Page 35 of Tell Me Again
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Are you sure you’re ok with this?” Sam asked Trevor as she got out of her Range Rover in front of Foothills Junior High School later that week.
“I feel like I should ask you that question,” he said with a hint of a smile. “We’re going to a junior high band concert, and you look nervous as hell.” He lifted his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Beautiful, but nervous.”
She smoothed a hand over the bohemian-style ankle-length skirt she wore and adjusted the collar on her denim jacket. “I’m trying to blend in with the other moth—” She cleared her throat. “Family members.”
Trevor stopped walking and turned so he was blocking her path. “Are you hoping no one will recognize you?” he asked with a laugh. “When was the last time that happened?”
“I liked you better when you were the strong, silent type.” She poked him in the chest. “You need to shut your piehole right now.”
“My piehole,” he repeated slowly, staring at her as if a horn was growing out of her forehead.
She wished she had a horn as an excuse for her nerves. Maybe she wouldn’t feel like such an idiot. She took a step back before something else stupid, and possibly too revealing, popped unbidden from her mouth. “It’s too soon for this,” she said, more to herself than Trevor. “Tell Grace I couldn’t get out of class. I’ll see her tomorrow at camp.”
She whirled on the heel of her favorite pair of cowboy boots and took a step toward her SUV just as Trevor made a noise. A noise she’d never heard from him. Glancing over her shoulder, she narrowed her eyes. “Did you just squawk at me?”
He made the noise again.
“What the hell is that?” she asked, even though she had a pretty good idea.
“It’s me imitating a chicken,” he said calmly. “Or in this caseyou.” He squawked again.
He looked ridiculously handsome standing in front of her with that stupid noise coming out of his mouth. He wore a deep green button-down shirt tucked into dark jeans that fit him perfectly. He was tall and strong and so damn sure of himself and his place in this world.
The world of band concerts and plates of cookies with watered-down punch at the reception that was sure to follow. She’d been thrilled when Trevor had asked her to attend but then stupidly terrified of being a part of her niece’s life outside the safety of the summer camp.
When she was running the camp, it was easy to forget her reputation. It was easy to put on the baggy, stained jeans and shapeless T-shirts that acted as both her uniform and her armor. No one cared who she’d been before or what they thought they knew about her.
“Why do you even care?” she all but hissed at him.
“I don’t. Grace does.”
“It’s so simple for you.”
“Nothing about this is simple for me,” he corrected. “But I know what’s right.”
Must be nice, she thought, to have an internal compass that pointed you to right and wrong in black and white without all the confusing shades of gray. Her life was nothing but gray and she rarely trusted her gut without hours of second-guessing.
But despite their strange relationship, she trusted Trevor and she wanted to earn the same faith from him. Faith that she wouldn’t fail Grace the way she had Bryce.
“Ok,” she whispered then cleared her throat. “Let’s go.”
He gave her an approving nod, and it felt like she’d earned her own version of a camp patch for bravery.
As they walked into the school’s auditorium, she felt the weight of people watching her and, out of the corner of her eye, saw a few heads come together for furtive whispers. She hated her reputation and the choices she’d made when she was young and so damn insecure about her own self-worth. Normally she’d slap her world-weary mask back into place. She was an expert at pretending like the opinions of the people around her didn’t matter. At least until she’d met Kendall and Chloe.
Her friendship with them had pulled her into living in a way she wasn’t used to. They expected more from her, and she knew that being a part of Grace’s life would test her even more. She desperately did not want to fail.
Trevor waved to a few people and led her to a seat at the edge of one of the aisles of folding chairs. “You look like you’re sucking on a rotten egg,” he said as they sat.
“Sorry. I have horrible resting bitch face,” she muttered.
He grinned. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“It’s a thing. A bad one.”
“Relax, Sam. You belong here,” he whispered. “As much as anyone else.”
