He's a cynic. She's a romantic. One deal, one wedding, and one gigantic secret stand between them.
**
Harper Lane wants to believe in true love. After her parents split, she began photographing evidence of it. Couples holding hands. Valentine's Day...
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Lawson looked at the cardboard box.
Letters and drawings were carefully stacked inside. His bedroom walls looked bare without them. A part of Lawson felt guilty for taking down Paige's letters, but most of him felt relieved; it was a fresh start. And anyway, Paige had told him a dozen times that her doodles didn't go with the green wallpaper, anyway.
He picked up the box. Put it in the closet.
Then Lawson started on the wardrobe. The nightstand. His cricket memorabilia.
Cleaning gave him something to do. Something to take his mind off things. He was just sorting through his poetry books when a slip of white paper tumbled out.
A letter.
He crouched down, his heartbeat picking up. A black-and-white doodle of the London skyline took up most of the front page, and even if he hadn't found the letter in his things — even if he'd found it on an airplane or on a park bench — he would have recognized the artist anywhere.
He opened it.
Lawson—
I can hear you stomping around upstairs like some sort of primordial caveman. Do you really need to practice cricket indoors? I'm worried for Mum's Snapdragon. Hope you remembered to move it.
So.
Lately, I've been having this dream about falling. The dream is always the same: I tumble from a high building, and the pavement rushes up at me. It's terrifying. But you know what's strange? Right before I hit the ground, my last thought is always of you, Mum and Dad. We're having pancakes at the kitchen table, and you and Dad are banging on about the cricket scores. I don't mind, though; it's oddly comforting. I like having you all with me, at the end.
Anyway.
Bit morbid. I should probably get my head checked. Or stop eating sugar right before bed.
Out of curiosity, do you still have your old cricket jumper? Won't fit you anymore, but it might still fit me. Which makes it mine. Naturally.
Love,
Paige
(Your older, wiser and favourite sister)
Lawson folded the note, a lump rising in his throat.
"I'm still with you Paige," he murmured. "I'm right here."
Branville tapped his fin against the glass.Outside the window, the weak June sunlight seemed to glow a little brighter.
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They were waiting for him by the pitch.
He spotted Griffin first. He was hard to miss, with his tall frame and shock of red hair, although he was wearing a baseball cap today. Not because they were playing sport, Lawson reflected wryly, but because he'd singed his hair doing an experiment. They'd need to replace their toaster.
Haz sprawled at his feet. He was ripping up dandelions and chunks of earth, looking none-too-thrilled to be here. Then again, Haz never looked thrilled to be anywhere, so Lawson decided not to take it personally.
Alisdair sat next to them, a football tucked under one arm. His blond hair was slick with sweat, as if he'd gone for a cycle, worked out at the gym, and then run here. Which, knowing Alisdair, he probably had.
Lawson paused, taking a moment to survey them. His friends. His brothers.
The Wilder Boys.
Alisdair caught his gaze. Stood.
"If anyone's going to hit someone," Alisdair announced, "I'd rather we just get it out of the way."
"Can I hit you?" Haz asked.
Alisdair looked astonished. "Why?"
"I don't know." Haz shrugged. "It just sounded like you were offering."
"You can hit me, if you like," Lawson told Alisdair, dropping his bag at the side of the pitch. "I feel like I deserve it."
Alisdair tapped his chin. "I think Griffin should get that honour."
"We've made up," Griffin said.
"You have?" Alisdair asked.
Griffin nodded. "As of today."
Haz shifted into a sitting position, wiping his muddied hands on his shorts. "Even though Hale shagged your sister?"
Haz arched an eyebrow. "Even though he lied to you about it?"
"Yes," Griffin said.
"Even though he kissed her again afterwards?" Haz pressed.
"Yes."
Alisdair smiled. "Even though he hid under Harper's bed that one time?"
"Yea—" Griffin paused. "Wait, what?"
"Shall we sort teams?" Lawson asked loudly.
Things moved quickly from there. Cleats were laced up. Teams were bickered over. The football was kicked. They knew all each other's weaknesses — where to feint, when to push forward, who would tire first — but that was half the fun of it, Lawson reflected. Victory felt sweeter when you knew your opponent.
They played until the sun slipped over the horizon, casting the pitch in shadow. Alisdair pulled out his phone, flipping on the torch function so they could undo their laces. The air was heavy with humidity; it would rain, soon.
"So?" Griffin asked. "Did you go to the airport?"
All three boys turned to look at him. Lawson kept his eyes trained on his laces.
"I went," he said.
"And?" Griffin prompted.
"She left."
Haz blew out a breath. "That's fucking brutal. I'm sorry, mate."
"I'm not," Lawson said.
Alisdair frowned. "You aren't?"
"No," Lawson said. "I'm not ready for her." His mouth quirked. "Yet."
The clouds had begun to drizzle. Then the skies opened in one great gasp, mighty jaws that spewed a torrent of rain. The four boys raced for their cars, their half-tied cleats skidding in the wet mud. But they were laughing — they were always laughing.
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A/N: Hello lovely readers,
Kind of a cheesy ending to this chapter, but I figure I owe you after all the angsty cliffhangers that I've put you through hehe
Question of the Day: I've started writing Alisdair's book, and I can't wait for you to meet his love interest! What do you think her name will be? If anyone guesses correctly, I'll release the rest of this book on Saturday ;)
