Trust Again: Dawn and Spencer's Story (The Again Series Book 2) Page 5

  I grabbed her shirt and pulled on it. “Seriously. Stop!”

  “‘I couldn’t get it open, and growled in frustration. Jasper laughed softly into my neck and offered to help. My hands were shaking too much. Faster than ever before, we undressed each other, leaving a trail of clothes on the floor,’” she continued.

  My cheeks were burning. Finally, I snatched Watson away from her and, sighing, dropped onto my bed and closed the screen. Then I rubbed my face.

  “You’re an asshole, Sawyer,” I said, my voice shaking.

  She plopped down on my desk chair and nodded. “I know. But I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

  “What?”

  “You’re always so secretive when you’re writing; you say you’re working on essays, but come on: I don’t know a single freshman who has to write as many ‘essays’ as you.”

  “And then you set the brightness so low, your screen is practically black, and the font size so tiny you need a magnifying glass to read it. So yeah, of course that makes me curious! You’re studying creative writing. I figured you’re working on novels or poems or something like that. I just wanted to know what you’re writing. And this,” she grinned, “is better than anything I could have imagined. Who would have thought that my innocent little roommate, all prim and proper and never goes out with guys, writes erotic lit?”

  All I could do was stare at her. For Sawyer, of all people, to be the first in Woodshill to know my secret was the worst possible thing that could have happened.

  “Great. Let’s get started,” I said flatly, waving my hand.

  “With what?”

  “Making fun of me.”

  Now Sawyer was the one frowning. “Why would I do that?”

  Once and only once, I’d read my work aloud to someone. Nate. He’d listened. And then leaned back and let out an enormous laugh. Once he’d caught his breath again, he patted my head and asked if I really wanted to publish “this crap.”

  That’s why I’d taken on a pseudonym. Nate’s laughter and the resulting humiliation had hurt so much that I made up my mind never to show my work to anyone close to me again.

  I glared at Sawyer. “Because you’re absolutely right: I write erotic stories and publish them online. Haha. Very funny. Cute little Dawn, who hasn’t gotten laid for months and won’t go out on dates, writes erotic literature. Funniest thing I ever heard,” I hissed.

  “You’re crazy. Actually, I think it’s cool, what you’re doing. And if you think that I of all people would judge you for something like that, then you’re an idiot.”

  Had I misheard something?

  Sawyer turned from me and went back to her side of the room. She opened her laptop. I was about to speak when she pointedly stuffed earbuds into her ears and set the music so loud that I could hear it across the room.

  Chapter 7

  Woodshill Steakhouse was my dad’s and my favorite restaurant. It took a bit longer to get there than to the diners downtown, but the location was well worth the effort.

  On the outside the wooden building looked dilapidated and abandoned, but the inside was absolutely charming and transported you to a different place. The decor was rustic, with antlers mounted over the bar, rough hewn wooden benches, and low-hanging lamps. Aside from the great food, it offered a fantastic view out over the valley. I always reserved a table at the window for Dad’s monthly visit. It was kind of a drafty spot, but the view of the water and surrounding landscape was worth it.

  As soon as I entered the place, I noticed my father. He was already sitting at our regular spot, looking out the window. As usual, he was wearing his dark green overalls. His tanned arms were crossed on the table. His head was shaven, and mostly gray stubble decorated his chin.

  Automatically, I smiled.

  Dad and I were close. My mom had left us before I was two. I had no memories of the time when we were a family of three and I don’t even remember what she looked like. For a few years she’d sent me occasional postcards from Asia, where she lived and worked as a banker, but eventually that stopped, too. Probably because I never made an effort to reach out.

  It would be a lie to say I never missed having a female role model, especially when I was going through puberty and would rather have died than ask Dad about the pros and cons of, say, tampons. But for the most part, I didn’t really feel like I was missing out. When my girlfriends went shopping with their mothers or got mani-pedis together, I took my homework into Dad’s workshop and watched him and his colleagues at work.

  Whenever I asked Dad what had gone wrong between him and Mom, he’d say “sometimes things just don’t work out between two people, and then it’s best to go separate ways before they get hurt beyond repair.” And he’d say he was sure there was someone out there for him, someone who’d make him totally happy. As for me, after what had happened with Nate, I knew too well what it meant to be “hurt beyond repair.”

  I made my way to our favorite table and slid a little too quickly onto the bench across from him. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Try getting more of a running start next time,” he joked.

  “Only if you cover the damages,” I said, unwinding my scarf.

  He gave a rumbling laugh and leaned across the table. “How are you, honey?”

  “Pretty good. I turned in an essay this week, and I’m modeling for my roommate.”

  Dad slapped the table and smiled. “Are you kidding me? How did that happen?”

  After the waiter took our order, I told him the story about how Sawyer and I had gotten closer, not leaving out a single detail, including being locked in the frat house bathroom.

  “So if you got to know each other better, something good came of the whole thing.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like we’re best friends or anything,” I mumbled, with yesterday’s events fresh in my mind. Sawyer hadn’t said a word to me since.

  “That’ll come, sweetheart. Some people need more time to open up.”

