Something to Dream About {Slow Updates}

Eighteen

♪ Malachi ♪

I took a deep breath as I walked up the steps that led to Layla's mansion. I'd only been there twice. Once for the party at Halloween and once for the party during New Year's.

Once I got to the ginormous door, I rapped my knuckles along the wood while my other hand held Layla's journal.

It took two minutes for the door to be pulled open.

Layla was not on the other side.

I was looking down at an elderly woman. Layla's grandma I assumed. "Oh, what a delight," she said, smiling brightly at me. "What's the cause?"

My smile faltered. "The cause...?"

"What are you raising money for?"

"Oh," I said, trying to keep things casual. Now was not the time to trip over my words. "I'm here to see Layla."

Her eyebrows shot up. "DuPont?"

I nodded stiffly.

Her eyes swept over my outfit. I was in a hoodie and jeans, which was definitely too casual for her, but she did good at hiding her distaste. I was just better at reading people.

"Why don't you come inside?" She opened the door wider and I stepped foot into the house without even thinking. "Our Layla is upstairs in the shower. But we'd love to talk to you."

My eyes widened once I realized the mistake I made. "Oh, no," I quickly said. "I just wanted to drop something off. I don't know if I can stay."

"Oh, just a short conversation. Leonard! We have a visitor."

Ah, shit. I was completely screwed.

An old man rose from the couch, studying me with a raised eyebrow. Leonard.

"What did you say your name was?" the grandmother asked.

"Malachi," I replied casually, as though my heart wasn't pounding on my ribcage. "And you?"

"My name is Celine. Take a seat in here," Celine said, referring to the dining room she'd led me to. "I'll get you something to drink."

I sat at the table, my legs bouncing beneath me. Once the elders were gone, I pulled my phone out and shot multiple urgent texts to Layla.

The device returned right back to my pocket when they re-entered the room. Celine set a mug of coffee down in front of me, but I was not about to drink that. I wouldn't be able to stomach coffee.

Her and her husband sat across from me with smiles on their faces.

I thought back to the time Layla got a call from her grandfather and he answered it, instantly yelling into the mic.

Was this the one?

The asshole who had nothing better to do than torment a seventeen year old girl who doesn't do wrong?

"Where do you get your clothes?" Celine asked.

"The thrift store," I answered, instantly regretting it.

"Oh," she exhaled, sipping from her mug.

Then Leonard, Layla's grandpa, spoke up. "You will not continue seeing our granddaughter."

My eyebrows shot up. "Oh, that's not what..."

"You went to that dance with her, son. And given the argument it caused, we don't think you're a good influence."

I caused an argument?

I simply nodded, my heart sinking through my ribcage, leaving it hollow. "I respect that, sir."