Authors: Juliana Stone
last one barely intelligible.
U cmign?
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Juliana Ston e
Guess the party was in full swing up at the cabin.
“Dinner’s ready, Nathan.”
I pushed the door open, and the first thing I saw was Monroe.
She’d changed out of the tight little top she’d been wearing and
the short shorts were gone too. Bummer, because even though
she was a prickly little thing, the shorts were kinda hot. She
placed a bowl of taters on the table and slid into her seat. She
looked pale, paler than anyone I knew, but that could be a New
York thing.
I thought of Rachel and her obsession with being tanned
and skinny. It’s all the girl talked about when she wasn’t shoving beers down her throat and avoiding anything that wasn’t green
and leafy. I tried to explain once that beer and alcohol were just as bad as eating a Big Mac, but she laughed and said, “not when
you puke it all up, it isn’t.”
Pretty hard to argue with that kind of logic.
Mrs. Blackwell sat down and passed a plate of barbecued
chicken and ribs over to Monroe. Without skipping a beat, she
grabbed a half rack and tossed it onto her plate before passing
the platter along to me, her chin thrust forward as if waiting for me to say something.
Wow. They really did make them different in New York.
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I wasn’t happy to be sharing dinner with Captain Sweaty Pants
and I wasn’t sure why Gram thought it was a good idea. I guess
she was just being polite, but I liked our low- key evenings.
Dinner was done and the mess cleaned up by six. Gram changed
into her comfortable clothes— I never seemed to get out of
mine— and I read while she watched the Home and Garden
channel. That was how it had been every night since I arrived.
There had been no fuss, no long involved conversations, and
I hadn’t had to pretend to be normal. Or happy.
I made a mental note to email my therapist later. Apparently
I wasn’t completely dead inside. There
were
things I cared about after all.
I liked quiet.
I liked simple.
I liked comfortable.
And the guy across from me was anything but those
three things. He was one of those boys. One of the dark and
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Juliana Ston e
complicated ones. He was a boy who could probably get any girl
he wanted just by sliding a smile their way (a) because he had a
nice smile, and (b) I was guessing a smile from him would make
a girl think she was the only one he was looking at. A smile from him just might make her feel special.
Lucky for me, I didn’t want anything to do with boys like
him— you know, the complicated ones. I wasn’t here at Gram’s
to socialize. In fact, I hated socializing.
About a month ago, my friend Kate had convinced me to go
to a party at Blake Mathews’ place. His parents were out of town
and his older brother was home from college. It was supposed to
be
the
summer kick- off party. I knew it was a mistake, but Kate had begged and I’d given in. At the time, I’d thought that maybe
I was ready to move on. Maybe I was ready to be normal again.
I’d spent the entire night hiding in a dark corner, sipping
the same warm beer. Any guy who approached was shot down
because I had no idea how to act or what to say.
I studied my friends. I watched them laugh and have fun.
I watched them dance and act crazy, and I watched them kiss
and cuddle.
It made me furious. It made me sick…and it made me so sad.
Because no matter how hard I tried to be that girl— to be the
one who was light and happy, the one who my parents wanted
back— I couldn’t be her. I knew she didn’t exist anymore, and I
was pretty sure she was never coming back.
I frowned as I yanked on my top— the cami was long gone,
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but the coral blouse I’d thrown on was a little snug across the
chest. I’d also axed the shorts, because, well, they were way too short, opting for a jean skirt instead. The fact that I’d finally brushed out my hair had nothing to do with Nathan Everets,
even though I could tell that’s exactly what Gram was thinking.
But she’d be wrong. Way wrong.
Nathan, on the other hand, looked totally relaxed. He had
tossed his bandana but covered up his muscles with a white
T- shirt. It did nothing to hide the six- pack that I knew was
underneath, mostly because it fit him like a second skin and was
threadbare as if it had been washed many times.
The
Cramps
spelled out across his chest in faded red letters.
Though it was rather presumptuous of me to claim the
popular New York alternative band as my own, it bugged me
that he even knew who they were. They were edgy and political,
not hillbilly country blues.
I knew I was generalizing but couldn’t seem to help myself.
I passed Nathan the platter of ribs, after throwing enough
pork onto my plate to feed a small country. I wasn’t even hungry, so what was up with that?
I took a sip of iced tea and glanced up at the clock, 5:15.
All I had to do was get through the next forty- five minutes
and then he would leave and I could go back to my totally
inappropriate reading material— taken from my mother’s night
table— and get on with my quiet Friday night.
“So, Nathan, how is Trevor doing?”
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Juliana Ston e
Nathan choked on a rib. Or at least I think he did. I glanced
from him and back to Gram, wondering at the odd expression
that crept over his face.
He cleared his throat as Gram poured herself some iced tea
before offering the jug to Nathan. He shook his head and stared
down at his plate. “He’s the same, I guess.”
“I see,” Gram replied softly.
I didn’t.
“Who’s Trevor?”
Nathan’s head shot up, and the look in his eyes was so bleak
that, for a moment, I forgot to breathe. His eyes were blue, dark blue like the Atlantic on a cold winter day, and at the moment,
they were filled with something I was all too familiar with.
Pain. But not just pain. It was so much more.
Something inside me twisted, and a wave of nausea rolled
through me.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “That was rude.” I glanced at Gram
and shook my head. “None of my business.”
I tore some meat off a rib bone and shivered, suddenly cold.
