The Lyons Next Door (A Lyons' Heart Book 1)

by Inda Herwood

  “Oh, thank heavens. I didn’t want to ask because I didn’t think it was appropriate given the situation and everything,” Mom chimes in, mirroring Leigha in her stance. “But yes, I’d love to know the answer myself.”

  Looking down at the vinegar, I wonder if there’s enough left to drown myself. Then again, the ocean’s right there… Feeling my shoulders deflate, I tell them, “I have no idea. I saw him in pain and I couldn’t think of anything else to distract him with.”

  “That was one hell of a distraction. I bet he’s still distracted even as we speak,” Leigha chuckles, and I roll my eyes, refusing to let myself blush any further.

  “So that’s it? You only did it to distract him?” Mom asks, not sounding, or looking, convinced.

  I shrug. “That’s all I’ve got for now.”

  She snorts a laugh. “Just wait till your Nana hears this. She bet money on it, you know.”

  “What?” I ask her, not knowing why I feel so surprised.

  “Only she bet that he’d kiss you. She didn’t think you had the nerve to do it first. I can’t wait to tell her she lost.” Mom laughs to herself all the way back to the house, leaving me alone with Leigha, who also seems shocked.

  “Your mom and nana are awesome,” she sighs. “Think they’d adopt me?”

  I pretend I don’t hear her, taking the same path as everyone else back to the house, telling myself to stop imagining that I can still feel the shape of his lips on my own.

  ***

  Sitting in my window seat, I stare out at the moon reflecting off the ocean’s surface, turning the water a beautiful silvery blue. When I think about how I was in those very waters only a few days ago, my body glued to Beckham’s, I feel my belly turn over with lava. I still can’t believe what happened. Between him getting stung and me kissing him to take away the pain, it all feels like an out of body experience to me now.

  After they transferred Beckham to the house, he soaked for a while in some water, and, according to Catcher, got high off of half a pain pill his dad uses for an old back injury. He even sent me a video of Beck half sprawled in the tub in his swim shorts, asking for me to come save him from “the ocean” again, giving me a good laugh. It was better than thinking about how I was going to explain the kiss to him when he was sober again.

  I’ve been waiting for that moment for days now, wanting to let him recover first, but also using the time to help me to think of what to say.

  I’ve still got nothing.

  Like most nights, I find myself staring across the driveway, waiting to see a shadow pass in front of the curtains of the eldest Lyons’ room. I could just text him, or call, but I can’t find the courage. I don’t know what happened with us that day, but the flirting in the water and the subsequent kiss just confirmed that our mutual dislike for one another has evolved into something that slightly scares, but also excites me at the same time. Because as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve grown to like him. The moody, headphones wearing, constantly scowling, too hot for his own good, and surprisingly deep, Beckham Lyons.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly see the curtains shift in the window across from mine, stirring my heart from its peaceful putter. Since it’s a full moon, I can see rather clearly when Beckham opens his floor-to-ceiling blinds, looking out the window to search for me. My grin appears before I can stop myself.

  When he sees me already staring back, he matches my smile. Holding up a piece of paper against the glass, I squint my eyes to see what it says.

  FEEL LIKE A WALK?

  A walk? I repeat to myself. I figured we were just going to note swap back and forth for a while, what with his injured leg and all.

  After finding my notebook and writing my message, I hold it up for him.

  WHAT DOES YOUR LEG THINK ABOUT THAT?

  He scribbles something quick before holding up the pad again.

  HE’LL POWER THROUGH. SO…IS THAT A YES?

  I bite my lip, thinking about the consequences of being face to face. I don’t know what it’s going to be like with us after all that happened. Will it be awkward? Is he going to tease me for what I did? Did I make things weird between us again? I really don’t know. But I think there’s only one way to find out.

  Instead of answering, I ask, HOW DO I SNEAK PAST MY FAMILY?

  Nana fell asleep on the couch before I left for my room, and I’m sure Mom and Dad are still up. They’re both night owls, making this a kind of mission impossible for me.

