Hmm. That was strange. Even stranger, the longer I stood in his house, gawking at this beautiful, flawless kitchen, the more sure I became that something was… off. Missing, somehow, which seemed impossible since the Carter family manor had every upgrade known to man. I just couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong.
Interest piqued, I looked around again and realized at least one thing that was weird—no one else was here. The house was like a tomb, creepy quiet… well, other than Sports Center, that is.
“Where is everyone?”
I lifted my can and took a long, syrupy sip while Justin shrugged. He dropped his gaze to the floor and his shoulders deflated on an exhale. When he spoke, his voice was so low I wasn’t sure he even meant for me to hear him. “My family’s not like yours, Peyton.”
Pain and longing filled his voice and I had a sudden and intense urge to hug him. But, before I could, he pushed away from the fridge and nudged my elbow. “Come on, I’ll show you my room.”
Curiouser and curiouser. With a final glance at his brother’s sketch, I followed in his wake.
Everywhere my gaze touched as I followed Justin down the hall screamed money, sophistication, and “hands off.” I tried to take it all in without appearing as if I was scoping the place, but for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine a little kid living here. Or a teenage boy, for that matter.
At the end of the hall, Justin nudged a door open, and I quickened my stride to catch up. With my mind still back with the secrets of the kitchen, I distractedly glanced at the open door on my left, and came to an abrupt stop two steps later when I realized what I’d seen.
It was a museum. Not a museum like the rest of the house in that it felt untouchable, it was, like, an actual museum. Glass cases lined the walls, filled with black and white team photos, various memorabilia and pennants, and stands displaying signed balls. A dozen at least.
Above the cases, framed baseball cards and action shots hung beside plaques and complete uniforms. A signed bat held pride of place in a protective case all its own. I took a step closer to try and read the signature and a hand on my arm halted my progress.
“This is my dad’s room.” Justin’s eyes were guarded as he gruffly added, “No one comes in here.”
“Oh.” I looked around, confused. Why have all this stuff if no one else could see it? It made no sense, but it was clear Justin meant it. He glanced behind him, like he was worried we’d get caught. “Sorry, I didn’t...”
I trailed off, not really sure what I was apologizing for, and he shrugged. He took my hand, message received, and walked back out. Not wanting to push, I took one final glance around the room and followed.
Justin’s bedroom, however, was a different story. Here, I unabashedly stared. The purpose of today’s visit was to learn more about him, to discover what made the boy tick, and this was the place to do it. His inner sanctum.
Seeming to finally relax, Justin left me to my snooping and dropped to the bed with a small bounce. Soft, I thought, wondering if I had the guts to join him. His dark eyes lit with an unspoken challenge and I quickly looked away.
“Impressive collection.” I trailed a finger along his bookshelf, noting his worn copy of Moneyball, along with a few biographies of players. The expected classics from English class. Trophies from sports. A framed photo of the team. What I didn’t see were pictures of him with any girls. That made me stupid happy.
“Told you I wasn’t a dumb jock,” he teased.
“I stand corrected,” I replied with a backwards wink. Next to the bookshelf was his desk, holding a laptop, fancy printer, a yellow legal pad, and a spiral-bound pocket-sized notebook. The notebook was closed, but the pad had distinctive writing—what appeared to be two lists.
Biting my lip, I glanced at him and caught the ticking muscle below his eye.
Jackpot!
We both bolted forward. Even though I was standing right there, he miraculously beat me to them, snatching both the pad and notebook up before I could process he’d even moved, and holding them high above my head with a burst of laughter.
“No way.” Eyes sparkling, he peered down at me and said, “Not on your life, Sunshine.”
His free arm wrapped around my waist, pinning me tight to keep me from reaching the paper. My struggles were only halfhearted. While I desperately wanted to read what he’d wrote, I wanted to move even less. A side benefit of our current position was my head being pressed solidly against Justin’s chest. His very nice, smells-like-manly-soap, chest.
Yeah, I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Your writing notebooks, I take it?”
“Possibly.” His voice held evidence of his smile and I lifted my eyes. I was addicted to Justin Carter’s grins. This was one I’d yet to see before—this one was happy, free, and almost embarrassed. “Guess you’ll never know.”