Never (The Ever Series Book 2)

by C. J. Valles

  Nice way to end my first week in So Cal, though. Chased by psychos, a flat tire, food poisoning, and dancing in public for the first time since elementary school. I must have done something really wrong in a previous life.

  “Can’t leave you alone, now can I?”

  Looking up, I half-laugh, half-growl at Alex.

  “Are you a bad luck charm or something?”

  “You’ll have to acquaint me with your concept of bad luck if it’s having someone drive by just in time to make sure you’re not stranded.”

  Looking over, I see his enormous car idling several feet away. He reaches and picks up my backpack before gesturing toward the trunk of my car. When I unlock it, he pulls out the dress and shoebox and carries them over to his car. Placing everything in the backseat, he walks around and opens the car door for me, bowing slightly as he does it. When he gets behind the wheel, I feel my face go pale as soon as I notice the emblem of a winged B on the steering wheel. I know this isn’t a Buick, so I quickly sort through other possibilities in my head.

  “This isn’t a Bentley, is it? Please just tell me this isn’t a Bentley,” I mutter.

  “Wren Sullivan, are you a car enthusiast?” he asks as he starts driving.

  It jars me for a second that he knows my last name. Then, feeling extra-super paranoid and crazy, I remember that we exchanged last names earlier.

  “Enough to know that this is the type of car some hundred-year-old billionaire is supposed to drive!”

  “Perhaps you’re describing my grandfather,” he says, eyebrows raised.

  “Right. And Gramps is gonna let you take the Bentley out, because … ?”

  He looks over at me and then accelerates out of the parking lot at a speed that presses me into the back of my seat. When we pull up in front of my dad’s house a few minutes later, I wonder briefly how he found the house if he just moved here. Then I notice the navigational system and really try to get a handle on my paranoia.

  “You know, you never told me where you grew up …”

  He laughs like I just told him a joke.

  “Why is that funny?” I demand.

  “I’ll tell you another time.”

  “Right. Well, you only get to play that card once more, and then that’s it. After that, we have to exchange our deepest, darkest secrets …”

  I regret saying this the instant the words are out of my mouth, because Alex is staring at me in a way that tells me he might just take me up on that offer. He reaches out, and when his thumb begins to trace my index finger, I stop breathing. Pulling away, I grasp for the door handle and stumble onto the curb a second later. Alex has already collected the dress and shoes and is waiting for me like nothing happened. And maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was the only one who could feel the electricity buzzing between us, and I’m just totally overreacting. When we get to the front door, he stops and hands everything to me, including the glass slippers—as he called them.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says evenly. “Oh, and that dinged up beast you call a vehicle will be here shortly.”

  “What?”

  “I’m having it towed,” he says simply. “Just try not to get into any more trouble.”

  I choose to ignore his comment about staying out of trouble.

  “Well, I’ll pay you back.”

  “I would prefer you didn’t.”

  As I watch him walk back toward his car, I try hard not to feel excited about tomorrow night, because whatever this parallel universe is that I’ve stepped into—it’s going to come crashing down around me. I can just feel it.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m staring into the mirror in the bathroom at my new borrowed dress. Something about this moment—trying on the dress for my first formal dance—feels tragic without my mom here to see it. I haven’t gotten around to telling my dad about tomorrow night, and I doubt Jessica will even care.

  I slip out of the dress and change back into my regular clothes. What I’m really surprised about is the fact that the shoes Alex gave me are the right size. Of course, whether I can walk in them—and not kill myself—is an entirely different issue. Walking out of the bathroom, I go to the desk, where I spend the next half hour reading a chapter for Chemistry. Otherwise, I’m mostly caught up on assignments. Fidgety, I get up and walk down the hall to the kitchen and out through the French doors.

  After curling up on a deck chair, I begin to wonder what life would have been like if my parents hadn’t waged war before getting divorced, if I couldn’t read minds—and generally if I felt the least bit normal. Would I be giggling and gossiping over Alex? Would I have fallen head over heels in love with him rather than distrusting him at every step?

