Leighton
Life shouldn’t be this hard. I don’t want to be whiny and ask God what I did to deserve this, but I sometimes feel that way. I’ve tried to lead a good life. I’m kind to others, and I give of myself generously.
Which is why I’m a little bent out of shape over my current situation. Driving the streets of Vegas, I peer over my shoulder for danger that may or may not be there. I don’t know what to expect anymore.
I can’t afford to be sloppy, though, so even though I have a good idea of where I’m going thanks to the miracle technology of Google Maps, I make myself circle around and double back. It’s the only way to be sure I don’t have a tail.
After twenty minutes of what probably appears to be aimless driving, I get on track and start making my way through the upscale suburban neighborhood about twenty minutes outside of the city limits. The ranch bungalows aren’t modest by any means, but sprawl over large lots. Most are stucco, ranging from bright white to deep brown, all with red tiled roofs. It’s like the building code demands it in this area.
Glancing at my purse on the passenger seat, I reassure myself my dad’s gun is still on top and within easy reach. I can’t afford to take any chances. When I left Denver for the almost eleven-hour drive, I’d known nothing would be the same again. The bubble of security and protection I’d been living in for almost ten years has been burst, and I’ll never get it back. The minute I chose to leave—just as my dad warned me as he pressed his gun into my hand for protection—I’d realized I was on my own from here on out.
The house I’m searching for comes into view. The streets are adequately lit, and the house has gorgeous landscape up-lighting around the foundation, making the cream stucco glow in an almost heavenly way.
The irony of that thought causes me to snicker because I’m banking on August Greenfield to be somewhat of an angel. At least, I’m praying he can help me.
I drive by his house, circle the block twice, and ensure for the last time no one is following me. Still, I park three houses down on the road and watch for a while. No other cars come down the street. No one moves on the cross streets. It’s super late—or rather early—in the morning. It’s almost two AM, but I cannot wait another moment to figure out my destiny. The drive from Denver was long and brutal. I’d eaten a meal at a local Denny’s about an hour ago, taking a minute to go over the entire speech I’d be unveiling to August soon. I’d even gone into the bathroom to wash my hands and practiced while staring at myself in the mirror.
My phone indicates a text has arrived—three short bongo drums. It means my dad is checking in. I carefully move the gun aside to reach for my phone.
I hate guns.
I honestly do. They scare the shit out of me, yet they are a necessary part of my life. Before leaving Denver, I didn’t have to worry about firearms. I had all the protection I needed, safe in my little suburb nestled at the base of the Rockies.
But once I left, I was on my own. From that moment forward, I would always be looking over my shoulder. It’s why—despite hating it—I’d accepted Dad’s gun.
After I pull up the text, I read it. It’s not too late to come back. No one knows you left. Turn the car around and come home.
Smiling regretfully, I rub my thumb over his words. I know they were sent with an equal mixture of love and fear. But as much as I love my father, there’s even more love and fear driving me forward. Frankly, Dad can’t compete with my need to reach out to August.
I don’t bother replying, choosing to call him instead. He answers on the first ring, already deep into an argument for me to come home. “Seriously, Leighton… no one is the wiser you’re gone. You’ve taken precautions, right? You weren’t followed?”
“I’ve been very careful,” I assure him. “No tails whatsoever.”
“There you go,” he says, and I can envision him nodding for punctuation. “Not a damn soul knows you left Denver. Come back. We’ll figure something else out.”
“There’s nothing else to figure out,” I say with a long, frustrated sigh. “We’re out of time. This is our last hope.”
He doesn’t reply because he knows there’s no argument. Asking me to come back was wishful thinking on his part.
I fill the void, giving a slight cough first. “How’s Sam?”
“He had a rough day with you being gone.”
My guilt wells until it threatens to choke me. “Listen… I’m here. I need to get this done.”
“Good luck,” my father murmurs… sadly, because he doesn’t think this is the right decision.
But I know it is.
“Bye, Dad,” I whisper before disconnecting.
Returning the phone to my purse, I replace the gun on top and zip it closed. It defeats the purpose of needing quick access, but I’m almost a hundred percent sure no one followed me. Nobody in Vegas knows me or why I’m here. I doubt August is a physical threat, unless he went totally off the rails, and… I can’t show up at his door with my piece showing.
