Before She Was Mine

by Amelia Wilde

I steal a glance at the rest of Dayton and wish I could have a picture of how he looks right now. Dark jeans, tight enough to hug the muscles of his legs, and a white collared shirt, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The lights keep landing in his dark hair and flickering away. He looks hot. Hot enough to have a date, which reminds me of my own horribly embarrassing situation. He sees my face fall into a frown. I hope he doesn’t see the surge of tears.

  “Hey,” he says. “Are you okay?”

  I cross my arms over my chest, clutch in one hand. “Yes. I’m fine.”

  He nudges me with an elbow and I’m breathless at the touch. “Tell me the truth.”

  If I tell him the truth, I might cry in front of him, and I don’t want to do that. It’s bad enough that everyone in school has seen me standing here. They don’t also need to witness me having a breakdown over a stupid joke, even if I’m the punchline.

  But there he is, waiting me out.

  I take a shuddering breath. “My date stood me up.” I say it as the music gets loud, a throbbing beat, hurting my ears.

  “What?”

  “My date stood me up,” I shout just as the song ends and the sound cuts out for one godforsaken instant. Yes. I am going to die here.

  Dayton doesn’t hesitate. The DJ is scrambling for another song and in the last gap before the next one Dayton yells, “My date stood me up too!” A few people at the edge of the crowd laugh. One girl grabs her friend’s elbow and points at me. For once, I’m not standing here by myself. I’m standing with Dayton Nash, and the sheer pleasure of it makes me weak in the knees.

  The next song starts and I find the courage to step a little closer. “Did your date really stand you up?”

  “Nah,” Dayton says, eyes scanning the crowd. “I didn’t have a date. Wes decided he wanted to come at the last minute.”

  Even I know what that’s about. “Corinne?”

  “Corinne,” he confirms, shooting me a sidelong look. “You think she’s his type?”

  I don’t know what to say. Wes scored big when he got Corinne Fletcher to date him. She’s popular. She’s a cheerleader. But to me, she seems cold. Maybe opposites do attract. Although Wes isn’t always nice.

  “I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “I don’t know what my own type is. It’s definitely not Bentley Davis.”

  “That prick stood you up?”

  “He invited me here.” The lump rises in my throat again. “But he didn’t show up.”

  “And then those goons of his probably laughed behind their hands like a bunch of limp-dick assholes.”

  “Dayton!” I dissolve into laughter and he follows me. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Listen, Sunny—” I wish he’d stop calling me that. That’s what my family calls me, and I don’t want him to be my family. I want him to be…something else entirely. I also don’t want him to stop talking. “Bentley Davis is a piece of shit with a stupid name.” I snort out loud. He does have a stupid name. “He’s an ass and he doesn’t deserve you. Look at you. You’re gorgeous.”

  It might not be so bad to die of happiness. “I—thanks, Day.”

  “I mean it.” He looks me in the eye. “You look beautiful tonight, and it’s Bentley’s loss. But you know what?”

  “What?” I can’t look away from him. I don’t ever want to look away from him. He’s so tall and handsome and good.

  “Boys grow up.” He gestures vaguely at the dance floor. “One day, they’ll be ready for you. Wait for a man, Sunny.”

  My heart stops, sings. Wait for a man. The way he’s looking at me, how close he’s standing—could he mean…does he mean…wait for him?

  “Nash!” Someone screams his name from the middle of the dance floor and he turns with a smile.

  “What?” He shouts back.

  They say something unintelligible but he must understand it, because the moment between us breaks into pieces. “Okay,” he answers at the top of his lungs, then turns back to me one more time. “It’ll be all right, Sunny. Go dance. Have some fun. You’ve got time.” He brushes his fingertips against my bare shoulder, sending goosebumps running down the length of my arm, and then he jogs away, into the center of the crowd.

  I have a big, ridiculous grin on my face and I can’t catch my breath. I don’t dare think the word love. But thinking of Dayton saying limp-dick assholes makes me laugh again. When the arm comes down around my shoulders, I’m certain it’s him and get ready to look up into his face. He probably came back to make sure I’m fine. Day would do that. I look up mid-laugh, and the sound dies in my throat.

