Mr. Taylor looks up from his computer. “Been a long day?” He raises a dark brow at my slouched posture.
“A long day, month, year, take your pick.”
He clicks around on the computer. “Time seems to stretch and slow when you’re dealing with trauma and change.”
I exhale. “It fucking sucks.”
He looks across the desk at me.
“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t cuss in front of a teacher.”
He chuckles. “I’m not your teacher, and remember, everything we say in here is confidential. Besides, a cuss word is hardly something for me to get irritated over. That would be hypocritical.”
“Have you ever dealt with trauma or change?”
He slides away from his desk, using the heels of his feet to drag the chair with him until he’s in front of me.
“Yes, not to your extent, but there are different levels of everything.”
“What kind of trauma?”
“When I was in my junior year of college I tore my ACL during a basketball game. Had to have surgery and physical therapy.” He rolls up his pants leg, his calf firm and muscular, to reveal the long scar running down his knee. After I get a look at it he lowers the fabric back over his leg. “It ended my dreams of being a professional athlete. At the time it was devastating and I was pissed off at everything and everyone. But I realized that wasn’t my path in life. I was meant to do other things.”
“Like this?” I gesture around the room.
A high school guidance counselor seems pathetic next to dreams of the NBA.
“Yeah.” He studies me, probably seeing the doubt in my eyes. “I know this seems like such a little dream compared to what I’d hoped to do before, but I’m happy.”
I nod at his words, unable to wrap my head around it.
“What do you want to do when you graduate?”
I don’t know why his question catches me off guard. It’s something anyone should be asking someone my age, it’s an answer I should have readily on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t have one because…
“I don’t know.”
“What about college?”
“I’m applying.” I pick a piece of lint off my black jeans and hold it between my fingers. “But I’m not sure I’ll actually go.”
Sage expects me to go—not that he’d ever force me, but it’s what he did, it’s what we always spoke of as a family. But things are different now, and the future I thought I’d have a year ago was ripped away, now the rest of it feels rocky too.
He leans back in his chair, like he’s thinking carefully about what he’s going to say.
“If you could do anything, be anything, what would you choose?”
I look away from him, out the window, to the light and freedom beyond.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, voice shaking.
My stomach churns and I hate how unhinged I feel. There’s nothing tethering me to a future anymore. I’m lost, floating and adrift at sea with no one to pull me back to reality.
“Did you have plans before?” I can tell he’s hesitant to ask, but it also has to be voiced.
Reluctantly I bring my gaze back to him.
“I was definitely going to college. I wanted to be a lawyer.”
“Why don’t you want that anymore?”
I swallow thickly past the giant lump lodged in my throat. “Because I can’t fight for a system that’s broken. One that fails innocent people every fucking day. I refuse to be a part of that.”
His blue eyes deepen and I swear he looks at me with something like respect.
“Now, I don’t know what I want to be.”
I can’t even add when I grow up onto the end of that because I am grown up now. These decisions are upon me and I’m going to have to make some difficult choices soon.
“What’s something that makes you happy?”
“Talking to you,” I admit and his shoulders straighten.
“Really?” He seems so surprised.
“You don’t pressure me to talk and you listen but don’t judge. You don’t try to force opinions on me like other people. When I was in the hospital most of the therapists they had me see wanted to tell me what they thought I should do. I know that’s not what they’re supposed to do, but it was happening. Maybe it was because I was a kid to them, but it always bothered me.”
“What’s something else that makes you happy?”
“My friends.” I can’t believe I’m admitting that, or even classifying them as my friends, but that’s what they are. “Sage, my brother.”
“So, people make you happy?”
“Yeah, seems that way. I miss running, though.” I whisper the last part like a confession. “I hate myself for missing it as much as I do. I’ll never run again and I wish I could forget about it.”
He frowns slightly and I wonder if he’s thinking about basketball, what it meant to him. He found something else he’s passionate about so maybe the same can happen for me.
Like always, I can’t talk about the deep stuff for long.
“How’s Zeppelin?” I ask. I haven’t run into his giant bear of a dog again, but I have bumped into him a few times going in or out of the building. It’s such a huge place that it surprises me that I see him there as often as I do, but I guess it’s not so crazy considering we have the same schedule.
His eyes narrow on me. He knows what I’m doing, moving the topic to something safer, but he always lets me. I’ve already told him far more than I’ve told anyone in the last almost year. I still haven’t figured out why, but since talking to him makes me feel better I haven’t pondered too much on it.
He rubs a hand over his thickly stubbled jaw. I bet he’s the kind of guy who shaves and still has five o’ clock shadow.
“Zeppelin is good. I feel bad for him though. A condo isn’t exactly the best place for a dog his size. Hopefully one day I’ll have more room for him.”
“I want to live on land, own lots of acres,” I admit, a wistful smile gracing my lips as I allow my mind to drift and envision a future that has the things I want. I suppose it’s ironic how I know I want certain things but I still haven’t figured out what I want to be. “Wide open space seems nice. It’s crowded here.”
