by JL Mac
It doesn’t matter that he brought me tremendous love and happiness all those years ago. It doesn’t matter that I made a promise, and I had meant it back then. As much joy as he enriched my life with he also caused the deepest, darkest pain.
In spades, Self-Preservation adds. She isn’t wrong.
Chapter 8
Raegan
16 years old…
“Ahem.” I snap my attention to the new guy. He’s the new stocker here and new to town as well. “Daydreamin’?” he says with a raspy voice.
“Ah, no,” I mumble. “Just reading,” I pull the book from beneath my register waving it at him. I have to hide my book so Derek the manager doesn’t see me reading instead of straightening up my lane, putting candy and drinks back in their appropriate place or wiping the conveyor belt down.
“Cool,” he nods. “You’re Raegan,” he announces with a downward tip of his chin and a boyish smile I imagine the girls fawn over. I tap my index finger against my nametag and turn my smile up a little. Is he flirting with me? Janice told me he’s twenty years old. Surely he’s not interested in a high school girl.
“Yeah. Josh,” I say noting his nametag as I extend my hand. Before I can shake his hand, Sylas shoves his hand out and grabs Josh’s. “And I’m Sylas Broussard.”
“Not you again,” I mumble staring Sy down like my eyes are weapons and could somehow stab him right in his chocolaty eyeballs.
Josh furrows his brows but nods looking from Sy to me then back again. “I’m Rae’s boyfriend,” Sylas lies.
“No he isn’t,” I shake my head rolling my eyes.
“Okay. Well it was nice to meet you Raegan.” Josh backs away obviously scared off by jerk-face. Sy peruses the candy section of my checkout lane in silence.
“You’re such an ass.”
“Hello to you too, Rae.” Sylas grins slapping a pack of gum down on the conveyor belt. I scan his pack of gum and drop it in a plastic bag.
“That it?” I ask in a detached voice while pretending to read my book.
“No. I’ll have a date with you too,” he announces, a twinkle in his eyes. I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose then aggressively peck my index finger against the Total button on the cash register’s keyboard.
“Right. That will be a buck and seven cents for the gum and a big fat no to the date.”
“You say that now but we both know what you really want to say is yes,” he chuckles, amused with himself.
“Sy, please, it’s almost my break time,” I say tiredly flipping the switch to darken the lane marker of my checkout line.
“Okay then. I’ll see you later Rae,” he says digging into the pocket of his basketball shorts. He hands me exact change and our iPod since it’s my turn. He heads for the exit. I press the button on the iPod to see what he’s been listening to. “Just What I Needed” by The Cars.
Very Sylas Broussard of him.
He has always used music to communicate with me. Since we discovered it seven years ago, we’ve both developed a keen appreciation for music from the sixties and seventies and eighties mostly because we just barely started making our own money and had only the music that was loaded on it when we found it. I guess now we should load some new music on the dumb thing. Sy said he was working on that. Of course he’s claimed to be working on that for years now. I’ve lost hope and have resigned myself to listening to The Beatles, The Stones, The Who, Elton John, Fleetwood Mac, The Bee Gees, and all their buddies.
I glance up at Sy’s retreating back feeling only a bit guilty that I keep shooting him down. But seriously, what’s it going to take for him to get it through his head that I don’t see him like that. I mean, yeah he filled out a lot last summer and football season did amazing things to his body, he’s smart even though he pretends he isn’t, he’s funny and has a zillion friends, he’s got these awesome full lips and that cologne he wears smells like heaven. And when I heard Brooklyn talking in the computer lab about him like they’re a thing I got super jealous, which was annoying and weird for me.
I roll my eyes at the direction my thoughts were headed. I can’t think about Sylas that way. Brooklyn or whoever is welcome to date him. It’s of no concern to me. He’s like a… brother to me. Isn’t he? Yes. He’s definitely on the sidelines when it comes to my dating pool. Derek calls to me from the customer service counter and taps his finger on his watch telling me to take my lunch break. I nod in response and tug my lunch box from my backpack beneath my cash register and head outside, tucking ear buds in as I go. The automatic doors slide open and a gust of humid Louisiana air slams into me.