  “God, Wes, what are you doing?”

  He’s hot and vaguely sweaty. I imagine he and Corinne have been going at it in that crowd of people for as long as he’s been here. Or maybe they’ve been doing something else. Gross.

  “How’s my little sister?”

  “Fine without you.” I try to disengage from his arm but he holds on tight. “Let me go, Wes.”

  “I wanted to chat with you.”

  “You never want to chat with me. Go dance with your girlfriend.”

  “She’s in the bathroom. Don’t fall in love with him, Sunny.”

  “What?”

  “Day.” He nods toward Dayton, who’s in and out of view behind all the other people. “He’s not…right for you.”

  “I’m not in love with him.”

  “Keep it that way, okay?”

  “Fine.” I shove him off me again. “Why are you telling me this? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  Wes sticks his hands in his pockets, not looking at me. “I saw you guys talking. I know he’s good-looking.” Now he does meet my eyes. “But there’s something about him that scares me.”

  “Who are you?” I’ve never known my brother to be scared of anything. Ever. “He’s your best friend. Stop being weird.”

  “He is my best friend,” he admits. “I love the guy. But there’s more than meets the eye. It’s a brotherly warning.”

  For a lot of years, I’ve wanted Wes to pay attention to me. Not like this, though. “Thanks.”

  Corinne comes up behind him and snakes her arms around his shoulders. She whispers something in his ear and his face lights up. “See you later, Sunny.” She pulls him away. “Go dance!” He yells over his shoulder.

  “Ew, Summer, get away from your brother!” Oh, thank god. My best friend has arrived, and even though she’s wearing leather pants and a halter top, she looks incredible. “I’m here. Let’s dance.”

  “But you weren’t—I didn’t—”

  “Let’s dance.” She grabs my hand and drags me out to the dance floor, and that’s where we stay for the next ninety minutes.

  Amy is a good dancer, and I get swept up in her enthusiasm. She finds us a group to dance with and commits, and even as people start leaving, she never wavers.

  Then, out of nowhere, Dayton is with her.

  She beckons him with one finger and laughs out loud, and because Day is who he is, he plays along, pretending to be reeled in. He has no reason to be in this group—he’s too old, too cool—but he dances like he doesn’t care, his body lithe beneath the jeans and shirts.

  I must be beet-red, dancing this close to him, but I’m not going to let it show. No way.

  This close to the speakers the music overwhelms everything, so I don’t hear him speak. I only see him reach out for my hand, a welcoming smile on his face, and in light of everything I take it. What could be so bad about dancing with him? There are tons of people around. Everyone’s having fun.

  Dayton twirls me into his chest and spins me back out, and just like that, I can dance. He laughs, eyes dancing, and twirls me again. This time, when I’m close, I catch the words most beautiful and a warm, rumbling laughs. A slow dance starts and Day sings along, something about before I met you and he tosses my arms around his neck like they belong there. We sway together for a few beats and then he dances away, hamming it up. I’ve never seen him act this ridiculous but I don�
�t mind it. It’s making me feel less like crap.

  It’s making me high on giggles. I can’t help it.

  A hand closes over my wrist, too tight, too strong, and I stop dead. Or at least I try to stop dead. It doesn’t work because Wes is wrenching me to the edge of the crowd, his eyes black with fury. “Did you hear what I said?” he shouts over the music. “Stay away from him.”

  Rage like heat lightning crackles over me and I twist my arm from his grasp. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss, hoping he catches every word. “Leave me alone, Wes.”

  He tries to block my way back to the dancers. “He’s dangerous.”

  “He’s Dayton. Leave me alone.” I shove him, hard, and go past.

  “Fine,” Wes shouts after me. “It’s your funeral.” I turn my head as he spins away, back to Corinne. What’s wrong with him? Dayton is his best friend. Why is he being like this?

