My face warmed with embarrassment. I shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his stare. His green eyes locked on mine and held them for several seconds before I broke away. He placed a finger under my chin, turning my face back toward him.
“I hate when you do that,” he whispered.
I instinctively reached for my locket. He noticed what I was doing and placed his hand over mine. I kept my eyes on him.
“Do what?”
“Look away in embarrassment. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I love looking at your big, blue eyes. I feel like I’m swimming in an ocean when I get lost in them.”
I tried to turn my head away again, but he wouldn’t let me.
“I don’t see how sitting here all day, looking at me, is fun,” I said. I slapped my hand against his knee and stood up. “Why don’t we go sit back down at the dock?”
“I like that idea.”
Owen followed me to the hidden coat closet. I pulled out the same jackets we had worn the night before, and grabbed a pair of rubber boots with daisies on them. I slipped them on, not wanting to walk down to my room to retrieve a pair of shoes.
My mother and grandma were sitting at the bar drinking coffee when we entered the kitchen. I took note of all the baking sheets, mixing bowls, and other miscellaneous bakeware stuff spread out on the counter. They always made too many baked goods, and we’d end up taking some to our neighbors.
“Brennan,” Grams called out to me as we reached the sliding glass door. “Your mother and I are heading into town to do some last-minute shopping. Get dressed, you’re coming with us.”
She wasn’t asking me if I wanted to go, but was ordering me to.
“What about Owen?” I asked.
“He can hang out with your brothers,” she answered. “They need some male-bonding time.”
“Are you trying to get him killed?”
“I think you’re overreacting a little bit, darling.” Grams laughed lightly. “I’m sure they will be just fine. Won’t you, Owen?”
“Uh . . .” Owen hesitated, unzipping the jacket from his neck. “Y-yeah. We’ll be just dandy.”
Dandy, my ass. Someone was going to end up with a black eye by the time we got back. There was no way I could leave Owen behind. I would be basically feeding him to the wolves.
“See, nothing to worry about,” Grams assured.
I looked to my mother for help. She lifted her hands up, stepping back, indicating she was not going to get involved. What a lot of help she was. I glanced over at Owen, who was clearly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of my grandma’s watchful eyes. When I looked a little closer, I spotted fear dancing behind his eyes. I couldn’t blame him. My brothers hadn’t been the nicest people on the block.
“Why doesn’t Owen come with us?” I asked.
Grams narrowed her eyes at me, and shook her head. “How can we get him a gift if he’s with us?”
“Oh, you don’t need to get me anything,” Owen said quickly.
“I won’t be having that,” Grams said, pulling her eyebrows together. I could see she was growing impatient, on the verge of irritation. She wasn’t the type who liked to be challenged, even when she wasn’t being challenged. What she said goes. “Now, go make your way downstairs with the rest of the bunch. We’ll be back in a couple hours, and then she’s all yours.”
Grams climbed off the stool and headed for the sink. My mother joined her, giving us a moment to ourselves. I turned to Owen, fully aware of the worry lines taking over his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. He cupped my cheek, and rubbed my lips with his thumbs. They parted slightly, and I closed my eyes. I pressed into his hand. After a few seconds, he dropped his hand from my face.
“I’ll text you if I need rescuing,” he teased. I nodded slightly. He rested his hand on my shoulder, leaning forward, and pressing his lips along my hairline. I sighed softly, not wanting to leave him behind. “I’ll be fine. What’s three brothers to me?”
I chuckled lightly at his attempt to lighten the mood. We stared at one another before he finally turned away and headed downstairs to his likely death. I spun on my heels, discovering the two women had been watching us.
“The two of you are great together,” Grams said, grinning from ear to ear.
I walked the short distance to the bar and plopped down on a stool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Grams. We’re just friends.”
“For now,” she responded. “I foresee a beautiful life ahead of you two. Together, you’ll accomplish more than you ever would on your own. I hope you’re ready for that.”
“Grams, it’s a little too early in the morning for your fortune teller abilities. Can we wait until after lunch before you start predicting the future?”
“Hmm.” She turned up her nose. “You’ll see.”
I shook my head and placed it into my hands. I loved the woman to death, but sometimes she bordered the thin line between just barely there and crazy. I think she finally made the leap between the two. There was no way she could tell me what the future held for Owen and me. Certainly not when I couldn’t tell her what was happening in the present.
It was like my heart decided to take over the rational parts of my brain. The parts that had decided that there was never going to be anything between the both of us. The part of my brain that decided I was done with him, never to think of him again.
Grams interrupted my train of thought to suggest I change into something more presentable. I rushed down to my room, changed into a pair of skinny jeans, a tank top, and pulled on my UW hoodie. I grabbed a pair of flats from the bottom of my closet, ones that I had left behind when I went to Oregon.
I met the both of them out in the driveway and climbed into the backseat of my mother’s BMW. With her behind the wheel, I was at ease. No sudden panic attacks. No increased heart rate or beads of sweat a long my hairline. I leaned my head back against the headrest and watched the houses fade into skyscrapers.
