by Sarina Bowen
“One more…what?” She looks at me with wide eyes, like a doe’s.
I clear my throat and consider how to phrase this. “I want the chance to prove you wrong. One chance. One night.”
“One night,” she says slowly. “For…” She doesn’t even finish the sentence. Sixteen-year-old Skye never said the word sex, and couldn’t refer to it without blushing. It appears that twenty-eight-year-old Skye is the same.
“Fireworks,” I whisper, trying not to scare her. “With me.”
“Oh.” Her mouth forms a perfect O, and I just want to kiss it. “But we should be focused on other things. Like finding Rayanne.”
“That’s a good point,” I concede. “I promise we’ll get to the bottom of that situation. And then I’ll get my chance. Say yes.”
“Maybe,” she says. “Can I think about it?”
“She has to think about it.” I tip my head back on the sofa and smile at the ceiling beams. “Sure, sweetheart. Now let’s go have coffee.”
Twelve
November, Twelve Years Ago
After the Shipleys’ outdoor supper, all the high school kids move on toward the bonfire in the woods.
Skye walks slowly beside Benito, wishing they could just go home. The other girls probably won’t talk to her. Skye doesn’t mind much at school, but at a party it’s just awkward.
Benito stays by her side, at least until his friends pester him to come throw a football around with them.
“Dude, come on,” the Shipley cousins urge. But he hesitates.
Skye knows what she has to do. She gives him a smile to say she doesn’t mind. “I’ll hang here,” she says.
That’s when Jill Sullivan pipes up. “She can come with us.”
“Of course,” Zara adds with an evil smile. She hooks her arm in Skye’s and sets off toward the other side of the fire.
Skye isn’t fooled. Jill and Zara wouldn’t suddenly decide to be her besties. But she allows herself to be led away. She’d rather be insulted for an hour than cramp Benito’s style.
“Where’d you live before Vermont?” Jill asks her.
“Where didn’t I,” Skye grumbles. “Last stop was Georgia. Before that, Kansas City.”
“Army brat?” Jill asks.
“No. Just brat.”
Jill laughs, but Zara makes a face. “Well I’ve spent my whole life right here,” she complains. “Nothing ever happens.” Her eyes flicker toward Griff Shipley as she says it.
“Moving every few months is a drag, though,” Skye assures her.
“Then why do you do it?” Jill demands.
“My mom breaks up with whichever loser she’s dating, and we have to leave.”
“Classy,” Jill says.
Skye only shrugs, because she’s right.
“Let’s drink already,” Zara says. She digs into her purse for the bottle of rum her brother gave her. Jill has brought red plastic cups and a gallon of freshly pressed cider she brought from the Shipleys’ cooler.
Skye doesn’t ever drink. The New Girl can’t, really. Too dangerous. But Benito is close by, and he won’t let anything bad happen to her. So she takes the cup that Zara offers her.
The cider is sweet, and the rum is strong. It blurs Zara’s evil smirk, and it mutes the cold seeping through her thin clothing.
She finishes the cup, and lets Jill pour her another.
Meanwhile, Benito tosses the ball around, and then drinks a beer with Griffin and his cousin, Kyle.
“You tapping that new girl?” Kyle asks.
“No,” he says quickly. “She’s only sixteen.” That’s not the real issue, of course. But he isn’t willing to say more.
“You want to, though,” Griffin says with a grin. “Who wouldn’t?”
Benito is guilty as charged. Now he scans the faces around bonfire, looking for Skye’s shining hair. But she isn’t there. “You kids have fun,” he says, tossing the ball to Griff.
“Thanks for bringing the beer!” his friends call after him.
“No problem!” He circles the bonfire, looking for his favorite girl. But there’s no sign of her. Panic makes his pulse thrum as he wanders through the trees, stumbling past couples making out on the pine needles.
If anyone is taking advantage of Skye, he’s going to lose his mind.
And then finally he spots her, slumped against a tree trunk, Jill and Zara standing over her, laughing.
