Echoes of Silence (Unquiet Mind Book 1) (2 page)

I swallowed a giggle at his blatant cursing. Mom never cursed in front of me. It was funny really. Every kid in school did, as well as every character in most movies we watched, but it was something she didn’t do. So I followed suit; it was instinctual to mimic some of my mom’s beliefs and habits. I didn’t particularly like cussing either. Maybe it was a throwback from my favorite books; you didn’t see Jane Eyre cussing like girls my age did these days.

“That’s what they told me at the hospital,” Mom replied dryly, and I noticed she had to tear her gaze away from Zane to address the man who spoke.

Something niggled in my belly at that gaze.

“You’re shittin’ me! There’s no way you’re old enough to have a kid,” he argued.

This was not an unusual response when people found out Mom was my mom and not the sister she looked like. She had me young, like really young, and she barely looked old enough to have a kid, let alone a sixteen-year-old like me. We were basically imprints of each other. We both had white, curly blonde hair, though I wore mine longer and didn’t tame it near as much as Mom did. We were both pale and petite, but I had a dusting of freckles along my nose that my mom didn’t.

Freckles.

My stomach flipped at that thought and my gaze cut to Killian. His eyes bore into mine as if they had been on me the entire time.

“Tell that to the doctors who cut her out of me sixteen years ago. I’d like to think I didn’t undergo major surgery for nothing,” my mom responded in her—and my—trademark sarcastic manner.

I was surprised when all of the scary biker dudes around us started chuckling at Mom’s words. It wasn’t that Mom wasn’t funny, she was, but these men looked serious—hot, but serious. It was comforting to see they had a sense of humor; it made them less intimidating.

“To formally introduce you, this is the fruit of my loins, otherwise known as Lexie.” Mom held her arms out, pointing to me as if she was presenting a prize bull.

I smiled warmly at all of them and did a little wave. “Hey,” I greeted, feeling comfortable with them for some unknown reason. I was a friendly person, but I didn’t always click with people straight away. These men, believe it or not, made me feel at ease.

Well, almost all of them. I could feel Killian’s gaze on me. I definitely did not feel at ease with him.

“I’m Cade,” a dark-haired, tall, and slightly menacing man replied, looking between Mom and me. His eyes seemed to be hard and soft at the same time. He was built, not as much as Zane, but big. And, like the rest of them, with the exception of Killian, he had various tattoos covering his body.

A blond man who was slightly leaner, but still big and had an awesome man bun grinned warmly. “And I’m Brock. Pleased to meet you both.” He directed his grin to Zane, but it was more teasing. “You already seem to know
Zane.
” He emphasized his name; I guessed because he had first introduced himself as “Bull” when he changed our tire. I had refused to believe that was his actual name, and he explained, in clipped sentences, that it was his “road name.” Zane was his real name. I liked it much better and felt it suited him more.

“Yeah, Zane totally saved our skin the other day when Mom got a flat,” I explained since Mom seemed to have turned mute while staring at Zane. “Mom can’t change one,” I added, baiting her only a little.

My statement hit its intended mark and her gaze cut to me. “I can change one,” she all but hissed at me.

I grinned at her. “Uh no, Mom, hence your suggestion to call AAA when we saw it,” I teased.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I had yet to consume an ounce of caffeine that morning,
doll
,” she gritted out with a forced smile. “I barely had control over my fine motor skills, let alone be able to change a tire. I’m sure if the occasion arose again and I was properly caffeinated, I could change a tire, no problem,” she informed not only me but the men in the group.

“I’m
so
sure.” My tone may have been teasing, but I felt a little barb at the thought. I realized I didn’t
want
my mom to have to do things like this alone. She deserved a partner, one who would help her with more than changing tires. I wanted happiness for my mom more than anything, especially since I’d be going to college in two years. I didn’t want to leave her alone.

“Mullet photo,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth in warning. It was her way of urging me against things. It was a threat to post a photo of baby me in a mullet on the Internet for all to see. It was not pretty.

