Light Unshaken (Unveiled #2) (17 page)

Trevor hooked an arm around her waist and offered an apologetic kiss hello.

I strolled up behind them and tried to tune out worries about Dee. A. J.’d assured me he was fine. I couldn’t afford to live in fear. And if hanging out with two of my closest friends couldn’t help keep my mind off things, a venti chai was bound to come through for me.

“Jae, how’d you find this shop? You can’t even see it from the main street.”

A deadpan stare glossed over her eyes as if she’d stolen a moment to convince herself I’d actually asked that question out loud. “Hello, I have Starbucks radar.”

Trevor’s snickering delayed whatever comment lurked behind it.

I fake-kicked him ahead of us toward the register. “The girl’s waiting for your order.”

The aftermath of a rush we must’ve just missed dusted the front of the barista’s apron with coffee ground residue and scone crumbs. Even her black hat couldn’t keep the dislodged tresses of her once-neat ponytail from falling into her eyes.

“Looks like those delays got us here right on time.” Trev gave me a quick wink, drummed his fingers on the counter, and perused the overhead menu. “I’ll have a grande Pike’s Place roast, please.”

Jaycee skipped up behind him, a child in a candy store. “I’ll have a trenta soy peppermint white chocolate mocha with two pumps and an added shot of vanilla. Can you make that extra hot? And would you mind putting the whip on the side?” Her three-tiered earrings jingled as she turned. “Oh, and one cup of ice water with that too, please.”

Her smile out-sparkled the gold Starbucks card she handed the barista, who was still busy marking up the side of the cardboard cup with her long list of demands.

Jaycee’s unassuming expression made it downright impossible not to laugh, even with my lips clamped together.

She tucked her wallet back inside her purse and her hair behind her ear. “What?”

“How do you spell
high maintenance?
”

The spiky bangs slanting across her forehead had nothing on the pointed look she shot my way. “Excuse me. We can’t all have simple orders like chai.” She tugged Trevor toward the opposite end of the counter, and I ordered my tea. Too bad nothing else was as simple.

I met them at a table with barstool-style chairs next to a window. Peppermint-scented vapors rose from Jae’s cup like a mentholated diffuser, relaxing me deeper into the seat cushion. With a mixture of cinnamon and cloves sweetening my lips, I eased off my coat and drank in the irreplaceable taste of friendship.

“How was your time with Candice?” I asked.

“You mean before or after she closed her math book in my face?” Jaycee massaged her temples. “The woes of middle school drama.”

Trevor tilted his cup at me. “Maybe you can send in Drama Queen, here, as an emissary.”

“Hilarious, Trev.” I flicked a sugar packet at him.

“I mean, I get the whole social pressure thing,” she said, skilled at ignoring our antics. “I just wish she’d believe me when I tell her it’s all gonna work out.”

The conversation transported me back to the memory Trevor had ignited outside the store a few minutes earlier. I’d rushed into Dad’s study after some run-in with my middle school friends, convinced my world was coming to an end. Even then, I couldn’t comprehend how he could make every worry I had seem to evaporate in front of me.

“I know it hurts right now, honey, but sometimes we have to walk through things we don’t understand to get to something even better waiting for us on the other side.”

He’d placed both of his strong, affectionate hands over my bony shoulders and looked at me with the same assurance I wanted for myself.
“God has good things planned for your life, Emma—good friendships included. Even when we might not know how or why, he’s working things out in our lives. Sometimes, we just need to give it a little time.”

Dad always reminded me I had a choice. Trust or not. Even when it felt like time could cost me everything.

Trevor’s distinct laugh drew me back to at least part of Dad’s promise—good friendships included. The kind that remained a constant through everything else.

Jaycee craned her cardboard cup back as far as it would go and tapped it dry. Her bottom lip followed the empty cup to the table. “It’s just not right.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“That Starbucks cups have bottoms to them.”

I covered my mouth to keep my tea from spilling out. “Mm . . . agreed,” I said once I stopped laughing long enough to swallow. “They should definitely be bottomless.”

“You ready to go?” Jaycee rose from the table and looked between the two of us. “Where’d you guys park?”

Trevor and I exchanged an amused glance. “Don’t ask.”

chapter twenty-four

Cost

I linked arms with Jaycee as we headed for the door. “I’m riding home with you. My fragile trust has been through enough for one day.” I glared at Trev over my shoulder.

His scrunched face morphed into a grin the second we stepped outside. “Sure about that?”

A blanket of snowflakes coated us on its way to the ground.

Eyes lighting up, Jaycee held out her hands and squealed. “This is awesome!”

I pitched a brow at her. “Snow in October is awesome?” How about,
wrong
?

Apparently, I was outnumbered.

Trevor moonwalked up the sidewalk. “Sweet. The roads will be perfect for doughnuts.” He spun in a circle. “No way you’ll have as much fun driving home with Jae.”