  “Fuck you,” I whisper under my breath. He doesn’t hear me. I didn’t have the courage to say it to his face. Not something so wrong. It still feels good to say it.

  There are fifteen minutes left of the dance, and I’m not going to waste a second talking to my asshole of a brother.

  I’m back in the group, next to Amy, across from Dayton, when it occurs to me. Maybe I’ll never talk to Wes again. How about that?

  6

  Dayton

  The Summer I used to know would’ve retreated into a hidden corner for a while to smooth over the awkwardness of being in the same room with me.

  Not this Summer.

  She might have flinched when I interrupted her, but she’s not a delicate flower and it strikes me that she does this all day. The Sunny who would go past her brother’s room like a shadow while we played stupid video games is utterly calm, moving briskly on to the next part of our chat, which mainly focuses on my interests.

  I don’t tell her what my interests were before I got the job at Killion. Those are not the kinds of things that get you a job.

  “This is going to sound stupid,” I say finally.

  One corner of her mouth raises in a smile, but it’s not mocking or condescending. “I want to know.”

  Something twists at the center of my chest. Maybe I should get up and walk away before I tell her everything—all the things she doesn’t need to know. Instead, I tap my fist against my rib cage and clear my throat. “I’m interested in problem-solving. Analysis. That kind of thing.” In the Army, I’d finally been promoted to a position where I was allowed to attend some low-level mission coordination meetings. If it weren’t for my foot getting blown off, I might be doing that kind of thing now.

  “That’s good,” Summer says, her gaze far away. “That’s good to know.” Then she smiles at me, back in my part of the universe, and stands up. “Let me show you the rest of the office.”

  I stand up to follow her. “Are we done?”

  “I think we’ve gone over all I need to get started on leads.” Her voice is so even, so soothing, that I almost believe she can find me a job that isn’t total shit. It doesn’t sit right, because she’s not supposed to be the one bailing me out, but I follow her out into the hallway.

  “Hazel is my next-door office neighbor,” she says easily as we pass the first doorway, and a woman with copper hair gives a wave without missing a beat in her phone call. “She’s great at finding places for veterans to take advantage of the GI Bill, and I don’t know, maybe your feelings about college have changed.”

  Summer gives me a mischievous grin and laughs, and they rush back to me—the afternoons Wes and I spent shitting on all the guys from our grade who were going to take the easy way out at some cushy university and graduate to soft lives. We had a better plan. We were going to be heroes first.

  Look how that turned out.

  Even so, being reminded of my unimpeachably cool teenage years makes me laugh, too. “I’ve grown out of that opinion.”

  “That’s great!” she says brightly. “There are lots of options in the city. I’ll be sure to look for placements that will leave you time to attend classes.”

  A laugh tumbles out of me. “How long can you keep this up?”

  “What?” Summer pauses outside another office.

  “Look at me. You can see me sitting in a classroom with all those little—” I stop myself short. “College isn’t in the cards.”

  “Oh, stop.” She reaches out and slaps me lightly on the shoulder. It takes my breath away. It’s been years since anyone had the balls to do that.

  We’re back at the front door and Summer hands me my coat. When did I take it off? When did she take it? It all happened so…naturally.

  “Can you be here tomorrow at eleven? I’ll have a list a mile long of people who can’t wait to hire you.” Her eyes are flecked through with the spring light like sun rays on Harbor Lake.

  “Yeah.” I’m supposed to have a shift at Killion, but I’ll reschedule. If the bosses don’t like it, then to hell with them. “I’ll be here.”

  Summer smiles up at me and shakes her head a little. “I had no idea it was going to be you.”

  I wish it wasn’t me. I wish this was any other circumstance. “Surprise.”

  She wrinkles her nose, grinning. “You’re exactly the same.”

  Before I can protest, she slips her arms around my waist again, pulling me in tight, with a sigh that breaks me. And because Summer Sullivan is in the business of twisting the knife, she rises up on tiptoes and presses a gentle kiss against my cheek. “See you tomorrow, Day.”

