Spark Page 4

  “Suit yourself,” he says, rolling up a joint right on the stainless countertop. “By the way, we’re running low on AK-47 at the dispensary. We need to stock up on everything for the winter rush coming. Two weeks until Thanksgiving, and then all hell breaks loose.”

  “I know. We’ll be ready,” I assure him. “But first, I have breakfast to cook.”

  Pivoting on my heel, I turn to leave the kitchen, grateful no one else has arrived yet when I reenter the dining room. Striding with a false confidence across the floor, I approach Crew and his family, still trying to pretend he has no effect on me whatsoever.

  “What are you guys hungry for this morning?” I ask sunnily.

  Crew peers up at me and asks, “Is there a menu, or do we just make something up?”

  I refuse to make eye contact with him, needing to keep my wits about me when I’m around him, because I don’t have time to deal with gooey insides and an out-of-control heart today. I’ve got shit to do. “I can pretty much whip up any breakfast food you think of. Omelets, pancakes, French toast…whatever you want.”

  “Ooh, French toast! I haven’t had that in years.” Caleb’s eyes light up with delight, but Mary is quick to shoot down his excitement.

  “Don’t be silly; you know you can’t eat that. How about a meat-lovers omelet with a glass of iced water?” she admonishes gently, lifting her eyebrows in a way that warns him not to argue.

  Last night, I noticed her whisper something to him right before he was going to spoon some new potato casserole on his plate, which caused him to look very much like he does now—disappointed and a tad bit resentful—but I didn’t think much about it until now.

  Straight away, I assume it’s a health concern preventing him from eating certain foods, because it’s definitely not a weight issue. If anything, he needs to add some weight to his scrawny frame. But I don’t ask or say anything; I simply wait for him to confirm that’s what he wants to eat.

  “I’ll have an omelet with whatever meats you have, no cheese,” he mutters begrudgingly, “and a water to drink.”

  I nod my head in his direction. “No problem. I promise it’ll be good.”

  “Give me the same thing,” Crew states tersely, returning his gaze outside the window, “but I’d like a coffee to drink.”

  “And for you, Mary?”

  “Two eggs, over easy, with a side of bacon and wheat toast, please.” Her strained smile matches the sudden downshift in mood between the three of them. “And I’ll take a coffee as well.”

  I want nothing more than to escape to the sanctuary of the kitchen. My dislike for quarrels or awkward tension, even when it doesn’t involve me, makes my belly ache.

  “Got it. I’ll bring your drinks right out, and then I’ll get started on your food.”

  Not long after I get busy at the stovetop, my mom returns from driving my younger siblings to school and takes over the front of the house as she typically does. Relieved for the assistance, I’m able to focus all of my attention on preparing breakfast for the guests as they steadily begin to arrive, instead of worrying about what could be wrong with Caleb.

  Once the final pancake has been flipped and the last slice of bacon fried, I clean up the mess I’ve made and store the food away before exiting the kitchen. Unfortunately, the second I step out into the main lobby, I see Crew and Caleb over at the internet station, scrolling through what appears to be local apartment listings.

  I know I should just keep walking straight out the front door and across the lawn to my house, but curiosity, along with a little bit of something else I can’t quite put my finger on, gets the best of me. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m standing behind the stools they’re perched on, peering over their shoulders and confirming my original suspicion.

  Then, not thinking before opening my mouth, which I’ve been known to do a time or two, I blurt out, “You guys liked my omelets so much you decided to move here?”

  Caleb’s face lights up when he sees me lingering behind them. “We were moving here before we knew about your kick-ass omelets, but maybe you can help us out with some of these places. You’ve lived here a long time, right?”

  I nod, wondering what I just got myself involved in, but I’m even more alarmed at my body’s response as I process they’re really moving here, not just visiting. Warm face, pounding heart, sweaty palms, acrobatic stomach—yeah, that shouldn’t be happening.