  I’ve only known him a week, but it really does feel like I’ve known him longer than that. Then again, he’s still a complete mystery. The palm trees at the edge of the yard are swaying in the breeze, and I wrap my arms around my chest. It’s not as warm as I first thought when I came outside. Pulling my sweater over my head, I close my eyes.

  I wake up with a start, haunted by the image of someone grabbing my hand and taking me down into unending blackness. Looking around at the empty back yard, I’m annoyed that every time I try to get some sleep, I have a disturbing dream. What ever happened to normal bad dreams, like the ones where I show up at school after forgetting to write some huge paper? I try to shake off the feeling of falling as I walk into the house. When I get to the couch in the living room, I stop and stare out the window. My car is sitting at the curb with all four tires intact. Wow. I smile. Alex is like a genie. And suddenly I decide that his strange persistence deserves some enthusiasm on my part, even though I still think it’s a horrible idea for us to be anything more than friends.

  Going back inside, I find my duffle bag and the stash of emergency money I saved from my short time having a part-time job. Next I write a quick note that I’m out running errands just in case my dad or Jessica gets home. Then, getting on the computer, I find a cosmetics superstore about twenty minutes inland. The driving directions are straightforward at least, and I manage not to get lost on the way, which is good—because it turns out that buying makeup is more complicated than I thought.

  After combing the aisles for twenty minutes, I decide to keep it simple. I pick out a starter pack with lipstick, eye shadow, blush, and powder—all labeled for someone with no tan. At least my eyelashes, which are black as coal and thick like my hair, don’t need help. I also pick out the appropriate makeup brushes and a nail polish. When the woman at the counter rings up my purchase, I try to hide my despair when I see the total. Now that I have my car again, a job is a must if I’m going to pay Alex back, whether he likes it or not. Taking my tiny bag of purchases, I walk into the parking lot.

  As I go to unlock my car, I see a black motorcycle across the lot. Its parked facing me, and the rider is sitting there like he’s about to take off. On a whim, I walk along the sidewalk and duck into the next shop. I wander past the bins distractedly before looking up at a mannequin in a black lace nightie. I pretend to look at the bargain racks before creeping back over to the window and peering outside.

  The motorcycle is still there, and so is the person on it—helmet on, arms crossed, and looking straight at me … or at the shop in general. I look around the store, wondering if he’s with one of the customers—which would also mean that I’m being completely paranoid. When someone taps me on the shoulder, I jump nearly a foot in the air. Turning, I look at the saleswoman. I catch her last thought. Great. She thinks I’m a shoplifter.

  “Can I help you?” she asks dully.

  “Thanks. I was just looking.”

  My cheeks burn as I rush out of the store. Going straight to my car, I get in and lock the doors, like someone is going to sneak up on me in a crowded parking lot. As I start the engine, I glance in my rearview mirror and see the motorcycle with its rider still waiting. Shifting into reverse, I wince at the horrible grinding noise the clutch makes and back out slowly, my eyes fixed on th
e motorcycle. When the bike doesn’t move, I continue toward the exit and take a left, feeling silly.

  I’m okay for about ten minutes—until I look in the mirror again. There’s a black motorcycle three cars back. Refusing to panic, I keep driving until I reach Crown Valley. Turning, I drive another couple of minutes before pulling off on a side street and parking. It’s nearly dark, but I sit and wait before pulling away from the curb and then turning back onto the main road.

  Suddenly I see a single headlight appear behind me again, and my hands grip the steering wheel. Shaking with fear, I manage to stay at the speed limit until I get to the street before my dad’s. When the motorcycle continues straight, I exhale.

  You are seriously losing it, Wren, I think.

  When I get into the house, my dad and Jessica are both home, and Sylvie, who seems to be more Jessica’s keeper than Ben’s, is getting ready to leave. I smile and say goodbye, unintentionally picking up a brief flash of her thoughts, which I think might be in Portuguese or Italian. All I know is it isn’t Spanish. Even though I can’t understand the words, I’m pretty sure I get the general idea: she thinks Jessica is a spoiled brat who cares more about shopping than raising an infant.

