Up to Me - By M. Leighton Page 0,46

twenty minutes later, Gavin is carrying my bag and following me up the long, curving, lighted walkway to my mother's front door. I stop on the stoop and take a deep breath, glancing at Gavin to my left. He's looking the house over, taking in the fancy brick exterior, the neverending supply of windows and the expensive brass knocker attached to the huge wooden door.

"This ought to be interesting."

I smile. "Oh, you have no idea."

So I knock.

Within seconds, the door swings open to reveal my mother, standing just inside, wrapped in a high-dollar silk robe. From her perfectly coiffed (yes, even in the middle of the night) sable hair to her sharp blue eyes to her thin arms crossed over her chest, she oozes disapproval. Essentially, she looks much like she did last time I saw her a couple of years ago. She's pretty much always disapproving. And she's pretty much always the same age. No doubt she spends thousands of dollars on preservatives. Eventually I'll catch up to her and we'll be the same age.

I wonder if they make any night creams laced with formaldehyde, I think obtusely as I take in her smooth, taut skin.

"Hi, Mom. Sorry to wake you."

She steps back and lets us into the foyer. "Not sorry enough, I see."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. My mother has always been the type that can't let something go. She'll get something stuck in her head or fixate on a particular oversight and she'll beat it to a bloody pulp.

"I suppose not," I say agreeably. "We won't keep you up. This is Gavin. I'll show him to one of the guest rooms. I'll take the other. You won't even know we're here."

She hmphs and closes the door behind us. "You know the rules," she warns, looking pointedly at Gavin.

"I know, but I told you he's just a friend, Mom."

"I know that's what you said."

This time I do roll my eyes. "Well, I'll see you in the morning. 'Night."

I reach for Gavin's hand and tug him forward.

To be as exhausted as I am, I'm having a terrible time getting to sleep. All I can think of are the things I didn't say. The things I didn't do or enjoy because of fear, because I don't trust myself. It was never about Cash and not trusting him because he's a bad boy. Yes, he is a bad boy. In some ways. But that's not the problem. Being a bad boy doesn't make him a bad person or a bad companion. But I couldn't see that past my own bias. I didn't trust my judgment. After having made so many wrong decisions and let my feelings blind me, I finally found someone worth loving and I froze.

And it couldn't have happened at a worse time.

Now I'm stuck with all the unsaid things, all the regret for having been afraid. For not having acted. Or spoken. Or jumped.

If, by some miracle of God, I get another chance before all this is said and done, I won't be such a coward next time.
CHAPTER TWENTY - Cash
I'm too jacked up on adrenaline to sleep. The closer dawn gets, the more anxious I get about how all this will go down.

I look at the clock. With no windows, I can't see the sun coming up, but I know it is. And it makes me think of Olivia, hopefully sleeping peacefully at her mother's house. Alone.

The thought of Gavin possibly curled up next to her makes me ill as hell. With a growl, I throw my arm over my eyes and try to clear my mind.

But it doesn't work. I can't stop thinking about her.

Maybe if I call and let it ring just once...

She isn't exactly a light sleeper. One ring shouldn't wake her if she's sleeping. But if she's awake...

I hit the key for the number of her disposable cell and the phone automatically dials hers.

It rings once and I pause. Just before I hit the button to hang up, Olivia's hushed voice comes on the line.

"Hi," she says simply. I smile. I can almost see the shy look on her face as she says it. And in that one word, I can hear the she's pleased I called. Now, I want