Dear Ava(14)

Chance and Liam get inside the black Escalade and peel out.

Relief hits me. Two down.

Wyatt’s giving me directions to the dorm and tips on parking when Knox’s voice cuts in, his tone soft. “Ava, if you’re okay, I’ll go.”

I glance at him, trying to maintain a neutral expression. “I’m fine. Thank you for the help.”

He’s still holding his wrench, and his face…it’s not shuttered this time. In fact, it’s layered in emotion as he watches me with Wyatt. “Take care of her at that dorm, will you?” he says to him.

“She’s in the best of hands,” Wyatt murmurs.

He and Wyatt exchange a long look, then Knox nods and gives me one last glance, his face back to stone.

He and Dane walk over to his car, their heads close as they talk.

Once they’ve pulled out, I turn to Wyatt, who’s now inspecting my new tire. He tells me I’ll need to get a new one because the spare sucks. Yeah, I know.

“You know the football players well?”

He shrugs, a meh expression on his face. “I play baseball, and jocks tend to hang out. We’ve been to a few parties together, but I ain’t like them, see. I’m no Shark.” Shak. He breaks out another grin. “Stupid name, right? I mean our mascot is the Dragons. I’m still considered new here, and they don’t like outsiders, but when you’re me, you don’t give a fuck.”

I study that eyebrow piercing, the sleeve of tattoos on his forearm, a mix of hummingbirds and roses intermingled. Recognition hits.

“Oh my God! You’re Wyatt Carrington! Your dad—your dad’s the lead singer of the Snowballs, right? Indie band from Boston? Started his career as a model and switched to music back in the nineties?” Serious drug problems, lots of rehab…

A slow blush starts up his neck. “Most people don’t recognize me until I tell them—”

“No, you look just like him. Geeze. I love their music. How did you end up in Sugarwood?”

“My mom’s originally from Nashville. She went here. My parents divorced and I came with her last year when she moved to Franklin, Tennessee. It’s about an hour from here, so I was able to get a dorm.”

“Ah, I’m sorry about your parents.”

He shrugs. “Dude, my dad was a serial cheater—and the drugs? I’m shocked he’s still alive. I don’t blame her.”

“So are you in cultural shock here in the South?”

“I don’t miss the cold weather, but the southern accents crack me up.” He smirks.

“Have you listened to your accent?” I laugh. “Hey, thanks for being nice to me this morning. I wasn’t ready for it. First day jitters.”

He gives me a fist bump. “We’ll be friends if you tell me you’re a Red Sox fan? Yes?”

“Is that the sport with a long stick? I don’t know jack about baseball.”

“I can live with that. Just don’t ever bring up the Yankees and we’re golden.”

I laugh, then my eyes follow Knox’s flashy car as it pulls out onto the highway. I chew on my lips. “Hey, what do you think about Knox Grayson?”

Wyatt follows my gaze then grins wistfully. “I think he’s hot. That tight body and those guns on his arms… If only he went that way. Damn shame.”

My eyes bug out. “Wait…what?”

He chuckles then gets going with a full-blown laugh, slapping his leg. “Ava, you should see your face. I’m gay. Everyone knows.”

I shake my head. “But…you’re so…”

“Masculine? Athletic?”

I giggle. “Yeah, okay, sure, all that. I didn’t mean to stereotype. My bad.” I pause. “Thanks again for stopping.”

He strikes a pose, bending his wrist and totally putting on airs. “Ignore those assholes, darling, because we’re going to be great friends.”

A new friend.

“Also, I can’t find you on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—nothing. Where do you social?”

I roll my eyes. “I deleted everything when I got tagged in a ton of negative comments about the party.”

He takes that in, mulls it over. “Fuck that. Forget them.”

I smile. “Hey, you got any musical talent like your dad?”

“I play guitar like a madman.”

“I sing. Wanna teach me how to play sometime?”

“Oh, yeah, locker neighbor.” When he grins, his face is open and full of sincerity, and a warm feeling grows in my chest.

It’s not a bad end to the day at all.

But tomorrow will be here soon, and I’ll have to start all over again.