  Well, no newsflash there.

  Continuing down the hall to the guest bedroom, I walk to the desk, where I drop off my makeup purchase. Then I see the garment bag with the dress Alex gave me open and lying haphazardly on the bed. My blood boils, and if I weren’t staying in her house, I’d have some choice words for Jessica, that nosy—

  “Sorry, Wrennie. I thought it was one of mine,” Jessica says from the doorway.

  I force a smile into place. Yeah, right. I think she actually would have tried it on if only she could have squeezed her copious top half into it.

  “Are you going somewhere?” she presses.

  Smoothing out the bag and re-zipping it, I take it back to the closet.

  “School dance,” I mutter.

  “By yourself?” she clucks slyly.

  “No. With a friend.”

  “Aww, good for you,” she beams, clearly thrilled by the prospect of me being dateless. “Well, that’s an expensive dress. You must have done a lot of babysitting in Portland. Speaking of which, are you staying in tonight? ’Cause Tom and I wanted to get a little alone time. You mind watching Ben for a few hours?”

  I suppress a sigh. I’m surprised she didn’t leave a note taped to his crib. I barely get the chance to say sure before she’s on her way back down the hall. Well, now I feel like Cinderella, but not because I’ve found Prince Charming. More like because Jessica is the So Cal version of the wicked stepmother.

  “I had Sylvie write up instructions in case he wakes up. They’re on the counter,” she calls.

  A few minutes later, when I walk my dad and Jessica to the door with the baby monitor in hand, my dad pats me on the head. I figure I can always tell him about the dance tomorrow. Or Jessica will, which would be even better, because she’ll tell him I’m going with a friend, and I won’t feel obligated to mention that I’m going to a dance with an insanely hot guy I’ve known for less than a week.

  “We won’t be too late,” my dad calls. “You have my cell in case you need anything.”

  I nod and watch as they walk to his car, Jessica teetering precariously in enormous gladiator-style heels. When I get back inside, I walk to every door and window, making sure each one is locked. Then I check on Ben, who’s fast asleep, before going into the bedroom and taking out my newly purchased cosmetics. I have less than twenty-four hours to practice the art of application so that I don’t end up looking like I’m wearing clown makeup. I put the CD that came with my purchase into the computer and watch the instructions. Then I walk into the bathroom and set out each piece like a surgical tool before washing my face. Patting my skin dry, I pick up the powder and flip it open, tapping some into the lid. I swirl the brush around my forehead, to my cheeks, then my chin. The result isn’t instantaneous, but after a minute or two it starts to blend.

  By the time I put on the lipstick I look like a distant version of myself. Another wave of déjà vu courses through me. It feels like I’m staring at a vision of myself that I’ve seen before, which makes me wonder what Alex sees when he looks at me. He said he could see that I’m an outsider with regret, and he was right.

  But is that all he sees—just a reflection of himself?

  18: Tonight, Tonight

  When I wake up on Saturday morning, it feels like there’s an enormous clock hanging over my head. First, because I’ll be attending my first dance in less than twelve hours. And second, because last night before falling asleep, I promised myself that I would work up the courage to call, text, or e-mail my mom just to see how she’s doing. This is the longest I’ve ever gone without speaking to her, and even if she doesn’t want me around, I need to know she’s okay.

  Right after I’ve gotten dressed and collected my dirty laundry from the week, my dad knocks and tells me that they’re going into Laguna for brunch.

  “You want to go with?” he asks.

  He’s dressed in slacks and a button-up shirt, and I’m not up for formal—or Jessica—at the moment. I shake my head and decide it’s now or never to tell him about the dance.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got a bunch of stuff to catch up on before going to the dance tonight.”

  His brow arches.

  “Jessica didn’t tell you?” I ask.

  Recognition begins to dawn in his eyes.

  “That’s right. … She said you were going to a school thing with a friend. Well, that’s good.”

  “It is?”

  I wasn’t expecting him to be that happy about it.

