It’s not like I haven’t noticed her before. I have. Many times… but all that was just everyday clothes that gave her an innocent and sweet appeal. Hell, she is innocent and sweet, a man can tell. What she was just wearing though, how she was just looking… I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see straight, was nearly struck speechless.
My head’s still fucked. Then she just had to hint at her going out with someone else this evening and I went from not being able to focus on anything, straight to viewing the world through crimson-tinted binoculars.
I know it’s irrational, and I know if there were anything between us it could cause catastrophic backlash. I’m well aware that she’s my LITTLE sister’s friend, meaning they are the same age even if it doesn’t always seem like it.
I’m almost ashamed to admit I was having to turn away from her so she wouldn’t catch me readjusting myself, but hell, I’m only a man and the girl standing before me didn’t look like a girl at all. That fact alone turned me into a petulant child not getting his way, and now I feel like a total piece. She didn’t deserve to be at the receiving end of my sexual frustration, even if it was caused by her.
I park the jeep in front of the house, the hot and humid air clinging to me like a second skin as I step out. Making long, quick strides to the front door, I open it just a sliver, then deposit Lyra’s satchel (or whatever the hell they’ve been calling it) on the table right inside the door.
“Your wallet-bag-thing is down here on table next to the door Sis, be back later,” I inform her, raising my voice just enough to reach her upstairs. Without waiting for a response, I jump back into my vehicle and take off towards town. I know what I’m going to do, and I know it’s grounds for being a stalker, but I can’t refrain. I need to know who she’s going out with.
In a small town like the one we live in, it’s likely that I know the guy and have knowledge of what type of character he is. Especially if I’m able to figure out who he comes from. If this guy is someone who comes from one of the families around here considered to be “bad people,” then it’s my duty to warn her of what she may be getting herself into.
I know the Knightley name is tarnished, and that many people consider us “bad people” due to the accident and loss of lives my dad was involved in. There is, however, a difference between people who’ve received the full effects of other’s scorn and indignation, and then people who are actual scum of the earth.
People whose whole family is involved in shady activities like drugs, specifically cooking meth, those would fit the definition of scum. Believe it or not, that shit isn’t just for the big cities. It’s just as much a problem in rural areas as in the urban areas.
When I left home for the period of time I did, after Mom got too sick for me to bear, I learned a few things about the world. The fact that I was a coward and that it caused my family a lot of pain when I walked out on them is beside the point. My eyes were at least opened to the makings of small town families and their dynamics, the patterns in which they follow.
People need to experience as much of what life has to offer as possible. If they’re brought up thinking something is right and normal, without ever having any outside influences that cause them to open their minds and think outside the box, then they will always be set in their ways.
I just don’t want Sloane to learn the hard way when her knight-in-shining-armor turns out to be a rotten son-of-a-bitch. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself that’s what this is all about. Lucky for me (if they stuck to this town anyway), there are only a handful of places they could have went. Going on how she was dressed, I’d exclude the diner and the bar from being possibilities due to the very laid-back atmosphere not being a match. I drive past the diner, and slow down so I can look between Gia’s and the seafood restaurant, The Best Catch, which are right across the road from each other. It takes only a matter of seconds before I spot the silver Rav4 parked out front of Gia’s.
What kind of man asks a girl out to dinner and makes her drive them, or just meets her there at the restaurant? It’s infuriating to think someone would let her get dolled up like that and not come pick her up at her front door, like a gentleman. The odds are already stacking against him that he won’t be receiving my approval.
I pull out my phone, dialing the number to Gia’s that’s posted out front.
“Hello, Gia’s Italian Eatery, how may I help you?” comes an overly friendly voice from the other end of the line.
“I need to place a to-go order, please ma’am,” I respond.
“Okay, may I suggest one of our specials today? We’re having Prime Rib, or Gia’s special recipe Lasagna.”
“No thanks. I hate to rush you or put pressure on you, but what do you think is quickest to prepare?” I inquire.