  YOU TIPTOE LIKE A CRIMINAL. EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT, he says, and I shake my head at him, grinning despite myself.

  OKAY, I’LL TRY. BUT IF I’M NOT DOWN THERE IN TEN, THEN I WAS CAUGHT AND HUNG FOR MY CRIMES. HOPE YOU CAN SLEEP WITH A GUILTY CONCIENCE. The message took three things of paper, but when I’m done, I can see him laughing at me, nodding his head before shutting his curtains.

  Now all I have to do is find my rebellious streak and run with it. I can do that. I mean, it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong here, anyways. I’m just escaping the house to go take an innocent moonlight walk with my stupidly gorgeous neighbor who I am seriously crushing on. No big deal, right?

  Oh, who am I kidding? The worst thing I’ve ever done is steal a cookie from the jar when Mom wasn’t looking when I was five years old. This is the equivalent of robbing a bank for me.

  With a sigh at how pathetically boring I really am, I open my door and then shut it softly behind me, trying to be quiet as I walk down the hall; attempting to remember where all of the squeaky spots are and doing my best to avoid them. Before I know it, I’m down on the first floor, the lights out but the TV still on. I can hear the murmur of an infomercial selling a new kind of crockpot, and when I turn the corner, I see my nan exactly where I left her, her mouth partly open and her head resting back against the couch. Her hair is matted on one side, a single leg stretched out on the coffee table though I know it annoys Mom. She’s usually a pretty sound sleeper, which means if I can just tiptoe my way across the living room, and not make any noise when opening the front door, then I should be good. Luckily, when I passed Mom and Dad’s room, I heard their own TV going, the sound of HGTV covering my tracks. This is my final test.

  Sticking close to the wall, I keep an eye on my feet, being sure to make as little noise as possible. I chose not to bother with shoes since I’ll be walking on the beach, and besides, it’d just make my escape that much harder.

  When I’m a mere three feet away from the foyer, the TV switches to another commercial, the sound of a cannon going off on screen. It’s just loud enough to stop the noisy breathing of Nana’s snores, my feet coming to a halt.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “Blaire, is that you?” she asks, sounding bleary-eyed and confused.

  I slowly turn around, my heart dropping to my feet when she narrows her brows at me. “No, I’m a ghost. Please, go back to sleep.”

  She blows out an unimpressed breath, doing a poor job of righting her hair. When she realizes it’s no use, she gives up with a roll of her eyes. “Nice try. What are you doing down here at this hour?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was getting the mail?”

  She clucks her tongue at me. “You’re even worse than your mother was. At least she made up excuses that actually sounded realistic,” she chuckles. But before I know it, she’s back in Overprotective Grandmother mode, eyes scanning me like she can see through my soul. She says, expression turning into one of understanding, “You’re going to see that boy, aren’t you?”

  Knowing there’s no other way to explain my creeping around the house, I admit, “Yes,” while feeling my head drop. I was so, so close.

  Stupid wonder mop commercial.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t tried this before,” she says, looking mildly shocked. “When I was your age, I would have gone and climbed his window the first night I was here.” She smiles to herself, and I feel my jaw go slack. This was not how she treated him just a few days ago, even after Mom told
her about his injury and my Baywatch moment with him. In her mind, he must have Jedi mind tricked me into kissing him.

  “What? I thought you didn’t like him?” I say, still not believing what I’m hearing.

  She grabs the remote and turns off the TV. Standing up, she walks over to me, placing her delicate hands on my shoulders. “I’m a grandma,” she says. “We don’t think anyone is good enough for our granddaughters. But I see the way you look at him and vice versa. You have a connection, whether you realize it or not, and there’s nothing I would be able to do to stop that, so I’m not going to. Just be careful and listen with both this and this.” She points to my head and my heart with her arthritic knuckle, her smile small but cautious. “First love is a beautiful thing. You deserve to experience it.” Nodding towards the door, she says, “Go and have fun. Just know that if you’re not back in an hour, I’ll have to come find you and kill him myself.”