After I exit the rental car, I sling my purse over my shoulder and make my way down the street to his house. I glance over my shoulder at least ten times before I reach his driveway. There’s a two-car garage, which I assume has a vehicle tucked inside. Hell, maybe two. He could be married or in a relationship for all I know. Suddenly, I realize I might not be getting ready to disturb just him. It could be an entire household for all I know.
Regardless, I shore up my resolve, take a confident step forward, and continue up the driveway to the tiny concrete walkway connected to the front porch. A yellow-lighted sconce illuminates the area.
I hesitate, remembering the last time I saw August. We were barely eighteen years old. My dad was on a “business” trip, and we had the house all to ourselves. That was an all-too-common occurrence since my dad traveled a lot, and I didn’t have a mom to watch over me. Add in the fact we were deeply in love—or so we thought—and horny teenagers, it meant we spent a lot of time having sex in my pink-walled bedroom.
August was still inside me, and I was flush with the completion of an intense orgasm. God, he sure knew his way around a woman’s body, which was impressive given how we were each other’s firsts. We’d started dating our sophomore year in high school, and we’d given it up to each other within just a few months. I once asked him how he knew so much—how he was doing things to me that none of my other sexually active friends were even considering doing—and he just smiled slyly and said, “Porn.”
I never knew if it was true, but I was thankful either way.
“Just twenty-nine more days,” he said, eyes on mine. He was still hard inside me. Sometimes, he had the power to go again. I wondered if this was one of those times.
I glanced over at the clock beside my bed. It was past midnight. I grinned. “Twenty-eight days now.”
“Rest of our lives together,” he murmured. He bent to kiss me, then started moving inside me again.
Just thinking about it causes a pang of sexual longing between my legs. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve had sex. Thinking about August and the last time we were together is not helping matters.
We’d planned to go away to college together. Although my father and his parents weren’t crazy about it, we were going to share an apartment. We were going to be adults, on our own and living our lives together forever.
Sucking in a long breath, I hold it for several agonizing seconds. Just as I start to get a little dizzy, I let it out in a massive rush. I imagine all of my fears and doubts purging out of my body along with the carbon dioxide my lungs expel.
Once again, I straighten my spine before stepping onto the porch. After locating the doorbell, I place my fingertip to it, hesitating a nanosecond before I depress the button. Inside, it chimes loudly and I physically cringe.
No dog starts barking. Everything is silent. I wonder if August is even home, but then a light comes on through the frosted glass panes of the front door.
My pulse picks up as I hear the front door unlock—a regular lock and a deadbolt—and then the door swings open.
And there stands August. He looks so much like he did almost ten years ago, yet so vastly different.
The first thing I notice is how much he’s filled out. He’s in a low-slung pair of sweatpants and nothing else. His brownish-red hair is slightly longer than how he wore it in high school. It sticks up at various angles, indicating he was most likely soundly asleep when I rang that doorbell. He has a layer of scruff on his face, brown with red highlights. The tattoos on his arms and chest are definitely new, and they make him look like a badass. I have no clue what he does for a living, but I approve of the ink.
His eyes are the one thing that haven’t changed, and the sparkling green brilliance still takes my breath away. In my entire life, I’ve never seen eyes as beautiful as his.
August scrunches his eyebrows, an inquisitive expression crossing his face over finding a woman on his doorstep at two o’clock in the morning. He even gives me a polite smile—perhaps thinking I might need assistance with a broken-down car.
Then, he actually sees me. He leans a little closer as his gaze roams all over my face, finally locking on my eyes. Recognition dawns, and his mouth parts in astonishment.
“Tracey?” he asks, sounding awed. His voice trembles slightly. “Is that you?”
I smile, relieved he recognizes me even though my hair is coffee brown instead of blonde. It’s no longer down to the middle of my back, instead it’s cut into an angular bob. My blue eyes are now brown, thanks to the miracle of colored contacts.
“It’s actually Leighton now,” I say with an upturned chin. Wincing, I realize how sanctimonious that sounds, as if I were too good for my name. “What I mean is… I had to change my name to Leighton.”
August regards me in surprise before his expression changes… it’s almost as if he understands, but I don’t know how. How could he possibly understand why I’m here right now?
Stepping back from the door, August motions me inside. “Why don’t you come in?”
I cross the threshold, more nervous now than I have been in an exceedingly long time of having to look over my shoulder. August may have figured a few things out due to my change in appearance and name, but he has no clue what I’m getting ready to hit him with.