I bunched the top of my jacket together to block out the snowy wind. “Think I’ll take my chances.”

“Your call.” Stopping at the corner, he flaunted a devilish grin at Jaycee. “Race you home.”

Learning to trust never stopped, did it?

Jaycee put on her game face. “I got this, girl.”

Glad one of us did.

Dad’s words followed me on the drive back to the campus, along with the snowfall. It’d covered everything by the time we parked in front of our apartment.

I cautiously inched up to the door while Jaycee glided from one foot to the other with the poise of a seasoned ice skater.

Trevor snuck up and grabbed our hands. “Don’t even think about it. This is too much fun to miss.” We slid back down the walkway into our private winter wonderland.

Jaycee twirled in the grass. The streetlight illuminated the misty snowflakes collecting on her gloves. Trevor gave me one good spin, then scooped Jaycee up from behind.

“That one’s a keeper.”

All three of us followed the unexpected sound toward A. J., reclining against the lamppost, taking a picture with his phone.

A second later, a snowball landed smack into his amused smile.

One glance between him and Trevor sent Jaycee and I running for cover inside the stairwell before we got caught in the crossfire. A snowball streaked down the glass door and blurred A. J.’s mischievous grin on the outside. Gripping the door handle, Jaycee and I leaned back on our heels to keep the guys from opening it.

As if that was a fair fight. Two handfuls of icy snow snuck inside, slid down our hair, and seeped under the lining of our shirts. The guys’ laughter almost out-rang our squeals.

A. J. brandished another snowball grenade in front of the door. “You think a doubled layer of glass is gonna protect you?”

Overpowered, we stumbled backward into the stairs. The guys swept us up by the waists and hauled us back outside. We all tumbled onto the powder-coated ground, where Dad’s promise overshadowed every other uncertainty. At least, for now.

Jaycee’s arms and legs carved wings into the white canvas. “What’s a snowfall without a few angels?” She popped me in the arm when I didn’t join her. “Don’t be such a grownup.”

Casting reservation aside, I retreated to the simplicity of childhood. “Snow angels and friendship. The answers to all life’s problems.”

She wove her gloved fingers with mine. “Don’t forget coffee.”

Our laughter flitted around us with the snowy white fireflies landing on our cheeks. No telling how long we lay there, taking it all in. Time melted into the translucent icicles stretching from tree branches. Yet even against such a stunning backdrop, their friendship added the stroke of artistry I’d remember the most.

A. J.’s smile caught mine and stirred a residual ache from Riley’s call last night. The compressed snow soaked into my goose bump-covered skin with the reminder that I couldn’t live without opening my heart. It wouldn’t let me. No matter the risk.

I pulled myself up by the backs of my knees and brushed the snow from my hands.

Trevor snagged the edge of my coat. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sorry, guys.” I hobbled to my feet and motioned to the apartment. “I have something I need to take care of.”

I kicked my shoes off inside the doorway, grabbed a fleece blanket from the back of the couch, and cuddled it around my shoulders on my way down the hall.

In my room, I sat at my desk, not bothering to change out of my damp clothes. A thin, colorful object at the base of my desk lamp caught the light and my focus. The laminated leaf from the first time Riley brought me to the clearing in the woods kept its post by my bedside. Unwavering. Steadfast. Just like our love was supposed to be.

Holding the leaf in my hands brought a cascade of memories from the woods to life. Months after I’d lived them, they burned with the same intensity. Pulse racing from the way Riley held my eyes across the field. Stomach fluttering from the electricity that followed his touch. Even then, his love had grounded me in who I was and who I wanted to be. Always.

I tapped Riley’s number, twirled the tangible reminder of that certainty between my fingers, and waited for his voice to become more than a memory.

“Emma?” he yelled into the phone.

“Riley? Where are you?”

The blaring music and screaming voices in the background answered my question. Whichever concert it was, he had to be in the first five rows.

I risked returning the phone to my ear.

“I can’t hear you with all the noise,” he hollered again. “Hold on.”

I’m trying.

The music tapered until the roar of wind replaced it. He must’ve stepped outside.

“Okay, you there?” he asked at a normal decibel this time.

“Yep.”

“Where’ve you been? I’ve been calling you since we got cut off last night.”

“Yeah, sorry. I needed some time to think.” Whether I wanted to or not.

The wind’s murmur filled another pause.

“Em, I don’t even know what to say. I thought we’d be done recording by now.”

I held the leaf close, searched for words. “Do you want to stay?”

The silence ached with the answer I already knew.

All this time, I thought I was being brave. I told Austin I wasn’t afraid anymore, yet that’s all I’d been. It was time to stop pretending.

