Trouble from the Start (23 page)

“Ah, trying to get two answers out of me tonight, huh?” Leaning in, he kissed the tip of my nose, my chin.

“I wouldn't be that deceptive.” I wondered if a time would ever come when we discussed movies, music, TV shows. When we talked about other people. When we speculated about the royal family or the Hollywood elite. Right now it seemed like I could fill a lifetime just getting to know Fletcher.

“My immediate future involves kissing you,” he said.

It was like he couldn't go two minutes without kissing me, which was good because two was a stretch for me.

“Seriously, Fletcher. When I asked you about your future before, you said you were going to get a haircut after graduation. Which I assume you'll do as soon as you pass this summer class and officially graduate. But what are you going to do after that?”

He laughed. I loved his laugh. I wanted to hear it every hour of every day. Then he sobered. “I don't know, Avery. God, I miss you.” He rolled over until he was half covering me and started nibbling on my neck. “Which is silly because I see you every day.”

I wound my arms around him. “I miss you, too.”

He rose up slightly, brushed strands of hair from my face. The braid could only hold so many captive for so long. “What am I going to do when you go to school?”

“You could go, too.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“You're smart, Fletcher. Lots of people who don't do well in high school succeed in college.”

“I hate studying.”

“Maybe you're studying the wrong thing. What interests you?”

He grinned. “You.”

He kissed me again, only this time he was slow and deliberate. He really didn't like it when the conversation turned to the future. Not that I blamed him. I thought I wouldn't fall in love until I went to college and here I was beginning to do it way ahead of schedule. I couldn't imagine leaving him. But then neither could I imagine not going to school the way I'd always planned.

Time was running out. I knew I needed to get home before the sun was peering over the horizon, before anyone
saw me arrive, could report that I'd been out all night.

“We need to go,” I said, not bothering to hide my disappointment.

Fletcher got up. I folded up the blanket, stuffed it into the tote. When I looked over, he was crouched at the water's edge, stick in hand.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I walked over.

“Giving you something.”

I looked down. Within a heart, he'd written:

Avery

+

Fletcher

“Oh, Fletcher.” Tears stung my eyes.

“I've never done that for anyone,” he said. “I want you to know that you're different, that what I feel for you is different.”

As he stood up, he pulled me near. He folded his hands around my shoulders, held my gaze. “With the helmet and the sand . . . I'm trying to let you know that I'm committed to you. I want to be your boyfriend.”

I smiled so brightly that I figured they could see it from the space station. “Oh, Fletcher, I want that so much.”

Rising up on my toes, I kissed him, putting everything I felt into it. He made me so happy. He pulled me closer,
his arms enveloping me. His mouth moved over mine, taking the kiss deeper. I warmed with the pleasure sweeping through me like the waves sweeping over the shore.

Drawing back, he pressed his forehead to mine. “There's no one else.”

“I'm so glad.”

“It's going to be light soon. We should go.”

I wanted to stay here forever. But I knew we couldn't. I took my phone out of my pocket and snapped a picture of his artwork.

“The tide is going to wash it away,” I said. “That's kinda sad.”

“Maybe the tide is just going to carry it out to sea and it'll exist forever.”

With a smile, I tilted my face up and met his gaze. “Are you a secret romantic?”

He scowled. “Hell, no.”

“I'm crazy about you anyway.” The words seemed to hang there. I didn't regret saying them, but I was nervous that they'd chase him away. But I wouldn't take them back, even if it meant they might end things between us. I wanted him—needed him—to know what he meant to me.

He didn't offer any sort of sentimental words in return. He just kissed me again.

For now, it was enough.

Avery had me wanting things, thinking things, dreaming of things that I had no business wanting, thinking, or dreaming of. She made me want to be the kind of guy she deserved. She made me spout romantic nonsense about the tide.

She almost made me confess that I'd fallen for her. Hard. But I knew once I said the words there would be no going back. And our lives were on different trajectories. She was traveling fast, far, and high, while I felt like I was standing still.

With her I laughed. I smiled more than I ever had in my life. I talked more about things that weren't really important. I revealed more about things that were important. It might not seem like much to her, but it was more than I'd ever revealed before.

I even thought about trading in the bike for a car, just so we could talk when we went places together.

