Michael. The one that wasn’t nice. The one that wasn’t good to me.
My throat thickened, and I wanted to swallow, but I couldn’t move. I just stared, paralyzed. Had he been there since I first walked down? The whole time?
He leaned back in his heavy armchair, nearly shrouded by the darkness and the shadows of the trees overhead. One hand rested on a basketball that sat on top of his thigh, and the other hand lay on the armrest, the neck of a beer bottle hanging from his fingers.
My heart started to pound so hard it hurt. What was he doing?
He raised the bottle to his lips, still watching me, and I dropped my eyes for a split-second, embarrassment heating my cheeks.
He’d seen the whole episode with Trevor. Dammit.
I looked up again, seeing his light brown hair that was styled to look like he should be on the cover of a magazine, and his hazel eyes, that always looked like cider with flecks of spice. They seemed darker than they actually were, hidden in the shadows, but they pierced me under straight brows that slanted inward, making him look just as formidable as he was. His full lips held no hint of a smile, and his tall frame nearly consumed his chair.
He wore black pants with a black suit jacket, and his white shirt was open at the collar. No tie, because, as usual, he did what he wanted.
And that’s all anyone could ever go on with Michael. How he appeared. How he looked. I didn’t think his parents even knew what was happening behind those eyes.
I watched him rise out of his chair and drop the basketball into the seat, keeping his eyes on me as he walked over.
The closer he got, the taller his six feet four inches looked. Michael was lean but muscular, and he made me feel small. In many ways. He looked like he was walking straight for me, and my heart hammered in my chest as I narrowed my eyes, bracing myself.
But he didn’t stop.
The faint hint of his body wash hit me as he passed by, and I turned my head, my chest aching as he walked out the solarium doors without a word.
I folded my lips between my teeth, fighting the burn in my eyes.
One night, he’d noticed me. One night, three years ago, Michael saw something in me and liked it. And just when the fire was starting to kindle, ready to flare and burst apart in a flood of flames, it folded. It tucked its rage and heat away and contained it.
I shot off, heading back into the house, through the foyer, and out the front door, anger and frustration chewing at every nerve in my body as I headed to my car.
Other than that one night, he’d ignored me most of my life, and when he did speak to me, it was clipped.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and climbed into my car. I hoped I wouldn’t see him in Meridian City. I hoped we never crossed paths and I never had to hear about him.
I wondered if he even knew I was moving there. It didn’t matter, though. Even in the same house, I may as well be on a different planet than him.
Starting the car, 37 Stitches by Drowning Pool poured through the speakers, and I accelerated down the long driveway, pushing the clicker to open the gate. I sped out onto the road. My house was only a few minutes away and an easy walk I’d made many times in my life.
I forced deep breaths, trying to calm down. Twelve hours. Tomorrow I’d leave everything behind.
The high stone walls of the Crist estate ended, giving way to trees lining the road. And within less than a minute, the gas lamp posts of my home appeared, lighting the night. Veering left, I clicked another button on my visor and inched my Tesla through the gate, seeing the outside lamps cast a soft glow around the circular driveway with a large marble fountain sitting in the center.
Parking my car in front of the house, I hurried to my front door, just wanting to crawl in bed until it was tomorrow.
But then I glanced up, doing a double-take at seeing a candle burning in my bedroom window.
What?
I hadn’t been home since late this morning. And I certainly hadn’t left a candle burning. It was ivory-colored and sitting in a glass hurricane candleholder.
Walking to the front door, I unlocked it and stepped inside.
“Mom?” I called out.
She had texted earlier, saying she was going to bed, but it wasn’t unusual for her to have trouble sleeping. She might still be up.
The familiar scent of lilacs drifted through my nose from the fresh flowers she kept in the house, and I looked around the large foyer, the white marble floor appearing gray in the darkness.
I leaned against the stairs, looking up the flights into the three stories of eerie silence above. “Mom?” I called out again.
Rounding the white bannister, I jogged up the stairs to the second floor and turned left, my footsteps going silent as they fell on the ivory-and-blue rugs covering the hardwood floors.