Catching Cassidy

by Melissa Foster

  That first night I must have been crying really loudly. Either that, or Wyatt and Delilah needed company as much as I did, because Wyatt came into my room and sat on the edge of my bed. He didn’t say anything, just leaned his elbows on his thighs for a second, and then he climbed in bed beside me, facing me, and wrapped me in his arms. I’m not sure if he knew that I knew he was crying, but my head was pressed to his chest, and I could hear the hitching of his breath. Delilah came in a few minutes later and climbed into bed behind me. She held me, too, and Wyatt reached an arm around her. He’s always been my rock, and right now I know he needs me as much as I need him.

  Wyatt comes out of his dad’s office with a grave look in his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “I can’t stay here.” His eyes shift to Delilah.

  Delilah drops her gaze and traces the seam of her shorts with her finger.

  “Dee. They’re everywhere. I keep waiting for them to come through the front door. Don’t you feel that way?”

  Delilah raises her eyes, which immediately go damp. Wyatt’s eyes soften, and he kneels beside her, takes her hand in his. “We’re going to get through this, Dee. I promise you we will. But we can’t stay here.”

  She nods as tears fall down her cheeks, and she sort of falls against him. I swallow back tears. I love the two of them so much, and I’m glad I’m here with them, because I wouldn’t want them to go through this alone. I don’t want to go through this alone.

  Wyatt strokes the back of Delilah’s head, following the slope of her long blond hair. His biceps flex, and his jaw clenches. I know he’s holding back tears. He’s big and broad, and Delilah looks small and innocent in his strong, capable arms. Wyatt’s got an edge about him. He can slay a man or seduce a woman with a single glance.

  It’s embarrassing how many times I’ve fantasized about being that woman. Through high school and college my feelings toward Wyatt were usually just under the surface. I haven’t ever known what to make of them, and I’d never act on them. But there have definitely been times when I’ve longed to catch his eye in that way.

  I really need to distract myself from thinking about Wyatt that way. I glance at them, and think, not for the first time, about how different they are. Even though I’ve known them forever, sometimes I have to remind myself they’re twins. Delilah always does the right thing. When we were in school, she studied every day, even if she didn’t have a test coming up, and she sketched in her free time, more than she did anything else. She went to parties, but I could tell she was only there because Wyatt and I pretty much pressured her into it. Wy worries about her a lot, and I love that he does. But she’s never going to be like him. He has no insecurities, at least not that I’ve ever seen. I’ve never seen him tentative about anything. He can handle whatever comes his way, and the way he takes care of me and Delilah proves time and time again that he’s a natural protector.

  I watch him closer now and see Delilah’s pain mirrored in his eyes. His brows draw together like he’s thinking, and a second later, as if he’s inhaled strength and exhaled the pain, his voice is confident again as he takes control.

  “I promise you, Dee, we’ll be fine. We’ll go to Harborside and figure things out. The change of scenery will be good for us.”

  Delilah squeezes him tighter, then pushes back and wipes her eyes. “I’m sorry I’m crying and so…useless.”

  “You’re not useless, and you should cry. A lot. They’re our parents, Dee.” Wyatt’s voice is empathetic and confident, as if he’s been through this before and knows how to guide her. He amazes me.

  Delilah sucks in a deep breath. “But what about the house?”

  “What about it? I’ll have the neighbors watch it until we figure things out. I think staying at the beach house will be better for now. Staying here feels…dark.”

  I wonder what will happen to their house. I have no idea what happens after someone dies. I want to ask, but it’s not exactly something I can just blurt out. What happens now? Does someone read their wills? It’s all so morbid and sad.

  Wyatt moves around Delilah’s legs, presses his hands to my thighs, and squeezes. My whole body tingles at the way he’s looking at me and the position he’s in, which is weird, because he’s knelt before me plenty of times, but the hopeful look in his eyes feels different this time.

