Sins for cigarettes, p.14
Sins for Cigarettes, page 14
Like now.
I drew in the smoke, letting a gradual wave of calmness wash over me. I was less rattled now that we were heading straight and not skidding from curve to corner.
“Dangerous people,” Caden finally muttered.
“Right. That clears a lot up.”
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“We have nothing but time.”
He sighed, and as time passed, I began to think he wouldn’t answer. “I told you that before I left for England, I was friends with the Ravens,” he began.
I nodded.
“Well, they got themselves into some shit. Long story short, it was a complex disagreement between them and some other people. It escalated too far, and innocent people paid the price. I thought the… disagreement was taken care of, but… I’m not so sure.”
“It seems like a lot more than just a disagreement. Or is getting involved in a car chase your usual way of dealing with such disagreements? Is anyone even following us?” I glanced in the side mirror, but there was no hint of headlights or any cars in pursuit.
“I’m not taking any chances.”
“So, you’re driving like a mad-man, and you don’t even know if someone was following us this whole time? Your poor fucking truck! The tires are going to be bald.”
Caden turned lazily to me. “Relax, princess. I can assure you that it’s fine. Only some mild wear and tear.”
“Relax?! You want me to relax when you won’t tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s complicated.” Caden tightened his hands around the steering wheel, gripping so hard the veins in his hands pulsed.
I took another draw of the cigarette; it was already half gone.
Caden was a paradox that I couldn’t quite solve, but I was determined to. We’d been friends as children, but was there more to our past? Did I want to know? Did the past even matter?
I was so fixed on my thoughts that I didn’t realize he’d pulled up in front of my house until he stopped his truck at the bottom of the driveway. The black gates stood tall in front of us.
“My car is back at the academy.”
“I’ll make sure it’s here by morning,” he promised. “I’m not letting you drive home alone.”
It was past eleven at night. I knew my parents wouldn’t notice how I got home. But they would ask questions about where I’d been so long—that is if they were home. I decided it was easier not to argue with Caden.
He leaned in closer, his arm on the center console. “I’m sorry our date had to end on such adventurous terms.”
He was so close to me now his breath swept across my lips. It was sweet and alluring, and my core tightened at the thought of his lips on mine again.
I still stood by the fact that I wasn’t into athletes. Caden might be an exception to that, but there was no point starting something with him that neither of us intended to continue. I had ballet to think about, and he had soccer. We were both at different stages of our lives, and he’d be leaving soon in any case.
On the other hand, I wasn’t opposed to some fun. A summer fling?
I was surprised that my mind went in that direction. I didn’t have time for that either.
I was even more surprised when I said, “Perhaps I’ll figure out a way for you to make it up to me.”
18
THE PLUNGE
the past
Caden
Lounging in the chair in front of the coach’s desk, I stared at the framed photo. It was of him, his wife, and daughter, I assumed. I examined it more closely. It was taken at the beach on a sunny day, the vivid blue of the ocean and sky blending seamlessly.
Coach had his daughter perched on top of his broad shoulders, with her tiny feet dangling near his underarms. She appeared to be four or five years old, and the photo triggered the memory of my father that forever plagued me.
It was this memory that remained clear as day. The humming of the cars over the bridge, the smell of exhaust interspersed with something smoky, the resigned look in my father’s eyes as he crushed me to his chest moments before he—
The coach seized the frame out of my hands, snapping me back into the cramped space of his office. He shoved the photo in the top drawer of his desk.
“Your grades have plummeted the last couple of months, and I have a feeling it’s to do with your attendance. Is everything okay at home?”
“Everything’s fine.”
He continued to look at me as if waiting for me to spill about something. I returned his steady gaze. I’d told him the truth—everything was fine at home. In fact, if my parents knew that my grades and attendance had dropped, I was bound to get an earful.
My mother would blame my friend group, and she’d be right since they were one of the reasons for my poor attendance.
“I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s going on,” the coach tried again. The skin between his brows creased into a deep groove.
“Nothing is going on.” I bounced my leg up and down, unable to keep still.
My gaze settled on the mini snow-globe key chain atop his desk. It seemed like one of those souvenirs you’d buy on vacation, but I couldn’t tell where it was from. I reached for it, but the coach snatched it and tossed it in the drawer with the photo.
He sighed in exasperation. He’d hoped calling me in here would encourage me to unburden myself, but it had the opposite effect. I’d concealed my inner turmoil for over a decade, and I didn’t intend on unlocking the door any time soon. Especially not to someone who didn’t give a shit and was only asking because of his job.
“I’m afraid that if you don’t improve your grades and attendance, then you won’t be able to play anymore. Academics comes first here, and playing sports is a privilege for those who achieve. If you missed some classes but kept your grades up, then I’d be inclined to seek an exemption. I’m sure the school would consider granting it with your”—he scratched his chin—“condition.”
