by Ash, Nikki
“I was wondering if maybe you’d want to ride with me.” He shrugs his shoulders and his hands go into his pockets as if he’s… nervous? Internally, I groan. If this were a couple years ago, I would be all over it: hot guy, a hotel, the beach for a week. But now, my priorities have changed.
“I’m sorry, but you’re wasting your time,” I say, trying to let him down easy.
“Excuse me?” He raises a brow, confused.
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” I tell him, figuring just coming out and saying it will push this conversation forward quicker and then we can pretend it never happened. “I’m only going to the beach as Sierra’s allocated babysitter.”
“Oh… no.” He winces. “I wasn’t trying to… I don’t want to hook up with you.” He sighs. “I mean, you’re hot…”
A giggle escapes past my lips at his uneasiness, and I slap my hand over my mouth to hide it, but I’m not fast enough and he catches it.
“Jesus, this is all coming out wrong.” He runs his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. “I actually just got out of a bad relationship before moving here, so I’m not looking for anything like that. I just thought maybe we could ride together as friends. I heard your sister talking shit about you having to ride with her and her friends.” He flinches. “Shit.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s not exactly a secret that my sister wants nothing to do with me,” I say softly, my voice cracking with emotion. She’s the only person I have left in the world, and yet I don’t even have her.
“Well, if you want to ride with me…” He lifts a shoulder.
“That would actually be really great,” I tell him, figuring riding with him will be better than being stuck in the car with Sierra and her druggy friends.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. I’ll pick you up at eight, so we can miss the morning traffic on 95.” His words remind me of something I’ve been thinking about lately.
“Hey, Brenton, would you mind making one stop along the way? It’s right off 95.”
“Sure,” he says with a smile.
“Thank you. See you tomorrow.”
“Is it true?” Sierra drops onto her bed, her backpack hitting the floor with a thud. “Are you going to the beach with Brenton Davis?”
Throwing the last of my clothes into the small suitcase, I zip it up, then sit on my bed, which is parallel to Sierra’s. “Yep.”
“Thought you were all ‘I’m focusing on school, not boys’?” She tilts her head to the side and her chin juts out, something she always does when she’s in confrontation mode. These days, Sierra has two modes when it comes to me: She’s either mad at me, or she’s ignoring me. Both allow her to keep me at arm’s length.
“I’m riding up with him. That’s it.” I roll my eyes and stand, grabbing my suitcase and setting it next to the door. “And I only agreed to ride with him after he mentioned how much shit my sister was talking about me having to ride with her and her friends.” I glare at her briefly before I grab my book and drop to my bed to read.
When she doesn’t say anything, I glance up. Her face appears pained. I wonder if maybe she’ll apologize, tell me she was wrong and then cuddle up next to me like we used to do when we were little after we got into one of our stupid fights. But she schools her expression and shrugs. “Imani was annoyed Tashia wouldn’t be able to ride with us. I wasn’t talking shit…”
“Yeah, okay,” I say, knowing she’s full of shit. “Well, now she can.” I open my book to the page I left off on and lie back against the pillows on my bed.
“So, you’re not going to hook up with Brenton?” she asks.
“Nope,” I say, without giving her my attention even though I’m not really reading. Her bed squeaks and then her feet pad across the floor, and when I chance a glance, I notice she’s gone. Groaning, I drop the book to my chest and close my eyes, wishing for the millionth time I could figure out how to get her back. Maybe Mom will have an answer…
“Here?” Brenton asks, stopping his vehicle in front of the wrought iron gate.
“Yes. I’ll only be a few minutes.” Giving him a small smile, I get out of his car and meander through the rows of headstones until I get to the one I’m looking for.
Rachel Jacobs
Loving mother and wife
She only has two titles because my sister and I, and our father was all she had in this life. She didn’t know much about her family, but what she did know, what foster care told her, was that she was created out of wedlock and her mother was a part of the Catholic Church. Her family forced her to give up my mother, who proceeded to spend her next seventeen years in group homes. She met our dad when she was seventeen. He was older, already in his thirties. He offered her a home and she took it. I’m not sure if she loved my father or if she loved the idea of being taken care of.
