Landon & Shay - Part One: (The L&S Duet Book 1) Read online

  My mouth opened to speak, but no words came out because she smacked me again.

  More chants from the crowd.

  Okay, this was getting a little ridiculous.

  Monica was getting a bit of a big head from the cheering crowd. She was getting a little too confident in her current state. As she raised her hand to slap me again, I grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

  One slap—okay, fine. To be honest, I probably had some karma catching up with me. Two slaps I could let go. I was sure I could’ve treated our past toxic relationship with more class during some moments. But three slaps?

  Now you’re just getting greedy, Monica.

  I tilted my head and gave her a small smirk and my puppy-dog eyes. “I’m sorry, okay?” I didn’t know what I was sorry about, but girls seemed to like to hear guys say that.

  “Whatever, Landon. You’re a jerk.”

  I saw her kind of smile, though, as if she enjoyed this interaction. At least someone was enjoying themselves. I was still dealing with a stinging face.

  Still alive.

  “Don’t worry, Monica. Nothing happened. Trust me…”—Shay looked my way and eyed me up and down with disdain in her gaze—“nothing will ever happen between us.”

  She turned and walked away, and for some reason, I felt the impulse to follow her, to tell her why her comment was wrong, and how I was going to grow on her like the bad toxin I was, one she’d have to rid her soul of down the line.

  But I stayed in place.

  My eyes darted to the crowd hovering around Monica and me. “Get busy or get lost,” I hissed, glaring at the circle of people. They hurried away and got back to the party, leaving Monica and me standing there alone.

  “You disgust me,” she muttered, standing high in heels that were probably killing her feet. “You aren’t shit. You know that? You’re worthless in this world.”

  I flinched. “You’re drunk.”

  “It’s a party—everyone’s drunk…except for you and Little Miss Perfect,” she sneered, referring to Shay. There’s the charming girl I’ve always known you to be. “I bet she fucks to the theme song from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood with her boring ass.”

  I was hardly listening to her anymore. Most of the time, I let her comments slide because I knew her story. I knew the mess that was her life. I’d seen her wrinkled pages and bent corners. Some pages were torn from her book, hiding the darkest parts of her, and I was the only one who’d ever been able to read them. If she needed a punching bag, I’d take her hits, but that didn’t mean it didn’t mess me up sometimes, leaving me battered and bruised.

  “You should probably head home,” I suggested.

  “I was planning on it anyway. Your party blows,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to go take a dip in the pool, Landon, in honor of your uncle,” she muttered, walking away.

  Why would she do that?

  Why would she say some bullshit like that just to spite me? To hurt me? To know someone else was suffering other than herself?

  I stood there, frozen in place, with the thought of Lance on my mind, and then, like a waterfall, all thoughts of him came rushing back to me. I couldn’t breathe as people pushed around me, partying, drinking, not noticing the panic attack consuming me, not noting the pain in my soul, which felt like it was being lit on fire.

  I wanted to drown.

  I wanted to drown so bad tonight. In vodka. In whiskey. In tequila. In tears.

  I looked to my left and found one set of eyes staring at me. As everyone else looked through me, those eyes watched me as if I were a case study, a mouse in a cage being experimented on. A set of beautiful, sad eyes pierced my soul. Shay was the only one who bothered to look my way, and she was doing that same shit she’d done in the closet earlier. She was reading me, digging deep into my psyche and exploring my pages, unwelcomed.

  Stop it, Shay.

  I forced myself to move and pushed past her, brushing against her shoulder. “If you’re not going to blow me then stop staring at me, sunshine,” I huffed out.

  “Don’t call me sunshine,” she said.

  Then, stop being so damn bright.

  I didn’t know what time everyone left my place, but I assumed Greyson gave them a nudge to leave at some point after one a.m. When everyone was gone, when all that remained were empty hallways in my trashed house, I headed into the pool area. Our indoor pool was surrounded by glass walls so you could see all of nature yet still swim during the chilly Illinois winters.

  “What’s the point of having a swimming pool in Illinois if you can’t use it all year round?” Mom had said years ago while designing the house.

  The pool glistened under the full moon. Full moon… Lance’s birthday would land on a full moon this year. Part of me wanted to howl at it. Another part of me wanted to cry.

  Instead, I walked to the edge of the pool into the pool, fully clothed, and jumped in. I soaked myself from head to toe, and then I went under. I never used the diving board, because it messed with my head too much. I swam deep and stayed under the water as long as I could. I’d jumped into that pool every single night since Lance passed away. I was good at staying under. It was what I’d spent the last few months of my life doing—holding my breath.

  5

  Landon

  You ever lie in bed with no desire at all to get up?

  When morning came, I was tired.

  Not only physically, but my mind yawned, too.

  I shouldn’t have had a party. I shouldn’t have made that stupid bet. I should’ve taken Greyson up on a night of video games and pizza.

  I hadn’t slept. I’d closed my eyes for a bit but opened them right up when the visions of the past kept knocking on my brain.

