Escape With You Read online

  Escape With You

  Rachel Schurig

  Copyright © 2014 Rachel Schurig

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  To find out more about her books, visit Rachel at rachelschurig.com

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Jennifer Harris at Harris Proofreading for all of your help.

  Thank you, Najla Qamber, for the beautiful cover. You’re awesome!

  najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Chapter One

  Ellie

  Summer is winding down. The air feels different—not exactly cold, not yet. But there’s a crispness to it that wasn’t there a week ago, a note of approaching autumn. I roll up the car window, not wanting to think about the dropping temperature. If Fred is bothered by the lack of fresh air, he doesn’t mention it.

  “Fall is coming,” he says instead, as if reading my mind. His voice is loud in the quiet of the enclosed space.

  “Yeah. Can’t say I’m too excited about it.”

  “Me either.” He sounds sad and I wonder how much of that, if anything, has to do with me. There’s been a weird vibe between us lately; one I’m not quite sure how I feel about.

  “Don’t know what you’re complaining about,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “You get to get out of here, back to your exciting college life. I’m stuck right where I’ve always been.”

  “Oh, please. You’re the one with the cool new apartment. Think of all the Ellie and Zoe parties I’m about to miss.”

  I grin in spite of myself. I am pretty excited about living with my best friend Zoe. It will be good to get out of my mom’s place, start somewhere new. And it will be damn good for Zoe to move on herself.

  “I’m sure you’ll comfort yourself by attending a shit-ton of college keg parties,” I tell him.

  He snorts. “I’m a senior now, you know. Way too old and serious for college keg parties.”

  “That’s you,” I agree. “Old, serious, and lame.”

  I thought he would laugh but he doesn’t—there’s that weird vibe again. I’m not sure how to shake it. Since we met at the beginning of the summer—right around the time our best friends got together—Fred and I have kept up a steady stream of teasing and jokes. As Zoe and Jet got closer, Fred and I spent more and more time together. If I were honest with myself, I’d say that we’ve been doing some flirting, but that’s not anything out of the ordinary. I flirt with just about everyone. It’s part of my charm. But Fred has seemed off lately, and I’m not sure why.

  “I’m teasing,” I tell him. “You’re only a little lame.”

  He laughs now but I can’t help but notice that it sounds a little sad. “You really know how to boost up a guy’s ego, Ellie.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I’ve never been very good at this kind of thing when it comes to guys—the whole talking and sharing feelings part. In fact, I usually don’t keep the guys in my life around long enough to talk much at all. My friendship with Fred is definitely an anomaly, and never would have happened in the first place if it wasn’t for our friends getting together.

  “You sleepy?” he asks, changing the subject, almost like he knows it’s making me uncomfortable. Fred has a knack for that—for knowing what I want before I can even tell him. Sometimes before I even know myself.

  “I’ve been sleepy all day,” I remind him. “Ever since the two of you insisted I get out of bed before the sun came up.”

  Though my attention is on the road, I just know he’s rolling his eyes. “We didn’t leave your house until eight. The sun had been up for quite a while.”

  “Eight is early for me, okay? I need my beauty sleep.”

  “Poor, long-suffering Ellie. Didn’t you have a good time today?”

  I’m tempted to tell him no, just to mess with him. But I know he takes this shit very seriously. “I did,” I say, catching his smile from the corner of my eye. I’m glad that I told him the truth. “The art show wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. It was actually really cool.”

  “Our boy did good, huh?” he asks, and the pride in his voice is unmistakable.

  “He did great.” I’m not just saying it for Fred’s benefit, either. Jet Taylor, Fred’s best friend, had created a 3-D masterpiece at the art fair with nothing more than chalk and a few rulers. I’d never seen anything like it. When Zoe, my best friend and Jet’s girlfriend, told me that we were going to an art fair, I had been skeptical, to say the least. Art and culture and all of that crap aren’t really my thing—I’m much more likely to be found enjoying the finer points of a good kegger than studying any kind of art. I should have known better, though—Jet is basically the epitome of bad boy cool. It would have been logical to guess that his version of fine art would fall on the kick-ass end of the spectrum.

  “Great,” Fred agrees, nodding. He lapses into silence after that and I turn slightly to look at him. The mood has turned tense again but this time I get the sense it has nothing to do with me. He’s staring out his window, an anxious look on his face.

  “Fred?”

  “I hate that I have to leave next week,” he says suddenly. His fists clench on his thighs. “It’s too soon.”

  I sigh. I want to tell him that everything will be fine, that Jet is out of the woods, but I know full well that I wouldn’t be able to handle leaving Zoe if our positions were reversed. She’s had a rough summer, too—which is hardly something new—but she wasn’t the one that had ended up in the hospital, nearly dead from an overdose.

