then be saved by her ex-boyfriend? “I can’t call Chevy.”
It wouldn’t be fair to Chevy, and it wouldn’t be fair to me. The love I had for him was consuming and powerful and raw. I briefly close my eyes as memories of Chevy’s hands on my body and his lips on mine cause warmth to curl in my bloodstream... Even when we fought, we never had problems with attraction.
My breakup with Chevy hasn’t only hurt me, but my brother, and I’m not sure if he’ll ever forgive me. I’m not sure if a lot of people will forgive me, but none of that matters. My single goal in life is to get as far away from this town as I can, as fast as I can. Graduation. That’s my town of Snowflake expiration date.
A motorcycle rumbles in the distance and it’s weird how my heart still flutters at the sound. When I was younger, I used to sit at the window in the living room and wait for that beautiful growl. The moment I heard Dad’s motorcycle, I used to skip through the house telling my mom and brother that Daddy was home.
I’d burst out the front door in time for him to swing off his bike and then he’d catch me and toss me into the air. I’d squeal, then end up in a fit of giggles as he would tickle me in his big, crushing hug.
Those days are long gone.
The motorcycle engine grows louder. A single headlight breaks over the hill of the road that leads to town. Most sane people would be terrified at being alone on the side of the road at night with an approaching motorcycle, but I’m annoyed and slightly relieved.
If someone from the Terror wants to stumble upon me and help make Dad’s car move, I’ll suck up the animosity long enough to get my brother home. But at the same time, accepting their help will only make them want to go dictator over everything else in my family’s life.
Anything offered by the Terror comes at a price. My father paid with his life.
I step back from the open hood and the motorcycle slows to a stop behind my car. I blow out a rush of air. Why does my life have to continually suck? I would have taken Eli or Pigpen over this. But I didn’t get Thing One or Thing Two. I got my ex because I’m that incredibly unlucky.
Chevy slips off his bike and grimly assesses the car. More than once he’s been under the hood of this Chevelle. Chevy and my dad were close. A part of Chevy was also destroyed when Dad died.
“Mom’s on her way,” I say. “You’re fine to move along, since she’ll be here soon.”
Brandon rushes past me so quickly that his arm smacks mine. He doesn’t bother looking back to confirm I’m still standing; no, my brother is too busy welcoming Chevy like he’s a hero.
Brandon is all words, most of them tripping and running into the other, as he attempts to express his excitement and undying love and loyalty. “We were at your game and Pigpen bought me a hot dog and Eli bought my ticket and I didn’t see your first touchdown, but I saw your second and third and you plowed right through that line and I’m so glad to see you.”
Because Chevy is patient, more patient than most grown men, he stands in front of my brother with his thumbs hitched in his front pockets and that sexy slouch of his like he’s prepared to listen to every single word Brandon could ever say or think to say.
As long as I’ve known him, Chevy’s kept his hair trimmed, but today strands of his dark brown hair slightly cover his forehead and it’s incredibly endearing. The type of style that’s teasing and begs to be swept away.
A wave of unwanted jealousy rages through me. I used to be the one who could touch Chevy. Last I heard, I’d been replaced with a revolving door of girls who have lined up to spend the evening with the school’s star running back and waterfall of muscle.
Brandon’s still gushing, Chevy’s still listening, but then, as if our relationship had never been interrupted, his gaze strays in my direction. Eyes straight to mine and I can’t breathe. Returning his gaze is a lot like coming home after a long night and falling into bed.
I fell into way too many things with Chevy. The suck part about falling is that eventual crash landing. I tear my eyes away and force air into my aching lungs.
Thank God, Brandon’s still going. “Dad’s car broke down and Violet wouldn’t call you, but I said we should call you. I told her that you’d come—at least you’d come for me. I told her to call the club, but she wouldn’t.”
Twice in one night my brother decides to go traitor. See if I take him to a football game again.
“Did Violet bring you to the game?” Chevy asks.
Brandon’s forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“Did Violet bring you to the game?”
“Well...yeah.”
“Then you should be grateful she did. Not all sisters care.”
My bracelets clink together when I shift, uncomfortable that anyone is taking up for me, even if it is Chevy. Since Dad died, Chevy joined the ranks of people thinking I’m the devil because I’m trying to break free of the Terror.
“Your car’s broke.” Chevy glances in my direction again, and there’s a softness in his eyes that I hate and love. It’s the same unguarded look as when we whispered our most intimate thoughts into each other’s ears.
I hold his gaze for as long as he can handle. “Thanks for the update, Captain Obvious.”
Chevy mimics tipping a hat that isn’t on his head. “My pleasure.”
The right side of my mouth edges up. Damn him for being so charming.
“Stone,” Chevy says. “Have you made big plans for tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Violet turns eighteen.”
Chevy and I had so many plans for eighteen. Spent too many nights in each other’s arms planning out how we were going to celebrate this year. Dinner out of Snowflake. Prom. Laughter with friends. Midnight and dancing on a blanket in our field.
“Mom’s mad at Violet and she said we might not do anything because of Violet’s attitude,” Brandon blurts, and he scratches his chin twice. “Violet cut class and the school called Mom to tell her. Mom’s really angry. She yelled. A lot. And Violet wouldn’t yell back. Violet always yells back, but not this time.”
Chevy’s adorable smile falls into a frown and it’s really a shame. Brandon looks over at me for confirmation that I’m not mad at him for spilling about my fight with Mom, because I’ve reminded him several times that personal conversations should stay personal, and I step toward him, then briefly squeeze my fingers around his wrist.
My brother isn’t trying to tattle, he’s nervous being out in the dark and upset over the fight Mom and I had before we left for the game. He has a problem with letting negative emotions go. They circle his brain like vultures do with roadkill.
Headlights shine in the distance, and my shoulders relax. Last thing I want to do is get into a discussion with Chevy as to why I didn’t tell Mom that I handed Chevy my note. This has been an awful day, and I’m ready to pull the covers over my head and stay in bed for days, maybe weeks.
I
