New Point (7 page)

“You’re here,” I whisper.

He abandons the cupcake and pulls me into his embrace. My cheek mashes against his chest as he squeezes me tightly and plants a kiss on the crown of my head.

“This is our day, Cupcake,” my brother reminds me softly. Then he releases me from the hug, dropping down on the stool next to mine. “You called right as I was climbing into the car getting ready to drive down.”

“How did you find me at this place?”

“When I went to the house and there was no one there, I figured you’d stick to our tradition.”

For the first time today, I smile easily. Peeling back the paper wrapping, I inspect the cupcake. “And you’ve brought my favorite dessert.”

He shrugs, almost embarrassed. “It is your namesake.” Blake never takes well to my praise, claiming any older brother would treat his younger sister with the care he’s bestowed upon me. I feel guilty even questioning his loyalty.

While I take a delicate bite, Blake swipes the tequila from the bar, downing it one solid swoop.

“Hey! That was mine.”

“You probably haven’t had a decent meal today. No drinking before eating,” he lectures.

“How do you know I haven’t had dinner?”

“Because you just told me.”

“Hey, man, what can I get you to drink?” Jake’s back, but with considerably less friendliness. His brow is furrowed as he looks between us quizzically. Blake and I don’t look alike. I’m a pale blonde with a smattering of freckles across the width of my face, and Blake has chestnut-colored hair and a perpetual tan.

“We’ll take two more of these. Thanks.” Blake nods his appreciation and angles his body back toward me.

“Listen, I don’t want to be a dick, but we have a no hats policy here…” Jake hardly sounds apologetic, and his eyes flicker to mine. Before he looked at me with a sort of enthusiasm, and now he’s studying me with narrowed eyes.

“Do you want to go?” I ask Blake softly. As soon as he pulls off the baseball cap, all anonymity will be lost.

“No, of course not,” he insists, pulling off the hat by the bill and shoving into my purse that I stashed underneath the bar.

A collective gasp can be heard even over the rumblings of the other Blue in Green patrons.

Blake Campbell, son of Stewart Campbell music producer and owner of two major professional sports teams, is a tabloid favorite.
Star quarterback of a college football team propelled him into the spotlight. He grew tired of the constant practice and wanted to work in management, so he tried his hand working with his father. When he’s bored with that, he trounces around the globe with his celebrity and athlete friends. Outgoing, charming, media darling – that’s my brother.

As soon as he was granted custody of me, Blake decided it best to shield me from the persistent public. Paparazzi and media outlets never got wind of me. When I was old enough to make the decision myself, I started introducing my brother to friends. Once girls at school found out about Blake, they befriended me to get close to him. Guys asked me on dates for a chance to hang with my brother and his athlete friends. It was a painful lesson, but I learned it quickly –better to keep my relationship with Blake to as few people as possible.

Blue in Green is the first public outing Blake and I have had in the United States, without his security present, in nearly a year. In the nine months after Clinton Smith changed both of our lives, it became even more essential to hide me from the limelight. Local news, the national morning shows, news magazines—they all wanted interviews. With the help of Blake’s team, I successfully went underground and was able to avoid the press. I was essentially off the grid until reappearing in New Point.

The enormity of the moment doesn’t sneak past me. Any hope at avoiding the small town gossip slips away with one swoop of a baseball cap.

Blake flashes his charming ‘
you know you love me’
grin at the women practically leaning across the bar to get a better look at him. One with glossy waves and a tank top so low cut, the edge of her bra peeks out, stares, mouth open in the shape of an O. It’s Lacey, the women who nagged Miles for his attention and is the nanny to my camper Alexa.

“Can’t you ignore them?” I grumble to his left.

The only response is an easygoing laugh when Jake plonks the drinks in front of us. “Serve food?” my brother asks.

Jake presents us with a menu. “Holler when you pick something out.” His voice is tight and unfriendly now. Maybe he’s not a fan of a pseudo-celebrity in the midst of the sleepy bar.

