Again, I looked to the cookies. At the crew house, I'd found a brand-new mixer, along with new mixing bowls and cookie sheets.
Arden hadn't only made me cookies. She'd bought all the supplies to make them, too.
This was no small thing.
She didn't even have a car.
And why was that?
I recalled something she'd said in passing. She'd sold the car to pay for home repairs – repairs that were never made, for a house she'd never own.
Thanks to me.
Shit.
In the kitchen, Chase was laughing again. "I know. It's a riot, right?"
I wasn't laughing.
And the fact that was Chase was – well, I didn't like it. Through clenched teeth, I said, "You think that's funny?"
"It's not as funny as the look on your face," he said. "But yeah, I think it's pretty damn funny."
I still wasn't laughing.
And now I had a question. I knew the answer. But the question still had to be asked. "And Kenny was thanking me, why?"
"Because," Chase said, "if it weren't for you blowing up the lab, that scholarship would've been Arden's."
Chapter 72
Arden
From the front walkway, Cami called out, "Guess who called me on my way to work."
While she'd been gone, I'd been painting the spindles of her family's front porch. "Who?" I asked.
It was two in the afternoon, and Cami had just returned from her part-time summer job of tutoring grade schoolers at the local learning center. When she reached the front steps, she stopped and gave me a significant look. "Mason Blastoviak."
At the sound of that name – the last name in particular – the paintbrush slipped from my fingers and tumbled off the porch into the nearby shrubbery. "Crap!"
"No kidding," Cami said.
Already, my stomach was in knots. "What did he want?"
"Two things," Cami said. "First, he wanted to know the name of my dad."
I frowned. Cami's dad was away at work, much like the rest of the family, who were either working or at school.
Her dad's name was Engelbart, but I had no idea why this concerned Mason Blastoviak. "Why would he ask such a thing?"
"Do you remember when you and I were walking Willow home, and we were trying to figure out where she lived?"
At the memory, I almost cringed. "How could I forget?"
"Well, the thing is," Cami continued, "I promised to tell her my dad's name if she told me hers."
"Ohhhhhh. That's right." In all the commotion, that little detail had totally slipped my mind. "So he called because Willow still wanted to know?"
"Yup. Crazy, huh?"
Crazy was right. I didn't like Mason, even now. His hostility had been a huge source of friction between me and Brody. And then there was the matter of everything he'd done to cost me the only home I'd ever truly wanted.
Still, I had to give him credit where credit was due. In spite of his many other flaws, he truly did seem to care about Willow.
But he didn't care about me – not that he should, I guess. Bracing myself, I asked, "What was the second thing he wanted?"
"Well, that's where it gets interesting."
"Why?"
"Because it was about you."
I feared as much. Whatever Mason wanted, it couldn’t be good. "Oh yeah?"
Cami nodded. "He wanted to know if you were still here."
In my stomach, the sick feeling only grew. "Did you ask why?"
"Sure," she said. "But all he said was, 'You'll see.'"
It sounded like a threat. Probably it was. Mason had a reputation, and it wasn't great.
Or at least, it wasn't great if you were on the receiving end of his wrath – as I knew all too well, considering how ruthless he'd been in acquiring the house.
If I were smart, I decided, I'd brace myself for a nasty surprise.
It didn't take long for it to arrive either – less than five minutes, actually – except it wasn't nasty. And didn't involve Mason at all.
Chapter 73
Brody
As I pulled into the unfamiliar driveway, I scanned the house, searching for any sign that Arden was still there.
She should be. Mason had called Cami just this morning. And assuming that Cami had been telling the truth, Arden was still staying at the neat two-story home that I was looking at now.
The home was probably a hundred years old, with a classic front porch, mature trees, and tall, dense shrubbery all along the front.
But I didn't care about the house. I cared about the girl inside, assuming she was still there.
Please, God.
The drive from Bayside to Petoskey had taken me two and a half hours, which had given me more time to think than I'd needed.
I didn't need time. I needed the girl I loved.
Yeah, I loved her. And only a dumb-ass wouldn’t have realized it long before now.
But I'd wised up plenty during the past threedays, ever since Chase had told me something I should've figured out on my own.
Turns out, I'd cost Arden not only her family home, but a scholarship that would've changed everything for her.
I owed her an apology – and more.
And hey, while I was at it, I owed myself the chance to reclaim what I'd lost.
Arden.
I was halfway up the front walkway when a sudden motion in the bushes made me stop to look. As I did, Arden's head popped up over the shrubbery. She stood and took a quick look around.
At the sight of me standing there, she froze.
I froze, too.
She was holding a narrow paint-brush, caked with dirt and white paint. She wore a thin, paint-splattered T-shirt, and her hair was tied in a messy ponytail, with loose tendrils curling around her face.
It was the face of the girl I loved.
The girl I'd lost.
Her eyes were wide, and her lips were full. There was a purple paint smudge along the side of her cheek and a streak of white just above her collarbone.
She was so beautiful, I could hardly breathe.
Paint or no paint, I wanted to take her in my arms and pull her close like I used
