Her confident, sassy facade cracks for a moment and her pretty face is almost vulnerable. Lila, like everyone else in this world, has her insecurities.
“Yes, I do.” I take her hand, and gently pry the cup away. Dump its contents out. “But not when you’ve been drinking. I’d feel like I was taking advantage or something.”
She nods like she understands, but her lower lip wobbles. Her eyes grow big and glassy.
Oh, man. The last thing I need right now is for her to cry.
“Come on,” I say, scrambling to a stand and taking her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Ten minutes later, I’m sitting next to Lila as she finishes a bottle of water. I’ve given her one of my t-shirts to wear over her bathing suit, and suggested that she take a nap to sleep off the alcohol.
She downs the rest of the bottle and then flops onto my bed. Almost immediately, I hear soft snuffles as she falls to sleep. I place her phone and another bottle of water on the nightstand, resolving to check back on her in a few minutes.
I shut the door gently behind me and head back downstairs. The music seems, somehow, to have gotten louder and the mess of people in the living room is only getting worse. I watch from the staircase as a group of people I’ve never seen before waltzes through our front door.
My eye twitches and I scowl uncomfortably. A migraine is coming on.
I’ve always gotten migraines, ever since I was little. According to my doctor, they’re stress induced. Which, given the 100 people currently trashing my mom’s house, makes sense.
The thing is that this party was in no way my idea. Not this time. My brother, Brody, planned the whole thing. Sent a mass text inviting half the school. Begged his friend, the Grammy-nominated one, for his brand-new sound system. Made sure Mom was going to be out of town.
It was actually surprisingly well-thought out for Brody. The kind of thing I would’ve done last year. I think he thought I’d be fine with this.
And I went along with the whole thing because… Well, why not?
There’s no use in arguing with Brody anyway. When his mind is made up on something, there’s no going back. He’s stubborn like that — gets it from our dad. Though, given Dad’s success, I don’t think it’s a bad quality to inherit, especially when it comes to business.
I will the migraine to fade as I walk towards the kitchen in search of a drink that’s alcohol-free. I can hear every word of the rap song playing outside — someone must’ve turned up the music. Our house is located just north of Sunset in Beverly Hills, on a huge lot overlooking the entire Los Angeles area. It’s as private as it gets, a practical fortress. But, I can only hope that our nearest neighbors aren’t home.
I open the fridge and stick my head in, selecting a can of passionfruit La Croix. My mom’s into sparkling water, and the house manager always keeps a million flavors stocked. It comes in handy on nights like these.
“Little bro.”
I jump at the voice behind me and whirl around.
Brody laughs and puts his hands on my shoulders, massaging them just a bit too firmly. “Relax. Why so tense?”
I shrug off his hands, unable to keep from glaring. “Do you think that we should turn down the music? Maybe try and slow everyone down on the drinking?”
Brody rolls his eyes. “I said relax.” He slings his arm around a blond girl in a yellow bikini. “Have you met Stella?”
Stella looks between Brody and I, and giggles behind her hand.
Girls do that sometimes. Maybe it’s because Brody and I look alike — we’re only a year apart, and we’re both 6’1” with olive complexions and black, unruly hair. Our only immediate physical difference is our eyes. Mine are very dark, almost black, while Brody’s are yellowish-green, like a cat’s. Getting us mixed up is an easy mistake.
“Hi, Stella,” I say wearily, rubbing my face.
“Stella and I are just about to get into the good stuff.” Brody rummages around in a drawer and produces a key. He grins wickedly.
“Brody, no—” I start.
“Shhhhhhh!” He steps in front of me and presses a finger to my lips. He staggers for a moment, off-balance, and his breath reeks like alcohol. He’s too far gone to even register me, let alone what I’m saying.
“You’ve had enough to drink.” I step away from him, trying to grab the key out of his hand.
I’m not quick enough. Despite being a few drinks in, Brody’s reflexes are fast as ever. “Stella likes fine wine.”