She moved her attention away from me and back to the men who had been watching our exchange. “So I’m just going to circle back to the good news portion of this announcement. You mentioned we could still make our movie, despite your dire diagnosis of Betty,” she said to the man in the coveralls.

I hadn’t been aware that our car was in dire straits. Then again, the sounds it was making weren’t entirely natural. I wasn’t exactly cut up over the turn of events. My eyes locked with Killian once more. Not cut up at all.

“Betty?” Brock repeated, jolting my eyes away from Killian’s.

“Betty’s our car,” I answered for Mom once more.

“You named your car?” he asked in disbelief, looking at Mom.

“I didn’t name her, Lexie did. She was ten and decided a car such as this required a name,” Mom said quickly, embarrassment in her tone. It was unfamiliar. Mom never got embarrassed, even that time at a parent-teacher conference when she spilled coffee all down her white shirt, rendering it see-through. She had laughed it off and exclaimed, “I paid enough for this bra, at least someone gets to see it.”

“I didn’t technically name her,” I corrected, leaning against the car. “I merely broached the concept of naming the car. You were the one who christened her Betty.”

I may have been being slightly evil to my dearly beloved mother, but it was kind of entertaining seeing her flustered and also educating. Yes, these men were rather attractive and slightly intimidating with their biker cuts, but Mom wasn’t easily intimidated. I had a weird feeling it was Zane doing this to her. I nurtured this tiny thought and the idea of Zane smiling at one of Mom’s jokes.

“Only because all of the names you came up with were utterly ridiculous and didn’t suit the car’s personality,” Mom shot at me, finding her tongue.

“A car has personality?” Brock asked, half choking on a laugh.

Mom thrust her hand out to the car in question. “This particular car does. Some obviously do not. Like a Toyota Corolla or Volvo, any make. A cherry red VW Beetle on the other hand....”

She didn’t say any more; she didn’t need to, I thought. Betty spoke for herself, though that was a sixteen-year-old girl’s opinion; hot bikers might have other ideas.

“Okay, we’re getting off-track again,” Mom said, giving me a pointed glare. “The previews are lost to us at this rate, so we need to get back on track.”

I was happy to forfeit our much-enjoyed previews to watch Mom like this and to sneak gazes at Killian every now and then, feel his eyes constantly on mine.

Cade shook his head. “I’m guessing there’s no such thing as staying on track in a conversation with you two,” he deduced, correctly. Mom and I had a tendency to go off on tangents when the mood took us. It was part of our charm.

Luckily, it seemed that the men thought this was an amusing quality and chatted warmly and even gave us a loaner car to take in the meantime. Since it wasn’t quite ready for us to use, we couldn’t use it to go to the movies. Lucky, the smiling bald one in the coveralls had not only offered to take us, but to come with us. It was obvious, even to someone as inexperienced with such things as me, he was interested in Mom.

It must have been obvious to someone with even more experience since Zane’s face had turned positively stormy at Lucky’s suggestion.

He had stepped forward and all but barked at Lucky, declaring he would take us. I didn’t quite understand the dynamics of this gesture, but it filled me with warmth.

Zane didn’t want Mom going to the movies with Lucky. That meant something, even if he spoke in grunts basically the entire ride to the theater and barely even smiled. He had insisted on paying for all the snacks and I caught moments of Zane glancing at Mom with something in his eyes. I’d even used my brilliant skills to make them sit together.

I had been completely and utterly pleased with myself when Zane dropped us back at the garage to pick up our loaner car after the movie. “See you later, Zane,” I said with a grin as I opened the door. “You totally like it, I can tell. So you’ll come next time as well?” I asked hopefully. Mom and I had a weekly tradition of going to the movies. It was nice having his silent presence with us.

He gave me a little eye smile, his hard eyes crinkling almost imperceptibly at the edges. He never smiled with his mouth, for whatever reason, but that was his way.

