by Kate Dunbar
“No, Sabra, thank you.” He beams at me.
And that’s it. My heart bursts into a million joyful pieces shining out of every part of me. His words constantly own me. I can’t tell him, just in case. But I know if someone could see all the pieces inside me, they would rival the blanket of stars shining above us.
Trevor walks around his truck and opens the passenger door for me while I grab my purse off the floorboard of the back seat. “Need help?” He holds out his hand.
“I’ve got it.” But I grab onto his hand anyway and jump to the ground. “You don’t have to walk me up, you know.”
“We’ve been over this before.” He laughs. “Yes, I do.” He tugs me closer to him so he can let go of my hand and slide his arm around me as we walk. “And it gives me an excuse to do this.”
I look at him and survey the twinkle in his eyes as he stares at me with the largest smile I’ve seen on his face in a while. “You’re goofy. You know that, right?” I tease him and poke him in his side. Which only reminds me of his tight abs and how much I like touching him.
Down, girl. Do not go there tonight. Hold yourself together.
“Sabra.” Trevor growls at me in a warning tone.
My eyes snap to his and take in his set jaw. A vein stands out in his neck.
“Yes, Trevor?” I ask with wide eyes. “Something wrong?” We climb the stairs to my apartment with him close behind and our hands intertwined between us.
“Don’t play innocent with me, Sabra Valentine.” His voice rumbles behind me as we step onto the landing and he spins us, pinning me against the railing. “If you keep looking at me that way, I’m never going to leave you tonight.”
“But what about your promises?” I bite my lower lip to keep a threatening smile from bursting out.
“What have I done?” He groans and buries his face in my neck, tunneling his hands in my hair. Turning us, he walks me backward to my door until my back presses into it. He slides his hands down my sides, around to my ass, and pushes himself into me in all the right places.
My arms circle his neck, and my fingers tangle in his hair. “The right thing, Trev. You always do the right thing.”
He puts a little bit of space between us, his chest moving faster than normal. My breaths match his when I let my arms fall to my sides.
“Not always, Say.” He cups my face with both of his hands. “And if you don’t open the damn door right now, walk inside, and lock it, all promises are off. I will have my way with you tonight.” He tilts my head and leans down to place the softest, gentlest kiss I’ve ever known against my lips. “And that’s a promise.” He lets go and turns me around to the door before taking a step away from me.
I make fast work of unlocking the door and step inside but pause to turn and look at him before I close it and end this night for good. I’m not ready to end it.
“Trevor.” I step outside toward him again.
“No, Sabra,” he says, determination and agony etched on his face, warring with each other. “I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.” He grins at me. “At least for tonight.” He turns and walks down the stairs.
I stand there leaning against the doorjamb and watch him move to his car. “Good night,” I say to his back.
“Good night, Sabra,” he hollers over his shoulder. “Rest well.”
I lock the door, change clothes, then wash my face and brush my teeth. The smile doesn’t leave my face. It doesn’t disappear when I crawl into bed or when I snuggle under my covers. I drift off to sleep with stars behind my eyelids, whispers of promises echoing in my ears, and the future dancing in my head.
TWELVE and FIFTEEN
I look myself over, twisting and turning in the full-length mirror on my closet door. This new black bikini looks good. Brady isn’t going to know what hit him. At least I’m hoping he’ll notice me today. Brady’s in the eighth grade and a year older than I am. I’ve been trying to get his attention at school, but he’s so focused on his friends and baseball that nothing seems to work. Today, I am determined to make his head turn in my direction. It’s my special day, after all.
With one last spin in the mirror, I slide my cover-up over my head, slip on my flip-flops, and head downstairs to make sure everything is ready for my friends. My mom and dad are letting me have an end of school pool party to celebrate the last week of seventh grade. It’s also an early birthday party since my birthday is at the end of summer and everyone is always gone on vacation.
