic, too, because in high school I’d been very popular. Now I was anti-social as fuck and didn’t even know how to be normal around my own family.
So as soon as I could, I made up an excuse to get away. “I’m going to take the trash out. Tomorrow’s trash day, right? The stuff needs to go to the curb?”
“Well, yes,” my mom answered. She was relaxing on the couch with her computer on her lap—always working even in her free time, that was my mother. “But your father can take it out later before he goes to bed. You don’t have to.”
“Nah, I got it.” I stood up, suddenly determined as hell to take out the trash and get those cans to the curb. I went for the trash in the kitchen and yanked out the half empty bag. Noah sat there, at a barstool at the counter, watching me like a hawk, like he was analyzing my every move and dissecting everything I did inside that creepy-as-hell brain of his. Whenever he was around when we were growing up, I never thought twice about him. He was just Ellie’s strange, quiet friend, always observing and evaluating. Now he was my other sister’s baby-daddy.
“Have you called your parole officer yet?” Mom asked.
“No. I still have half an hour.” I had to check in each night with Jack. And Jack was the type of man who didn’t fuck around. So, yeah, I knew exactly what time it was. I wasn’t about to forget that call. Ever.
I got the bag tied, and I was immediately out of there. I took my time outside, too, hanging around the trash cans, doing nothing but stewing in my own thoughts. I was bored. If I smoked, I would have smoked. If I had a phone, I would have googled something random on the internet. I missed California and Carrie Stone and nights spent watching the sunset on the Pacific. My family lived on the beach, in a beautiful beachfront home—not all that different from living in Carrie’s beachfront home. But it was somehow completely different.
During my idling, I glanced up at the Davenport’s house next door. I wanted to see if the light I saw earlier was still on. Shit. It wasn’t now. The house was completely dark.
What the hell.
Was someone over there?
Just then, distracting me for a moment, the door to my house creaked as someone was coming outside. If it was Noah following me then I was going to flip my shit. Not gonna lie, the dude terrified the crap out of me. But it wasn’t Noah, it was Georgina—or Georgie as everyone in my family was calling her these days.
“Hey,” I said to my sister.
“Hey,” she answered. “What are you doing out here?”
“Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe in that house.” I’m not sure what compelled me to be honest, but the words popped out. For the first time in what felt like two years, I had actually answered someone truthfully.
“Tell me about it,” Georgina said, agreeing. She came further outside and leaned against my mom’s Jeep, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore a short sleeve shirt and didn’t have her coat on. “I know exactly what you mean. I’ve got the scars to prove it, too.” She uncrossed her arms and lifted them for me, exposing the underside of each so I could see. She had a pink line on each arm, the one on the right far worse than the one on the left.
Holy shit.
Those were some serious scars. She hadn’t just nicked herself with whatever knife she’d used on her skin; she’d done serious damage. I realized then how lucky she was to still be alive. Jesus, I felt like I might vomit. I hadn’t needed to see the actual proof of her suicide attempt.
“Sorry,” she offered, probably noticing the terror on my face. Because it was there, sheer horror over what my sister had done, and I wasn’t able to hide it. “Noah’s so comfortable with my scars,” she commented, “sometimes I forget not everyone el
se is.” She crossed her arms back over her chest.
I gulped, swallowing down a giant lump in my throat.
What the hell do you say to that? Good for Noah?
A long silence followed, nothing but the cold and darkness filling the air between us. For a moment, we’d been making some progress, but now everything became awkward again.
While I stood there trying to come up with something, anything, to say, I noticed the back gate to the neighbor’s house slightly ajar. It had a funny latch on it, always had, and had to be really pulled hard in order to shut properly. I knew this because sometimes we’d go swimming in their swimming pool. The Davenports didn’t mind. They were friends with my parents and when renters weren’t in the house we used their pool all the time growing up.
So, this settled it. Between the gate and the light, I had a real bad feeling.
“I think someone is in the house next door.”