Before her, no one asked me questions about myself. No one pried, no one dug for the answers. No one made me want to tear down the walls.

She did.

As we rode back to her house, I couldn't deny that I loved the way she pressed herself against me, wrapped her arms around, hung on as though she thought I'd disappear if she let go. With her I felt special. With her I felt . . . loved.

And that was scary. I worried about letting her down, disappointing her. Doing something that would make her wish she'd never met me.

I parked the bike at the end of the street and started walking her to her house. She wrapped her hand around mine. It was a small thing really, the way she always liked to touch, but it was incredible, too. Amazing.

“Now that you know I'm committed, I guess you'll want to let your parents know.” I looked over at Avery. “Maybe you could tell them that you have a date. When they answer the door, it's me.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea,” she said.

I didn't blame her. It had sounded a little hokey when I said it out loud, and I'd never really cared about getting parents' approval, but I had to admit that seeing the way they'd greeted Marc had made me think it wouldn't be so bad.

“You just want to tell them during dinner? Hold a special family meeting? However you want to do it is fine.”

She stopped walking. I did, too. A streetlight was casting its glow over her. Although her face was cast in shadows and light, I could see it pretty clearly. She was obviously troubled. “Avery?”

“I don't know that we should tell them yet that we're going to be seeing each other.”

“Why not?”

“Don't take this wrong, but Mom and Dad have certain expectations where I'm concerned.”

I felt like she'd punched me. “And I don't meet those expectations.” How was I not supposed to take that wrong? “You're ashamed of me.”

“No, I'm not.” She grabbed my arm for emphasis. I pulled it away. She sighed. “It's just that I know the kind of guy they've always seen me with.”

“A guy who wears yellow shirts with button-down collars and loafers?”

“You noticed what Marc was wearing?”

I'd noticed everything. His haircut, his height. The way her parents smiled at him like he was surrounded by rainbows. “Is that what you want?” I asked.

“No, of course not.” She wrapped her fingers around my arm again. “I want you.”

“Then why not tell them that?”

“What if they don't approve? What if Dad kicks you out?”

“There's a break room at Smiley's. I'll sleep there.”

“What if things don't work out between us? Neither of us has ever been part of a couple.”

“You said we could learn together.”

“But what if we fail?”

“When was the last time you failed at anything?” She didn't answer, and I got it then. “But you think I'll fail.”

“No, you're twisting everything around. I just don't want to set up expectations and feel like everyone is watching us. If we wait until I go to college—”

“Are their
expectations
going to be different then?”

“No, but at least I won't be living with them if they're disappointed.” Her eyes widened. “I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Of course they're not going to be disappointed—”

“If your equation contains expectations, then yeah, you gotta factor in disappointment. But the variable is: why do you care so much?”

“You know how important their opinion of me is.”

“So important that you're going to become a doctor when you really want to be a teacher.” Then I thought of something else and it sent a chill down my back. “Let me ask you this. You were upset when kids at school thought we'd made out.”

“Of course, I was upset. My reputation—”

I pressed my finger to her lips, my gut clenching because I was pretty sure I knew the answer. “What if the rumor had been that you'd made out with Scooter Gibson? Rich kid with upstanding parents involved in the community who own a huge house in town and one on the lake. Football star who got a full scholarship. Would you have been so worried about it then?”

“Of course. I still would have been upset.”

“But not as much. You wouldn't have poured tea over his head. But instead the rumor was that you'd been with a guy who came from a trailer park, wasn't smart enough to make the grades, probably destined for prison. Yeah, Avery, I was well aware of what people thought about me. I didn't care. But I cared about what you thought. I'm an idiot.”

“No, you're not, Fletcher. You're smart, funny, good—”

“Save it for the next guy. I'm outta here.”

Spinning on my heel, I trotted back to get my bike. Glad that she didn't follow. Hurt that she didn't try to stop me. Angry that she mattered enough to hurt me.

When I reached my bike, I was tempted to get on it and ride off into the sunrise. But I'd been up all night and was tired. I might be an idiot to think I mattered to Avery, but I wasn't stupid enough to risk having an accident.