I notice my mom has everything in place when I walk through the French doors and onto the covered patio. Tons of food and a cooler full of drinks are off to one side sitting in the shade. A table on the other side of the patio has a giant submarine sandwich and a beautiful, pink two-tiered cake I can’t wait to cut into today. The bakery promised it would taste like a wedding cake, my favorite flavor.
It’s NOT because I want to marry Brady. I don’t ever want to get married. Getting married means you have to do things I don’t want to do with anyone. Ever.
But I would like to have my first kiss with a boy. One I like and—No. I’m not thinking about any of that today. This is a special day. My special day. And Lucas is not here to ruin it because he’s doing volunteer work at the local food bank. It’s his punishment for skipping school last week, which is fine by me.
I like it when he’s gone.
When the doorbell rings, I jump and run inside. My mom is on her way to answer it, but I bump into her in the living room.
“Mom,” I hiss at her. “This is my party.”
She laughs under her breath at me. “Fine, Sabra. Go be the hostess. I’ll just …” She looks around the room and at me with one eyebrow raised. “Make myself scarce?” Her face falls a little when I nod my head at her as I make a beeline for the door. But I don’t have time to think about that because my friends are here.
Let the party begin.
More and more friends show up and make their way to the backyard, giving hugs and passing gifts to me as they walk in. We spend the afternoon eating, laughing, and being together.
The whole day passes in a whirl. I’m talking to everyone. Everyone except Brady. He’s always with his friends horsing around in the pool. I glance at the clock and realize there’s only one more hour left before parents will get here to pick everyone up.
Except Lizzie. She’s spending the night with me. I love it when Lizzie spends the night. It makes me feel safe.
“Hey, Sabra.” I look up and into the deep brown eyes of Brady Thompson and melt at the sight of him standing beside me. “Can I join you?”
I smile at him and move over in the hot tub to give him room. “Sure. Come on in.”
“Thanks.” Brady glides into the water and sits next to me with his thigh touching mine.
We’re all talking and laughing, but I can’t concentrate. All I can think about is our legs touching. I really want him to hold my hand. I saw in a movie once where this girl wanted a boy to hold her hand, so she placed her hand palm up on her thigh in hopes he’d grab it. I wonder if I should try that too.
I feel Brady’s pinky link mine as soon as I move my hand to try, and shivers race up my arms. I don’t want him to see how excited I am, so I peek at him under my long eyelashes to see him smiling into the water. I knew he likes me.
“Hey, Brady.” The one voice I didn’t want to hear today calls across the patio. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.” Lucas walks toward the hot tub with an easy smile on his face, but his eyes tell a different story. They’re narrowed. Zeroed in on where Brady’s and my hands are locked together.
“Oh, hey Lucas,” Brady drops my hand like a hot potato. He shoots straight up to move to my brother. I feel the loss when he jumps out of the hot tub and meets Lucas on the patio. “Yeah, Sabra invited me.” He shrugs and glances in my direction while I give him a weak smile.
“Cool.” Lucas draws out the word, looking in my direction. “You know what? I’ve been meaning to tell you about the woo
den bat my dad had custom-made for me this past fall. Want to see it?” He claps his hand on Brady’s back as Brady wraps a towel around his waist. They turn toward the house.
“Yeah. Where’s it at?” He gives me an apologetic smile and follows Lucas through the French doors into the house.
I’ve lost Brady to baseball again. And Lucas. He’s always causing me to lose something, and I’m so mad I could spit. I’ve had enough of him always getting in the way and ruining things for me.
I hop out of the water and grab my beach towel, wrapping it around my body while walking into the house. Low voices skate across the living room from the kitchen so I creep in that direction, but I stop as soon as I can make out the words.
“What are you doing, Brady? Are you interested in my sister?” Lucas’s voice sounds menacing and scary. I peek around the corner instead of charging into the middle of them. I know that voice almost better than my own.
