Trust by Kylie Scott

  Erika released my arm, but still blocked my path. Obviously nervous, she licked her lips. "John won't talk to me--"

  "That's his choice."

  "It's about Dillon," she said.

  "You still trying to pass on messages from his brother?" I leaned in closer, getting in her face, because why not? "Has it occurred to you that you might be getting used?"

  "It's not that." She shuffled her feet, fussing with the strap of her bag. You'd have thought we were doing a deal on some dark street corner with the way the girl was acting.

  "Then what?" I asked. "What do you want, Erika?"

  "I went over to Dillon's last night and . . . he's not doing well." Her gaze roamed to the people watching and she frowned. "He was saying all sorts of crazy shit."

  "What sort of crazy shit?"

  "Just . . . tell John to be careful."

  "What did he say?"

  Turning her back on me, she got moving. "Just tell him."

  Huh. This, whatever it was, did not feel good. Dillon had managed to scare Erika into sounding like a genuinely concerned human being, instead of a haughty bitch. That was actually kind of frightening.

  John had picked me up that morning so we could grab a mom-approved quick breakfast together on our way to school. After the weird chat with Erika, I found him waiting out by the beast, Anders busy spinning a basketball on his finger while Hang watched with an indulgent smile. Nothing going on between them, my ass. They were about as believable as John and I.

  "Just had an interesting conversation," I said, leaning my body against his and waiting for my welcome kiss.

  He delivered it with a smile. "What?"

  "Erika says to be careful of your brother."

  His gaze narrowed, lips flattening. "Really?"

  "Really." I wandered around to the passenger side and dumped my bag in the car.

  "Bestie rides shotgun," pouted Anders. "Everyone knows that."

  "Apparently she went over to your old place and he was saying some scary shit. She wouldn't say what. Have you seen him since the fight?" I asked, ignoring the idiot in our midst. Some things were more important. "John?"

  He slipped on his sunglasses, looking across the roof of the car at me with a blank face. "He stopped by the other week. Uncle Levi told him he'd sic the cops on him if he saw him near the house again. Nothing since then."

  "Ah."

  With one finger, he scratched at the side of his nose. "I mean, he's tried calling me a couple of times. But I don't usually answer."

  "Usually?" I asked, voice tightening. "He beat you up, John."

  "He's my brother and we beat each other up. Trust me, he didn't come out of it looking too good either."

  I don't think I was wearing my happy face.

  "You're an only child, Edie. You don't know what it's like," he said. "I can't just turn my back on him."

  Brows tight, I fished my own sunglasses out of my bag. The afternoon light was shining blindingly bright. "So he still wants you to deal?"

  "It's more complicated than that."

  Anders's head swung between us, the basketball still in his hands. "Hang. Boo. Give me a lift home?"

  "Sure."

  "Talk to you later, loser." He slapped John on the back, then picked up his bag.

  "Saturday night?" Hang asked me.

  "I don't know. Old Cemetery Road okay with you?"

  "You sure?"

  "Mom shifted my curfew a little. But I don't mind only catching the start of the party. It'll give John a chance to do some boarding."

  "Okay." With a nod, she began unlocking her own car, parked next to the beast. "See you at work tomorrow."

  "See you."

  "Let's go to your place," said Anders to Hang. "Ask your mom if I can stay for dinner. The food at yours is way better than mine."

  "My mom hates you."

  "No she doesn't," Anders said, voice incredulous. "She's just shy."

  Hang laughed, slamming her car door shut.

  And then we were alone. Or as alone as you can get in a crowded school parking lot. John climbed in and I did likewise, the air hot and stale. Old cracked leather seating warmed the backs of my legs. In a month or two I'd have to get out my tights for winter. Not that Northern California ever got freezing cold, but dresses alone didn't do the job all year round.

  "He hurt you," I said.

  John revved the engine, setting a hand atop my headrest and turning to check no one was behind us before reversing out. "I know."

  We got into the line of cars pouring from the parking lot and into the street. Smiles and laughter carried through the open windows, everyone in a good mood for Friday afternoon. Almost everyone. Memories of the blood and bruises on John's face and body that night kind of made me want to puke.

