Guardian (The Guardian Trilogy)

by Sara Mack

  I think about that for a second. “Why?” I ask. “Why do you love me?”

  I can feel his breath catch. “Because you’re mine,” he replies softly.

  A warm feeling spreads through my chest. I love being his. “That’s all?” I tease.

  He lets out a nervous laugh. “No. It’s just hard to put into words.”

  “Try,” I say, curious. I’ve never asked for a detailed list of why he loves Emma Donohue before.

  He squeezes me tighter to him. “I feel…I don’t know…better when I’m with you. If we’re apart, I can barely wait to be with you again. When we’re together it feels right. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, it feels natural…like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. There’s nothing false about us or between us. Does that make any sense?”

  I nod into his chest. It makes complete sense. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Are you upset?” He sounds worried. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No; your words were perfect.” In fact, I’m trying not to cry. His feelings mirror my own.

  “Are you sure?” He lifts my chin, so he can look me in the eye.

  A tear escapes, and I quickly wipe it away. “Yes. I think you may have melted my heart.”

  He gives me a soft smile. “I’d like to tell you one more thing, if your heart can take it.”

  “What’s that?”

  He stares at me intently, as if his eyes can see right through me. “You are absolutely beautiful.”

  The intensity in his stare makes me forget how to breathe. His hand, still lifting my chin, pulls my face toward his, and his mouth literally crushes mine. I let out a squeak of surprise. This is not his typical kiss.

  My reaction makes him smile against my lips, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing me. Instead, his hand leaves my chin and finds its way to the nape of my neck, sliding up into my hair to hold me in place. As his mouth molds to mine, I set my hands flat against his chest; I can feel his heart pounding through his shirt. His lips move and trail along my jaw as his free hand glides around my waist and finds the exposed skin at the small of my back. He flexes his fingers, pressing them into me, and a wave of electricity slides up my spine. His other hand moves from my hair and gathers it, pulling it to the side. A moment later I feel his breath under my ear, and I flinch. He laughs as he kisses me, knowing that sensitive spot. He always teases me there, on purpose, to make me jump.

  Despite the fact that I’m sitting sideways in his lap, I want to be closer. I grip his shoulders and pull myself forward, freeing a leg to adjust my position. His lips disappear from my skin.

  “What are you doing?” he whispers.

  “Moving,” I smile and face him head on, wrapping one leg around his waist, and then the other. He curls his hands under my knees and pulls me forward so our bodies meet. I wind my fingers into his hair and pull his mouth to mine again. His grip tightens around my knees then skims up my legs to slide beneath my backside. He pulls his mouth away from mine and finds my ear.

  “We have to stop hanging out when your parents are home.”

  His kisses sear down my neck, and I lean into him. “That’s kind of impossible. We’d never see each other.”

  We hear the door knob rattle at the same time. It’s like we’ve been stung, and we spring apart. I scramble to pick up my history book and open it to bury my face in any page.

  “Um…hey guys,” my mother says cautiously from the doorway.

  I barely look up over the top of my book. My face feels like it’s on fire; I know its flaming red.

  “Hey Mrs. Donohue,” James says nonchalantly. I steal a sideways glance; he’s laying on the floor, propped up on his elbow, a notebook in front of him. He flashes her an innocent smile.

  “Just putting laundry away,” she says as she enters my room with the basket. She heads to the bed and sets down a stack of folded clothes. I keep my face buried in my book.

  As she leaves, she stops just outside the door and turns. “It’s stuffy in here, don’t you think? This door should probably stay open,” she says as she swings it wide.

  I glance up at her again. She gives me a knowing look with her eyebrows raised. My ears feel hot, and I quickly look back down.

  “Whatever you say Mrs. D,” James says. It sounds like he’s smiling.

  After she walks away, I slam the book shut and look at him. “You know there’s a parental talk in my future, right?”

  He bursts out laughing.

  “It’s not funny!”

