Rebounding (5 page)

NINE
             

Char

I sit in the office of Sunset Press, waiting patiently to be called. I’ve gone all out for today’s interview, wearing my brand new pinstriped navy blazer. I also spent an hour in the bathroom straightening my hair. I may be young, but I’m determined to look and act the part of a professional.

While waiting to be called, I wonder about weird, random things, like whether I chose the right font for my résumé, or if I put on enough concealer to cover the circles beneath my eyes. These circles are Max’s fault. The past few nights I’ve stayed up late, watching him leave the house in the same strange way he did the first time. It’s always around 2:00 a.m., and he always pulls the car out in neutral, waiting until he’s on the road to start the engine.

It’s so freaking disturbing.

I wish it didn’t bother me, but I can’t help wondering where he’s going during those late night disappearances. One theory has crossed my mind: that he’s a serial killer. (I know, ridiculous. Even now, I’m rolling my eyes at myself.) My mind always jumps to the worst conclusions—I blame my parents for this. They made me watch way too many crime shows while growing up. None of my brothers got the same treatment. They saved the overprotective, borderline neurotic warnings and horror stories for their only daughter, clearly aiming to scare the living shit out of me. It worked.

Max being a serial killer is a long shot, but it
is
a possibility. And if I’m right, that leaves me with three options.

1. Keep living in the same house with him, and potentially wind up decapitated.
   
2. Live on the streets with no food or shelter.
   
3. Return home to Mommy and Daddy, where I will forever be living in the shadow of the person I used to be.
   

I don’t have to think about it for long. I’ll take my chances with option A, thank you very much.

“Miss Hart?”

My body jerks a little. I’d been in my own little world, thinking about Max. I look up to see a petite Hispanic woman frowning at me. There’s an ID card attached to her belt, which has the name Minerva Rodriguez on it.

“Yes, that’s me,” I say, standing up. Hoping to radiate enthusiasm, I smile widely and hold out my hand. “I’m Charlotte Hart.”

She doesn’t shake my hand. Instead she looks down at a clipboard she’s holding, and rifles through various papers. “I’m a little confused. You see, I’m the hiring manager, and you’re not on my schedule.”

“I’m here for the internship,” I explain. “I was approved three weeks ago. I can show you the email I was sent.”

“Oh,” she says, still frowning. “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake, Miss Hart. There is no internship available at the moment.”

Even as I feel my stomach begin to sink, I keep smiling. She’s wrong, I tell myself. There is an internship, and she’s the one making a mistake.

“Of course there is,” I assure her. “For the newsroom staff…I received an approval letter. When I called to confirm, they gave me this appointment slot.”

“No, I’m sorry. That position has already been filled.”

I stare at the woman with wide, unblinking eyes. “But I moved here from Gainesville,” I say, my voice sounding as incredulous as I feel.

“Someone should’ve called to let you know. I apologize.”

Her apology is anything but sincere. She looks annoyed that she’s the one dealing with me. Turning her back, she walks away, leaving me standing there in shock. I look around at the room, noticing the front desk receptionist looking at me over the rim of her glasses with pity in her eyes. This can’t be happening.

I hurry to catch up with the hiring manager, tapping her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, um, Minerva. I don’t think you heard me correctly. I said I
moved
in order to work here—”

She spins around, huffily. “Miss Hart, I have other appointments. You’ll need to leave now—”

“—and I committed myself to this company because we made an agreement. When you make an agreement with someone, and that person drops everything in order to be here, you can’t just tell them that you made a
mistake
.”

“This is extremely inappropriate—”

“You can’t just tell them that you chose someone else
either. Dammit, I packed up my life, and I left everything behind! The least you can do is give me a trial period to prove myself.”

Minerva Rodriguez waves a hand at the receptionist. “Patty, call security please.”

“Are you freaking serious?” I’m acutely aware that I’m yelling, but I don’t care.

“I know your type,” Minerva points a finger in my face, sharpening her eyes. “Little miss perfect, right? I bet everything has been handed to you since the day you were born, but let me fill you in on a secret. Not anymore. This is the real world, princess, and in the real world you don’t get to demand your place in life. You
earn
it—Freddy, Eric, thank God you’re both here. Please escort this crazy woman out of here.”

“Crazy?”

