Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 12932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 65(@200wpm)___ 52(@250wpm)___ 43(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 12932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 65(@200wpm)___ 52(@250wpm)___ 43(@300wpm)
The thought of Clay made my chest tighten. I hadn’t spoken to him much since he left for college. Aria didn’t know how distant we’d truly become, but she would say things like, “Your brother is doing well.” As if she knew there was a rift between us that needed salvaging.
But there was no saving us. Clay and I had drifted apart for a reason and it was better that way. It was hard to be in the same room with him at first, with all the summer breaks and holidays, but for the most part, we avoided one another. I would go to Kandy’s house and sleep there if he was in town, and for Christmas, the most I would get him was a pair of socks and we’d call it a day—and I only bought him socks because Aria would catch on. He would give me things like ink pens or a T-shirt. Sure, it was awkward, but we were adults now and this was the real world. We couldn’t keep acting like horny teenagers, especially with Aria’s health on the line.
I sighed as I chopped the tomatoes on top of the bamboo cutting board. As I prepped the chicken with seasonings, I heard a car door shut from a distance but ignored it. I figured it was a neighbor because no one was coming here tonight. I had Aria’s car and mine was locked up next to it.
But then a door in the house creaked on the hinges and softly clicked shut. Wait…that couldn’t be Aria, could it? How would she have gotten home?
My brows puckered as I washed my hands, and when I turned around, my heart plummeted to my stomach.
three
Standing at the mouth of the kitchen was my brother, Clay Martin. As he stood there, eyes locked on mine, it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Of course, he was still in great shape (four consecutive years playing football and conditioning between will do that to a man) but his blond hair was shorter, tapered on the sides and long enough at the top to fall onto his forehead. He wore basketball shorts and a tank that revealed muscular, sun-kissed arms. The straps of a black duffel bag were in his right hand, his car keys dangling from the left.
“Clay,” I breathed, looking him up and down. “W-what are you doing here?”
His eyes shifted to the stove, at the mildly brewing pot of chicken broth and tomatoes. “Is that chicken tortilla soup?” he asked.
My eyes swung to the soup before locking on him again. “Yeah, it is.”
He dropped his duffel bag where he was and walked into the kitchen. “Good. I’m starving.” His keys clattered on the kitchen table, as he slumped down in one of the chairs. It took a moment for the air to fill the room again, and his cologne was the smack in the face I needed to pull me out of my stupor.
“Um…you didn’t answer my question,” I said, facing him. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”
“Yeah, but Mom called me, said she was in the hospital again and staying overnight.”
“Oh.” I shifted on my feet.
His eyes connected with mine. “She also said you needed my help.”
I frowned. “Why would she say that?” I gestured to the kitchen and the brewing soup. “As you can see, I don’t need your help with anything. I have it handled around here.”
Clay ran his fingers through his golden hair, peering up into my eyes. “I swung by the hospital to see Mom…”
“And?”
“And…she told me you were home alone so…I thought I’d swing by here too.”
His confession caused me to hesitate. I stared into his green eyes, searching for the truth because I knew when he was lying. He was a terrible liar and he had a quirk whenever he did it. The left corner of his mouth twitched, like he was attempting to bite the inside of his cheek. But he wasn’t lying right now. The sincerity bled from his pores and there was no cheek twitching. Either he’d stopped the quirk, or he’d become a better liar.
I pressed my lips, then turned for the chicken again. I placed it in the pan to sear.
“How long do you plan on staying?” I asked, still trying to play it cool.
“Dunno. Until Mom is home, I guess.”
I tried not to freeze. That could be days. I couldn’t handle that. “Don’t you have, like, a football camp thing or something?” I probed.
“No, I graduated, remember? All that training and conditioning is over. You’d know that if you’d made it to the graduation.” I looked over my shoulder and he was frowning.
“You didn’t make it to mine either,” I countered.
“I sent you flowers,” he shot back.
I started to speak, but clamped my mouth shut. He did send me flowers, straight to my college apartment: peonies—my favorite. And I sent him a box of his favorite candy bars: Snickers. Quiet gifts. Neither of us reached out to thank each other.