It’s spring though, so the heat isn’t so unbearable yet but part of me is more than ready for summer break. I’ve been putting up with Sy’s unending torment for months. Following his stunt in Mrs. Burke’s class at the beginning of this school year he has really focused all his efforts on picking on me for a date that I am sure he doesn’t actually want, he just enjoys picking at me.
I walk along the front of the store to the picnic tables between Herbert’s Grocery and the park directly adjacent to the store parking lot. The closer I get the steady beat of a basketball bouncing against the outdoor court gets louder. Him. I run the pad of my thumb over the iPod, scrolling through the music, seeking the perfect song. I park myself at a picnic table and watch him playing ball. Being the pest he is, he can’t leave me in peace. Ever. The pathetic part is my resolve is beginning to slip. I’ve gotten so used to him invading my life and space that when he’s nowhere around I find myself looking for him.
I crack open the lid of my soda and listen to “Take It Easy” by the Eagles. I peel back the plastic wrapper of a string cheese just as Sy helps himself to the spot beside me at the picnic table and my left ear bud. He sits beside me but faces the opposite direction. To my complete shock he just plops down tiredly, his brow creased, his big mouth shut, listening to the end of “Take It Easy”. For once. I narrow my eyes at him wondering what trickery he’s planning. When “Dancing Queen” begins he grabs the iPod from my lap and changes the song.
“Evil Woman”, Electric Light Orchestra.
I snort and laugh loudly, the sound echoing off the metal awning that covers the picnic area. I glance over to Sy as I clutch my belly and see the edge of his lips twitching. I sigh and take the iPod back, scrolling through songs. I select the perfect one and watch his face as the first few notes of “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon comes filtering through. Sy’s torso shakes with silent laughter and I end up giggling with pride at my cleverness. Oddly, my cheeks are burning red and I don’t think it’s from frustration and embarrassment.
Uh oh. He’s working you over, Rae. Snap out of it.
His face falls and he just stares out at nothing and I do the same, staring at the vacant basketball court. Unsure of how to handle his silence I keep nibbling on my cheese stick and sipping soda. I only get half an hour lunch break and normally I chow down as quickly as I can so I can read or study but right now I kind of enjoy the silence between us. It’s a pleasant change of pace. Anything besides him nagging or humiliating me is just fine by me.
“Steve got in trouble,” he says finally as he hands the ear bud back to me and begins gently tossing his basketball back and forth between his hands.
“What?” I turn my full attention to him, setting the iPod and ear buds aside. “He hasn’t even been back very long.”
“Seven months. He got pulled over last night for driving drunk. He went to jail. Dad posted his bail this morning,” he says without looking my way.
“Oh,” I offer simply unsure of what else to say. This is the sort of thing I assumed he would talk to Chick about not me. Normally all interaction with me is reserved for incessant teasing and public humiliation. “Sylas why are you telling me this?”
“Steve is my idol. I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone else. And you’re too embarrassed to mention us talking privately to anyone else so I get to vent, you get to not be teased, and Steve’s screw up will
stay a secret,” he explains and I am shocked at his logic and insight. I mean—I know for a fact he isn’t dumb or a joker all the time. He just pretends to be. When it comes time for him to apply to colleges, I fully expect him to get multiple acceptance letters and a scholarship.
“Um, okay but you’re wrong. I’m not embarrassed to talk to you in private. I kind of like this. I’m only embarrassed when you make a spectacle of me at school.” He looks at me then, his eyes sparkling in the early evening light with a little sadness making them seem even softer, warmer.
“I’d say I’m sorry about that buuut…”
“Did you know there’s a betting pool now?” I scoff and shake my head.
“Yeah it’s a pet project,” he shrugs.
“You started the betting pool?” I gasp.
“No not technically. Chick is brokering that on my behalf,” he shrugs.
“So by proxy then,” I snort. I again shake my head in disbelief but I’m also slightly impressed, a fact that he will forever be ignorant to. A foreign urge to hug him blindsides me and I look for something to change the subject. “Teddy called. He’s supposed to deploy to Iraq soon,” I say quietly, feeling like we are trading our burdens across enemy lines during this temporary ceasefire. I don’t bother telling him that the idea of my big brother going off to a war zone scares me senseless. The worry is implied.