Someone’s hand nudges my elbow. “Come on, miss. Don’t make this difficult.”

Minerva crosses her arms, leveling me with a smug look as she watches security escort me out of the building. I wish I could think of a good comeback or at least a vile name to call her, but I’m speechless. I can’t believe this is happening.

Once we’re outside, one of the security guards offers me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, honey, but I have to let you know that you’ve been banned from the property. If you come back, you’ll be arrested.”

“Believe me,” I snap, sounding like a bratty child. “I won’t
ever
come back here,”

“Okay. Just giving you warning. I don’t want to see you in trouble.” He winks at me.

Is he actually flirting with me? Right now, of all times? Jesus, he’s got to be kidding me.

“Go back to your job,” I say, waving him on. “I’m leaving.”

I walk away, on the verge of tears, but I refuse to cry. This is beyond humiliating, but I can’t let what happened back there bring me down.

Everything happens for a reason, right? Or is that just something people say to make you feel better?

The hiring manager was wrong about one thing. Everything hasn’t been handed to me. My parents were well off, but I worked my ass off through high school and college at everything I did. Mediocre was never enough. When I put effort into something, I do it with my whole being. Yet that sour-faced lady took one look at me and made a snap judgment. I’m still so pissed off just thinking about it that I could scream right here outside the Sunset Press building.

“Charlotte, wait!”

I turn around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. There’s a young girl running toward me. It’s Patty, the receptionist.

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” she says, breathless. “Some higher-up wanted their nephew to get the internship, and they pulled some strings.”

“Figures,” I mutter angrily.

Patty hands me a piece of paper with several names and phone numbers scribbled on it. “My advice would be to go to one of the trendier, up-and-coming online news sources. I’ve listed several for you located here in Miami. The one I like best is the
Gritty Voice
. They’re a huge success with the millennial crowd, and they’ve been nominated for several awards. If I were you, I’d check to see if they’re hiring.”

I nod, looking over the list. “Thanks, Patty. That’s really kind.”

“You’re welcome, hon. Good luck to you.”

I’m still bummed as I head back to my car, but I try to tell myself everything will be all right. Who knows, something better could come along. Just because it didn’t work out with
Sunset Press
doesn’t mean I came here for nothing.

Power of positivity, and all that crap.

At least I have this list, and who wants to work for douchebags like Minerva Rodriguez anyway? Luck just may have been on my side after all.

I buckle my seatbelt and hear my phone ring. Vanessa’s picture fills the screen. I pause for a second, debating. I think it’s time I answered her. She doesn’t deserve this, and honestly, I could use a friend right now.

“Hey, Ness,” I begin.

“Good God, where the hell have you been, Char? I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” I say, sighing. “I just needed to get away for a little while.”

“Where are you? And why do you sound like that?” Her voice sounds panicked. “Did you hear about Miles? Dammit, I was really hoping you hadn’t found out yet.”

“Found out what?” I sit up in my seat, feeling tense. “What’s going on, Vanessa?”

She makes a painful hiccup-like sound, followed by a deep breath. “Better you hear it from me than anyone else. Here goes…Miles asked Gwen to marry him. The wedding is happening in Savannah once the semester is over.”

TEN             

Max

Mom sits down at her vanity, and begins to read. After a few moments, her eyes turn glassy with tears.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, confused. “Did he say something mean in the letter?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong, Mommy?” Fiona mimics me, latching on to her skirt.

“Just the opposite,” she answers us, a smile on her lips. “Your father wants me to know that even though we did everything backwards, like moving in together, and having children first, he loved me from the moment we met. He knew then that he wanted to spend his life with me.” She draws her hands around my neck, straightening my bowtie. “He says that he’s glad we waited to get married because this day wouldn’t have been as perfect without the two of you here to share it with us. We are a family, and today we’re putting a stamp on it.”

“A stamp?” Fiona asks curiously. “Like to put in the mail?”

“Not a literal stamp, baby girl.” Mom pulls Fiona up into her lap, cradling her. “It means today we’re promising to love each other forever, and to always be there for one another. Can you both make that promise?”

Her eyes go back and forth between Fiona and me as she waits for us to answer.

“Of course,” I say, taking the duty seriously.

Fiona wraps her tiny arms around Mom’s waist. “Of course, Mommy,” she says, mimicking me again.

