Escape With You Page 8

  “Because it sounds to me like you’re a little grumpy.”

  He full out grins now. “Grumpy, eh?”

  I kiss him lightly on the mouth. “Yeah. Grumpy as hell, actually. And here’s a really important secret about me.” I kiss him again, deeper this time, before pulling away an inch so I can speak against his mouth. “I never get grumpy.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right. You can be a moody little brat with the best of them, Canter.”

  I shake my head. “No way. In fact, I’m well known around these parts for my charming wit and overall genial nature.” Fred snorts and I kiss him again. “Actually, I have a reputation of being the funnest girl in the room. Didn’t you know that?”

  He lifts his head a little to kiss me. “You know, I think I might have heard something along those lines.”

  “It’s true. I’m really fun. Crazy fun, even. So you were right to agree to all my terms. In fact, you should stick with me, kid. I’ll party those grumps right out of you.”

  He flips me over onto my back so fast my head spins, and then he’s hovering above me, looking down at me with the most delicious, predatory, sexy expression on his face. I can’t help the shiver of anticipation that runs through me, or the smile that I’m sure is stretching my face.

  “I think I will,” he says, before moving in for a kiss. “Stick with you, I mean. I think I’ll definitely stick with you.”

  My last thought before my brain starts to go fuzzy from his kisses is a single word—good.

  Chapter Nine

  Fred

  I figure I’ll leave for school the following morning. I need to get back to campus so I can get my schedule rearranged and talk to my professors. I swing by my parents’ house on the way. I managed a two-minute phone call with my dad last night, which was two minutes longer than we’d talked in weeks. I didn’t have time to tell him about the internship before he had to rush off to deal with some construction related disaster but he assured me he’d be around first thing in the morning if I wanted to talk.

  I’m not at all surprised when I pull up in front of the house to find his car gone. I sigh, looking up at the house I’ve lived in for most of my life. A modest brick ranch that has seen better days. You’d think that with what my dad does for a living the house would look a little fresher—the window sills are in major need of a fresh coat of paint and one of the shutters is starting to slip. But my dad has long been too busy trying to keep the business’s head above water to spend too much time or effort on the house.

  I see movement behind one of the curtains in the kitchen. My stepmom, apparently, is still home. For a moment I debate turning around and heading to school. If my dad is too busy to hear about my plans, I may as well get back to making them. I sigh. Martha would be upset if she found out I’d stopped by without coming in. I may as well relate the news to her—at the very least I could stop playing phone tag with my dad.

  I find her inside in the living room, a stack of unfolded cardboard boxes at her feet.

  “Fred,” she says, her face lighting up in surprise at the sight of me.

  “Hi, Mom.” I lean in for a kiss and she brings her hands up to pat my face.

  “What a nice surprise. What brings you home on a Wednesday?”

  I push down a flash of annoyance. Apparently my dad had not only failed to keep our meeting, he had forgotten about it entirely.

  “I thought Dad might be here,” I tell her. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of each other all week.”

  The worry lines, which have seemed so permanently attached to her face lately, deepen. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I assure her, pushing one of the boxes aside with my toe so I can join her on the couch. “Everything is good, actually. I just found out I was chosen for a really great internship this semester.”

  The worry lines vanish from her face, her smile making her immediately look ten years younger. “You did? Congratulations!”

  “Thanks. I’m pretty excited about it. They’re going to pay me and give me school credit.”

  “Well that sounds like the perfect situation! Does your advisor think it will help your resume?”

  “For sure. The firm is really well-respected.” I feel a dip in my stomach at that thought but push it away. They picked me for a reason. I can handle this. “The only kinda-sorta problem is that the internship is in the city. So I need to get my classes all re-arranged, and I’ll be doing some driving back and forth every week.”

  Before I’ve even finished the sentence the worry lines are back, even deeper than before. “Fred…if you need a place to stay while you’re working—”

  “Jet invited me to sleep in his second room,” I say quickly, wondering what the heck that look was all about. I hadn’t expected her to throw a party when she found out I was going to be around, but she looks almost panicked at the idea of me staying here. I look to her feet. I’d almost forgotten about the boxes.

  “Mom, what’s going on?”

  She glances down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. I’ve seen her do the same thing countless times—usually at the kitchen table whenever she and my dad try to balance the checkbook or discuss anything to do with the business. She’s upset about something. Worried.

  “Mom?”

  “Sweetie, I don’t want you to worry,” she says quickly, looking up at me. Her eyes are wide and concerned. “Everything is going to be fine.”

  “What? What is it?”

  She exhales a great gust of air before setting her shoulders, her face taking on a firm look of determination. “We’re renting out the house.”

  “You’re—what? Why would you rent the house?”

  She meets my eyes straight on, something I’ve always admired about her. When there’s a problem, when there’s bad news to deal with, she never shirks from it. She deals with it, calmly, just like she is now. “We’re behind on our payments. There’s a danger we could go into foreclosure.”

  Immediately my stomach drops and I feel sick. I knew they were having a hard time; that they had been for years. But I had no idea it had gotten so bad.

