by Sherry Soule
“…yes. Fine. Now, please,” he begs.
He needs my help. I don’t agree with his decision, but I can at least respect it. He did just save my life. And maybe he has other reasons that have to do with his special powers.
Nodding my head, I mutter, “I’ll be back in five. Don’t go anywhere.”
He tries to chuckle again, then softly moans.
I get to my feet and run my ass off. It’s only about four blocks, but it feels like twenty. My thighs burn, but I keep going. My feet fly over the sidewalk, each breath heavy in my chest. For an overweight girl, I can really move when I need to. I round the next corner, and knock over a garbage can.
Oops! My bad.
I push myself harder, and think I’ll never be able to make the next step, or the next, but I just keep moving as fast as my legs will carry me.
I sprint up my driveway, unlock the Jetta, and drop onto the seat. I hit the gas and soar out of the driveway. In the distance, the wail of sirens resonates in the night.
Oh, god! I have to hurry.
I speed through two stop signs and take a screeching right turn onto Main Street. So close now. The crowd is up ahead and the dented Geo Metro is still parked in the road. I slam on the brakes, skidding to a stop in the middle of the street, startling the throng surrounding Hayden. Leaving the engine running, I hop out, run around the car, and open the backdoor.
“Let me through!” I forcefully push aside the onlookers.
I pull up short and chew on a piece of hair. How the hell am I going to get him into the backseat?
Hayden looks up at me, his eyes at half-mast. “You’re back.”
“Well, duh.” I crouch behind his head and loop my arms under his shoulders. “This is gonna hurt,” I warn him.
He sucks in a breath. “Let’s do this.”
It takes all of my puny strength to lift Hayden off the ground, all the while praying that I’m not making his injuries worse. A man rushes to help and lifts Hayden by the ankles. We somehow clumsily manage to get Hayden over to my car still idling in the road. Together we slide him onto the leather seat, then shut the door.
“Hey!” another man yells, lowering his cell phone. “Where are you taking him? The ambulance will be here any minute.”
“Yeah, I know. But they’re taking too long! Tell them I took him to the hospital myself,” I reply.
I rush around to the driver’s side and hop onto the seat. I slam on the accelerator, and we shoot forward, leaving the gaping spectators behind. The car jostles over the road, hitting every pothole and crack.
“Um, this might not be the time, but—am I going to get into trouble for fleeing the scene of an accident?”
He quietly laughs. “No, Sloane. You didn’t cause it.”
“Good.” I grip the steering wheel tight. “We’ll be at the ER in a few minutes. Just hang on.”
“No. I told you no hospitals.”
I glance into the rearview mirror. “Then where am I taking you?”
“My brother. Zach will know what to do.”
“Zach?” I let up on the gas and slow down to a safer speed. “You’re joking, right?”
“He should be at my uncle’s house. He lives on Chesterfield Avenue. Hang a left at the next light, then go down two blocks, and take a right. You should see a Cadillac in the driveway...”
“Hayden?”
“Take the next left, Sloane.”
With trembling hands, I yank on the wheel and turn the Jetta. I start driving like a manic and hope that I don’t run into any cops. I almost speed right past the Ranch-style home with a dark blue Cadillac parked in the driveway.
This better be the right house.
I screech to a stop and pull in beside the Cadillac. I bolt from the car and run up onto the porch. The house is dark and I push the doorbell hard. No response.
Oh, god. What if no one’s home?
“Hello?” I bang on the door with my fist. “Zach? We need help!”
The adrenaline pumping in my veins finally powers down and crashes. The tears I’ve been holding spill out like floodgates being forced open. I lean against the door, sobbing and pounding on the wood. “Please. Someone help us!”
The porch light flicks on and Zach flings open the door. A man in his early forties appears behind him.
“What are you doing here, muffin-top?” Zach asks in a dark tone.
The man shoulders Zach aside. “I’m Niall Lancaster. Can I help you?”
“It’s Hayden.” I point at the Jetta. “He was hit by a car tonight and he told me to bring him here.”
Zach explodes out the door and rushes to the car. “Hayden? Hayden, are you okay?”