I rolled my eyes at his careful choice of words. I didn’t give a shit what people called my said condition. All that mattered was that I felt normal when I was on the field. Soccer was the only thing that kept me grounded. It was where I felt like I was the same as everyone else. Sometimes even better. I was a good player; I knew that, and so did the coach. If he got rid of me, then the entire team would suffer.
But I assumed the new principal at school hadn’t given him a choice. The guy was a hard ass when it came to rules. I was surprised that Coach was the one he’s forced to have this conversation with me. Were they going to be making a call to Ma?
“It would be a shame to remove you from the team,” he went on. “I hope you’ll consider investing more effort into your studies. If you’re struggling and need help, the school counselor is always available.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled. But no thanks. I knew there wasn’t a chance I’d be stepping foot into the counselor’s office on my own accord.
After striding out of the coach’s office, I paced in the hallway, not knowing what to do.
Forty-five minutes later, I found myself hanging out in the parking lot of Savannah’s dance academy. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t because I hoped to run into her, but who was I kidding?
“Rough day?” a voice questioned.
I rotated to see Savannah in dance clothes.
Not anymore. “Something like that.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“Not unless you know how to hack into a school database and alter some of my grades or my attendance.”
She raised a perfect brow. “I’m afraid not…” She paused. “But there’s this tutoring session that I attend. It’s basically a group where everyone helps each other study. It’s pretty dull, but—”
“When?”
She squinted her eyes, surprised by my interest. “Usually on Tuesday and Friday afternoons. It’s laidback. There are about five of us.”
Tutoring would benefit me, but that wasn’t the reason I agreed to attend. It was because of her.
After exchanging the pertinent details about location and the time, we lingered in the parking lot.
“How good are you at dancing?” she finally asked, wetting her lips.
“I know a few moves.”
“I need a partner to practice with. You don’t have to do much, and only if you don’t have anything planned.”
It turned out I was a terrible dance partner. I crushed her toes more times than I could count and even managed to make us tumble to the floor, although I ensured I hit the ground first and softened her fall. Throughout it all, she didn’t complain. Instead, she was patient and guided me, but I was sure she was beginning to see that having me here wouldn’t help her practice.
After the third or fourth time I caused both of us to trip, she sighed. “You haven’t done any kind of dancing before, have you?”
“Apart from in the shower while singing at the top of my lungs? None.” I pressed my lips together, hoping she wouldn’t be too mad.
She smiled like she found my white lie amusing instead of frustrating. I’d give anything to know what she thought when she looked at me that way, with her head slanted to the side and her lip slightly in between her teeth.
“Maybe we should start with the basics then.”
She altered the music to a slow melody with a gentle beat and approached me cautiously as if she didn’t know whether I’d be up to it. She rested her hands on my shoulders and directed me to put mine on her tapered waist. Compared to me, she was tiny.
“Don’t look at your feet. Just listen to the music and follow my lead,” she instructed.
I focused on her while she led me through the steps, slow at first. Once I (somewhat) got the hang of it, she increased the speed.
“Ready to try something a bit more advanced?” There was a playful twinkle in her eye.
“Uh yeah, sure.”
“Stay here.” She backtracked to the other side of the room. “Have you ever watched Dirty Dancing?”
I widened my eyes. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Don’t think about it too much. That’s how accidents occur.”
“Savannah—” I warned, wanting to tell her that perhaps accidents occurred because we were going from zero to a hundred in seconds.
But she didn’t listen. She was already running toward me. I only had moments to decide whether to go ahead with her crazy plan, although the wide grin on her face interspersed with the gleam in her eye urged me to do anything she wanted.
Or at least try.
19
THE FUNDRAISER
Savannah
A pounding headache drove me awake. All night, nightmares had made me toss and turn. It was strange that I was experiencing them so frequently. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a nightmare before the last few weeks.
But I couldn’t afford to sleep in. It was Saturday, and I had to teach lessons that I didn’t want to miss, especially after Ben’s recent lecture.
In fifteen minutes, I was dressed and had my hair snugged in a bun. I packed my dance bag, said my goodbyes to Hudson, scratching him behind the ears, and rushed downstairs.
On the way to my car—which as promised, was parked in the driveway—I checked my phone to find a text from Caden. He’d saved his number under Wilder last night.
Wilder: Sorry about last night. So, how can I make it up to you?
A warm feeling pirouetted in my stomach, and I chewed on my lip. I knew this wasn’t a good idea, especially after the wild ride in the car last night. But again, I found myself wanting to see him, wanting to spend more time with him. The feeling of nostalgia constantly tugged me toward him.
Refusing to succumb to it, I threw my phone in my bag. Maybe time at the studio would clear my mind.
