by Lisa Terry
Lane, the more muscular one, stares at me through his messy blond waves while Phaethon looks at me from the side. I only get a leeeetle peek at his eyes.
“Payton, you wanna work on the door before cutting the grass?” Grandpa pronounces his name wrong. The sound of his voice right over my shoulder makes me jump. Fists on hips, Grandpa stares them down. Dang, he moves fast for a sick man. Maybe the disease will move slower than he does.
“Phaeth-on,” Lane enunciates with a smile. “Faith, you know like religion? Then ‘un’ like under.” Lane turns to Phaethon. “Dude, I thought you always lived beside him.”
Phaethon shrugs and answers my grandfather, who looks like he’s smirking at some untold joke, “Yes, sir. We’ll look at the door.” His voice is kinda deep…smooth…sexy.
Grandpa heads back to the deck, and the boys start checking out the doorframe. And I think I hear one of them call dibs.
Silly boys, I’m not a toy.
I snort, and Phaethon turns to fully face me. My eyes lock with his gorgeous teal-blue ones.
Dibs. Definitely dibs.
Oh my God, wow. Oh my God, wow…times three. Wait, what? What did he say? Oh, got it.
“Last week—I moved back last week,” I say with a shake of my head. Now I remember those eyes. They were always able to mess with me. Wait a minute. There’s something different about them now—still pretty but different.
“Grandpa was lonely?” Lane intrudes into our conversation
“Um ….” I don’t know what or if Grandpa told anyone yet. I turn to see if he’s listening from his spot on the deck, but he isn’t even there. Instead, he’s standing in the back yard, talking to another old-ish man.
“Not exactly,” I say, turning back to the boys. People will know soon if they don’t already. “I’m taking care of him.”
Lane throws his head back and laughs.
My mouth drops open. What the hell? I slap it shut when I catch Phaethon’s freaking intense stare from the corner of my eye. “Something funny?”
“No. It’s just the thought of you taking care of someone.” Lane gestures to me with an upturned hand. “I mean, I’ve caught fish heavier than you.”
Phaethon steps away from the swollen door, shaking his head with narrowed eyes on Lane. “You need a muzzle,” he says and turns to me with an I’m sorry smile. “Mr. Flemming was my science teacher in seventh grade. One of the good ones. If you need any help—”
“He told me.” I interrupt before he gets too far. Most of the time Grandpa’s reasonable, but he has a little too much pride to be accepting help from outsiders. “When you were assigned to his class, he told me.” I stare at the floor and grin. “Said you were quieter in school than you were at home.”
“So, you remember me?”
I nod. We spent a week tinkering around on the beach during one of my summer visits. I was about eight years old. Just the one time, though. He spent most of his summer in Maine or Maryland. One of the M states. “You were away most summers. Your uncle’s?”
“Grandfather’s. But he lives with us now.” He points to where Gramps stands. “Mack.”
“Oh,” I whisper, my eyes lock on his. What the heck—whispering? I nearly jump out of my skin when Lane decides to chime in again.
“Okay,” Lane bellows, slapping his hands together with a loud pop. “Reunion’s over. Let’s go get the sander, and we’ll grind this door back a little. But tell your grandpa I don’t paint.”
Lane stretches his arms upward like he just woke up. The muscles harden in his shoulders and arms.
Show off.
“So what’s the old man having done?” Lane asks. “Hernia operation, hip replacement, nose job?”
“Try cancer,” I say.
Lane’s dark eyes widen and his body deflates.
Phaethon grabs Lane’s thick arm. “We’ll be right back.”
Lane grumbles as the get out of the door. “How was I supposed to know he—”
“We already knew something was wrong. But, Lane, that’s the one. The girl from the dance thing the other night.”
Their words are muffled but clear enough for me to hear what Lane says next.
“Aw, man. You’ve got to stop letting your sister drag you to those things. It’s embarrassing.”
Too. Funny.
Deciding to let Grandpa deal with the boys when they come back, I make my way upstairs to get that shower.
Once I have the water at the perfect temperature, I hop in and let it pour over my head…my mind pours over the past few days.
After the recital, I went back to Tallahassee to withdraw from school—Mom had already sent my clothes and things—and I would have celebrated my seventeenth birthday solo if Grandpa hadn’t made the two-hour drive to get me. Mom was busy with a big real estate sale.
I load my blue sponge with bubble-gum scented body wash and rub down my throat, my hand following the same path. It’s where the cancer is—his throat. They found it early, but he’s opting out of chemo. He says it’s his time.
Phaethon’s offer to help was sweet. He’s a neighbor—not exactly a stranger —so maybe Gramps would accept it. Maybe. I want to take care of Grandpa, but I have no idea how helpful I’ll actually be.
An image of him sitting in that blue chair flashes into my head then jumps forward to an empty chair. I grip the shower wall as my heart races ahead of me.
Stop it! No panicking allowed, Keira. You’ve made up your mind and you’re going to be helpful, not a baby. Deep breaths.
I lather my hair with shampoo that’s supposed to smell like an ocean breeze. It doesn’t. I should know. Florida has always been home. Now I’m back in Lynn Haven, home of the only Union Soldier monument south of the Mason Dixon Line. The town’s founders were Union veterans and erected the monument themselves.
Lynn Haven is divided by bay waters, and Grandpa thinks there’s no place better to live. “We have the best of both worlds,” he’s fond of saying. “The sea without the turmoil.”
Deep drumbeats resound in my head, their cadence slow and ominous.
Yeah. No turmoil. Right.
About the Author
Lisa Terry lives in the south, riding the state lines of Florida and Alabama. She has enough animals to call it a small farm, so she’s either insane or caring. Or insanely caring. She’s a print news reporter, an editor, and an aspiring Hogwarts student. On any given day, you can find Lisa playing video games, sitting on the beach, or organizing pet pageants. She gave up on fitting in a long time ago and now is fine with being called a walking contradiction. Lisa writes Young Adult and New Adult: contemporary, romance, thriller, mystery, horror and paranormal.
Connect With Me
Twitter
@lisaslanding
Blog
lisaslanding.blogspot.com
Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/lisaterryauthor
Youtube
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCu3RAu_9YczcbP6CjlURACQ
Amazon
www.amazon.com/author/lisaterry
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
White Star Chapter 1
About the Author
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