  When the sun rose, my phone screen was full of messages from people who thought they were my friends, telling me about how amazing the party had been. None of those people were my friends, though. Greyson, Eric, and Hank were the only people I’d ever consider such a thing, and we’d known each other for pretty much all of our lives. Everyone else was just shadows that passed by me day by day. White noise.

  I didn’t reply to any of the messages, because they weren’t really talking to me. They were talking to the person I pretended to be on the regular. They talked to the rich boy who hooked them up with weed and booze. They talked to the rich boy who gave them popularity cred. They talked to the rich boy who changed their social status.

  If they’d been talking to the real me, they wouldn’t have been impressed by the fact that it took every inch of strength for me to pull myself out of bed each morning. For a while, I wondered if it was this hard for everyone—getting up each day, dragging oneself out of bed. There were days when all I wanted to do was bury myself deeper into the blankets and not emerge from my room until weeks had passed. I couldn’t sleep, but I wanted to sit there in bed, alone with my dark mind. That was what I wanted to do that Sunday morning: be alone, stay in bed. Yet, when I saw the messages from my parents, I knew I had to pull my shit together before Maria came over.

  Mom: I got text messages and calls from our neighbors about a party. Are you okay? Call me when you get this. Love you.

  Dad’s message was a bit different.

  Dad: Get your fucking act together.

  Love you too, Papa.

  I glanced at the time—it was already 10:01 a.m.

  I sat up and called Mom. She answered on the first ring. She always answered on the first ring. “Hey, Landon.”

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “How are you? How are things there? The neighbors seemed concerned.” Her voice dripped with worry.

  “I’m okay. Things just got a little out of control, that’s all. Sorry.”

  “It’s fine as long as you’re doing okay.”

  “A few vases broke,” I told her.

  “Oh, honey, that’s okay…those are just material things. Those can be replaced. I’m more concerned about you.” She got interrupted by someone in the
background and began talking about different kinds of fabrics. When she came back to our call, she asked me if I needed her to come home.

  I said no.

  She was too busy making her dreams come true. I didn’t want her to come home to my nightmares.

  “Okay, well, sweetheart, call me before you go to bed tonight, or whenever you need me. I’m here. I love you. Remember, I’m just one call away. I love you.”

  “You too,” I said before hanging up.

  I headed to the bathroom attached to my bedroom and hopped in the shower. As the water ran against my skin, I didn’t think about anything. I didn’t have the energy to have many thoughts that morning. I was tired to my core in a way I hadn’t known one could be tired. I hadn’t known a mind could be so drained when it didn’t really do much thinking at all. My bones ached from exhaustion, and my eyes shut as the water slapped against my body.

  After I washed up, I got dressed and moved throughout the house, doing my best to straighten things up. I collected all the empty beer cans and vodka bottles and tossed them into garbage bags. Then, I pulled out the mop and vacuum, following that up with scrubbing the disgusting toilets throughout the house.

  High school kids were repulsive, especially when it wasn’t their own property they were trashing.

  That was my least favorite part of having parties—the aftermath. Even though I knew Maria would’ve come and left the place spotless, she didn’t deserve that cleanup. Contrary to how I felt about Shay, I adored her grandmother. It was pretty hard not to love Maria. She was feisty and unapologetic about her strong, bold personality. I was certain that was where Shay got her spitfire from. I didn’t know why it worked so well with me from Maria, though. Maybe it had something to do with the nurturing side of her personality, the gentleness and care she gave me when I didn’t even deserve it. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that I never knew my grandmother and always wondered what it would have been like to have one.

  It probably had something to do with her always showing up with food, though. The food certainly helped.

  Sundays were my favorite day of the week, because it meant Maria was coming over to clean the house. She’d been our housekeeper for the past seven years and was one of the better parts of my life.

  When Maria came over that Sunday afternoon, she smiled bright my way. She was always smiling, always humming some tune in her head whenever she walked inside.

  “You look like poop, Landon,” she stated, carrying a dish of food in her hands. “You need to sleep.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Liar.”

  My eyes moved to the dish.

  Please be lasagna, please be lasagna, please be—

  “I made a lasagna for dinner,” she said.

  Yes!

  It was my favorite meal in the history of meals—besides Maria’s enchiladas. Maria’s food was the highlight of every single week. It was like she baked everything with pounds of her heart and soul, adding an extra touch.

  “You’ve been sleeping this weekend?” she asked.

  “Yeah, pretty good.”

  “More lies. You have bigger bags under your eyes than I do, and I’m like four hundred years old.”

  “Oh please, Maria. You don’t look a day over thirty.”

  She smiled. “I always liked you, you know that, right?” She handed the dish over to me and instructed me to put it in the refrigerator. “What did you do last night?”

  “Just hung out with Greyson. Nothing major. Video games and stuff. Very low-key.”

  “No party?”

  I smiled. I couldn’t lie to her again, and she knew it, too.

  “How are your grades doing, Landon Scott?”

  I swore, Maria was the only one I ever allowed to get away with calling me by my middle name. I actually kind of liked that she used it, too. It felt like it made our relationship somewhat personal, more than client-and-employer status.