“Maybe, Lex.”

I beamed at him. “Saaweet, catch you later,” I called, jumping out of the truck.

My plan was to give him and my mom a moment together. Most of it, anyway. A little part of me hoped I’d see Killian once more. It had only been two hours. I barely knew him, but I was hungry for his gaze. My eyes searched the bays, which had a few people in coveralls milling about. I then moved my gaze to what I guessed was the clubhouse. There was a grassed area in the front, and a few men milled about, wearing the same leather cuts as Zane. I squinted to see better.

“Want me to go and ask them if they’d be willing to sit while you paint them?” a voice said at my side.

I jumped at my mom’s presence. I had been unaware she’d gotten out of the truck so quickly.

I pasted a grin on my face. “I’ve got what I need. I’ll do it from memory,” I shot back.

She rolled her eyes and slung her arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get you out of here before you decide to get yourself a motorcycle,” she said, directing us away from the clubhouse.

I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder in one last ditch effort to see him. He would have forgotten about me already, I was sure.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was ridiculous. Boys were never on my radar, never even in my stratosphere. I read countless books about every subject under the sun, every great literary work I could get my hands on. The Bronte sisters, Dickens, Fitzgerald. I listened to every song that I considered necessary to my existence. Kurt Cobain. Bob Dylan. Jim Morrison. Stevie Nicks. All of the things that were a part of my soul, most of them were inspired by, sparked by, and created by love and infatuation. So I was familiar with the concept, in an abstract sense.

But never in my wildest dreams did I think I would actually be feeling something akin to what some of my favorite works had been inspired by. I was smart to know it wasn’t love, that was positively ridiculous, but seeing his inky black hair and smoke drifting out of his mouth every time I closed my eyes was bordering on insane.

Mom had drilled me after we got home from the movie with Zane. Luckily, I was able to blow her off by speaking casually about Killian, which was not something that would normally work. My mom and I were in tune, and her hatred for literary greatness aside, she was sharp. She would have known there was something more that I was hiding about Killian.

That was if she hadn’t been preoccupied with another man who had been at the garage.

Zane.

I knew she was also trying to hide whatever it was between them, but I wasn’t an idiot, and though adults liked to think teenagers are blind to such things, I saw it. I saw perhaps more than Mom saw.

I saw Zane. I saw beyond that tough-guy image he seemed to hide behind. He had something haunting him. I couldn’t even start to think of what it was, but I knew by the way he looked at Mom, she might be able to help. He might be able to help Mom with what haunted her too.

She thought I didn’t see that either. She tried so hard to be happy and give me a life of laughter, which she did. I considered myself the luckiest girl ever to have a mom who doubled as a best friend and to have Steve and Ava, who weren’t my blood but I considered grandparents. I treasured the love I had around me. But I also saw the shadows that crossed over Mom’s face when she thought I wasn’t looking and the funny way she looked at Steve and Ava when I had first asked about the father I never knew. I knew there was something deeper, something potentially ugly hiding in my mom’s past, something she was most likely protecting me from.

I wished with the romantic wish that our lives might turn into some novel. That Mom and Zane would fall in love, and they’d cure each other and we’d make Zane smile again. We smiled and laughed all the time. Something told me Zane needed to smile and laugh too.

That’s what I was thinking of when I shut my locker, how to match make my mom and Zane. So I jumped when I realized someone was leaning against the one next to mine.

Someone who I had been dreaming about.

“Freckles,” he greeted, his eyes glued to mine.

“Um... Killian, hey,” I stuttered, while shuffling my books in my hand so I didn’t drop them at his feet like a klutzy idiot.

In one smooth move, my books were out of my arms and safely stacked in his muscled ones.

The bell rang and he pushed off the locker.

