“Um. . .”
“Okay. Let me give you a run-down. So, the one with the blue eyes, football player body, wide shoulders, tall and sort of playful? That’s Josh. The one with the gray eyes, beanie, toned all over and hot? That’s Cole. Very intense. Not my type. . .but. . .give me Josh, and you and I will be best friends forever.” She grins.
I’m trying so hard not to grin. This girl is a ball of sunshine wrapped in light blue jean shorty shorts and a yellow top. “Okay. So, playful Josh and intense Cole. Got it. Which one is older?”
“Josh is twenty-one. He goes to Florida State, and Cole is eighteen. He will be attending Eastern Lake University in fall and wants to major in Architecture. I hear Architects are very creative.” She winks at me and grins.
I laugh. “I wouldn’t know that.”
“I bet you’re interested now, eh?”
I giggle. God, this girl is a hoot.
The sound of a door shutting pulls me away from Megs. I twist around toward the Holloway house and my jaw drops. My heart does its sprinting thing inside my chest. He’s wearing a pair of running shorts, shoes and. . .nothing. His abs flex with every swing of his arm.
Lord have mercy.
He shoots a glance our way and waves, and then he’s jogging down the street in determined steps.
“What do you think?” I can hear the smile in Megs’ voice. I drag my gaze from Cole’s enticing back and face Megs.
“Um. . .he is very thought provoking.”
Hah! As if I have any lingering thoughts after seeing Mr. Shirtless leave his house.
Someone shouts her name from across the street.
“That’s my mom. We’re going to the mall. Wanna join us?”
I shake my head. “You and I are going to get along quite well, Megs. And I wish I could join you, but we still have a lot of unpacking to do.”
Her gaze lowers to my wrists, up my forearms. She frowns. “Are those—” she cuts herself off and blinks at me nervously.
Shit.
“Sorry. It’s none of my business.” She leans forward, catching me off-guard and hugs me. Then pulls back just as fast as she’d snatched me.
“I could drop by later and help you out if you want.”
I nod, relieved she’s still standing across the fence and still wants to come and help us unpack. “I would love that.”
She waves as she turns around and jogs toward her house, leaving me feeling as if a little hurricane just swept through me, leaving me reeling.
I gulp down the coffee and walk around the perimeter of the lawn, surveying the grounds.
I BOLT UPRIGHT ON THE BED. My eyes dart around my room. My heart races inside my chest as the sound of the rolling thunder fades in the distance. Lightning flashes across the sky several times outside my window, momentarily lighting up my room. All I want to do is bury myself under the covers and hide from the world. Dragging the sheets up to my chin, I shut my eyes tight and wrap my arms around my midriff to ward off the chills and shivers racking my body. My T-shirt is drenched with sweat and sticks to my body. Sweat that has nothing to do with the humidity and everything to do with memories from my past.
Lightning strikes again and I whimper, my eyes flying open. Closing them is never a good idea because all I end up seeing is my dad’s face, twisted in an ugly expression as he yells at Mom. I was five years old the first time I saw my father hit my mother. The sound of thunder, and my father’s angry voice, had woken me up. I tiptoed down the stairs and sat on the step with my hands clutched around the wooden bars, watching the horrible scene unfold. Lightning struck outside, illuminating my parents in the living room. Dad’s arm raised with his fist ready to strike. Mom’s body was curled up on the floor, her arms braced over her head to protect herself, right before Dad’s fist began landing on her back repeatedly. It was also the last time I saw him hit her. Either my mom learned how to hide the bruises well or my dad never did it again, but that moment was forever imprinted in my brain.
I take a long, shuddering breath and exhale, pushing the sheet off my body.
Damn Florida weather and its sudden thunderstorms. I hate feeling helpless and scared.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I climb to my feet, pull the T-shirt over my head, and toss it in the corner. I head to my dresser, grab a clean tank and scuttle out of the room before the next round of thunder. Right across the hall from mine is my mom’s room and the one at the furthest end of the hallway, near the bathroom, is my dad’s. Elise’s stands between a guest room and Elon’s.
I stop in front of Elon’s door, which is next to mine, turn the door knob and enter. The next roll of thunder has me sprinting in the dark toward Elon’s bed, stumbling and trying to right myself. My knee hits the side of the bed and I double over as pain stabs that spot repeatedly and mercilessly.