Minutes Before Sunset (10 page)

21

I clutched my mother’s car keys and hesitated at the walkway. Welborn’s house was blanketed with so much blackness that it appeared to be a shadow even though I was several feet away from the front door. The weathered wood was black, and curving lamps twisted around the doorframe, creaking as the wind pushed against them. Even the curtained windows were dark, barely allowing the golden glow from inside to escape.

Why did he have to live in a place like this?

I shook my head as I ran toward the front door, but something brushed my shoulder, and I yelped. It was a branch.
Get ahold of yourself, Jess.
It was nothing.

“Hello, young lady—”

The man’s voice split the air, and I jumped, nearly dropping my stuff. When I turned around, ready to defend myself, the older man blinked his pitch-black eyes. “Can I help you?” he asked.

I dropped my hands, my cheeks burning. “Is Welborn—er—Eric here?” I stuttered, failing to control my composure. My heart was still pounding. What had gotten into me?

The man raised his brow, and the golden light glided over his pale skin like water. “He’s in his room,” he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “Come on in.”

I nodded, grateful to be escaping the ghostly yard. You’d think it was a cemetery. “Thanks,” I said, removing my shoes in the entryway as I gaped at the inside of the home.

It was golden. The rich, dark-wooded furniture had golden designs traced over them, and a yellow kitchen extended over the first floor. Plants crawled up the wall like ivy, and, although the house was dim, the gold glittered vibrantly—like a hundred stars in the mist of fog.

“Who’s here, George?” I heard the other man as he appeared at the top of the stairs. His shoulders rose as his brown eyes crawled over me, and I fought the urge to leave.

“Eric’s science partner,” George, the man who let me in, answered as he jingled his keys in the air. “I’m leaving for the night. I haven’t fed the kids yet, and Jonathon should be getting home soon.”

The other man barely lifted his hand as he waved. “We’ll finish our discussion later.”

George nodded, ducking outside. The wind creaked as the ancient foundation shifted beneath us, and I shivered, feeling the air dissipate from my skin. Everything about this house was cold.

Atop the stairs, the man cleared his throat. “I’m Eric’s father,” he said.

I managed a smile. “You have a lovely home.”

His brow rose, and he shifted from foot to foot. “Thank you,” he said, drumming his fingers against the banister. “—uh—” He didn’t know my name.

“Jess,” I said. “Jess Taylor.”

“I haven’t heard that name before,” he said, tilting his face into the shadows. “Are you new to Hayworth?”

I nodded as a redheaded woman appeared behind him. Her brown eyes widened as they landed on me. I tore my eyes away from her. “I moved here at the beginning of the semester,” I said, and his jaw locked as Eric’s so often did.

“What are your parents’ names?”

“Oh, stop pestering the poor girl,” the woman said, smacking him on the arm. He grumbled, but she beamed in my direction. “I didn’t know Eric was having a friend over,” she said, waving me up the stairs. “Do you want a drink or some food? I could heat up some lasagna if you’re hungry.”

I relaxed. Why couldn’t Eric be like her?
“I’m fine, but thanks.”

“I insist,” she said. “My son, Noah, has refused anything but sweets all week; I’d love to feed someone real food.”

Eric’s father laid his hand on her shoulder. “Go heat it up, Mindy,” he said, smiling for the first time since I walked in. Immediately, she beamed and bounced into the kitchen.

Mr. Welborn’s eyes hovered over me. “Jess,” he said, and his intensity startled me. “Please make yourself at home.”

I nodded, but I had to force myself to walk upstairs. I passed Mr. Welborn quickly, and he leaned against the wall, watching me. “So—science partner, huh?”

Nodding again, I felt as if I had no words for the man. My gaze dropped, and I stared at my mismatched socks. “We’re starting our project today,” I managed.

“You don’t do it in class?”

“No,” I said, understanding Eric’s attitude. “It’s homework—for home.”

