Sweet Dandelion Read online

  Zeppelin lifts his head, sniffing at the air but doesn’t jump down to follow his master. He rests his big head back on his paws and closes his eyes.

  I look out the now open door through the darkened hallway, to somewhere beyond where Lachlan is undoubtedly battling with himself.

  I won’t tell him, because I know it won’t make him feel any better.

  But after all these hours, I’m perfectly sober.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I don’t fall asleep until six in the morning. Spending a solid hour replaying the kiss over and over in my brain.

  He kissed me back.

  It’s a truth that’s undeniable and sends bubbles of excitement exploding in my body.

  Eventually, I do sleep, not waking up until one in the afternoon.

  Zeppelin is gone from my side, the bed cold. Slipping out from under the covers I take in the now closed door and my clothes, folded neatly on that teal chair, my shoes on the ground beside it.

  I get out of bed, using the attached master bath. Padding back into his room I pace for a couple of minutes, not sure how he’s going to act after last night. Blowing out a breath, I strip out of Lachlan’s clothes, tossing them in the hamper before pulling on my outfit from the night before. I put his sweatshirt back on. I tell myself it’s because I’m only wearing a tank top but it’s a lie. I want something of him close to me, to linger in the smell of him.

  I crack open the door, peeking down the hall. The TV is on some news channel, bits and pieces echoing back to me. I pause, hoping to hear movement, some indication of where Lachlan is, but there’s nothing.

  Pressing my lips together, I walk as quietly as I can. The back of his head greets me. He lays stretched out on the chaise part of a sectional couch in a pair of black sweatpants and a gray long sleeve shirt. He raises his arm, changing the channel. Zeppelin lies on the floor near a coffee table. He raises his big head, huffing at me, before using his paws as pillows once more.

  “You’re up.” His voice is deep, gruff.

  “Yeah.”

  He glances at me standing there awkwardly, wringing my hands together.

  “Hungry?”

  I give him a surprised look. I wasn’t expecting that question.

  I nod.

  He gets off the couch, walking straight past me into the kitchen.

  “Do you like fish tacos?” His eyes flick to me, waiting for an answer.

  “Yeah, that would be great.”

  He starts pulling ingredients out of his refrigerator and freezer, piling them on the counter. He turns his back to me, starting the oven. I slide my butt onto one of the barstools.

  We’re both silent for a while as he cuts and chops stuff.

  “I can’t cook,” I admit sheepishly.

  He doesn’t look up from chopping some green leafy thing. “I know. You told me once.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence once more.

  I can’t get a read on him, to know if he’s angry, upset, or trying to find the words to say something.

  It takes about fifteen minutes before he slides two tacos in front of me. He didn’t make any for himself.

  I pick up a taco, taking a bite. It’s delicious, the flavors exploding on my tongue. Before I can compliment him, he narrows his eyes on me.

  “Last night can never happen again.”

  I nearly choke on the bite of food as I swallow. I grab the bottle of water he holds out to me.

  “It was inappropriate,” he continues, leaning his elbows on the counter. He regards me with a serious stare. “If something like that happens again you can’t call me.” He looks anguished saying the words, like they scrape against the walls of his throat. “I’m not some knight in shining armor. Do you have any idea how much trouble I could be in right now if anyone knew you were here?” He covers his face with his hands, letting out a groan before dropping them. “Let alone that we kissed.”

  I don’t miss the way he phrases it. He doesn’t say that I kissed him.

  We.

  We kissed.

  “I-I thought you liked it.”

  It’s clearly the wrong thing to say. His face pales. “After you eat, you need to go.”

  “Lachlan—”

  He flinches, biting out, “Mr. Taylor.”

  I press my lips together, fighting tears. “Last night—”

  “Can’t happen again.”

  I lower my head, giving it a small jerk in understanding.

  As much as I want to protest I know what kind of position this has put him in. It would be immature of me to argue back. I might be young, but I’m not stupid. Looking back up at him, I hold out my pinky finger. “Last night stays between us. We tell no one. Pinky promise?”

  He wraps his finger around mine.

  “Pinky promise,” he murmurs in that deep voice of his. Looking in his eyes I see the pain and turmoil roiling in them. It hurts me because I know I put that there.

  We don’t drop our fingers right away.

  After a couple of seconds too long we break eye contact and finally he pulls his finger back.

  He braces his hands on the counter, his shoulders tense. Looking down at the plate, I force myself to take another bite, ignoring the tension in the air. I can’t joke with him like I normally would, not right now at least.

  My phone starts vibrating and Lachlan uses it as an opportunity to walk out of the kitchen. I hear him settle behind me on the couch, but I don’t dare turn around and look at him.

  Pulling my phone out of the hoodie pouch I see an unfamiliar number.

  “Hello?” I answer hesitantly.

  “You’re okay,” Ansel breathes on the other end.

  “Yeah?” It comes out as a question for some reason.

  “What happened to you last night? I couldn’t find you.”

  “It’s kind of a long story.” I feel Lachlan’s eyes boring into the back of my skull. “What happened to you? I called you, but you never answered.”