  "Be careful," I said, repeating Erika's warning.

  "I will be."

  Saturday night, I watched transfixed as John rode his skateboard, doing all sorts of cool moves. Bare chested, which upped the heat content tenfold. I held onto his shirt for him, sniffing it maybe once or twice at most. Certainly no more than say half a dozen times because I wasn't some creepy stalker. Though it should be noted, I wasn't the only one watching, looking at least half in love with the boy. No, I was just the one with no shame when it came to smelling his clothes.

  Oh, well. Honestly, I don't think I'd really come down since the first time we kissed.

  "Hey." Hang sidled on up to me with a bottle of water in her hands. Despite our drunken antics at her house the night of the bad texting incident, Hang didn't seem to drink very often. "I think Anders has taken up interpretive dancing."

  "Your boyfriend scares me," said Carrie, standing on my other side. "I left Sophia to try and keep up with his dancing acrobatics. I'm done."

  Hang laughed. Not correcting her about the boyfriend comment, either. "I have no idea where he gets all of the energy."

  "How's he doing with your mom?"

  She grimaced. "Well, he's certainly committed. But I don't see her accepting him anytime soon."

  "Hmm. Your mom is fierce, but my money's on Anders."

  "Mine too."

  "For certain. The boy doesn't even know how to give up." Carrie chuckled. "It's like the concept doesn't exist in his world."

  Hang just grinned. It was good to see her so happy.

  Around us, the field was slowly filling with people, the area lit courtesy of the headlights of half a dozen trucks and SUVs. I sipped on my beer while Carrie took sips from a flask. It was just half past eight or so. Early for a Saturday night. But my curfew had only been extended to ten thirty, and John and I had plans that required privacy and the comfort of his bed. Oh, and his Uncle Levi was out until late.

  That was critical.

  Whatever his uncle's views were on teen sex, the thought of doing anything with someone else in the house was a big no.

  John jumped off his board at the top of the half-pipe, landing easy on the flat concrete surface. The boy had to be part acrobat or something. Meanwhile, I could barely touch my toes without falling over. One of the fangirls approached him and he smiled, nodded, and turned away. Then he flipped the board up to his hand with a foot and walked over to us. Another girl stepped up to the edge of the pipe, her board beneath one sneaker. Whoosh, she was off.

  Maybe one day I should take up a sport besides shopping. Maybe.

  "Hey," he said, a line of sweat trickling down the side of his face. I passed him the cup of beer and he gulped some. "Thanks."

  "Ever think about going professional with your skateboarding?" I asked, curious.

  With a broad smile, he nodded to the girl currently riding. "Watch her."

  "All right."

  We all did, soon understanding why. The woman had mad skills; the jumps and stunts she did were nothing short of amazing.

  "Wow!" said Hang.

  Mind blown, I could only nod in agreement.

  "That's what pro looks like," John said. "She's heading up to Seattle for a b
ig contest next week. Be surprised if she sticks around here much longer."

  "You're still my hero," I told him, leaning in for a kiss. Because kissing John topped my list of favorite things to do.

  "I'm sweaty," he said.

  "I don't care."

  Black nearly swallowed the blue of his eyes. "Ready to get out of here?"

  I nodded, turning immediately to my friends.

  "See you later." Carrie saluted me with her flask.

  "Later," I said.

  "I won't even ask if you have protection," joked Hang.

  "You've seen them, huh?" asked John.

  "The small mountain of condoms she's trying to hide in the back of her car? Yes."

  "It's not a mountain," I said, suppressing a smile. "And don't act like you didn't take some."

  "You wanted to share. Who was I to say no?"

  John just laughed, handing me the last of the beer and dropping his board so he could put his shirt on. I downed it quickly for the extra courage. With my hand in his, he led me around the crowd.

  "Johnny!" a voice yelled, a man cutting through group. "Hey."

  Beside me, John swore.

  "There you are." The stranger was tall and thin. His face pale and wasted, despite the pleased smile. "Good to see you."

