Pawn (Nightmares Trilogy #1) (15 page)

“Yeah, been home for a while,” I
whispered back, putting one finger to my lips and gesturing to
where Devon slept on my bed.

“Well, you should get some sleep; you
have practice in the morning,” she replied tapping the face of her
watch.

“No,” I spat back, my voice rising. “I
don’t have practice in the morning because we had a game
tonight.”

Understanding dawned on my mother’s
face. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry about
missing your game,” she replied.

“Yeah, whatever. Could you
close the door, please?” I said turning back to my screen. I could
feel my mother’s eyes on my back for several long seconds before
she gently eased the door closed behind her.

I should have been used to
disappointment by now since she rarely made it to my games anymore
― or any other important event in my life. Yet every promise she
broke hurt just as much as the previous one.

Dejected by the fact that my mother
and I had become little more than strangers who happened to share a
roof, I put my computer back in sleep mode and then did the same
with myself.

Chapter Nine

“Are you
gonna go?” Devon
asked
through a mouthful of the veggie omelet the waitress had delivered
just moments before.

Without our Saturday
practice, we’d been free to make it to the
Plum Crazy Diner
in time for the
breakfast that I owed Devon. The night before, I had neglected to
tell her about Kannon asking me to meet him that evening. I hadn’t
planned on telling her at breakfast either, but she kept droning on
and on about Rick, and I just blurted it out.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not.
Should I?” I said, biting the end off of a piece of extra-crispy
bacon.

“Yes,” Devon replied, nodding
decisively.

Her answer shocked me, and
I let the
bacon drop to my
plate
. The previous night she had been
reluctant to leave us alone in the middle of a party. Now she
thought meeting him in a deserted school parking lot was a good
idea?

As if sensing my confusion, Devon
continued: “Look, I still think he’s strange and super cheesy with
the whole déjà vu thing, but I don’t know….there is something sort
of romantic about him saving your life. Maybe his being at the lake
was fate or something.”

“Who’s channeling Elizabeth now?” I
joked.

Devon flicked her straw wrapper at me.
“And he is the first boy you’ve been interested in since, like,
sophomore year.”

“I’ve been interested in people,” I
protested.

“Going to second base with Wesley
Banks after one wine cooler too many doesn’t count,” Devon shot
back.

I groaned. “Not fair
bringing
that
up.” Wesley Banks, with his sweaty hands and beer breath, was
the reason I refrained from drinking more than a couple of sips at
parties.

“So you admit it then? You are
interested in Kannon?” Devon pressed, getting that devilish gleam
in her eyes that meant trouble was on the horizon.

I sipped my coffee to give
myself some time to collect my thoughts. Was I interested in
Kannon? I was interested in hearing more about this whole dream
déjà vu thing. I was interested in knowing why electricity passed
between us when we touched ― and not the kind romance novels always
talk about. I did want to know whether he saw something in the
water the night he saved me. I needed to know whether he too
dreamed of the future. But did I actually like him? I didn’t even
know him.

Every time I thought about
his chestnut hair and beautiful green eyes, the butterflies started
flapping their wings in my stomach, and no amount of water could
cure my dry mouth. I had spent the better part of the witching
hours stalking him online. And recalling the image of him and
Jamieson together
provoked the urge to
shave off
her gorgeous black hair. Maybe I
was the tiniest bit interested.

“It’s okay to like him,
Eel. You’re eighteen. You’re supposed to go out with boys and have
youthful indiscretions.” Devon paused. “And not every
relationship turns out like your
parents’ did. Or like mine and Rick’s,” she added
softly.

My parents had been high school
sweethearts. They fell in love at sixteen, or so the story went.
Somewhere along the way they not only fell out of love, they fell
into hate. As long as I live, I don’t think I will ever understand
how two people who were once so happy together could make each
other so miserable.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied, turning to
stare out the window so I wouldn’t have to look at Devon and see
her pitying expression.

My mother was gone by the
time
I returned home.
There was a note on the kitchen counter asking me to call her
when I got home. I fished my cell from the bottom of my purse and
realized I had three new text messages. The first was from my
mother. I groaned and regretted the day she learned how to text.
She, of course, wanted me to call her ASAP. The second was from
Kannon, asking if we were still on for that evening. And the third
was from Jamieson Wentworth. It had been years since I’d called
Jamieson, but I still knew her number by heart. Her message simply
said: Stay away from K.

I deleted all three texts and called
Mom at her office. After promising my overprotective mother that I
would call and let her know if I planned on leaving the house again
that day, I retreated to my bedroom.

At 3:45 p.m., I made the firm decision
not to go to the high school to meet Kannon. As much as I wanted
answers, I wasn’t sure I wanted the truth. Maybe Kannon was just
crazy after all. Maybe I was crazy for giving any credence to his
claims. I still didn’t know what to think.

At 4:02 p.m. my doorbell chimed, sound
bouncing off every wall in my house. I was in my bedroom listening
to music on my computer and pretending to do my calculus homework.
I froze with my pencil mid-scrawl, immediately seized with the
notion that Kannon would be standing on my front stoop.

An image of a tall boy with messy
chestnut hair, clad in a white long-sleeved tee and dark jeans,
clouded my vision. I imagined him giving me a sheepish grin as I
demanded to know how he’d known my address.

The doorbell rang once more, prompting
me into action.

The hardwood was freezing beneath my
bare feet as I scurried down the stairs. I didn’t bother to look
through the peephole; I knew who my uninvited guest was.

