many guests he’s had over because the man certainly knows what he’s doing.
From what I can tell, he lives here alone with his dog.
I didn’t hear or see anyone else, and he certainly didn’t mention anyone.
There were no personal pictures on his mantle. None on his walls either, just a lot of colorful art. “Who are you, Miles?”
I’m not sure I ever knew.
I noticed him instantly when he came to our school. All the girls did, but once they found out he was a scholarship kid, liked to keep mostly to himself, and didn’t fawn all over them, they lost interest quickly.
Not me.
I had boyfriends and went to parties and led my high school life, but I always watched him. Was always curious and crushing if we’re speaking the truth here.
He was a country on to himself and there was something about that that intrigued me. He had a story no one knew, and I envied that in a way. Especially since everyone and their great-grandmother knew mine.
Knew my family.
A queen bee though I never quite understood the how or the why behind it.
I couldn’t hold hands with a guy in the dark without the entire school, my sisters, and my parents hearing about it.
Miles seemed above it all.
Keeping to himself by choice. Taking art classes, never going to parties or trying to befriend the popular kids. He seemed to have a freedom, a quiet confidence I was unfamiliar with.
Turning on the shower to hot, I peel off the bandage on my head, taking in the cleaned one-inch slice. It’s not bleeding anymore, as Miles said, but it’s red and pretty angry looking. Glancing down, I take in my right knee. No cuts or open skin, thank god, but it’s already got a nasty purple bruise on it.
“You really rocked this out, London. Super job.” I sigh. I just hope I don’t miss Christmas with my family.
Stepping into the shower, I wash myself up quickly, and when I step out, wrapping myself in a warmed white towel, I feel a little better.
A bit more like myself.
I dress in my PJs and brush out my long hair. I apply a little makeup because let’s be real here, Miles Ford is downstairs, and then I sit on the edge of the bed and pick up the phone. My parents always made us remember three phone numbers. In the age of cell phones, where all your contacts are stored, it’s easy not to know anyone’s number. But right now, I’m glad my parents had the foresight to push that one into us.
I call my dad’s cell phone because I don’t know the house number up there off the top of my head. He picks up on the first ring, worry evident in his tone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Dad. It’s me.”
“London. Jesus Henry Christ, where the hell are you? We’ve been going out of our fluffing minds. Your mother has called every hospital in the fucking state.”
Shit. I scoot back a little, running my hands down my wet strands and feeling awful. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I swear. I… um… had a little accident.” I cringe, shutting my eyes even though he can’t see me.
“A little accident? What is it?”
“Well, it’s when your car crashes, but that’s not important right now.”
“London Amelia Canterbury, I swear I will trash your Christmas presents if you ever quote Airplane to me again when I’m this worried about you.”
I laugh despite myself. “Sorry. It was too good to pass up and I was stalling. I lost control of the car shortly after we hung up and I crashed into a tree. The car was stuck in the snow and I hit my head and knee. I’m fine,” I quickly add. “Just a bit of blood from my head.”
“Did you pass out? Where are you?”
I roll my eyes because my episodes with blood are legendary. I couldn’t even watch the Twilight movies and they were not that gory. “Someone came and found me. They got me out of the car and cleaned me up and brought me to their house to stay.”
“Who? Where are you?” he repeats, growing more exasperated, though you’d think it would be the opposite. You’d think knowing I’m okay, he’d be calming down, but that’s not really my father’s style. He likes all his chickens home and safe in front of him.
“Dad, do you remember Miles Ford?”
“Huh? Who?”
I shake my head. “Never mind. The guy who saved me turns out is someone I went to high school with.