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Gram’s ancestors had lived in Louisiana for generations and this place—Oak Run Plantation—had been in the family for just as long. Years ago, Gram’s father had turned the family home into a successful bed and breakfast/museum, which Gram had inherited, because according to my father, Gram’s brother, Uncle Jack, was a no-good drunk who couldn’t find his own butt if he needed to.
My grandmother even stayed on after her husband died, but instead of living in the big house, she moved into what used to be the carriage house. And that’s where I’m staying this summer.
Everyone—which would be my parents and my best friend Kate—was hoping the hot Louisiana summer and laid-back atmosphere would somehow fix me. They think that the city and the memories are too much, and I don’t have the heart to tell them that the memories will never leave. That much I’ve learned.
So location doesn’t really matter, but I was glad to be away from my mother and her large, expressive, puppy-dog eyes. She looks at me a lot when she thinks I won’t notice, and every time she does, I feel like the biggest failure on the planet.
I don’t know how to react to her anymore—do I pretend I’m better to make her pain go away? Do I ignore her? Do I tell her to get out of my face?
And my father, God, he’s the total opposite. He acts as if everything is normal. As if the last year and a half never happened—as if each one of us is whole—and that makes me angry. And kinda sad.
Gram grabbed her purse, bent low, and gave me a hug. “I love you, Monroe.”
“I know,” I whispered.
She grabbed her keys and paused. “Barbecue sound good for supper?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“All right then.” She moved toward the door but paused, her hand on the ivory handle. “He’ll be here in an hour. Why don’t you brush your hair?”
“Okay,” I answered, though I’m pretty sure we both knew it wasn’t likely to happen.
Chapter Two
Nathan
The crap thing about not being able to drive is that I do a lot of waiting around for rides, and I hate waiting. Doing nothing makes me crazy, and crazy Nathan isn’t exactly the kind of thing I’m going for these days.
But mostly I hate waiting because it gives me too much time to think about the reasons I’m waiting in the first place. About how one stupid mistake changed everything. About how I screwed up so badly that now, the summer before my senior year—the one that I should have spent hanging with Rachel and Trevor and the rest of the guys—is going to suck.
Though it won’t suck as much as Trevor’s.
I wiped sweat from my brow and scooped up my bag from the porch. I hate waiting. I hate thinking.
In the fourth grade, Alex Kingsley tripped Trevor in the hallway, just outside our classroom. We had been in line waiting to head into the gymnasium, and Trevor tumbled into me. Long story short, we both wiped out, and the entire row of girls laughed their butts off. So did Alex—until we cornered him in the schoolyard at lunch.
Trevor and I taught the little turd exactly what happened to dickheads. After that, Alex pretty much left everyone alone, and though Trevor and I were punished—we had to stay after school every day for an entire week—it solidified our friendship.
We bonded over our mutual dislike of Alex Kingsley and our love of music and sports. Eventually, I forgave Trevor his thirst for all things country—he couldn’t help it, his parents were true hicks—and he learned to like my progressive ear. He was into country music, bluegrass twang, and he also had a soft spot for the New York Jets. I was all about the old classics my dad loved, hard rock, and loud guitars. I also preferred the Dallas Cowboys, but he was cool with that.
Somehow we gelled, and our band is, or rather was, the hottest act in the area.
One mistake. One stupid-ass mistake and I ruined his life.
I would switch places with him in an instant if I could. Maybe then the guilt would go away. Maybe then I could look in the mirror and that empty hole in my gut would fill up with something other than loathing.
It should have been my future in the gutter. But I was Jack and Linda Everets’s son, and around these parts, that meant something. Around these parts, it meant special treatment or a second chance, even when you didn’t deserve it.
I’d gotten off easy and I knew it. Everybody knew it, except they used all kinds of excuses to cover up the fact that Trevor was lying in a hospital bed and I should be locked up.
Nathan is a good boy.
He’s never done anything like that before.
They can’t be perfect all the time.
They all make mistakes, even the good ones.
