CHAPTER TWELVE
Sabrina
Growing up in Florida, I’d never experienced fragrant pine covering homes and buildings. I’d never woken up to a dusting of snow on Christmas morning. I’d never even had a real Christmas tree. One day, I’d venture up north. One day, I’d escape the heat of Florida. For now, the illuminated palm trees lining the streets of my neighborhood would have to do.
“Watch it!” my best friend Trish shouted at the car that pulled out in front of us.
Her exaggerated impatience pulled my attention from the familiar streets of my childhood.
Trish had been my best friend since junior high. But we’d lost touch while I’d been in Alabama and she’d stayed home to attend community college. But once we got together in the same place, it was as if we’d never been apart. We still laughed at the same jokes. Still found the same guys hot. Still turned heads when we entered rooms.
“I wanna see you hook up with Steve tonight,” she said, her eyes jumping between the road and me in her passenger seat.
“Not gonna happen,” I assured her.
“Why not? You said you’re not seeing anyone at school.”
“I’m not, but it doesn’t mean I need a one-night-stand with my ex. He’s my ex for a reason.”
She laughed. “I bet he has an amazing tan. Can you even imagine going to college in Hawaii?”
I shook my head, though I could totally see Steve living the life there.
We entered the party and were greeted by so many familiar faces. We bee-lined it for the kitchen to grab a drink. Before I knew it, Trish and I were pulled in opposite directions. All the guys wanted to talk Bama football with me, as usual. They knew my bestie at school was dating the quarterback, so they figured I had insight into how the team would do if they made it to the championship game.
“Sabrina,” Trish called impatiently from the kitchen a little while later.
“One minute,” I said to her. I was deep in conversation with a girl from high school who was attending college in New Hampshire. Not only did I want to hear about her time there, I didn’t like being beckoned.
Trish rolled her eyes, and went back to mixing drinks at the kitchen island. I’d forgotten how possessive she was over me. She never liked me veering away from our group. But never one to follow anyone—or much less care what anyone thought, I always did my own thing.
I finished my conversation, got myself a drink, and spotted Trish outside hanging with a small group of people we’d graduated with. Most of them went to school out of state, so opportunities like these were our chance to get back together and catch up.
I grabbed hold of the back door handle, eager to join my old friends outside.
“Sabrina.”
I knew that voice immediately. I dropped the door handle and spun around. Steve stood there looking as hot as he had when we’d dated—all tall, blond, and tanned. Even in high school, we were mature enough to admit we didn’t belong together. I was the girl with a comeback for everything. He was the guy who loved my comebacks, but loved other girls just as much. “Hey.”
He walked up to me and pulled me into a hug. “When’d you get home?”
“Late last night. You?” I stepped out of his arms.
“Flew in a couple days ago.”
I nodded. “How’s Hawaii treating you? Must be torture.”
He laughed. “Surf instructor by day, student by night. Not a bad gig.”
I laughed, picturing the heads turning as he walked shirtless down the beach. “I bet.”
His eyes perused me slowly. “You’re looking good.”
“Obviously.”
He laughed as he glanced around. “Who you with?”
“Trish. She’s outside.”
“So, you didn’t bring a boyfriend home with you?”
I shook my head. “Do you think any Bama boy could handle all this?”
He burst out laughing as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. “I’ve missed you.” He pushed open the back door, and we stepped outside onto the brick patio together.
The mild December night air hit us as we approached Trish whose back faced us. The people she stood with noticed Steve and me and their eyes widened. Did they think we were back together?
“She’s changed since she’s been in Alabama,” Trish told the group. “Was she this much of a bitch before she left? Or was I just too busy being one of her minions to notice?”
Steve’s hand tightened on my shoulder, knowing I’d be reeling from her harsh words.
“Hey, Sabrina,” a girl standing beside Trish said, attempting to shut her up. But I’d heard enough to know where I stood with my old friend.
Trish turned quickly, her guilty eyes on me.
The only sound on that silent patio was a firetruck’s siren bellowing in the distance.
I hoped my anger carried through my eyes as I stared at Trish, all the good times we’d shared vanishing as if in a cloud of smoke. “Being someone’s minion is a choice,” I said. “I never asked you to be anything but my friend. Clearly, that was too difficult for you.” I pulled free from Steve’s grasp, looking to him briefly. “It was nice to see you.”
