Not Cinderella's Type, Page 3

  “Whoa. I didn’t say anything about saving anyone—I’m only trying to help.”

  Gah. “Stop. Seriously, stop. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing you can say right now that will make this better.”

  “Every situation is different,” he said quietly, still standing there strong and firm and immovable. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his stubbornness. “But believe it or not, I can relate. I know what you’re going through. And your anger is completely justified.”

  “Really?” I put my hands on my hips.

  He nodded and looked away. “My mom died when I was ten too. Almost a year before yours did.”

  What? I sat down. All at once, everything stopped.

  A strange humming feeling came over me. It was intense and strong, and like I wasn’t really connecting with my body—or more importantly, like every fiber of my being was waiting and willing to understand what had just happened.

  He talked quietly and slowly. “I know that rage. I know that lost feeling. I know that shock. I just don’t want you to think you need to kill yourself too.”

  My head jerked up. How did he know? I blinked and then blinked again. And if I thought I’d cried before, this was an all-new gut-wrenching experience. This time, I cried for the guy across from me. The happy guy at school. The guy everyone knew and loved. The guy the girls stupidly swooned over. He had a secret. He had my secret. He had wanted to die too. And that moment connected us for the first time.

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  I felt as though cement had smashed against my chest. Everything was tight, and I could barely breathe. Also, a part of me felt like an idiot for chewing him out. For believing my life was more important than his—that I had experienced worse. Bryant was right—junk happens to everyone. I wanted to say something. To talk normally instead of like some raving lunatic.

  I started with the obvious. “Sorry.”

  He attempted a laugh and then said, “Don’t be. I was angry for years too. My dad has stepped up to the plate and become better at the family thing, but yeah, it was my mom who could do that.”

  I looked around the sparsely decorated room and whispered, “Don’t tell my aunt, but yeah, my mom was much better at it too.”

  He bit his lip to hide a grin. “Not very motherly?”

  “No. Not at all.” It felt good to share with someone. “Let’s just say she’s more the type to make magnanimous gestures and expect everything to be okay after that.”

  “Don’t you have cousins? Two of them, if I remember.” He glanced toward the hall that led up to the stairs. “Isn’t this where Jayda and Kaitlyn live?”

  So he knew them. Of course he knew them. Everybody did. “Yep.”

  “Jayda’s a junior with me and Kaitlyn’s a sophomore with you, right? Or did I get the two confused? Sometimes I do that.”

  “No, you’re right.”

  “And they pretty much leave you alone down here?”

  I shrugged. “Well, you know basements. They’re not usually the main hangout spot.”

  His eyebrows came together, and he looked a bit confused. “I thought this house was huge. Aren’t there more rooms upstairs?”

  A sharp pain ripped through the cement on my chest, but I tried to pretend like it was no big deal. “Yep. There are six bedrooms upstairs, then the main floor with two more guest rooms, a kitchen, dining room, music room-slash-library, and large family room. And then there’s the basement, shared with the four-car garage and woodshop. There’s this den room here, small bathroom, and a few rooms for storage. My room had a bunch of Rubbermaid totes, and they pulled those out and took them all somewhere else before I came here.”

  He sat down and rested his knees on his elbows. “Okay. So let me get this straight. This house has eight actual bedrooms?”

  “No! I mean, yeah, but the girls had one turned into a playroom years ago, and there are two offices up there. For my aunt’s essential oil business, and then my uncle’s home office.”

  “And then two guest rooms on the main floor?”

  “Oh, nobody goes into those. And they need them. Clarise is always hosting someone. Family, friends—people are always here.”

  He nodded and then sort of grunted or disgust-sighed or something. I have no idea what that sound was—it was all male. “So let me get this straight. You’re ten years old, your cousins are the same age and have this room upstairs full of toys and their stuff, so full that they don’t have any extra space in their own rooms for their things, and your mom dies and they’re your family and they move you into an old storage room? Why not put you in the toy room?”

  My chest clenched tighter. Why was he making this seem so bad? “I really didn’t notice. It was their stuff, not mine. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable in a room with their things. You know what I mean? Besides, there wasn’t really a spot for a bed up there with the dollhouse and built-in shelves and art center. It definitely was a play room.”

  Bryant got up and began walking down the hall. I thought he was leaving until he opened my bedroom door.

  “Hey!” I quickly followed him, but he didn’t go inside. He just looked around.

  “I know—I’m nosy.”

  Now I was completely embarrassed about the clutter. “What are you doing?”

  He must’ve seen what he needed to because he shut the door and faced me, those eyes of his doing their magic again.

  “What? Yeah, I know. I should probably clean it more, but I was tired last night, and I—”

  He lifted his finger under my chin, and I stopped talking. All at once, my heavy chest warmed and lightened completely. In fact, I was pretty sure my heart was beating on overdrive.

  “Indy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I have one more prying question to ask, and then I promise I’ll be good for like twenty minutes or so.”

  I grinned. “Only twenty?”

  “Hey, I try not to make promises I can’t keep. You interest me. I can’t help myself. So I ask everything I shouldn’t.”

