Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2) Read online

  Stacey pushes herself off my floor and plops down by me on my bed, making my pencil slip against the notepad in my lap and giving my doodle of a guitar an extra string. She doesn’t notice, though; she’s too fired up.

  “Of course, I’m excited. You’ll finally be eighteen and, like, an adult!” She ignores my laughter and continues. “I’m serious. You can join the military, vote, and pretty much anything else you want to do and no one can tell you no. The best part is that you’ll finally be able to go to the bar with me. I’m so tired of going out with my cousin. I swear that girl has no standards at all. You should see the coullions she hooks up with.”

  “You’re right, Stace. I can’t wait to go dancin’ with you at Fat Woody’s. It’ll be a dream come true,” I say in between giggles.

  “It’ll be fun, and you know it. Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out and socialize before you abandon me.”

  I grab a pillow from the bed and smack her in the head with it. “I’m not abandoning you; I’m just movin’ to New Orleans a few months early. You’re the one going off to college two hours away!”

  She takes the weaponized pillow and lays her head on it. “I know, but I’ll visit you as much as I can, and we can party on Bourbon Street.” She pauses to waggle her eyebrows at me. “You know no one will care that we’re not old enough to drink yet.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I laugh. Stacey has the luxury of a college fund. I, on the other hand, have the luxury of applying for student loans. So, instead of waiting around for college to start and working some local job to save money, I decided to move to New Orleans this summer and try to sell my paintings. I’ve seen other people do it. I’ve been to New Orleans several times with my family. The artists on Jackson Square have always been mesmerizing to me. I love how every person is so unique, and I’m hoping to find my niche.

  It’s going to be hard not seeing Stacey every day, but I won’t dwell on it right now. I just want to enjoy this time with her before I leave.

  “What did your dad say when you told him you wanted to move this summer, instead of waiting for the fall semester to start?”

  “Honestly, he was pretty cool about it. I don’t know if he thinks I’ll change my mind when the time comes or what, but he hasn’t said much. I’m kinda worried about leavin’ him, though,” I admit, hating the way my stomach feels when I think about leaving Daddy by himself.

  “Oh, your daddy will be just fine. There are still plenty of women in these parts that are waitin’ for the right moment to pounce him. I bet they’d even help you pack your bags to get you out of the house quicker.”

  “Stop,” I groan, covering my face with my notepad. “You’re probably right, but I do not want to think about that right now.”

  “So, how’s Tucker doin’?” Stacey asks.

  I shrug. “He seems to be doing well. His liver, on the other hand, maybe not so much.” His band left shortly after the holidays and traveled along the west coast before driving across the country playing anywhere and everywhere they could. He says he’ll be here for my graduation so he can take a break before the band heads to the east coast for the summer and I hope he does. I actually miss the shithead. It’s too quiet without him here.

  “I’ve been sketchin’ up some ideas for flyers for the band to use. What do you think?” I show her the drawings in my notepad.

  “These are incredible, Cami. You’re gonna hit the big time in New Orleans. I can feel it.”

  As I stand back and observe my work, I’m filled with a serious sense of accomplishment. In the past year and a half, I’ve managed to slap paint on almost this entire barn wall. Sam even built me my very own scaffolding, with a harness and everything. There are large brown tree trunks that branch up toward the ceiling and burst with green. Some of the foliage is more on the oak side, but some of it resembles the gorgeous weeping willows Annie has planted in the back of the plantation. And no tree is complete without moss dripping from its branches. That’s what I’ve been working on most recently.

  I haven’t had time to work on the mural as much as I would’ve liked. Being a senior has kept me busy. Now, that we’re coming to the end of the year, and graduation is creeping up on us, it’s crazy.

  I wipe the back of my hand over my forehead and realize I had some brown paint on it that’s now smeared across my face. Awesome.

