Read Online The Stern and Wild Ones (The Seeker Series) by Reece Evhans - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Reece Evhans
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story," I said.
"Of course I believe it," he paused in the act of taking a sip of the too-hot coffee. "It's you, Ally," like that explained everything. When I shook my head in disbelief, he reached over and put his hand against my cheek, turning my head to face him. "Don't do that," he said rather sternly. "Don't ever sell yourself short." In a movie this statement would be followed by a passionate kiss. In my life it was followed by him removing his hand and going back to trying to drink the fiery coffee. Maybe the sweaty stench starting to be noticeable now that I was warming up was holding him back. Shit. I really need to stop cussing.
"Well, it wasn't a deeply heart-felt conversation, but she did let me use her cell phone to try to call for a ride." I must have looked confused or something following my statement.
"What?" He was searching my eyes. "What did you just think of?"
I told him how Veronica had sort of freaked out when I suggested trying to find someone to report the theft to. "It was just kind of weird, that's all. So, no great conversation, no deep, dark secrets revealed, but I did talk to her. At great personal cost to myself, no less," I ended ruefully.
"Yeah, that does, indeed, suck," he commiserated.
"So," I began hesitantly, "you seemed to know a lot about breaking a lock. Did you ever do anything like that?" I couldn't even look at him. He was always so closed-mouth about his past, but I was growing increasingly curious.
He gave a big sigh. "Yeah. I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was younger. Stuff I'm not proud of, stuff I'm still paying for now."
"Would you be willing to tell me about it?" I dared. "I mean, you don't have to, but I thought, you know, since we're friends and all..."
"Yeah, sure," he said dejectedly, running his hands through his hair. I hated to do this to him, but I really felt it was an important step in our friendship. "What do you want to know?"
"I guess...what happened to you? I mean, you seem so nice now, and so mature. I just can't picture you as a hell-raising juvenile delinquent," I tried to lighten the mood.
He gave a half-hearted chuckle in appreciation. "Well, I was a good kid all the way through elementary school and most of junior high. The trouble started when I was in 8th grade. My mom was hit and killed by a drunk driver on her way back to Taos from a business meeting in Santa Fe. She was an attorney."
"Oh, God, Jack," I was horrified. "I'm so sorry. You don't have to tell me."
"No, it's ok. It's probably a good idea to tell you. You can decide if you want to even mess with me. I may not be worth the trouble." He smiled as he said it, but I could see through the veneer.
"Hey!" I turned in my seat to face him. Now I was the one putting my hand against his cheek. "Don't ever say that. You are definitely worth the trouble." He took my hand in his and held it loosely while he told me the rest of his story. How his father had spiraled downward after his mother's death into severe depression and alcoholism, leaving Jack and 2-year-old Megan to fend for themselves. How he started getting into trouble at school, although he had previously been a good student. As a freshman his behavior had gotten worse: suddenly he was involved in a gang, painting graffiti, breaking and entering, fighting, ditching school, and both using and selling drugs. "I was on a really destructive path," he finished.
"What happened? How did you get out of that lifestyle and here to Albuquerque?"
"I got arrested. My dad didn't even come to bail me out." He rubbed his hand over his face. "I had to spend 3 nights in the county lock-up. You do a lot of thinking in jail. I thought about how disappointed my mother would be and I thought about how I wasn't there for Megan. They were really close to taking me and Megan away from my dad and putting us into foster care."
"But they didn't? What happened?"
"My auntie and uncle drove up there to Taos and bailed me out." He laughed, once. "My
"Of course I believe it," he paused in the act of taking a sip of the too-hot coffee. "It's you, Ally," like that explained everything. When I shook my head in disbelief, he reached over and put his hand against my cheek, turning my head to face him. "Don't do that," he said rather sternly. "Don't ever sell yourself short." In a movie this statement would be followed by a passionate kiss. In my life it was followed by him removing his hand and going back to trying to drink the fiery coffee. Maybe the sweaty stench starting to be noticeable now that I was warming up was holding him back. Shit. I really need to stop cussing.
"Well, it wasn't a deeply heart-felt conversation, but she did let me use her cell phone to try to call for a ride." I must have looked confused or something following my statement.
"What?" He was searching my eyes. "What did you just think of?"
I told him how Veronica had sort of freaked out when I suggested trying to find someone to report the theft to. "It was just kind of weird, that's all. So, no great conversation, no deep, dark secrets revealed, but I did talk to her. At great personal cost to myself, no less," I ended ruefully.
"Yeah, that does, indeed, suck," he commiserated.
"So," I began hesitantly, "you seemed to know a lot about breaking a lock. Did you ever do anything like that?" I couldn't even look at him. He was always so closed-mouth about his past, but I was growing increasingly curious.
He gave a big sigh. "Yeah. I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was younger. Stuff I'm not proud of, stuff I'm still paying for now."
"Would you be willing to tell me about it?" I dared. "I mean, you don't have to, but I thought, you know, since we're friends and all..."
"Yeah, sure," he said dejectedly, running his hands through his hair. I hated to do this to him, but I really felt it was an important step in our friendship. "What do you want to know?"
"I guess...what happened to you? I mean, you seem so nice now, and so mature. I just can't picture you as a hell-raising juvenile delinquent," I tried to lighten the mood.
He gave a half-hearted chuckle in appreciation. "Well, I was a good kid all the way through elementary school and most of junior high. The trouble started when I was in 8th grade. My mom was hit and killed by a drunk driver on her way back to Taos from a business meeting in Santa Fe. She was an attorney."
"Oh, God, Jack," I was horrified. "I'm so sorry. You don't have to tell me."
"No, it's ok. It's probably a good idea to tell you. You can decide if you want to even mess with me. I may not be worth the trouble." He smiled as he said it, but I could see through the veneer.
"Hey!" I turned in my seat to face him. Now I was the one putting my hand against his cheek. "Don't ever say that. You are definitely worth the trouble." He took my hand in his and held it loosely while he told me the rest of his story. How his father had spiraled downward after his mother's death into severe depression and alcoholism, leaving Jack and 2-year-old Megan to fend for themselves. How he started getting into trouble at school, although he had previously been a good student. As a freshman his behavior had gotten worse: suddenly he was involved in a gang, painting graffiti, breaking and entering, fighting, ditching school, and both using and selling drugs. "I was on a really destructive path," he finished.
"What happened? How did you get out of that lifestyle and here to Albuquerque?"
"I got arrested. My dad didn't even come to bail me out." He rubbed his hand over his face. "I had to spend 3 nights in the county lock-up. You do a lot of thinking in jail. I thought about how disappointed my mother would be and I thought about how I wasn't there for Megan. They were really close to taking me and Megan away from my dad and putting us into foster care."
"But they didn't? What happened?"
"My auntie and uncle drove up there to Taos and bailed me out." He laughed, once. "My
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