  “I guess I forgot to tell you. … After lunch, Jess, Ben, and I are driving down to Escondido to see her sister. We’re going to be gone tonight and most of Sunday. You’ll be okay for a night, right?”

  I smile, feeling a little like the forgotten daughter. The last thing I want, though, is to visit with Jessica’s relatives. Awkward.

  “Or maybe you can stay with your friend?” my dad asks.

  I bite back nervous laughter. I highly doubt my dad would be making that suggestion if he had met my friend.

  “No! I mean, I can stay by myself. It’s fine.”

  “Good. I’ll let you know before we leave.”

  I nod and smile, feeling a wave of gratitude to Alex for dragging me to the dance, because I’m afraid of what would happen if I sat around all weekend moping. I’m already getting dangerously close to becoming a shut-in as it is.

  After my dad and Jessica leave with Ben, the house is deathly quiet, and time speeds up. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but every time I look at the clock another hour has passed, bringing me closer to the dance. By five o’clock, I’m sure another surge of nerve-fueled adrenaline is going to kill me, so I get up from the desk. Going down the hall, I put my clothes in the dryer. Then I grab my running shoes.

  I need to burn off these excess nerves.

  Locking the front door after me, I tie the house key to my shoelace and start jogging. By the time I come to the intersection of Crown Valley and Coast Highway I’m nearly sprinting. I stop, bending over and breathing heavily. I feel hunted, but by what I can’t figure out. I jog slowly on the way back, thinking about tonight. In a few hours, I’ll be at a dance with the hottest guy I’ve seen in probably my entire lifetime, not counting surreal dreams. I know this should feel like a happy ending, or at the very least, a silver lining. Instead, I’m nervous out of my mind, half afraid it’s some prank out of a horror movie. Or worse, that if I let go of my emotions, I might fall in love with someone I barely know.

  One thing is for sure. Taking a run was a good idea. My head is clearer, and my adrenaline is mostly used up. Getting into the house, I go to the kitchen and take out ingredients for a salad, adding some leftover chicken. I eat at the counter and then go to the laundry room to fold my clothes. When I’m done, I get into the shower and s
crub myself, washing my hair and shaving my legs. There’s something about this last step that makes my heart rate pick up, and I blush when I realize why. The dress I’m wearing is long, so unless I expect someone to be touching my legs, why would I … ? I shake my head and stop my train of thought right there. If I didn’t happen to be going to this stupid dance, I wouldn’t even think twice, and the fact that I shaved doesn’t mean I think Alex is going to be touching my anything. I swallow. Or maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself to keep from dying of an adrenaline overdose.

  After I’ve toweled off and combed my hair into submission, I slip the dress on and get started on my makeup, relieved that I practiced the night before since it doesn’t take as long this time to perform my Cinderella-like transformation. I retrieve the charm bracelet my dad gave me and then open the shoebox. The heels shimmer slightly, something I hadn’t noticed when I first saw them. They’re not made of glass, but they’re pretty close. Picking up the second shoe, I notice there’s also a small, matching evening bag in the box, big enough for a cell phone and lipstick. I smile crookedly. Alex has been thinking about this dance way more than the average guy. Taking the shoes, I sit on the edge of the bed and slip each one on. I stand up uncertainly and wobble a few steps. Yeah, dancing is going to be fun.

  Realizing there’s still time before Alex shows up, I go out into the hall and walk up and down, trying to imitate the graceful strides of runway models. I don’t come anywhere close, but eventually I cut my stumbling to a tolerable level. Back in the bedroom, I retrieve my phone and key in the two words I’ve been meaning to send to my mom all week.

  miss you

  Letting out the breath I’ve been holding, I pull my book from my backpack and return to the living room. I sit down on the couch, where I have a view of the street. The good thing is that the dress Alex bestowed on me seems to be wrinkle-proof. I take off the heels and tuck my feet under me. I start reading, feeling jumpy. I only have one chapter left, and as the pages get fewer and fewer, my stomach gets tighter. As soon as I read the last words, I throw the book to the ground, gasping for breath. Racing into the bathroom, I grab the box of tissues before I can cry off all my makeup.