***

By the time I hear the front door open and close, it’s too late. I can’t avoid her this time. I hope she walks straight past the kitchen, so I don’t have to see her, but I’m not that lucky.

She comes in carrying grocery bags, then sets them on the counter without looking up. Dragging a hand through her hair, she lets out a winded breath. She removes a large bottle of wine from one of the bags. Then she begins rifling through the drawers, opening them and slamming them shut.

She’s wearing a skirt and blazer, and her hair is straight. I’m pretty sure she looks that way because she just got back from job hunting. My guess is, it didn’t go that well.

I consider ducking out the side entrance, but I stay where I am. Watching her like this is slightly fascinating, but I think she might tear the kitchen apart unless I speak up.

“Can I…help you with something?”

She looks across the island at me, appearing surprised to see me standing there. I think she just realized I’ve been in the room with her this whole time.

“Do you have a corkscrew?”

I open the drawer next to the sink and take it out, handing it to her.

“Thanks.” She points the corkscrew at the center of the cork on the wine bottle, then jabs it in like she’s attacking the thing.

“Do you, uh, want a glass as well?”

“Nope,” she says, twisting the screw. “I have some plastic cups upstairs.”

“You’re gonna drink it out of a plastic cup?”

“After the day I’ve had, I may drink it straight from the bottle.” She pulls the cork loose, wiggles it free, then hands me back the corkscrew. Grabbing the bottle and the other bag, she heads for the stairs.

Pausing at the bottom, she turns to look back at me. “I get that some wines air out better in appropriately shaped glassed, but it never made a difference to me. It’s what’s in the wine that counts, not the packaging. It’s about how that wine has
always
been good to you, and how many countless times you
depended
on that wine to take the edge off after a long day. It never lets you down, fancy glass or not. Why isn’t that good enough for some people? What’s wrong with a red Solo cup? It doesn’t change who the wine is.”

She’s talking about a lot more than plastic cups. I’m just not entirely sure what it is. She’s bending the rules here, but I don’t seem to care. I just want to tell her whatever she needs to hear. I want to fix whatever ruined her day.

“Absolutely nothing,” I say. “Red Solo cups are fucking perfect. Best damn cups in the world, if you ask me.”

She nods, looking grateful to hear that. Cradling her bottle of wine, she continues up the stairs. I still don’t have a clue what that was about, but I think I said the right thing. That makes me extremely pleased with myself.

“What’s up with her?” Trevor walks into the kitchen, going straight for the fridge.

I clear my throat and wipe the stupid grin off my face. “How should I know?”

He grabs a few different kinds of lunch meat and a bag of cheese, then sets them on the counter. “Because you’re all like, ‘Red Solo cups are the best!’ Just seemed like a weird conversation.”

“You know what’s weird? The fact that you’re up my ass twenty-four–seven.”

“Someone needs to be,” he says, reaching for the loaf of bread. “Especially since you enjoy sneaking out in the middle of the night.”

I open my mouth, but I’m too stunned to say anything.

He gives me a knowing smile. “Didn’t think I knew about that, did ya? Well guess what, buddy, try turning the motion sensors off next time. I’m still a smoker, remember? My lungs crave toxic poisons at odd hours of the night.”

I
did
think of that, but Trevor usually smokes on the back patio. He’s paying way too much attention.

“I have no reason to hide anything.” The lie slips out easily. I don’t know why I bothered though; we both know he won’t buy it.

“Good thing too, because I planned to follow you the next time it happened.”

I slam my fist down on the counter. “Goddammit, Trev, you need to stay out of my business.”

He stops making his sandwich. “Or what?”

“Don’t tempt me—”

“Or
what?
” he asks, refusing to back down. “You’re not going to fire me or kick me out. As bad as I know you’d like to, you’re not going to hit me with that fist. Wanna know why I’m so confident about that? It’s because we’re
family
, Max. You don’t give up on family, which is why I don’t give up on you.”

I turn away from Trevor. Dealing with him is impossible. He makes me feel guilty, and I won’t be able to do what needs to be done if I feel guilty.

“Stop looking, Max,” he sighs, almost pleading. “Please just let this go. Move on with your life. You have so much going for you. You have the website. You have—”

“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head.

“Yes, you can,” he argues. “Your past doesn’t have to define you.”