This summer had rewritten my life’s usual script with one glorious interlude, but love required more than summertime romance. It required sacrifice. Selflessness. Putting his heart above my own the same way he’d done for me last year. If I truly loved him, how could I do anything less? Regardless of the risk, that kind of love was the only one worth opening my heart to.

“I’m really happy for you. You’re right where you should be. Your album is going to be phenomenal. Just like your entire career will be. And I get to be your number one fan from back home. That’s in the fiancée contract, right?” A tremble shook in my laugh.

“Em, don’t—”

“No, it’s fine. I mean it. I don’t want you to worry about me.” I returned the leaf to the empty spot against my desk lamp but didn’t let go. “I love you, Riley.” Enough to be willing to let him spread his wings. Even if he never came back.

chapter twenty-five

Illusion

Warmth reflected through the living room window and kissed my skin with the illusion that fall hadn’t submitted to the beginning of winter.

Some days it was easier to live under an illusion.

I looped my scarf twice around my neck. “See you later, Jae.”

She met me at the door and handed me my gloves. “Be careful.”

I peeked out the window again. The semester’s nonstop pace left the weeks it stole buried somewhere under the frost-coated ground. How could we be in November already?

“If your Fiat can handle slick roads, Riley’s Civic will be fine.” I zipped up my coat and shoved down thoughts of him staying in Nashville. If the last few weeks of strained conversations were any indication, he’d probably want his car shipped there soon. Maybe A. J. could help me find my own.

I tucked my glove-protected hands inside my pockets, wishing I could insulate my heart instead.

Outside, the sight of A. J. and Ashlea at the end of the walkway brought me up short. He rested against his car, ankles crossed. Frozen pieces of his perfectly manicured hair dangled over his forehead.

Ashlea paced in front of him as though torn between wanting to guard him from an oncoming predator and knowing she needed to release a broken dream. A scathing glance sent an arctic chill climbing over me.

I dropped off the stoop onto the salt-covered walkway and headed into the wind and whatever came with it.

Stopping a few feet in front of them, I looked up long enough to extend a non-verbal hello. The fatigue encamped around Ashlea’s reddened eyes shot mine right back down.

We each hovered in place with our gazes darting away from the center of our three-person circle. The longer we stood, the farther apart the energy pushed us.

A. J.’s keys jingled against the car. “I thought you might want a ride today.”

“Oh, um, actually, Trey said something last week about needing extra vehicles for some sort of cleaning project he’s got planned for today. I think he needs us to tote some boxes over to Office Max to use their shredder.” And I needed time to refocus.

A look of question tinted his eyes, but he bowed his head in a nod. “I’ll meet you there.”

Our gazes fluttered clumsily around each other one more time. With an awkward smile, I turned one hundred and eighty degrees and hurried across the street. I didn’t look over my shoulder until I reached the top of the stairs leading to the lower level parking lot.

A. J. held Ashlea in a way that honored the delicateness of her fragile heart and broke my own. I told A. J. with enough time, brokenness would heal. What if I was wrong?

I jogged down the flight of stairs, the descending slope a mirror image of my thoughts. If giving it time meant I could lose love, would it cost me friendship too?

The half-hour drive to the center hadn’t helped. Parked outside, I inhaled deeply.
The kids. Focus on the kids.
They needed stability.

I entered the office—smile in place, traces of emotional turbulence hidden. That is, from everyone except Trey. The door hadn’t even closed behind me, and his superpower vision had already laser beamed straight through my mask.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yep.” I flew past him to my desk without slowing to make eye contact.

The front door creaked open. Though every kid in the room looked up at A. J., I doubted they understood the look of uncertainty on his face. Unlike Trey apparently did.

He stopped A. J. before he reached my desk, stretched an arm across his raised shoulders, and steered him in the opposite direction. “I could really use your help today. . . .”

Their conversation waned behind the door of the adjacent room.

I slumped in my chair and craned my head toward the ceiling.

A slight tug on my sleeve solicited the attention of a towheaded girl, no more than four, perched at my side. We weren’t equipped to take in kids her age, but it was hard to turn them down when they had nowhere else to go.

“Abby.” I scooted back my chair. “Now, where did you come from? You’re not using that invisibility cloak again, are you?” My animated voice could’ve passed for my first grade teacher’s.

Lopsided pigtails slapped the sides of her face as she shook her head and sprang on one foot in search of a way into my lap.

In a shirt at least one size too small for her, a pair of stained jeans, and worn canvas sneakers that looked like third-generation hand-me-downs, she giggled with the kind of joy her socioeconomic status couldn’t touch.

She tugged on my shirtsleeve and my heartstrings while waving a piece of paper in the air.

I situated her in my lap. “What’s this?”

“I drew you a picture.”

“Wow.” I spread the wrinkled page on my desk. “You drew this all by yourself?”

She’d crayoned an asymmetrical rendition of a girl in a triangular dress next to a much shorter stick figure with bows in her pigtails and coordinating hot pink shoes.

