Page 27 of Enemy Crush
William and I used to play out here, him riding his motorized go-kart and me pushing my dolls and teddy bears around in a pram. I’d climb the ladder up to the loft and take the toys up there to have a picnic. Dad had laid out straw and I had a striped blanket to sit on. I went over to the ladder, pulling on it to make sure it was secure, then tentatively climbed, just high enough so I could peek up. The space was smaller than I remembered—but I guessed I was little back then—and it was lined with various plastic crates.
Pulling myself up, I had to stay on my knees, too tall to stand upright. I crawled over the hard floor, littered with dust and dirt and remnants of straw, to the crates, awestruck to find them filled with toys. I smiled as I picked up dolls, animals and play sets I’d loved long ago. Especially the picnic basket with all the pretend food.
I opened each crate, rummaging through the many long-forgotten toys which also included a bunch of cars, trucks and action figures that belonged to William.
My phone pinged and I read Mom’s message:Key hidden beneath brickwork on back porch.
I scrambled down the ladder and dusted off my clothes, now taking notice of the rest of the area. The riding lawn mower was parked in a corner and a variety of gardening tools lined a wall.
I found the key taped under the ledge of the third brick, which was pretty ingenious. Letting myself in the back door, Iheaded for the refrigerator, my stomach reminding me that I was hungry. The slim pickings made me consider picking up my phone to order a pizza, but knowing Mom would fly into a rage over spending unnecessary money, I pulled out the frozen waffles again.
With a bit of luck, I wouldn’t burn them this time.
Chapter 9
MILLER
Ileft the front door open, knowing Mason would be home shortly and stood at the kitchen counter to make a peanut butter sandwich. It was Hamish scratching and pushing at the door that made me look up, and a flash of movement out the window caught my eye. Expecting it to be Mason, I moved to the door ready to greet him, only to come to a sudden stop. Quinn Devereaux was at our gate petting Hamish, and Hamish was loving it.
“Good boy,” I heard her say, which for some reason sent my heart into palpitations. I didn’t move a muscle, didn’t take a breath, stuck there next to the doorframe. Wondering why she was talking to my dog, wondering why I was hiding and suddenly shy.
But when I did make the decision to approach her, she’d already moved on down the Devereaux driveway. I let out a long exhale like I was relieved. But in truth, I wasn’t. I was disappointed. And annoyed. And ticked off with myself.
Because deep down I knew I’d frozen due to fear that I’d say something stupid, like I always did around her. Try to be funny but end up sounding rude or dumb. No matter that I called Quinn the enemy because of her snooty mother, she wasn’t the problem. No, the problem was me. Quinn was cute and full of class and style and I could pretend to hate her but in reality I wasn’t up to Quinn’s league, didn’t fit into her world. She was too smart, too rich, too sophisticated for little ol’ me who’d neverlived anywhere but Snow Ridge, never left the state and had no ambition to do so. I was no Ronan King or Chase Masters or Darwin Rune. I wasn’t cool or popular or sporty.
It took several attempts of calling before Hamish finally responded to his name and even then he was disinterested in me, only sniffing at my sandwich.
“Traitor,” I growled, pulling off a piece of bread for him. “Why do you like her? Did she give you a treat?” He took it and scarpered off outside. I sat down and ate the rest of my sandwich while scrolling through my phone, assuming Mason would be home at any minute. But I went down the rabbit hole of searching for Mustang parts and when Mason’s footsteps bounded on the front porch, I saw that over ten minutes had passed.
“Where have you been?” I asked in the same tone I’d used on Hamish.
“Just walking,” Mase mumbled, brushing past me.
“Who with?” I asked, but he’d already gone into his room.
Seemed no one wanted to be around me today, human or animal.
Riding my motorbike to school meant I wasn’t tethered to the bus schedule and could sleep a little longer. When I dragged myself out of bed, Mason had already left. My little brother was handling school better than I dreamed and was certainly more diligent than me with his studies. Noticing his book on the table, I was pleased he was mingling with others and not burying his nose in it.
I pushed his book aside as I sat down and made space for my bowl of cereal and glass of juice, thinking that nutritionally it was pretty good and would get a tick of approval. Health and Nutrition class had me analyzing everything I ate now. Frosted Flakes might have been high in sugar but according to the packaging they contained iron and B vitamins, and milk wasprotein and a good source of calcium and the OJ was full of Vitamin C. Miss Deeley hadn’t asked us to record our morning meal but it made me wonder what Quinn had eaten. I cringed at how I’d teased her about avocado toast, wishing I hadn’t been such a jerk. But it had been mildly surprising that she’d eaten pizza for dinner. And from Pizza Blast as well. Would have thought that Mrs. Devereaux was too good for that place.
I spooned every last flake into my mouth and pushed the bowl away, glancing at Mason’s book. It was kind of impressive how he could read such thick books—I flicked through the pages, checking the page count—467—but it was his makeshift bookmark that caught my eye. It was a folded envelope addressed to Mason Trask of Ambrose Lane. Heart beating faster, I drew it closer to me, examining the blue ink, the handwriting vaguely familiar.
Mason’s birthday had been in July and we’d celebrated with a day trip to the wildlife park, Mason’s choice. I could have done without the five hour round trip drive time but Mason wanted to see the bears. Admittedly, watching the cubs wrestling and playing and being fed was cute and Mase had loved it. And he was just as excited for the elk and bison and stopping for fast food on the way home.
I’d bought Mason a t-shirt and Gramps and Grandma had sent him a voucher for the bookstore and Dad’s friend, Earl had given him a big bag of candy. But I hadn’t known that Mom had sent him something. Because the size of the envelope looked just right for a birthday card.
Mom had left two weeks before my eighth birthday. We’d planned a trip to the transport museum in Pine Ridge, because I’d been a wheels geek back then. At that time, Dad said she’d gone to visit her parents who lived in Florida. She sent me a birthday card with a big rig on the front so I thought we’d still go to the museum.
But Mom never came back.
At first, Dad kept saying soon, she’ll be back soon, a few days, next week, always next week. I’d hear him on the phone late at night, whisper-shouting, distraught, throwing things, kicking things. It was months before he told us she wasn’t coming home. He read us a letter she sent but I didn’t hear anything beyond ‘Dear Miller and Mason, I love you so much but Mommy can’t stay with you anymore...”
On Christmas and our birthdays, she’d send Mase and me cards, but when I was ten, I sent her a letter saying I didn’t want her silly cards or anything from her ever again. They stopped coming and I thought that meant she finally got the message.
But was she still sending them to Mason? I hadn’t seen the envelope arrive, not that I ever checked the mailbox. But Mase had never told me, never shown me...what did that mean?
I grabbed my helmet, revving the throttle unnecessarily, filled with a wild rage. Had my own brother been keeping secrets from me? Did he have a relationship with our mother, the woman who had abandoned us?