“Either soup, which is already pre-made or a salad I’d say. Although, if you get the Grilled Chicken Italian Salad, you’ll have to wait for the chicken to grill,” she explains.
“Just get me a soup, surprise me with it, I don’t care which one. And maybe some bread on the side if you have some readily available, if not then don’t worry about it.”
“Okay sir, I just need a name and it’ll be ready in about five minutes.”
Without thinking I start to say Knightley but stop myself just in time. I don’t want someone to spit in my food or something. You can’t ever tell, especially with so many people disliking my family, anything is a possibility.
“Ted,” I say, thinking of the first name that comes to mind.
“Okay Mr. Ted, we’ll have you ready in about five minutes,” she replies as she hangs up the phone.
Being too eager to even hold out five more minutes, I get out of the jeep, deciding to just wait at the front of the restaurant. This way I’ll have more than just the few moments it takes to pay, to locate her. It’d be too obvious if I got my food then just stood there scanning the restaurant. She could spot me before I found her, then what would my excuse be? It certainly wouldn’t look good.
As I walk up to the entrance, I stop to hold the door for an elderly lady I recognize as someone my late maternal grandmother had gone to church with, accompanied by another lady. They don’t even say thank you or acknowledge my presence in any way, but as soon as they think they’re out of earshot, they begin whispering.
“Mr. Knightley ought to be in jail, I don’t care if they couldn’t prove he was drinking at the scene of the accident,” the old church-going lady snidely remarks.
“What would make it more fair, is for him to feel what it’s like to suffer the same kind of loss,” the other lady whispers back. He’s already lost my mom, but I guess they forget that fact.
“Hypocritical old cows,” I mutter under my breath before asking loud enough for them to hear, “How ‘bout y’all practice the rules of the religion you follow instead of just showing up on Sunday for the sake of looks?”
They both look back at me wide-eyed, shuffling to find a booth at the far end of the restaurant. This is the same shit I’m dealt every time I go out in public. Usually I choose to ignore it, but I’m at my wit’s end. What type of person insinuates that they think something should happen to someone’s kids? I don’t give two shits about me, but my baby sister? Yeah, nobody goes there.
Walking up to the cash register, I let them know I’m here for Ted’s to-go order, then sit down in the waiting area. I take this opportunity to look around the restaurant for Sloane. My gaze lands on the most enticing shade of red after a few moments. Right now, it’s darker than usual due to the dimmed atmosphere. It’s when she’s outside that it looks mostly red.
Although still visible to the rest of the restaurant, she’s sitting in an area that’s usually reserved for parties seeking privacy.
Damn it.
I glance to her companion, sitting diagonal from her, so I can size him up. Only, it’s not a “he.” Instead, her mother occupies the seat.
Thank Fuck.
My mood instantly rises by leaps and
bounds, and I smile, realizing just how in trouble I am when it comes to her.
I observe her mother rising from the table and heading in the direction of the restrooms, pulling her phone up to her ear as she goes. Seizing the opportunity, I slide across from her, noting the recognition, surprise, then confusion passing over her lovely face.
“Gray, what are you doing here? Is something wrong? Is Lyra okay?” she rapid-fires the questions, sounding a little panicked. I calmly smile at her, choosing to disregard the questions altogether.
“I thought this whole time that you had a date,” I reply.
“Well, I kind of do. Today’s Friday the 30th, so that’s the date, and as for a companion I’m here with my mother,” she responds, heat blooming on her cheeks. She may not have lied outright, but she sure as hell didn’t correct me when I misjudged.
Did she not realize it would make me jealous?
Of course not. She’d have to know how infatuated I am, and she can’t know that. I can’t have anyone even suspecting it.
“You could have cleared that up when I made that incorrect assumption,” I point out.
She looks down at her hands in her lap, twisting her cloth napkin and avoiding my gaze. I watch her face, focusing on her luscious cherry lips as she licks the bottom one and then pulls it between her teeth.