“Hey there,” Jill Sullivan says, standing straighter. “What’s up, Benny? Want a sip?” She offers him a silver flask containing God knows what. The Sullivans have money, so it’s probably her daddy’s liquor.
He sees an empty rum bottle cast aside on the ground.
His eyes dart to Zara, who’s smirking, and Skye, who’s looking up at him with a lopsided smile on her face. There’s a fuzzy look in her eye.
“What did you do?” he barks at Zara. “What did you give her?”
Zara’s expression hardens. “It’s just alcohol. Nobody’s dying. She has the tolerance of a toddler, turns out. Not very sexy if you ask me.”
Skye drops her chin in an attempt to disguise her injured expression.
“Why are you such a bitch?” he snarls at his sister.
“Why are you so boring all the time now?” she spits back.
Benito will have to deal with her later. “Come here,” he says to Skye, offering her his hand.
She grasps it with icy fingers, pulling herself up slowly. “I’m cold,” she whispers, shivering.
He can’t even look at Zara as he tucks Skye against his hip and guides her slowly toward the car, one arm wrapped around her. She doesn’t even have a real coat.
“I don’t feel so good,” she says as they approach his brother’s taxi.
“I’ll bet.”
“Just…” She shoves him away suddenly, then lurches toward the tree line. Doubling over, she heaves into the grass.
“Hey,” he says as she gags. He gathers her silken hair in one hand and holds it out of the way. “You’re okay…”
“I know that,” she barks, straightening up. “God. Just give me a minute here.” When she turns to face him there’s anger on her face.
He takes a quick step backward, although the fire in her eyes shouldn’t surprise him. It must take real grit to survive in that hellish household where she lives.
Benito gives her space. She’s sick, and it’s his fault. Zara is angry at him for God knows what. This year she’s been sucked into Mean Girl hell by that flake she’s staying with.
He should have known they’d fuck with Skye. He should have prevented it.
Skye brings out a fierce protective streak in Benito. He always knew it was there. He’d take a bullet for his mom, his sister or any of his brothers. But, man. Skye makes him crazy. At least once a day he has to take a few calm, deep breaths to avoid going postal on her idiot mother or that scum of a cop Skye lives with.
He watches Skye pull herself together. Her back to him, she spits. She wipes her mouth on a scrap of something she’s found in her pocket. Then she straightens her spine and stands tall.
She’s a quiet girl, but she never looks beaten. That’s why the other girls are intimidated by her. It’s not just her pretty face. It’s all that silent dignity. “Okay, sorry,” she says. “We can go now.”
Her walk is still a little unsteady, but he doesn’t comment. He just tucks her into the car and then gets in on the driver’s side and starts the engine. But he doesn’t drive away just yet. “Need a minute?”
“Probably a good idea,” she sighs.
It’s so dark that the sky above them is filled with stars. Benito reaches across the seat and takes her cold hands. And when Skye’s fingers close around his, it’s enough. There’s so much more he wants, but somehow this is still wonderful.
She doesn’t seem sick anymore, but she starts to nod off. So he starts toward home. When they pull into Pine View Park, it’s quarter past eleven. Skye’s mom’s car isn’t there, and Benito knows it w
ill be another hour before she shows up after her diner shift.
Unfortunately, the temperature outside is plunging fast. He sits there in the car with the sleeping Skye for a few minutes, but the chill sets in immediately. “Come on,” he whispers. “I can make a fire.”
Skye startles awake. She squints at the darkened trailers and groans. “I just want to go to bed.”
“I’ll bet. But your mom isn’t home yet.”
Skye gets out of the car. She walks toward her trailer.
Benito follows her in a hurry. “What are you doing?”
Her eyes flare, and she raises a finger to her lips. “The TV is off,” she mouths. “It’s dark. He’s asleep already.”
She might be right, but he can’t just let her go in there alone—not like this. He follows her up the makeshift steps. She turns around, eyebrows raised. “I have to be sure,” he says at the barest whisper.
Skye hesitates. But then she unlocks the door with her key and steps inside.
It is quiet. And Gage is audibly snoring from one of the bedrooms.