  Springtime in Louisiana can get toasty. It’s already eighty-something degrees today and even though the two big barn doors are wide open, I haven’t felt much of a breeze since I’ve been in here. I guess it’s time to trade in my trusty overalls for a pair of shorts. Since I clearly can’t disrobe in the barn, I unhook my straps and pull my t-shirt over my head, leaving me in my sports bra, and fasten the straps on my overalls back. Better. At least my skin can breathe.

  Sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, I pick up the sweet tea I brought out with me and chug half of it. As I lean back and press the cool glass to my forehead, I scan over the wall and decide what I want to paint next.

  After a few minutes, the combination of fewer clothes and refreshing drink has me feeling revived. Just as I’m getting ready to climb back up my ladder to finish some detail on the moss I’ve been adding to the trees, the shuffle of feet catches my attention. Turning, I practically dump my palette of paint on the floor.

  Standing in the doorway with a huge smile is none other than Deacon Landry, and boy is he a sight for sore eyes. He’s lost some of the bulk he’d gained during his senior year playing football. His muscles are now a lot leaner, longer. His hair is longer too. He’s got the typical frat boy shag going on, and it’s totally working for him. The familiar sun-kissed streaks are more prominent, framing his face and making his blue-green eyes stand out even more than normal. I haven’t seen him in over a month. Maybe it’s been two. Annie and Sam have been in Baton Rouge quite a bit lately for benefit dinners and charity events, so he hasn’t been home much.

  “Hey,” I finally say, setting my paints and brush down on the floor and rubbing my hands against my legs.

  “Hey, almost-eighteen-year-old,” he says, a bright smile splitting his gorgeous face.

  I can’t help the blush that heats up my cheeks. I don’t know if it’s from him reminding me that I’m almost a legal adult or his presence or the smile. Maybe a combination of the three. I think I used to be immune to a lot of his charms because I was around him all the time. With him being gone so much, my resistance is at an all-time low.

  I even feel a slight squeak in my voice when I laugh, making me sound like I’m nervous. That’s how the girls at school used to act around Deacon, not me. Clearing my throat, I try again, hoping I sound normal. “What brings you here?” I ask.

  “What? I can’t come home when I want?” He feins hurt, arms out to the side like he’s full of innocence. That’s when I notice the box. It’s small and wrapped with a white bow on top.

  I laugh again and try to hide my smile, but he sees it.

  “What?” he asks, looking at the box. “You think this is for you?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m sure it’s for some other almost-eighteen-year-old.”

  He steps further into the barn and turns toward the wall. I watch him as his eyes rake over the painting. It’s large. The biggest piece I’ve ever done. And an old part of me, the one that’s always wanted Deacon’s approval, holds her breath and waits. When a slow smile graces his face, I feel my shoulders relax and a breath ease in and out of my lungs.

  “Mama told me you were working in the barn. I thought maybe you got in trouble,” he says, not taking his eyes off the wall.

  I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. I’ve missed him. I’ve missed having someone who gets me; someone who knows where I come from and understands me on a deep level. Sure, Stacey gets me, and Micah is still around, but I miss the way things were when all of us were together. Except the part where they always used to tell me what to do and try to control my life, that part I can live
without.

  “Who’s around to get in trouble with?” I ask, still giggling.

  “Micah,” he says, shrugging. “He knows how to piss people off.”

  I roll my eyes. “Micah and I haven’t had a disagreement since sophomore year when I let Stacey borrow his Goonies movie without askin’.”

  “Ah, yes. Goonies Gate. Didn’t you lie and say you couldn’t find it?”

  “Maybe. I just didn’t realize he’d go all ballistic over a VHS tape.”

  “Micah is very protective over his VHS collection.”

  “Apparently.”

  We both laugh, looking anywhere but at each other.

  “The painting is great,” he finally says, gesturing to the wall. “I love the trees and the way you incorporated your old stuff into the new. It’s a shame it’s stuck out here in this barn.”