I revved my bike and rode it the short distance to
Avery's house. I was grateful and disappointed she wasn't waiting there to confront me. I wanted her to grill me. I wanted to grill her. I wanted to know the exact reason why she was ashamed of me. I'd tried to straighten up my act, had been working hard to conquer algebra—I just couldn't seem to conquer the demons that labeled me a loser.

It was one thing to sneak around with the town bad boy. Something else entirely to stand beside him.

I jogged up the stairs to my place. Looking over my shoulder at her window, I saw only darkness. I thought about calling her, about telling her that I wanted to talk. For the first time in my life I really wanted to talk to someone. I just didn't think anything good would come of it.

I opened the door, walked in, staggered to a stop.

Avery's dad was sitting on the couch. Slowly he came to his feet.

“Want to explain where you've been?” he asked.

What had just happened?

I sat on my bed, stunned. I kept replaying the conversation, but it was disjointed; pieces of it were missing. Because it made no sense in my head.

I'd been so concerned with having a boyfriend, with how a boy should treat me, that I hadn't given any thought to how I should act as a girlfriend. Kendall made it seem so easy. She and Jeremy never fought. They got along great. I'd assumed when a guy wanted to be my boyfriend that it would be the same. He'd step into the role and everything would be perfect.

Shoving myself off the bed, I went into my bathroom and turned on the shower. I was feeling sticky and sandy. And confused. I knew I'd hurt Fletcher's feelings, but he just didn't understand about expectations. He'd never
had any thrust on him.

After removing my clothes, I stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash away the sand, brine, and my tears. I hadn't even realized that I was crying.

Mom had said she wanted me to find someone like Jeremy. Jeremy with his buttoned shirts, his good grades, his college aspirations. Jeremy who never showed up with bruises, who had a steadfast family, who was dependable.

But Fletcher was dependable. He'd been there when Tyler was sick. He'd made sure the rumors about us at school had stopped. He'd made my car purr on his own time. He'd fixed Mrs. Ellis's car on his own time. He'd bought me a helmet so I'd be safe.

I'd been so afraid that he'd hurt me that I hadn't considered that I would hurt him. I also hadn't realized that he would want my parents to know about us. I'd thought he'd prefer sneaking around, thinking we were getting away with something.

I was going to lose him if I didn't tell them. And I didn't want to lose him.

When I got out of the shower, I dried off and slipped on a tank and some shorts. I walked to my window and looked out. I was so glad to see Fletcher's bike was parked near the stairs. The lights in the FROG were out. I guessed Fletcher hadn't had any trouble going to sleep. Or was he sitting over there in the graying dawn like me?

Dad's car was gone, which was odd because it had been there when I got home. Maybe he got called out while I was in the shower.

I grabbed my phone and hit Photos. The flash had illuminated our names in the sand. The exact moment that I took the picture, the foamy tide was tickling the edge of the heart. I wanted to think that they would still be there when I returned to work tonight, but I knew they would probably be gone. If not by the tide, then by the beachgoers who walked and played along the edge of the beach.

But it didn't matter. Tough-guy-of-few-words Fletcher had drawn our names in the sand. They'd been part of the earth and now they'd be part of the ocean, traveling the world.

Such fanciful thoughts, but I guess they came from being in love. And I did love him. What if my parents' expectations were only that I be happy? Fletcher met those expectations exceedingly well. And if they were disappointed, I'd deal with it, because Fletcher was worth it.

I needed to let him know.

I trotted down the stairs. I heard movement in the kitchen. Probably Mom. I tiptoed to the front door and slipped out. Dawn was arriving, painting the sky in a vibrant hue of pinks and oranges. I dashed across the driveway and up the stairs.

I knocked on the door. Waited. Knocked again. “Fletcher?”

Nothing. No sound. No movement. But he had to be here. His bike was here.

I knocked again. Silence. “I know you're mad, but we need to talk. Or I need to talk. You don't have to say anything, but please listen. I can explain why I said what I did. I know it was wrong and stupid—” I sighed heavily. “Fletcher, open the door. Please.”

Only he didn't. I tried the handle. The door was locked. Frustration slammed into me. I wanted to fix things. I knew there was an extra key in a drawer in the kitchen. Would it be wrong of me to use it?

Yes.

