Playing Fate (Endgame Series #1) - Leigh Ann Lunsford Page 0,4
in and lose myself in Dan+Shay. I try to ignore the loud crashes, girly squeals, guys hollering . . . but I can’t. I dry off, get dressed, and collapse in bed with my journal. My safe place to say what I need to without anyone hearing me, consoling me, judging me.
Today I arrived in Maize, Kansas. 1,291 miles from Macclenny, Florida. The house I’ll live in for the next four years (hopefully) is gorgeous. Brick, huge yard, everything I wished for growing up. Avery is nice, welcoming. Emberlee I’m not sure about. There are three other guys—they all grew up together—and the mysterious Julie. That’s Deacon’s girl.
Avery tried to get to know me, and I froze. What can I say? I look at this as a fresh start. I won’t be the girl abandoned by her dad, the girl whose dad got himself killed. I won’t be the new girl living with her grandparents and mom. I won’t be Jack’s stepdaughter. Here, I’m just Saylor. I create my future, but first I need to let go of my past.
I’ve spent seven years trying to act like him leaving didn’t matter. I’ve spent five pretending his death didn’t impact me. I was his daughter. He used to love me, and I never got to ask him what changed. Watching my mom scrub floors, do other people’s laundry, cook, work retail, sell any product from make up to oils . . . all to pay off the damn motorcycle that killed him.
I want to ask her how she let herself fall in love with Jack, but she’ll give me her sad look and spew shit that I don’t believe.
Good thing is the three guys living next door are hot as hell. I’ve never been that girl, but these guys could turn a nun into a whore. No lie.
I put my pen down and read my pitiful words. Exhaling, I shut it and turn my thoughts off. My walls vibrate, shrill laughter, drunken antics behind my door, but I don’t care. I smile and realize the freedom in front of me. Drifting off as Saylor Lewis . . . girl unknown for the first time in seven years. No preconceived notions swirling around me. No expectations for myself. College. Graduate. Succeed. Those are my goals. My endgame.
I don’t think a nuclear bomb could do more damage than I’m staring at. Beer cans, bottles, liquor filled glasses, chip bags, food littering the floor. This is disgusting, and I refuse to walk out the front door without picking up. I tried. All the years of watching my mom slave over someone else’s mess are burned into my memory; and while this isn’t my mess, I live here. Searching the kitchen, I find trash bags . . . an entire box because it will take that. Game plan—I’ll start in the great room and pick up and wipe down. I can’t vacuum until everyone is up. Move to the kitchen and repeat until I can stand to see my house. The scrubbing and the music pumping in my ears allow me to disconnect. ‘Tell Me” by He Is We is blaring as I finish loading the dishwasher and turn, coming face-to-face with Avery. Screaming, I yank the ear buds, “Jesus. You scared the shit out of me.” My hand is over my heart, which is pounding at an unhealthy rhythm.
Her eyes fill with tears as she doubles over in laughter. “That was the most real I’ve seen you. Ass shaking, head bopping. The cussing is just adorable.”
I stare at her. What the hell is wrong with this girl? She almost gave me a heart attack, and she’s concerned with my dancing and swearing. I meet her laughing face and realize she’s right. I didn’t know she was there, so I hadn’t placed myself back in the box I’m trying to escape from. Quiet girl. Good grades. Behaved. Boring as hell. I smirk. “Sneak up on me again, and I’ll cut you.” She winks at me and sends me into a fit of my own giggles.
“Why you’d clean up?”
“It was nasty.” My voice is laced with annoyance. It was a stupid question.
“But you didn’t make the mess.”
“But I couldn’t leave it like this.” She looks me up and down.
“Where’re you going?”
“Book store and somewhere to find stuff to decorate my room. It’s kind of blah.”
“Give me twenty.” She spins and disappears before I can protest. I didn’t exactly invite her.