  “Thanks.” I laugh lightly, always feeling uncomfortable when people offer a compliment, especially about my painting. “I’m kinda glad it’s stuck out here in the barn. It’s too personal to be on a canvas.”

  He nods his head, still looking at the wall. “I can see that,” he says, walking over to touch the wall where the castle is painted.

  “I just couldn’t cover up the past, ya know?”

  “You shouldn’t. The past is what makes us who we are, right?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, feeling my heart puff up. It’s crazy how just sharing a space and conversation with Deacon seems to take me back and make me forget time and distance.

  “I brought you this,” he says abruptly, handing me the wrapped box. “Happy Birthday.”

  I take the box and hold it close to me, trying to judge its contents by the weight.

  “This isn’t Christmas. You don’t have to shake it and make guesses. Open it.”

  It’s light, so I’m guessing . . . jewelry?

  Gingerly, I slip my finger under the flap, tearing the tape on the wrapping paper. When I’m down to just the box, I crack the lid and see a small castle. It’s pewter and no bigger than a Matchbox car.

  It’s perfect.

  “I love it,” I tell him, turning it over in my hand and rubbing my thumb against the detailed edges.

  “It’s just somethin’ I found at this old antique store in Baton Rouge. I was in there killin’ time the other day and saw it and immediately thought of you. I know it’s not much, but . . .”

  “Thank you,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his neck and loving the way he feels against me. In moments like this, it’s like no time has passed. If I close my eyes and just breathe deeply, we’re back out by the pond, lying on our backs and watching clouds pass overhead.

  “You’re welcome,” his arms tighten around me before loosening their hold.

  We both clear our throats and I glance around the barn, looking for a distraction. As I go about picking up the few discarded pieces of wrapping paper, I try not to think about how good it felt to touch him.

  “I also have some good news,” he says as he walks back toward the barn door, putting some distance between us.

  “Oh? So, this visit isn’t just for my birthday?”

  He smiles. “It is, but I also wanted to tell you this in person.”

  “Well, you’ve got me all intrigued now. Tell me.”

  “I got a loan for that buildin’ I’ve wanted to buy. My application was approved yesterday, and I was able to get the owner to lower his sellin’ price.”

  “Oh, my God, Deacon! That’s so great,” I squeal and wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

  His arms wrap around my waist, and my feet leave the floor.

  I kiss his cheek before he sits me back down.

  “I’m really happy for you,” I tell him.

  “Thanks,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re the first to know. Well, besides Micah. I came to tell Mom and Dad, but I just had to tell you first.”

  That little tidbit of information causes my breath to catch. The fact that he still thinks of me as someone he wants to share pieces of his life with makes my heart beat faster.

  “I also want you to come to a little party we’re throwing in a couple of weeks. I should be able to close on the building by the end of the month, and I want to have a celebration, just family and some close friends. The building is a mess, but it’ll be cool.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay.” He smiles. “Well, I better go talk to Mama before I have to leave. I’ve gotta get back for a late shift.”

  “Thanks for this,” I say, holding my gift. “And congrats again.”

  He nods and waves as he exits the barn. And I’m left standing there, holding a small pewter castle to my chest.

  Micah and I ride to Baton Rouge in comfortable silence; the only noise is an old country station playing low on the radio of his Jeep. His new ride was purchased with a portion of his inheritance, the majority of which he’s saving for renovations on the building we’re going to tonight. I’m so proud of him and Deacon.

  They have a dream, and they’re going for it.

  Some people might think they’re not old enough to take on a venture like this, but those people don’t know Deacon and Micah like I do. They’re driven, and when they have a goal, they pretty much succumb to tunnel-vision, only seeing what’s in front of them. And they’ll do anything to get it.

  “You excited?” I ask as we exit off the highway.

  “Yeah,” Micah says, looking over his shoulder. “I feel all jittery inside, like right before I go out on the field for a big game.”