Twenty-five minutes later, we reached the shopping center. It was no surprise that traffic was thick with everyone doing last-minute shopping. Parking was hell, and my mother had to loop around several times before finding a parking spot that didn’t entail a mile walk to the mall.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to get for Owen?” my mother asked, entering the front entrance. “Or did you get him something already?”
“I have no idea what to get him,” I admitted.
Grams patted my shoulder, and I looked over at her. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
We made several laps around the mall, hitting almost every store inside. I picked out some sweaters to give to my brothers—not that they deserved them. Got my mother a new briefcase with her initials carved into the handle when she was looking in another store. I had a silver picture frame engraved for my grandparents. I planned to place my favorite picture of the three of us in it. My father was a little difficult; I wanted to get him something other than another tie. I ended up buying him a pair of fleece, plaid pajama bottoms in his alumni’s colors, and a shirt to go with it. I threw in a pair of slippers that looked like wolves to complete the look. It was perfect to go with the bathrobe he got for his birthday last spring.
Then there was Owen . . .
I had no idea where to even start. I still didn’t know enough about him to know what to get him. I felt silly getting him a sweater like my brothers. I wanted the gift to be special, to have meaning behind it. I scoured store after store before entering a bookstore.
I hadn’t planned to get him anything from there. I mainly went in to browse for myself. That was until I found the perfect limited edition book I knew he’d love. I bit my tongue as I handed over my Visa card to the clerk, and debated on putting it back and looking for something that was a bit more reasonable in price.
The more I thought about it, the more perfect the gift
was, and I realized there was no way I could walk out of the store empty-handed.
I rejoined my mother and grandma at the food court, where we grabbed lunch, before calling it quits and making our way back home.
When we pulled into the driveway, I recognized the dark blue Mustang parked in the driveway. My stomach lurched. What was he doing here? I saw my mother glance at me in the rearview mirror and caught the worried look in her eyes.
I was out of the car before she had it in park, walking as quickly as I could toward the front door. The door hit against the wall as I pushed it open. I made a beeline for the living room, only to find it empty. A sound of laughter erupted in the distance, and I followed it to the kitchen.
Sure enough, there he was. The one person I told to never show his face around me again. He was sitting there, with my brothers—and Owen—and they were all laughing, and having a grand old time together. If I wasn’t seeing raging hatred for the redhead in front of me, I might’ve appreciated the fact that Owen was still alive and breathing.
He was more than that, though, he was carrying on a full conversation with them. I couldn’t believe my eyes. They were actually getting along. It was a miracle.
Then the redheaded, freckled-faced guy popped in my line of sight again. I could hear my breathing increase. My body was shaking—rage, anger, hatred, boiled in my veins. I wanted to reach out and strangle him. But what good would that do, other than the fact that I would end up in jail.
“Hey, Brenn,” the redhead said as I approached the bar. He acted as though we were the best of friends. He was no friend of mine.
I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists by my sides. When that wasn’t working, I gripped my locket as tight as I could.
“Ronnie,” I said, my voice full of venom, “what the hell are you doing in my house?”
“Well, I tho—”
“Get out.” I cut him off. He needed to leave now or suffer the verbal beating of one pissed off eighteen-year-old girl. I wasn’t giving him a choice in the manner. “Get. Out. Now!”
EIGHTEEN
“I’M NOT GOING TO SAY IT again, Ronnie,” I said, my voice seething with anger.
I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to come here. To come to my house uninvited and looking as if he was welcomed—like I’d be happy to see him. But if there was one person I blamed more than myself for the accident, it was him. After all, it was his party.
“Brennan Grace,” Grams said, “where are your manners?” She crossed the kitchen and pulled Ronnie into a hug, like he was a long-lost relative. “It’s good to see you, Ronnie. How are your parents?”
“They’re good,” he answered sheepishly. He looked at me, and I stared him down like I was looking for my next kill. He cast his eyes to the floor, dropping his head in defeat.
Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago, he was one of my oldest and closest friends. If you pulled out the dusty photo albums hanging out on the shelves, down in the family room, you’d find photos of the two of us dating back to our diaper days. Our fathers went back just as far and are best friends.
I felt the weight of his eyes on me before I met his gaze. Owen stood off to the side, an outsider looking in, clearly not understanding where my hostility was coming from. How could he? It’s not like I told him anything.
I was gripping my locket so tightly that the gold chain was digging into the palm of my hand. It didn’t hurt but it was uncomfortable. Owen noticed and took a step toward me. I shook my head, and his step faltered. He looked at me with concerned-filled eyes, and then turned to Ronnie. The concern was immediately replaced with a seething anger. He didn’t even know the guy, but I didn’t think he really cared at this point. It was clear that if I was upset he wasn’t going to be happy either.
“Come,” Grams said, wrapping her arm around Ronnie’s shoulders. “Have a seat.”
I growled lowly. “Ronnie!” I said, nearly shouting. He turned to look at me. “Why are you here? I thought I made it perfectly clear that you weren’t welcome here ever again.”