  "What are you doing here, Dillon?" asked John, tone of voice less than welcoming. Subtly he moved to stand in front of me.

  "We're brothers. Thought it'd be good to catch up."

  "Last time we tried catching up it didn't end so well."

  Dillon frowned, scratching at the side of his face. "Brothers fight. It's no big deal."

  Around us, the party had paused, people watching. Shit. And John still held my hand, just had it tucked behind his back.

  "Who's the girl?" asked Dillon, craning his neck to try and see me.

  "No one."

  "A blonde, huh?"

  "I repeat, she is no one you need to know. Now what do you want?"

  His brother laughed. "You always were a randy little bastard. Anyway, we need to talk, so . . . get rid of her. Let's get away from here."

  "This is all the talking we're doing, right here, right now."

  "Johnny."

  "I'm serious."

  Dillon heaved out a sigh. Hard, sunken eyes glared at the nearby onlookers, and some people in the small crowd backed up.

  "Come on, don't be like that. We're family, you and me. We need to be looking out for each other, not fighting like this. What do you think our folks would say?"

  John hung his head, shaking it. "Christ. I'm quickly losing interest, so what do you want?"

  "I need your help."

  "Say the word and I'll get you into rehab. I've got the money; we can sort this shit out. I already told you that." John's grip on my fingers tightened, his feet shifting. "Uncle Levi heard of this great place--"

  "I don't want fucking rehab!" Dillon bared his teeth, visibly fighting for control. "But I need the money."

  "No."

  "Johnny . . ."

  I fished my front door key out of my pocket, ready to start stabbing at the meth-head's eyes if he took so much as a step toward his brother. Christ, this was so much worse than John had described. Or at least, worse than I'd imagined. His brother was all wired and strung out. The same as Chris had been at the Drop Stop. Just the memory made me want to puke or hit something. I gripped the key hard.

  "Sell your fucking vehicle, do something, I don't care. But I am not giving you money for drugs, Dillon," said John. "I know you've still got your car--I saw it parked down the street from Uncle Levi's the other day."

  "I just wanted to talk. That prick, he's coming between us. Can't you see?"

  "No." John shook his head. "All that shit you take, that's what came between us. Uncle Levi had nothing to do with it."

  A tall shadow appeared beside me, moving into place beside John.

  Dillon smiled, or tried to. The mix of his barely suppressed anger and his thin, haunted face. "Anders. How you doing, man?"

  "Shouldn't be here, D."

  "You too? Jesus."

  Anders said no more.

  "Little brother," said Dillon. "It-it shouldn't be like this. We should be helping each other, you know?"

  "You don't want help," said John, stepping to the side and taking me with him. "Come near me again, it's not going to end well."

  "You threatening me, you little shit?" Dillon scoffed. His hands were by his sides, but they were curled into fists.

  John didn't back down, not even remotely. All of the lean muscle in his arms seemed pumped, ready. "I won't stop next time and I'll break more than your nose. Stay away."

  Anders stepped forward, hands stretched out. "All this fucking tension. How about a beer, D? Why don't we just chill out and get a beer, yeah?"

  For a moment, Dillon glared past him to John. Then his eyes flickered up to Anders, and around to the crowd watching the pro skater strut her stuff. "Sure," he said, uncurling his fists and pasting the sick smile back onto his face, as if the whole standoff was no big deal. "Okay. Let's do that."

  Meanwhile, John moved, taking me with him. Walking fast, we headed back out toward the main parking lot. The lumps and bumps in the dirt path at night kind of sucked.

  "John?" I asked.

  He didn't slow down. "Let's just get to the car."

  Being blessed with grace, I almost tripped on a tree root and landed on my face. Strong hands grabbed me, halting my fall. "Shit."

  "You okay?" he asked.

  I nodded. "Can we just calm down a little? Please?"

  "Yeah. Sorry. Still okay to come to my place?" he asked, fiddling with his car keys. He opened my door, ushering me in. "You don't have to."

  "No. I want to."

  "Okay." A muscle in his jaw shifted, barely visible in the moonlight. Carefully, he shut the door, jogging around to the driver's side and jumping in. "I'm sorry, Edie. I didn't want him anywhere near you."