“No, man.” Brady’s voice shakes. He’s holding his hands up in the air between him and Lucas, waving them back and forth. Lucas has him pushed against the door of the pantry with one hand wrapped around his neck. “She’s a cool girl, but she’s not my type. Sabra is just a friend.”
My heart sinks. He was holding my hand. Anger and sadness come rushing through my veins. How dare them!
I take a step to break up their discussion and let them know exactly what I think about this whole mess, but I stop again when I see Lucas squeezing Brady’s throat. “Good. Because she’s not going to be with anyone. She’s MY sister.” Brady’s eyes go wide, and his face turns two shades darker. “You hear me? Tell all your friends at school, Brady. Sabra is off limits.”
Lucas releases Brady’s throat and throws a punch into his gut, making him double over while working to catch his breath.
I stand there watching in horror. I don’t know what to do. The vein in Lucas’s neck bulges, and his face is red. Heavy breaths puff out of him.
Brady takes off toward the front door through the dining room, but Lucas lifts his head, looks over his shoulder to the spot right where I’m standing, and smiles an evil grin I’ve never seen on his face before.
“She’s mine.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Last night, I slept the best I’ve slept in weeks. No bad dreams, none of the tossing and turning, and zero voices playing in my head over and over. I’d say it was the most amazing thing that has happened to me, but Trevor’s arms around me with my back pressed against the door takes the top spot. It’s going to be hard to beat that moment unless he shows up and has his way with me. And I wouldn’t be opposed to that.
Today is for class and work, though. I don’t have time for hanky-panky. It’s why I’m up and moving long before my nine thirty class. I grab my favorite lipstick, F-Bomb, out of the tray on the counter and glance at the clock reflection in the mirror. The glaring red numbers read 8:30 at me. I glide the deep red across my lips, fluff my dark waves, switch off the lights, and walk to my closet to grab my favorite pair of black ballet flats.
Running early doesn’t mean getting to class early. It means the universe thinks I should stop and grab a hot tea at the Coffee Haus. If I hurry, I can get my drink and be on time to class. My professor won’t know what to do with me.
Dr. Evans is old. Not my parents’ age old, but ancient old. I took this psychology class because it’s a requirement for my master’s degree, but also, so I could understand other people’s personalities. It’s good for my backup plan of being a psychologist. It’s also good for my acting skills to help me know what to do no matter the character or situation thrown my way. Psychology 301 has been more than that, though. It’s the most uncomfortable and fascinating class I’ve ever taken.
The class begins with Dr. Evans hobbling into the room with a can of Coke in his hand. He greets us, hangs his fedora on the coat rack to the left of the whiteboard, and slowly turns and looks every single one of us in the eyes before he lifts the tab on his can. He sets the can on the corner of the desk after taking his first sip and turns it clockwise three times.
You’d think there was a little something-something slipped in it by the expression on his face when he takes the first drink. The look of pure pleasure could be a commercial in and of itself. Then he looks at us and smiles. “Let’s get down to the business of souls today, shall we?” He’s quirky and has a twinkle in his eye all the time, except when he’s staring us down in the beginning.
I should love this class, and I do love Dr. Evans. He’s fascinating and brilliant. But I’d love him more if he’d teach straight out of the book instead of doing what I like to call “method teaching.”
During the second week of class, we were studying tics people might have and why. Dr. Evans told us what the most common tics were and that the percentage of people with tics in North America could be as low as three percent and as high as twenty. He looked around the class with a wry grin on his creased face. The twinkle was shining bright at us that day.
We each had to reach into his hat and pull out a piece of paper with a tic written on it. For the next few days, we were to live with that tic. Two days of trying to put ourselves in the shoes of others and taking notes of what we experienced in ourselves but also out in society. It was to be at the forefront of our minds. We had to keep a journal and write down our thoughts three times a day. The entire class has been this way with each lesson more hands-on and experimental than any other class I’ve ever taken besides my theater courses.