  “I can see that,” I say, chuckling. “This is a pretty big deal.

  He nods, focused on the road and the turns he’s making to get us where we’re going.

  “So, who’s all gonna be there?”

  “Uh, just us and Deacon. Dad and Mom are supposed to stop by for a few. Other than that, just some of Deacon’s friends from school.”

  “I wish Tucker could be here for this.”

  “Me too.”

  “I miss him,” I confess, looking out the window as we get closer to campus, which must mean we’re closer to the building.

  “Me too,” Micah says. “I’m glad he’s out doin’ his thing, but I’m ready for him to come home. At least for a while.”

  We pull up in front of what looks like an abandoned building. The windows are blacked out and unlike the adjoining buildings, there’s no signage, no lighting.

  I recognize Deacon’s truck, but the rest of the vehicles parked close by aren’t familiar, and suddenly I’m nervous.

  I’ve never interacted with Deacon at college or his friends. I’ve wanted to, but my daddy hasn’t let me. He always says a college campus isn’t the place for a young lady. But Micah and Tucker come and hang out frequently. Double standards piss me off.

  What if they think I’m some immature high schooler?

  My hands fidget as we walk up the sidewalk.

  “Nervous?” Micah asks, eyeing me before opening the door.

  “No.”

  He gives me a look, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t be nervous. I’ve met most of his friends, and they’re all cool.”

  “Okay,” I say, swallowing down my insecurities.

  Micah holds the door for me, and I walk in.

  The place is dimly lit with a couple of tables set up in the center of the wide open floor. Some random building supplies are stacked against the walls, and there’s more dust than you can shake a stick at, but it’s awesome.

  The place gives industrial a whole new meaning, but I can see the potential—tall ceilings, a portion of it open to the second floor, dropped lighting, metal railing. It’s cool. And if I were to be completely honest, I’m kind of in awe of the fact that Deacon and Micah now own it.

  “There he is,” Deacon’s voice rings out, clapping his brother on his shoulder and pulling him into a hug. “Everybody, this is my brother Micah. Micah, everybody.”
>
  I watch as Micah gives a casual two-finger wave, wishing I could be half as cool and collected as he is.

  “And this is Cami.” Deacon motions to me, smiling and everyone says hello. They all seem friendly, so I make an effort and begin making my way around the room, introducing myself.

  The small crowd begins to mingle, and Deacon serves up drinks, alcoholic, I’m sure. He offers me one, but I decline. If Micah drinks, I want to be able to drive home. My daddy will shoot us both if I’m not home before my curfew.

  “Thanks for comin’,” Deacon says as he grabs me a plain Coke from an ice chest.

  “I wouldn’t have missed it.” I accept the drink and try not to react when our fingers graze during the exchange.

  “So, what do you think?” he asks, gesturing to the building.

  “I think it’s great,” I tell him. “I can see why you wanted to buy it.” I smile up at him and hope that it doesn’t look as awkward as it feels. I’ve always felt close to Deacon, but I feel our paths drifting, and the divide physically pains me.

  “Thanks.” He stops and holds my gaze. “I mean it. I’m glad you came.”

  Deacon goes on, visiting with people and I stand back and watch. Micah seems to fit right in. He and Deacon have always been good at stuff like this—mingling, being the life of the party—where I’ve always been more of an observer.

  During my observations, my attention goes to a girl with short dark hair who seems to be very familiar with Deacon. I watch as she laughs and touches his arm. When he turns to her, she leans into him, and the simple action makes my blood run cold.

  At first, I think they must just be close friends, but when Deacon’s hand comes to rest on her hip, I realize they’re probably more.

  To anyone else, the actions probably seem simple, innocent, but to me, they’re anything but. Her hands are touching the person I want to touch. She has what I want. And he’s looking at her like he only used to look at me. All of it makes my heart ache as it splits in two. To keep myself from crying, I try to think of something else, anything but the two of them. But I can’t.