  “Nana.”

  “What? I may be old, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on when two young, attractive members of the opposite sex are alone together.”

  For the hundredth time in my life, I tell her, “You are the most inappropriate grandmother in the history of grandmothers. You know that, right? And besides, we’re just taking a walk, nothing more.”

  “Oh, a walk, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Her satisfied smirk has me drained of all color, marching towards the front door like it’s my salvation. Mostly because it is.

  “Somehow, I love you despite your weirdness,” I tell her as I open the door, feeling the cool night air slip over me.

  “And I love you despite your love for denial. See you later, darling.” Her girlish giggles follow me even after I shut the door, praying and hoping that Beckham won’t be able to see my deadly complexion in the moonlight.

  “She made it,” he says with an easy smile as I step off the porch. He walks across the driveway towards me with his hands in his pockets, a large white bandage wrapped around his right calf. He’s wearing a light gray T-shirt and dark green shorts, his neck surprisingly free of headphones.

  “I did, and only because my grandmother likes the idea of me being stupid and reckless. Go figure.” I swallow hard once he’s standing in front of me, only a few inches away. From across the yard and in the safety of my window, this seemed like a fun, normal thing to do. But now, with him so close, and no one else around to be a buffer, I feel oddly nervous.

  “So you got caught,” he says needlessly, laughing before taking a piece of my hair that escaped the bun and placing it behind my ear. His fingers leave a hot trail in their wake. “But at least you survived.”

  “Be thankful it wasn’t my dad. He would have shown up at your door with a socket wrench in hand, wounded or not wounded,” I tease, but also knowing it’s the truth.

  “I just wouldn’t have opened the door,” he says, starting to walk towards his backyard. I follow next to him, sighing in relief when my feet touch the cool blades of grass. The driveway was still hot from the sun glaring on it all day.

  “So, how is the leg, Aquaman?” I ask, looking down at his surprisingly even steps. No limping like I had expected.

  “Do you really think I haven’t heard that one already? Catcher used it within ten minutes of getting me inside the house.”

  “Okay, I’ll be more original then,” I say with a grin, feeling his shoulder bump mine. “How about Shark Boy?”

  “Nope.”

  “Nemo?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Fish whisperer?”

  “No.”

  “Tentacle trapper?”

  “Now you’re just being mean.”

  I’m still laughing after we get down to the beach, instantly feeling myself relax. There’s something comforting about letting your feet sink into the sand, feeling the ocean air clear your senses and cool down your skin. And with such a clear night, and the moon shining like a blue sun on the water, it’s as if I’ve entered into another world. I could never go back to the brown yard and pothole ridden street of Carrol Drive. Not after experiencing this.

  “What are you thinking about?” Beckham asks me while we walk up the beach. Being the only ones out here, I feel even more removed from the real world. It’s like being the last two people on earth. Nothing but the sound of the waves and the tall grass hissing in the wind to accompany us.

  “How much I love it here,” I answer honestly, watching my feet make prints in the wet sand, only to disappear when the tide comes in. There and then gone.

  “What was your old place like?” he asks, the question innocent enough, but still, my heart rate picks up uncomfortably because of it. I’m reminded of what Leigha said about his last girlfriend, the one that lied to him about her real background. Being here now, with him, I see that I’m not much different than her. I can’t tell him that I had never been to a store and looked anywhere but at the sales rack before six months ago. Or that I would only eat half of my lunch at school so I could take it home for the next day. That way I only had to buy one lunch instead of two. I didn’t go to school on a scholarship, because I went to the poorest public school in the state. So in a way, I’m even more of a fraud than Jenna the wolf. At least she could fake her wealth, but me? I still wear jean shorts I’ve owned since I was thirteen, and clean my hair with dollar store soap.

  Some things just die hard.

  Being stuck in my head for so long, I almost forgot he asked me a question. “What was my last place like?”