The lesson couldn’t finish soon enough. The headache continued to build and worsen with each movement. The children, who were all too hyper and acted like they’d had an abundance of sugar for breakfast, only made things worse. I had to force myself to stay and practice afterward. I couldn’t afford not to.
The extra hours of work left me exhausted and no less confused.
I still didn’t know how to respond to Caden’s text. Logic said I shouldn’t see him again. On top of my unwanted attraction to him, there was too much mystery attached to him.
Wilder: Are you ignoring me? That’s not very nice, princess. I have to be out of town for a few days, but how about next Thursday? We can spend the day together.
He didn’t give up, did he?
Me: My parents are hosting a fundraiser at our house that afternoon. I have to be there.
My fingers hesitated on the screen.
Me: You could come if you wanted to.
I wasn’t sure why I invited him, or why I suddenly wanted him to accept my invitation.
Wilder: A fundraiser, at your house?
Me: Yeah.
Wilder: I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.
Wilder: Aren’t those things full of old people and business talk?
Me: You’re right, but I recall that you still owe me a favor and I’d have something to look forward to if you agree to come
Wilder: I’ll be there
I didn’t realize I had a broad grin until I glanced into the rearview mirror. I was screwed—entirely screwed.
The next few days, I ran around organizing last-minute things for my mother. There was a lot of last-minute things. My mother was so occupied it gave her little time for pestering me about the law internship, which I was sure I’d hear more about soon.
Actually, I was sure I’d hear about it at the fundraiser. Henry Bowers was bound to attend—the man who I called out for ogling my breasts at a dinner meeting. He was also the man who offered me a law internship which my mother wouldn’t stop going on about.
I hoped to avoid him. The auditions for the ballet were around the corner, and every time I saw Ben, he reminded me what was at stake. My entire dream.
Caden hadn’t been in town all week, busy with soccer training. I told myself it was good he was away. He’d sent a few cute, flirty texts, which I’d replied to with quick emojis. He didn’t push or call. And it wasn’t like I’d reached out or contacted him either. But the silence made me question if he still would be showing up at the event, as promised. Had he changed his mind? I wouldn’t blame him if he had.
The morning of the fundraiser, I was sprawled in bed, wondering how long I could delay my presence downstairs when my bedroom door swung open and Jake barged in.
“What the fuck are you still doing in bed?”
It was ten o’clock, but he looked like he had just woken up, trudging toward me, equipped with a whole mini suitcase trailing behind him. We’d agreed he’d come over and we’d get ready together. Guests wouldn’t start arriving until about one in the afternoon, so we had around three hours to prepare.
“We have hours,” I said as he shooed me into the bathroom, then turned the shower on.
“Not nearly enough time to make you look presentable. Have you seen those sacks under your eyes?” Jake scrutinized me.
I glanced in the bathroom mirror, realizing he was right. He always told me how it was. Some people might be offended by that, but I’d always appreciated his honesty.
“Shut up,” I retorted and stripped, stepping under the hot water.
The tiled shower walls prevented Jake from seeing all my goods, not that I cared.
My thoughts drifted to Caden for no apparent reason. Seeing him was the only thing I was looking forward to today. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a good thing either. I was afraid my feelings were developing too quickly. Anyway, he might not show up. So, I forced myself to sweep all thoughts of him into a dark corner of my mind.
Jake curled my hair and painted my face while music trickled in the background. He was extremely good at this stuff since he practiced on me all the time. My mother often tried to hire a personal makeup artist and a hairstylist for me—she always went all out. I was happy to let Jake go all out on me.
“Stop blinking, or I’ll put glue in your eye,” he warned, attaching fake eyelashes.
“Sorry,” I mumbled under my breath. I hated these things.
“Are you ready to see your ex?” Jake asked. “I heard Ethan is coming today. Are you going to punch him again?”
“Who knows. Depends on my mood.” In truth, I was no longer that mad at him.
“Atta girl. Make sure you do it in front of me this time.”
I snorted and went to the closet to put on my dress.
“Zip me up?” I asked.
Jake’s jaw dropped when he saw me. “Oh my sweet baby Jesus. The divine Celeste’s creation is even better the second time around. Your mother is going to have a fit.”
The white fabric contrasted incredibly with my recent tan. An intricate flower design wove through the bodice, detailing the straps. The material hugged my breasts and pushed them up and together, creating a surprising amount of extra cleavage.
“Look at those jugs!” Jake exclaimed, gawking at my boobs. “I’m guessing your mother hasn’t seen it yet?”
“She’s been busy.”
“Clearly.”
“You look good too.” Jake’s dress shirt was a deep purple, the shine almost metallic, and he’d paired it with a pair of cream-colored pants. I stared at him while he threaded his belt through.
“Stop looking at me like you want to eat me, Savannah. It’s weird.”