  “You don’t think he would…” I trail off, not wanting to say the words out loud. “Look, he’s doing much better now,” I say instead. “He’s out of that house. He’s got Zoe back. She even said his dad is in the picture again. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  “Yeah, until something isn’t,” Fred mutters. “He’ll be fine so long as things are going well. But what happens when something gets fucked? And I’m not around?”

  “Zoe will be around,” I remind him.

  “No offense, Ells,” he tells me, smiling warily. “I know she’s your girl. But it’s no coincidence he ended up in the hospital a week after she dumped him.”

  My temper immediately goes up. “She was dealing with some shit of her own—”

  He raises his hands quickly. “I know. I know that. All I’m saying is that their relationship is…volatile. Which is a little scary for two people who both have issues.”

  I nod, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over me. Issues. That’s an understatement. I totally understand his worry—I’ve been feeling it for years. When was the last time I wasn’t worried about Zoe?

  “They seem really happy,” I mutter, clenching my fingers on the wheel. “I just want them to stay that way.”

  “Me too.” He reaches over and pulls my right hand into his. “It just…it freaks me out that I won’t be here. That’s all.”

  “Do you ever get tired of it?” I burst out before I can change my mind.

  “Tired of what?”

  “Of…worrying all the time.”

  Fred laughs and releases my hand to run his
own through his hair. “I’ve been worrying about that kid for years. It’s like second nature now.”

  I nod. I could say the same about Zoe. We became friends under shitty circumstances—her mom had just tried to kill herself and Zoe’s terrible old friends were basically being bitches about it. Her home life hasn’t improved much over the years. Sometimes it feels like I spend more time worrying about her than actually having fun with her. I’m not complaining—she’s my best friend in the world and nothing is going to change that. But it would be nice to know she was just…okay for a while.

  “Let’s change the subject,” Fred says. “We spend enough time talking about them.”

  I smile. “Good point. So…what do you have planned for the last week before school?”

  “I should probably pack one of these days,” he says drily. “Try to see a few friends before I go. What about you? How are you ringing out the summer?”

  I feel a dip in my stomach at his words. “I have three interviews this week.”

  He slaps a hand to his forehead. “Shit, Ells. I totally forgot. Anything promising?”

  I shake my head. “They’re all established salons but not really the kind of place I see myself working.”

  “They’re old lady salons, aren’t they?” he asks and I burst out laughing.

  “Pretty much.”

  He watches me for a minute. “I can’t really see you giving perms and doing those short poofy haircuts grandmas the world over seem to love.”

  I smile grimly. He’s joking, but that’s pretty much what I would be doing in these places. When I went into beauty school I had always imagined myself working somewhere a hell of a lot more hip than Carol’s Curls and Cuts.

  “It will be good experience wherever I end up,” I say bracingly. “Assuming I even get one of these sucky jobs.”

  “You will,” he says confidently. “You can do anything you want, Ellie.”

  I feel a little pang in my chest at his words. It’s the kind of thing my dad used to say to me all the time. But that was a long time ago, I remind myself. And I haven’t needed a guy to reassure me in years.

  “Of course I can,” I say, my voice much more easy-breezy than I actually feel. “I do wish I had picked a different time to quit smoking. There’s nothing like interview stress to set off the worst cravings.”

  “It’s still going good?”

  “Five weeks.” I can’t keep the hint of pride out of my voice. I’ve tried to quit dozens of times but I’ve never made it so long.

  “See?” Fred pushes on my shoulder. “Told you—you can do anything you want.”

  We’ve finally reached the outskirts of town. I wished Zoe was going to be home tonight. Fred’s questions have me all worried about the interviews again, though I’d been determined to keep my mind off of them for the duration of the weekend. But now that they’re on my mind I don’t feel like being on my own to obsess. Maybe I could call Hunter or Everett, see what the rest of our friends were getting up to.

  “You want to hang out?” Fred asks, his voice a shade too casual. “I really don’t feel like getting started on that packing.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  He shrugs. “We could see if there are any parties going down. It’s the last Friday night of the summer, right? There’s bound to be something happening.”

  But the idea of spending the night at some shitty basement party makes me feel tired all over again. I’ve spent most of my free nights this summer doing just that. Somehow, I know the same old isn’t going to get my mind off the things that are stressing me out. I’d probably end up just getting wasted to distract myself—a prospect that has felt less appealing than usual since Jet’s OD.

  “Or not,” Fred continues, and from the corner of my eye I can see his face turned towards me, studying me. “We could just get some food.”

  “Want to come over?” I ask. As soon as the words are out of my mouth I wonder if they’re a mistake—Zoe is spending the night with Jet, leaving our apartment empty. Fred and I don’t typically spend a lot of time totally alone together. Will it make things awkward? Will that weird vibe plague us all night?

  “Sure,” he says, his voice even, unconcerned. “Let’s bring some food back.”

