Under the Lights (10 page)

WILLA

One would expect the wood to be more rotten after years of nonuse. But with paid workers to keep up the Lawton property, the old tree house was in good condition, with no overgrown weeds to crawl over in order to climb the steps. The area looked freshly tended to. That made it even more sad to me.

If the tree house had been forgotten and falling apart from the wear and tear of the weather, I'd have understood its emptiness. It would have been sad too, of course, but not as sad. The lonely tree house, ready for children to play in and build dreams, was empty. Like a beautiful rosebush no one saw or noticed.

I slipped my book into the front of my shorts, because it was too big to fit in my pocket, and climbed the well cared for steps toward the clubhouse where I'd first met my childhood best friends. The familiar smell of the old live oak that housed the Lawton boys' tree house met my nose, and I paused for a moment to inhale. A safer time in my life. One where dark memories didn't haunt me. That was what this represented now. The easy friendships we had had back then were gone now. We'd lost those along with our innocence of youth. Being here reminded me of what I'd been taken away from and how painful that had been.

I climbed the rest of the way and walked into the cabin, complete with a roof that was cone shaped and once reminded me of a castle. Or the tower a princess was locked inside. Pulling out my book, I set it on the wooden bench that was still there. The bean bags were gone now. I was sure they didn't weather well with time. All that was left inside was either made of wood or metal. No toys in boxes or jars with frogs we'd caught lined the shelves.

Turning slowly, I took it all in. This was a time in my life I cherished. It made me happy. Now this place was empty and incomplete without laughter. I sat down on the bench and picked up my book.

“I missed you,” I whispered to the walls surrounding me. “It's good to be back.”

It sounded silly to be talking to a wooden structure, but it felt right. Like those pieces of lumber understood and recognized me. I liked the idea of that. Besides, I was alone and could sound as ridiculous as I wanted to.

The worn book in my hands smelled of old paper and libraries. I loved that smell. It had gotten me through the past six months. The only escape I had had was inside pages much like these. Pulling my legs up underneath me, I began to read the words and allow the fiction to lead me into another place. One with problems that weren't mine but made me less alone just the same.

I had a chance to find me again. To heal and restore my nonna's trust in me. If I kept my head down, and preferably in a book, I could do just that. Wanting more kisses from Brady Higgens wasn't a step in the right direction. I didn't have time for that. I needed to focus on fixing me.

I got lost within the words, time ticked by, and my brain closed out my surroundings. That was the way it always worked when I read a book. It was because of this that I didn't hear the noise of someone climbing the ladder to join me.

I jumped at the sound of Gunner's voice when he said, “How did I know this was where you'd be?”

Last night I had left without an explanation, and he deserved one. But could I give him an honest one, or was I
to pretend it was something else? I wasn't sure if Brady had been honest with him, or if he'd told him a lie in order to protect the truth. I didn't want to lie to Gunner, but the truth was embarrassing too. It could make things weird between us, and I was already dealing with the fact Brady and I would never be the same. There would be no rekindling of friendships with him. Weirdness would become awkwardness that kept a wall between the two of us.

Gunner was bound to notice that eventually.

“Hey” was the best response I could come up with. It sounded weak and wasn't a fair one.

He didn't hit me with the pressure to tell him why I ran. Instead he came inside and sat down on a metal stool across from me, then began to look around the house much the same way that I had. I wondered how long it had been since he'd been here. Were his memories bittersweet like mine?

“God, it still looks the same,” he muttered. “Even smells the same.”

I nodded. “Except for the lack of sweaty little boys and dirty socks, yes, it does.”

Gunner grinned and cut his eyes toward me. “You saying your socks didn't stink?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying,” I replied with a smirk.

He chuckled, then turned his attention to the book in
my lap. “You been here to read before, or is this your first time back?”

Again he wasn't demanding an explanation, and that made me feel guilty, because he deserved one. I was sure he had been worried when I had disappeared. He wasn't heartless, and he was my friend. I felt safe telling him the truth. It was a part of who we were. When I needed to talk to someone, Gunner had always been there to listen.

“This is my first time,” I answered, wanting to say more.

“It's been about five years for me. Last time I was up here, I brought . . . a girl, and we made out. It was my first time touching tits.”

I made a face, and he laughed at me. “What? I'm a guy.”

I was well aware he was a guy. “Poor tree house didn't know what was happening. It went from a place to entertain children to a brothel overnight.” I was teasing, of course.

Gunner burst into laughter, and I enjoyed the sound. It fit up here. We'd laughed a lot in this house. It was our place to be free of adults.

“It's been maintained well. I expected rotten steps and weeds.”

Gunner shrugged. “It's part of the property. They can't let anything look bad on the estate. Plus, this was Rhett's sixth birthday present. Gotta protect that.”

The bitterness at the mention of his older brother surprised me. All I had known was a boy who had adored his older brother. What had happened to change that? “Do you and Rhett not get along now?” I asked gently, not wanting to pry too much.

He shrugged. “Nah, we get along fine. He only makes it home about once a year for the holidays, but we talk on the phone some.”

That didn't explain his bitter tone when he'd spoken about his brother. “Oh,” I said by way of response because I didn't want to push. It wasn't my business.

“He's the favorite, is all. You know that. Didn't change. Never will.”

That much I knew. Rhett was definitely the most loved child. His parents were very proud of him, even when we had all been younger. There was nothing that Rhett could do that was frowned upon. They saved all that for Gunner. Not that it was fair at all, but that was how things in this house worked. More times than not, Nonna would leave with a plate of cookies to sneak into Gunner's bedroom because he had gotten in trouble again with his parents over something Nonna didn't agree with.

