Page 2 of The Last Special Thing

“Of course.” His smile fell, and he removed her hand before stalking away.

Everyone at their small high school knew they had dated for two years, and no one wanted to get involved in their post-breakup nonsense. She knew staying friends was unorthodox.

“We’re going,” Weston directed, turning for her to follow.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to.”

He shifted back to her. “You can find another ride then.” He shrugged with indifference, but his reddened, stoned eyes still hung on her, expecting her to obey.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to determine what options she had. After a few seconds, she softened her gaze. While she didn’t want Weston to be in control, she also didn’t want to be there. Amelia had been starving for excitement, but this party was about as fulfilling as one of her mom’s chalky protein bars. They had come together, and they might as well leave together, just like prom.

“Whatever. Take me home,” she said curtly. They lived a block apart, which was another reason it was easy for them to remain in a state of limbo.

They Irish goodbyed the party, and Amelia led him to her car. She wordlessly palmed him her keys. Weston’s preference to smoke pot instead of drink deemed him the one more fit to drive.

In the passenger seat, she turned on an alternative band, and Weston winced as the screaming blared from the speakers.

“I don’t know how you listen to this,” he mumbled.

She relaxed into the seat and smiled, pleased at his annoyance. He used the blinker longer than necessary and kept his hands aligned at ten and two. Four songs later, played at an octave only Amelia felt necessary, Weston pulled up into the extended driveway of her house.

As he parked next to the rose bushes, she unbuckled and then pulled the car handle, simultaneously shoving her shoulder against the car door. She stepped out and momentarily lost her footing. She recovered with a practiced curtsey and a Cheshire cat grin.

Weston didn’t acknowledge her performance. Her smile fell as he merely locked her car and handed her the keys.

“I loved you,” she huffed. That little fact should have been enough to make her forever interesting to him.

“I know.” His voice was flat.

She didn’t say anything else. Weston had almost no feelings. He had never once told her that he loved her back.

She, on the other hand, had too many, and they often spun in conflicting directions. Especially when alcohol was involved, another reason she rarely drank.

She turned and led the way to the ivy-adorned steel gate that separated the side lawn from her expansive backyard. As she reached up to open the latch, Weston’s hand caught hers. He brought a finger to his full lips to shush her, and she gave a slight nod. The last thing she needed was her parents catching her drunk. While they may have assumed she would drink at a graduation party, it wasn’t the sort of indiscretion they would address. Problems in the Cox household were swept under the rug, where they were to remain until the end of time.

Weston slid in front of her and carefully pulled it open. He led them along the kitchen pass-through window and around the S-shaped pool, the main feature in the backyard oasis. At the end of the yard sat the granny flat where she lived. She had demanded that her parents let her move into it and out of the main house on her eighteenth birthday back in March. They didn’t so much as blink. Just as she struggled to elicit a reaction from Weston, the same was true with her parents. She got what she wanted as long as she stayed on track for UCLA and didn’t embarrass them in the community.

She tugged open the sliding door, and they slipped inside. Weston stepped over the pink lacey bra sprawled on the floor, and she wondered if he was recalling the same memory: he had stood behind her and unclasped that bra on the night he had been named valedictorian. It was also the bra she wore when he broke up with her the next day.

Amelia took a seat on the edge of her unmade bed and hunched over. She unzipped her boots and tossed them across the room. At the shift, her bag tumbled to the floor. A tube of strawberry lipstick and her phone spilled onto the pink frayed rug.

As much as she kept up appearances out of the house, her room was the one place she could let her guard down. She burrowed under the king-sized covers, fully clothed.

Weston took a deep breath, set her purse on the dresser, and plugged her phone into the charger on her nightstand.

Exhaustion from the long day of graduation activities marked by shallow smiles and forced conversations, overtook her. The spiked punch didn’t do her any favors. She wanted to be comforted with warm arms wrapped around her. Her eyes found Weston.

Her voice was soft. “Can you lie with me?”

His lips twitched upward. It was the first inkling of a smile he had all night. Things were easier when she didn’t make him out to be the enemy, but she couldn’t help it. She was used to getting her way, and Weston put a wrinkle in that. It was hard to forgive.

Amelia watched him through her heavy eyelids, lashes fluttering open and closed. He diligently unbuttoned his shirt and untied his shoes. He slouched out of his dark jeans and folded them, carefully stacking all of his items on the cream lounge chair in the corner of her room. She tried to stay awake during his seven-step routine for getting ready for bed. In his boxers, he made his way into her bathroom and washed his face, then patted his skin dry with her microfiber towel. After he folded it into a square, he stretched his arms high and then touched his toes. Her eyes closed, but she could still hear the rest of it. He rustled next to her chair to make sure his clothes were stacked perfectly. The quick flick of his fingers texting his mom goodnight. A soft murmur of his mantras that he credited as the reason he was accepted to MIT.

When she finally felt him climb into bed and wrap his arms around her, she didn’t even open an eye. Nuzzling against his bare chest, sleep claimed her before she could decide if she got what she wanted or if she would regret letting him stay.

CHAPTER TWO

Amelia opened one eye at a time as the sunlight poured in through her sheer curtains. She was curled on her side, her thick hair covering half her face. She rolled over, a groan escaping her lips as she swatted the space beside her. Empty and cold. Weston must have left and returned home. She wasn’t surprised. Sometimes he would stay until she woke. More often, he wouldn’t.