“Serendipity, then.”
“Did you just learn that one?” I run a hand through my hair, trying to disguise the way I watch him more closely. His exhaustion is apparent and I remember what Carmen had said—that her brother was at practice. There’s a slight sheen on his tanned skin, a hint of tautness in his neck and arms, like he’s still recovering from the exertion, and I can’t help but wonder how often he does this: speeding over from Astor to Boston’s city center, picking up his sister who’s clearly on a scholarship with a hand me down back pack.
He laughs. “There’s a movie?—”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it.” I cut him off, wincing at the way my attention snaps to him, at his ability to draw me in even when I don’t want to be drawn. I need to be a good sister, because once Grant finds out about Connie—finds out about Elliot—hooking up with his teammate will seem like child's play. The least I can do is not break the only two rules he’s given me.
“Thanks. For staying with Carm,” he says, just as I’m about to exit. Genuine gratitude in his amber speckled eyes. “I owe you one.”
“It was nothin’.” I let a genuine smile slip out, frustrated by my inability to fully reject this boy, because I know myself and hewillwear me down. Get me to do something that might wreck all my plans. Like staying in Grant’s good graces so he’ll finally see our mom. I turn toward the parking lot, each stomp an attempt at extinguishing the small flame that lights inside me whenever that boy gives me that toothy grin of his.
I take the long way, trying to avoid Carmen where she’s waiting in the lobby, only to see them pulling out of theconservatory just as I reach the street corner. She waves—way more kindly than I would’ve suspected for a child who taunted me with the nickname Rapunzel all afternoon—and I feel my heart swell.
And then Andrew locks eyes with me andfucking winks.
6
Andy
The chipped black door handle of the club is sticky as I pull it open to reveal the dark, smoky, black box theatre. I’ve worked at Johnny’s for a while now, since before I started at Astor. Johnny, Luis’ best friend, moved to Boston alongside mom, he made it seem like it was to open a second location for his infamous comedy club but I knew the truth, it was to keep an eye on mom, on Carmen. Like he promised anytime Luis got into a perilous situation, which wasn’t uncommon for a firefighter in California.
I still remember, though, the first time Luis had a close call. He’d been gone all night and Johnny came over before my mom even picked up the phone and held my mom, held Carm and promised he’d have their back if it ever happened. And it did.
So, here he is, all the way on the east coast, keeping that promise.
“Look who decided to join us...” Johnny’s gruff Italian accent fills the small club, his button down stressed at the seams as he wipes the bar counter. I lift the latch to let myselfbehind the bar, picking up a crate of freshly washed glassware to begin polishing.
“Sorry, Johnny.” I slap his shoulder reaching over him to grab an extra towel. “Ran a little behind taking Carm to rehearsal.” He sighs, nodding his head because as long as Carmen’s involved I can be excused from almost anything.
“How’s Mom?” he asks sympathetically as I start working the towel against the mass of water stains covering tonight's drink ware.
“Tired,” I grumble, reaching under the bar to grab the cleaning solution we keep down there for the times we need to clean a glass on the fly.
“She works too hard.” He shakes his head then claps my back and I know what it is—pity. I don’t blame him for it. I feel it, too, with every small new crease that forms along my mom’s eyes when she smiles, feel it when she texts to see if I can stay an extra hour and make Carmen something to eat, when she asks if she can pay me back next month. Pity and guilt have worked their way in and out of me more times than I care to count. The feeling’s so intertwined with my family I wonder if things always felt this hard. That’s part of why I begged Johnny not to tell mom I started working here a few nights a week and also likely why he obliged.
He perches his large body on a small black stool, peeking over the society pages of the Boston Globe.
I chuckle, snatching the pages from him. “You really need to stop reading all this garbage.”
“What—scared I’ll see you in there one day at your big fancy school?”
I roll my eyes as he grabs the paper back from me. “I doubt they’d find anyone at mybig fancy schoolthat interesting,” I say, moving back to the glasses.
“Ah. So I guess you don’t know—” he pulls the smallspectacles off his head and onto his eyes as he squints at the tiny serif font, “—the Fielder twins?” I narrow my eyes and he raises his brows in amusement. “You do know them, then!” He chuckles that loud boisterous laugh of his, slapping his hand on the counter with glee. “They say the girl one—” he squints back down, “Sloane. They say she’s arealtrain wreck.”
I feel my eyebrows furrow before I can stop them, feel the way my arm instinctively rips the paper off the counter quickly scanning it before chucking it in the trash can. She’s there, right smack dab in the center of a huge spread dedicated primarily to the ‘Grocery Store Heiress ready to take New England by Storm.’ I stare at the photo longer than I should. I can tell it’s an older photo, probably from California, definitely before she came to Boston. She’s dancing on a bar, a mini dress so small that a slight bend would expose her ass to the mass of men staring at her and sure. That pisses me off but what I can’t look away from is how her eyes are shut, arms in the air, looking…free. I shake my head, tearing the paper before tossing it in the trash.
“Like I said, garbage.” My jaw’s set and I look at Johnny who looks both outraged and amused.
“Alright, alright. Testy today, huh?” He laughs again before nodding to my knuckles, now red from the way I’m gripping the silver tumbler I’m not polishing. “What’s eating you, kid?”
I let out the breath I’m holding because there’s no way in hell I’m going to talk to Johnny about Sloane, least of all because he wouldn’t understand why I need to keep my distance. It shouldn’t be bothering me at all, actually, and the fact that she’s been occupying any space in my mind at all is probably what’s irritating me the most.
My phone moves in my pocket and I pull it out, hiding my screen as I read the text.
DAD
Updates on the girl??