Before I can react, he hops out of the way and bounds towards the wine cellar, laughing. Our wine cellar is a display piece — a floor-to-ceiling, modern glass affair, full of vintage wines that could finance someone’s salary.
Our mom bought the cellar full of wine with her Christmas bonus last year. Just another perk of being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. From what I’ve heard, my mom is an impressive woman. Though, judging by her stress levels in recent years, I’m not sure her path in life is one that I would want to follow.
I shoot Stella a glance and shake my head. “Sorry, no fine wines today.”
She shrugs, not bothered.
I put a hand on Brody’s arm, but he pushes me off. “Brods, please don’t. Mom will lose it.”
“Don’t be a buzzkill, Coop,” he responds angrily, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “When did you get to be so boring?”
He lurches open the door to the wine cellar and tumbles inside. My heart picks up speed as his arm narrowly misses a shelf of Mom’s finest Bordeaux. I quickly follow him into the room and grab his arm.
“Seriously,” I insist. “It’s stealing.”
Brody glares at me and, without a word, he plucks a bottle off the top shelf — where Mom keeps her most expensive wines.
There are benefits and drawbacks to being this tall.
He holds the bottle in front of himself and starts to pick at the top, never breaking eye contact. I know this game. Brody’s always been a confrontational drunk. The trick is to move slowly and carefully around him.
I meet his gaze levelly and reach to take the wine from his hands.
He jerks sideways and I end up grabbing him instead. He shuffles and stumbles around, knocking into one of the shelves of wines. I lock my arms around him, trying to keep him in one place so the entire display case doesn’t come crashing down.
But it’s too late, Brody loses his grip on the wine in his hands.
It goes flying.
Stella screams.
The bottle shatters.
The sound is more deafening than the rhythm-less rap music playing outside. Shards of glass fly everywhere and dark red liquid splatters over the pristine cupboards and appliances. A momentary and welcome hush of silence falls over the living room as hundreds of curious, drunk eyes turn our way.
Dread twists my stomach into a knot as I watch the pool of red wine spread on the white tile floor.
It looks like a crime scene. But the true crime scene is yet to come.
“Look what you did, Cooper!” Brody hollers, shoving me with his shoulder. His eyes are clear now, stormy and focused as he glares at me.
My head swims, full of static. Is this my fault? How did I end up doing the wrong thing, again, when I was just trying to help? I flounder, lost for words. Then, I notice that Brody is bleeding from a small cut on his cheek. A shard of glass must’ve caught his skin.
I open my mouth to ask if he’s okay, but before I can speak, a cold voice slices through the room. “Did what?”
My stomach drops and a chill runs down my spine. Brody’s eyes grow wide and the blood drains from his face as he looks over my shoulder. I blink a few times and swivel slowly.
Mom stands a few feet away, home early from her business trip. Her face is carefully made up and her black hair is gathered back into a sleek low bun. In her pristine white dress and heels, she looks conspicuously out of place in her own kitchen — which, admittedly, does look like a bombsite. And I’m in the middle of it, covered in spilled
red wine with my bleeding brother.
“Mom,” I manage as Brody swears.
Her dark, fiery eyes flick between me, Brody, Stella, and the mess on the floor. Her face is pale, pinched. When she speaks, her tone is steely. “Get everybody out of my house immediately. Then meet me upstairs.”
“Mom, let me—” Brody starts.
“Both of you,” she hisses and then marches off, her stilettos clacking on the tile floor.
“Now you’ve done it,” Brody seethes. He brushes past me and a whimpering Stella, knocking my shoulder harder than necessary. He waltzes into the now-silent living room as people pile out the door.
There’s nothing like the unexpected appearance of an adult to get wayward kids moving.
Twenty minutes later, the final guests are piling into their Ubers. In my hand, I have a mess of car keys I’d collected from our friends so they couldn’t drive. Brody, meanwhile, sits on the front step, nursing his cut like a war wound and apologizing to everyone for having to shut down the party early.