“How did you know where I lived?” I
demanded, flinging the door open.

Kannon
did
give me a sheepish grin. His
hands
were
shoved
deep in the pockets of his dark jeans, and the white shirt he was
wearing accentuated the golden tan of his skin.

“Can I come in?” he asked hopefully,
artfully dodging my question.

“Tell me how you knew my address,” I
shot back.

“If I tell you, will you let me in?”
he countered, mischief glinting in his jewel-like eyes.

I thought for several long
moments. Did I want him to come in? Of course I did. But what
about
Jamieson?
I
might have visions, but that girl had a sixth sense for where her
boyfriends were at all times. I wouldn’t have been surprised to
learn that she tagged them with GPS.

“Well, I won’t let you in if you don’t
tell me,” I finally said. There, that wasn’t exactly a
promise.

“Fair enough.” Kannon nodded his head,
still grinning despite my hostile attitude. He searched my face for
several seconds before continuing, as if he were trying to decide
how to phrase his disclosure. “Terrence’s little brother, Brent.
His girlfriend plays travel field hockey with some girl named Hope
something or other, who is a sophomore at Westwood. Apparently,
Hope’s cousin is a senior at Westwood and plays soccer with some
guy named Cooper who, according to the gossip mill, is very good
friends with you. Cooper passed the information down the line,” he
finally admitted, looking only marginally embarrassed for having
gone to such extreme measures to find out where I lived. My stalker
theory suddenly didn’t seem so farfetched. “So, can I come
in?”

I swallowed my misgivings and stood
back so that he could enter. We stood awkwardly in the foyer until
my mother’s lessons about being a good hostess, even if you hate
your guest, forced me to remember my manners.

“Follow me,” I said, crossing my arms
over the ribbed tank I was wearing with my shorts. I led Kannon to
my kitchen table and gestured for him to sit.

“Want something to drink?” I asked,
still playing the good hostess.

“Sure. What’ve you got?”

“Water,” I replied dryly.

“Water’s great,” he said, easing into
one of the kitchen chairs.

I took my time filling two
large glasses with ice and water from the refrigerator door. Then I
set one glass in front of Kannon, blatantly disregarding his
outstretched hand. I placed the other glass on the red
quilted
placemat
and squeezed through the small space between the table and
chair.

Kannon took a long drink
from his glass, peering at me over the top of the cup. He licked
his top lip to catch the stray water droplets. The natural gesture
on his part provoked me into biting my bottom lip as I wondered
what it would be like to kiss him. Kannon laughed as if he knew
what I’d been thinking. I shifted uneasily in my chair, debating
whether I should
demand that he
leave.

“So why did you want to see me?” I
began, as the heat in his eyes intensified.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking
about you since the other night,” he replied, taking a smaller sip
of his water this time. His honesty caught me off guard, and a
smile spread across my face involuntarily. But it evaporated just
as quickly as it had formed.

“You have a girlfriend,” I snapped, my
words coming out more harshly than I’d intended.

Kannon tore his intense gaze away from
my face for the first time, his eyes darting around my kitchen, and
he sighed with something akin to frustration.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he
insisted.

“Does she know that?” I demanded. I
wished I’d saved the text from Jamieson so I could show him they
clearly weren’t on the same page about their relationship
status.

Kannon didn’t answer, pointedly
staring at the ice in his glass and poking at one cube with his
index finger.

“Look, you are relatively new to St.
Paul’s, so you probably don’t know the whole history between
Jamieson and me; but let me just tell you that if she catches you
with me, castration isn’t out of the question.”

Kannon laughed. “Oh, she told me.
Jamieson is all bark and no bite, though. She talks a big game, but
underneath that spray tan she’s a softy.”

Now it was my turn to
laugh. “Tell that to Camille Cross. Camille flirted with Jamieson’s
boyfriend in the seventh grade, and then Jamieson spread a
rumor
that Camille had
herpes; and now the poor girl is home schooled. Your
girlfriend is a certifiable head case.”

“She is not my girlfriend,” Kannon
said, emphasizing each word. “And I don’t get the impression that
you are the type of girl that scares easily, so I don’t know why
you care what she thinks. And you’re an adult now. Shouldn’t you be
above the petty drama?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “I am not here
to talk about Jamieson, anyway.”

Petty drama? Was my rivalry with
Jamieson petty? Yeah, it totally was. But in my own defense, she’d
started it. His words did shame me, though. Normally I didn’t let
Jamieson get to me like this; she wasn’t worth getting upset
over.

“Then why are you here?” I demanded,
still stung by his comment.

“I think you know.” Kannon watched me
closely for some sign of understanding.

He was right. I did know. But after
the conversation with Devon the night before, I wasn’t eager to
revisit the topic.

Neither of us spoke, the
silence stretching into an uncomfortable barrier between us. Kannon
continued to play with the ice in his cup, and I tried not to
wonder if he was a good kisser. I doubted that his hands would be
sweaty or his breath would smell like beer, and the odds of his
family winning the lottery and moving to Canada were slim. The last
part I knew for sure ― Devon and I had Googled it once, and
apparently the chances of being crushed to death by a vending
machine are higher than winning the lottery.

“How old were you when it happened? I
was sixteen,” Kannon finally said, startling me out of my thoughts
about the weird ways that an alarming number of people die each
year.

“When what happened?” I
asked, unsure if maybe I’d missed something while trying to
determine whether he was right- or
left-handed
since the odds of
a
left-handed
person dying from using a product made for right-handed
people were also higher than hitting the jackpot.