“That’s enough, Brennan,” my mother spoke up. “You’re acting completely ridiculous.”
She was right in a sense. I was being extremely rude, but in my head, I had every right to be. If it weren’t for him, Reagan would still be here.
A hand touched the small of my back. Owen’s touch was calming, and I felt my body releasing the tension. I still clung to necklace around my neck, but my grip was much more relaxed.
“And for your information,” my mother said. “I asked Ronnie to stop by today.”
My jaw dropped. She had to be kidding me! What was going through my mother’s head the past two days? Everyone was quiet, watching me, and waiting for me to say something. Well, they could wait all day. I made it clear I didn’t want him here. I wasn’t going to go out of my way to welcome him with open arms, especially when that’s not how I felt.
“I’m going to my room,” I announced and started to leave.
“No.” My mother’s stern voice stopped me. “You’re going to stay right there and listen to why he is here.”
I looked at Owen, wishing in that moment he wasn’t here to witness what was to come. I didn’t even know, but if Ronnie was involved, I knew I wasn’t going to like it.
I was caught between a hard place and a rock. Should I ignore my mother and leave anyways? Or make a bigger fool of myself?
It wasn’t just that. I had no way of knowing what Ronnie was going to say, and it scared me. If he brought up Reagan or the accident, I was going to lose it. It wasn’t a secret to anyone—except Owen—what happened almost a year ago. The thing was, I didn’t want to talk about it, and I certainly didn’t want to hash this out for the millionth time in front of Owen. Still, I found my feet rooted in place.
“Ronnie . . .” My mother said, gently encouraging him to talk.
“I just want to say I’m sor—” he started.
I cut him off. “Just get to the point.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked to my mother. What was that? Was he looking for moral support or something? And was she really taking his side? I inhaled a shaky breath, my eyes unwavering from Ronnie’s hazel ones.
“Okay,” he cleared his throat, and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Well, a lot of us from school are back for the holidays, and with permission from her parents, we thought it’d be great to have a memorial party at the lake house.”
“No,” I said, the sharpness of my voice slicing the air.
I didn’t want to know any more of what he had to say. He was suggesting a memorial party for Reagan. Really? A party is what got us here in the first. The lake house? He had to seriously be high if he thought any of it was a good idea.
“Listen,” my mother chimed in. She took a step toward me. “I talked to Dr. Kyle, and he said that this was a good idea. In fact, he thinks it’s brilliant, and just want everyone needs.”
And by everyone, she meant me. That this is what I needed. No, thank you. I was perfectly content not returning to the place where my life changed.
“You talked with Dr. Kyle?” I retorted. My body shook with the uncontrollable laughter that came from me. “Isn’t that breaking the whole patient-doctor confidentiality law?”
“Only when asking about things in a patient’s file,” she answered. Of course, she knows the law. She’s a lawyer for crying out loud. She knew how to get around the loopholes. “There’s not a law about a concerned parent asking her child’s therapist their opinion on something as significant as this. He says you’re ready, and that this is something you need to do. We’re all in agreement.”
I looked around the kitchen, and saw everyone nodding their heads in agreement. They had this all planned out before I even got here. The whole shopping trip was an excuse to get me out of the house so they could all bombard me when we got back. I clenched my fists at my side, angry that they would resort to something this low.
I didn’t need a memorial
party to move on. I was doing just fine with it all on my own. I didn’t need them to worry, or act as though I was going to break if I didn’t do this. It’s why I left home in the first place. I was suffocating here. And now, I was suffocating again.
“I hate to interrupt,” Owen’s voice rang out beside me. “But would anyone like to fill me in on what’s going on?”
My chest tightened. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished I could disappear. I didn’t want Owen to know. He couldn’t know. What would he think when he realizes that the accident was my fault? That I’m the reason my best friend is gone.
“He doesn’t know?” It was Damon who asked.
“No,” I said through gritted teeth. I opened my eyes, and locked them on his. I looked at each and every one of my family members square in their eyes. “And he’s not going to know unless I decide to tell him.”
My mother opened her mouth to say something, but my father shook his head, silently telling her to keep her mouth closed.
“Brennan?” Owen asked, hesitantly.
I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t look at him. I was done with this conversation. I was through with the day. In fact, I was over this entire trip and couldn’t wait to go back to school.
“Have your party. Do what you want,” I said, in a snippy tone. “But don’t expect me to be there.”
The kitchen fell silent again. I could see that everyone was worried about me. All their faces held the same expression: sadness. Trent dragged his foot back and forth along the tile, and refused to look at me.
It was ridiculous. I wasn’t a fragile piece of porcelain. I wasn’t going to break anytime soon—if ever. I had dealt with it. I had moved on. Or so I kept telling myself.
They didn’t need to keep worrying about me.
“I seriously can’t believe her parents were okay with this,” I said out loud to no one in particular. “I’m done talking about this.”
I didn’t wait for a response from anyone and walked out of the kitchen. I heard footsteps behind me, aware of that fact that Owen was following me.
This One’s For You Page 24