Troublemaker (Troublemaker, Book 1) (7 page)

But screw it, I’ve come this goddamn far. I can’t get any lower, right? I continue my snoop
ing fest and head towards Cage’s bathroom. I open the shower curtain and can’t help but picture shampoo rolling off his wet hair and down his tan, muscular back. The shampoo runs even lower, down and across his…

The thought makes my body tingle
in places I didn’t even know existed.

I kick off my sandals and step inside the shower.
Just for a second
, I tell myself. Because somehow, the idea of the two of us together, naked, under the warm drizzle of showering water, makes everything feel okay.

But come on, a fantasy is called a fantasy for a reason. For one,
it’s not real. For another, it beats the hell out of reality most times.

I step out of his shower and stand in front of the vanity. I pick up his razor and look at my reflection in the mirror, but I see only
a vision of him. He’s staring back at me, shirtless, with a dollop of shaving gel in his hand and a razor in his other. His face is moist, and he’s smiling back at me.

I chuckle to myself, remembering that smile on his face, even when he was being a huge pain in the ass.

I can’t believe the way I acted the other night. It’s no wonder I never get any guys that are actually decent. Every time the slightest thing goes wrong, I freak the hell out, way more so than anyone else would in the same situations.

McKenzie, it
’s no wonder that you need your father so much. You seem to have a real knack for screwing things up even when they’re perfectly fine to begin with.

I get a terrible
sinking feeling in my stomach.

What did I do this time?

I begin to question everything about the other night. I think I really might have over-reacted. And even if by some miracle Cage was into me, which is almost a scientific impossibility, then he sure as hell isn’t into me anymore.

At least his stuff is still here in the apartment. At least I’ll get to see him again, I think.

I hope.

Unless of course he comes by sometime when I’m at work, grabs all of his stuff, and disappears for good. Anything’s possible, especially with
Cage.

And then it hits me. I mean it really hits me. I
finally know why I feel the way I do when I’m around him, or at least one of the reasons.

Because being with
Cage West makes me feel like anything really is possible.

I drift off into a coma-like state, my eyes wandering aimlessly throughout his apartment as my
mind deals with the trauma of what I’ve done. As I come out of my trance, I notice a green canvas bag on top of the kitchen table. On top of the bag is a black and white speckled notebook. It’s hard to tell what it is from the doorway of the bathroom, so I decide to take a closer look.

As I make my way towards his belongings, I stop for one more brief moment, just to
make sure that I’m still alone and that he hasn’t returned for some unlucky reason. Not a sound, aside from the overly happy birds that constantly sing as they feed off the birdhouse on our patio, and maybe some distant noises from kids playing in one of the neighbor’s yards.

I make my way to the bag
,
and
the notebook on top. Only it looks a lot more like a journal than a notebook, and it’s overflowing with papers of all different sizes. So I’m left with yet another pivotal moment in the fabulous life of McKenzie Miller, to pry or not to pry.

As I always say, when in doubt, go all out. Okay, I’ve never said that in my entire life. But I also never reached this unbearable level of desperation.

I lick my lips knowing that what I’m about to do is pretty much the most sacrilegious act known to humans. Or any species for that matter. Even the birds flying around on our patio wouldn’t stoop this low.

I shake my head,
unable to believe what I’m about to do. Then a compromise dawns on me- maybe just one peek at one of the pieces of paper practically falling out of his book. I grab whatever’s sticking out more than the others, which turns out to be an envelop addressed to Cage. It’s got a return address from San Antonio, Texas. Inside is a letter:

Cage,

I miss you more than words brother. How’s life on the west coast? I bet the ladies are glad to have you back. I had to write to you man. Things just weren’t the same after you left. Not even close. What they did to you was totally wrong dude, pretty fucked up actually. Not fair. But I guess that’s the game, right? Anyways, I’m home now with my wife and boy… And I have you to thank for that. You saved my life brother. I don’t
even know what to say to you. I just want you to know that every time I look into my boy’s eyes, I’m going to thank God for you. If you ever need anything, and I’m talking anything, just say the word and I’ll be on the first flight to wherever the hell you are. Take care of yourself for me and stay in touch.

-Eddie

I stand frozen, holding the open letter in my hand.
He saved someone’s life.
If

Cage
was a mystery to me before, I don’t have the slightest clue what to think about him now. And whatever trace of hatred I had because of the whole police thing seems to have completely disappeared. Now I really feel like a total loser for the way I acted at the party.

But then again, what do I expect from myself? Any time I’ve ever had even a remote chance at something good in my life, I always managed to find a way to ruin things. So why would now be different?

Because it has to be, that’s why.

I grip the letter in my hands, my body still frozen, searching every corner of my brain to see how I can make thing
s right. There has to be a way to make this all better, whatever
this
is. I mean, it’s not like there’s even anything real between us. He’s still not my type, and just because of one letter…

“
What the hell are you doing?” Cage comes bursting in from out of nowhere, his eyes fixed on the letter in my hands. “Are you going through my stuff?” he asks. His eyes look different, not the eyes that I’m used to. I can’t believe this is happening right now.

What. A. Mess.

“Cage, I’m sorry. I…”

“You’re sorry?” He shakes his head. “You tell me off the other night and then apparently you think it’s a great idea to go through my shit.”