Hayden’s uncle is hot on his heels. “Let’s get him out of the car, Zach.” Niall opens the backdoor, looks at his nephew, and sighs. “You’re a mess, my boy.”
Together Zach and Niall haul an unconscious Hayden from the backseat. Zach hooks his broad forearms under Hayden’s armpits, pulling him from the Jetta and Niall grabs his legs, and together they haul an unconscious Hayden into the house, gently laying him on the sofa. He’s still bleeding profusely from the wound near his hairline.
Niall peers over his shoulder at me. “You did the right thing by bringing him here. Thank you.”
I tremble in the doorway, crying and clutching my shirt, wringing the fabric into a ball. “Is...is he going to be all right?”
Niall is already examining his injuries. “Yes, he’ll be fine,” he says vaguely. “You should go home now.”
“Yeah,” Zach says coldly. “Thanks for your help.” He blocks my entry with his body and forces me out onto the porch, slamming the door in my face.
My mouth falls open. I stagger back a step, steadying myself on the metal railing.
Hayden’s going to be okay. He has to be. His uncle said he would be fine.
But the words don’t penetrate the fear churning in my gut.
I stumble back to the Jetta and drive home in a dazed stupor. Tears fill my eyes, blurring my view of the road. I swerve over to the curb and stop. I clench the steering wheel with both hands, my heart pounding in my ears. It’s beating so hard, it thumps in my fingertips.
Almost smooshed to death by a Geo, not what I want on my tombstone.
But Hayden saved my life. A real life hero.
Closing my eyes, I finally admit to myself that I have strong feelings for Hayden. No guy has ever affected me the way Hayden does. I really like him despite his stoic haughtiness. And I cannot hide from my feelings even though it’s a lost cause. I silently pray that he’ll be all right. My eyes get hot and sting with tears. My hands can’t stop shaking.
Just calm down.
My house is only a few more blocks away. I slowly start back down the street.
When I park in the driveway, I spot a GMC Yukon with blacked-out windows parked on my street just shy of the lamppost. The red glow of a cigarette twinkles through the windshield.
For a second I sit in my car with the doors locked. I’m being paranoid again. And stupid. Why would anyone be following me?
Opening the door, I slowly ease out of the seat and shut it. Cold winds brush my skin and my body shivers. Staring at the SUV, I wipe my clammy forehead with my palm.
It’s nothing. It’s no one.
Still, I quicken my pace and hurry inside. Once I slam the deadbolt into place, I remember to breathe.
ELEVEN
Lying in bed, I curl up with Jinx. To calm my nerves, I crack open a spooky Ania Ahlborn novel, but after only reading a few chapters of chilling suspense, I put it down unable to concentrate. Grabbing my purse, I take out my Hello Kitty notebook to jot some things down. Stuff like Hayden’s fast metabolism, how he saved my life, and his near fatal accident.
Sleep eludes me and I toss and turn most of the night. The cat noisily complains by meowing at me until I scratch behind his ears. Jinx yawns and starts purring. At least one of us will get some sleep tonight.
I should be exhausted a
fter the mad dash home for the car, the panic over Hayden’s injuries, and my adrenaline crashing, but my head is still spinning. Images of the ghastly accident keep replaying in my mind, but I finally manage to fall into a light, uneasy slumber.
Bright morning sunshine bleeding through the curtains stings my eyes. I’m too lazy to get up, so I cuddle the cat instead, but all the horrible memories and fierce emotions from last night leap out at me like snarling dogs.
Yawning, I crawl out of bed and shuffle downstairs to take a long hot shower, and then put on my robe. I skirt around the white bathroom scale as if it has cooties and avoid even looking at.
Back in my room, I go to the closet and dig through my clothes. Not really focusing, I stand there and chew on my wet hair. I can’t stop thinking about Hayden, the accident or how amazing last night might’ve went until that stupid drunk driver hit him. I pick up my phone for the thousandth time, willing Hayden to call or text. Nothing.
I walk over to the window and peer out. The black SUV is gone. Good. So is Hayden’s Range Rover.
