Rewind to You (25 page)

“We’re heading out back,” Austin says, but Leo beats him to it.

“Sweet. C’mon, man.” Leo yanks him toward the patio, the motion pulling Austin’s hand from mine. We file out, a mass of sweaty bodies, and before I know it, I’ve lost Austin. I stand by the hedge, searching the crowd.

“Bet you got that gum from Austin.” I hear the voice behind me and turn. Lindsay. “Austin always has gum,” she says, as though I’m interested.

I offer a little grin but look away. I remind myself that I don’t care what she says. But in reality, her comment drives my jealous curiosity. I never noticed Austin always has gum, probably because my mom keeps my purse stocked with all kinds of gum and breath mints. Petty resentment settles in at the thought that Lindsay might know more about Austin than I do.

“Kinda nice,” she says. “Never had to buy gum when we were together. You want to know what I miss the most, though?”

Not really.
I pull my lips tight over those words, reluctantly interested.

“That motorcycle.” She answers her own question. “Or maybe I miss thinking about what his muscles would feel like without a shirt on.”

“You know what,” I say. “You keep your dirty thoughts to yourself, and I’ll do the same.” I take a step away.

“He’s different with you,” Lindsay calls out.

Her sudden genuine tone of voice stops me, and I turn back. “What do you mean?”

“The way he acts around you,” she explains. “Look, chick, I’m not trying to steal him back.”

Chick?
That’s it. “Why are you here then?” I shoot back.

“I don’t know.” Lindsay gives a resigned smile and drops her gaze. “Just curious. We lasted about as long as you two have, but it wasn’t like this.”

My feet shift like they’re uncertain which way to go. At last, I cross my arms and move next to her. “What happened between you guys, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Lindsay snaps down hard on her gum. “He said he had to start focusing on football and college, whatever that means.”

I try not to make eye contact. Austin and I are together now, and he still needs to focus on football, so this is super awkward. I might actually feel sorry for Lindsay.

“And,” she adds, hesitating, “me and this other guy hooked up at a party. Austin wasn’t there. No big deal, right? I mean, come on, practically every girl at school was into Austin. I figured I wasn’t the only girl he was with, but I was wrong. Not that I was anything special. Austin’s just one of those rare one-girl type of guys.”

Guilt cuts through me as I think back on the way Kyle kissed me over the weekend. Or worse, the way
I
kissed
him
back. “Was Austin upset?”

I watch Lindsay, noting her reluctance to answer. “Not really. He just didn’t give me the time of day again, after that.”

My mouth automatically opens to end the uncomfortable silence. “Sorry.”

“You know what, though?” Lindsay says as though I hadn’t said a thing. “I wish he’d blown up in my face. Like, seriously freaked out. Yelled and punched a wall or something.”

“Why?”

“Because then maybe whatever I thought we had would have been real,” she says, her honesty stunning me. “He didn’t love me. Not even close. Too bad. Would have been fun to date a Gator football star.” Another few awkward seconds pass until Lindsay moves off. “See ya.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

Lindsay struts toward Reggie, leaving me alone with thoughts of her story and how she took Austin for granted. Austin and I find each other at the same time, our gazes locking from a distance. He stands with his hands in his pockets, fireworks highlighting his casual smile.

With Kyle behind me, now I can tell Austin the three magic words I’ve held back.

We leave the party early, but I don’t take him home.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“To the beach house.”

Austin glances over at me with a pointed look.

“I don’t care what my mom thinks anymore.”

He lifts a skeptical brow.

“She’s not that bad, I promise.”

Austin fakes a grin. I remember how Mom saw me and Austin kissing at The Westin. And how she slapped me afterward. My foot hesitates over the gas pedal, and I’m about to abort. Austin notices.

“No,” he says. “Babe, it’s all good. Let’s go.”

“Yeah?” I ask, looking on the bright side. “You know, she’ll think the whole college football thing is awesome; you should tell her. Five solid minutes with your charm and she’ll be sold.”

He gives a little laugh (a doubtful-sounding one). We drive past darkened marshes, through the quaint little beach town, and pull into the gravel driveway of my grandparents’ beach house.

“Would you hate it if July twenty-seventh isn’t the last day you see me?” I tease on our way to the front door, stalling.