“No need, we’ll have nachos.” Blake’s pleasant expression doesn’t slip once, despite the coldness Jake’s emitting. “Better to be kind than spiteful, that’s what Mom always taught me,” he mumbles into my ear.

I shake my head at the memory. “One of Mom’s favorites.”

With the tips of his fingers, Blake pushes my glass toward me. We clink them together in a toast. “To Mom and Dad.” I swallow the thickness in my throat and continue. “Our love and admiration for you will live on as long as there’s air passing through our lungs.”

“To Mom and Pete.” Blake’s eyes mirror what I’m feeling – longing. “We’ll strive to become the people you encouraged us to be, to live with the values you instilled in us.”

The tequila slithers down my throat smoothly as I throw back half the liquid. It goes straight to my head, and I have to blink a few times to get my bearings.

“See? You need to eat,” Blake admonishes.

He can’t help himself. The parental traits are inherent.

A few minutes later Jake sets a plate between us, and we practiced the well-rehearsed tradition; while we eat and drink, we retell stories of our mixed family and memories only we share. Luckily, no one approaches us, maybe because we scarcely move from the bar, our conversation intense.

It’s after I’ve recounted my mother’s wacky sense of style– mixing bright patterns with colorful scarves and costume jewelry– that Blake becomes visibly nervous.

“Is something wrong?” The words slur together, but I’m okay because Blake’s a little sloppy and will forget to lecture.

He props his elbow on the bar, rests the top of his head in one large palm. “I have a gift for you, but I don’t want you to be mad I didn’t give it to you earlier.”

“That’s something different; usually I was the one getting into trouble.” A trickle of laughter escapes as I think back on Blake sending me to my room after I cut off a chunk of my hair when I thought I wanted to become a hairdresser at age eleven. “What is it?”

Standing up, he fishes something out of his denim pocket, gently placing it in front of me.

When I see the black velvet jewelry box, I can’t contain myself and open it immediately. Inside I find a bright white diamond wedding band. My hand flies to my mouth to cover a gasp. Before she died, my mother let me try on this ring many, many times.

“I wanted to give it to you when you got engaged.” Blake’s voice is gentle, more serious, as he observes, “Seemed like you could use it more now.”

I hardly hear him, tears crawling up behind my eyes. One escapes, snaking down my cheek. I’d forgotten about the ring, figuring it had been buried with her. To see it now sends a wave of comfort through me. “Thank you, Blake, thank you.” My mother had larger fingers than me, so her band fits best on my middle finger, and I will wear it on my right hand. It sparkles at me, a piece of my parents I can carry with me wherever I go.

“This is the most meaningful gift I’ve ever gotten.” I don’t tell him because he may think I’ve lost my fragile grip on reality, but this ring came to me exactly when I sought healing. It’s a sign of my recovery. I stand up to hug him, throwing my arms around his neck and gripping him tightly. I repeat my thanks three times over from where my head rests against his shoulder.

The sisterly embrace lasts one second too long. Bright lights flash from across the bar, and I hop away from him. “Oh, no,” I mutter, not wanting pictures of us posted online.

“We’re fine, camera was pointing at some girls. Let’s get out of here,” he suggests mildly while I hastily stuff the ring box into my purse.

“Barkeep!” Blake’s voice booms over the noise of the bar, gesturing to Jake. I know my brother means no harm, but Jake’s eyes flash with hostility when he returns.

“What’s up?” he asks stiffly.

“Please give the lady her card back, we’re closing out.” Blake digs out his well-loved leather wallet, the one I bought him with money from my first job. He could buy any wallet he wants, but Blake still carries the one attached to me.

Mom and Dad couldn’t have picked a better person to look after me.

Blake slaps a handful of bills on top of the bill Jake just laid out in front of him. “Let’s go home,” he tells me. “Thanks for watching out for her before I could get here,” he tells Jake, completely sincere.

“Bye, Jake!” I trill.

Jake’s lips remain flat, gazed narrowed unpleasantly when he jerks his chin in acknowledgment.

