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Secrets
Julia Bright
Prologue
Andrew Delany Baxter-Scott…the fifth
Watching Heather do anything is enchanting. Even when she’s sweaty and picking grass from her hair or wiping mud from her nose, she’s perfect. And that’s why I can’t sleep with her. Not the grass or the mud or the earthy scent that clings to both of us. I’d be willing to take a roll in the hay, or up against a tree, in a shower, a bed, anywhere with Heather, but I can’t. She isn’t someone I can throw away after sex, and I can’t go down the commitment highway, destroying my life by falling into the trap my parents have set. Though my mom pretends to be accepting when her friends are around, she isn’t. Behind closed doors, our family isn’t open and loving. It’s all an act.
Moving to California had pissed my parents off. But coming here had changed everything. And Heather is the reason. Her words of wisdom as she listened to me blab about my past pain caused by my parents, revealing the depths of their depravity, had shown me the truth. I never thought I was good enough before Heather. At first, I hadn’t realized what I was doing, but after multiple late nights with Heather, talking until the sun turned the horizon shades of pink, I got it.
Heather made me see everything differently. She made life brighter. Like now, grass covers us. My clothes are a mess, and I think I have dirt on my teeth, but we’re laughing out loud and having fun. She is my best friend, which is a little unfortunate because I can’t ask for more now.
“You missed,” Heather calls out.
“Ha! I didn’t miss, I meant to do that.”
The red soccer ball we’d been kicking around is off somewhere, close to a sidewalk or something. She flings a blade of grass at me and frowns.
“You’re heading back next week?”
I shrug, uncomfortable with the direction of our conversation. “I also have an acceptance letter from Stanford Law. I just need to go and see what Yale is like.”
She rolls her eyes and stands up, pretending to adjust a make-believe tie. “Stuffy, the forecast says stuffy with a side of bullshit.”
I laugh and climb to my feet, dusting off my ass as I reach for her. “Come on. I’m not going to abandon you. You’re my best friend.”
She punches my shoulder before running to the ball. The kick she sends at me is hard, more like a bullet instead of a friendly punt. We mess around for a little while longer. A couple of guys come by and ask if they can join in. I don’t want them anywhere near Heather, but she’s not mine. No doubt, I would ruin her. Depression hits. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to leave California, and I really don’t want to leave Heather, but my father told me I had to come back and look at schools close to New York. I’d caved, and now I regret it.
One of the guys starts flirting heavily with Heather and then he makes the grave mistake of calling her a “mocha chocolate” something or other and I see the switch almost immediately. We’d discussed in length one night over tequila and donuts—they don’t mix, so don’t even try it—how she hated when people compared her skin to food. She said it made her feel like an object, not human.
She laughs, but I see the change in her eyes. These guys are stupid. It doesn’t stop my heart from aching when she takes his phone to enter her number. I move closer, jealousy making me see green when I look over her shoulder and see she’s given him the number for the STD clinic she’d worked at for a year.
Though she’s given a wrong number my stomach rolls because she isn’t mine, and I’m not hers.
Those guys leave and more come over who know her. She’s laughing and smiling, her eyes bright when one guy, a tall one with broad shoulders, dark skin, and a huge smile flirts with her. I can’t watch her laughing with him, so I take off, not even stopping to say bye. It’s a dick move, but I guess I was becoming my father’s son. Part of me wanted to go to Heather and confess my feelings, but feelings are messy, and I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t just screw everything up even more. Leaving is easier than facing her.
