by Marie James
“You want to go?” I look over at Ivy.
She smiles, always willing to help with stuff like this. “Of course. Have you decided on a theme?”
“Not really,” I say and look over at Gigi. “You coming?”
She waves me off as Ivy, and I stand to go get changed. “Not interested.”
We begin to walk away when Gigi calls my name. “Just not weird stuff this year.”
“Ignore her,” Ivy says as we exit. “I loved the hippie theme last year.”
“She acts like it’s her party,” I mutter as we part ways at the branch in the sidewalk. “See you in a few.”
I straighten my spine and put a smile on my face. I won’t let the thought of Rachel going after Lawson, or Gigi implying I’m a baby, ruin my party planning.
Chapter 11
Lawson
“It’s less than twenty miles away, but traffic can be difficult to get through this time of day,” Jaxon explains as we stop at yet another red light.
I fucking hate small talk, so I look out the window without engaging.
“The kids are having a party a week from Saturday,” he continues, either ignoring my silence or refusing to tolerate it.
I grunt. That’s all he’s getting.
I don’t give a shit about some teenage party. It’ll be nothing like the ones I’ve attended before, so I’m not interested. Well, I try to be uninterested, but the prospect of getting my dick sucked interests me a little. I don’t pay attention to him until the unbidden thought of Delilah in that damn simple bikini hits me like a weight in my chest. Black and covering more than some one-piece bathing suits do, it made my cock hard the second her flip-flop clad feet hit the concrete inside the pool room.
“Their birthday is actually on the Monday after,” he says hitting the accelerator only to tap the brakes as the next light turns red. “Same as yours.”
That gets my attention, and I turn my head toward him. “You know my birthday?”
He chuckles like it’s a ridiculous notion that he wouldn’t. “Of course.”
“More online stalking?” I grumble.
“I had to get copies of everything from Texas, for both you and Drew. We can’t register him for school or get you signed up for a GED test without.”
“And you what? Studied and memorized it?”
“No, Lawson,” he says turning his head toward me and meeting my eyes. “I’ve been celebrating that day for the last fifteen years. I noticed it, that’s all.”
I turn and look out the windshield.
“I was a lot like you not too long ago,” he says as we make it through what appears to be the last red light before hitting the open road.
“Can we not take a trip down memory lane?” I don’t know why I say it. I want to know everything there is to know about him, but doing that while trapped in his SUV on the way to the probation department is the last place I want to find out about dear old Dad.
“I’m in a shit mood,” I explain after a long silence. “All I can think is that they’re going to cuff me and drag me away.”
I steal a glance in his direction. “Promise me you’ll take care of Drew if they ship me back to Texas.”
“That’s not going to happen, son.” The sincerity in his eyes eases the anger that normally rises when he calls me that.
“Promise me.”
“Promise,” he says with enough surety that I almost believe him.
***
“You’re going to shake yourself right out of your seat,” Jaxon says as we wait to be called back by the San Juan County Juvenile Probation Officer.
I try to stop the up and down hitch of my leg, but give up after a minute of sitting still.
The door to the back opens and an angry mother, along with her crying daughter exit. I pray that whoever made that chick cry isn’t the one to call me back.
We wait a few minutes longer before the door opens again.
“Jaxon Donovan?” A lady says after stepping through the door. “Margie Gleason.”
She holds her hand out to shake, and Jaxon reaches for it.
“My son, Lawson O’Neil.” I shake her hand, refusing to apologize for the sweat that’s coating it.
“Follow me,” she says turning and typing in a code to reopen the door.
My throat dries as we follow her down a short hallway to her office. The space isn’t very big, but it’s decorated with a menagerie of random shit she’s obviously collected over the years.
We take the seats offered in front of her desk, and my knee begins to bounce again.
“Navajo County wasn’t very shocked when I called and told them you were in New Mexico,” she says as she settles into her chair.
I don’t say anything. She didn’t ask a question, and less is always more in these types of situations.
“There’s an active directive to apprehend you, Mr. O’Neil.”
I want to look over my shoulder, to prepare myself for the cops coming in to put me in cuffs, but I don’t want to show weakness.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, but don’t explain why I haven’t reported to my PO in several months.
“It says here.” She drops her eyes to the thin file on her desk. “That your mother passed about a month ago.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I grit out. I know how to be respectful, and I always try my best when someone holds my freedom in their hands, but talking about my mother isn’t going to happen.
“I’ve spoken with Mr. Garrett in Texas, and he assures me that we only have a few things that need to be done to take care of all of this.”
She looks up at Jaxon, eyes narrowing suspiciously. It makes me question his power and the connections he spoke of last week.
“There are procedures we have to follow, Mr. Donovan.” She closes the folder and clasps her hands together on top of it. “I’m already suspicious of how quickly we were contacted by the New Mexico Interstate Compact officer.”
“He’s nineteen on Monday,” Jaxon says.
“I understand that’s the oldest a youth can be on probation in Texas, but New Mexico allows juvenile probation to extend until a youth’s twenty-first birthday in some instances.”
Twenty-one? There’s no damn way.