  “My phone fell out of my pocket and broke. The whole screen shattered. I’m going to have to get a new one. Are you sure you’re okay? Are you with Sasha?”

  I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. It’s damn near impossible to ignore Lachlan listening in on every word.

  “No, Sasha left me.”

  He groans on the other end. “Of course she did. Did you get a ride with someone?”

  “Yeah, I’m home now.”

  It’s not a total lie. I am in the building, just not my brother’s place.

  “That’s good. Want to go to Watchtower later?”

  I shake my head, then feel stupid since he can’t see. “No, I better stay home.”

  “I’ll see you Monday then.”

  “Yep.”

  I hang up, putting the phone back in my hoodie.

  “Who was that?” Lachlan asks, his voice tight.

  “Ansel.” I still don’t turn around to look at him.

  He makes some kind of noise in his throat that I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be a response or not.

  I only manage to eat one more bite and down the entire bottle of water. There’s a slight headache brewing behind my eyes, but it’s the least I deserve after the damage I did last night. Luckily between the adrenaline and how long I was in the cold what could’ve been a potentially killer hangover is very mild.

  I empty my plate, rinse it, and stick it in the dishwasher.

  I’m stalling.

  I know it.

  I’m sure he knows it too.

  I stand between the kitchen and his living area. He doesn’t look away from the TV when he says, “You need to go, Dani.”

  “I have to say something.”

  He forces his eyes from the screen, cocking his head at me. One dark brow arches. I can tell he’s pissed. At me? Himself? I don’t know. “What?”

  “I should say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” His frown deepens. “I’m not sorry at all for last night. I’m not sorry for trusting you when I don’t con
fide in anyone. I’m not sorry for calling you. And I’m not sorry for kissing you. I think it’s a bad habit to apologize for things you’re not sorry for and I refuse to.”

  His eyes narrow to slits. “Do you not see how wrong yesterday was?”

  I swallow, rocking back on my heels. “Wrong doesn’t always mean bad, Mr. Taylor.”

  His lips part, but he doesn’t say anything more, instead crossing his muscular arms over his chest. His eyes flick over me once more, head to toe, stopping on the sweatshirt I still wear.

  Still, he says nothing.

  “I’ll see you Monday.”

  It’s the same words Ansel said to me, but somehow so very different.

  With those parting words, I turn and walk out, unsure if I’ll ever be welcome back again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “I’m grounded for the next decade,” I announce to Ansel when he plops into his seat beside me in art class.

  He winces, pulling his sketchpad and supplies out of his messenger bag. There are things we can use that are provided, but he always chooses his own. “That bad, huh?” He flips it open to a clean page.

  I grab my own sketchpad, opening to the current class project. Ansel finished his a week ago and now works on whatever he wants during class time.

  My drawing of a hippo, the animal I was assigned for this project, looks more like some animated made up creature than anything real. Ansel’s eyes flick over it, but he doesn’t say anything.

  I wish I had his talent, but I don’t.

  “Sage reamed me out. I deserved it, though.”

  I had ended up confessing almost everything to Sage about the party and the cops coming. I conveniently left out the part of me thinking there was a shooter and Lachlan coming to my rescue but I felt better for being mostly honest. I used to tell him everything, but things changed after last year. He’s not just my brother anymore. He’s my guardian. It’s put a strain on the roles we normally play. I don’t blame him for being pissed at me. I would be too if the rolls were reversed, so I’ll take my punishment and not complain.

  “How long are you grounded?”

  “A month. I’m not allowed to go out on Friday nights or the weekend unless he goes with me. So, if you want to do something my brother will be chaperoning.”

  Ansel snickers. “See you in a month, Meadows.” He tosses a wink my way. “I don’t have a death wish and something tells me your brother would kill me.” It’s quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds between us the scratching of charcoal pencils. “Do you guys have any plans for Thanksgiving?”

  I shake my head. “No. Normally … normally Sage would’ve gone back ho—” I stop myself, “to Portland. We could go visit our grandparents, but he’s swamped with work so I doubt he’ll want to do that and neither of us cook. So, yeah.” I finish with a shrug.

  Surprise floods me when Ansel says, “You guys could come to my house? I mean, I’d have to ask my mom first, but I don’t think she’d care. Especially once she hears you guys won’t be doing anything.”

  “Halloween was Friday, how are we talking about Thanksgiving already?” I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on.

  “It’s the holiday season, Meadows. You’re not a Scrooge are you?”

  “No,” I scoff. “Not usually anyway.”

  I don’t tell him, but I spent last Thanksgiving in and out of it since I was being heavily sedated, Christmas too was spent in the hospital.

  The twelfth is fast approaching. It’ll be a year since our mom passed. A year since the worst day of my life.

  Dread settles upon my shoulders like a heavy blanket.

  I’ve been avoiding thinking about that day. It’s been easier to push it to the recesses of my brain. I think to cope with it, in my brain it’s been a someday but it’s practically here. I can’t ignore it forever.

  “You okay?” Ansel voices, bringing me out of my thoughts. He looks and sounds worried.