He nodded sadly as I turned and walked back through the house and right out the front door.
* * *
My family began arriving at one on Christmas day. That was my cue to head downstairs from my bedroom to greet them. I’d only been home for a couple days, but as much as I loved seeing my parents, I missed being on campus with Finlay—my real friend.
I heard Aunt Pat’s voice before I even reached the foyer. Her larger-than-life personality commanded an audience whenever she entered a room. My cousin Sasha, her only daughter, always seemed to fade into the background when her mother was around. I wondered how she was doing away at college. She’d been eager to get away from home, opting for school in Texas as opposed to Florida. I wondered if she’d shed her shyness and come out of her shell while away.
I bounded down the stairs in my red dress and shimmery heels, careful of the banisters wrapped with greenery and lights. My parents greeted Aunt Pat and Sasha in the foyer. Though it was sixty degrees outside, Aunt Pat donned a fur coat. Sasha looked good. Happier. Her jeans and red cashmere top was such a change from the frumpy clothes she used to wear. And her usual brunette bob had grown out and now hung in bouncy waves.
“Merry Christmas,” I said, greeting them both with hugs.
Sasha’s face lit up. “Merry Christmas.”
“Why don’t you get me a drink,” Aunt Pat said to my dad, her voice echoing off the cathedral ceiling. “Something nice and strong.”
I glanced to Sasha who rolled her eyes. I ticked my head toward the stairs and she followed me up to my room.
I sat down on the edge of my bed, while Sasha walked around, looking at all the pictures I tucked under the crisscrossed ribbons on my photo boards. Most were old high school photos I hadn’t bothered to replace yet. But some were of Finlay and me, in our room or with Caden after his football games.
“How’s Texas?” I asked.
Sasha spun around, her wide giddy eyes saying it all. “Amazing. I’ve made so many friends.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah,” she sighed with a contentedness I wasn’t used to seeing in her.
I lifted a brow. “Any guys?”
She smiled. “Apparently, I’m a sucker for thick southern accents.”
I tossed back my head and laughed, knowing exactly what she meant. Those fuck-me drawls melted their fair share of panties on my campus, too. “Be careful. They know how much we love them so they lay them on thicker.”
She laughed, before sitting down beside me. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Is it just me or does it feel weird being home for you?”
“No, it feels weird,” I agreed, the recent encounter with Trish leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
“It’s like everyone changes.”
“And not necessarily for the better,” I added.
“Agreed.”
I smiled. “Of course you agree. Great minds and all.”
We laughed and talked more before joining my parents and Aunt Pat in the dining room a little while later. The table was filled with every food imaginable. My parents always put out a huge spread—regardless of the number of guests we entertained.
Aunt Pat dominated the conversation as usual, and more than once did I bite my lip to stop from laughing at my parents rolling their eyes at each other.
“How’s school, Sabrina?” Aunt Pat asked right as I’d bitten into my beef tenderloin.
I nodded my response as I chewed down my meat.
“We’re just waiting for final grades to be posted,” my mom answered for me. “But Sabrina’s confident she passed all her classes.”
“Just passed?” Aunt Pat asked, aghast.
“Yup. Passing works for us,” my dad said with a smile.
I smiled across the table at him and he winked back at me.
“Well, despite all the hoopla that happened on Sasha’s campus, she’s still earning straight A’s,” Aunt Pat said, taking a long draught of her glass of wine.
“Congratulations, Sasha,” my mom said.
Sasha smiled, clearly appreciating my mom’s kindness despite her own mother’s frankness.
“What hoopla are you referring to?” my dad asked.
Sasha opened her mouth to explain, but Aunt Pat cut her off. “The whole Parks scandal.”
My mom tilted her head. “Parks scandal?”
“That Texas couple who’d been embezzling millions of dollars from their investors for years.”
My mother shrugged. “Guess we missed it.”
“It was all over the news,” Aunt Pat said. “When people wanted to cash out their investments, their earnings had been substantially lower than expected. They started asking questions and it became this huge scandal. People lost millions of dollars. Families lost homes. Companies went bankrupt.”
“So, what’s that have to do with Sasha?” my dad asked.