  “We’ve been in Breck for about eight years now. Where are you looking at?” My eyes search the screen while I try desperately to regain control of whatever is happening inside me.

  “Can you tell us what parts of town we want to stay away from, or really good places you know of? We’re supposed to look at some places this afternoon when Mom gets back from her interview, but if you can help us narrow them down, that’d be awesome,” he replies gleefully.

  Crew still hasn’t turned around as he continues to scroll through the multiple apartment listings on the search results page. Either he’s really focused on what he’s doing, or he’s purposely not acknowledging my presence. I’m not sure why this bothers me, but it does. I haven’t been anything but friendly to him. Shit, I even cooked him breakfast this morning, despite the fact I had no choice in the matter¸ seeing as though it’s my job.

  “It looks like your brother has a handle on it,” I clip, glancing down at the notebook page in front of them filled with scribbled words and numbers. “And the great thing about this area is there aren’t any bad spots; there’s nice and really nice. Can’t go wrong.”

  Caleb’s eyes bounce back and forth between the computer screen, my face, and Crew. He obviously wants to say something else, but he seems hesitant, though I’m not sure of what. Now, my interest is piqued.

  “Do you know where you want to go to school or where Mary’s gonna work? Maybe you can start your search with places close to those spots, and then move outward from there?” I suggest, my curiosity fueling the questions.

  “Crew’s homeschooling me this year, at least until we can get situated and everything under control,” Caleb announces proudly. “And don’t think he goes easy on me, ‘cause he can be a real dick, especially when it comes to math. You’d think the smart bastard came up with the quadratic formula his damn self.”

  This comment finally elicits a response from Crew, who chuckles lightly and tears his stare from the computer, looking over his shoulder at the two of us. “If you don’t stop talking so I can concentrate, I’m gonna make you do proofs while we’re on this trip.” His words are a threat, but the accompanying teasing tone and good-natured expression are the opposite, allowing me to relax a little. Perhaps it wasn’t my company making him uptight.

  “But, Crew, Hudson can help us get to know the area. Maybe she can even tell us where to go to get the stuff,” he contends.

  Alarms sound loudly in my head. “What stuff?” I blurt out, not waiting for Crew’s response.

  Caleb smiles at me and states matter-of-factly, “Pot. That’s why we’re moving here.”

  I can only imagine the look of bewilderment that crosses my face, but before I’m able to consider his comment for more than face value, Crew’s imploring green eyes meet mine. “It’s not like that. He, uh, well…” he stammers over his words, threading his fingers through his messy chestnut hair.

  “I have epilepsy,” Caleb reveals like it’s the most normal thing in the world, his perky demeanor holding strong. “It’s the fucked-up kind that my doctors back in Texas can’t figure out, so we’re moving out here to get a new doctor and see if smoking weed can help with my seizures and migraines.”

  Feeling as if I’ve been punched in the gut at his revelation, my jaw falls open, releasing an audible gasp—a combination of not wanting to believe him and devastating concern. I’ve known Caleb for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already one hundred percent certain I adore him. He’s a funny, energetic kid who’s overflowing with a robust spirit. A lover of life.

  The th
ought of an illness threatening to hide his vibrant personality—something the world needs more of—not only breaks my heart; it pisses me off. And instantly, I know I’ll do whatever I can to help this family.

  To help Caleb.

  I ignore the discomfort etched into the creases of Crew’s forehead, suddenly understanding his reluctance to have me assist them with anything. My initial reaction is to reach out and rest my hand on his shoulder, to assure him everything will be okay, but I don’t. I’m not a fan of people sugarcoating stuff for me, and seeing how I know absolutely nothing about Caleb’s situation, I figure neither of them would appreciate my bullshit empty promise.

  “That really sucks,” I say solemnly, figuring there really isn’t a better word to sum up my feelings, “and I can totally help you out with finding some smoke, but I’ll have to talk to your mom first, and you’ll need to apply for a medical marijuana card so she can buy it for you.”