Austin pulls me into him on the wooden porch that creaks beneath our feet. “I sure hope it isn’t.”

“Like, if I came out to one of your football games?”

A smile outlines his eyes. “You better not be joking.”

“No,” I laugh. “I’m serious.”

Moths dance around the porch light, and a breeze blows a fresh scent off the ocean.
I love you.
Nothing could be truer at this moment. I do love Austin.

He leans against the wall and runs his fingers through my hair, his gaze following the motion and then resting on my lips. I feel like I’m sinking into his eyes as he leans forward and kisses me, soft and slow. I pull him closer and deepen the kiss, inviting his full embrace. He answers my request with a kiss that blows me away, his touch sending little sparks up and down my spine as his arms encircle me.

When our lips part, I take a deep breath, the words
I love you
warm on my tongue. Ready.

“You want something to drink?” I say instead, chickening out.

“Mountain Dew?” he jokes.

“Good luck finding anything like that in here.”

When I push open the door, I’m greeted by the scent of lemon potpourri and a polished entryway. Almost everything is as neat as a pin. Almost.

My mom sits on a barstool, slumped over. Stray threads of blond hair hang from her crooked bun, and a newly opened bottle of chardonnay rests on the counter at her side. She turns enough to glimpse Austin, and then turns back to refill her wineglass, hand shaking. “Take him home, Sienna.”

Not quite what I was hoping for.

I throw an apologetic look to Austin and step forward, sick of how rude she’s being. “Mom—”

Austin’s hand wraps around my wrist. “It’s fine. I’d better go,” he whispers, apparently sensing the friction in the air. Reluctantly, I do as Austin wishes. It doesn’t sit right though, letting my mom control my life yet again.

When I get back from dropping Austin off, I close the front door with a little shove and cross my arms. It’s really late now, but Mom hasn’t budged. Only the wine bottle has moved. I can see she’s filled, and emptied, her glass more than once. Nothing but the sound of a few sirens in the distance disturbs the dead air. I’m ready for her tirade. Bring it on.

“What are you doing with that boy?” she asks, surprisingly calm, even indifferent. “I thought you’d finally realized he isn’t good for you.”

“He’s a great guy, Mom.”

She gives a cynical huff, swaying slightly. I expect her to come back with something, but she doesn’t. She sits up and attempts to straighten her hair.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” I ask, sensing something more going on here than her disapproval of Austin. I take a step toward her and see she’s been crying. Dried streams cut lines through her makeup, and tearstains dot a stack of papers on the counter.

“I’m fine,” she says, but her shaky voice betrays her.

“What is this?” I reach for the papers, but not fast enough. She lurches for them and knocks over the bottle of wine in the process, tipsy from drinking. I save it from rolling off the counter and snag a towel to clean up.

Flustered, Mom slides the papers away and then massages her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Mom,” I demand, a gnawing unease creeping over me. “What’s wrong?”

She makes a frail sound, something between a laugh and a sob. “We lost it,” she chokes out.

“Lost what?”

“The house!”

I stare, speechless, as this piece of news sinks in, settling like bricks. “Our house?”

“Yes, our house,” she says. “Our home. In Virginia. Gone.”

“Mom, what—”

“The bank seized it,” she cuts me off.

Anger feeds off my growing anxiety. I glance around the room and spot at least a dozen purchases from the past month alone. Decor. Video games for Spencer. Jewelry for her. Clothes for me. All bought on dwindling dimes. I clench my teeth, thoughts racing to Spencer. He needs
her
, not everything she buys for him. If anything, Mom has become more of a shopaholic since the accident. “Then why have we been spending money like this?”

“It’s not my fault!”

“Then whose fault is it?”

“Your dad’s company fell apart.”

“You can’t blame this on Dad.”

“I’m not blaming it on your dad! I’m blaming it on Doug.”

I remember the business partner who ran off to Canada or China or Africa or wherever he went, never to be found by the police. All Mom told me soon after Dad died was that Doug had been dishonest, and Viva Bella was struggling because of it.

“Doug embezzled funds and ran off,” Mom says, “leaving Viva Bella with significant debt. Leaving
us
with debt.”