“See?” Skye mouths.
He does. But drunk girls aren’t very quiet. And Skye is obviously inebriated. Benito has ugly visions of Gage finding her in this state and…
He can’t even finish the thought without feeling nauseated.
Skye tiptoes into her bedroom with Benito on her heels. “Get ready for bed,” he says right into her ear. “I’ll wait here until you’re tucked in.”
She gives him an angry frown, but he doesn’t care. He sits on the bed, reaching over to unlock her window in case he needs to make a quick escape. He could always listen from outside, he supposes.
Skye spends some time in the bathroom. As he suspected, she isn’t very quiet.
But Gage’s snores don’t cease. He might have hit the bottle pretty hard himself tonight.
Eventually his favorite girl returns wearing a giant North Carolina T-shirt and sleep shorts. She locks her flimsy door, and Benito stands up so she can get into her twin-sized bed.
“How are you going to get out of here?” she whispers as she climbs into bed.
“The window. Duh.”
She smiles up at him. “You’re insane.”
“That’s probably true.” He puts a hand on the side of her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. He doesn’t usually allow himself to touch her like this, but Skye lying down in bed is doing crazy things to his body. And she’s leaning into his touch. “I’ll leave after you fall asleep. How’s your stomach?”
She makes a face. “I’ll live. I’m never drinking again.”
“We all say that at one point.” They’re whispering so quietly that Benito has to bend down close to communicate. He wants to climb into that bed and hold her, but he won’t do it. He looks around the darkened room to distract himself. “You’re a big fan of Kanye?”
“That’s Rayanne’s. You must know her.”
“Sure. Nice girl.”
Skye grins sleepily. “Nice isn’t the word I’d use. Fun. Crazy. Lively.”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “True. But how do you know her?”
“We lived with Gage before—when I was five and she was seven. She made him bearable.”
“I’ll bet.” It’s hard to imagine Gage being anyone’s dad. No wonder Rayanne got the hell out of here right after graduation.
“I think he put up with my mom so that he’d have someone to take care of his kid,” Skye whispers. “Not sure why he puts up with Mom now. Except…” Skye clears her throat, and her eyes dart toward the wall—the one separating her little room from the other bedroom. She makes a face and changes the subject. “What are you doing after graduation?”
“Joining the army,” Benito whispers. “They’ll help me pay for college later.”
“Oh,” Skye says slowly. “That’s…soon.”
“Yeah,” he admits. Graduation is six or seven months away. They stare into each other’s eyes for a long beat. Benito can’t imagine just walking away and leaving Skye here.
Saying goodbye? Unthinkable.
He shoves that thought aside for now. He hears the sound of a car on the gravel drive outside. Skye’s eyes widen. It’s probably her mother.
“It’s okay,” he mouths.
And it is. They listen in silence while her mother enters the house. A sink runs in the bathroom, and the toilet flushes.
Skye holds his hand. The trailer settles into silence again.
Benito waits a little longer, so her mom will be asleep when he sneaks out. He strokes Skye’s hair, and her eyes flutter closed. Her breathing levels out.
Benito waits ten more minutes. Then he leans down and places a single kiss on Skye’s hairline.
But that’s all. Just the one. And then he jumps out the window and goes home.
Thirteen
Skylar
I need coffee very badly. My brain sure isn’t working. If it was, I wouldn’t have rubbed my naked body all over Benito’s and then panicked when he decided it was time for sex.
Ugh. I can’t believe that happened. He’s been so nice about it. And now he says he wants us to try again sometime? The man is obviously a glutton for punishment.
“Do you have a jacket?” Benito asks, shrugging his on.
“No,” I say with a sigh. “Rayanne drove off with it.”
“You can wear mine. Or you can borrow a zip up sweatshirt to wear over that sweater. I’d offer you a pair of sweats in place of that little skirt, but I don’t think Skye 2.0 would be seen in public in those.”
“Skye 2.0?”
He grins, and I feel fluttery again. “You look fancy, honey. I liked the other Skye just fine. But this one doesn’t wear sweats even to a coffee shop on a Saturday, does she?”