  "It's not your fault."

  He slammed a hand against the wheel, swearing low and furious. Then he started the engine. Not good.

  "Are you okay to drive?" I asked.

  For a second, his head slumped back against the seat and he glared at the ceiling. Then his shoulders dropped and he exhaled. "I'm sorry. I'll calm down."

  "He's in bad shape, your brother."

  John rolled his head to the side to meet my eyes. "He's a fucking mess. What am I going to do?"

  "You've done all you can," I said. "He won't accept the help he needs. That's not on you."

  "I know," he said. "I just . . . shit."

  "Did he throw the first punch that night you fought?"

  "Yeah. He started it." He rubbed the back of his neck. "None of this should have touched you."

  "It hasn't."

  "Yet." His fingers caressed the side of my face, his gaze tortured. "Maybe I should just take you home."

  "Maybe we should go to your place like we planned to. Mom and Matt are having a sappy candlelit dinner," I said. "I doubt she's even thinking about what we might be up to just yet."

  He gave me a grim smile. "Okay. Let's go."

  A couple of cars were coming in the opposite direction on the narrow road. I almost resented them for slowing us down. The sooner we got away from his brother, the better. But also, I wanted to be alone with John, no distractions. I wanted to make him smile properly. Perhaps this was what addiction felt like, the constant need to get close to him, to feel that high. He put my hand on his knee and I fidgeted with a small hole in his jeans the whole way back to his place.

  Normalcy started to return. Each mile the car put between us and Dillon let him fade farther into the past.

  "My mom loves this song," I said, humming along to Blondie's "Heart of Glass."

  "Yeah?" He smiled. "It's a good song."

  Up next came "Get It On" by T. Rex. He had to help me out with that one.

  When we arrived, the house lay in darkness, only the porch light on. John pulled
up in the empty driveway and I hopped out before he could even offer to open the door. Manners were nice, but alone time mattered and the clock was ticking. He turned on only a small lamp sitting on the entryway table. Inside, nothing had changed since the last time I'd been there. Books, potted plants, huge TV, a bit of mess.

  "Would you like a drink or anything?" he asked.

  "No. Thank you."

  "I stink. Let me grab a quick shower," he said, heading for the stairs. "Come on up if you want. Hang out in my room."

  I wanted.

  Dark gray sheets covered the bed, the same shade as the walls. At least, where they weren't covered with posters. An old Led Zeppelin poster had joined the Ramones. Which made me wonder . . .

  "I don't think that cassette is stuck."

  "Huh?" He rifled through a laundry basket full of clothes all neatly folded. First came boxer briefs, followed by a fresh pair of jeans and a faded green T-shirt. Though really, who needed clothes?

  "The cassette tape you claimed was stuck in your car stereo," I said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "I don't think it is. I think you just like the music and don't want to admit it for some reason."

  Half facing away from me like he was, I almost didn't catch his smile. "Honestly?"

  "Always."

  "The tape was in there when I bought it," he said, rubbing at his chin with the pad of his thumb. "The car used to belong to this guy who did security, touring with bands back in the day. But he got some disease that messed with his eyesight, so he couldn't drive anymore. That's why he sold it to me."

  "How sad."

  John nodded. "He gave me the posters, too. I left the tape in as a kind of show of respect. I mean, it's not like I've got another to replace it."

  Interesting. "You could hook up your phone, get a system so you can play other music."

  "I could." He just watched me.

  "Though, honestly?"

  "Always."

  "I kind of prefer the tape."

  "Me too." He smiled.

  Not smiling back at him was physically impossible. "You know, I was looking into places that offered those certifications you said you were interested in."

  "Oh, yeah?"

  "Yeah." I rubbed my hands on his sheets and gripped the edge of the bed, nervous. "There's a place that offers Landscaping near Berkeley."

  "Really?" He leaned against a closet door. "That's where you want to go, huh?"

  I shrugged, staring at his Chucks. Much less pressure than meeting his eyes. "John, it's . . . it was just a thought. You know. If you were still interested."

  "Let me think about it."