  He grins. “Your face is fifty shades of red.” He sits up and starts to move over to sit next to me. I give him a dirty look.

  “What?” he asks innocently.

  “You can’t sit next to me if you won’t keep your hands to yourself.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “As I recall, you’re the one who wrapped yourself around me.”

  I roll my eyes. “You started it.”

  He smiles and settles next to my side. I open my book again and attempt to find where I left off. After a minute or two James says, “Well, there’s one good thing about my leaving for college so soon.”

  I look up at him. “What’s that?”

  He winks at me. “My dorm room.”

  “We need summer jobs,” Shel says as she leans over the paper, perusing the want ads. “You need a routine and the money wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Anything look good?” I ask while trying to show interest in my scrambled eggs. I’m exhausted. The memory from last night woke me, and I couldn’t go back to sleep for hours. I try to hide my smirk behind a fork full of eggs as I recall the dream and the “talk” that took place after James left that day. My mother insisted I get on birth control pills. I didn’t refuse.

  “Not really. We should look online after breakfast,” she suggests.

  “Mornin’ ladies,” my dad greets us as he enters the kitchen. “Got any plans for today?” He pours himself some coffee.

  Shel says, “Job hunting,” as I say, “Not really.”

  He smiles. “I see.” He takes a sip from the mug. “Whip her into shape, would ya Shel?”

  “I’m on it,” she says and gives him a conspiratorial look.

  He starts to leave the kitchen, then stops and turns back. “You know, when your mom and I were in town yesterday I saw a flyer at the grocery. Bay Woods is looking for summer help.”

  “What’s Bay Woods?” Shel asks.

  “Golf course,” I respond.

  “Hmmm. We’ll have to check that out,” Shel says. “Thanks Mr. Donohue.”

  He tips an invisible hat to us and leaves through the back door.

  “All right,” Shel finishes her orange juice. “We should head out by 10.”

  I look at the clock. It’s 9:30. “Geez. Why are you in such a rush?”

  “Speed of business. Finish up,” she gestures to my uneaten eggs. “I’m going upstairs to get ready.” She walks to the sink, rinses her dishes, and puts them in the dishwasher. She glances back at me. I haven’t budged.

  “Make a move!” she chastises me. As she heads upstairs she yells back, “Today is a new day!”

  Ugh. I have never been a morning person. When she came in and woke me up this morning around nine I about slugged her.

  I take a bite and swallow it down. The eggs have gone cold. Ew. I get up and scrape them into the garbage, rinse my plate, and stow it in the dishwasher. I take a moment and stare out the window over the sink. The sun is shining, and I notice two white butterflies dancing around the lilacs. My gaze moves to the birdfeeder, where a Blue Jay and a sparrow are vying for seeds. Our neighbor, Mr. Miller, is already out and working in his garden. I notice our flower beds need weeding; maybe I’ll offer to help my mom after we get back.

  “EMMA!” Shel yells down the stairs. “COME ON!”

  I close my eyes and beg karma for forgiveness as I silently curse Shel’s name. Would it kill her to chill for a second? I slowly turn and shuffle toward the stairs.

  Chapter 7 />
  After my dad’s suggestion of the golf course, Shel decided to skip the online job search for now and head there first. After we investigate that lead, her plan is to go back through town and see what jobs might be available there.

  “As long as we agree not to apply at McDonald’s,” I say when we’re in the car. “I would like to avoid fast food if at all possible.”

  “Agreed.” She adjusts the rearview mirror of my white Grand Am. “Why am I driving your car again?”

  “My dad says it needs to be driven. It’s been sitting in the driveway since I came home last month.” It feels odd to sit in my car. It almost smells musty from lack of use.

  “Ah,” Shel nods in understanding.

  I direct her to the golf course, which isn’t too far outside of town. We follow the long, tree lined drive until we spot the sign for the main office. “Didn’t this place used to be something else?” she asks as we park outside the pro shop.

  “No, I think they just changed the name. New owners or something.”