“What?” Georgina questioned. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to go check it out. Does Mom still have a key to their house?”
“It’s just inside on the hook. Here—” She pushed the door back open and easily grabbed the key from inside. Then she handed it over. “Want me to go get Noah so he can go with you?”
“No.” Hell no. “I’m probably imagining things. If I’m not back by my curfew time then you can send him over.”
Without waiting another moment, I left Georgina and cut across the sand and weeds that separated our house from the Davenports. If there was in fact someone next door who’d broken in then I had no idea what the hell I was going to do. I planned to sneak into the house myself, maybe peak around, and then get the fuck out of there.
I went for the deck stairs that led up to the second floor, figuring that entrance would be safer. The house had sliding glass doors off the living room, so I planned to enter that way. I crept quickly and carefully, not making a sound. Glancing in through the glass, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. For five minutes I stood there, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, I figured that I’d been mistaken and the house was empty. My mind was just over analyzing like it tended to do. Still, just to be absolutely certain, I pushed the key into the lock and turned. It wasn’t possible to open a sliding door stealthily, so I yanked and rushed inside, closing the door behind me.
The moment I entered there was a giant thud. Someone was in the house! The thud was the sound of a body hitting the floor. It was a she. I saw her now. She must have been sleeping on the couch and the moment I entered I must have startled her because she fell straight to the floor.
A woman.
I could see enough in the moonlight, enough to know she wasn’t some badass criminal who was going to shoot me down with a gun. I flipped the switch by the door, flooding the room in light.
Dammit, it was Lilly Davenport.
“You scared the shit out of me, Lilly!” I exclaimed, letting my guard down and moving across the room to plop down on one of the sofas. “Lilly, right?”
She watched me with wide eyes, not responding.
The last time I saw Lilly Davenport we’d both been about ten years old. Her family used to come several times every summer and stay in this beach house. Then they stopped. I wasn’t sure why.
The last time I saw her, Lilly had been an overweight, freckle faced, red-haired, aggressive ten year old. I always loved going out on the beach at night with a flashlight and bucket, chasing and capturing ghost crabs. She’d been the only girl brave enough to play the game with me.
Lilly now, the Lilly sitting on the floor and still shocked, wasn’t that same chubby kid I remembered from my childhood. In fact, the only thing the same about her was the color of her hair. The ugly duckling had transformed into a swan. She’d thinned out, matured, and grown into a beautiful woman. Even in the baggy sweatshirt, jeans, and strange hat she had all her hair tucked into, she was the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen in real life. And this coming from a guy who’d recently lived in Malibu—where celebrities live!
Actually, maybe this wasn’t Lilly, but instead her younger sister, Mary. Mary had also been a redhead, if I remembered correctly.
“Lilly Davenport, right?” I asked again, waiting on her to clarify. When she didn’t, I kept talking. “I’m Ben Turner. You know, from next door.” I sat up for a moment, to extend her my hand. The girl was still sitting on the floor, clearly terrified and in shock by my presence. In silence, she at least took my hand and let me tug her to her feet. As soon as she was up she pulled away, and like a shy little puppy, she sat back down on the other couch. I moved back to my side of the room, keeping my distance. She seemed like she wanted distance.
“Yeah, sorry to freak you out,” I went on. “I saw a light on and noticed the gate wasn’t latched and came over to check it out. My mom still has a key and all. I heard about your dad, about him passing away. I’m sorry.” My gaze settled on her eyes now. They were a solid blue color with mascara under them like she’d been crying at some point today.
I hadn’t been initially nervous around her, in some way it was kind of like seeing an old friend, but she hadn’t spoken a word and I suddenly felt uncomfortable. I had just broken into her house… at night… randomly. I guess she had every reason to be terrified of me. Fuck.
I was about to go because I didn’t want to upset her more than she was already by me, but then she spoke. Finally.
Her voice was soft and a little shaky as she said, “Ben? Ben Turner from next door?”