Between the time I arrived and now am departing the bar, someone must have messed with the architecture, because my foot catches on the doorframe when I push it open and I stumble forward, nearly slamming my face into the wood planks below. Luckily my brother catches my arm and pulls me upright.

“Who put that there?” I wonder cheerfully.

“Okay, drunk face, time for you to get home.” He slings his arm around my shoulder.

“I’m not drunk,” I insist even though I’m snickering at the nickname. “You drank more than me.”

The laughter spilling out comes to an abrupt halt and so does my body when I spot Miles across the deck watching me with an unflinchingly grim expression. His jaw is tense with displeasure, posture rigid.

What made him so angry?

My eyes find his for a moment, but the moment I try to capture the energy between us, Miles shifts away to…

“Miles! More shots!” a high-pitched voice whines. It breaks the spell between us, and Miles and I both look to the source of the noise –Lacey. She’s shimmying toward him, wiggling so much I wonder if her breasts will pop out of her top. She offers him a coquettish smile, one I’m sure has gotten her plenty of attention in the past. Miles leans into her when Lacey speaks, pressing her lips to his ear.

Blake tugs at me, reminding me to keep walking so I’m unable to watch the exchange. I want to flick my gaze back to Miles, but my brother’s talking to me and there’s no chance.

What just happened?

T
urns out Blake’s wisdom wasn’t so accurate. Expensive tequila delivers a wicked hangover, equally as strong as one from the cheaper varieties. The only good thing about the dehydration and exhaustion is that it drains me of energy to dwell on missing my parents or haunting blue eyes that seem to follow me wherever I go.

Though I’m elated my brother drove down to New Point to surprise me last night, I’m a tad wary of his appearance. Is this another attempt to convince me New Point isn’t the right place for me? I love my brother dearly, and I know his intentions are pure, but I have no desire to ward off another attempt to bring me back to the city. He needs to understand that I need to make my own decisions now. Yes, I want his guidance, but at the end of the day the change can only come from
me.

Rays of sunshine warm the deck, where I’m currently sitting at the dining table waiting for my breakfast to arrive. Smoothing my hands over my sloppy ponytail, I groan.

“Not feeling so hot this morning, are we?” Amusement laces his tone as Blake places a heaping pile of chocolate chip pancakes in the center of the table. “Drink your juice.”

“Blake?” I murmur softly as he serves me first.

“Cupcake?”

“As much as I needed you yesterday, you know that I’m an adult-ish now, right?” I smile at him tentatively.

He sits across from me, a deep frown on his lips. “Adult-ish is right. Why are you bringing this up?”

“When we are together, it’s easy for us to drift back into our old habits.” I gesture at the food. “You slip back into father role, and I let you.”

He visibly flinches; I know I’ve upset him because when he speaks, his voice is tense. “What are you trying to say, Zoe?”

“It’s impossible to describe just how thankful I am to be your sister.” That slightly mollifies him, and his expression softens. “I have to fix myself now, Blake. You’ve given me the tools to do it, now it’s on me to finish my recovery.”

“Yet you haven’t called Dr. Greene’s recommended therapist,” he muses, splashing syrup over his pancakes, and then roughly cutting into them.

“Let me make the decisions and just support me.”

His grasp on the fork tightens then he drops it to his plate with a clatter. “I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you, Zoe.”

“I know that, Blake, I do. What’s best for me now is to stand on my own. Prove to myself I am an adult capable of solving her own problems. Give me the space to heal, that’s all I’m asking. Trust me.” I stare deep into his eyes imploring him to understand. The tactic worked when I was sixteen and wanted to go out with friends and has a similar affect now, the tension in his jaw lessening.

“I do trust you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t continue checking on you. You’re…” His lips lift into a pained smile. “You’re the most important person my life, Cupcake. When that fucker pointed a gun at you, it showed just how fragile life is. Admittedly, I’ve gone a bit overboard with protective gestures, but my heart is in the right place. Mom left you to me to care for, and it’s my job to protect you.”