  “Cass, will you come with us? Please? I won’t go if you don’t want to.” He’s holding my stare as though his whole life depends on my answer. I would never turn him away, especially not now. Not that I’d want to. I just never realized how much I didn’t want to until this very second. I feel like my next thought depends on the answer as much as his does, and the feeling takes me by surprise. I chalk it up to the last week of hell we’ve both been going through.

  I manage a nod. “I’ll go. Of course I’ll go.”

  A smile breaks across his lips, and he pulls me into his arms. “Thank you.” He hugs me, and somehow his arms feel stronger than they did earlier in the day. He tightens his embrace for a few seconds longer, and then he gently pushes back and keeps hold of my shoulders. He gives me a serious look again. His green eyes go all dark and smoky. God, I love that look.

  Oh my gosh. It’s that look.

  That look that’s usually aimed at the girls he’s hooked up with.

  A thrill thrums through me, and I glance quickly at Delilah, because if I look at him any longer, I’m going to do or say something stupid. I know I must be reading him wrong.

  Delilah smiles and squeezes my hand. “I’m so glad you’re coming with us.”

  Okay, so she doesn’t see it. It’s definitely my messed-up head.

  “Me too,” I say, trying to ignore my racing heart. I feel Wyatt’s eyes on me as he reaches behind him and grabs my phone. I can tell by his steady, and slightly disappointed, stare that he knows about Kyle’s texts, and I can’t think of a single thing to say. It’s not like Wyatt’s my boyfriend, but he did come to my defense, so I kind of owe him honesty about Kyle.

  “I know he’s texting you. I’ve seen you deleting his messages.”

  I guess I’m not so ninja-like after all.

  “This is your life, Cass, and if you want that asshole in your life, it’s up to you.”

  He holds my gaze, and conflicting emotions wash over his face—anger, concern, and something warm that makes my insides go soft. And just as quickly as he sucked me in, that look goes right out the door, replaced with a cold stare.

  “All I can say is that I’m really not interested in pounding the shit out of him multiple times. If he comes to Harborside, I will hit him again, but it’ll be the last time I have to. The son of a bitch won’t be able to walk away, much less come back again.”

  “I don’t want anything to do with him.” The words come fast and hard. “I don’t even read the texts. I just delete them. I didn’t want to upset you.”

  He narrows his eyes, and it makes me worry that he doesn’t believe me.

  “I would have hidden the texts from you, too, Wy,” Delilah says.

  He looks at her and his eyes soften. “Why?”

  I’m not sure which one of us he’s asking, but I let Delilah answer because I don’t have any idea what to say. Because you protect me like I’m yours? The thought races through my mind, and I don’t say anything because I’m not sure I can.

  “Because you’d beat the snot out of him again, and even if he deserves it, it’s really hard to watch.” Delilah’s never afraid to tell him the truth, and right now I’m thankful that she’s found her voice again. “She dated him for two years, Wyatt. That means something.”

  His eyes drift back to me, and I see the question in them.

  “I didn’t want to upset you.” It turns out I can answer. Then again, talking to Wyatt usually isn’t difficult.

  He doesn’t say anything, just runs his eyes between me and Delilah like we’re a team or something. I think I see hurt in his eyes, but it could be confusion. Wyatt’s never had a long-term gir
lfriend. He probably doesn’t realize how much it hurts to spend two years with someone and realize too late that you never really knew him. Or to have someone you trust lie to you. He’s been lied to, but the girl who cheated on him wasn’t really cheating. He never hooks up with girls more than a few times before moving on to the next-best thing. His words, not mine. He’s never been hurt by a girl who said she loved him. I’ve been trying not to think about that. It wasn’t that I thought I was in love with Kyle. I didn’t, or at least I don’t think I was. I never thought of him as my happily-ever-after guy even though he told me he loved me a million times. Now I’m glad that I never said it back. That would probably hurt even more.

  He sighs and takes his hands off my thighs. Whoa. Unexpected longing sweeps through me, and I swallow hard, trying to conceal the confusion it causes.