By the time we drag ourselves upstairs, Mom is standing at the top with her arms folded. Her face is as sharp and pinched as ever, and her black hair isn’t the slightest bit tousled. The only difference is that she now wears cream slacks and a blouse — her standard uniform for relaxing around the house.
“Well?” Her voice is as hard as her expression.
Brody and I look at each other, then back at Mom. We say nothing.
Mom’s eyes linger between the two of us before settling directly on me. “I’m able to come home early from my business trip and this is what I return to. Just when are you going to grow up, Cooper?”
My jaw drops and I’m instantly defensive. “Me?”
“I’m going to go ahead and assume that this entire debacle was your idea?”
I stare at her with my mouth open.
But am I surprised? No.
It makes sense that, in her eyes, this is all my fault.
The way she sees it, I’m the screw-up and Brody is the golden child who can do no wrong. So, which one of her kids is more likely to throw a house party and steal her expensive wine — the perfect, straight-A student, or the younger brother with a scuffed reputation?
Brody starts to say something, but Mom throws him a withering glare. “And you. I expected better of you, Brody. You’re meant to be a good influence on your brother, stop him from getting in trouble.”
Brody hesitates and I can sense him debating, thinking, his altered mind racing. I raise my eyebrows at him, wondering if he’ll man up and tell the truth.
He hangs his head, having made a decision. He looks the perfect angelic picture of remorse.
But he says nothing.
I stare back at my mom, realizing that my fate is set. The thing is, I’m not like Brody. I can’t pull out a charming act on a whim. So, instead, I glower at Mom, my eye twitching frantically and the pressure in my head building.
“You are both grounded. No cars. No allowance. No friends. Two weeks. And you will help Daniella and her team clean up the mess you made. I don’t pay them to clean up after your friends.”
I look at my hands, feeling angry and helpless. The migraine pulls at my senses.
“Cooper, the bottle of wine you broke cost over four thousand dollars. That’s coming out of your trust fund.”
I force myself to take deep breaths, to try and stifle the growing pressure behind my eyes. Brody shifts from one foot to the other. He’s obviously not going to fess up and take the blame for being both the mastermind behind the party and the cause of the spilled wine. But Mom would never believe me if I said I didn’t do it.
So I nod, my gaze cast downward. She’s made her assumptions.
“And Cooper?” Mom’s voice is so withering, my head snaps up. “This is the last straw. The last one. One more strike, and I’m sending you to your dad’s in Montana for the summer. Understood?”
“Understood,” my voice is barely a whisper. What else could I possibly say?
“Good.” Mom’s artificially plumped upper lip curls. She’s furious with me, but she always does this. She puts up this dead calm — too calm — appearance, as if dealing with me and showing her real feelings is somehow beneath her.
And then, just when I was thinking that this situation can’t get any worse, my bedroom door opens.
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
Lila stands in my doorway, wearing one of my t-shirts and rubbing her mascara-ringed eyes. “Cooper? Where’d you go?”
My heart leaps in my chest and my mouth goes dry. My eye twitches so aggressively I must look like I’m winking at Lila repeatedly. This was a completely innocent situation, one where I tried to do the right thing — the responsible thing. But it couldn’t look any worse.
The look on my mom’s face confirms my fears. Her eyes are glacial and, for a moment, I think she might drop the calm facade.
I take a step towards her, hands held up in a position of surrender. “This is not what it looks like. Lila needed to lie down and I—”
“You’ve done quite enough, Cooper.” Her tone drips ice. “Save your breath and start packing.”
4
Stefi
My first morning back at Legacy Inn, I wake up with a huge smile on my face. It’s my second summer working here and I already feel more relaxed than I’ve felt in months. There’s something about this place that cuts through the stress of life.
Legacy is as beautiful as I remember — surrounded by pristine mountain vistas and bordering a perfect sapphire of a lake. The landscape design around the Inn is reminiscent of the meadows nearby, filled with wildflowers blooming every color of the rainbow.