“No,” I admit. Not that there’s anything wrong with sweats. But I always dress well, and I don’t usually ponder my motive. After all—style doesn’t need a reason, right?
But suddenly I have the nagging suspicion that I’ve spent the last twelve years trying not to look like a trailer-park kid. That’s a long time to be running away from my past, isn’t it?
This keeps happening—I’ve been back in Vermont for less than twelve hours, and I’ve already had a dozen brain-exploding moments. I don’t know how many more I can take without doing lasting damage.
“Here—how about this?” Benito hands me a flannel shirt that’s lined with fleece. “To keep you warm. What else can I give you? Hat? Gloves?”
“I wouldn’t say no to gloves.”
He finds me a pair. I watch Benito holster his gun, and then we walk downstairs together. As we step out the door, I notice that the air is crisp and scented with pine and wood smoke.
I feel a little tug of sentiment that I never expected to feel. Vermont smells nice. It’s about the only nice thing I can say about this place.
Oh, and Vermont gives good scenery. Forget the Green Mountains—I mean the hot guy in the leather jacket who puts a hand on the small of my back as we cross the gravel parking lot.
It’s a short trip. Benito wasn’t kidding when he said the coffee shop was right outside. The shop is called the Busy Bean, and when Benito opens the door for me, I fall immediately in love. The interior is adorable, with comfortable, mismatched furniture and a long counter stacked with luscious baked goods.
There is also a seriously cute guy wearing a baker’s apron behind the counter. And he’s talking with…
Uh-oh.
Oh, shishkebab.
The moment I identify her, Zara Rossi turns her head and spots me, too. And just as my inner sixteen-year-old starts to flinch, something unexpected happens. Zara’s mouth falls open. She takes in me and her brother. Benito pauses, putting an arm around my shoulder.
And then? Zara’s eyes get wet. Or maybe I’m hallucinating, because she quickly looks away.
It’s the weirdest thing I ever saw in my life.
“BIMBO!” someone shouts, startling me. When I look down, there is a small person wit
h very red hair hugging Benito’s knees.
He leans down and scoops her off the floor. “Hi, Nicky. Say hello to my friend, Skye.”
The small person considers me with a brown-eyed squint that is so much like Zara’s that it’s eerie. “Huhwoh,” she says coolly.
I laugh. “Wow. I thought cloning was illegal.”
“Right?” Benito kisses her on the head, and I can practically feel my ovaries dance a jig.
“What did she call you?” I ask. “Did she say, bimbo?”
“I’m pretty sure it was Benbo,” he corrects.
“BIMBO!” the toddler yells. Then she grins evilly.
I love her already.
Benito gives me a nudge with his free hand. “Let’s order some coffee. My sister doesn’t bite.”
I’m not so sure that’s true. But Zara has wiped her eyes after that strange attack and is plastering what is supposed to pass for a smile on her face. So I step forward.
“Skylar,” she says with a sniff. “I’m so happy to see you.”
Okay, that’s even more unexpected than almost having sex with her brother. “You too,” I say stiffly.
Her smile gets more realistic. “I’ll bet. Now what can I get you?”
“This is your place?” I look around at the dark wood and the pretty old windows. “It’s really nice.”
“Thank you! My business partner and I worked hard at it. I’d introduce you to Audrey Shipley, but she’s on maternity leave.”
“Shipley,” I repeat slowly. “I don’t remember an Audrey.”
Zara’s smile turns wry. “Nope. She’s a flatlander. Showed up here three years ago to fall madly in love with Griffin.”
“Oh.” It used to be Zara who was madly in love with Griffin. I guess if you leave a place for twelve years, a few things are bound to change.
“Audrey’s the best,” Zara says easily. “It’s her kickass recipe for pumpkin muffins that we’re serving today.” She jerks her thumb toward a display of fat muffins with cream-cheese frosting. “The pretzel bagel with smoked salmon is also great. And we’ve got chocolate chip banana bread if you’re into that. But personally I don’t think chocolate chips belong in banana bread.”