  I nod, tucking a piece of light brown hair behind my ear. “Fine.” I move my hand and curse when I leave a smear on the paper from the side of my hand.

  Without missing a beat Ansel passes me one of his round powerful erasers I’ve seen him use before. I take it with a grateful smile, erasing the mark from the page. I wish I could erase other things so easily.

  “You can talk to me you know,” he says in a low murmur.

  I’m surprised Mrs. Kline hasn’t yelled at us yet for our talking, but when I look over at her she’s occupied at her desk speaking with a student.

  “I know.”

  “I’m not sure you do.”

  My head jerks to the right, giving him a funny look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He narrows his eerie pale blue eyes. His ultra long dark lashes fan against his high cheekbones. He looks around the room to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “You shared about what happened to you because you felt you had to. Not because you trusted me.” My lips part, a rebuttal ready, but he shakes his head to silence me. “That’s okay, trust is earned and I haven’t earned yours yet. We haven’t known each other long, but when you’re ready you can talk to me about anything. I’m not the judgmental type. I mean, my side gig is as a dealer. It’d be kind of hypocritical to judge, huh?”

  I process his words and nod. “It’ll be a year on the twelfth.”

  His face falls. It wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “Oh.”

  I turn away from him, not wanting to stare at the blank look of his.

  His fingers tap against the top of the table. I assume he’s searching for words to say, but that’s the thing, there are none. I angle my body away from him, focusing on my project. From the corner of my eye I see his head drop, a sigh of resignation echoing in his chest as he finally comes to the realization that he can’t say anything.

  The rest of class is spent in silence between us. I hope he doesn’t take it personally, I’m not offended, I just don’t have anything more to say.

  At lunch I’m not surprised when he tears into Sasha for leaving me. I’m also not surprised when she argues right back that he left me too. He says, “That was different. I was getting her water and she vanished on me.” Sasha simply replies with a condescending, “Mhmm.”

  Seth, as per usual, says nothing. “Did you go to the party?” I ask him softly, letting the other two bicker.

  “Yeah.”

  “What were you? I didn’t see you there.”

  “Invisible.”

  He says it so deadpan that I stare at him, waiting for the punch-line. When I don’t get one, I sit back in my chair, scrubbing my palms over my jeans. “Well, then.”

  When the bell chimes, signaling the change of classes, I make a mad dash for Lachlan’s office. I’m unsure of what to expect when I see him after the way we left things Saturday morning, but I do know he’s my safe place and right now I need him.

  Speed walking down the long tiled hallway I come to a sudden stop when I reach his closed door, a piece of paper taped to the outside.

  In typed letters it says:

  In a meeting until 3pm. Please see the office.

  His signature is a scratchy thing at the bottom.

  At first, I want to be mad because I needed to see him. Even if he said nothing to me I needed to be in the same room as him. Then, almost immediately after, I feel fear.

  What if he’s in a meeting because of me? Could someone know I called him? That I was in his apartment?

  It seems illogical, but when you’re doing something so immoral logic goes flying out the window.

  I don’t want to go to the office.

  Compelled by something I can’t quite understand, I pull a pen out of my bag and a draw a dandelion. It’s a pathetic sort of thing, basically the outline of one in bloom with a simple line coming out of it for the stem.

  But he’ll know.

  Capping the pen, I shove it in my pocket.

  Since I refuse to go sit in the office for the next fifty minutes, I go ba
ck to the library and settle at a table there, working on homework. At least I’ll be ahead for the day.

  Nervousness prickles at my brain, wondering what the meeting is about. I can’t seem to shake the feeling it’s about me.

  I spend the rest of the day in a fog. I’m not surprised when the day ends and I get a text message from Sage.

  Sage: Don’t let Ansel give you a ride home.

  I can’t help but roll my eyes.

  Me: Getting on the bus now.

  He sends back a thumbs up as I sit down, leaning against one of the cold windows.

  I hover over Lachlan’s contact, wanting to send him a message but knowing more than likely he won’t even answer which will only make me feel worse.

  The bus drops me off and I walk down the street and into the building.

  Once in the elevator I lean against the back wall of it and let out a pent up breath I feel like I’ve been holding most of the day. When the doors slide open I lower my head. Down the hall I go, letting myself into Sage’s condo.

  Locking the door behind me, I go to my room, dropping my backpack on the floor. I kick my shoes off, flopping on my bed. I have no idea what to do with myself. My homework is done, I’m banned from doing anything with Ansel, and I finished the last book I borrowed from Lachlan.

  I don’t do well with idle time. I never have. Whenever I used to feel this pent up restless energy I’d go for a run, but that’s not an option anymore. My legs are still screaming at me for what I put them through Friday night.

  Getting up, I scour the refrigerator for anything that looks like it could be tossed together for a meal. Of course, there’s nothing. With a resigned sigh, I step back, placing my hands on my hips. It’ll be a few hours before Sage gets home.

  In that time I might become certifiably insane.

  I pull out my phone, sending him a text.

  Me: What do you want for dinner?

  He doesn’t text back right away, so I sit down on the couch, turning on the TV.

  Sage: Food.

  I roll my eyes.

  Me: Smartass.