“That’s me. Are you Lilly or Mary Davenport? Sorry, it’s been a long time since we last saw each other. You and your sister always looked similar.”
She cleared her throat and then after a second or two responded, “I’m Lilly.”
Okay then. She wasn’t as outgoing or confident as the Lilly I remembered from when we were kids, not by a long shot. But I guess most people are nothing like their former selves from childhood. Then again, maybe her subdued behavior had a lot to do with the recent loss of her father.
Or maybe, shit, she’d thought I was dead like the rest of the world, and I had just barged into her family’s house like a breathing, talking, walking ghost.
Um…
“I’m not a ghost or anything,” I quickly explained. “You can pinch me if you want. I’m real. I promise. My whole death thing was kind of a misunderstanding.”
She scrunched her face at me and a giant pause followed my confession. She stared at me like I was bat-shit crazy. And then, suddenly, she burst out laughing—a deep, hardy, unafraid and unapologetic laugh.
“I have no idea what you just said, Ben Turner from next door. No idea.”
“It’s complicated,” I said, rubbing my hands against my jeans, hoping I wouldn’t have to say more.
“It sounds complicated.” And she asked no more questions about it. Thank God. But she did relax. It was a subtle change, but I noticed. She sat more comfortably on the couch, uncrossing her arms and leaning back. The hardened expression on her face softened.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “The house is up for sale. You know that, right?” Maybe she hadn’t known the place was up for sale. Or maybe she came here all the time, and I was the one who didn’t know.
“I know,” she answered. “But I just lost my father and all, like you said, and I wanted to come here one last time before the place was sold. There are so many memories here,” she went on, “and it felt right coming here. Mary, my sister, told me it might be weird. But I needed to come. So that’s why I’m here.” Then almost like an afterthought she added, “I rode the bus. From D.C. Where I live now.”
That explained her weird Washington D.C. hat and sweatshirt. I guess. I thought only tourists bought stuff like that with city names across the front in bold letters. But, whatever, maybe she really loved Washington D.C.
I needed to leave. It had to be nearing my curfew time. I'd catch some serious shit from Jack if I didn't call him exactly at eight.
“Okay.” I stood up. “Well, I gotta go. My mom’s the realtor showing this house. So if you want, I can talk to her, see if and when she’s supposed to be showing the house, and let you know when people will be coming to look at it. I know it’s customary for the family not to be around during the walk-throughs."
“You'd do all that for me?”
She sounded surprised and genuinely thankful by my offer. We were neighbors and old family friends, of course I'd do all that for her. I'd be an asshole not to.
“Yeah. No big deal,” I told her.
As I walked for the sliding glass doors, I glanced around the house. Other than the basic furniture the place was furnished with, there was nothing else—no bags or belongings that looked like they might be hers. Only one small purse in the corner.
How much of a hurry had she been in when she'd left to come here?
Strange.
And she’d ridden a bus here?
I guess that meant she didn't have a car.
Did she even have any food in the house?
“Yeah, one more thing,” I said to her, feeling a little like I was overstaying my welcome, but still feeling compelled to ask. “My mom made enough lasagna to feed a small army for dinner tonight, and there was a lot left. Want me to bring you over a plate?”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “I could eat.”
“Be back in a minute then.” Not able to linger another second, I left. As I was skipping down the steps, rushing now, I noticed Noah crossing the weeds and heading toward me.
“It's eight,” he yelled into the wind. He was tall and blond and wore his shoulder length hair in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. It really baffled me as to what Georgina saw in him. He'd be a townie for life. Not that being a townie bothered me since my family was full of townies too, but I kind of expected more for Georgina. I always pictured her as a future lawyer or doctor, living in New York City, in a fancy penthouse apartment with a small French bulldog and a butler...or something like that. She was fucking brilliant, a straight-A student in all her advanced classes at school—not some miniature golf owner's pregnant wife. Correction: pregnant girlfriend. He hadn't even married her first. I never expected my sister to settle.
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