Even knowing all that, I also knew that something else was there. Under the surface. Something he was hiding and letting simmer and burn beneath his skin. That wasn't
going to end well. One day he'd explode and end up with too many regrets to count. I decided to push just a little. The best way to do that was to be slightly vulnerable and see if he opened up. Not because I was nosy, but because I was concerned for the boy who had once been there for me when I needed him most.

“When I left here, I thought I'd be alone forever. No friends again. I was terrified of school in a new place. But then I found Poppy, or she found me. She never left my side. She was a lot like you.”

Gunner had gone still, as he seemed truly interested in what I was telling him. Saying Poppy's name wasn't easy. He'd never know how much verbalizing that piece of my past had cost me. My chest was aching, and the thick heaviness of grief began to seep through me. I rarely let myself think of her. Much less say her name aloud. But I wanted others to know her.

She deserved to be remembered. To be shared. Even though her life had been short and the plans we'd made to go off to college together and marry best friends so we could live next door to each other would never happen, her memory was precious. I wanted to say her name even if it pained me to do so.

“You miss her?”

“More than any words could describe.”

He raised his eyebrows. “So they made you leave. You didn't want to come back. You had friends and a good life there?”

Those were questions I wouldn't answer. Instead I gave him all I was willing to give him. “Yes and no. My life there is gone now. I don't want to go back. I don't think I can.”

“But . . .” He paused, frowning. “What about Poppy?”

I was expecting that question. When I said her name, I'd come to terms with telling him the truth about her. Hearing him say her name hadn't pained me. I was okay with it. She was a part of me now too. I wanted to share her with Gunner. I'd not wanted that before.

“She's dead.” Those were words I had refused to say for a very long time. They had gotten stuck in my throat, and the sobbing would begin when I even tried.

“Oh God,” he whispered. “How?”

This was the part I hated to say. The part that I wished to God I never had to tell. It was why I was destroyed. Why my soul would never be the same. That night had changed us forever. But it had been the following week when Poppy had died that made life unbearable. I'd understood why she'd done it. If I had been her, maybe I would have needed to do it too. Could she have survived if she hadn't taken the easy way out? I'd never know. The agony she had to endure would break anyone. But it hadn't just broken Poppy. It
had ended her. She hadn't been strong enough to handle the repercussions of our stupidity.

Lifting my gaze from the worn cover of the book in my hands, I forced myself to look at Gunner as I said the words. They would spike through me as I said them. They always did. However, it was her story. One I wouldn't forget or ignore.

“She took her life.”

GUNNER

Holy shit. The words sounded calm as she spoke them, but the look in her eyes made it seem as if they had been torn from her chest. Pain so intense it darkened the color of her blue eyes, making them almost black, as if her pupils had dilated, taking on the darkness of what she was saying.

“I'm sorry,” I said sincerely. I would have never asked if I'd known the answer. I didn't understand how life could be so bad that anyone would want to end theirs. Things sucked but they passed and eventually they got better. You just had to hang in there and make it through. But I wasn't going to verbalize my belief to Willa. I had never known anyone who had taken their life. I didn't know what that felt like.

Obviously, from the expression on her face and depth of sorrow evident in her eyes, it wasn't something I ever wanted to know. I sure as hell wasn't asking any more questions about it. I wondered if I was the first person she'd told this to.

Was this why she had left Arkansas? To escape this reality. If one of my friends offed themselves, I'd probably need to leave too. But I wasn't sure where I'd go. Willa had a past to return to. All I'd known was Lawton.

The fact she'd shared this with me was big for her. I could hear it in her voice. She trusted me. Just like when we were kids. She knew I'd keep her secrets safe. Having her back made me feel less alone. Brady wasn't the same. Willa had always been the one I trusted above everyone.

“She didn't feel like she had another choice. I understand, even if I grieve for the loss of my friend every day.”

The finality of what she had said was clear. She had told me all she was going to tell me, and I wondered why she had even given me that much if it hurt her so badly to talk about it.

We sat in silence for several minutes. Both lost in our own thoughts, and in a way it seemed this was a moment of respect for a life cut off too short. For whatever reasons.

“That's what haunts my eyes,” Willa said finally. “What haunts yours?”

What haunted mine? What did she mean by that? No one ever asked me about my secrets. I didn't appear to be shouldering any. At least it hadn't been mentioned before.

“I don't know what you mean,” I replied, even though the words didn't sound truthful as I said them.

She studied me a moment; the solemn expression on her face made me feel like squirming in my seat. As if she could read my thoughts and words weren't even needed.

“If that's what you want,” she said simply.

Aggravated by the confusing turn of this conversation, I tried to remind myself not to snap at her. She'd just told me her best friend killed herself. Remaining calm, I replied, “What do you mean if that's what I want?”

“I know pain, and I recognize it when I see it in someone else's gaze. Your eyes speak for you. If you don't want to talk about it, I understand.”

Well, fuck.

I couldn't continue looking at her, or I'd blurt out everything I never wanted anyone to know. Focusing on the view out the window just over her right shoulder was easier. I could get my head back together and think this through. Telling anyone this was making me vulnerable. Even telling Willa. But I wanted to. Needed to say it, and there was no one else on this earth I trusted to say it to. That had to mean something. Was this just friendship?
Was it me wanting what we had as kids? Or did I feel more?

My throat got tight just as the pressure began to ease from my chest.

“My father isn't my father. I'm not really a Lawton.” The words exploded out of me as if the need to release them had a mind of its own.

Willa didn't looked shocked or horrified when I shot my gaze back to meet hers. There was also no pity in them. I hadn't wanted pity.

“That makes sense. You're not a coldhearted bastard.” The casual way she said that made a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. I'd just told this girl my darkest secret, and she was making me smile.