“You can't avoid me forever,” I called out. At some point he would eat with the family. Mom and Dad would insist. He couldn't stay in there forever. I thought about sitting on the steps and waiting. Probably better to leave him alone to mope for a bit. I didn't know how to handle a fight with a guy. I'd never had one.

As a matter of fact, I couldn't recall ever having a fight with anyone.

I wandered back to the house and walked into the kitchen. Mom was sitting at the island.

“Hey, honey,” she said, but she sounded . . . off.

“Where's Dad?” I asked as I took the stool beside her.

She gave me an odd smile, one of reassurance and maybe embarrassment. “There was a robbery last night. He got the call around three.”

I sat up straighter. “He's okay, right?”

Reaching across, Mom squeezed my arm. “He's fine. I'm sorry. I should have led with that. He's fine, but they have a person of interest and he's dealing with that.”

Relief washed through me and I sat back. “Thank goodness.” I thought about making some tea, but I didn't feel like drinking anything. I wasn't interested in breakfast either. I was worried about how upset Fletcher was. Maybe I should ask my mom for advice.

“Avery,” Mom said softly.

I looked back at her. All the lines in her face had deepened with worry. “Mom, what's wrong?”

“The person of interest . . . it's Fletcher.”

I stared at her as though she'd suddenly started speaking in Klingon. I pushed myself off the stool. “Wait a minute.”

Was that why Fletcher didn't open the door? Why Dad's car was there when I got home but wasn't there now? He'd taken Fletcher in? “What are you talking about? Why would Fletcher be a person of interest?”

“Smiley's was robbed.”

“So?”

“Apparently the evidence points to Fletcher.”

“That's crazy! He loves working there. He wouldn't do something like that.”

“Calm down.”

“Calm down? This is Fletcher we're talking about.”

“I know. I don't want to believe it either. I don't know the details. Only that your dad took him in for questioning.”

Took him in for questioning.
I'd never before realized how ominous those words sounded. “Why would Dad do that? It couldn't have been Fletcher.”

She held up her hands. “I know you like him . . .”

I more than liked him. I loved him. I believed in him. And I knew he couldn't have done it, because he'd been with me. All night.

Neither of my parents was going to be happy about that. I had been the girl who followed the straight and narrow, who never got into trouble, was never late with her homework, never did anything she wasn't supposed to do. Until Fletcher.

They'd blame him, even though it had been my idea. Right from the start we were going to be announcing loud and clear that they couldn't trust us. But Fletcher would have no choice except to tell my dad everything. Dad would know where I'd been, who I'd been with. What we'd been up to.

All their expectations regarding me were about to be
crushed. I was so terrified of what their reaction might be, but I was more worried about Fletcher. Surely he had told my dad before he'd been taken to the station. Had Dad not believed him because it seemed like something so out of character for me? Fletcher had to be so scared.

I heard a car pull into the drive. I rushed through the house, raced through the front door, and staggered to a stop when Dad got out of his car—alone. “Where's Fletcher?” I demanded.

Dad heaved a heavy sigh. “Still at the station.”

“You can't possibly think he robbed the shop.”

“About three o'clock this morning, a tow truck driver was dropping off a car. He noticed lights on in the office. Found Smiley. He was mumbling Fletcher's name. Unfortunately he's now in a coma, so we're short on details. Don Johnson confirmed money was missing and that Fletcher has a key.”

“None of that proves anything,” I said indignantly.

“He doesn't have an alibi. I know he wasn't here most of the night, because they called me when they realized what Smiley had been saying. I went to his room and waited until he showed up at dawn. When he walked through his door and saw me sitting on the couch, the guilt washing over his face—I've never in my life seen anyone look so guilty.”

He was looking guilty because he'd been out with me
and thought he'd gotten caught. But something else Dad said struck me as more important. “What do you mean he didn't have an alibi?”

“He said he was alone last night. No one can vouch for his whereabouts.”

I felt as though I'd taken a solid blow to the chest. Fletcher had lied. But why? Because I'd told him that I didn't want my parents to know about us? Because I'd made him think I was ashamed of him? My knees grew weak. I staggered back.

Dad grabbed my arm, stopped me from falling down. “Avery?”