“Does it take up a lot of time?” he asked, and I shrugged. “Why’s Eric your science partner?” His interrogation continued. “I doubt you chose him.”

My gut twisted, and I gaped at the older man.
He did not just say that about his own son.
But he did—and his expression was blank, emotionless about his callous words.

“The teacher assigned us together,” I said, and he ran a hand through his thinning hair.

“Interesting.”

“I guess.”

Mindy, with perfect timing, entered the room, handing me a plate of lasagna. “Here you go, dear,” she said, practically sparkling with happiness. “If you don’t like it, don’t feel like you have to eat it.”

“Mindy, honey,” Mr. Welborn spoke gently. “Jess should probably start working with Eric.”

“Oh, of course.” Mindy lightly slapped her forehead with her manicured hand. “Silly me, nattering on like there’s no tomorrow.”

Mr. Welborn chuckled beneath his breath and pointed down a hallway. “Eric’s room is the first one on the right.”

“Thanks,” I said, rushing past the couple before they could start talking again.

The first door was practically next to the kitchen. It was so close that I was surprised Eric hadn’t come out to answer the door, or at least interceded on his father’s interrogation. Then again, he was Eric Welborn. He probably didn’t care. Or think it was strange.

I knocked, sighing heavily.
How could a parent be so cold?

“Come in.” Eric’s voice broke through the door, and I opened it, stepping into his dim bedroom.

His floor was spotless, and his computer played soft rock music in the corner. A slideshow of pictures flickered across the screen, and there was Eric. Standing by his closet. His back turned to me. Shirtless.

I stumbled backward, hitting the wall. “I—I’m sorry,” I sputtered, averting my gaze from Eric’s half-naked body.

He turned around and tilted his head, staring at my alarmed self. I could see everything now. His stomach muscles, his broad shoulders, his toned structure.

“For what?” he asked, pulling a black T-shirt over his head.

“I—uh—” I stammered, forcing the images out of my mind. I hadn’t even considered Eric’s appeal until now.
Why was he so fit?
“Never mind.”

He shrugged, but his green eyes landed on my plate of food. “You going to eat that?”

I shook my head, unable to speak, and he took the plate from my hands. He dug into the lasagna like he hadn’t eaten in days, and I stared at his desk. There was a full plate of lasagna completely untouched.

He followed my gaze and paused. “I don’t like Mindy thinking I enjoy her cooking,” he said, shoveling more lasagna into his mouth. “And I don’t,” he clarified. “I’m just starving.”

“Mhmm,” I hummed, raising my brow as he finished off the meal in minutes.

“If they ask, you ate this,” he said, laying the plate down.

“As long as we finish this project, I’m fine with that.”

He smiled and shook his brown hair away from his eyes. “I didn’t ditch you again, now did I?” I froze. “We’ll finish,” he promised, stretching out on his bed. He leaned over and pulled out a stack of papers from beneath his bed, and then he stared up at me. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

I gulped. “We’re working in here?” I asked. “In your bedroom?” My parents would never allow a boy in my room, let alone one they just met.

Eric’s brow rose. “What do you think will happen, Jess?”

Blood rushed to my cheeks as my stomach twisted. “Nothing,” I said, sitting down next to him. As if on purpose, he scooted closer, and I almost fell off the bed. He laughed, and I snatched the papers away, trying not to twitch.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, biting my lip.

“Nothing,” he sang back, still laughing. “Let’s just get to work.”

“Fine by me,” I said, staring at the papers. Every page was filled with information and thoroughly organized. My jaw hung open. “What’s this?”

“About half of the project,” he said, shrugging as he rested on his elbows. “I figured we’d need it done sooner or later.”

“You did all of this—by yourself?”

He cocked his head to the side. “You sound doubtful, Ms. Taylor.”

“I thought you were busy outside of school,” I retorted, crossing my arms, and he shifted.

“Who said I wasn’t?” This time, he was the one who sounded bitter. “It isn’t all done, you know. We should work.”