I sit down hard on the bed. There’s nothing like having my life become a horrid cliché. Yet that is exactly what’s happened. I mentally go over everything that has recently transpired.
Mysterious hot guy moves to new area. Check.
Cute girl (yes, I mean me) can’t resist hot guy. Check.
Super weird goings on. Check
Something very odd about the hot guy. Check.
Hot guy can be mysterious and secretive. Check.
Cute girl’s life is saved by hot guy. Double check.
Bottom Line: my life sucks. It has undeniably turned into some lame paranormal romance novel. Except I’m not the predictable heroine. I shake my head vigorously. No. No way.
Because I get bonus points for being smart, competent, and resilient. And for acknowledging how crazy weird all this stuff is.
My cell phone chimes on the desk and I gape at the screen in disbelief.
Holy batshit, Robin.
It’s a message from Hayden. About freaking time.
Hayden: It would seem we need to have another talk.
“You bet your ass, we do,” I mutter at the phone, then type back.
Me: Agreed. But first, are you ok?
Hayden: Never better, thanks to U.
Me: New phone?
Hayden: Yes. Meet me @ the north shoreline in an hour?
Another rendezvous with Hayden. Every inch of my skin tingles.
Me: Ok. C U soon.
I rub my forehead. How in the hell did he recover that fast?
Hurrying back to the closet, I slip off my bathrobe and tug on a pair of frayed jean shorts over black ripped tights. I need something waterproof, so I slip on my comfy leopard-print jelly ankle-boots, which are both perfect and stylish for a walk on the beach.
At the full-length mirror, I apply my makeup, dark eyeliner and a dab of brown shadow that sparkles in the sunlight. Ruby lipstick and peach rouge make my skin look pale against my scooped-neck mauve tee. I pull my long hair up into a high ponytail and leave a few loose strands on each side of my face. Then I snatch up my soiled garments from last night before easing downstairs.
Jonah is seated on a stool at the kitchen counter, munching on some crunchy cereal. It smells good, so I leave my dirty clothes in a crumpled ball on the counter, and pour myself a bowl.
“Why are you up so early?” I ask, sitting across from him.
He wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “Going to Jimmy’s to play Minecraft.”
“Need a ride?” I ask around a mouthful of delicious crunchiness. “I’m on my way to the beach, so I can drop you off first.”
“Okay. Mom had to go to the store for some more paint stuff.” He gets up and dumps his bowl into the sink. “Oh, yeah. This weird dude came by looking for you this morning.”
It isn’t even nine o’clock yet.
I wave my spoon in the air. “Who was it?”
“What am I—your butler?” He shrugs. “Some really tall guy. Must be one of your nerdy friends.”
I drop my spoon into the bowl, splashing milk onto the table. “Did you get his name, creepo?”
“Nope. But he’s way too old for you and he was wearing dark sunglasses, like some kind of stoner. Is he your drug dealer or something?”
“Shut up, twerp! Did you see his car?”
He folds his arms. “A big SUV.”
My breakfast leaps into my throat. My mysterious stalker was here? At my house? This morning?
“What did you tell him?” I demand.
“I told him that all that purple hair-dye has fried your brain.”
“You told him what?” I yell. “Are you demented?”
He snickers. “Are you?”
“Why don’t you go to the library and brush up on your ignorance?”
“Calm yourself, crankypants.” Jonah smirks. “Need to put in a call to Jenny Craig?”
I lurch from my seat and hurtle myself at the little creep. Jonah dodges my attack and runs through the house, screaming and laughing. His sneakered feet pound up the stairs before I can catch him and beat the crap outta the ten-year-old menace. My brother has a mouth on him.
Maybe a couple of staples or duct tape will do the trick.
Well, he can just walk to his friend’s house now.
Grabbing my stuff, I storm out the backdoor and ditch my clothes in the garbage. I’ll never be able to explain the bloodstains, let alone salvage them. I unlock my car and back out. I’ll feel better as soon as I get some answers.