  “Yeah, well, we have to find an apartment and get utilities hooked up so we can claim residency first,” Crew interjects, his face now expressionless, “which is why I’m trying to find us a damn place to live, if you two are done chit-chatting.”

  Shuffling back a few feet to put some space between us, I chew nervously on my bottom lip, not wanting to overstep my boundaries. “Right. Well, I’ve gotta go to class now anyway, but if you’re still interested in my help, I know quite a bit about what you’re looking for. My dad and uncle own one of the dispensaries in town. I’ll be back on property around five this afternoon. Just come find me.”

  Crew grunts some sort of response I don’t quite catch, but happy-go-lucky Caleb simply nods and winks at me as I walk away. “We’ll see you around, beautiful girl.”

  Halfway into my lengthy drive to school, I seriously contemplate turning my new black Subaru Crosstrek—a vehicle my dad insisted on if I was going to be driving hundreds of miles in the snow each week—around and returning to help the Elliott family with anything and everything they need. Typically, I look forward to Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, when I have classes at Colorado School of Mines just outside of Denver, particularly for the three hour round-trip I get to spend alone with my music and my thoughts. Even with my older sisters all sharing an apartment in town, there isn’t much peace and quiet around the house between a rambunctious little boy and constantly bickering teenage sisters. But I don’t.

  Despite Caleb’s enthusiasm for having me around—and I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around the fact he has epilepsy—Crew made it quite clear he wasn’t interested in my assistance. Maybe I’ll just go talk to Mary directly this evening, to pass along what I know about the process.

  With my mind constantly drifting to Caleb—and Crew—class seems to drag on forever. Where I’m usually alert and attentive to the lectures, today I’m having a hard time focusing on how to graph linear inequalities, nor am I sure how I’ll ever use this information at any point in the rest of my life. As far as I know, my mom and dad never break out the graphing calculator when they’re going over financials for the resort, the dispensary, or even our household budget.

  I find myself hoping Mary got whatever job she was interviewing for…wondering if the three of them are out looking for a place to live…thinking about the way my body involuntarily responds to Crew’s piercing stare and deep Southern voice. All things I shouldn’t be concerned with, but am.

  Utterly relieved when the professor finally announces class is over, I grab my text and notebook and stuff them into my backpack, making a mad dash for the door. Unfortunately, I have an hour break between Algebra and Literature, and where I’d usually grab a bite for lunch or take a quick smoke break, I know if I get in my car, I’ll be heading west on I-70 back home.

  “Hudson! Hudson, wait!” a familiar male voice calls out from behind me, causing me to stop my forward progress and turn around. Beckham flashes a toothy grin as he jogs up to where I’m standing in the breezeway between buildings, bending down and chastely kissing the corner of my mouth. “Hey, baby girl, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

  Baby girl? Wait for him? Did I miss something?

  Tilting my head to the side, I peer up at him with confusion and shrug my shoulders. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to wait for you. Is everything okay?”

  He wraps his arm around my shoulders and begins walking, which in turn forces me to lumber alongside him, guiding us in the direction of the parking lot. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’ve just been excited to see you after last night. What night can you hang out this week? We don’t have to do the family dinner thing again, do we?”

  “Ummm…I’m not sure.” My body is as stiff as a board under his touch. “We’re completely full at the resort right now, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to get away anytime this week. And no, you don’t have to do the family dinner again. That was a one-time meet-the-crazy-parents thing.”

  “Not even one evening, for an early dinner or something? Maybe after your classes on Friday, we can go out for Mexican food.”

  Sighing softly, I shake my head. “I don’t think so this week, but maybe next, if it’s a little slower.” It’s not an outright lie, even though I’m almost positive we’re booked up not only through the end of the month, but until next spring, when skiing season ends. Damn, what a shame.