“Oh, war stories,” he croons. “He is going to come back with a bunch of good ones,” he says looking me in the eye and I have to distinct feeling that he’s telling me that Teddy is in fact coming home. My eyes burn with emotion and my chest feels tight. In this moment a tiny chip of the armor I have fended him off with sort of falls away and turns to dust. He looks back out across the park while I survey his profile and remain confused by my sudden desire to touch him. He looks over at me again this time with a smirk. Great. He caught me staring at him. His lips curl up into a huge grin and the sight distracts me. “Whoa! Braces!”
“Oh, yeah…” he pauses running his tongue over his teeth. “Got them taken off yesterday. Feels weird but eating is way easier now.”
“Wanna bite,” I say offering him my cheese stick.
“Gross. You know I hate cheese.” He scrunches his nose and scoots away from me. “But I could bite something else,” he teases chomping his teeth at me.
“Eww! Stop.” I laugh.
“Why?”
“Because…” I fidget unsure of what else to do with my hands.
“You know my deal. You go on a date with me—a date where I vow to be a total gentleman—and all this picking on you comes to an abrupt halt, scouts honor,” he says holding up his fingers.
Two can play this game.
“I have a better deal,” I begin staring down at the string cheese in my hand. Sy’s brows rocket up his smooth forehead.
“Anything,” he declares then stares at me, waiting for me to go on.
“You manage to eat something cheesy—really cheesy, and enjoy it and you get your date,” I levee, proud of my manipulation skills. I’ve known this butthead since elementary school and I know for certain he would barf if he ate anything with cheese on it, in it, or around it. In fact, I’ve seen it! I mentally cringe thinking back to sixth grade when the lunch lady accidentally handed him a paper boat of fried mushrooms that were actually fried cheese curds. He tossed his cookies all over the cafeteria. Weirdo. Who doesn’t like cheese?
“I see I have underestimated just how evil you can be,” he says clutching his chest with his eyes narrowed.
“Yes well I’ve had an excellent instructor in all things cruel and manipulative, Sensei,” I laugh then take another sip of my soda. “Ugh,” I grumble spotting the time on my watch. “I have to get back to work,” I say stowing my unfinished lunch.
“Aren’t you going to finish that nasty snack of yours?”
“I don’t have time and I’m not really feeling it. I’d rather have one of those big grilled cheese sandwiches from Old Bayou Diner, anyway. You know the one with like four different cheeeeses on it,” I say with extra emphasis on the word cheese just to make him cringe. “So gooey,” I whisper. I turn on my heel and head back to work.
“See ya later, Grasshopper,” he says to my back followed by the resuming beat of his basketball a moment later. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and I smile facing away from him but he’s never going to know that.
I slip into the plastic chair at our usual lunch table at school and much to my own irritation my eyes search the crowded commons area for Sylas. Last night, alone in my room my mind seemed stuck on Sylas. I tried to dissect what’s going on between us. My bet is that my thoughts about him, my feelings, the subtle flirting are all on account of our teenage hormones. That must be the culprit. I tried to imagine him touching me, kissing me and it didn’t gross me out—not in the slightest—like it once would have so it’s a no-brainer. Hormones. I just need to keep that in mind and be rational until everything simmers down. He’s a guy; he will find another girl to chase in no time.
My friends all slide into a seat one by one, chattering away, oblivious to my private thoughts about sparkling honey brown eyes and irritating stunts devised for the soul purpose of embarrassing me to death. Two minutes into lunch I catch sight of a saunter belonging to the one and only Sylas Broussard. He marches right past his friends and people trying to say hello to him. His brown eyes locked onto his target—me. They’re glued to me even from across the large commons area. My gut twists wondering what the hell he’s up to. He comes to a stop at our table.