“It’s my understanding that Navajo County has no desire to file a violation and extend his probation. His adjudication is in that state. They have no plans to transfer a new disposition to New Mexico.”
She clears her throat. “Texas has no business speaking with you directly. Interstate Compact dictates that their department works with their state who then works with our state. We then receive information from Santa Fe and proceed accordingly.”
“As I’ve said,” Jaxon leans in closer, but not in a threatening way. “Time is limited. I, as well as Navajo County, see no need to drag this out any longer. Lawson is regretful for what he’s done, and we’re all trying to move past it.”
He has no damn clue how I feel about the situation. We haven’t talked about it, but now is not the time to argue.
“He broke into a house. The babysitter watching over the two kids was so terrified she ended up in counseling,” Ms. Gleason clarifies.
“The house was supposed to be empty,” I hiss.
She raises an eyebrow as if she’d been waiting this whole time to prove her idea of me right. “The report says she was terrified you were going to rape her.”
I bristle. It’s not the first time I’ve heard the babysitter’s side of the story. “I was going after the jewelry,” I hiss. “Little girls do nothing for me. I would’ve hit the house next door had I known anyone was in the house.”
“Regretful you say?” Ms. Gleason says with a twisted smile on her face.
Jaxon glares at me until I fall back in my seat.
“Are we able to get Mr. Garrett on the phone? I’m certain he’ll be able to clear all of this up.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not how the process works.”
Jaxon leans forward again, but
this time pulls his cell phone from his back pocket. Swiping to activate the screen he looks back up to her. “There is no process, Ms. Gleason. Navajo County isn’t going through Interstate Compact, as I’m sure you’ve been told. I’m certain that’s the reason you’re wound so tight. The phone call your department got from Texas was a courtesy.”
The phone begins to ring on speaker and Jaxon places it on her desk.
“Hey, Mr. Donovan.” My old PO’s voice can be heard clearly on the phone. “How’s that kiddo doing?”
Kiddo… It’s the one thing I hated about the guy.
“He’s great Alan. Listen, I’m at San Juan County with Ms. Gleason, and you’re on speaker phone.”
“Ms. Gleason,” Mr. Garrett says in acknowledgment. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s spoken with her before and isn’t impressed. I get the feeling she isn’t well received very often.
“Mr. Garrett,” she mutters.
“I told you, Jaxon has no responsibility to San Juan County.”
I smile at the PO sitting in front of me, but Jaxon smacks the side of my leg with the back of his hand. I clear my throat and sit up straighter in my seat, relief a tangible thing in my blood.
“What exactly is required for us to put this past us?” Jaxon asks, speaking to Mr. Garrett but keeping his eyes on the woman in front of us. She looks like she could spit nails.
“He has forty hours of community service to satisfy, five hundred and eighty dollars in fees to pay, and there’s also the requirement that he be actively enrolled in school.” I nod because all of that sounds about right.
“Would your county consider a GED rather than public school enrollment?” I watch as a smile spreads across Ms. Gleason’s face and her head begins to shake back and forth.
“He would have to complete the actual GED. Enrollment in GED classes won’t satisfy the judge.”
“He turns nineteen on Monday,” Jaxon shares as if Mr. Garrett hasn’t been counting down the days until I age out of the system.
“I’m aware,” he says. “We can give him a month. The paperwork for his violation has already been filed with the court.”
I freeze as Mr. Garrett continues to speak.
“If he’s able to knock out the community service, fees, and get that test passed, we’ll just dismiss the modified petition.”
Jaxon looks over at me, his eyes analyzing whether he believes I can get it all done. The community service and test are not a problem, but five hundred and eighty dollars is a lot of money. If I had that kind of money, I never would’ve broken into that house to begin with.
“Consider it done,” Jaxon says.
“Thanks for calling, Mr. Donovan. Keep in touch.”
Jaxon’s phone lights up showing that Mr. Garrett has ended the call. When he stands from the chair and holds out his hand to Ms. Gleason, I stand right along beside him.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Gleason. I think we’ll be dealing with Navajo County directly from now on.”
I turn my back on her, needing to get out of there as quick as possible. I’m shaking by the time we make it back to the SUV.
“That could’ve gone better,” Jaxon mutters as we climb inside.
“How am I going to come up with that money?” I mutter to myself.
“You work for it,” Jaxon says, and I realize I said it out loud. “You can knock out your community service with Delilah. She volunteers at the animal shelter three days a week.”
“Perfect.” I can’t even hide the bitterness in my voice.
Like it hasn’t been hard enough staying away from that girl? As much as this summer is going to suck, I can’t deny that resisting Delilah is the lesser of the two evils. Juvenile detention is no joke, and the last thing I want is to end up behind bars again in Texas.
Chapter 12
Delilah
“Wait up,” I hear from behind me.
I stop, turn around, and face Gigi who’s jogging toward her sister and me.
“No,” Ivy grumbles as her twin bounces up with a smile on her face.
“What’s up?” I ask even though I know why she’s standing here.