“Yeah, it is,” he agrees.
“Where’d you grow up?”
He pushes his dark hair from his eyes, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Arkansas.”
“And you ended up here?”
“Mhmm,” he hums. “Moved here for college and fell in love with this place. The views are spectacular, and the mountains,” he muses, tapping his index finger to his lips. “But one day I’ll move outside the city.”
“Sage moved here for college. He stayed too. Obviously.” My eyes look around the room, at all the books. “You read a lot?”
He looks behind him at the shelves filled with rows of books of varying length and size. Most of them are work related I’m sure, but I notice some novels interspersed throughout.
He lets out a husky laugh and stands up, walking over to the shelves. “Yeah, a lot can be learned or enjoyed in the pages of a book.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “Come here.”
I listen to his command, standing at his side. Warmth radiates from his body and I try to ignore the zap of energy I feel in the air.
Can he feel it too?
Tilting my head back, he angles his down to look at me. His eyes trace my face before he looks me in the eye.
Yeah, he feels it too.
He clears his throat, pulling his eyes from me and back to the shelf.
I shouldn’t be feeling this connection, this draw to be near him.
He’s the school counselor.
He’s practically a teacher.
He’s almost eleven years older than me.
I repeat those sentences in my head in rapid-fire succession, but they don’t calm my racing heart or lessen the heat growing in the room.
Mr. Taylor reaches for a book on the t
op shelf. He’s so tall, probably six-three, which means he doesn’t have to stretch far.
“Read this.”
He places the book in my hands, careful not to touch my skin with any part of his.
I look down at the white cover with the blue eye.
“1984 by George Orwell,” I read, running my finger along the cover. I can tell its been read many times. The pages yellowed and the corners of the cover curling upwards. “Why this one?”
I know of the book, but never read it. I’m not a big reader as it is, and I can’t imagine ever enjoying something like this.
“Because it’s my favorite. I’m loaning it to you for you to read.”
I try to hand it back to him. “No, I couldn’t. I can go buy it.”
He does touch me then.
His hands close around my flailing ones, holding them against the surface of the book. Those blue eyes of his, so similar to the one on the cover, render me frozen.
“I know you’ll take care of it, Dani.”
“Are you sure?” I blink up at him.
“If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have offered it in the first place.”
“Well,” I clear my throat, suddenly overcome with some kind of emotion I can’t place, “thank you.”
He releases my hands and I instantly miss the feel of his rough palms pressed against them, strong and sure.
I open the front cover and find his name scrawled in the corner in scratchy handwriting that’s kind of sloppy but still legible.
Lachlan Matthew Taylor.
“Lachlan is a unique name.” I close the cover of the book. I’ve seen his first name on his badge, but never asked him about it before. “Family name?”
He nods, straightening a model car on his shelf. I notice he’s made this office space much more his own compared to the generic, no window, office I first stepped into.
“Named after my great-grandfather who immigrated from Scotland.”
“It’s a cool name.”
He chuckles. “I guess that’s a compliment coming from a girl named Dandelion Meadows.”
He grins at me, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
Do not think about how handsome he is. Don’t do it.
“Dandelion is not cool,” I scoff, scanning more of the books on his shelves.
The heat in the room grows. “I think it is.”
I close my eyes, trying not to think about the fact that I want him to touch me. To ghost his fingers along my shoulder. Cup my neck.
Stop!
Having a crush on him is one thing, he’s one of the best looking guys—men—I’ve ever seen and I’m only human. But picturing him touching me? Kissing me? That’s taking it too far.
“We’ll agree to disagree on that one.” I move away from the bookshelf and back behind his desk.
Space, I have to put space between us.
His eyes narrow on my shuffle as my left side decides now is the perfect time to give me a fit. The bell rings and I grab my backpack.
Holding the book up in one hand I say, “T-Thank you for the book. I’ll bring it back after I read it.”
“You’re welcome. Dani—”
But he can’t finish his thought as I scurry from the room, closing the door behind me. My leg is stiff and unyielding as I limp down the hall, holding my breath to see if he comes after me, to ask what’s wrong, why I’m freaking out.
But he doesn’t.
I’m thankful for it, but I also know he doesn’t because he already knows the answer.
Chapter Fourteen
“Where are you going again?” Sage asks at my back as I dig through the fridge for orange juice.
“Bell Canyon.” I wrap my hand around the bottle and pull it out, pouring a glass for myself and Sage.
“Oh, yeah, I know that place. Been a few times. You’ll like it.” He sits down on one of the barstools. “Do you need a ride?”
I take a sip of juice and bite my lip. “Uh, actually Ansel will be picking me up in about fifteen minutes. We’re going to grab breakfast first.” His eyes narrow. “Sage,” I groan, because I know he’s about to go on a tangent.
His fingers tighten around his glass. “Tell that kid to park in the garage and come up here. I want to meet him.”
“Sage, seriously? He’s my friend. It’s not like he’s a serial killer.”