Sweat beaded along my brow, and even though I felt like I was
freezing, it was, in fact, hot as hell in the house.
This weird roaring started in my ears— it was thick and
pressed into me, so I knew I was already running to catch up.
If I didn’t get hold of my shit, Gram and Nathan would have a
front- row seat to a one- of- a- kind freak- show panic attack.
I went through the steps my therapist had taught me.
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I exhaled, fingers trailing through the condensation that
gathered along the bottom of my glass as I tried to slow down. I
counted, concentrating on the numbers, starting at twenty and
working my way back. My chest hurt, but eventually my heart
relaxed and the pressure eased. It took a bit, but after a while, the fuzziness went away and everything became clearer.
It was then that I realized Nathan was staring at me as if I’d
grown two heads and Gram’s eyes were misty, her lined face
drawn in concern.
“Are you all right, Monroe?” she asked carefully.
“I’m fine,” I muttered and shoved a piece of meat into my
mouth. I forced myself to chew it slowly and washed it down
with a long, cold drink.
5:30. Nearly there.
I didn’t say one word for the rest of the meal. I didn’t really
need to; Gram more than made up for the fact that Nathan
wasn’t in his happy place anymore and that I had never really
gotten there.
I listened as Gram chatted about some kind of peach festival
that was on in Twin Oaks for the weekend while studying
Nathan covertly. I didn’t feel like talking, and he was more interesting than the rose pattern on Gram’s wallpaper.
His brown hair was longer than it had looked underneath his
bandana, and I could tell he spent a lot of time outdoors because his ends were lighter. When he turned his head, the pieces shimmered like warm butter, which really wasn’t fair because I knew
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more than a few girls who laid down big bucks to achieve the
same look.
With his blue eyes, square jaw, and hot body, there was no
denying Nathan Everets was packing some pretty serious genes.
He smiled at Gram, and I could tell that she was charmed,
but then how could she not be? He was polite, well- spoken, and
really good- looking. I wondered if she sensed the darkness that
ran just beneath the surface like I did. He was hiding stuff. I saw it, but then again, I guess that’s no surprise since these days I was all about the darkness.
He made some comment— I couldn’t tell you what they were
talking about— and Gram laughed. She laughed like a school
girl, all deep- chested and animated and giddy. I wondered if
Nathan was a player. Or if he had a girlfriend that he was faithful to. If so, I found it odd that on a Friday night, he was stuck
making small talk with us instead of having fun with his friends.
He and Gram ate peach cobbler while discussing football,
and my eyes glazed over. I hated football. I mean, really, what
was the point in lining up across from some huge Neanderthal
whose only mission was to kick your ass all over the place?
I didn’t get it. When they started talking about some guy
named Payton, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“So you like The Cramps,” I asked, though it was more of a
statement than a question, and judging by the look on Gram’s
face, it had come out sorta rude.
Nathan sat back in his chair and nodded. “Yeah, they’re
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awesome. The guitarist, Blake, is old school and I appreciate
that. Too many guys these days are just hacks. They wouldn’t
know what an arpeggio scale was if it hit them on the head.”
“Really,” I murmured. They weren’t the only ones. What the
heck was an arpeggio scale?
Gram sat up and grabbed the empty bowls off the table.
“Nathan here is quite the musician.”
Ah, now I understood the tattoos and hair. He wasn’t just
into the look; he was part of the scene.
Nathan’s face hardened, and the darkness or sadness or what-
ever you wanted to call it was there again. It was in the blank
expression that crept into his eyes, the way his hands froze, and the way his shoulders hunched forward as if trying to protect
himself from something.
It made me wonder. From what?
“So you must be a guitarist,” I said.
He shrugged and didn’t answer. Instead he pushed his chair
back and got to his feet. “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Blackwell, that was way better than what I had waiting for me at home.”
Gram leaned against the counter. “Thanks for your hard work
today, Nathan. You’ll be back Monday, or will it be your uncle?”
He shoved his hands into his front pockets, and for
a moment, I glimpsed the tops of his boxers again, along
with a pretty impressive span of flat, toned skin. My cheeks
flushed when I glanced up and realized he was watching me
watching him.
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A hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth, and
I didn’t like the way his eyes glittered beneath the soft light
from overhead.
He was arrogant, and I didn’t like him.
Or maybe I didn’t like how he made me feel, which was
something I didn’t want to think about. At least, not right now.
“I’m pretty sure I’m here for the next few weeks,” he answered,
his attention once more on Gram. I exhaled a long, hot breath
and pushed at a few pieces of hair that stuck to my neck.
Gram smiled. “Wonderful.” She paused, her eyes swinging
my way, her forehead drawn thoughtfully. About a half a second
before she spoke, I knew what she was up to. I opened my mouth
in an effort to dodge the bullet, but she beat me to the punch.
“Do you have plans tomorrow afternoon, Nathan?”
Oh. My. God.
I gave Gram the stink eye but she ignored me, even with my
right eyebrow raised at least an inch or more.
If Nathan was surprised by Gram’s question, he sure didn’t
show it.
“Nope. Some of the guys are up at a cottage and I’m stuck
here, so…”
“I see,” Gram said, still avoiding my glare.
I swear, if she goes where I think she’s going to go—
“So, would you be able to take Monroe to the Peach Festival
in town? She’s been stuck with me for a week, and I’m not
exactly exciting company for a sixteen- year- old.”