  I brushed my bangs to the side. “I really messed up this time, Dad.”

  “How so?”

  “She found out that I publish stories. And I… wanted to keep that to myself.”

  “Sooner or later all your friends will know, anyway, Dawny. Especially when you take the best-seller lists by storm.”

  I smiled. Dad knew I published stories, but I’d told him he wasn’t allowed to read them. When he asked why not, I showed him the cover of Tame Me, which featured the naked body of a man holding a hat over his privates.

  Dad hadn’t asked any more questions.

  “True. But for now it’s more fun to be a normal student who’s not being bullied over her weird hobby. The fact that Sawyer found out really upset me, and I kind of went off on her about it.”

  “Tell her you’re sorry,” said Dad, straight out.

  “Of course—as soon as she talks to me again.”

  Dad nodded. “And how are your other friends?”

  He’d met my little group, and they all took to him right away. Spencer even wanted to take a selfie with him and mumbled something under his breath about his “future father-in-law.” Luckily, Kaden had physically blocked him from taking the picture.

  Dad didn’t need to know that Spencer was avoiding me since our kiss in the frat house. I didn’t even know what to make of the situation myself. Just the thought of Spencer’s lips on mine, the way he tasted, and how his hands felt on my body, made me… No, this wasn’t good at all.

  For months, I’d managed to repress my feelings for him. Knowing how it felt to be close to him had set off a storm inside me. The warmth and tingling really scared me. I didn’t want to feel that way, because that would only lead to heartache.

  Instead, I’d rather talk to Dad about the thing with Sawyer, about school, about my next writing project.

  “They’re fine,” I finally answered him
, trying to seem as believable as possible.

  Dad obviously wanted to dig a little more, but I changed the subject. “Now it’s your turn. How was your date last week?”

  My father breathed out slowly. “It was a flop.”

  I sighed. Dad had been looking for a partner for years. Part of me was surprised that he hadn’t given up yet.

  “Not again! What happened this time?”

  “I was so busy that I almost forgot about the date, so I rushed to the restaurant in my overalls and… well, you can imagine how thrilled she was.”

  Right. Dad’s stained work clothes probably didn’t make the best impression.

  “Dad, next time wear a suit, put on some cologne, and trim your beard. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

  My dad could look really good if he tried. He was in shape, thanks to the hard physical labor he did every day. With his warm brown eyes and the deep laugh lines around his mouth, he looked hot for an old guy, I was proud to say. There had to be hundreds of women out there who’d fall for him in a heartbeat.

  “It was either show up late or be on time wearing work clothes,” Dad tried to explain.

  I suppressed a grin. “And you picked the overalls.”

  “Sooner or later she would’ve seen me in them anyway,” he said with a shrug.

  My instinct to bang my head on the table was interrupted by the arrival of our food.

  “Well, I won’t be seeing Stacey again.” Dad cut right into his steak. “Enjoy,” he commanded me.

  I savored the rib eye and gazed out the window. It was cloudy and looked like rain, but the serene view of the valley had a calming effect.

  “No worries, Dad,” I said, finally. “We’ll find your Mrs. Right. She’s out there somewhere. And if Stacey didn’t think your overalls were sexy enough, she’s a fool.”

  That got him to smile. For a while, we ate without speaking.

  “While we’re on the topic… Nathaniel and Rebecca are moving into the Maynard House.”

  I paused, my fork in midair. “What?”

  Dad dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “He looked at the property again with an appraiser, talked them down a bit, and then struck. It’s a great piece of real estate. I was wondering when it would finally go.”

  Very slowly, I set my fork on my plate. My heart was in my throat. The room suddenly felt cold; my palms were sweaty and my chest felt tight. I took some deep breaths.

  “I wanted you to find out from me, Dawny, and not have to wait till your next visit, when it’d be the talk of the town.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Dad reached across the table for my hand. “It’s okay to be mad, honey. Or sad. Both are understandable.”

  Closing my eyes, I nodded. It took all my strength not to pick up my plate and throw it at the wall. I needed to break something. Vent my anger, so I wouldn’t explode.

  Nate had the gall to buy the Maynard House?

  The house he and I used to dream about when we were younger. With the garden that we’d sneak into, so we could look over the veranda into the living room. The house with the white façade, dark green tiled roof, wooden shutters and high ceilings decorated with stucco finishing. Our shared dream of a future that would never be.

  I gripped my glass of iced tea until my knuckles turned white. After taking a long sip, I looked up at Dad again, with a fake but hopefully convincing smile.

  “Thanks for telling me, Dad. I’m happy for Nate.”

  I’d never had the heart to tell Dad the real reason for our breakup. Dad could be opinionated, and after mom left him, he hadn’t let many people get close to him—friends included. But the Duffys had been part of his social circle for more than a decade. That’s why I made up the story about Nate and me parting on good terms. Besides, I didn’t want Dad to worry about me. He had enough on his plate, and I just wanted to be the strong woman he’d raised me to be.