  “Foreclosure?”

  She nods. “We honestly thought about selling, you know we don’t need this much space now that you and your sister are out of the house.” I look around the small living room—it could fit in the foyer of Jet’s house. I would hardly say we were blessed with an overabundance of space.

  “The market is still so shaky, though,” she continues. “And we owe a lot more than it’s worth.”

  Another drop of my stomach. I’m pretty sure they took out a second mortgage a few years ago, back when the housing market tanked and things got so tough for my dad’s company, but I had never asked. I didn’t really want to know. Apparently, I had guessed right.

  “So you’re going to rent it out to cover the mortgage instead of selling,” I say, shaking my head. “But where will you live?”

  “We’ll just downsize, dear,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s just your father and I. We can be more than comfortable in an apartment.”

  “God, Mom. I had no idea.”

  “There was no reason for you to know,” she says firmly. “This isn’t your problem, Fred. Your father and I are going to be absolutely fine. All you need to worry about is doing your best in school. And now this new internship!” Her voice has retained all of its former brightness, as if the sad matter of having to leave her home was a distant memory. “We’re so proud of you!” She reaches for my hand suddenly, squeezing it until I look up at her. “You have more than enough on your plate, Fred. I don’t want you worrying about us on top of it.”

  I shake my head. I know she means it, know she’s well versed with my history of anxiety, but how on earth am I supposed to not worry about it? This is my home, too, the home I grew up in, the place I lived with my real mom—

  I stand suddenly, not wanting to think those thoughts. “What about Phoebe?” I ask. I start walking around the ro
om, needing to move. Mom shoots me an alarmed look and I realize I’m pacing, a sure sign my anxiety is growing. I stop mid-step, take a deep breath and shove my hands in my pocket before turning to face her, my feet still. “What about Phoebe?” I ask again.

  I regret it immediately. Her shoulders slump, as if in defeat. “We haven’t heard from her in a while. As far as we know she’s still settled with her friends downtown. If she needs a place to stay—well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  There’s a part of me that is oddly proud of their decision. If they are actually planning to move out, it means that they are willing to be less than fully available to my little sister and her needs—a good step, in my opinion. For years they’ve been there for her, picking up the pieces, letting her mess up everything and always have a place to come home to. They need to stop doing that; I know it. Yet at the same time there’s another rush of fear at the thought of Phoebe out there somewhere, not in contact with our parents, getting into trouble. Who was going to bail her out if they lost the house? Or the business?

  “Fred.” Mom’s voice is sharp, much sharper than usual. It pulls me from my racing thoughts. “Stop,” she says firmly. “I mean it. I want you to stop. Your father and I are fine. We’ll have a roof over our head—and each other. That’s plenty to be getting on with.”

  I nod, trying to take deep breaths. I hate when my breathing starts racing like this, when the worry hits me like a freight train. I should probably take one of my pills, but then I wouldn’t be able to drive…

  “Your sister is going to be fine, too,” Mom continues, her voice softer now. “She needs to live her own life. You know that, sweetie. You’re the one who’s always telling us.”

  “I know.”

  She stands and puts her hands on my shoulders. The top of her head barely comes up to my chest but she fixes me with a stern gaze that makes me feel like I’m twelve years old again. “You get yourself up to school and take care of your classes. And do whatever preparations you need to do to get ready for your internship next week.” She smiles brightly. “Your father will be so proud.”

  “Should I stop by the office on my way to school?” I ask.

  “I think he’s out on site, sweetie. But I’ll be going into the office later this morning and I’ll let him know. He’ll be thrilled.”

  I nod once, wishing it wouldn’t feel childish to ask her to have him call me. He probably wouldn’t have time, anyhow.

  “Now go on,” she says, pushing me gently. “Drive safe, okay?”

  “I will.”

  I lean down to hug her and she squeezes me back, tightly. “Go enjoy yourself, Fred,” she whispers in my ear. “It’s your senior year!”

  I give her a half smile as I pull back. “I’ll try.”

  Out in my truck I take a minute to rest my head on the steering wheel. I know that everything she said is totally true—I can’t control this situation, either with my parents or with Phoebe. Worrying myself sick isn’t going to get me anywhere. Besides, the best thing I can do is go to school, kick ass, and find a great job after graduation. Making money and being successful—that’s how I can provide stability to my family.

  Usually that thought makes me feel in control but right now, somehow, it only adds to the churning of my stomach. I’m tired, I realize. I’m tired of trying to be in control.

  My phone beeps in my pocket and I reach for it. There’s a text from Ellie.

  I got the job!

  I grin, the churning in my stomach immediately calming, and text her back. That’s fantastic!

  Thank you! They just called and offered it to me. Is it weird that I kinda feel like I might throw up?

  LOL. I think that’s totally normal.

  I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Normal Guy. Hey, why are you texting me? You’re supposed to be driving to school. If you crash, I am so not responsible.

  I shake my head. Thanks for your concern. I actually haven’t left yet.

  There’s a pause, then—are you in a hurry to get back? Think you might be up for a celebration breakfast?

  I’m already starting the engine as I punch in my reply. Be right there.

