Rewind to You (22 page)

A tender nerve twists in my heart. Could he possibly mean that? I would give anything to see my dad, and yet Austin never wants to see his again. At least that’s what he says.

“Lunch is served!” Debbie flashes a smile.

Austin extends his hand to help me up. “Lunch?”

I check my cell for the time.

“And then you’d better get back, right?” he says. “Just in case.”

I accept his hand and stand. “My mom told me Spencer and I will be packing our bags for home if I mess anything up with Kyle this weekend.” I skip over the part about her slapping me across the face.

Austin’s eyebrows pull together. “I take it she’s not the type to throw out ultimatums she doesn’t mean.”

“No.”

He shakes his head, no doubt thinking how crazy my mom can be. “Then you’d better not mess up, because I’m counting on your being here at least until the end of July.”

My fingers slip between his. I still haven’t asked him about Kyle’s arm. Still, I feel better after discussing his dad and the drugs. But feeling better about Austin only makes me more confused about Kyle, and I know this has to end. I can’t love them both.

“That stuff will kill you, you know,” I tease as Austin drinks his soda, sounding too much like my mom. “I’m kidding. Forget I said that.”

Austin winks as he tosses his unfinished can into the trash nonetheless, and we sit side by side for a meal that, just like this summer, will end too soon.

CHAPTER 33

Austin

I
search the passenger seat as I bring Uncle Mark’s old Buick to a stop at a red light. Turbo barks from the backseat. I turn to find the Saturday paper clutched in his slobbery mouth. I rip it from his teeth and glance at the sports page.

Five-star wide receiver Austin Hyrum Dobbs of Richmond (VA) could very well be the most promising wide receiver on the University of Florida roster. Holder of three Virginia state records in football through his junior year and two Georgia state records during his senior year alone, Dobbs has the skill to make both the long catch and the big play out of the short pass. Dobbs is an explosive runner with sharp instincts, making him one of the most highly touted Gator wide receivers since Peter Warrick. At 6’3“, 205 lbs., he is a tough opponent and will be ready to play from day one.

Six feet three inches and two hundred and five pounds? More like six feet two inches and two hundred. Actually, with all the pralines and cream I’ve been eating, I’m probably climbing my way up to two hundred and five now.

I park the car at The Westin, making a mental note to hit the gym hard next week. I hop out and start for the front door to say good-bye to everyone here. I gave my two-week notice two weeks ago. If Sienna will only be here for one more month, I’m going to spend as much of that time with her as I can.

A couple of kids run past, throwing poppers on the cement.
Snap. Spark. Snap.

I glance up, my feet coming to a halt.

Kyle.

There he is, sitting on a bench near the front door, fiddling with his iPhone and looking bored. He tosses something into his mouth, crunching down hard. He looks up, his jaw freezing in position mid-bite as he spots me.

Great. Just great.

The name “River Street Sweets” catches my eye as I close the distance between us. I glance at the tin of chocolates at Kyle’s side. “Breakfast?”

Kyle swallows. “Chocolate’s melting.”

“Ever tried their pralines?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Kyle throws a stiff glance at the girly-looking bag beside him, a huge thing with flowery fabric that’s filled with snacks, like he’s on his way to a cookout.

“It’s my mom’s.”

I nod.

“She forgot it,” he continues as though I don’t believe him. Really, I’ve got nothing to say to Kyle, so I reach for the front door. His phone buzzes, signaling a new text, and for some reason I stop. I glimpse Kyle checking his phone, and then our eyes connect.

“Sienna,” he informs me with a little grin, gesturing to his phone. He punches a quick reply message while I contemplate grabbing his phone and throwing it into the river.

“You got something to say, Dobbs?” Kyle glances down the street. “ ’Cause my parents are swinging by any minute now to get me.”

“Leaving early?”

His eyes swivel back to meet my gaze with a pointed glare. “You wish.”

One hard look into his eyes and I can see that he hates me as much as I hate him.

“Actually, we’re going to Sienna’s beach house for some parasailing, lunch, you know, spend the holiday over there.”

Oh, now he’s just trying to tick me off. And it’s working.

“Surfing, dinner,” he continues. “Then hit the beach again to watch fireworks together.”

