Everyone around me is stressed about getting their work done, but I’m doing better than I’ve ever done without Piers, Owen, and Bennett holding me back.
At yet, also, somehow I’m spending a lot more time with them.
Piers and I meet up every Tuesday and Thursday evening to work on our project. We’re going above and beyond on it, to the point where I’m sure even Piers’ father would be impressed … if he ever bothers to look at it, which I’m pretty sure we both know he won’t.
Every Saturday, I meet Owen for breakfast, and we either go outside to play “wall-ball” or, if it’s too cold, slip into an abandoned classroom and hang out there. Even Bennett has gotten more talkative around me. If I go down to the dining hall early enough, I see him there, and we eat together. He tells me his parents are monster hunters too, though they’re not famous. His stories about them make my heart ache. He seems to really love them.
I hope he doesn’t ever have to know how it feels to lose them.
“You need to be careful,” Sawyer says one day as I’m coming back from my weekly breakfast with Owen. “This truce with them is temporary.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m really getting to know them. I think all that shit may be behind us.”
Sawyer doesn’t seem convinced.
Still, the weeks pass. By the time we turn in our project to Professor Helsing, Piers can basically speak conversational Swedish and even I can spout off a few local phrases. We pass with flying colors, and though Mason Dagher doesn’t even pick up the phone when I catch Piers trying to give him a call, I can tell Piers is pleased.
He might not have his father’s approval yet, but at this rate … he won’t need it. There’s even a moment, after we turn in our project, where Piers smiles. Actually, genuinely smiles at me.
Sawyer’s just paranoid, and maybe a little jealous of the time I’m spending with the boys. I used to spend it all with him. After this, Piers can’t possibly go back to how things were.
Chapter Seventeen
Aunt Trish’s house looks just like I remember. I don’t know why I expected it to look different. I’ve only been gone a few months.
I have to stop at the base of the drive and steel myself up. That phone call to my aunt wasn’t an easy one. She was worried—understandably so—but she was also angry.
I may or may not have hung up in the middle of a tirade and ignored all her calls until now.
Now, I have to face her. It’s more than just finding out about my parents’ cabin. I’ve missed her … and I regret leaving the way I did. It was wrong, and I know it.
“It’s nice
,” Sawyer says happily, stretching one arm up over his head and behind his back.
I yawn. It was a long flight. We start up the path to the front door, which swings open before we can get to it.
“Avery!” Aunt Trish cries from the doorway. She wastes no time running out in her socks and across the yard to grab me into the biggest hug I’ve ever gotten.
“Aunt Trish, c’mon,” I mumble, but I hug her back, burying my face in her shoulder. She pulls back with a smile and teary eyes, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry about—”
She shushes me. “None of that,” she says. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
She steps back again and squints at me harder. “Have you gotten taller? I think you’ve gotten taller.” She turns her gaze to Sawyer and releases me to give him a hug, too. “It’s nice to meet you, Sawyer.”
“Oh. Nice to meet you too, um, Miss—”
“Just call me Trish, hon. Both of you come in. It’s freezing out here!”
I decide not to mention that she was the one who ran outside without shoes in December as I follow her inside. As soon as we cross the threshold, I’m hit with the smell of something cooking in the oven. God, I’ve missed Aunt Trish’s cooking maybe even more than I missed her. I kick off my shoes at the entrance. Sawyer does the same.
“I’ve made up the guest room for you,” Aunt Trish tells Sawyer kindly. “I’ve got to check on dinner. Avery, will you show him up?”
“This way,” I tell him. Aunt Trish bustles past us to the kitchen, winding her graying hair into a ponytail as she goes. Sawyer follows me down the hall and to the guest room, which is about the size of our dorms at Saint M, only with a double bed.
“Nice,” Sawyer says with a smile, eyeing the overabundance of pillows and the neon-colored comforter from the 80s. He sets his suitcase by the bed. “Where’s your room?”
“Further down the hall.” I lead him to my room and walk in. It’s just like I left it. I cleaned it before I left so Aunt Trish wouldn’t have that much work to do. My bed is pushed against the corner, made with gray sheets and a black-and-purple comforter. My old laptop sits on my desk amidst my books and magazines. A couple of my stuffed animals from when I was a kid are sitting on the dresser, so I conspicuously throw my backpack on top of them and hope Sawyer doesn’t try and tease me for it.