  School can wait for a few hours. The only thing I care about right now is the fact that Ellie is waiting for me. I’m the one she wants to celebrate her big news with. Not Hunter. Not Zoe. Me. And, even more surprising, as soon as her name showed up on my phone, all of the anxiety of the morning promptly disappeared, as if it had never happened.

  I’m going to celebrate Ellie’s good news with her, and there is simply no room in my head to worry anymore.

  Chapter Ten

  Ellie

  I’m about ten minutes from work on my first day when my phone rings. I smile, looking down at the screen. Fred. Of course.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice bright. “How are you?”

  “I’m good,” I tell him. I pause, knowing there’s no point in lying to him. “A little nervous, to be honest.”

  “Of course you are,” he says. “It’s your first day. Everyone gets nervous on their first day at a new job.”

  I come to a stop behind a yellow truck at a red light and relax back into my seat. “I guess so. I just…I want to do well, you know? And I don’t want the other stylists to hate me.”

  “Why on earth would they hate you? You’re awesome.”

  I roll my eyes even though I can’t help a little smile at his words. “Yeah, well, I have a lot of experience with girls hating me. It’s pretty much par for the course.”

  “It’s because they’re jealous,” he says confidently. “Because they know you’re so gorgeous and awesome.”

  I snort. “Or because they’re afraid of me.”

  “I was going to say that but I’m afraid of you.”

  The light turns green and I continue on my way to the salon. “What about you?” I ask. “You all ready for the internship?”

  “I’m feeling equally nervous,” he says. “But I have a few more days to stress about it.”

  “When will you be back?” I hope he doesn’t hear the hopeful note in my voice. It’s absolutely ridiculous for me to miss him already—we spent half the weekend in bed together. Besides, I’m not the type of girl to miss any guy, especially not after a couple days.

  “I think I’ll probably come in after my Friday class,” he says. “There’s not a lot going on around here this weekend so I figure I may as well spend the time getting settled at Jet’s and ready for the internship Monday.” So he’ll be around from Friday night until Wednesday. Four whole nights every week. I’m not quite sure if I feel excited by that or freaked out—probably a mixture of both. No pressure, I remind myself. It’s not a relationship.

  I nearly miss my turn into the parking lot at Alice’s and curse, twisting the steering wheel just in time.

  “You okay?” he asks as I pull into a parking spot at the end of the lot.

  “Yeah. I’m here.” My stomach clenches a little as the nerves hit me anew.

  “You’re going to be awesome,” he assures me, as if he can tell exactly how I’m feeling. “No one will hate you and everything will be fine. I’m sure of it.”

  I take a deep breath, willing myself to believe him. “Thanks. I should go in.”

  “Have fun,” he says. “And relax.”

  “I’ll try. Talk to you later.”

  I hang up the phone and look up at the building. It’s pretty nondescript—white cement block with a big blue sign over the door proclaiming Alice’s Boutique. Most of the front facade is taken up by large picture windows, but the blinds are down right now, preventing me from seeing inside. I glance quickly at the clock in my dashboard—eight twenty-five. The manager, Susie, had told me to show up around eight-thirty so she could show me around before they opened at nine. I hope she’s here already—if I have to sit in my car waiting, even for five more minutes, I know the nerves will set in all over again. I take a deep breath, grab my purse, and jump out of the car.

&n
bsp; To my relief, the front door is open. I slip inside cautiously, unsure of how to proceed. Should I call out, let her know I’m here? Luckily she sticks her head out from behind the counter almost immediately. “Hi, Ellie,” she says, smiling at me. “Give me one sec…” She ducks away again and I take the opportunity to look around the space.

  Just as I remembered, it looks pretty generic as far as salons go. There’s a little waiting area to the left of the reception desk made up of a cheap looking Ikea couch and a few wooden chairs. There’s a mess of the usual hairstyle magazines on the coffee table. I decide I may as well make myself useful and move to start arranging them in neater piles.

  “Oh, thanks, dear,” Susie says, joining me in the waiting area. “I was about to do that. Jennie had the closing shift and that girl never remembers to straighten up.”

  “No problem,” I assure her. Susie is a little older than my mom, but the similarities between the two end at their age. While my mom does everything she can to look and act like a teenager, Susie has clearly embraced her forties comfortably. She’s taller than me, a little rounder, with clear laugh lines around her mouth and eyes. Her blond hair has honey colored highlights and Susie wears it in a short, blown-out style. She looks a lot like Fred’s mom, actually—warm and cozy, like you’d expect her to be cooking dinner for her family and making sure the kids get their homework done. I like her immediately.

  “So you know where the magazines go,” she says, smiling. “Let’s take a quick tour before the others get here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She shows me around the small salon. Right behind the waiting area there’s a row of workstations. Most of the other stylists have brought in pictures and other mementos to decorate their stations, which are all kept very tidy. “Alice is a stickler for clean stations,” Susie says. “She’s a sweetheart, but if you want to get on her bad side, leave your station a mess.”

  I shake my head. “Not a problem. I’m kind of OCD about my tools.”