I squeezed her in my arms. “Is this a picture of you and me?”

She nodded with enough gusto for those adorable pigtails to bop me in the face this time.

I withdrew a box of crayons from my drawer. “How about we finish it together? Which color do you want me to use?”

Her little chubby finger moved from her lip to a florescent green crayon on the back row.

“This one?” I pulled it all the way out. “Okay, now you pick one for you.”

Her hand darted for the fuchsia crayon, a newly claimed treasure.

“Great choice.”

The worries darkening my heart faded behind the vibrant colors filling the piece of paper on my desk. Our picture was now complete with a florescent green sun beaming above two peach-colored stick figures with fuchsia hair and coordinating dresses.

Nothing compared to the priceless artwork of a four-year-old. Did Dee know at Abby’s age what kind of talent he had? Did he ever imagine he’d get to pursue art in college? And where was he? I hadn’t seen him today.

Trey stopped inside the doorway and knelt to the floor. “Abby!”

She slid out of my lap and raced to Trey’s open arms as if seeing her daddy come home from an extended absence.

I fanned through some papers for distraction. Sometimes, watching Trey fill the vacant role of a father figure to many of these kids was simply too much.

He shifted Abby onto one hip and planted a fist on the other. “Are you sure you’re only four years old? Because I think you look just as tall as your big sister.”

Abby beamed, and I couldn’t help wondering how Jim Brake—or anyone else—could ever miss the center’s impact. With or without a benefactor, we had to keep that mission going.

Trey carried her off into the classroom, where the other kids were busy working on assignments or projects.

He plodded back into the office a few hours later.

I leaned on my elbows. “Did they let you escape?”

“I think A. J. has things under control for now.” Trey bottomed into his chair and slouched over the pile of bills I’d left on his desk. His glasses drifted to the end of his nose.

I studied his face, worn with exhaustion. “Long day?”

He let out a raspy chuckle. “And the night’s still young.”

A shared smile led us back into our work. The evening seemed to disappear much faster than the accumulation of papers on my desk. Before I knew it, a stampede of unbridled kids flooded the office on their way to the basketball court or off to the streets.

A. J. maneuvered through a maze of kids half his size and started to close in on another attempt to reach me. “Em, can we talk?”

“Emma,” Trey said, already standing in front of my desk. “Would you mind filing these papers in the storage boxes in the basement?”

A. J. reached to intercept the stack, but Trey cut him off. “I could really use a pair of sturdy hands to help me lug these boxes out to my car. Do you mind?”

A. J. looked from me to Trey, obviously catching on to his intentional interruptions. He shouldered the box Trey’d practically thrust into his gut and muttered a tight-lipped, “Sure.”

At the top of the staircase, I flipped the light switch on. Then off. Then on again. Maybe a jolt in electricity would increase the flicker of light coming from the basement.

Yeah right.

I held the papers to my stomach and eased onto the first step. The wooden plank released a drawn-out moan followed by the patter of dirt falling onto boxes underneath it. The air seemed to thicken with each step down the dingy staircase. I’d been to the cobwebby dungeon once before—in daylight with the company of much braver people.

I dropped off the last step. The cold slab reached through the soles of my sneakers. Something touched my ankles. I jumped away from the stairs toward the center of the room.

A small window chiseled into the concrete wall added a miniscule amount of light to the struggling bulb dangling from the ceiling. The far corners of the rectangular basement drifted out of sight into non-ending shadows. Though the damp smell of papers reminded me of an old library, this was the last place I wanted to linger. The sooner I got these papers filed, the sooner I could leave.

By the time I’d finally located the correct storage box, I had enough dust covering my arms to feel like I’d just bathed in insulation.

I reached the top of the stairs in less than four gymnast-worthy strides. Leaning against the back of the door, heart racing, I laughed.
Teaches me to watch scary movies.

A string of incoming jokes was sure to erupt any second, but Trey wasn’t in the office. In fact, no one was. The stillness in the deserted room bled into the eeriness sweeping up my legs through the bottom of the basement door.

Where was everyone?

I wandered outside. The goose bumps prickling over my arms intensified. Wind rushed around the corner and tore through my body. I pressed one palm to the bricks and the other over my chest. Each icy inhale scraped down my throat.

With my hand grazing the wall for support, one forced step led to another. A flurry of commotion rattled down the walkway from the main street. A scream stopped me in my tracks, then thrust me into a sprint to the front of the building without another thought.

A stagnant odor of perspiration hovered over a throng of people standing shoulder to shoulder on the corner. I plowed through the crowd, not caring who or how hard I pushed. Short, shallow breaths fueled the engine of adrenaline pushing me forward.

I broke through the final curtain of people and clasped someone’s arm to keep from falling, but it didn’t matter. With one look, I lost any shred of stability I had left.