“Do I make you nervous Sloane?” I ask, straight to the point. I’m no fool. I know I’m being borderline inappropriate, but I enjoy toying with her and watching her squirm. I definitely disrupt her sense of calm, but what I don’t understand is why.
Is she scared of me?
Has something in her past caused her to be weary of people in general? There’s a plethora of possible reasons, but I pray she doesn’t fear me.
“No, not at all.” Her reply comes barely audibly before she clears her throat, making eye contact for a brief second before reaching up to take a sip of her water.
Well, that was a lie.
“Are you sure?” I ask, getting up from my seat and moving around the table to take the one nest to her. She visibly gulps, her clear gray eyes wide as she stares up into my own. Even sitting she’s still about a head shorter than me. My hand hovers over hers for a mere second before I clasp them together, placing them on my leg in attempt to put her more at ease. Silently willing her not to break eye contact, my thumb tickles the skin between her knuckles.
Could I unbury all her secrets, just by gazing into her eyes long enough?
Right now, I’m thinking that anything is a possibility so I just sit here. Silently staring, hoping that I can penetrate her armor, demolish her fortress.
When she tries to glance away, I lift the hand that isn’t clasped to hers. Placing it under her chin, I tip it up slightly until I’m certain I own her undivided attention. She draws an uneven breath, clearly shocked by my closeness, by my contact.
“I might be rough around the edges, Sloane, but I would never harm a girl. You don’t ever have to feel unsafe in my home, or in my presence,” I clarify. Realizing her mother should be back any second, I reluctantly release her hand and get up.
“Have a good evening, Sloane,” I tell her as I retreat to the waiting area. She nods her head but doesn’t say another word.
Settling up with the cashier up front, I retrieve my soup.
“What kind is it?” I ask, suddenly hungry and hoping that my suggestion of carte blanche on the soup choice hasn’t backfired.
“Creamy tomato basil,” she replies cheerily, as if it’s the perfect choice for a working-man.
Fuuuuck me.
Chapter Thirteen
“Valley, wake up!” Mom sings cheerily as she waltzes into my bedroom. Rolling away from her, I throw my arm over my eyes, anticipating the harsh white light that typically follows when she wanders into my room this early.
“Yes, mama,” I grit out, aggravated she woke me up from a good dream. I can’t remember a lick of it but I awoke content and peaceful. A lot of times I have nightmares that assault my mind with pure terror, making it difficult to drag myself back into reality. This wasn’t one of those, and the only thing I do remember were the warm, rich, golden colors I was swimming in.
“Well listen to you sounding all southern, calling me Mama and such. I think I like it. Hop up and out of bed! It’s your 18th birthday and I have to be on the road in 30 minutes. You’re spending these last 30 minutes with me, Missy. And, I made you a birthday breakfast,” she remarks, attempting to motivate me.
“Okaaay.” I sit up slowly, attempting to adapt from being dislodged from my cozy haven, pushing my hair out of my face and rubbing my eyes. The first thing I notice when I open them, is that it’s still dark outside, practically black. Ugh. What time is it? Glancing over at the alarm clock on the nightstand, I’m horrified to find 4:45 a.m. displayed.
You have got to be kidding me.
“Mom, I think you’re off on your time,” I yell out, confused. “It’s not even five yet! Are you seriously leaving here by 5:30 in the morning?”
“Yes I am. I don’t like travelling when there’s a lot of traffic. You know this… now get in here before your french toast gets cold and all the powdered sugar melts. Annnnd, you know you have more gifts to open.”
Like a creature from a George Romero movie, I shuffle out into the hallway, slowly making my way towards the kitchen. The scents of cinnamon and maple become more prevalent the closer I get. I take a seat at the bar in front of the array of food she has sat out like a buffet. Eggs, bacon, sausage, and fresh berries are all on display alongside the French Toast. You’d never guess this was just for two people.
