Back when we were sixteen, he’d been nothing but a bad boy with a scowl on his face.
Now, Mathias Wade was the lead singer of Willow Creek—one of the most popular bands in the world.
I couldn’t escape him.
Everywhere I looked, his face was on a magazine, or one of their songs played on the radio.
At twenty-three years old, I should’ve been over him.
I guess to an extent I was, but the pain and anger had never gone away.
Now I was back home, and according to the copy of People magazine clutched in my hand, so was Mathias.
The pages of the magazine began to crinkle where I gripped it tightly.
I wanted to throw it down and stomp all over it—on him, just like he had done to me.
I wanted him to feel even a smidge of the pain I’d felt when he broke my heart into a million pieces.
I was convinced that once you fell in love with a Wade you could never stop loving them.
He should’ve been nothing more than the boy I loved as a teenager, but he wasn’t.
He was everything.
And I was nothing to him.
“Ma’am?”
I startled at the sound of the cashier’s voice.
“Do you want the magazine, too?” she asked.
I’d basically mauled the poor magazine into oblivion, so it would’ve been rude to put it back on the shelf. “Yeah.” I handed it over. The way I figured it, I could burn it and chant some kind of spell that would turn him into a toad.
I swiped my credit card, and she handed over the bag full of cat food and the magazine.
I’d only gotten back into town last night and realized I didn’t have cat food.
Percy was not pleased.
I made up for it by giving him too many treats.
He still wasn’t happy with me, but at least I felt better.
I made the short drive home—still fuming over Mathias.
I couldn’t believe that he was back in town. Although, I guess he never really left—according to the tabloids anyway. All the Willow Creek boys kept places in their hometown of Winchester, Virginia, even if they did spend a lot of time in L.A.
I pulled into the driveway, staring over at the plastic bag on the passenger seat.
I’d never finished reading the article, and now I was desperate to know everything it said.
I warred with myself, but finally I ripped the magazine from the bag and flipped through the pages.
Basically, the gist was that the guys were home for the holidays before their Coming Home Tour kicked off in the new year.
I ran my finger over the picture of the four of them. I didn’t know the blond one, but I knew Maddox—Mathias’ twin brother—and their best friend, Ezra. While I’d mostly hung out with Mathias, the other guys had been nice to me.
Even with the anger simmering in my veins, I couldn’t hate Mathias’ success. I’d always wanted that for him. When we were young, he’d never seen his own self-worth, but I’d always known he was remarkable. I hoped he saw that now, too.
I still hated his fucking guts though.
I startled at a noise and realized I’d ripped apart the magazine.
Oh well. There goes another one.
Sadly, it wasn’t the first time I’d torn apart a magazine because of Mathias.
I gathered up the torn shreds and put them in the plastic bag. I climbed out of the car, drawing my coat closer around me. After living in Arizona the last seven years, I’d forgotten how cold it got here.
I stepped into the older home—inhaling the scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
“Grandma!” I called as I locked the door. “You’re supposed to be in bed!”
“I wanted some cookies,” she called back, “so I’m making some God damn cookies, and no one can stop me.”
It was safe to say I got my fiery personality from my grandma.
I stepped into the kitchen and set the grocery bag down on the granite countertop—my parents had paid for the whole house to be remodeled a few years ago.
I kissed my grandma’s cheek. “Here, let me help.” I took the bowl from her so I could mix it. “Go sit down and I’ll finish this.”
She glared and yanked the bowl from my hands with surprising strength for someone as small and frail.
“Grandma!” I admonished. “You’re supposed to be resting. You had a heart attack.”
“And yet I’m still here. It’s going to take a whole lot more than a faulty heart to knock me down,” she huffed.
“Like what?” I asked, hiding a smile.
She thought for a minute, turning her head to the side. Her white hair was fluffed around her head and her duster hung limply on her frail frame. “Hmm, that chick that’s always sticking her tongue out on a wrecking ball. That’s what will knock me down.”
I busted out in laughter—not only at the visual that had formed in my head, but also at the fact that my nearly eighty-year-old grandma knew who Miley Cyrus was.
“Grandma, how do you even know that?” I asked, leaning a hip against the counter. Percy—my black cat—rubbed against my legs.