  His finger was warm against my chin, and those eyes glittered in the darker light of the hallway. “Your question?”

  “Where are your dolls and stuff?”

  What? “My dolls? What are you talking about? Why would I need dolls?”

  “You know, from when you were younger. Your cousins had so many toys, they needed another room for them. Where are yours?”

  My smile dropped, and I shrugged. “I didn’t ever have as many as they did. Mom was more into experiences than things.”

  “Okay, but you were ten. I expect to see at least a teddy bear, or something on your bed. Or is he hidden away in your closet?”

  “The funeral expenses were too high.”

  His voice came out slow and steady, and that gaze—good grief, his eyes should be illegal. “So they sold everything?”

  “Yeah, well, everything but the cat.”

  His gaze was gone. His lids shut him out just like that. “Wow.”

  All at once, I felt vulnerable and alone in a darkened hallway with a tall guy I barely knew. Each breath was a completely unique experience. Some came fast, some slow, some skipped altogether.

  And then his gaze was back. “I won’t ask you to forgive me about Mrs. Wiggins anymore. I’m not even going to expect it.”

  “I . . . okay.” What was I supposed to say?

  His finger started to lift my chin a bit higher, and his gaze shifted to my lips. Holy cow! Was he actually going to kiss me? My eyes flew to his mouth, and I wondered what it’d feel like. My breathing, my heartbeats—everything rested on this moment.

  “Indy?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I really, really want to kiss you right now. And I know you’re going to say no, so I’m not going to invade and do anything that will ruin this—”

  I’d heard enough. I stepped up on tiptoe and kissed him instead.

  And my word! I had no idea a girl could melt from a kiss.

  But I did.
>
  Totally. And completely. Melted.

  And you know what? I didn’t regret one bit of it. I should’ve, but I didn’t. And it was amazing.

  When Bryant pulled back, his adorable face was in complete shock. “So, am I forgiven?”

  After a few breaths to calm myself, I tried act chill. “Never.”

  He gave a half grin and then said, “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  He was nervous. I could tell he was nervous and didn’t quite know what to do. “Kissing me.”

  Do guys usually go around thanking people for kissing them? He was so funny.

  “I mean . . . I meant, thanks for not punching me in the face.”

  “That’s for later.”

  “Oh.”

  We were still standing in the middle of the hall, and I knew something was supposed to happen, but I didn’t know what. I was curious enough about him to want him to stay. Then all of a sudden, I blurted out the next thing I thought of. “So, how did your mom die?”

  “This is about me now?”

  “I figured it was time.”

  He hesitated and looked between my bedroom door and the hall. “Do you want to go somewhere and chat, or is right here okay?”

  I almost slid right down the wall and talked to him there in the hallway because I was weird like that, but then I remembered that sometimes voices carried up from that spot, so I motioned him toward the den again.

  “I think this is becoming my new favorite area.” He crashed onto the large couch and then patted the seat next to him.

  Everything became odd, and I wasn’t sure what to do. So, we’d kissed, but now what? Were we supposed to be all cuddly or something? Or would stuff go back to normal? Gah. I really wasn’t good with this whole relationship thing. Not that we were in one—I guess I didn’t know how to get in one if I wanted to, or what the rules were.

  I sat next to him, but maintained a safe distance. Meaning, I practically hugged the opposite arm from where he was sitting. Then I put a pillow between us for good measure. “So how did your mom die?” I asked again, once I thought my voice wouldn’t betray my nervousness.

  “Nothing typical, like cancer or something. It was sudden, like your mom. One minute, she was riding her bike to work, and the next, she was hit by a guy who’d been texting and didn’t see her. And that was it. She was gone. And everything in my life changed. I . . . I don’t know why it happened. I asked myself that a lot at first. Was there anything she could’ve done differently?”

  He took a deep breath. “That sort of thinking drives you crazy. What I do know is that one day, we were this happy family with four kids, and then the next, my dad was a frazzled widower with four kids. My oldest sister, MacKenzie, was fourteen when it happened. She completely lost it. I still don’t think she’s gotten over it. Then there was me and my two little sisters, who were eight and six at the time.

  “MacKenzie took over and began cooking and helping us with homework until my dad could get home. It was a hard time for everyone. We fought a lot and stressed out more and honestly, I can’t remember most of it. I hid in my room and locked the door and slept a lot.”

  I could relate. “The last thing I wanted to do after my mom died was act normal. I spent a lot of time in my room staring at the walls, snuggling Mrs. Wiggins and crying.”

  He winced, but I was grateful he didn’t apologize again. I hadn’t even realized I’d brought up the cat until he reacted. “So that’s why it didn’t bother you when you moved into this basement?”

  “What didn’t bother me?”

  “The fact your aunt and uncle treated you differently.”

  “No. I didn’t think about it. I’ve always felt so alone and not part of their world, it never dawned on me to feel any other way. I’ll always be the intruder.”

  “Indy. Don’t say that.”

  Enough about me. “So, when did you want to die?”