And, in the midst of it all? The rustic and cozy Legacy Inn, built to resemble a gigantic log cabin.
Last night at the staff Welcome Bash, I felt like I was reuniting with old friends in the full-time workers. Delia, the Inn’s manager and my boss, was hilarious and quirky as ever.
It took me a moment to recognize some of the other student workers from Edendale High. Bree Lewis, the Inn owners’ daughter, is working here this summer rather unexpectedly. She’s a bit of a wild card at Edendale, though she sometimes hangs around my group of friends. Jonathan Wright is familiar from group projects we’ve worked on together, and, of course, from Edendale’s award-winning soccer team. And, I worked here with Noah Sawyer last summer.
As for the kids I didn’t recognize, they all seem cool and kind. Which is saying something when it comes to the students at Edendale High.
I roll over in bed and check the clock — 6am. I’m wide awake so I get dressed, brush my teeth, and head towards the main Inn building. Delia asked me to report to reception by 7am to get my summer task list but I don’t mind being early. Why not get a head start?
The cool mountain breeze stings my cheeks as I walk. The sun peeks above the mountaintops, hinting at the promise of a beautiful day. I lose myself in the surroundings, letting the cheerful noise of chirping birds calm my thoughts. The air smells like clean, fresh earth — the trademark scent of early summer.
I realize I’m feeling cautiously optimistic for the summer ahead. Maybe something will happen here at Legacy Inn. Maybe I’ll be inspired to write a new, wonderful college essay.
A girl can dream, right?
I’m so preoccupied, basking in a rare moment of peace, that I barely notice the Escalade parked in front of the main Inn building. I wouldn’t have given it a thought, except that it’s conspicuously fancy, black with tinted windows. Like something a royal or pop star would drive.
But, I forget about the Escalade almost immediately when I notice him.
I stop walking and a strange warm glow rushes to my cheeks.
He’s pacing outside the front door of the Inn. He looks about my age, maybe older. He certainly dresses like he’s older — with slim black jeans and black boots. He wears a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up, open over a tight black t-shirt.
I take
in his tall, muscular frame, his confident walk. His dark eyes flash and he runs a hand through his messy black hair. He’s on the phone with someone, and it’s painfully clear that he’s not happy with them. Every single thing about his body language is tense and agitated. He’s coiled tight like a spring. Or a caged tiger, poised to strike.
I want to run away. But I can’t take my eyes off him.
And he’s in my way. His pacing is blocking me from getting through the front door. I stand for a moment, frozen. Should I ask him to move?
Suddenly, he jerks his head up and his eyes burn into mine. They’re even darker than I originally thought — the exact color of black coffee.
“Can I help you?” he asks. His tone isn’t pleasant or friendly.
His words shock me to life and I awkwardly gesture at the door. “I need to get inside.” My voice is squeakier than I’d like, but I stand firm.
The boy’s expression flips from anger to something more neutral. “Oh.”
There’s no hint of an apology, no show of remorse. He merely shrugs, steps aside and resumes his phone conversation.
I dart around him and dash through the front door. As soon as it shuts, I lean against the cool wood of the wall. I exhale shakily, not realizing that I’d been holding my breath.
Who was that?
My heart pounds and my cheeks burn. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down. I don’t know what to make of the rude, arrogant stranger who may well be the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.
He’s clearly in high school, but he certainly doesn’t go to Edendale High. And since when are guys my age allowed to be that dark, brooding and good-looking?
“Stefi?” A boisterous voice jolts me back to reality. I remember that I’m at work.
Pull it together, Stefi, for goodness’ sake.
“Delia!” I croak and then clear my throat. “Sorry I’m early, I—”
“No apologies necessary for being early, of all things.” Delia waves her hands airily, her silver bracelets jangling. She wears a blue cowboy atop her head. “You’re just the person I wanted to see.”
The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances Page 34