Hayden’s already there when I arrive and park in Haven Beach’s parking lot. It’s a two-mile shoreline, separating the island from the city of San Francisco, with sand dunes bordering bicycle trails and picnic grounds. The view of windsurfers and sailboats bobbing in the water, along with the City’s skyline in the background, is mesmerizing.
He hops out of his SUV and my breath catches at the sight of his utter perfection in a black shirt, low-slung jeans, and unbuckled combat boots. A. Mazing.
He limps over to my car and opens my door. Such a gentleman. Sigh.
“Hi,” he says almost shyly, clutching his ribcage with one arm.
I get out of the Jetta and shut the door. “Hi, yourself.”
My heart slams against my ribs in an erratic, dizzying beat. I can’t believe he’s really here. Back from the dead. (Pun intended.) Fixing my gaze on him, I just want to throw my arms around him and squeeze him tight. He seems fine. Not a scratch or broken bone in sight. My mind is boggling over his amazing recovery. Dude had broken bones and stuff. Now? Only a slight limp. The deep gash on his forehead is just a minor scratch now and barely visible.
“You look good,” I say lamely. More than good. Delicious in fact.
“Appearances can be deceptive.” His mouth quirks upward with an appraising nod. “So do you. Look good, that is.”
I flush crimson. Is he serious? I’m not his kind of pretty, the kind of pretty that attracts devastatingly handsome guys like Hayden Lancaster. Our eyes meet. As the seconds tick by, I’m paralyzed, gazing at this beautiful, strange boy who stares back at me with some inscrutable expression.
It’s one of those beyond perfect movie moments, and I take a mental snapshot to remember it forever. Before I can say anything else, I’m wrapped in his arms.
“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he whispers into my hair.
Resting my head on his shoulder, I cling to him, gripping the smooth fabric of his shirt like it’s a lifejacket and I’m about to drown.
“I can’t believe what you did,” I say in a shaky voice. “Shoving me out of the way like that...” I force myself to pull back so I can look into his eyes. “When you hit the ground...I thought you were going to die.”
Hayden places his hands on either side of my face and stares at me as if trying to reassure himself that I’m actually there. “I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even think twice. You were about to be hurt, and I...I didn’t stop to think. So, I jus
t did it.”
I stare at him. What’s with the mixed signals? He’s being all sweet and stuff when just the other day he made it clear that we can’t be anything serious. Maybe he’s had a change of heart. A girl can only hope!
“You saved my life,” I say, a sob choking my voice.
He moves his hands to grip my shoulders and puts his forehead to mine. “You’re okay,” he says. “Thank God, you’re all right.”
My heart fills with bubbles of happiness. Hayden was worried. He cares about me so much that he put himself in harm’s way to save my life. But then, reality ruptures my happy thoughts.
“I feel so guilty,” I murmur. “You saved my life, but it resulted in you getting hurt.”
“I’ll be fine, Sloane…but you wouldn’t have been.” Hayden lets his hands slide from my shoulders, and he steps away. He regards me intently, his eyes burning with some impenetrable emotion.
Chills flood my skin, but not from the cool breeze. I automatically cross my arms over my chest to hide the twins.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
My stupid face heats. “No...it’s just a silly habit.”
“Why?”
“Boys are always staring at my, um, chest and making obscene remarks.” I laugh uneasily. “It’s no big deal,” I lie.
“Why would they do that?” He tilts his head studying me, and my whole body warms. “Before you answer—yes, I know your eyes are hazel.”
I playfully punch his arm. “Shut up! Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
He stares at me with one of his classic Hayden looks—a combination of swaggering confidence and major smolder—that makes my heartbeat speed up into overdrive.
“Maybe. Some guys can be dogs. But truthfully? I think each guy finds different things attractive. It’s not a one size fits all kind of thing. And most men find variety appealing. As for me? I like ’em thick and soft.”
I jut out a hip and place my hand on it. “Oh, really? Now you’re saying I’m fat?”
He waves both hands in the air. “No! Just that skinny girls don’t usually do it for me. I mean—don’t get me wrong—you have a great body, nice and curvy, but I prefer looking into those incredible eyes…and I really like your funky hair.” He playfully flips a purple strand from my forehead.