Geez. This guy was emotional.

“Right,” I agreed, falling into silence as he opened the chemistry book in front of me. He worked on the graphs, while I wrote our paper, trying not to look at him. It was hard to ignore his aggravation; it was practically pulsating from him. His face scrunched into concentration, and his knuckles were white as he clutched his pencil. Even worse, his hands were bruised.

Cuts covered his exposed skin, and some of them bled. A large bandage covered a slit, and a tan support wrapped around his left wrist. Another one supported his elbow. It looked like he had gotten into a fight—a bad fight—but I hadn’t even noticed until I got close to him.

“Accident,” he muttered, and I sucked in breath. “Sorry if blood bothers you.”

“It doesn’t,” I said, and Eric pushed himself up.

“You wouldn’t stare if it didn’t,” he said, getting up and stepping over me. Quickly and without another word, he picked up his trashcan. Beneath his computer table, a blue light spread across the floor, and he left.

I leaned over, looking for the source of light, and froze when I realized it was a nightlight.
Eric Welborn was afraid of the dark? What. The. Hell.

“Who are you?”

My neck snapped as I turned to the little boy. He had a round face, and his brown hair framed his face like Mindy’s did. He couldn’t have been older than ten.

I smiled. “I’m Jess.”

“Noah.”

“Are you Eric’s little brother?”

Noah’s pudgy face scrunched up. “Are you Eric’s girlfriend?”

“No—”

“Then we have the same answer,” he said, folding his arms. “Eric doesn’t want a brother.”

“Noah!” Eric rushed into the room and pulled the boy’s shirt collar. “Get out of my room.”

Noah stumbled, reaching for the door. “You can’t make me.”

“Oh, believe me, I can,” Eric said, shoving him forcefully.

“You’re hurting me,” Noah whined, opening his mouth to scream, and Eric spun the boy around, grabbing his shoulders.

“Don’t,” he said. “You’re too old to act that way.”

Noah’s mouth shut, and his eyes widened. “I just want to hang out.”

Eric leaned over, grabbing a bag of cookies from beneath his bed. “I’ll give you these if you leave us alone.”

Noah grinned. “And?”

“And nothing,” Eric said. “Take it or go hungry.”

Noah snatched the bag of cookies. “It was great meeting you, Jess,” he said, winking.
Ew.

“Out,” Eric said, and Noah left as Eric shut the door, locking it. He sighed heavily, leaning against the door, and shook his head. “Stepsiblings, huh?”

“He seemed nice enough to me,” I said, and Eric sat down.

“Or annoying,” he said. “The cookies should shut him up for a while.” Eric moved across the room and replaced his trashcan. The blue light dissipated, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Aren’t you a little old to be sleeping with nightlights?”

Eric’s lips pulled into a small smile. “Yeah,” he said. “But I’ve had it since I was a kid.” His shoulders tensed, and he breathed, returning to the bed. He lay down, placing his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “My father always kept the porch light on until my mom got home—except she didn’t make it home one night.” He paused, and I held my breath. “I keep the light on now.”

I fiddled with my hands in silence. Robb and Crystal had explained how she committed suicide when he was young, but, for some reason, I was still filled with shock. “What happened?”

He opened one of his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

My fingernails dug into my thighs. “You told me to ask you instead of gossip,” I defended. “So I’m asking you.”

“I wasn’t silent, because I was surprised,” he said, barely moving. “I was silent, because I don’t have the answer.”

He didn’t know why she killed herself?
“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask for pity.”

I cleared my throat, blinking. “So, Welborn—”

“Eric,” he said, and I stared as he smiled. “You might as well call me Eric.”

“So, Eric,” I managed, feeling his name slip off my tongue. “Why’d you go by Welborn anyway?”

“Why do you go by Jess?”

I shrugged, writing two sentences on my paper. “Didn’t have much of a choice.”