Page 64 of If I Could

KYLE

What the hellwas I thinking? I can’t be getting involved with Sage. So why did I agree to have lunch with her? And what the fuck was I doing kissing her? Again!

Every time I’m around her, I want to touch her. I can’t seem to stop myself. But then the touching leads to kissing, and today led to even more than that. If I keep this up, we’ll be having sex tonight, and as much as I want that, I shouldn’t do it.

Sage is a great girl but not for me. If the circumstances were different and I wasn’t running for my life, then yeah, I’d be doing everything possible to make Sage mine. She’s the type of girl I’ve always dreamed of meeting but didn’t think existed.

The girls I’ve dated in the past have all been shallow and demanding and wouldn’t give a shit if they saw some guy walking down the side of the road, nearly dying of heat stroke. But Sage did. And then she stopped at my house and gave me water and bandaged up the gash in my head. How many people would do that? Almost none, especially if they thought I was dangerous. Dirty and sweaty with a broken-down motorcycle and all my possessions in a duffle bag, I probably looked like I’d just been let out of prison.

And yet still, Sage stopped for me, because she’s that type of person. The type that stops to help random strangers. I didn’t think those type of people existed. They don’t in my world. The world of rich, haughty, elite snobs who are only interested in people who can make them more money. I could never figure out how my father fit in that world. He grew up poor, begging for money, digging food out of dumpsters so he wouldn’t starve. He used to tell my brother and me those stories all the time. About how much he had to struggle and how lucky we were to grow up with everything we could ever want.

When I asked my father how he made it out of poverty, he never really explained it other than to say that he met the right people. I asked who those people were but he wouldn’t tell me. Now I know those people were crooks, liars, murderers. People who made their money through illegal activities and lured poor desperate people like my dad to do their dirty work. Now he’s one of them. A filthy rich asshole pretending to be someone he’s not.

It sickens me to know people like that exist. I feel even more disgusted knowing my father is one of them. But then I meet someone like Sage and am reminded there are still good people out there. She’s proof of that a million times over.

Sage lost everything she had and yet she’s still kind and selfless, wanting to help others. Her own father robbed her blind, which you think would make her bitter and angry, wanting to get back at the world she’d trusted that turned against her.

That’s how I felt when I learned the truth. I still feel that way. When your own father betrays you, it’s hard to feel anything but anger and distrust. But Sage has managed to stay positive. I think that’s why I’m so drawn to her. I admire her. I admire her spirit, her determination to keep going when it’d be so much easier to give up. I want to be like her, still smiling despite my circumstances, able to feel something other than anger and hate.

Those were the only emotions I felt after I left and I was beginning to think that’s all I’d ever feel again. But then I saw Sage’s beautiful face with that beautiful smile, and as much as I tried to be angry at her, I felt a sense of peace come over me. A calmness I haven’t felt in years.

It’s alluring, addictive, and one of the many reasons I can’t seem to stay away from Sage. It’s why I feel so close to her, even though we just met. She doesn’t know my story but I feel like she understands me. I feel like we understand eachother, both having gone through the pain of betrayal by someone we were conned into trusting.

I pull into the driveway of Miller’s house. Knowing where I came from, it’s hard to believe this is where I’m living. The house is one level with a roof that needs to be replaced and brown siding that probably hasn’t been painted in twenty years. The place is a run-down shithole. The inside isn’t much better but at least the old man splurged on a big-ass recliner that’s so comfortable that I’ve been sleeping in it instead of the bed.

The chair is dark brown and has cupholders built into it. Fabric pouches hanging off each side to hold your remote and whatever else you want to put in there. You could basically live in the chair, only getting up to use the bathroom. His other splurge was the 60-inch flat screen that’s mounted directly across from the chair. When I asked to rent out his house, he told me he just bought the TV and if I damaged it, I’d owe him twice what it was worth. The man loves his TV.

Unlocking the door, I go inside then freeze when I hear a noise coming from the kitchen.

My heart jumps to my throat, my pulse skyrocketing. How the fuck did he find me? Out in the middle of fucking nowhere?

My eyes frantically search for a weapon. I have a knife in my bag but it’s in the bedroom. Why is it in my fucking bedroom? It should be with me at all times, but I didn’t carry it today because I knew I’d be seeing Sage and I didn’t want her to find it on me.

I hear glass shatter and then, “Gawd-dammit.”

It’s an old man’s voice. Why would he send an old man?

As I turn around to bolt back outside I drop my keys, the sound of them hitting the floor enough to be heard by whoever’s in the kitchen. Shit!

“Hey!” I hear the old man behind me.

I turn, expecting to see a gun, but instead he’s pointing a bottle of beer at me. He’s gotta be in his seventies, with a full head of white hair. He seems fit for someone his age; lean, with a slight outline of muscle along his arms.

“Who are you and what you are doing here?” I ask, my body tensing, ready to fight.

“I’m Hank. Miller’s friend.” He takes a few steps toward me. “What’s wrong with you, kid? You’re white as a ghost.”

I take a moment to breathe, then say, “You broke into my house. Scared the shit out of me.”

He lets out a laugh. “Miller didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“I have a key. I come over every Friday and mow his lawn.” He holds up the bottle. “Help myself to his beers.”

“I don’t need you to mow the lawn. I’ll do it myself.”

“It isn’t up to you. It’s Miller’s house and I’m doing what he asked. I’ve been mowing his lawn for ten years.”

---