  “They’re good.”

  “And have you chosen a major for your fall college courses yet?” she asked.

  She already knew the answer to that, and she still always asked. I’d gotten into the University of Chicago Law School, per my father’s request, and I was supposed to go ahead and follow in his footsteps. I went along with it because what the hell else was I supposed to do? I didn’t know what I wanted to be, so it made it a little easier having my father tell me what to become.

  College didn’t really seem to be something I could completely wrap my head around. I didn’t have any idea what I truly wanted to be when I grew up. I didn’t have the slightest urge to go after one certain thing, which made it so hard for me. I didn’t have a passion. How was I supposed to decide what to do with my life? I could hardly pull myself out of bed each morning. So, I’d just listen to my father and follow after his footsteps. Sure, his life seemed boring and closed-off, but at least he was successful. He must’ve done something right during that college phase of his life.

  “You can go undecided,” Maria said gently, as if she could read my thoughts. “You don’t have to know everything right this second. You just need to decide on a few topics you think could make you grow the best. You’re a smart, talented young man, Landon. You could do anything if you put in the work, and it doesn’t have to be law just because your father said it should be.”

  “You don’t think I’d make a good lawyer?” I joked.

  “You’d make a good anything. I just want you to be passionate about it.”

  I kept quiet because I didn’t want to spoil the mood by notifying Maria that I wasn’t passionate about anything.

  I headed to the kitchen to put the food into the fridge.

  Before Maria dived deep into her cleaning routine, she peeked her head into the kitchen and nodded in my direction. “How’s your heart today?” she asked me, the same question she asked every time she stopped by.

  “Still beating.”

  “Good.”

  If anyone else had asked me an overly dramatic question like that, I would’ve flipped them off, but since it came from Maria, I figured she deserved at least some kind of response. I couldn’t be rude to that woman even if I tried, probably because I knew she’d whoop my butt and toss holy water at me if I ever spoke back to her.

  “And yours?” I asked because I cared, which was shocking. I could count on one hand the number of people I cared about, and Maria held a steady spot on that list. I swore, sometimes, she even darted in and out of the number one spot.

  She smiled. “Still beating.”

  She left and later came to my bedroom, knocking on the door. When she opened it, she had a bra dangling off the end of a broom. “Just a low-key night with Greyson, huh?” She glared.

  I laughed. “I guess you could say things got weird after midnight.”

  She shook her head and muttered something under her breath—probably a prayer for my soul—before going to finish up her work.

  A few hours later, I tossed the dinner into the oven, and Maria set the table for two. Sundays with Maria; it was our ritual. Before we ate, she always took my hand into hers and said a prayer.

  My eyes stayed open, but she didn’t care. She always said one didn’t have to close their eyes to receive their blessings.

  She talked to me about school, reminded me to not be a dick to people, and gave me advice on just being a good person. I never really said it, but her Sunday dinners meant the world to me. I needed her around, and she was always there. If there was someone you could always count on to show up, it was Maria.

  Maria oftentimes went on and on about her family, mostly Shay. For the past few years, I’d tuned out the Shay conversations. I didn’t care to know more about the girl I hated and how happy she was, but now that the bet was going on, I wanted to know as much as I could. I knew I could use the information to get her to fall in love with me.

  “Shay is getting ready for the school play, so that’s all that’s been going on in the house. She’s amazing, though.
Writing and the performing arts are her gifts to this world.” Maria beamed as she spoke about her granddaughter. “The arts are in her blood. It’s her bread and butter. It was the one good thing her father gave to her—his talent.”

  “Acting, huh?” I questioned, taking a bite of the lasagna.

  So. Good.

  “Yes. She’s amazing. Truly gifted.”

  I wanted to know more about Shay, but I knew Maria would get suspicious of me asking too many questions. I knew everything I learned about Shay would help me with the bet we’d made. The more I knew about her, the easier it would be to get her in my bed.

  Actor. Writer.

  Beautiful, too.

  That didn’t matter, but it crossed my mind enough to make note of it.

  I collected the small clues Maria gave me about her granddaughter, and I put them in my back pocket. I was certain they’d come in handy down the line.

  Today I was happy.

  I figured I should write it down because it seems like a lot of my days are getting darker.

  Harder.

  I feel my mind slipping into the darkness again. I’m still taking my meds and working hard to keep my head afloat, but I feel it. I feel myself slipping.

  I spend more time with my family because there’s something about them that brings me peace.

  I’m trying.

  I’m trying so hard to not drown.

  I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but today I was happy.

  Today I am happy.

  And that’s worthy of being written down.

  -L

  6

  Shay

  It had been two days since the party, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about Landon and those gloomy eyes of his. As he stood in the middle of his living room, frozen in place, I knew he was wrapped deep in a panic attack. I used to have them, too, whenever Dad was out dealing, or on the nights when he never made it home. I’d become paralyzed, and each breath would be harder and harder to take. I’d imagine the worst-case scenario. Him passed out in a ditch. Him getting involved in a shootout. Him getting killed. Killing others. It felt like the walls were closing in, and there was no escape at all.