  At his agreement I immediately feel better, less stressed. A low-key, no pressure night is just what I need to get my mind off of my future employment situation. And, as I’ve found time and time again this summer, there’s no one as low-key, no pressure as Fred.

  Chapter Two

  Ellie

  We end up stopping at the Burrito Barn, where I work part time until I can find work in a salon. We place our orders and chat with my friend Trixie while we wait. Food in hand we head back to the apartment where we open cold beers and check Netflix for something to watch.

  “I love this show,” Fred says, clicking on Breaking Bad. “Have you seen it?”

  “It’s only, like, my favorite show.”

  He grins, raising his beer can at me. “Meth production it is then.”

  I’m only halfway through my burrito when my cell phone rings. Thinking it’s probably Zoe letting me know they got back okay, I answer without checking the screen.

  “Honey? Is that you?”

  I barely suppress a groan. My mother. Fantastic.

  I stand, setting my burrito on the coffee table. “Be right back,” I mouth at Fred.

  I take the phone down to my room before speaking, not wanting to have this conversation next to Fred.

  “Hello? Ellie? Hello?”

  “I’m here, Mom.”

  “Oh, sweetie, good. I was getting worried.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Oh, Ells, I’m having the roughest day.” She launches into a melodramatic monologue, all about her ex taking off this morning without a word, and how she hadn’t been able to get into work as a result, and now her boss was definitely going to fire her and then she would be so totally screwed—

  I sigh, leaning against my dresser, tuning her out. It’s always the same with her. Any time I dare to be away from home for more than an hour straight I get a phone call about how difficult it is for her to cope. She’d pretty much lost it completely when I told her I was moving out—”But who will help me?”—and I’ve been receiving a phone call nearly identical to this every day ever since.

  “And now, Ellie, I can’t even turn on the bloody kitchen light because I blew a fuse this afternoon. I’ve bashed my shin against the kitchen table three times already trying to get to the fridge—”

  “So change the fuse,” I suggest.

  “Oh, sweetie, you know I can’t do that. Fuses were always Brad’s area.”

  I roll my eyes at that. Brad is her most recent ex and, though he’d lived with us for two months, I had no memory of him every performing the simplest of household repairs.

  “I wrote the directions down for you, Mom. Don’t you remember? The last time you blew one out drying your hair.”

  “I know, sweetie, but I don’t think I can—”

  “You can, Mom. I learned how when I was fourteen. You’re forty. You can definitely do it.”

  She sniffs at the mention of her age and it’s everything I can do not to hang up on her. “Couldn’t you just stop by the house, babe? I’ve never done it before and I just know I’m going to mess something up.”

  “I’m not coming over right now.” I grit my teeth, refusing to give into the urge to feel guilty. She might act helpless, but that’s not my fault. She’s a grown woman.

  “I have to go, Mom,” I say, determined to be firm with her. “I have a guest over. The instructions are taped to the wall right next to the fuse box. You can do it.”

  “Oh, Ellie, I guess I can try if you’re sure you can’t—”

  “I can’t, Mom. I have to go. I love you.”

  She sniffles a little on the other end of the phone and I tamp down another groan. Do not feel guilty, do not feel guilty…

  “Bye, Mom.” />
  “Bye, Ellie,” she says her voice small and injured. I hang up and place both hands on my dresser, taking deep breaths to calm myself before I head back to the living room.

  “You okay?” Fred asks as I return to the couch. I feel a rush of annoyance—why does he have to be so damn good at reading me?

  “I’m fine,” I snap and his eyebrows shoot up. I immediately feel guilty. “I’m fine,” I say again, my voice less hostile this time.

  “Okay,” he says, but I know he doesn’t believe me. I grab my beer and down the rest of it. I can see him watching me from the corner of his eye but he doesn’t say anything. “I need another beer,” I say, holding up my empty. “You want one?”

  “I’m good.”

  In the kitchen I decide beer isn’t going to cut it, not when I’m in this kind of mood. Instead, I grab a bottle of whiskey and a glass, adding just enough coke to mask the smell. But when I rejoin him on the couch, Fred isn’t fooled. “Jack and Coke?” he asks, his eyebrows up again. I feel another rush of annoyance—if he says a word to me about my drinking I’m going to kick him in the balls. I’m surprised when he grins. “If you would have said that was on the menu I would have joined you.”

  I relax a little, feeling dumb. Fred has never been one to judge. He jumps up from the couch and heads to the kitchen, returning a moment later with his own glass and the rest of the bottle. “For top ups,” he explains, setting it on the coffee table. Before he sits back down he points the remote at the TV, pausing the show. “So, you wanna tell me what’s bugging you?”

  “My mother.” I blow my bangs out of my eyes, leaning back into the couch cushions. “She drives me crazy.”

  “Pretty sure that’s in the mother handbook,” he says, grinning at me. “It’s, like, a requirement or something.”