  His jaw clenches as he rises and sits on the coffee table across from me and clasps his hands together. “Listen, Cass, if you’re going to stay with us, then no hiding that type of shit. I’m your friend. I care. The last thing we need is him coming around and getting his face smashed in because I didn’t know you invited him down there.” He fists his hands. “And he’s not staying with us. Ever.”

  I roll my eyes. “Really, Wyatt? Why not?” I can’t help doling out sarcasm. He looks cute and angry, and things have been so stressful that I feel like shaking him and saying, Wake the hell up! I don’t want him around.

  His face blanches, and then his eyes go dark and sexy again. I steal a glance at Delilah to see if she notices, but she’s laughing behind her hand. I think she feels the same way I do, that we needed a little teasing in our shitty week.

  “You two will be the death of me.” Wyatt rises to his feet and stretches. The bottom of his tank inches up, flashing his washboard abs. I don’t even try to look away, but it takes all my willpower not to poke him in the stomach like I normally do. We tease like that all the time, but the way my mind and body have been reacting so strongly to him lately, I worry that poking him is the last thing I’ll end up doing. I imagine the feel of his stomach against my palms and pressing my lips to each perfect muscle.

  Holy mother of stupidity. What am I thinking?

  I grip my thighs and tear my eyes away to try to squelch the desire simmering low in my belly.

  I wonder if staying with Delilah and Wyatt for three months is a smart thing to do, but when Wyatt reaches for my hand and pulls me up so hard I crash against him, my hand accidentally on purpose slips down, and I cop a feel of that stomach I’ve thought about kissing more times than I care to admit, even to myself. And I know there’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be.

  Chapter Four

  ~Wyatt~

  DRIVING UNDER THE arched sign above the road that reads Harborside, Where Heaven Meets Earth is the best feeling in the world. It’s a lame slogan, but if heaven is like Harborside, then I know my parents are in a good place. We’ve owned the house in Harborside since Delilah and I were little, and we’ve always spent summers and most school breaks here with our parents. It really is our home away from home. I glance at Delilah. She’s been quiet the whole trip. I know she’s totally freaked out about our parents. We all are, but she’s been so withdrawn these last few days that I’m really worried about her. She’s gotten so used to hiding her sexual identity from everyone that I don’t think even she realizes how it’s affecting the rest of her life. I hope that being back among our closest friends, in a more accepting community than our repressed Connecticut neighborhood, will help.

  Cassidy leans forward from the backseat and touches my shoulder. She’s probably done it a thousand times before, but now I feel myself hoping she leaves it there. She does, and as stupid as it sounds, I’m really glad.

  “Can we go to the beach before going to the house? I want to take some pictures.” She squeezes my shoulder as she asks.

  That little squeeze stirs something it shouldn’t. I glance in the rearview at her. Her eyes are wide with excitement, gazing out the window. I try really hard to suppress the desires brewing inside me, reminding myself she’s my best friend, but all I can think is how much I want her to squeeze my shoulder again. I squeeze the steering wheel tighter, trying to get a grip on my thoughts, because they’re fantasizing way beyond squeezing a shoulder.

  “Dee?” I want to be sure Delilah is comfortable. Her sketch pad is poking out of the top of the bag at her feet. She’s a really talented artist. She’s always sketching something, but this week she hasn’t picked up her drawing pad even once. I hope she’ll begin sketching again while we’re here.

  “Sure. Sounds good.” Delilah looks out her window as she answers.

  I look at Cassidy in the rearview again, and she narrows her eyes in a way that says she feels really bad but doesn’t know what to do to help Delilah any more than I do. She touches Delilah’s shoulder with her other hand. Delilah reaches up and places her hand on Cassidy’s, but she’s still looking out the window.

  Harborside is a midsized town, and during the summers it gets loads of tourist traffic. It’s still early in the season, so I’m able to drive at a pretty good clip into town. The closer we get, the more tension eases off of me like a snake sheds its skin. I roll my window down and inhale. Harborside smells like someone took the ocean and sprinkled it into the air, then tossed in some coconuts, which is totally bizarre, since there are no coconuts in Massachusetts. Except the kind you buy at the store.