8





I twitch in my bed. I’m in that weird half-awake/half-asleep state where it feels like what’s happening in your head might be real even though the logical side of you knows nightmares can’t actually come to life.

But maybe they can.

Just wake up and it will all be over.

Just wake up, wake up, wake up…



Fresh from school, I dash into the kitchen and Mom is cooking, and heck yeah, I feel good. Man, I’ve missed seeing her. She bakes the best bread. Makes the sweetest lemonade. She’s so pretty, long dark hair and hazel eyes. And when she smiles, it makes you feel like the king of the world.

You’re not her favorite, a voice says, right here in the middle of the kitchen, but I already know that and I brush it away. Doesn’t matter. She’s my mom.

I start talking, telling her about school and football and what a kickass year I’m going to have—

Why is she wearing her nightgown?

Why is she wet?

Settling in on the barstool across from her, I lean in close and snag a piece of the bread she’s baked.

“Roast?” I ask.

Her lowered head doesn’t rise from the cutting board. She keeps making those careful cuts, the blade sharp as it glints under the kitchen lights.

Water drips from her hair onto the counter.

“You’re wet. Let me get a towel.”

She doesn’t take the towel from me when I bring it over.

“We should play piano tonight,” I say. “Like we used to.”

Nothing.

She isn’t right.

She’s not.

She doesn’t even know I’m here.

Fear and dread mix, clinging to me, clogging up my throat at some barely there tangible truth that I know is right there, but I can’t seem to grasp it.

“I’ve MISSED you,” I call out desperately.

Slice. Slice. Slice—



Something shakes me and I hear yelling.

“—Knox! Knox! Stop! Wake up!”

“What?” I mutter groggily.

Dane crouches next to my bed, bent over and hovering.

“Did I call out?” I push up to the pillows.

He stares at me, sticking his hands in his hair. “Dude, you’re shouting the house down! I had to wake you up.”

“Nightmare.” I swallow thickly.

He crosses his arms. “Must have been a doozy.” He exhales. “Move over.”

“What? Why?” I squint, staring up at him. My head is still on Mom. I saw her…I saw her. I haven’t dreamed about her in a long time, and she was still alive to me for just a few seconds.

“Come on, man. I’m sleeping in your big-ass bed with you and when you start that yelling, I’m going to smack your face, so think about that, huh?”

I huff out a laugh. “In my bed?”

“Are you dumb? Wake up and smell the twin brother instincts. YES. I’m not coming in here again, and if I’m here, you won’t do it.”

“How do you know?”

“Just do.” He shrugs, giving up on me moving over, and stalks over to the other side of the bed then flops down.

It’s a king-sized bed, so there’s room for both of us. Meh, I can’t complain. The company might be nice.

Earlier, we came home to an empty house. Suzy had already left for the night and Dane and I had dinner in front of the TV in the den, salmon and grilled asparagus she’d made. We didn’t talk much except about homework and practice. I was hiding that I was pissed at Dad for not being here. He was quiet for other reasons. At eleven, I finished loading the dishwasher, turned on the alarms, flicked off the lights, and we crashed, each of us in our respective bedroom. The big house was deathly quiet as we went up the stairs. I wish we’d move to a different house and escape all these memories.

“What was your dream about?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

He sighs. “Yeah, right.”

The dream—shit, it reminds me that I was never Mom’s favorite. You could see it in her eyes when she looked at Dane, the affection and affinity. Maybe she just thought I didn’t need as much. Once at the park when we were small, another kid pushed Dane off the ladder to the slide, and he took a tumble and hit his head on a rock. “Why did you let them hurt him? You’re the strong one!” she yelled at me. I went back to the slide, found that kid, and punched him in the nose.

Anything to win her heart.

“We haven’t slept together in a long time,” I say bemusedly, pushing those thoughts away and throwing him one of the pillows I keep mostly on my side.

“Yeah.” He stares up at the ceiling for a moment. “Knox?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been having bad dreams too. Ever since that kegger.”

My chest feels tight, and I roll over and look at him. “You never mentioned it before.”