  We stop just in front of my car, and from the way his mouth is still cocked up at the corners, I can tell he’s not getting the hint. “Okay, baby girl,” he twists to face me, using that damn hideous nickname again, “but at least we have our breaks between classes in your car.” Drawing me into a tight embrace, he buries his face in my neck and whispers into my ear, “You’d be surprised what I can do with my hands and my mouth in tight spaces.”

  Ewwww…NO!

  I push forcefully off his chest to put some distance between us, my forehead rutted with annoyance. “Look, Beckham, I had a good time last night, but I’m not interested in seeing what you can do with your mouth or hands in any space. At least not anytime soon. When I told you I’m not that kind of girl, it’s ‘cause I’m really not that kind of girl. I’m not putting on an act.”

  Raising his hands into the air in surrender, he begins apologizing. “I’m sorry, Hudson. I didn’t mean to push too fast. I thought…” He shakes his head then shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ve just wanted to ask you out for so long I got a little excited that it actually happened last night. We can totally move this at your pace.”

  This?! Did we commit to each other at some point in the evening that I missed? Since when does one date equate to couple status?

  “Friends. This is us being friends, Beckham,” I reply sternly, crossing my arms over my chest. “I like you. Don’t make me change my mind.”

  He throws his head back with laughter as if I just told a hilarious joke. “You’re a funny girl, Hudson, and I like you too.” Glancing at my car, he lifts his eyebrows. “Wanna smoke before our next class?”

  “Nah, I’m gonna head home early. My dad needs me to help out with a project, and we’re just watching a movie in Lit today.” Another half-lie, but now that I’ve said it aloud, it sounds like a great plan.

  “Okay, my sweet friend,” he leans in and kisses my cheek, “I’ll see you on Wednesday then. Be safe driving home.”

  As soon as he lumbers away, I hurriedly slide into the driver’s seat and start the car, exhaling a deep breath. I’ve never once skipped a class in my life, but I’ve never met a Crew and Caleb before either. And something tells me they’ll be way more fun to hang out with anyway.

  “This is it. It’s absolutely perfect,” my mom announces while standing in the living room of the model apartment we’re touring.

  We’ve visited no less than five different apartment and condominium complexes this afternoon, all of them having some issue or another until now. One didn’t offer washer and dryer hook-ups, another didn’t have ceiling fans, and there was even one without a dishwasher. Who in the fuc
k hand-washes their own dishes anymore?

  “Yeah, I like it too,” I agree whole-heartedly, scanning the modern design of the open floor plan. “All of the bedrooms are situated together, which is great for Caleb, but gives us all more privacy than we’ve had lately.”

  When we decided to make the move to Colorado, Mom put our house up on the market and, much to our surprise, we had a full-price offer in less than two weeks. Not wanting to spend a lot of money on rent or storing all of our furniture, we sold most everything in an estate sale and moved into a small, pre-furnished two-bedroom rental house, which the owner let us lease month-to-month knowing we were moving soon.

  I love my brother like crazy, but after sharing a room with him for three months, I’m not going to pretend I’m not ready for a little bit of my own space back. We’ll be close enough to hear him, but have the ability to shut our own doors when we want to. Plus, I’m tired of having to go to the bathroom to jack off.

  “Caleb, what do you think? The bedroom big enough for you?” I ask as I peer over at him.

  “Huh?” His eyes are zoned in on the short skirt of the young leasing agent who’s bending over to demonstrate how the fireplace turns on. “Is what big enough for me?”

  Rolling my eyes, I huff an exasperated breath. The kid has seriously become a walking, talking ball of testosterone in the last year. I mean, I get it. I remember exactly how it felt when it seemed like I couldn’t blow my load enough times in a day. A gust of wind blowing in the right direction was enough to get me hard. And even though things haven’t changed much in the last few years, I can at least focus on other shit now. Important shit, like where we’re going to live.

  “The bedroom.” I thump him on the side of his head to break his trance. “Are you okay with the bedroom that’s going to be yours?”

  “Uh, yeah, it’s great. Everything about this place is great.” He waggles his eyebrows.