“Thanks mom, it looks amazing,” I compliment.
After I’ve gotten my fill, and helped clean up the dishes, she ushers me into the living room to open my remaining gifts. I get more clothes, my favorite perfume, a framed picture of Lyra and I that she snapped of us a few weeks ago, and a leather-bound journal.
“Do you like everything?” she asks.
“I love it all. You always give the best gifts,” I whisper as I hug her. I’m trying to enjoy the new stuff I’ve been given, but all I can focus on is the anxiety creeping in. She’s the only thing I’ve got in this world, and it’s almost time for her to go. Wrapping my arms around her, I feel childlike and insecure like any kid would if their parents were going on a trip and leaving them behind.
“Valley, I know you’re worrying. Stop it. Everything is going to be fine. And, you’re technically an adult today you know,” she points out.
“Promise you’re not going to run off and leave me? Like instead of pushing me out of the nest, you’re not just going to leave the nest yourself?” I ask, teasing. She gives me that scolding look mothers give their children when they’re being ridiculous. It’s a one I know very well because I’m at the receiving end of it at least once a day.
Her wrist rises to face level as she squints to check her watch and I realize, this is one of her quirks. Still using a watch during this day and age makes her unique. It’s an antique gold one containing a diamond embedded in the face. An heirloom of sorts, one that’s probably more trouble than it’s worth, messing up every few years and getting fixed each time it does, because it was once my Grandmother’s.
I study my mother in all her sophistication. Her pale golden tresses are pulled back into a perfect donut shaped bun and she’s dressed in all neutrals. Camel colored heels and matching peacoat, and a cream-colored lace dress that falls at her knees. She drops her wrist.
“Well baby girl, it’s time for me to go. Make sure you call the Knightley’s and have them come get you around 9 or so. Don’t want to wake them up too early. They might not be early risers like us. Do I look okay?” she quizzes me, doing a slow turn.
“You know you do, Mom. You’re like dressed for a formal business meeting or a high-end dinner,” I answer, slightly annoyed. Apparently satisfied, she leans down and kisses me on the forehead only to pull back and begin laughing.
“What?” I ask.
“You have my big red lip prints on your head,” she giggles. Not that funny, Mom.
“I’ll get it off in a little bit.”
“You better do it now, or it’ll stain. My lips don’t look so rosy all the time naturally,” she winks as she cups my face and smiles endearingly for a moment, before grabbing her duffel bag and heading toward the front door.
“You know the drill. Answer my calls, and if you miss them, you better call back within 10 minutes or I’ll be on my way back immediately after calling the police to check on you. Check in with me periodically, and mind yourself. No doing anything silly like drinking or partying nonsense.” Shit, did she hear through the grapevine? “Normally I wouldn’t feel the need to say that, but you have a friend now. Also, the pistol is above the refrigerator in my floral canister. It’s loaded, and there’s extra ammo there, although, you shouldn’t need it,” she lists off.
I nod my head in affirmation.
“Love you dear,” she reminds me one last time as she goes out the door.
Oh, welcome sweet silence. I’m going back to bed.
The door pops open, followed by my mother’s face.
“Um, Valley… any idea who would be leaving you a present? There’s a huge package out here…” she stops mid-sentence throwing a startled look behind her as she catapults herself back through the door. “And it just made a noise,” she squeaks.
I walk over to the door, curious but still apprehensive. It wouldn’t be too farfetched to picture my father having found us, and wrapping up something on my birthday for me to find, opening it only to be severely injured. Or killed. Yes, he’s that twisted and demented. I peer past her.
Sure enough, there’s a big package on the porch with a bouquet of flowers on top. I stand there dumbfounded, racking my brain for who could have left me a gift here. Not very many people know it’s my birthday and of the few people who do know, only Mom or Lyra would be the ones who might give me a gift. But, I seriously doubt Lyra would give me flowers. Or get up before it’s even the butt crack of dawn.
Love on the Run Page 15