What I do know is that my father loved her deeply. So deeply it turned into an obsession. An obsession that ultimately killed her…
“We’re leaving,” my mom says with tears pouring down her face. “Pack your bags. We don’t have much time. Just take whatever clothes you need and anything that’s important to you.”
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Sierra jumps up from her bed and runs over to our mom. “What’s going on?”
“Your father,” Mom chokes out through her sobs. “He’s a liar! He’s lost all our money. Lost our house. He’s lost everything. We have nothing left.”
Sierra and I have heard our parents arguing the last few months more and more, but we just assumed they were going through a rough patch.
“Can’t he get it back?” I ask, confused. “Dad’s the best at what he does.”
“No, he can’t. Because he made deals with the wrong people and they took it all. And now they’re going to come for us.”
“What about Grandma?” Sierra asks. “Can’t she help?”
“Sure, she could, but you know she hates that your father is with me. She’ll never give him a penny to help. She’d rather watch him fall. Now, please. Pack your bags.”
Ten minutes later, Sierra and I are sitting in the back seat with our bags in the trunk, waiting for Mom to come out. Dad’s BMW pulls up, just as Mom walks out.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dad demands.
“I’m leaving! I’m taking the girls and getting out of here! I’m not going to just sit here and wait for them to come and kill us.”
“I told you I’d protect you!” When Mom doesn’t stop in her haste toward the car, Dad reaches behind him, pulling out a gun.
“Oh my God!” Sierra gasps. “Dad has a gun!”
“Greg, please!” Mom begs. “Don’t do this. Just let us go.”
“You’re not taking them! You’re not leaving me. We’re in this together. Now get in the damn car!”
Mom complies, and then Dad takes off down the road. We drive for several miles as Mom begs our father to let us go, and he argues he’s never letting us go.
“Greg,” Mom says, her tone eerily calm. “You need to slow down.”
When Dad doesn’t answer her, she begins to sob. “Greg, what are you doing? That bend is dangerous! Slow down.”
“I can’t let you leave me,” Dad says. “We agreed in our vows until death do us part. I’m sorry, Rachel, I know I messed up. I know I made bad deals. Please forgive me.”
“Okay,” Mom says, “I forgive you. Now slow down. We can run away together.”
“There’s no running from them.” Dad’s face turns toward Mom. “They won’t stop looking until they find me. This is the only way.”
“Greg… Greg, have you been drinking?” Mom cries. “Are you drunk?”
The tires squeal and the car jerks to the side, flipping several times. There are screams and cries and then everything goes black.
Dad was killed on impact, and Mom died on her way to the hospital. By some miracle, Sierra and I both lived. She had a broken arm and needed stitches on her forehead. I had three c
racked ribs and a broken wrist. But we were alive. Without our parents.
Because our father’s death was determined a suicide by the life insurance company, and Mom didn’t have any life insurance, they refused to give us any of the money. Sierra and I didn’t care about the money. All we cared about was that our parents were both gone.
The day our parents died was the day Sierra flipped her switch. I was discharged first, so I went to her hospital room where she was waiting for her arm to be casted.
“Oh, S!” I cry, running into the room to give her a hug. “How are you?” When I realize she isn’t returning the hug, I pull back, eyeing her wearily. “S, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sierra says, refusing to look at me.
“Is it your arm? They gave me pain meds. Does yours hurt?”
“No.”
“S, look at me,” I demand. When her eyes meet mine, they look dead inside. “What’s going on?”
“I already said nothing. Can you just back off? I need some time.”
A few hours later, we were on our way to our dad’s mom’s house, who grudgingly took us in. She refused to continue to pay for the private school we were attending, so we were switched to a public school. Every day, for the first couple months, I would ask Sierra if she was okay, but she wouldn’t speak to me. At first, I thought maybe she was mad at me. But a few months later, when our grandma died—of course, leaving us nothing as a way to stick it to our parents—and the CPS person came to place us, I learned Sierra wasn’t mad at me. She was afraid to love me.