  The main road into Harborside has two lanes, and it’s lined with farms and little ranch-style homes. I imagine it feels a lot like a farm town. But just when you think you’ll be bored as hell in the place, the road widens to four lanes and the next few miles are littered with beach houses. The farms give way to grass and sand, and finally, the ocean comes into view off to the left.

  “There it is!” Cassidy’s face is practically smashed against her window as she looks at the ocean. Her grip on my shoulder tightens.

  She opens her window and sticks her head out. I glance at her in the side-view mirror. Her long brown hair whips around, smacking her cheeks. She laughs and then falls back against the seat as I turn down the road toward the pier, passing GiGi’s Diner on the corner, with its bright yellow sign hanging above the door and big potted plants under the front window. Colorful storefronts line the road. I smile as we pass Pepe’s Pizza, with its tables and big red umbrellas out front, the only twenty-four-hour pizzeria in town. We’ve sat beneath those umbrellas pondering surfing conditions and shooting the shit more times than I can count. Our friend Brandon Owens worked there one summer and brought us free pizzas almost every day. Brandon graduated from Harborside University with a double major in computer science and mathematics but refuses to work in an office—his form of rebellion against his straitlaced family who doesn’t get him.

  We pass Endless Summer Surf Shop, owned by our friends Jesse and Brent Steele, with brightly colored surfboards lined up out front and sale racks of T-shirts and wet suits. It feels good to be back.

  I pull up to a red light and look down the road to my left, where I see the restaurant Jesse and Brent recently purchased and are currently renovating. Scaffolding blocks half of the brick paver walkway. Before buying the restaurant, Jesse ran the Taproom in the off seasons. Two months ago, the summer manager of the Taproom quit, and Jesse agreed to stay on until my parents arrived, which, of course now, they never will. I’m glad he’s around because I know absolutely nothing about running a bar and grill. It’s almost like our parents foresaw their futures when they guided us toward our degrees.

  Ugh. That’s a messed-up thought.

  I pull through the light and my chest tightens as our parents’ bar—well, our bar now—comes into view at the end of Harborside Pier. The pier runs high above the water like a bridge to another land and forms a T at the end, where the bar is located. My throat thickens as memories come flooding in. Counting the slats on the pier with my father, eating ice cream as our feet dangled off the side. How many times have Delilah and
I raced down the pier while our parents strolled hand in hand behind us?

  My dad will never again point out the constellations from a table outside the bar. He’ll never stand with one hand on his hip, the other shading his eyes as he points to a boat in the distance and asks me what type it is, as if I were a midshipman and knew the answers. He will never jingle the keys to the bar and say, One day this will be yours and Dee’s, son. One day is here. The bar is our responsibility.

  Holy shit. We’ve inherited the Taproom. We have to run the bar.

  I can’t even think about all the stuff my parents left us without feeling sick. I glance at Delilah and she’s smiling, looking out at the water. If her smile is any indication, I made the right decision by coming here. She’ll do better now, but I know that if she’s got any hope of getting through this, I need to suck it up and appear better now, too.

  “I’m glad we’re here,” she says, kind of to herself.

  I bury the memories threatening to pull me under, reach for her hand, and give it a gentle squeeze. “Me too.”

  Uncle Tim and Aunt Lara told Delilah and me about our parents’ will, but we haven’t talked about it yet. I’m waiting for her to bring it up so that I don’t push any invisible buttons and upset her again.

  “I wonder if everyone’s here.” Delilah glances out at the bar.

  “Brandon said everyone’s around. Jesse’s managing the bar, and Tristan is bartending. Charley’s working part-time this summer. She’s also working part-time for the Brave Foundation, and Brandon said there are a handful of college kids working for the summer.” When I spoke to Brandon the other night, it sounded as if not much had changed since last summer, which is good. Stability is probably the best thing for us right now.