“Look, I know. This looks real bad. The other night was…”

“This
looks
bad?” he asks. “I don’t think so McKenzie, this
is
bad.” He comes towards me as I start to put the letter back into his book.

“I think it’s a little too late for th
at, Kenz.” He grabs the book from me and puts it back in the bag.

“I said I’m sorry, alright? What do you want from me?” I ask.

“So you’re mad at me now?” he asks, laughing. “
You’re
mad at me because I don’t like you snooping around my stuff?” He throws his hands in the air. “That makes tons of sense.”

“I didn’t know if you were coming back. I…”

“So you thought you would just put yourself in charge of my private belongings because of some bullshit excuse that you made up?”

“I didn’t make it up. You took off the other night and I haven’t seen or heard from you since,” I say. Even I recog
nize the hole I’ve dug for myself.

But I’m determined to get
myself out of it.

“Look McKenzie, everything was
great the other night. At least I thought it was…” he pauses.

Hold on a second, h
e thinks everything was
great
the other night?

Now I’m screwed for sure. Why is he making things so difficult right now?

“Everything wasn’t great the other night, Cage. The police came to my house, remember?”

He shakes his head again. “This is crazy. It’s like you’re determined to be miserable.” He finishes zipping
up his canvas bag and throws it on top of the counter. “I’m talking about the beach, Kenz. The
beach
was great.”

My mind floods with images of
Cage and me at the beach that night.

Maybe it was real.

No. I refuse to accept this. He and I, we can’t…

“But then you had to go and freak out on me and tell me to get the hell out of yo
ur life,” he says. He starts taking his clothes out of his bureau drawers and tossing them onto his bed. “So no problem, Kenz. No problem at all.”

“What, you’re leaving?” I ask. I can feel the terror rip through my body.

“Yeah, why shouldn’t I? My sketchy landlord’s a psychopath. Or should I say my landlord’s puppet daughter’s a psychopath who…”

“Screw you,
Cage,” I shout out at him. “Ya know what, I’m not gonna take this from you. Don’t even bother packing, I’m leaving.” I start to make my way towards his door.

Cage
snickers. “You’re leaving your own house?” He laughs.

“Yeah, I’m leaving my own house. I’m done with this shit.”
Part of me is fully aware of the fact that I’ve totally lost my mind, but it’s way too late to turn this disaster around at this point.

I open his door and step out, stumbling on th
e doorway threshold.

“Whatever
lady, thanks for the house!” Cage yells out as I storm off towards my car.

My blood is b
oiling. My head is a giant pile of mush. And to top matters off, I can barely get my car keys out of my jeans pocket.

I can’t believe he called me a psychopath. I mean, I realize the fact that I was going through his stuff was totally insane, but still. A psychopath?

And a puppet? Ouch.

I honestly don’t even know what I’m so upset about anymore. N
othing seems to be making any sense at all. I don’t know if I’m pissed off at him, or worse…

Afraid that he’ll never talk to me again.

I can’t believe I let any of this happen in the first place. I never should have even interacted with Cage West, aside from pure business of course.

And now all I want is to disappear, but I can’t with him here.

I open up my car door and get inside. The door creaks as I slam it shut. I have no idea where the hell I’m even going, I just know it’s too late to undo this huge nightmare.

Time to be strong McKenzie. You can do this.

I can do this. No problem. I put the key in the ignition, take one last look at the house, and turn the key.

No. Goddamn. Way.

The engine won’t start.

My father takes so much pride in havi
ng my car in tip shop shape. And here it is, the only time I actually need something from him, and look what’s happening.

Once again, thanks
Colonel Miller.

Ugh. I pound my f
ist on the steering wheel, then I take the key out of the ignition. I blow on the key, which even I know is absurd.

C’mon car, be there for me.

I slowly place the key back in the ignition, and pause.

Another pivotal moment.

I look out through the windshield, just in case. I turn the key.

Still. Not. Starting.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I start pounding on the steering wheel
with my fist. And now I’m actually saying shit out loud, over and over, like a total crazy person. Maybe he was right, maybe I really am a psychopath. I keep turning the key out of complete frustration. What little sound the engine was making has now disappeared. I turn the key one last time.

Not even the slightest hint of sound
.

I collapse my head onto the steering wheel. What am I going to do? Maybe if I just bury my head on the steering wheel all of my problems will magically go away. Isn’t this the time when my fairy godmothe
r’s supposed to show up and make everything all better? I tilt my head to the side and actually begin to take comfort in the steering wheel.

Not a good sign. But then again…

“Ya want some help?”

Cage
.

His voice sounds more incredible than ever, but I still can’t seem to peel the side of my face from the steering wheel.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your nap or anything, but you look like you could use my help right now,” he says. I can hear from the creaking sounds that his hands are leaning on the door, just inches away from me.

“I’m fine, really,” I pause, “but thank you.” I can feel the frustration leave my body with every soothing word that pours from his mouth.

“You’re not fine, McKenzie. Pop the hood, will ya?”

I reach down
and open the hood, still unable to look up. I can hear Cage fiddling under the hood.

“Your battery needs a boost,” he says. “I’ll pull my car up and grab my jumper cables.”