“It looks like we’re going to have to separate you both,” Darlene, the CPS worker says. “We can’t find anyone who’s willing to take on two teenagers.”
“It’s okay,” Sierra says softly.
“What?” I shriek, hurt and confused. “I get you’re mad at me or whatever, but you’re okay with them placing us in different homes? We still have over a year until I turn eighteen, almost two until you do. What if we have to go to different schools? Or live in a different city?”
“We were bound to be separated eventually,” Sierra says, zero emotion in her tone. “Might as well get it over with now.”
“You don’t mean that!” I shout, and then it all clicks into place. Her not talking to me, pushing me away. We lost both of our parents, and we almost died. “You’re just afraid you’re going to lose me,” I accuse. Her eyes go wide for a split second, but she quickly schools her features. “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her, dropping to my knees in front of her. “All we have is each other, S. Don’t push me away.”
“All Mom had was Dad and look where that got her.” Sierra stands and, without looking at me, says to Darlene, “I don’t care where you place me.” Then she walks out of the room without looking back.
Luckily, despite Sierra not caring, Darlene found Jordan, who agreed to take us both in.
I swat a tear that’s slipped out and down my cheek, clearing my throat. “Mom, I’m not sure if you can hear me, but I need you. Sierra needs you. I miss her so much, but she won’t let me in. In two months I’m going to be leaving for college and I’m afraid I’ll never see my sister again. If you’re up there and listening, I just need some kind of sign. Some sort of guidance. I don’t want to give up, Mom, but it’s been two years and I’m not sure if she’s ever going to come around.”
I drop to my knees in the thick grass. “Every day she pushes me away, I think her heart forgets the bond we share. What if she never lets me back in?” Tears fly down my face, disappearing into the grass. “It’s so crazy. She’d rather not have me now, in case she might lose me, instead of living every day, loving me. She’s all I have left, Mom. Please, if there’s anything you can do from up there, do it.”
“Blakely? Are you okay?” Brenton asks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you, but you’ve been out here for a while.”
“I’m sorry.” I stand and wipe the lingering liquid from my cheeks. “I’m okay. I just needed to talk to my mom for a few minutes.”
Blakely
The sun is blazing down from above, warming the tips of my toes, which are the only part of my body that’s exposed to the heat. The rest of me is in the shade, thanks to the gigantic rainbow-colored umbrella Brenton’s jammed into the sand—before he left to go hang out with his friends—and is doing a fabulous job of covering my entire body while I cry my eyes out over the loss of Catherine Earnshaw. Not because I like her so much—oh no, she was a major bitch. I’m crying because poor Heathcliff. He loved her so much, and now she’s gone, and it explains why he’s the way he is. Why he’s so bitter and lonely—he’s heartbroken.
We’ve been here for four days, and so far, I’ve spent every single one, right here in this spot, switching from Wuthering Heights to my own personal romance novel I brought to read. The only time I leave is to walk to the restaurant to get something to eat, or to go to the room to get some sleep. The first couple days I was hoping to lure Sierra away from her friends so we could maybe go for a walk and talk, but I’ve kind of given up on that hope, since I’ve yet to see her awake. I’m asleep before she and her friends stumble in, and then they spend most of the day sleeping off their hangover so they can do it all over again.
Just as I’m turning the page in my book, someone yells, “Watch out!” Unsure of where the voice is coming from, I look to the left and then to the right, but before I can grasp what’s happening, the circular object hits my hand, and my book flies out of my grasp and into the water.
“Shit! I’m so sorry.” A half-naked guy comes running over, sand kicking up around him as his strong legs pound into the ground. The closer he gets, the more of him I’m able to see, and holy shit, do I like what I see. Messy brown hair I could picture running my fingers through, tanned, smooth skin I would enjoy kissing and licking, and if I’m feeling frisky, biting.