  Then I’m outside in the cold, and when I turn around she’s joking with the receptionist. I hold myself back from crashing straight through the glass. I want to be in there, with her, not out here, with reality.

  In my boot, my missing left foot cramps, clear and strong, the pain shooting up to my knee.

  I gave Summer a fake address.

  I think about it on the train, on the way back to Queens. If she sends me anything in the mail, it’ll never arrive. Better to take that risk than have her know where I’m staying.

  It’s a fucking dive.

  By the time I get to the decaying third-floor walk-up, my residual limb feels like it’s on fire. It’s sliding around in the ill-fitting socket, the gel lining worn through in places. There’ll be raw skin under there. Hot spots. I’m fumbling for the key, gritting my teeth against the pain, when my roommate opens the door.

  He’s drunk. High. Both. Music spills out from behind his back into the hallway, loud and screaming, and a waiflike girl goes past wearing nothing but the remains of a black bra. There are more of them inside. I don’t have to see them to know.

  “Naaaaash,” drawls Curtis, who’s holding a fifth of vodka in one hand, dangling it from his fingers like a purse he’s forgotten about. “Where have you been?”

  “A meeting.” I push past him into the apartment. Last time I saw Curtis, he was getting out of the Army. One three-year contract and he was done. Not cut out for it. He’s not cut out for hard drugs, either, but that hasn’t stopped him. In the middle of the living room floor, one of Curtis’s friends is coiled around the girl with the bra. There’s a small silver tray on the carpet next to them. “Jesus. It’s two in the afternoon.”

  I have to get the fuck out of here.

  Curtis’s eyes are sunken into his skull. Turns my stomach. “It's never too early to party, man. Do a couple lines. Relax.”

  “I’m good.” I’m clawing my way out of this hellhole. There’s no time to relax.

  It’s a piercing pain to sidestep him and when I do he bows to me with a languid laugh. I have to get to my room. I keep it locked when I’m out. Sweat beads on my forehead while I force the key into the lock, push the door open, and drag myself inside.

  I have a rickety desk chair, the only furniture aside from my bed, and I sink into it with a sharp exhale and pull my leg out of the prosthesis as gently as I can.

  I’m going to need some antiseptic.

  Worse, I forgot to shut the door.

&n
bsp; Curtis sidles in and leans against the frame. “Nash, buddy.”

  “I’m not going out again. You’ve had enough.”

  “I came to deliver a message. Don’t shoot.” He raises his hands in the air, spilling vodka on the carpet outside my door.

  “What message?”

  “I heard something at the bodega today.”

  I push myself up from the chair and hop toward the bathroom door. It’s the smallest bathroom on the face of the planet, but the only—only—silver lining of this place is that I have it to myself. “Spit it out.”

  “Alexei is looking for you.”

  I stop dead at the bathroom door, sweat turned to ice at my temples. “What did you say?”

  He repeats it again.

  “Fuck.”

  I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Curtis responds. “Don’t worry, bro.” He takes a swig out of the bottle and grins at me, teeth sharp in the dim light of my bedroom. “I didn’t say a thing. He doesn’t know how to find you.” He crosses two fingers and presses them over his heart even as he sways back into the hallway. “I’ll never tell him you’re here.”

  7

  Summer

  My apartment door flies open in front of me, my keys chiming against the door.

  “Oh my god—”

  Whitney, my roommate, strikes a pose, head tilted back, arms locked out in the door frame. “Are. You. Ready.”

  “Whit—”

  “For the weeeeeeeeekeeeeennnnnnd!” She stretches the word out like an announcer at a rowdy sporting event, framing it with bright red lipstick, then points at me. “Are you?”

  “It’s Thursday.” I adjust my tote bag on my shoulder. It’s impossible not to smile at her. “You know this.”

  “Touché. But at the stroke of midnight, the weekend is here.”

  “No, Friday is here. Are you going to let me in?”

  Whitney gives me an exaggerated pout and slinks away from the door. She’s wearing her favorite black pants. They’re her favorite because, as she says, they go from day to night with a swish of the hips. “You’re no fun.”