With only a few weeks left before holiday break, Dr. Evans made an announcement last time we were together. We’ll be studying the minds of the clinically insane for the rest of the semester. It sounds fascinating, but it scares the shit out of me. I’ve had enough insanity in my life, and with Dr. Evans, you never know what he’s going to ask you to do.
I grab my keys off the table, throw my book bag over my shoulder, and dash outside to head to class. It’s my favorite kind of day where the sun shines bright and little white puffs of clouds are scattered across the sky like cotton. I notice the doormat has shifted, sitting crooked instead of straight, as I rummage through my bag to grab my sunglasses, so I use the toe of my left foot to slide it back to its proper spot while I slide my glasses on top of my head with my left hand and the key in the lock with my right. I’m a regular circus act, but I’m a sideshow running ahead of schedule and to her hot tea goodness.
Maybe I should be late so Dr. Evans doesn’t have a heart attack.
Once I’ve locked the door tight, I turn to run down the stairs to my car and my happy place. I can hear the Coffee Haus calling my name from across town. My Mustang glints in the morning sun from its parking spot. There are no notes or roses on the windshield this morning, only a hint of the remnants of early morning frost left along the edges glimmer up at me. Everything is as it should be.
Trevor is teaching this morning, so there’s a chance I could bump into him, but I don’t want to depend on fate to work its magic. A grin tugs at my lips as I turn and reach into my back pocket for my cell phone to text Trevor a short, good morning message. I want to see if he has time to meet me for a quick drink before his first class.
A flash of red on the wall opposite my front door catches my eye. I turn my head and stare at the crimson glaring at me. My hand stalls at my side.
No. No freaking way.
My keys fall out of my hand with a clatter, and my bag slides off my shoulder, landing on the ground next to me with a thud. A message that could only be meant for me stands out against the stark white of the stucco written in the same hue as blood. Drops slide down the wall from each letter.
I SEE EVERYTHING.
Holy shit. He’s been here. While I was sleeping, or showering, or swiping F-Bomb against my lips thinking about Trevor, Lucas was here making sure I didn’t forget. Leaving a reminder for me.
He’s always watching. He’s always here. What in the hell do I do with this?
I step closer to the words, stopping when I real
ize it’s still wet and dripping. My chest tightens, and I turn in a circle, scared Lucas will pop out of one of the doorways down the alcove. My eyes rove through the parking lot and back down the hall to the other stairway at the end.
I back up against my door again slowly, make my way to the end of the hallway, and wake up the phone in my hand, letting my thumb hover over the emergency button. My muscles are tight and ready to turn and run in the opposite direction. One tear tracks down my cheek as I try to calm the shallow breaths making my chest tighter. The edges of my vision get fuzzy.
I can’t comprehend what I’m looking at as I slide past the words glistening at me. When I finally reach the opposite stairs, I peer down to find them free and empty. I yank my phone up in front of my face, punch in the number to the management office, and whip my head around in fear, looking for anyone standing nearby—or behind me—as the phone rings in my ear and I make my way back to my apartment. I need help.
“Timber Ridge Apartments, this is Alice. How can I help you today?”
“Alice? It’s Sabra from apartment 4212,” I gasp out, snatching my bag and keys off the ground. My voice cracks, and I try to clear it before I continue. “I need to report a case of vandalism.” I take the steps two at a time and jog toward my car, clicking the button on the key fob so I can slide in quickly. My head turns every direction, staring into shadows and between parked cars on my way. Is he still here? I need to get out of here.
“Hi, Sabra. A case of vandalism? At the apartment complex?” Her voice fills with doubt. “Where? I’ll have Ralph go look.”
My phone switches to Bluetooth when I place the key in the ignition and turn the car on. “It’s right outside my door on the wall. Someone painted on it with red paint.”
There’s silence on the other end of the phone before Alice murmurs, “Well, that’s weird. We rarely have anything happen around here. There hasn’t been a reason to call the authorities for anything in over …” The sound of papers shuffling in the background comes over the speakers in my car. “Yes, it’s been over a year since even a complaint of loud music.”