“I’m going with you,” she beams. “Samson insisted that I come and make sure you don’t end up with some stupid birthday theme.”
I bite the tip of my tongue until a faint coppery taste fills my mouth.
“We’re not going to pick anything stupid,” Ivy defends with her arms crossed over her chest.
“Of course not, especially with me tagging along.”
Gigi slides past us and climbs into the front seat of the SUV. Pop raises his eyebrow at me as he walks up with the keys swirling around his finger.
“Leave it alone,” I mutter to him and climb into the back with Ivy.
The trip to the store is filled with Gigi chattering about what supplies we’ll need as she plans my birthday party. My anger increases, my mood teetering on not even wanting to have a party anymore.
“You have to stand up to her,” Ivy mutters as we watch Gigi’s animated arms twirl around.
“Yeah?” I turn my gaze toward her. “You first.”
She frowns but doesn’t say another word.
“Exactly,” I mutter.
I keep my eyes straight ahead, calming breaths passing through my lips as we pull into the parking lot at the party store. Pop meets my eyes in the rearview mirror before he opens his door. Giving him a slight nod, I let him once again take the reins, and I hate myself for it.
“We’ll need everything that glitters, but nothing too girly.” Gigi takes a breath then continues. “But nothing pink or purple. If you want turquoise, show it to me first before you put it in the cart.”
“Gigi,” Pop begins, looking over at her. “Feel free to dictate how your party will be in a couple of months, but you’re not running this show.”
Gigi huffs, disappointment clear on her face. “But Samson—”
Pop holds his hand up. “If Samson cared about decorations he should’ve come with us.”
She turns around, the pink on her cheeks betraying her embarrassment. She isn’t reeled in very often, but when she is things get better for a while.
Gigi isn’t a mean person on purpose. She just has tunnel vision and is so self-involved that she doesn’t pay much attention to others’ feelings. Inconsiderate would be the perfect word to describe her.
“Thanks, Pop,” I whisper as I walk past my rescuer.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he says with a smacking kiss on my forehead.
It’s a warning of sorts. He tells me all the time to stand up for myself, to not let her take control over the things that are mine. He’s reiterated more than once, that doing it now will give me the courage and strength to do the same when I’m on my own in the world and faced with the same type of people.
I hate confrontation, but I know Gigi’s lack of consideration for others is coming to a head, and I won’t be able to avoid the altercation that’s been building for years for much longer.
“What are you thinking,” Ivy asks as she loops her arm through mine.
She ignores her sister as Gigi grabs a shopping cart. There’s less pep in her step, and her shoulders are hunched noticeably. Ivy, used to being treated poorly by her twin, gets almost jubilant when Gigi is chastened. I, on the other hand, hate seeing anyone upset, even if her own actions brought on the castigation in the first place.
“Dark,” I tell Ivy, pulling my eyes away from her sister. “Black lights and neon.”
A smile spreads across Ivy’s pretty face. “I think that’s a perfect idea.”
Pop trails along behind us as we make our way around the store. He points out several things that would go great with the theme we’re working on, and I’m grateful for his input. Unlike Dad, he loves to shop and get involved in things like this.
“Glow sticks?” he asks holding up a huge package of multicolored sticks.
“Of course,” Ivy says and takes it from his hands. Sh
e grabs a second package and adds it to the pile growing in the cart. “Did you see any necklaces or bracelets?”
“Down the other aisle,” he answers and leaves to go find them.
“What the hell is he staring at?” Gigi mutters, speaking for the first time since we arrived.
I look in the direction of her eyes and see Clay, a guy I shared homeroom with last year. He grins when we make eye contact, and I feel my lips turning up in a smile in return. Gigi sighs when he begins to make his way over to us.
“Such a creeper,” Gigi says under her breath.
“Be nice,” I tell her. I may allow her to be a certain way with me, but I won’t sit idle while she’s mean to others.
“Hey,” Clay says as he gets within a few feet of us. “How’s your summer been?”
“Good,” I answer. “Yours?”
“Hot, boring,” he responds as his eyes dart to the shopping cart. “Getting ready for your birthday party?”
“Of course. Did you get your invite?” Summer birthdays are tough, but Samson uses social media to let everyone know the details of it each year.
“I did.” The smile never leaves his lips.
The silence between us grows awkward as I fully take him in. He’s no longer the skinny boy from class. His shoulders have gotten wider. His once thin, wiry arms have filled out, stretching the fabric of his t-shirt. It’s almost as if he’s gone from boy to man in a matter of months.
Gigi must have noticed his transition as well because she takes a step closer, admiration of his body clear in her eyes.
“Hey, Clay,” she all but purrs.
“Hey,” he says with quick acknowledgment before his eyes find mine again. “Wanna trade?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, confused.
“I go to your party, you come to mine?”
I clear my throat, unsure of what to say. I’ve always found Clay handsome, but chasing boys or even having the nerve to speak to one I find attractive has never been my strong suit. Now that he looks different, more like the type of guy I’d never engage with in fear of rejection and less like the nerdy boy who would’ve been a perfect match to my equally awkward personality, I’m not sure how to act.