  All Dad knew was that the separation was hard, like most breakups. But he also believed my explanation that we were just too young for such a serious relationship; that living together wouldn’t have worked either; that we wanted to end it on friendly terms before one of us got hurt beyond repair. Just like with him and mom.

  All bullshit.

  I spent the rest of our afternoon in zombie mode, barely registering anything Dad told me, responding to his questions as cheerily as possible, but with few words. I plastered a big smile on my face as we said goodbye and hugged him tightly.

  Numb, I trudged home slowly. As it began to drizzle, I stopped for a moment and looked up at the sky. Tiny needles of rain hit my face.

  An hour later I finally reached the dorm and went straight to my room, oblivious to everyone and everything around me.

  I flopped face down on my bed. Sawyer asked me something, but I didn’t want to hear or explain anything. So I pulled my blanket over my head and turned my face to the wall.

  Gradually Dad’s words came back to me. The deeper I let them penetrate, the more it hurt. My body felt heavy, full of grief.

  Nate had bought our house. For the girl he’d been cheating with for months.

  By now, I shouldn’t care, but I couldn’t help it. Not after six years together. Not after being hurt so badly. Finding Nate in our bedroom on top of Rebecca was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. The pain tore me apart. It had robbed me of my confidence. The pain was… I couldn’t even describe it.

  Just thinking about it paralyzed me. I curled into a ball, closing my eyes tightly so as not to cry over Nate. He didn’t deserve my tears. My tears for Nathaniel Duffy had been used up. That’s why I’d moved to Woodshill. To let go. Build a new future. And I’d vowed not to shed a single tear over him.

  Now he’d bought the Maynard House.

  He just kept on going as if nothing had happened. As if I’d never been part of his life.

  He was living our dream but not with me.

  I didn’t love Nate anymore. Not for quite some time now. It was actually amazing how quickly that feeling dried up after he showed me what kind of person he really was. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to see him move on as if we’d never been together.

  At some point Sawyer’s voice pierced my swirling thoughts: I heard footsteps approach.

  “Dawn?”

  I turned and peered out with one eye from under my blanket. Allie was squatting in front of my bed. I scooted closer to the wall and lifted the blanket so she could slide in. A moment later we were both in my cave.

  We looked at each other. My throat was tight.

  “Nate bought our house,” I whispered. “I guess he’s going to get a Maltese now and call him Cupcake.”

  “That asshole.”

  I nodded and practically banged my head against hers. “That’s an understatement.” Trying to calm myself, I rubbed at the knot of despair in my chest.

  Allie lifted her hand and stroked my arm. There was no pity in her eyes, just understanding. “Maybe that’s why Nate was trying to reach you? To tell you about it?”

  I snorted. “I can not believe he actually bought our house.”

  “You never told me about that,” Allie said softly.

  “It was just a stupid dream,” I said, after clearing my throat. “We always talked about the future. My plan was to continue writing while Nate worked his way up in his father’s company. We imagined where we’d live. This guy—Ernest Maynard—had lived in the house for decades. He never married, never had any kids, and it seemed like everyone was just waiting for him to croak so they could snatch up that house.”

  “That sounds kind of morbid,” Allie said, crinkling her nose.

  “It was,” I nodded. “But in our defense, Ernest looked like he was 200 years old.”

  “A very respectable age.”

  Again I nodded and the blanket rustled against my hai
r. “He was probably only 163 or so. Everyone we knew was always talking about the house, so one time Nate and I decided to go take a look. Unfortunately, Ernest found us trying to peek inside, and he threatened to call the cops.”

  “Oh no!”

  “The next day, Nate and I brought over some cookies and apologized. He let us in, and we had tea together.”

  Allie grinned. “So you got inside.”

  “It was a dream. Seriously, Allie. It was the most beautiful house I’d ever seen. Even better than a fairytale. It was done in a romantic country style, just perfect. Ernest told us how he and his father had built it, and he got all sentimental. He said he knew how everyone was just waiting for him to kick the bucket,” I had to clear my throat, because my voice had gotten hoarse.

  “Nate told him that we still had a while before we were even old enough to bid on a house, so he should stop being so morbid. We were 16.”

  “You were already dreaming of living there?”

  I shrugged. “It was just a joke before, but after we met Ernest, something changed. It felt so real.”

  “So what happened to Ernest?”

  I took a shaky breath. “He died six months ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. He had no living relatives and no will, so the house was turned over the state and sold.”

  Allie frowned. “To Nate.”

  I nodded.

  “Ugh.”

  “Look at it this way: that asshole will be the next one to bite the dust in that house,” Sawyer chimed in next to us.

  I pushed the blanket aside. My roommate had pulled her folding chair up to my bed and was painting her toenails on my bedside table.

  “That’s tacky, Sawyer,” Allie scolded.

  “Tacky, but true. Besides, we’re on her side,” Sawyer said, nodding toward me.

  Allie sat up and looked confusedly between Sawyer and me.

  “I think we’re friends now,” I shrugged.

  We spent the rest of Friday evening finishing off an entire bag of mini Reese’s. Allie went out of her way to distract me from thinking about Nate, and Sawyer even painted my toenails. It felt nice to be spoiled like this.