Suffer Love (13 page)

She nods and swings her backpack onto her shoulders so hard that the strap flies up and slaps her in the face.

“I need to go,” she says, rubbing at her cheek.

“Sure . . .” But she's already walking away, her head tucked in to her chest. I can't figure out any of these damn Bennetts.

In the locker room, I rinse off and change into jeans and a long-sleeved thermal shirt and hoodie. I nod a goodbye to Henry Murphy, the lifeguard on duty with whom I shared a little moment in the supply closet back in August. When I pass, he lifts a flirty eyebrow along with one corner of his flirty mouth. Henry was the first guy I kissed whom I had absolutely zero interest in dating. I had just started teaching the five-year-old class at the Y, and whenever he walked by, his shaggy auburn hair in his eyes, he made my heart hammer in my chest. When we ran into each other in the closet one hot afternoon, both of us hunting for a kickboard or whistle or I can't even remember what, we slammed together like two magnets.

I remember the way I melted into him, all hard edges and sharp corners rounded out by the touch of someone who wanted nothing more from me than what I was willing to give.

He asked me out after that, but I surprised myself by saying no. He was a nice enough guy, if a little cocky, and a senior at Franklin High. Incredibly cute, an amazing kisser, but when it came down to it, I didn't like him. What's more, I realized that I didn't want to like him. Liking him would mean talking to him, listening to him, trusting him.

Outside, the cold fall air stings my lungs, and I breathe it in, letting it steel me for whatever I'm about to face at home. On my way down the sidewalk, I spot Livy near the bike rack, sitting on her heels by a bright blue bike, digging through her backpack.

“Is everything all right?” I ask as I pass by.

Her head snaps up and she falls back onto her butt.

“Sorry!” I jog over to her. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

She waves a hand as she stands and brushes off her pants. “It's fine.”

“Is something wrong with your bike?” I crouch down and see that the front tire is completely flat, a large rock gashed into the black rubber. “Uh-oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“I just need to call Sam, but I . . .” She rifles through her bag again. “I think I left my phone at home.”

“You can use mine. Or I can drive you. It's not far, right?”

“No, but that's okay.” She rubs her forehead, the same way Sam does. She still hasn't looked at me once. “I'll just walk.”

“It's dark and there's not a sidewalk. Let me drive you. I don't mind.”

“I can't . . . I don't think . . .” She fumbles for her words, her face pinking up even in the dim light. She clutches her inhaler in a tight fist.

“Livy, I just want to make sure you get home all right. Please, let me drive you.”

She finally, finally looks at me. “Okay.”

I give her a relieved smile. “I think we can fit your bike in the back of my car.”

She unlocks her bike and we pile it into my CR-V. She's quiet on the drive to her house, crammed against the door and staring out the window. She radiates unhappiness. I feel like I could reach out a hand and swipe some off her.

“Sam told me you guys just moved here,” I say, and she nods. “When we moved from Nashville, I was miserable.”

“You were?” she asks, head still turned toward the window.

“Totally. I felt sort of lost, you know? New town, new house, new school, my family was completely different. My first night here, I couldn't even make up my bed. I just fell asleep on the bare mattress. It was a lot to deal with. I don't think I would've survived it if I didn't have my best friend, Kat.”

I pull into her neighborhood and notice, out of the corner of my eye, that she's turned her head toward me.

“You were sad?” she asks.

“Yeah. I guess I was.”

“Sam helps me a lot. He's sort of like my best friend, I guess.”

“He seems like a great brother.” I turn in to her driveway and put the car in park.

She nods, smiling. “He's the best. He'd do anything for me.” She looks down and fiddles with the zipper on her jacket. “It has been pretty hard. My mom is hardly ever home, and we're not close. I miss my dad.”

“Is he far away?”

“Boston.”

“Do you get to see him very often?”

“Not really. We've only seen him once since he moved up there.”

“That sucks. I miss my dad too.” I say it just to try to connect a thin line between Livy and me, let her know she's not alone, but as soon as I say it, I know it's true. I miss both of my parents.