“I watch MTV. It’s the most entertainment I get during the day.” She frowned. Looking up at me she said, “I saw that young man you used to hang around with on there, one day. He was a bad influence on you.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think we were an equally bad influence on each other.”
She stared at me in disbelief and finally shrugged her thin shoulders. “You go finish unpacking your room while I do this.”
“Grandma,” I groaned, “if I do that then I’m already failing at taking care of you.”
“And like I told your overprotective father, I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter.” She grabbed a spoon from the drawer and waved it around. “Besides, something is going to kill me eventually. I can’t live forever.”
“Aw, Grandma, and here I thought you were invincible.”
“The wrecking ball will get me one day,” she winked. She began to spoon out the cookie dough onto a pan. “It’s nice that you and your parents are worried, but I’ve been getting by fine on my own for years, and I’ll continue to do so.” She glanced up at me. “You’re young, Remy. You need to live your life, not take care of me. Go get a job, meet a guy, and have some fun.”
I frowned.
“And give me some great-grandbabies before I die.” I flinched at the mention of babies. “That’s an order.” She flicked the spoon at me and a glob of cookie dough landed on my shirt. I grabbed it and popped it into my mouth.
“You know my dad will kill me if I don’t keep an eye on you,” I warned her.
“Your dad is all the way in Arizona, what he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”
I wasn’t really into the idea of dating, or babies, but a job would be nice. I’d already been groaning about how boring it would be lazing around here day in and day out.
Back home I’d been working as a receptionist. I hated it. I wasn’t a desk job kind of girl. I wanted to be moving.
I had a degree in marketing, but I’d never done anything with it—much to the irritation of my parents. I’d only gone to college and studied that because I knew it was what they wanted, and I’d been trying to please them. They’d never really understood me. They both had high-paying jobs—my dad, a doctor, and my mom, a lawyer—and then my big brother was an attorney. They never made me feel like I wasn’t loved, but I knew they never really got me.
I was wild and spontaneous.
I was loud and obnoxious.
I was the girl that wasn’t afraid to be crazy.
I’m sure my dad would bust a vein in his forehead if he knew some of the craziest things I’d done.
Like that one time I road tripped to California by myself and went diving with sharks.
Or the time I was riding in the back of a friend’s truck and ripped my top off, letting my boobs fly free for the whole world to see.
Yeah…it
was a good thing my dad didn’t know these things. He’d be the one headed to the grave, and not Grandma.
“All right, I’ll go finish unpacking and see if I can find any jobs online.”
“I’ll just be here, baking cookies, and not dying,” she cackled.
I shook my head and clucked my tongue for Percy to follow me.
Grandma had long ago moved into the bedroom downstairs so she didn’t have to use the stairs.
Fortunately for me, this left the whole upstairs as my domain.
When I arrived yesterday afternoon, she’d been quick to tell me I could do whatever I wanted with the whole space.
I was definitely considering painting my room a dark purple. Right now the walls were a pale green and everything was light and pretty in the room. My mother had clearly decorated it. While there was nothing wrong with her taste, it just wasn’t me. I preferred darker colors.
Percy jumped up on the pale yellow quilt, his black fur already covering the thing. Percy shed on everything. I might find it more of an annoyance if I didn’t usually dress in black.
I hadn’t brought a lot with me from Arizona, just clothes, some towels, and necessities. Unfortunately, I didn’t own much else, since I’d been living with my parents.
I was kind of a failure like that.
I frowned.
I hated feeling like a disappointment, but I did. When I was sixteen years old, I lost all the trust my parents had in me, and I never really got it back. It didn’t really bother me, in the sense that I still always did my own thing, but sometimes I wanted them to look at me the way they did Robert—my brother. I wanted them to be proud of me, but the fact of the matter was I never really did anything worthwhile.
All I did was fuck up.
Time and time again.
It was my specialty.
I sighed, yanking clothes out of my suitcase and dumping them on the floor. I wasn’t a very organized person—but since Grandma didn’t come up here, I didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing my mess.
I leaned my head against the bed and heard a soft meow when Percy jumped down and climbed into my lap.
I scratched him under his chin and looked down at him. He opened one amber colored eye to peek up at me.
“Well, Perce, what kind of trouble do you think I can get into here?”
He closed his eyes and laid his head back down on my lap.
I answered for him.
Lots.
Always Too Late (Willow Creek Book 5) Page 3