  We walk into the pro shop and I glance around. Polo shirts precisely hang on racks, golf shoes line the back wall, and hats are stacked neatly for sale with the Bay Woods logo. The front counter is glass and holds tees, gloves, and boxes of golf balls. The woman behind the counter greets us. “Good morning! How may I help you today?”

  “We heard you were hiring,” Shel smiles as we step to the counter.

  “We are. We’re looking for rangers, cart and concession staff. You need to be at least 21 to work the beverage carts and main concession.”

  “You’re in luck because we’re both 21,” Shel says.

  “Great!” She opens a drawer and pulls out two applications. “Fill these out and return them to me. You can have a seat at the tables in the main concession area, if you like,” she nods to the left.

  “Thanks,” Shel says and takes the two pens the woman offers.

  We head to a table and start to complete the apps. The area is relatively cozy and has a sports bar feel with two large flat screens in opposite corners of the room. The walls are decorated with autographed golf paraphernalia and some trendy signs that read, “Who’s Your Caddy?” and “How Am I Driving?” Three men sit at table across from us; they look like business associates. Shel pauses for a minute and looks around. “I bet we could run into some pretty cute guys working here,” she muses.

  I look at her annoyed. “Really?”

  “Sorry,” she says regretfully. “I meant for me, not for you.”

  We go back to the applications. “I need a third reference. Can I use your mom?” she asks me.

  “Yeah. You use mine and I’ll use yours.”

  We complete the apps and turn them in to the lady at the front counter. She tells us someone will be in touch within the week.

  “Where to next?” I ask as we get back in the car.

  “Let’s try the bookstore in town,” she says. “You still like to read, right?”

  “Sure.”

  It turns out to be slim pickings when we get into town; not many places are hiring. We manage to successfully apply at two more places – the “Book Nook” and a new consignment shop.

  “Well, I’d say this afternoon was a success,” Shel says as we leave the resale store. “Hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  She eyes me suspiciously.

  “Seriously! I’m not.”

  “Well I am,” she looks around. “Let’s hit the Subway.”

  We walk across the street to the restaurant, and I wait in line with Shel. The tiny place is busy and crowded. As my eyes jump around the lobby between the people, the menu, and the fresh sandwich ingredients, my skin prickles. This is the first time I’ve been out in public in a month. It feels off, like everyone is staring at me even though I know they’re not. Maybe it’s just the tight space; these people are only getting lunch like any other day. I feel strangely out of place and out of sync.

  “And what would you like?” the sandwich artist asks as she pulls on her plastic gloves.

  “Uh…” I stutter. I cave in and get myself a small turkey sub and a bottle of water. I’m truly not hungry, but I don’t want to look weird watching my best friend eat.

  “Hungrier than you thought?” Shel asks after adding a cookie to her order.

  “Guess so,” I shrug.

  Once we find a table, she polishes off her foot-long Cold Cut Combo in half the time it takes me to eat a portion of my small meal. I have to admit my head does feel clearer with something in my stomach, and I take my time to finish. I feel calmer than I did standing in line. I even manage to tease Shel about her metabolism. “A sub and a cookie and chips? Where do you put it all?”

  She looks down at her curves. “These hips don’t lie.”

  I scoff. “Okay, Shakira.”

  Shel really does look great. She always has had that perfect 36-24-36 thing going on. I, on the other hand, was hard pressed to fill a B cup until a few years ago. While I’m thin, I still can’t find my waist. Or my hips. It’s like one straight line. James used to tell me I looked athletic. I would laugh because I’m no athlete.

  Back in the car, headed home, I think about our time in town. I feel like I’ve overcome a small hurdle, like I accomplished something. My eyes land on Shel. “Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

  She smiles. “You’re welcome.” The car slows and she makes a right turn.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, confused. She should be turning left up ahead.

  “There’s something I think you need to do.”

  I look out the window puzzled. There’s not much down this road except…. Panic grips my heart. “Shel. No.”