Livy lifts her head and stares at her front door, her lower lip quivering like a leaf in the rain. “My mom cheated on my dad.”

All the air in the car is suddenly gone. My fingers whiten around the steering wheel, and when I finally get a breath, it burns all the way down my throat. It's a few long seconds before I realize Livy is watching me, her head cocked to one side.

“I'm so sorry,” I manage to say.

She nods and opens her door. “Maybe I shouldn't have said anything.” She pauses with her body half out of the car. “I thought Sam told you.”

“No. He didn't.” I get out to help her with her bike, glad for the cover of darkness to hide the water welling up in my eyes.
God, Hadley.
How is it possible that this sort of thing still affects me so much?

“Listen, Livy,” I say after I finally get myself together enough to speak. “I know you have Sam, but I'm around if you ever need someone else to talk to, about anything. We could swim or go to a movie. Sam told me you're an amazing film critic.” A little smile lifts her mouth. “Whatever you want.”

Her smiles widens, but it drops quickly into a frown. She grips the handles on her bike. “Maybe. I'm just not sure . . .” Her voice trails off as the front door opens.

“Livy?”

Sam jogs down the front walk. “What's going on?” He stops in front of his sister, his eyes widening on me. “Oh. Hey.”

“Hey. I just gave Livy ride home from the Y.” I smooth my still-damp-and-tangled hair and try not to look at Sam, which is proving more difficult than I'd like. He's barefoot in dark jeans and a slim-fitting plaid button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looks good. Too good.

Livy tilts her bike toward him and explains about the flat tire.

“Aw, Liv. I'm sorry.” Sam bends down to inspect the tire. “We'll get a new one on tomorrow.” He props the bike against the garage.

“Thanks for the ride, Hadley.”

“Anytime.” Livy gives me shy smile. Sam's gaze shifts back and forth between us, the hint of a question on his lips. Livy waves and walks up the path, disappearing inside.

Sam watches her go, his mouth open a little. “What . . .” He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Um. Thanks for driving her home.”

“It was no problem. She's really sweet.”

“Yeah.” He hangs his hand on the back of his neck and looks at me. God, this boy stares too much.

“Oh, I keep forgetting to give this back to you.” I open my car's back door and find what I'm looking for on the floor. “Here.”

He grins as his hand closes on the neatly folded green and white striped apron he slipped over my head in his kitchen a few weeks ago. “Thanks. Although this really did look better on you.”

I laugh and look down.

“Listen, Hadley.” He flips his finger under a fold in the apron. “About the last time we—”

“Samuel!” A male voice splits through his words, and I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. “A glaringly loud beeping is disrupting the zenlike state I attained after kicking your incompetent-at-Assassin's-Creed
ass.”

“Just take the pizza out of the oven!” Sam yells toward the house.

“What pizza?” A tall boy fills the doorway and starts toward us. “I don't recall any pizza.”

Sam scratches his chin. “Could it be the one you threatened me into making?”

The boy reaches us, his black hair sticking out at crazy angles. “Threatened? Me? Never. Cajoled, perhaps, but never threatened.”

“I believe you said you'd find my autographed Chipper Jones rookie card and soak it in olive oil unless I provided you with homemade pizza. That's a threat, my friend.”

“Psh. You're delusional.” The guy turns his nearly black eyes toward me. “And who is this?”

I can't help but laugh at the way he's looking at me. Any minute, I expect the word
enchanté
to roll out of his mouth.

“I'm Hadley.”

His eyes crinkle into a grin, his teeth blindingly white against his smooth, brown skin. “Of course you are.”

“Don't mind this idiot.” Sam shoves his friend in the shoulder.

“And this idiot is?” I ask, playing along.

“Ajay Desai.” He extends his hand and I take it. “Longtime confidant of one Samuel Prescott Bennett.”

“Prescott?” I crook an eyebrow at Sam.