I shook my head, the words lodged in my throat. Fletcher must have thought I'd rather let him go to jail than back up his alibi. Did he really think I'd do that?

He'd been concerned that he wouldn't know how to be a boyfriend. He'd cared enough about me to worry about it. When the truth was: I didn't know how to be a girlfriend. He deserved a lot better than me.

He'd once told me that easy wasn't always the right choice. He didn't always choose easy. Until this moment I had.

“He does have an alibi, Dad.”

My dad arched his brow. “Oh?”

Swallowing hard, I nodded. “He was with me.”

“When?”

The word came out like a gunshot. Harsh. Short.

“Shortly after I got in from work. We went to the beach. We were there together until almost dawn.”

“Jack?” Mom said hesitantly, and I looked over to see her arms crossed over her chest, not like she was mad, but like she wanted to hug me but wasn't sure she should.

“Avery says she was with Fletcher last night,” Dad said.

“I can prove it,” I said quickly, and dug my phone out of my pocket. I went to my photos and brought up the one of our names in the sand. “See the properties? It's dated and timed.” Of course that didn't mean Fletcher was with me. I didn't have a picture of us together last night. We hadn't been hanging out with people so no one had seen us.

Dad studied it before giving me the hard cop glare. “You left without letting us know.”

I nodded. “I know it was wrong. I wanted to be with him, which I realize isn't a good excuse, but I knew you'd say no.”

“To you going to the beach, in the middle of the night—of course I'd say no,” Dad said.

“Can you yell at me later? Punish me, whatever you think is fair, I won't object, but can we go get Fletcher? Please?”

“You should have told us,” Dad said. “And we will definitely discuss this later. What I don't understand, though,
is why Fletcher didn't tell me he was with you.”

“Maybe he didn't want me to get into trouble.” I shook my head. “I don't know, Dad.”

Although I was afraid I did know. Maybe he was afraid that if he told Dad he was with me that I would deny it. That thought nearly broke my heart.

I'd been to the police station countless times on school field trips. Sometimes Dad would bring me and show me around. But I'd never noticed how loudly the hallways echoed or how glaringly bright the lights were. Or how noisy it was with fingers clicking over keyboards, people talking, business getting done.

Dad had let me look through the observation mirror into an interrogation room before, but no one had been inside. I'd thought it was fun, interesting. But not now, as I observed Fletcher sitting there studying his hands. Tears burned my eyes. He was there because of me.

“He looks so alone,” I said quietly.

Dad placed his broad hand on my shoulder. “Maybe he thinks he is.”

I glanced up at Dad. “But he's not.”

He slowly shook his head. “No, he's not. Why don't you try to convince him of that?”

If he'd even listen to me.

Nodding, I took a deep breath. Dad reached over and
opened the door. I stepped through into the big yawning abyss, and the door
snicked
closed behind me.

Fletcher lifted his eyes to me. “You shouldn't be here.”

“Neither should you.”

His gaze darted to the mirror before coming back to me. “Look, Law and Order—”

“Don't,” I said softly. It had been so long since he'd called me anything except Avery. I understood what he was doing. All the times he'd referred to me with some stupid nickname had been because he wanted to keep distance between us. Using my name made things more personal. He'd been hurt so much that he didn't trust anyone. He didn't trust me. He didn't trust me to stand by him. But then why should he?

He'd asked me last night to stand by him and I'd been too afraid of what my parents might think. It hurt now, to realize that. I couldn't imagine how much I had hurt him.

“Don't make light of this or start putting up walls between us.” I looked over at the mirror. “And, yes, my dad is standing out there, probably watching and listening. It's his job to get to the bottom of things.”

I crossed the distance separating us, pulled out a chair, and sat.

“You need to go,” he insisted. His eyes were dull, his expression flat. He wasn't at all glad to see me.

“Why did you tell my dad that you had no alibi?”

He studied me in that way he had that made it seem he was memorizing lines and curves, as though he thought he would need to recall them for later, as though he wanted the memory. He leaned forward slightly. “Look, you don't need to be dragged into this. They'll figure out it wasn't me.”

“Fletcher, you're just making their job harder by not eliminating yourself as a suspect. Not to mention that you have to sit here while they ask you questions, while they make you feel as though you've done something wrong.”