My eyes rake over his tattooed, sculpted chest and down to his abs. Two-four-sex… I mean six. God damn! Look at that six-pack. He must work out, probably several times a day. Damn, I’d love for him to work me out…
As he jogs over, his corded arm muscles flex, making it appear as if the ink on his arms is coming alive, and I briefly imagine holding on to those arms while he fucks me good and hard. He runs past me, and I follow his every move. When he bends over, I check out his butt that’s hidden under his low-hanging board shorts as I fantasize about my legs wrapped around his waist and my heels digging into that butt…
But then he turns around, and in his hands is the now sopping wet copy of Wuthering Heights, and I instantly snap out of my lust-filled thoughts.
“Here you go,” he says sheepishly, the soaking wet book dangling from his fingers. Drops of saltwater fall down and land on my knee. My eyes meet his, and just as I’m about to snap at him, the corner of his mouth lifts into a nervous smile, and a single dimple pops out on his cheek, and once again, I’m momentarily distracted by just how good-looking he is.
“Thanks so much.” My reply drips with sarcasm. Taking the book from him, I examine the saturated, ruined pages, and mumble, “At least it wasn’t my mom’s copy.”
“I’m Keegan.” His half-smile turns into a cocky grin. Oh, hell, no…
“I’m not interested.”
He throws his head back with the most beautiful laugh I’ve ever heard. It’s raspy and deep and sexy. My eyes land on his Adam’s apple, and my tongue darts out, wanting to lick down his throat.
“Fair enough.” He nods. “I really am sorry about the book.” His gorgeous forest green eyes meet mine. “Can I do something to make it up to you?”
“Like sleep with me?” I give him a playful smirk. I haven’t slept with many guys, but I’ve had a couple one-night stands over the last few years. My way of lashing out over my mom’s death.
“No.” He shakes his head. “We’ve already established you’re not interested. Although, I think, based on the way you were eye-fucking me on my way over here, I could probably convince you otherwise.”
&
nbsp; “I was…” I begin to argue, but when he raises one of his brows in a Really? You’re going to try to lie gesture, I snap my mouth closed. He’s right, after all. I was totally eye-fucking him.
“I meant, how about I take you to dinner? But if the dinner leads to…” He shrugs a shoulder and grins, this time both dimples popping out. Jesus H. Christ, no man should be allowed to look this gorgeous and be equipped with not one, but two dimples.
“I stand by my earlier statement,” I say, chanting I’m off dick over and over again in my head to remind myself I’m focused on school and my future. A decision I made after my dad’s mom died and left us with nothing, and I quickly realized if I don’t make a future for myself, no one will. “I’m not interested.”
“All right.” He bends down to grab the football. “Enjoy your day.” And with a flirty wink over his shoulder, he runs back over to where he came from.
Giving my book a once-over and concluding there’s no saving it, I toss it into the sand next to my bag to throw it away later. Moving my chair to the side, I throw my blanket across the ground and lie on my stomach for a little cat nap. I might not have wanted to go on this trip, but I can admit that so far, despite my book getting drowned, and not being able to spend any time with Sierra, it’s been nice to relax and reminisce on the good times we had as a family here. In a couple short months, I’m going to be heading to college and I don’t know when I’ll have the time or the money to take a week-long vacation again.
I don’t remember my eyes closing, and I have no clue how long I’m asleep for. But when I wake up, it’s to a shitload of sand hitting my body and face. “What the hell!” I screech, sitting up and spluttering in an attempt to get the sand out of my mouth. It takes a second for my eyes to focus—for me to remember I fell asleep under my umbrella—and when they do, they land directly on the two-dimpled culprit.
“Seriously?” I grab the football that landed next to me and cock my arm back to throw it at him. His eyes widen comically, like he’s afraid the ball is going to hit him. But when I release it, and it lands short, several feet in front of him, his eyes twinkle, and his body shakes with silent laughter.