My mother's eyes were a shade of pale green that as a child I swore looked like gemstones. I’d sit with her out in the garden when I was little and the sun would shine so bright I’d have to squint to see her face, but those green eyes could always find me through the glare.
I was dreaming of her green eyes—the same green eyes that stared back at me every time I looked in the mirror—when something cold and wet pressed against my cheek. I jolted out of my dream only to feel the strange sensation again. I blinked my eyes open just in time to see a fat pink tongue reach out and lick from my chin up to my mouth.
“What the hell?!” I screamed and bolted up in my bed.
“Harvey! Get out of there. Harvey! C’mon!”
I had one fraction of a second when all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place before I realized Chase was standing in my doorway. Shirtless.
“Bad dog,” Chase frowned, eyeing his dog like he was about to throw him out the window.
He was toeing the invisible line of my bedroom, trying to retrieve Harvey without encroaching on my territory. I reached for my comforter and tried to conceal my white tank top.
His short blond hair was still mussed from sleep, but every other piece of his appearance was in place: straight nose, strong jaw, golden tan, and lips that I knew could stretch into a grin that would make my toes curl. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and his pajama pants sat low on his hips. I took in the slope of his stomach as he bent down to lure Harvey back to him.
“He didn't get to meet you last night,” Chase said, giving up and standing to cross his arms over his chest.
Last night.
Last night.
My cheeks burned with a blush I knew Chase could see.
I pulled my gaze away from him and looked back down at Harvey. He was wagging his tail and eyeing me with so much love that it was impossible not to reach over and pat his head. His blond fur was silky soft and the moment my hand connected with him, he stepped closer and rested his chin on the top of my comforter.
I had always wanted a dog.
“He can stay,” I said, keeping my eyes on Harvey.
“Are you sure?” Chase asked.
I nodded without looking back up. The image of Chase was already burned into my memory; there was no need to make it worse.
I heard a chuckle and then a moment later the door shut and I was alone again—well, alone with Harvey.
I patted the top of my bed. “C'mon.”
Not two seconds later, that massive dog was twirling in a circle on top of my blanket, making himself at home. He tucked into a ball by my side and rested his head on my chest. I stared down into his eyes, reminded of my earlier dream. In the light of day, bright brown eyes were much more comforting than pale green.
Chapter Eleven
Chase
I stood outside Lilah’s bedroom wondering where Harvey's loyalty would lie at the end of the day. I hadn't seen Lilah like that in years; she’d presented a very different version of herself the night before with dark clothes, dark hair, and an expression that did a fairly good job of warning me away. Just then, however, I’d seen a glimpse of the Lilah I had known before, soft eyes, freckles and all. I’d wanted to follow Harvey into her bedroom and lock us away the rest of the day.
Instead, I turned back for my new room across the hall. I was still getting used to the size. It was small, more like a storage space than an actual bedroom. The old queen bed took up most of the room and the boxes in the corner made it hard to use what little space was leftover.
I made it a point to ignore the boxes. Every time I glanced over them my chest tightened in anger. Even after a year and a half, I hated the woman down to the very marrow of her bones, bones that now lay in the earth—where they belonged.
My phone buzzed on the bed and I reached over to see the text messages that had started to accumulate.
Brian: Basketball at the school courts at 2? Connor's in.
Connor: Let's party at Kimberly's after basketball. Aren't her parents out of town?
Kimberly: Hey C. My parents are still MIA. Let’s celebrate the last day of winter break tonight at my house! Let me know. XO
I didn't bother responding to any of them. Those people—my high school friends—didn’t seem to belong in the Calloways’ house. They weren’t part of my history, not like Lilah was. I needed five more minutes where I could recreate the image of her on her bed. Five more minutes to linger in the past.
Chapter Twelve
Lilah