Turbo bounds up just then, practically knocking Kyle off the bench. Silently satisfied with Turbo’s timing, I don’t try to stop him just yet.

Kyle scrambles back, holding his goody tin out of reach. “Get down, mutt!”

“Turbo, get down. I’m sorry,” I say, even though I thoroughly enjoyed watching every minute of it. Turbo sits obediently, wagging his tail.

“He’s yours?”

“Yep.”

Kyle sits back down with a huff. Oh, please. He thrusts the tin toward me, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Well, he slobbered all over them, so they’re his.”

Turbo barks in approval, and we both glance down in time to see a thick wad of drool hit the pavement.

Kyle winces.

“Thanks,” I say, “but he’s allergic.”

“To nuts?”

“And chocolate,” I say, just as Turbo sniffs his way to a chocolate-covered nut that hit the ground when he spooked Kyle. “Turbo, no.”

I kick the chocolate away.

“What, one nut is going to kill him?” Kyle laughs.

“Yeah, actually, it might.”

“Huh,” Kyle says with a short pause, just long enough for me to reach for the front door before one of us starts throwing punches. Honestly, what does Sienna see in this moron?

“Waiting tables again tonight? Fun way to spend the Fourth of July, I guess,” Kyle says, pulling me back. “Or will you and Drool Bag be puckering up as you watch fireworks together?”

That’s it. “What’s your problem?” I ask.

“I saw the way she looked at you,” Kyle says, “in the restaurant. Even with you wearing that dork-of-a waiter vest and your little apron.”

Turbo’s tongue pulls back into his mouth. A low growl rumbles in his throat, reminding me to not say anything that will let this get out of hand.

Too late.

“Maybe it took getting away from you to realize what she really wants.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing, freak?” Kyle asks, suddenly standing. “Playing the sympathetic dump truck for her to unload her sobs into? Oh, I’ve played that game. And I’ve reaped the benefits.”

“What are you—”

“You kissed her, didn’t you?” he says like it was a one-time deal.

Well, I have a news flash for him. I don’t fight the grin pulling at my lips. Rage shapes Kyle’s features, which only makes my smile spread.

“What else have you done to her?”

I take a step closer without thinking. “None of your business.”

I see the punch coming before he shifts forward. But the front door opens, and Kyle stops. I hold the door open as a lady walks out.

“We’re done here, Kyle,” I say when she’s out of earshot.

He grabs the newspaper from the bench and shoves it into my chest. I glance down at the sports page. “You stole that from me,” he says, his voice rising. “When you broke my arm. That should be me.”

I feel a sting of regret, despite my feelings toward this punk. He started that fight. I didn’t mean to break his arm, really. It just happened. I shoved him off me. Hard. His arm took the brunt of his fall when he crashed into the brick wall.

“Don’t think you can steal her from me, too,” he says. Somehow, we’re nose to nose now. A smug little smile outlines his face, reaching his eyes. “Did she tell you about the other night, how we made out on the beach?”

“Shut up.” I turn away.

“Come on, Dobbs,” Kyle says. “Come near her again and I’ll finish what we started at that grill.”

“Oh, that’s finished.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m not going to fight you, Kyle.”

“Then keep your hands off what isn’t yours.”

“I wonder what she’d think,” I say, ignoring him completely. “Most girls would think twice about their boyfriend—of
three years—
if they knew he was making out with someone behind their back. Does Sienna know? That girl you were all over at the grill wasn’t the only one, was she?”

Kyle looks blank, stunned.

“Do you love her?”

The question obviously throws him for a loop. I watch him for an answer.

Just as Kyle’s lips part to form a reply, a horn honks. I glance up at the SUV. Kyle’s parents.

“Wait here, Turbs,” I say and throw open the front door. “I’ll be right back.”

I let the door close behind me, leaving Kyle alone with his nuts and his flowery bag and no chance to have the last word.

I take another step toward the front door after saying good-bye to everyone and snagging a baseball cap I left, trying to break away from Jimmy, who is talking football again. I glance at the clock. Maybe I should have left Turbo in the car with the window down. Then again, it’s supposed to get up to ninety-five degrees today.

Finally I step outside, glad to see that Kyle took his flowery bag and left. I try not to think about where he’s going, to spend the holiday with Sienna, her mom, and Spencer, like one big happy family.