“God.” He shakes his head, but smiles. “I need to get Your Majesty's pizza before it burns. I'll be right back.” He shoots Ajay a look I can't read before running into the house.

“Hungry?” Ajay asks, that little grin still on his face.

“Oh. Um . . . my parents are expecting me home.” I glance at my phone. I'm not meeting Kat until seven thirty, but I'm already eleven minutes late for dinner. I watch the second hand tick over the clock app's tiny icon, envisioning an empty house oblivious to my absence.

“It's impossible to fully appreciate the art of eating until you've feasted on a Sam Bennett pizza.”

“I've had his coffeecake.”

“Also a noteworthy experience.” He jerks his head toward the house. “Come on. Join us.”

“No, that's okay. Sam didn't invite me.”

“I'm inviting you and I'm more Sam than he is sometimes.” He slings an arm over my shoulder and starts toward the house. “It'll be good for him. I insist.”

I dig my heels into the ground. “Really. I don't think he wants me here.” And I don't think I want to go eat with a guy who looks at me like he's known me for years one minute and lies his way out of hanging out with me the next, not to mention that whole weird scene with his mother.

Ajay stops and turns so he's facing me, his expression suddenly serious. “Really. He does want you here.” He comes behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, propelling me forward. “He just doesn't know it yet.”

I grate Parmesan cheese over the pizza while laughter trickles in from the living room. It takes all my willpower not to dump the whole pie in the trash, kick everyone out, and end the misery now.

“Ajay! That guy just killed me,” Hadley says, a teasing edge to her voice. “That's not fair. I didn't know that button was for the gun!”

“All's fair in love and Assassin's Creed, my darling,” my so-called best friend says.

“Oh, it is so on. He's going down.”

“Jesus Christ.” I slice the cutter through the pizza and throw triangles onto plates.

Livy smiles as she fills cups with ice.

“You're sure you're okay with this?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “Sure.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, Livy. Enough with the monosyllabic answers.”

She pops a hand onto her hip. “Fine. It's a little weird, okay? But she's nice and . . . I don't know. She made me feel better earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

Another shrug. “She knows how we feel, Sam. She gets it.”

“Uh. Yeah. And do you remember
why
she gets it?”

Livy slams a glass down on the counter so hard, an ice cube jumps out.

“Everything all right in there?” Ajay calls.

“Shut it,” I call back.

“Guess not.”

Livy huffs through her nose. I usually tease her about sounding like a rhinoceros when she gets mad, but I think I'll keep that little tidbit to myself right now.

“I'm not stupid, Sam,” she whisper-yells at me. “I remember who she is.”

“I never said you didn't.” I plunk a pile of napkins next to the plates.

“Yes, you did.”

She wheezes a little and I freeze.

“God.” She catches my look. “I'm not going to pop a lung.”

“What's going on, little elf?” Ajay asks, gliding into the kitchen.

“What's going on is that I, at least according to my all-knowing brother, am a child.” Then she spins on her heels and stomps out of the room like the oh-so-mature teenager that she is.

“Damn.” Ajay slips onto a barstool. “You're finally the mold on her favorite muffin, eh?”

I flick a rogue piece of pepperoni at him. It lands on the arm of his blue thermal and leaves a slimy orange grease circle.

“Hey! Jesus, Samuel.” He grabs a napkin and wipes while I feign innocence.

“Where's Hadley?” I ask.

“She's outside on the phone with her dad. Apparently she was supposed to be home for dinner.”

“You should've let her go.”

He tosses the napkin down and folds his arms. “And you should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you? For what? Most-awkward-Friday-night- ever?”

“It's only awkward if you make it so.”

“Life makes it so.”

“Only for you.”

“And Livy.”

He leans forward, his face serious. “Sam. You need to let Livy make her own decisions.”

“I don't make her decisions for her.”

“No, you just wrap her up in a little cocoon so nothing can ever touch her.”

I swallow the ass-chewing I feel like doling out right now. “I can't believe you invited Hadley inside.”

“Sure you can.”