Sasha opened her mouth to explain, but Aunt Pat cut her off again. “Their boy went to Sasha’s school. Big time hockey player.”
My ears pricked up at the mention of a hockey player.
“Camera crews were camped out on campus,” Sasha explained. “The poor guy couldn’t go anywhere without reporters hounding him. He finally up and disappeared.”
“Geez,” my dad said.
My eyes bounced between Sasha and Aunt Pat. “Where’d he go?”
Sasha shrugged. “His parents were sent to prison, and no one’s been repaid the money that was stolen from them. So, there are a lot of angry people out there. Seems his parents were trying to keep him away from those determined to get what was owed to them.”
The thumping in my heart told me what I already knew. “What’s his name?”
“Crosby,” Sasha said. “Crosby Parks.”
I choke-coughed.
My dad handed me a glass of water. “You okay?”
I waved him off as I looked to Sasha. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Sasha’s eyes expanded, brimming with intrigue. “Do you know him?”
I pulled in a deep breath, finally understanding why Crosby ended up at my school. Why he was so angry. Why his mood changed at the drop of a dime.
“He’s in Alabama?” Sasha persisted.
I nodded.
“He’s got no other family besides his parents who are in jail,” she explained. “Someone in Alabama must’ve taken pity on him.”
The new information about Crosby whirled around my head, answering so many questions I’d had about him. Explaining so many things.
“Isn’t he so stinkin’ hot?” Sasha said, interrupting my thoughts.
Everyone burst into laughter, never expecting something like that to come out of her mouth.
“All those tattoos. Gah,” she continued. “You’re so lucky he’s at your school.”
I thought back to the feel of those tattooed arms around me on the dance floor and the way his chest pressed to my back sent chills through my body. Then I remembered how that dance ended. “So, his parents are really in jail?”
Sasha nodded.
Knots of unease formed in my stomach as guilt crept into my chest.
While Aunt Pat continued discussing Crosby and his parents like she knew them, I grabbed my phone from beside me on my chair and checked the hockey schedule. The team didn’t have a game until January twelfth. I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. Was he alone on campus? Alone on the holiday? Alone until January twelfth?
That night, after everyone left, I lay in bed scrolling through news stories about Crosby’s parents. It was as Aunt Pat had said. Millions of dollars embezzled. Millions of dollars owed. Pictures of Crosby’s parents in the courtroom accompanied most of the articles. His mother was a beautiful woman. Her perfectly coiffed blonde hair showed sophistication, but her eyes showed regret and pain. His father was an older version of Crosby. Same dark hair. Same intense blue eyes. But his dad’s eyes told stories of deceit—not regret for stealing from innocent people or for letting down his only son.
I wondered how Crosby felt about his parents now. Did he love the people who brought him into this world or despise the greedy people they’d become—the ones who destroyed his family and the life he’d been brought up in?
I moved on from the stories about his parents and searched social media. Crosby had no accounts. No social media presence at all. Had he been forced to shut down his accounts after everything happened or was he just not into stuff like that? I guess I didn’t know him well enough to know the answer.
My search gave way to a miserable night of tossing and turning. I was unable to sleep as thoughts of Crosby alone on the holiday consumed my mind. He had no one, and regardless of our differences, that was not okay with me.
* * *
I awoke the day after Christmas, exhausted from not having slept for more than two hours. I stumbled out of bed and showered. Guilty thoughts plagued my mind. My last conversation with Crosby sat at the forefront of my brain, and my constant lack of tolerance for him turned my stomach. I was better than that.
After my shower, I dropped down onto a stool at the kitchen island where my mom cooked breakfast and my dad read the newspaper. “Morning.”
My dad glanced over the top of his newspaper at me. “Morning.”
My mom placed a glass of orange juice down in front of me. “Why are you already showered and dressed?”
I wrapped my hands around my glass but didn’t drink it. “Well…”
My dad folded his newspaper in front of him, ready for whatever I planned to say.
“You’ve always taught me to never have regrets,” I began.
“I feel like I might need to sit down for this,” my mom said as she abandoned the food and sat down beside me.
I spent the next twenty minutes explaining what had happened on campus since the night I stumbled upon Crosby tied to the tree. My parents agreed—as I knew they would—that the only way to feel right about something unsettling was to do something about it.