“Excuse me ladies,” he says snagging an unclaimed plastic chair. “Y’all don’t mind if I join you?” he asks shimmying his chair between Jenny and Mika with a flirty smile on his face and his brows wiggling at them. They glance between each other then smile and scoot over making room for him to squeeze in. I narrow my eyes at him questioningly. “Mmm, that looks great,” he says leaning forward a little to survey the Salisbury steak with gravy and mashed potatoes I got from the lunch line today. “I like that one best from the lunch line. Definitely my favorite,” he says resolutely, ticking his finger in the air.
“It is good…” I murmur with my head cocked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“But it ain’t near as good as this,” he says patting his backpack. My skin pricks and my eyes narrow further. He simply smirks with a raised brow as he unzips his bag and produces a paper sack from within emblazoned with Old Bayou Diner’s logo on the front.
“You didn’t,” I gasp understanding that if I know Sylas Broussard at all, he absolutely did. I watch with buggy eyes, disbelieving eyes as he fishes a slightly smashed foil wrapped sandwich and a carton of fries from the paper sack. He unfolds it taking his sweet time as he goes, prolonging my misery. His smug smile only growing wider by the second. Everything slips into slow motion as he folds a thick cut French fry into his mouth, smiling like a lunatic all the while.
“I have it on good authority that this sandwich is the best.” He nods and pats the foil wrapper. “Four different cheeeeses,” he feigns excitement, mocking what I said to him outside my work. He’s bluffing. No way is he going to eat that. The weirdo won’t even eat pizza because he hates cheese that much. He grins, peeling back the wrapper of the sandwich then promptly takes a huge bite. I watch him fight a grimace and several gagging moments as he chews. He’s tricking me. It’s a bacon sandwich or something. I lunge across the table snagging the sandwich from him, peeling the bread apart. Gooey, melted cheese. He did it. “Mmm, tastes like… victory,” he hums, swallowing hard and turning a slightly paler shade. He did it. He really did it knowing I’d given him my word and I would of course honor the deal I had made. It’s who I am—who I’ve always been.
“You’re unbelievable,” I guffaw.
“And you’re going on a date with me Saturday night,” he declares with a face-splitting smile and a wink before he promptly gulps down half of my soda in an effort to get rid of the taste of cheese no doubt.
; “I see I have underestimated how desperate you can be,” I grumble the similar words we spoke at the picnic table. I slide my tray to him and drag the grilled cheese sandwich over to my side of the table then snatch my soda from his hand.
“Yes, well I have excellent motivation,” he says, volleying words right back while his eyes rake over my face. Without saying another word, we both eat our preferred meals avoiding the puzzled glances from my friends.
Chapter 9
Sylas
Chick was right. Rae is definitely different than I remember—in a whole pile of ways. In a non-creepy way, but more of a pining for the one that got away way, I’ve kept tabs on her using the internet and by keeping up with her family but Rae on TV or social media is not the one-on-one Rae. Certain things about her get lost in translation when it’s delivered through a camera lens. First of all she’s cold and closed off in a way that pisses me off sure, but it also makes me wonder what led her to become so uninviting. She’s always been a tough cookie, yes, but she was never like… this. It leaves me wracking my brain to figure out what the hell I did so wrong to make her gnash her teeth when we are in the same room.
At the rehearsal dinner she had melted in my hands. More so than she did when we were dumbass teens fumbling around with each other’s bodies trying to sort out what the hell intimacy should be like. She felt so amazing against me in that narrow hallway at The Blue Oyster. God, she felt like home then she went right back to frigid the minute I asked a simple question. She seized up on me and turned the bitch thing way up. She always was feisty, but this isn’t feisty this is furious.
She’s successful as hell and despite our history, I’m damn proud of her, still I can’t help feeling like my best friend died and it breaks my heart all over again. What I’d give to have my Rae back. This version is impressive and tempting, but she’s not the girl I fell for. Now Rae is all class and cash in her tight designer threads and fuck me heels. And speaking of… Amongst all the changes I’ve noticed one of them is impossible to miss. Those subtle curves she had when we were seventeen—those curves that only hinted at the woman she would one day be—yeah, those curves lied. Those curves played coy and made me believe that while she had a woman’s body it was not overtly sexy and probably never would be. She was an average girl, athletic with toned muscles and a conservative shape.