Don't Look Back (14 page)

The doctors let me out of the hospital that evening with a prescription for pain meds and orders to take it easy over the next couple of days. If it hadn’t been for what had put me in the hospital a couple of weeks ago, they probably wouldn’t have even kept me that long.

Red roses from Del had been placed on my desk in my bedroom, filling the room with the crisp, fresh scent. A smaller basket of bright pink peonies peeked out from behind the vase. They were from Veronica and the girls.

My purse was on the chair in front of my desk: house keys, wallet, and phone tucked inside. I dumped everything out on the seat. No note.

I felt sick.
How could I have hallucinated
all
of that? My skin felt numb, thoughts muted. The painkillers were still kicking around in my system. Dragging my feet, I went into the bathroom. Bandage off, the purplish bruise seeped out from my hairline, spreading over my left temple. There were tiny scratches on my arms from the glass. Nothing as bad as what I’d done to myself earlier on Wednesday.
A lump rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down. My palms were raw. Changing slowly into a tank top and sleep shorts, I saw that my knees hadn’t fared much better. At least the whole falling-down part was real.
In a daze, I brushed my teeth twice and then crawled into bed. There I stayed, forcing my eyes closed. Mom visited me once. She didn’t say much, but her manicured nails were chewed down to their beds.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, moving to the door.
I said nothing.
“I... I love you, honey.”
There was nothing for me to say. The words were on the tip of my tongue. Fighting or not, memories or no memories, I still loved her, but nothing came out. She stared at me with weary, sad eyes and then left.
She thought I was capable of killing someone. No leaps of imagination were required to assume she also thought I was crazy.
Scott stopped in just before ten, but I didn’t speak to him, either. I pretended to sleep, and then I did sleep. Sleeping didn’t require thinking. Thinking led to questioning my mental state.
Sometime later, something soft caressed my nose. The scent reminded me of spring and early summer. I pried my eyes open. One of Del’s roses was right in my face, but the tan fingers around the glistening stem didn’t belong to my boyfriend.
Carson’s cocky grin went up a notch. “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.”
“Are you really here?”
He lowered the rose. “Yeah, I’m here. Why would you ask that?”
Explaining that I was experiencing vivid hallucinations probably wasn’t the route to go. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes, and once my brain caught up with the fact that he was really here, there was a fluttering in my chest. I decided to go with, “What are you doing here?”
He leaned against the headboard, stretching out his long legs. Shoes were off, revealing plaid socks. “I wanted to see you. You gave us all a scare, Sam. Again.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, sitting up. A wave of dizziness rolled through me as I clutched the comforter to my neck. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was only a little past ten in the morning. “Skipping school?”
“Yep.” He laid the rose on his thigh and then folded his arms behind his head.
“How did you get in here?”
The cocky grin was back, and I had trouble keeping my eyes on anything other than his totally kissable lips. “Dad is working in the game room, installing new floors. I waited until your Mom left and snuck in.”
I stared at him.
A bit of indecision crawled into his deep azure eyes. “Scott knows I’m here.”
I didn’t have any words for the rush that was building in me, swelling with each breath I took. Emotions swirled and whipped like soaring birds, thrilling, hopeful, and so, so confusing.
“I... can leave if you want me to.”
“No,” I said quickly. “No. You don’t have to leave. I’m just surprised.”
His eyes met and held mine. “Your parents wouldn’t let anyone see you.” He paused, looking away. Some of the casualness leaked out of his posture, tightening his biceps. “Scott’s worried.”
My fist dug into the comforter with disappointment. “So that’s why you’re here? Because my brother’s worried?”
Carson’s head snapped in my direction. His brows were low, expression serious. “Sam, I’m here because
I
was worried.”
“Oh.” My cheeks flushed as I lowered my gaze to his lips—
damn it
. “I’m okay.”
“Are you?” The serious look was still there as he searched my face intently.
I nodded.
Slowly, he lowered his arms and reached out, carefully running his fingers over the nasty bruise on my forehead. “What happened?”
The brief butterfly touch sent shivers over my skin. “I had a car accident.”
His look turned droll as he placed his arms back behind his head. “I got that much.”
I bit my dry lip as I glanced at the seat. The contents of my purse were still there. No note. No guy in the backseat. And there was a good chance there had been no man in the woods.
Throat dry, I peeked at him. “Stay?”
Carson arched a brow. “Not going anywhere.”
My mind was confused by how happy that made my heart and body. Nodding, I threw off the comforter, climbed off the bed, and headed into my bathroom. I brushed my teeth and washed my face quickly. When I walked out of the bathroom, Carson was where I’d left him. I grabbed a bottle of water off the desk and took two aspirins instead of the pain meds. I started to ask if he wanted anything to drink, but he had an energy drink on the floor beside the bed.
His eyes followed me back to the bed, and just then I realized I was only wearing a pair of tiny sleep shorts and a thin tank top. I had a feeling the old Sammy would’ve slowed down or swayed her hips, but I hurried to the bed and slipped under the quilt instead of the covers, flushing from head to toe.
Carson chuckled.
“Shut up,” I muttered.
He twisted onto his side, facing me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “What? I like the look.”
I rolled my eyes and snuggled down. “You’re here to talk about my pajamas?”
“No, but it’s not a bad conversation starter.” Carson scooted down so that he was stretched out beside me. With just the patchwork quilt between us, it felt so strange to be lying in bed beside him. Strange but good. “You going to tell me what happened?”
“Did my brother tell you anything?”
Carson smiled faintly. “No.”
The urge was there, like it had been with Mrs. Messer on Wednesday. I wanted—needed—to tell someone, and there was the level of explicit trust with Carson. And he was here because he
cared
. Del could’ve snuck in if he was really concerned. That wasn’t fair, and I knew it, but it was the truth.
Carson was here.
Here even after I spent a good five or six years being a tool to him. He’d already seen the worst of me. My faults were exposed to him like live wire.
I drew in a shallow breath. “I think I’m crazy.”