“What does that have to do with our house? Isn’t it paid off?”

“Yes, the house was paid off, but Viva Bella wasn’t. The bank seized our house as collateral for the business loans.”

I’m shocked (and embarrassed at how clueless I am). “They can do that?”

She nods.

“Well, didn’t you say we got a bunch of money after Dad passed? Life insurance?”

Mom’s face twists into a painful expression. “Doug convinced me to invest the majority of it in the company. I thought we could revive Viva Bella. Once I invested, Doug took off.”

“Oh, Mom,” I say.

“We’ll have to make good use of what’s left in my trust fund to get by for a while,” she says, her expression stoic, composed. Then she bends over and lets out a sob. “Oh, Sienna.”

“That’s it. I’m not going to college.”

She whips a sharp glare at me. “Of course you are.”

“Mom, tuition is a ton of money, and we don’t have—”

“Your tuition is already paid.”

“What?”

“Dad and I invested in a prepaid college tuition plan for you years ago.”

“But, Mom! Can’t we get it back?”

“No! You are going to college, Sienna,” she says with finality. “You’re going to major in dance like you’ve always wanted, and you’re going to marry a wealthy boy who can take care of you, so you don’t end up like this.”

“Mom!”

“Don’t argue with—”

“But, Mom, maybe I don’t have to go to college just yet. Can’t I withdraw? Get the tuition back?”

“No!”

“Well, we have to do something!”

“We
are
doing something,” she shouts. “We’re packing our bags tomorrow and leaving first thing Wednesday.”

This, above all, silences me.

“We have to get back to Virginia so we can pack up the house,” she says. “The Prices are being kind enough to let us stay in their second home; it’s been empty since their renters vacated it in May.”

“For free?” I say, with a flicker of appreciation for Kyle’s family. “How long can you stay there?”

“Until I find a job and start building some savings,” she replies.

I stare, impressed. But I’m also left with an ache at the thought of my mom going back to work, scraping by and taking care of Spencer without my dad.

“I’m sure Grandpa and Grandma will help,” she says, “but things are going to be tighter for us now. And besides, I’d like to do this on our own. We just need to pray nothing big goes wrong. We cannot afford any more setbacks.”

After several tedious, bleak minutes of silence, I step forward to finish cleaning up, but a knock on the door pulls me up short. Who could it be at this hour?

This hour.

My head whips over, and I look at the clock. It’s almost midnight.

“Mom, where’s Spencer?” I ask, the sick feeling I had earlier rushing back. She shoots a frantic glance at the clock and turns to me, the expression on her suddenly blanched face begging the same question. I’m at the door a second later.

A police officer stands on the porch. My eyes swivel nervously to the police car before I spot someone hiding behind the officer.

“Spencer!” I say with a wave of relief.

“Is Mrs. Owens here?” the officer asks.

“Mom?” I call out, but she’s already behind me, opening the door farther so she can see.

“Spencer!” she cries, and he runs into her open arms.

“Ma’am, I’m Officer Greene. There’s been an incident downtown.”

Mom looks up. “What type of incident?”

“Spencer and a couple of his buddies were messing around with firecrackers near Tybrisa Street and started a fire at a little restaurant by the pier.”

Mom places a hand over her forehead, suppressing frustration behind tight lips. “Spencer,” she says, keeping her voice level, in what might be her last attempt to hold herself together. “Who started the fire?”

Spencer drops his chin and barely whispers, “I did.”

Mom gasps. “I don’t believe this. Was anyone hurt?”

“No, ma’am. The café was locked up for the night.”

“Thank heavens. Officer Greene, my son has ADHD. And he’s bipolar.”

“We understand, ma’am. I’m only here to deliver the facts and see to it Spencer gets home safely.”

“What kind of damages are we talking about?”

“The upper balcony sustained significant damage. Firefighters put the fire out before any more harm could be done though,” he replies. “I’m sorry, but I’m not in a position to go over legalities. Most likely the owner will file a civil lawsuit, and you can go from there.”

This. Is. Not. Happening.

“Which restaurant?” Mom asks.

“Marjorie’s Café.”

My jaw drops, letting the shock tumble from my lips. “What? That’s Jesse’s café!” The old man hates me enough already.