I know my father and I resemble one another. The green eyes, the sharp cheekbones. The hint of arrogance and impulsivity. It’s a little unnerving to look at him sometimes.
“Specifically you, as a matter of fact. Denise made sure I knew you were welcome.” He carries his plate over to the sink. “It’s an olive branch. We’re going to take it.”
What my father doesn’t realize is that the branch has not only been extended, but the tree has been climbed. Vandy and I are good—better than good—like, ‘slept in the same bed all night for the best sleep I’ve had in ages’ good.
I left before dawn, sneaking out the way I came in, through the window and off the small overhang. I crept back into my house, ignoring the woman’s jacket on the coat rack and going for a run instead. I didn’t want to lose the feeling from the night before. What it was like to have time with Vandy. To touch her scars. To hold her in my arms. To wake up and watch her sleeping, face placid and soft, and run a careful fingertip over the curve of her delicate cheek bone, unable to fight the awful awareness that I could have destroyed this.
But I hadn’t.
She says she’s not ready for sex and I’m okay with that. I wasn’t as careful with her as I should have been. I won’t make that mistake twice.
An hour later, I follow my father into the Halls' house. It’s a midday game and we come bearing gifts; a six-pack of locally brewed beer and a bag of organic chips. I scan the room, eyes peeled for my girl, but I don’t see her. I do take in the foyer, full of shoes and keys and old mail, and then the formal living room, which looks elaborately unused. It’s been a long time since I’d been in this house—at least not through the upstairs window.
Nervous about meeting with the Halls again, I linger in there, looking at all the photos on the mantle. I remember when some of these were taken. Emory, in the eighth grade, holding up an MVP trophy. That year had been crazy, with everyone vying for a good spot in Preston’s underclassmen programs. In another, more recent photo, Emory and Vandy are posed for one of those boring professional shots that never quite look natural. It’s taken outside, probably by the lake, and it looks warm, bright. Spring maybe, going by the dress she’s wearing. Half of Vandy’s blonde hair is pulled back, clipped above her ear, and everything about it is picture-perfect. Hands folded neatly on her knee. Shoulders straight. Not a single hair out of place.
Her smile is as flat as her eyes.
She’s absolutely stunning, but beneath the pretty face, nice dress, and shiny hair, there’s something dark swimming under the surface. The more I look, the more I can spot it in the other recent photos, too.
“Hey dude.” Emory startles me, sidling up, following where my eyes just were. He scowls. “I know what you’re thinking.”
I doubt he does. “You really didn’t know?”
His voice drops to a low murmur. “That she was high for most of these? Not really.” He gives me a sidelong look that seems a touch defensive. “She’d just been through a lot of difficult shit, dude. It’s hard to know what’s normal and what’s not.”
I shake my head. “No, I get it.”
There’s a roar of laughter from the family room, shattering the stillness, and Emory smiles easily. “So hey, I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”
I follow him into the kitchen, explaining, “Warren didn’t give me much of a choice.” I drop the chips on the counter, and from here, I can see my dad giving Mrs. Hall a hug. “But it’s okay. I guess it’s time to finally break the ice or whatever.” Despite my words, my hands feel clammy. I keep rubbing them on my thighs.
He snorts. “I think you did that the other day when Vandy fell asleep at your house.”
“Fair point.”
He nudges me toward the patio. Once we’re outside, I grab a soda out of the cooler and pop the top.
“How are things going with her, anyway?”
I’ve got the can halfway to my mouth when I freeze. “What do you mean?”
He rolls his eyes. “With the rites, duh. You two have been partnered up so far. I know the tattoo was hard on her, but it sounds like it went okay?”
“Right, yeah.” I rub my thumb over the condensation on the can. “She came through like a champ. I told you, she’s a lot stronger than she seems.”
He bumps his can against mine. “Well, I appreciate you looking out for her. I know things have been tense for you two, but I don’t trust anyone else.” Wince. “And also, you were right.”
“About what?”
“About the Devils maybe being good for her. She needed to do something, and she already seems more involved this year. I mean, obviously it may be the fact that she’s not using anymore, but she seems invested in school, the club, her newspaper gig.” He glances over my shoulder and lifts his chin. “I do wish she’d stop hanging with Sydney so much, though.”
I turn to look, seeing Vandy and Sydney in the kitchen. Whatever they’re talking about, they both seem tense and look kind of annoyed. My eyes take in Vandy’s clingy black sweater and gold pleated skirt slowly. It’s easy to notice that she looks well-rested, easier still to notice that she looks hot as hell. She catches my eye and her face instantly flushes. It’s enough of a hello for me. Sydney glances my way and greets me with a small, flirty grin.
Yikes.
I exhale. “Yeah, I’m not a fan either. She seems pretty hung up on what an amazing friend she’s been to you sister, but I’m not sure I get that vibe.”
“Nope,” Emory agrees. “That girl is all about herself, trust me.” When he looks over again, his expression perks up. Aubrey’s here.