  CHAPTER SIX:

  He sort of gasped. “Wow. When you want to know something, you have no problem jumping in there.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  “A direct hit. I acknowledge.” He rose an eyebrow and grinned. “Right. So, when did I want to die? Well, almost immediately, I guess. I missed my mom like crazy. She was my best friend, but I didn’t know it until she was gone. We were really close.” He picked up the pillow in between us and tossed it on the floor.

  I almost protested, but listened instead.

  “She was riding her bike because we were going to enter a parent/kid triathlon that summer. I really, really wanted to try it out and do it, but Dad was too busy. So one day, Mom saw that I was bummed and pulled out her old bike and helmet and we went for our first ride. That turned into a nightly thing right before dinner. Then every morning, she’d wake me up at five to head to the gym’s swimming pool. She was a beast.”

  “Wow, she was serious about training.”

  “Yeah. Mom had a competitive streak. If she was going to do something, she sure as fire wanted to give it a real shot.” He was silent for a minute and then said, “We’d run, too. Every weekend, she’d talk me out running. It was hard, but it was fun too. And then it was gone.”

  “Did you still do the triathlon?”

  “By myself? No. That day, I curled up under my covers and never got out of bed. I don’t even think Dad realized what was going on—none of them did. They’d pretty much forgotten all about the race and what day it was and all that. But I hadn’t. That’s the day I really cried.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I could see the tears forming in his eyes again, and it was making me nearly lose it. “The worst part was, I knew she was there. Like, in my room with me. And I missed her so much, it hurt. I could feel her wrapping me up in the covers, almost like she was holding me while I cried. I knew then that she missed me too and wasn’t going to leave me alone. It was so warm in that room, but it wasn’t the same, and we both knew it.”

  I thought of all the different times I was sure I’d felt my mom throughout my life, and I cried with him. “It’s weird to explain, isn’t it? It’s like they’re there. But you know they’re not really. But it’s so good to know they think about you. It’s so comforting and painful at the same time.”

  “Dad calls it bittersweet.”

  I nodded. “That’d be a good word for it.”

  “Anyway, Mom probably saved my life that day. Not that I knew how to kill myself exactly, or would’ve had the guts, but that moment—when I knew she was holding me—has stopped me more than anything the older I’ve gotten.”

  “Like on her birthday, or the anniversary of her death? When it just gets too hard to handle?” Those were the worst.

  “Yep. On days like that, when all you want is to be with her again. And really talk to her and laugh and tease and all of that. That’s when it haunts you the most. The need to go too.”

  His words hit home. I had other days, too, when things would go really wrong, but for the most part, that was exactly what it was like for me.

  “Wow. Nothing like bringing in the heavy.” He rubbed his face. “Sorry. I really don’t go places and act intense like this all the time.”

  I wondered what he was like under normal circumstances. Like on a soccer field or something, just goofing around. I was about to change the subject and ask him something fun when Jayda came down the stairs and knocked on my bedroom door.

  “Hey, Indy. Is Bryant Bailey in there? Mom said he came to the house like an hour ago.”

  I could see her from down the hall, and Bryant and I shared a look. It wasn’t like we could hide forever though. “We’re over here,” I called.

  Jayda started. I could tell she was embarrassed, but she recovered quickly enough as she came down the hall, all smiles. “Hey, so you are here!”

  “Yep.” Bryant smiled back.

  There was a moment of nearly attempted musical chairs. Jayda wanted to sit on the couch with us, but didn’t know how. I wasn’t about to move a
nd I think she realized that, so she sat across from us instead. Then she promptly ignored me.

  “So, Bryant, what brings you here? How are you doing?” She flipped her long, perfectly curled hair over her shoulder.

  “I’m good.” He looked back at me. “Indy and I were swapping stories.”

  “Ooh!” She grinned. “I like stories. What stories where you sharing?”

  “About death,” I interjected, wanting to give her a little reminder I was there. Then I changed the subject because honestly, it wasn’t any of her business. “Is your mom still having her presentation?”

  “No. Thankfully, it just ended.” She leaned back into the couch and sighed. “Talk about torture.”

  “What’s so torturous?” Bryant asked.

  I was about to explain, but Jayda beat me to it.

  “When my mom does these essential oil presentations, she has a bunch of women over. First off, the house has to be spotless, with like, all this delicious food. And then she makes us stay in our rooms and not show our faces until the guests are gone.”

  “You’re basically all stuck, huh?” Bryant chuckled. “How long has she been doing these? And how did I get let into the house?”

  “I had no idea you were here until Mom told me a few minutes ago.” Jayda brought her feet up from the floor and tucked them under her.

  I decided to go ahead and answer his questions. “Aunt Clarise has been an essential oils consultant for years. Since before I got here. So these parties are pretty frequent—probably three or four times a week. You must’ve made an impression on her. Or maybe she didn’t want to look bad in front of her clients. Either way, I’m kinda glad you came. This has been fun.”

  “Talking about death is fun?” Jayda rolled her eyes and then looked at Bryant. “So, what are you doing later tonight? We’re having a few friends over to chill and watch some Netflix. Would you like to come?”

  It was the first I’d heard anything about a movie night, but Bryant seemed definitely interested. “Sure. I’ll have to double-check with my dad, but I don’t think I’ve got anything planned.”