It seemed as if Carson was expecting me to say a lot of things, but that wasn’t one of them. His eyes narrowed. “You’re not crazy.” The sincerity in his voice brought a lump to my throat. “You don’t understand what’s been happening to me.”
“Then tell me,” he said, eyes locked on mine.
And so I did. I told him everything—the notes, everything

that had happened at the lake and then in the car. I even told him about my mom’s suspicion and—the worst thing of all— the hallucinations. When I finished, so much pressure lifted off me. Nothing was fixed or better, but I felt as if I could finally breathe for the first time since I came to, walking that lonely, unfamiliar road. I expected him to pat me on the head and then run from the house.

Carson did neither.
“You’re not crazy,” he said vehemently. “I’m not?” Tears that had been building finally spilled over, coursing down my cheeks. “I really can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not real anymore.”

He inched closer, chasing the tears away with his thumb. “Look, there’s got to be an explanation for a lot of these things. You said Scott saw the first note, right? And I saw you with the yellow piece of paper in bio that one day. Those notes existed.”

“But what about the one in the car? I didn’t even have my purse with me, and I would have sworn that it was there.”
“Look, I’m not ruling out stress. When my... when my mom died, my dad thought he did so many things that he didn’t do. Once he left the car running and blamed me for it. He even wrote notes, like to-do lists, and then forgot he did it.” He caught another tear, wiping it away. “And you said the guy was kind of like a black blur?”
I nodded, sniffling.
“In class that one day you were drawing a dark figure. I think what’s happening is your subconscious is pushing through. The guy in the woods and in the car—it could be a memory.” A muscle popped in his jaw, but his eyes, so vividly blue they looked violet, were still incredibly soft. “You don’t know what happened to you. Someone could’ve been chasing you. The hallucinations could all be memories.”
“My reflection talking to me is a memory?” I blushed even though I’d told him about it.
“Like I said, some of it’s probably stress, and that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said gently. “You’ve been through a lot, Sam. And you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself to remember so you can help find out what happened to Cassie.” He paused, cupping my cheek. “Please. Please stop crying.”
His softly spoken plea reached down inside me, clamping around my heart. I nodded, doing my best to stop my tears. It was hard, given how freaking perfect he was being about all of this.
“Thank you,” I finally said when the tears subsided, and he pulled his hand back. “I mean it. I don’t feel so... so crazy right now.”
A small grin tugged at his lips. “I’m happy to hear it.”
My chest fluttered again, and I rolled onto my back, taking deep, steady breaths. I’d told him about the vision with Dianna, and I wanted to know what that was about, but I knew better than to push it right now.
Carson also flipped onto his back. Several moments passed between us; the silence was soothing, not at all awkward. “You really think going up on the cliff would help?”
“Yeah,” I sighed, wiping my palms over my damp cheeks. “I think it might. Mrs. Messer keeps suggesting that I visit familiar places.”
“I can go with you,” he offered. “I know the layout pretty well. You used to know your way around there, too.”
I used to know a lot of things. Turning my head toward him, I smiled. “If you can ... that would be great.”
“Would Del the Dick get mad?” One dark eyebrow arched mockingly.
Good question.
I gave a lopsided shrug. “I don’t think so, but you shouldn’t call him that.”
Carson chuckled. “Do you care if he gets mad?”