“You don’t have to carry my books,” I argued quickly, aware that various kids walking past us were staring. Girls in particular. I knew they were most likely staring daggers at me. I didn’t make friends easy, thanks to the fact I listened to my headphones or read a book at lunch. So I hadn’t exactly clicked with a girl posse just yet. But I knew how the girls swooned over Killian. Everyone did. I had been hyperaware of him ever since that day at the garage a few days ago.

“What class you got?” he asked, ignoring my question and ignoring the stares we were getting. He seemed genuinely unaware; every ounce of his attention was on me. It was unnerving to say the least. People, especially teenagers, never gave you their complete attention. They were on their phones, or their eyes were half glazed over. Maybe that’s why I preferred the small handful of friends I had back at my old school, that and Mom, Steve, and Ava. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t made any friends here yet.

“Calculus,” I said automatically; I couldn’t help the dread in my voice. I hated it with a passion. But I was also a perfectionist, so despite my distaste for it, I worked hard to get decent grades. I needed more than decent grades to get a scholarship.

Killian grinned slightly at something and turned in the direction of the class. “Let’s go then. Wouldn’t want you to be late for a class you’re obviously itching to get to,” he deadpanned.

I got into stride beside him. “You’re hilarious. Anyone who actually likes calculus needs their head examined,” I informed him seriously.

He gave me a sideways glance and our shoulders brushed against each other as we walked. The casual touch and his proximity seemed to make all of my nerve endings fizz as if I’d gotten a mild electric shock. I instinctively touched my hair to make sure it wasn’t awry with wild static.

Killian followed my hands, his eyes intense. “Don’t worry. Your head doesn’t need to be examined. It’s beautiful,” he said softly. “Though I wouldn’t be averse to examining it, if pressed.”

My breath left me in a whoosh at his words. I actually tripped over my feet, like an idiot.

He stopped to catch me, no easy feat considering he was carrying my books. His hand grasped my elbow, and his eyes burned into mine. “Easy, Freckles,” he murmured. “Don’t want to be damaging that pretty head, do we?”

The moment seemed to yawn on forever, the crowd of students dissipating, everything leaving that moment like it did at the garage days ago.

“Shouldn’t you be getting to your next class, instead of accosting our newest student, Mr. Decesare?” a voice jolted us out of our little universe once more. This one was stern.

My head snapped to the source of it, though I noticed Killian’s eyes were still firmly on me.

A short man stood in front of us. Half of his head was bald, and he’d gone to great pains to comb over what little he had left. The result was not effective. His face was pinched, and somehow I was immediately reminded of a ferret. He was wearing an ill-fitting tweed suit and terrible, clunky, black shoes. He was also glaring at Killian like he was responsible for climate change. I vaguely remembered him as the vice principal. I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name. I was in danger of forgetting my own when I was in Killian’s presence.

“Mr. Decesare?” he repeated with impatience, eyes narrowing even more as Killian studiously ignored him.

I moved my gaze back to those eyes that were still staring at me; they twinkled slightly, and Killian gave me a small grin before he turned his head. He raised his brows at the vice principal with impatience of his own, somehow managing to look like he was the one disciplining him.

He didn’t say anything, merely waited.

“Do you want another detention, Mr. Decesare?” the vice principal finally gritted out.

Killian grinned. “Not particularly,” he responded.

The vice principal’s cheeks turned red. “Well, I advise you get to your next class and subject some poor teacher to your insolence, instead of Ms. Spencer here,” he instructed harshly.

I pursed my lips together in anger that wasn’t familiar. I was immediately annoyed at the way he was talking to Killian, the lack of respect and downright hostility in his demeanor.

I stepped forward. “It’s my fault,” I explained. “I was lost, and Killian was helping me find my way.”

The teacher regarded me warily. The sharp barb of hatred was gone from his gaze now that it was directed at me, but a shadow of it remained. On Killian’s account, I guessed, for whatever reason.