“Come on, Turbs,” I say, patting my leg. At least I have Turbo to watch fireworks with tonight. Yes, that’s exactly what my plan is.

It takes me a second to realize Turbo isn’t following. “Turbo?”

He whimpers in reply. I turn to see him lying down.

“Sorry for the wait, boy.” Still, what’s his deal? He’s acting almost depressed. Then he tries to stand, and I realize something’s wrong.

I crouch down. “Turbs?”

His hind legs tremble as he tries, and fails, to stand. My heart rate kicks up at the sight of his sudden weakness. Finally he stands, and I try to assure myself he’s fine even though he’s breathing like an old man. Maybe he’s just hot and tired. Coming down with something. I don’t know.

Then I see it.

I bend down, swipe my finger through the smudge of brown on the cement, and lift it to my nose.
Chocolate
. Glancing up, I see the remnants of nuts and chocolate sprinkled across the sidewalk, which can only mean one thing. I bolt over to Turbo, slip my finger between his lips, and pull his gums back.

Rage bleeds within me, seeping into every vein until my entire body is on fire. Turbo’s face is already beginning to swell. My clenched jaw grows numb as one name burns like acid on my tongue:
Kyle
.

The rest of the day hurls past me, a blurry haze punctuated by names, places, and emotions—Dr. Martin, Eastside Veterinary Hospital, and uncertainty as they induce vomiting and start medications—but most of all raw anger.

The sun is slowly descending into the horizon when the doctor approaches me. “We’d like to monitor him overnight.”

I exhale a long breath, one that feels like I’ve been holding it all day. Turbo is alive.

“There’s no way to put it lightly,” he continues. “The combination of chocolate and nuts is highly toxic. He’s in critical condition. My receptionist can go over finances for the treatments and Turbo’s overnight stay, if you have any concerns about—”

“I’ll pay whatever it takes,” I say. I swallow hard, not sure I want to hear the answer to my next question. “Will he be okay?”

One side of Dr. Martin’s lips shifts to form an unpromising grin. “It’s a good thing you got him here quickly. If Turbo didn’t have a particular sensitivity to nuts, we might have a better idea. We’ll definitely know more in the morning.”

Feeling nauseated, I slump into the driver’s seat of my uncle’s car. My phone rings. I ignore it. It vibrates, signaling a new voice mail, and I listen.

“Austin, hun”—Aunt Deb’s voice is wrapped in concern—“how’s Turbo? We haven’t heard from you since lunchtime. We’re worried about you. We saved you some chicken pot pie from dinner. Give us a call.”

Silence replaces her voice as the message ends. Numbness settles in as I slowly grasp what might still happen tonight to Turbo, the puppy I first held on my ninth birthday, the dog I could always count on, the friend that stood by me along the way.

Kyle did this.

Almost without thinking, I shove the key in the ignition and throw the car into drive.

In less than half an hour, I park on the gravel road, step out, and see exactly who I came here for. I let the door slam shut behind me, hoping Kyle hears. This is where I was headed after The Westin—to the beach with Turbo. The thought that I might never watch Turbo run on this shoreline again only adds coal to the fire.

Despite everything, I feel an eerie sense of calm as I cross the road and cut my way through the sand. A younger version of Kyle catches a Frisbee and tosses it back to his older brother. I don’t recognize anyone else. Sienna must be inside, and that’s a good thing.

Some guys fight to prove something. Others do it for the adrenaline rush. Then there are those who do it for no other reason than the pure satisfaction of watching the other guy bleed. Well, if I want to prove something, I’ll prove it on the football field. If I want an adrenaline rush, I’ll hop on my motorcycle. And satisfaction? Pralines ’n cream. But fighting? No, I don’t enjoy fighting. At least not usually.

He sees me a second before I swing him around and shove him back. Kyle staggers, barely catching himself.

“You did that on purpose—those nuts. Didn’t you?”

His fingers curl up as a twisted smile shapes his lips. “Now we’re even.”

I duck, barely missing his swing, but Kyle isn’t as lucky. My knuckles sink into his eye socket with a sickening sound. I grab his shirt before he has a chance to regain balance, and I throw him down, shoving him into the sand and pinning him beneath me. I pound into him again and again, all the anger of the past nine hours channeled into my fists.
He tried to kill my dog.