If I had a mediocrely shitty past, he could get away with that comment. What he doesn’t realize is I have no choice. My past might not define me, but it sure as hell scarred me. The only chance I have at being free is if I keep searching.

“Trevor, I don’t want to have this conversation again,” I say in a low voice, trying to keep my temper in check. “Just leave me the hell alone about it.”

Before he can say anything else, I leave. As much as I wish I could be the person Trevor wants me to be, it’s never going to happen. The sooner he understands that, the better.

***

Two hours later I find Steph staring out the sliding glass door, her arms crossed, and her brows pinched together. She’s completely absorbed by whatever she’s looking at.

“What’s going on?”

She shrugs. “She’s arguing with someone. Doesn’t seem to be going well.”

Outside, Charlotte paces the patio, holding her cell phone to her ear with one hand and the bottle of wine with the other. She’s yelling at the person on the other line, but I can’t make out what she’s saying from here.

“How long has she been on the phone?”

“A while,” Steph says, still staring as if she’s watching a criminal from a one-way mirror. “I considered going out there, but to be honest, I’m a little scared. It seems bad.”

By the looks of Charlotte’s expression, it’s really bad. I shouldn’t go out there either. Staying out of her business is the best possible move. I knew when I agreed to let her move in that she came with a lot of baggage. It doesn’t mean I have to get involved. I look down at my feet, gritting my teeth.
Walk away, dumbass.

  My body doesn’t listen. The next thing I know, my hand is on the door handle, and I’m stepping outside.

“Really?” Steph asks, her eyes wide. “You’re gonna deal with that?”

“Wish me luck.”

“Good God, you’ll need barrels of it. I’m going upstairs. Call out if you need reinforcements.”

I nod, shutting the door behind me.

A strong gust of wind swoops over the patio. The sky is thick with dark clouds, the ocean waves turning chaotic. A storm should hit any minute now.

“No, I’m not
drunk
! What does that have to do with anything?” Charlotte yells, the wind whipping through her hair, blowing it in every direction. Mascara streaks the length of her cheeks, her eyes still glassy with tears. “Well I’m sorry, Daddy, but I’m not going back. End of story—What? No, I’m not telling you where I am! I have to go. I’ll talk to you when you stop treating me like a child. Goodbye!”

She hangs up the phone and tosses it out into the sand as if she’s angry with that too.

“Probably not a good idea,” I say, startling her. “I’ve lost too many to count that way.”

“Max,” she says, holding a hand over her chest. “You have a bad habit of sneaking up on people.”

I walk to the edge of the patio where she’s standing. She’s a mess, and I hate seeing her like this. The girl who saved me two years ago blew me away with her kindness and her strength. It kills me to think that part of her was destroyed.

“They figured out you left?” That’s already obvious, but I don’t know what else to say.

She sniffles and wipes the tears beneath her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Are you…do you want to talk about it?”

“No way.”

Thank God.

The whole consoling people thing isn’t something I’m used to. Every time someone tried to console me in the past, I did the same thing. I kept my mouth shut. I closed up or ran away. Not exactly the best method to deal with problems, but to each their own.

Charlotte lifts the bottle of wine to her lips and takes a giant swig. Then, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she says, “You know, I’ve been here almost two weeks, and I haven’t gone swimming yet.”

She sets the bottle down on the cement by her feet.

“There’s a storm coming,” I point out. “Now’s not the best time.”

Completely ignoring me, she tears off her shirt in one swift motion, revealing a silky purple bra underneath. “Come on, Max. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

She tosses the shirt behind her, and I catch it. Running out into the sand, she shimmies her shorts loose. They slide to the ground, and she steps out of them.

My heart is pounding. I’m not sure what to do. She’s crazy, half naked, and beautiful. I’m torn between wanting to get as far away from her as I can and chasing after her.

She runs into the ocean, treading through the water until it hits her waist, and then she dives headfirst, swimming for the horizon. A giant wave crashes down. Right over her head. I stop breathing.

Oh, shit.

Without thinking, I run as fast as I can. Before I get there, her blonde head resurfaces, and I slow down, letting out a sigh of relief. She’s still swimming, oblivious to how dangerously high the waves are getting. I shake my head. Little idiot.

I pull my shirt over my head, then dive in after her. If I stand back and do nothing, she’s going to drown to death.