  “Yes.”

  I shoot her a stern look. “Turn around right now!”

  “No.”

  “I’m not kidding. Stop the car!”

  She stares calmly out the windshield. “You forfeited your rights when you gave me the keys.”

  I want to grab the wheel, but I squeeze my eyes shut instead. This is one hurdle I cannot overcome. Not today. “I can’t do this,” I beg.

  “Yes, you can.” The car slows again, and Shel makes another right turn. The car creeps around a curve and comes to a stop. She turns off the engine.

  “C’mon. Let’s go,” she says in a soft voice.

  I shake my head no, eyes still closed.

  “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

  I set my mouth in a hard line and don’t move.

  “Okay,” she says. I hear her open the door and get out of the car.

  I sit with my eyes closed and concentrate on breathing. I don’t know if my hyperventilation is out of fear or anger, but it’s getting worse. How dare she? Who does she think she is anyway? Where does she get off thinking she knows what’s best for me? This is my life, my heart! How can this possibly help anything?

  I try to slow my breathing by forming a speech of verbal abuse that I will unleash on her when she gets back in the car. I need to make it clear – if she’s going to continue to stay with me, we need to set some boundaries. I’m all for trying to heal and move forward, but this, this seems way too soon.

  When I open my eyes, I find Shel leaning against the hood of the car with her back to the windshield. I take a few minutes and seriously contemplate wrestling my keys away from her. It’d be a tough fight, and on a normal day I could probably take her. But not today. I don’t have the energy.

  With a defeated sigh I slowly push open the door with shaky hands. I walk over and lean against the hood next to her and stare out over a place I never thought I’d be. Not now and certainly not in the near future.

  Whispering Oaks Cemetery.

  “Ready?” she asks quietly and holds out her hand.

  I try to be angry, but my voice catches in my throat. “You tricked me.”

  “He’d want you to visit,” she says softly.

  I give her a pained look and slowly grasp her fingers.

  We walk hand in hand along
the dirt drive that circles the cemetery in silence. It really is a beautiful place with tall maple and pine trees that are hundreds of years old. It is meticulously landscaped; early wildflowers bloom along the sides of the drive, and the grass smells freshly mowed. Birds sing and chirp as they fly from tree to tree. Older headstones and regal mausoleums stand in the front of the cemetery. As we walk closer to the back, sunlight reflects off the newer, shiny headstones.

  We make it to the far end of the cemetery where an open area of neatly mowed grass lies empty, patiently waiting for its future inhabitants. Shel veers slightly to the left and I follow behind her, never releasing her hand. I know we’re close when her walk slows. She was here, following the service, while I was having my break down in that little room in the funeral home.

  “We’re here,” she says quietly.

  I’m scared to look. Shel steps to my side, so she’s beside me instead of in front of me and reveals a perfectly domed mound of dirt adorned with floral arrangements that have long since dried and shriveled, their bright bows the only color left against the brown dirt.

  My throat constricts and my chest tightens.

  Shel squeezes my hand. I squeeze her hand back, and we just stand there, together, staring at the ground.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed when she asks, “Do you want some privacy?”

  I think I do. I nod and whisper, “Don’t go too far.”

  “I’ll be right over there,” she points to a bench that sits off to the side of the drive. She lets go of my hand and walks away.

  Left alone, I’m not sure what to do. I kneel down beside the gravesite and rest on my heels. I reach out and feel one of the bows, the navy blue one. When I turn it over, the word “Son” is imprinted on it in fancy gold lettering. Tears prick my eyes.

  The wind rustles the leaves on the trees and blows the ribbon out of my fingers. I stare at the withered flowers for a moment, then tilt my head and look at the top of the dirt mound where I imagine James’ head would be.

  “Hey.” My voice is barely there. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”

  I close my eyes and listen to the sounds around me. The wind, the birds, and the silence in between. There’s no sobbing or screaming like I feared, just a few stray tears wind down my face.