My immediate response was on the tip of my tongue, but I squelched it and changed the subject. “I doubt my parents will let me out of the house this weekend, but maybe after school...”
“Whenever you want, just let me know.”
“I will.” I looked at him again, my eyes crawling across the broad cheekbones and parted lips. Part of me knew then that I would never grow tired of looking at him, but it was so much, much more than that. Carson made me feel normal—sane. That was worth more than anything I could ever say or do to repay him. “Thank you for coming by. I really mean it.”
He smiled again, revealing that chipped tooth, and my breath caught. “It’s no problem. I’m surprised you haven’t kicked me out yet.”
“Really? You shouldn’t be. I like you,” I said, flushing. “I probably shouldn’t admit that, but I do. I like you, and I can’t figure out why I didn’t see it before.”
There wasn’t surprise in his expression, just curiosity as he watched me. He rolled back onto his side. His knee pressed against my thigh, separated only by the quilt. His proximity made the bed seem much, much smaller.
“It’s weird,” he finally said. “There’re parts of you I recognize. Your ... boldness is familiar. The way you just say whatever you’re thinking.”
Right now I was thinking about how crazy it was that my entire leg was tingling and how nothing in this world could make me look away. Our faces were only inches apart. The space was sweet and torturous. None of these sensations occurred when I was with Del. That had to mean something.
“And then there’s this whole different side that’s new.” His lips tipped up on one side. “The funny thing is, this new version of Sam reminds me of how you were when we were kids.”
My gaze dipped to his lips. They were so full, so softlooking. “Is that a good thing?”
Carson’s smile faded. “It’s different.”
“Oh.” I met his eyes again, wondering if I could just will him to kiss me and if I should even want that, all things considered. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“Different is good.” He drew in a stuttered breath and looked away.
When I realized I was still staring at his profile, I forced my eyes to the little stars on the ceiling.
“You were my first kiss,” he said quietly.
I nearly jumped from the shock, and from the fact that I oh-so-liked the sound of that. “I was? Was it good? Were you my first kiss?”
Please say yes, please say yes.
Carson tipped his head back, shoulders shaking in a silent laugh. “We were ten, so I’m hoping I was your first kiss.”
Ten?
My shoulders deflated. Way too young to mean anything.
“We were playing spin the bottle or something lame like that,” he added, tipping his chin down so he was looking at me. “Your parents caught us. Your mom flipped out, but your dad laughed.”
I frowned. “I can imagine.”
We sat there for a while in silence, and once again it wasn’t silence filled with pity and discomfort. Just two people who were able to sit—or lie—side by side in peace. It was perfect.
“Should I leave?” Carson asked, his breath dancing over my forehead.
I shook my head. “I don’t want you to...yet.”
He seemed to understand and didn’t push it. A few minutes later, he shifted, and before I could feel the cold bite of disappointment, he lifted his arm and waited. My heart pounded off my ribs as I realized what he was offering. Dizzy and breathless, I scooted toward him and slowly placed my cheek on his chest. There was a heavy, tense pause, and then he wrapped his arm around me, curving his fingers over my shoulder.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands, but he smelled like citrus and soap—a scent unique to him. Eventually, I folded my hands against his side, and he jerked a little. Worried that I’d done something wrong, I lifted my chin and my breath stalled again.