  He nods, once in a while his elbow grazing my arm, sending shivers down it.

  “Um, it was in the city, so no beaches or much green,” I describe, trying to figure out how I tell him the truth without telling him too much of it. “I went to a large school. Had a few friends, but other than that, I hung out with Nana most of the time. And painting. I did a lot of painting.”

  “Some things don’t change, huh?” He smiles at me, bumping his arm into my shoulder, forcing me to step further into the surf to keep from falling over.

  “Hey, I may be an art nerd, but I can still shove you into the ocean. I’m sure that jellyfish has some stings left to spare,” I threaten with a smirk.

  “Don’t lie. You love the ocean now, thanks to me.” His superior grin and elevated chin only make me want to push him in harder.

  “Yeah, seeing you writhe in agony in the sand really gave me all the feels for the sea.” Looking up at him, his beautiful profile lit by the moon, I decide to ask, “So, what were you like in school? Mr. Popular that all the cheerleaders hung around? King jock? Master of the debate team?” I can kind of see him being all those things. He doesn’t seem to fit into just one box.

  “I did swim meets, so I was a little bit of a jock, but I was nowhere near as good as Catcher. He took over my place and became Mr. Popular, as you put it, when I graduated. So get ready to sit at the head table and be stared at for all of lunch,” he warns, seeming satisfied when he sees me cringe.

  “Maybe I’ll befriend some fellow nerds so I can stay hidden in the shadows, away from your brother and his spotlight,” I tell him, the idea sounding like heaven compared to what he just described.

  “Not possible. Not only can Catcher not lie, but he’s also the most loyal guy you’ll ever meet. If he’s your friend now, he’ll be your friend at school. Which means no matter where you go, he’ll find you and make you a part of the group. It’s what you signed on for the moment you stepped into our house.”

  As endearing and sweet as that is, it still makes me want to break out in hives. Shaking off the disturbing image of being smack dab in the middle of a cafeteria with hundreds of eyes staring at me, I say instead, “I think we’re getting off topic. This conversation was supposed to be about you.”

  “Me.” He draws out the word, his hand scratching at his jawline. “Well, I was in the music club, big surprise, I know. I liked school, so I did well in my studies, but never got into any academic clubs, though my mother wanted me to.
I had a large number of friends, but only one best friend, though that eventually dissolved as well.” He frowns, and I remember Leigha talking about the guy Jenna had cheated with – his best friend. Or I guess now his ex-best friend.

  Acting on instinct, I reach for his hand, and without hesitation he intertwines our fingers together, making a perfect fit. I’m glad he took it. I almost feared he might reject the touch considering we’re talking about his least favorite subject.

  “We have more in common than I thought,” I tell him as we continue to walk, hand in hand, up the beach, passing large, unfamiliar homes lit by the moon. They only seem to grow larger and larger the farther we go.

  “Your boyfriend cheated on you with your best friend?” he asks, his voice bitter and smile sarcastic.

  I shake my head, squeezing his hand with mine. “No, but she betrayed me worse than I ever thought possible.” I still can’t believe the girl who used to ride bikes with me in the street when we were ten threatened me over an iPhone. It just shows you the corruption money can cause, even if it’s someone else’s.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, lifting our hands and placing a soft kiss on the back of mine, surprising me with the sweet gesture. “But I’m glad you’re not around those kinds of people anymore. I’m glad you’re here with us.”

  His eyes, so intense and earnest, say what I know his lips won’t.

  He’s glad I’m here with him.

  So am I.

  Beckham

  A strange expression passed over Blaire’s face when I asked about her last home in Maryland, and it took a while before it subsided. I didn’t know if it was because of the sour memories of her friend, or if there was more to the story and she just wasn’t willing to tell me. Either way, I was glad to see her smile again, feeling her tiny hand held in mine.

  We continue walking, going halfway down the shore before we turn around and head back. Seeing our time grow shorter, I wonder how I get around to asking her what I’ve been wanting to all night.