His mouth turned into a cruel smile. “Well, I doubt Mr. Decesare would be much help, considering he barely goes to his own classes. You’re probably more likely to get lost with him as your guide than going it alone.” His gaze darted to the dwindling amount of students left in the corridor. He stopped one boy in a football jacket on his way past. “Mr. Louis, would you do Ms. Spencer the favor of escorting her to her next class?” he asked, though it wasn’t exactly a question, merely a command with a question mark at the end.

“Mr. Louis” was a boy I’d seen around a few times. He was almost always surrounded by boys in matching football jerseys and various girls, most of them cheerleaders, and some of whom glared at me not five minutes ago when I had been walking with Killian. He was your quintessential jock—tall, handsome with wavy blond hair, tanned skin, and lean muscles. I didn’t really like to categorize people like that, in stereotypes that never captured the complexity of the human spirit, but it was hard when he seemed to fit it to a T. Everyone was more comfortable playing preconceived parts in high schools, ascribing to identities constructed for them.

His blue eyes ran down my body, and he showed me white teeth when he made it back to my face. “I’d like nothing more,” he responded with a grin.

I felt Killian step forward, his heat at my back. My gaze flickered to him and any hint of the previous teasing, softness he had had with me disappeared. His jaw was hard and his eyes were glittering with fury.

“That’s really not—” I tried to protest.

“I must insist. I have some business to discuss with Mr. Decesare,” the vice principal interrupted me.

Killian took another step forward, slightly in front of me, first glowering at the vice principal in a way I didn’t think he was capable of. It was full of menace. Of promise. It was not the way a teenager looked at an adult. The way he stared at him, Killian switched the positions of power somehow, exhibiting an aura of assertiveness, one that made the vice principal look painfully small.

“Those her books? I’ll take those, thanks, bro?” Jayden—I thought that was his name—held out his hands to Killian, smiling at him.

Killian stared at him for a long moment, and I actually thought something—I’m not sure what—bad would happen. Then he seemed to shake himself out of it, purposefully turning to me, books still in his hands. He handed them to me pointedly.

“Catch you around, Freckles,” he said. It wasn’t a casual phrase the way most people used it. It was a promise.

We stared at each other for another long moment before he stepped back. I almost sighed out loud at the loss of him.

Jayden immediately stepped forward. “Should we go? Don’t want you to be late. What class you got?” he asked as if the tension hadn’t been stifling just moments before.

I tore my gaze away from Killian, who was still staring at me. “Calculus,” I said finally.

“Sweet, me too,” he said, sounding pleased. There was a slight pressure at my lower back as Jayden lightly touched me, turning us away from Killian and the vice principal, whom I held a serious distaste for.

I looked over my shoulder at Killian, who was flat out ignoring the vice principal and was glaring at Jayden’s hand.

“Though Mr. Hazelton is a total prick at the best of times, I will thank him for giving me the opportunity to talk to the pretty new girl,” Jayden said, causing politeness to kick in, which meant I had to look at him. Plus, I couldn’t very well stroll down the corridor staring at Killian. I’d smack into something and look like an idiot.

I didn’t really know what to say to something like that; luckily, he didn’t seem to expect a response.

“Jordan,” he said, pointing to his chest. Okay, not Jayden, but I was close.

“Lexie,” I replied quietly, shuffling my books.

He nodded to them. “Want me to take those?”

I held them tighter. “I’m good,” I said firmly. Stupid as it was, there was something decidedly intimate about the way Killian had taken my books. I didn’t want it to be taken away with Jordan doing it.

He didn’t seem offended, just nodded. “So, where’d you move here from?” he asked, doing a chin lift to a couple of boys who walked past us.

“Um, DC,” I replied, not liking the smiles they exchanged when they looked from me to him.

“DC, sweet. You’re going to find it pretty boring here in Amber. There’s a lot less to do than in the big city,” he informed me, directing us into the classroom.

“Boring’s good,” I told him.

He gave me a strange look, then sat us down amidst people who I didn’t know, but he exchanged greetings with. I desperately wanted to sit off in the corner on my own where I could labor over equations in silence, but I didn’t have much of a choice.