Carson was looking at me, and our mouths were only an inch or two apart. Sooty lashes hid his eyes, but I felt them, their power. And the need in them, as if it were my own—
it was my own
.
And suddenly it didn’t matter that everyone believed I didn’t know who I was anymore, because with him—with Carson—I knew who I
wanted
to be, and that was all that mattered.
He made a low sound in the back of his throat and moved toward me, pressing his forehead against mine. My hand seemed to know what to do. I placed it on his cheek, my thumb smoothing over the skin below his lip, and he shuddered at the slight touch. It felt as if I’d never done this before, even if Del claimed we’d done
everything
before.
This was my first—that I remembered—with Carson, and that felt right.
My thumb found his lower lip, and the sharp edge of his teeth grazed my skin. The act was strangely intimate, rough and sensual. My eyes fluttered close, and I waited for my second first kiss....
Carson wrapped his hand around mine, gently pulling it back.
Not what I was waiting for.
Damn it.
I opened my eyes, confused. “Why?”
“Why?
Why
is your favorite word now, isn’t it?” Humor laced his words, not annoyance or frustration. “You’re still such a freaking terror.”
When Scott had said that before, it hadn’t sounded like a good thing, but Carson made it sound endearing, fun. I smiled. “I want you to kiss me.”
Heat flared in his eyes, and something inside me knew how to respond to that. The edge of the quilt slipped a little, and I pressed forward, our chests touching. Everywhere our bodies met, my skin warmed in a way that felt completely new.
A sudden deepening of his eyes occurred, and his jaw tensed. “Sam...”
“Carson?”
Carson closed his eyes briefly. And then he rolled over me, supporting his weight with one arm so quickly that the air left my lungs in a harsh rush. He stared down at me, eyes a mosaic of every blue possible. “You shouldn’t be asking me that.”
There was barely an inch separating us, and I had trouble focusing my thoughts. “I know.”
He reached down, brushing the thick strands of hair off my cheek. His fingers lingered against my skin, sliding down to my jaw. Staring at his lips, I needed to know how they felt. How they tasted. I inhaled sharply, bringing my chest against his once more. A dizzy rush of sensations cascaded through me, and again, I was struck by the sense of how right this was.
Carson lowered his head, and my heart stuttered. He pressed his lips against my forehead, then my temple, a sweeping brush along my cheek, and then he placed a wickedly chaste kiss on the corner of my lips. He spoke into the warm space between our lips. “You’re not mine to kiss, Sam.”
I felt the extreme urge to pout, and Carson must’ve sensed it, because he laughed softly and cupped my cheek. His body lowered onto mine in a way that said it was completely at odds with what was coming out of his mouth. Wishing the quilt wasn’t between us, I shifted under him. His eyes closed, and the hand beside my head pushed into the mattress as his jaw worked. I moved my hips again, and then gasped at the raw shiver that whipped through me.
Carson dropped his forehead to mine again. “Sam, you’re really making it hard to be a good guy.”
I placed the tips of my fingers on his cheek, and his lashes swept up. “What if I don’t want you to be the good guy?”
“I want to be the good guy with you.” He took another breath. “You deserve that.”
Oh.
“I don’t like Del,” he admitted, staring straight into my eyes. “He’s a dick, and you’ve
always
deserved better than him, but I’m not that kind of guy. At least, I’m trying to not be with you.”
“But I’m not his.”
His brows rose as he pulled back. His fingers found the silver chain around my neck. I caught my breath when the back of his knuckles brushed over my collarbone as he held the Tiffany’s heart between us. “This says differently.”