His hazel eyes pierce me and he looks like he wishes he could knock some sense into me. “I have a right to meet who you’re hanging out with, Dandelion.”
I know he’s pissed when he calls me by my first name.
“I’m sorry.” I mean it too. “Balancing the fact that you’re my brother but also my guardian isn’t easy.”
He exhales a weighted breath, shoving his fingers through his wavy golden brown tresses. “It’s weird for me too, D.” His hands flex into fists before he flattens them on the granite. “I don’t want to fail you or mom and dad.”
I’ve never stopped to think about what it must be like to be in his shoes, to be responsible for his younger sister now that there’s no one else.
Sure, we have extended family, but our normal family unit is obliterated. I imagine this would be even more difficult if I were younger.
“I’ll be more respectful,” I whisper quietly.
He groans. “You’re respectful, Dani. I think for you I’m your annoying, overprotective older brother, which is fine—I still am in a way, but I’m also basically your—” He stops, pressing his lips together.
His sorrow filled eyes meet mine.
We both know the word he kept himself from uttering.
Parent.
Sage is basically my parent.
But if that’s true, then who does he have to look out for him?
“I’ll text Ansel.”
“Thank you.”
“I better finish getting ready.”
I can tell he’s turning inward and I don’t know how to pull him out of it.
I talk to Mr. Taylor, but who does Sage have to talk to?
Shooting a quick text to Ansel I slip my feet into a pair of tennis shoes I haven’t worn in forever. I know a hike might be too much for my leg, but I want to try. I’m tired of being crippled, not by my leg but my fears.
It isn’t long until Ansel tells me he’s parking.
Walking down the hall, I find Sage in the spot I left him, sitting forlornly at the kitchen counter.
“Ansel is here, I told him I’d meet him in the lobby.”
“Okay.” His voice is deeper, gruff, and I know he’s lost in things he can’t say.
I close the door softly behind me so the click of the door is barely audible.
Down the elevator I go until I find Ansel waiting in the lobby, gaze on the ceiling. I can’t blame him for staring. The blown glass chandeliers are pretty amazing. His dark hair is parted, brushed back from his forehead and he’s dressed in basketball shorts and a plain tee. He almost doesn’t look like himself. I’m used to seeing him in tight jeans, a white v-neck, and some sort of jacket even if it’s above seventy degrees.
“Ansel,” I call, and he drops his eyes from the ceiling.
A large smile softens the angles of his face when he sees me. “Your brother is giving you a hard time, huh?”
“Yeah,” I admit as he closes the distance, “but I understand where he’s coming from. You don’t mind, do you?”
He shakes his head. “Does this place have room service?”
I laugh, pushing the elevator button. “Actually they do.”
“Fuck, you’re living the dream, Meadows. If I get hungry my mom tells me to figure it out. This would be convenient.”
“But expensive. Still, my brother and I order out for the most part anyway.”
“Right, you mentioned you can’t cook. He can’t either?”
“Nope.”
We step onto the elevator when the doors finally slide open. “That’s rough. My mom’s a great cook.”
“My mom was, too.”
“Fuck, Meadows, I’m the worst.”
I push the button for the eleventh floor.
Ansel leans his body against the side of the elevator, giving me a sympathetic look. “Forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m not going to be mad about a comment like that. You’re allowed to talk about your mom.”
His eyes soften and he looks at me fondly. I’m sure he’s curious about what took my parents away from this earth, but he hasn’t asked. Maybe he assumes since they’re both gone it was a car accident or something. For now, I’ll let him believe that if it is what he thinks. One day, hopefully I’ll have the strength to tell him the truth, but I can’t right now.
When the doors slide open I lead him silently down the hall.
“Your brother doesn’t own a gun does he?” Ansel now looks a tiny bit afraid as he realizes my big brother waits for him beyond a door.
“No, no guns,” I whisper, trying to block out the memories that are creeping from the recesses of my brain.
Swinging open the door I laugh when we find Sage leaning not-so-casually against the kitchen counter, glaring at the door.
I walk in first, letting Ansel use me as a shield.
“Sage, this is Ansel. Ansel, my brother Sage.”
Ansel clears his throat and takes a step around me. “It’s nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand to my brother.
Sage looks at his hand like it’s some exotic animal who could possibly bite him. His eyes drift up, taking in Ansel’s appearance before staring daggers into him. “You don’t touch my sister with that hand do you?”
I mentally slap my forehead.
“Uh…” Ansel looks back at me and then my brother. “N-No?”
“Why was that a question?” Sage’s eyes narrow dangerously and I hold my breath, unsure whether I should laugh, or grab the back of Ansel’s shirt and drag him out of here.
“I-I don’t know? It shouldn’t have been.” Ansel straightens his shoulders, deciding not to cower beneath my brother’s deadly look.
My brother makes some sort of disbelieving growl.
“Where exactly are you taking my sister?”
Ansel’s expression silently asks me, “Didn’t you tell your brother?”
Sweet Dandelion Page 8