Our Secret Moments (Drayton Hills Series)

TRYING to find my sister is probably the worst thing to do at the end of the week.

It shouldn’t be hard. She only takes one class, but for some reason she is never where she says she’ll be. We used to share each other’s location with each other, but after I thought she was home alone when I went to her dorm, she was having sex with her boyfriend. So that has been ruled out for a while. So now, as it’s getting closer until we have to meet our parents for dinner, Wes and I are on the hunt for her.

“Are you still not going to apologise to me, Connie boy?” he asks.

“You know what, I was considering it until you just called me Connie boy,” I say to him, rolling my eyes. He’s expecting me to apologise to him because I called him an oaf for wanting to stay inside all day and do nothing instead of helping me find Nora.

“Okay. You’re right. It was a low blow. I totally understand. But I still deserve an apology.”

“You were the one who flashed me and Archer. I think I deserved an apology,” I say with a shudder. I’ve seen Wes’s ass too many times for it to be a coincidence. That boy just does not like clothes at all.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, Connie boy,” he says, laughing as he wags his eyebrows at me. And for that, I hit him in the back of the head and he stumbles forward a little. I smirk to myself as he rubs his head. “It just slipped out of me. You’ve got to admit it has a nice ring to it, though.”

“No, it doesn’t have a nice ring to it, asshole,” I retort through gritted teeth as we walk through the Dover building where all of the Humanities classes are held. It’s cold as fuck here and I’m only in jeans and a green Drayton t-shirt.

“You’ve got to stop thinking about my ass, Bailey. I’ve told you time and time again that nothing is going to happen between us,” Wes says sweetly as if he’s talking to a child. The soft sound of sniffles distract me for a second before I shake my head, probably having heard something wrong. Wes continues talking, as always. “I mean, I was considering it that one time, but since then I’ve learned that—”

I hear another sniff. “Stop talking,” I say to him out of the corner of my mouth. There are a lot of turns in this corridor and it’s hard to figure out where the noise is coming from.

“Is this the part in the movie where the guy tells someone to shut up and he kisses them instead? If it is, I’d like to kindly decline.”

“Oh my god. Can you shut up for two seconds, you oaf,” I groan, pushing him with my shoulder as I try to walk closer to the sound.

“Hey, you know how sensitive I am to that word right now,” he whines. Sometimes I feel like shoving my head in a bathtub full of water and then I think I probably shouldn’t. But the urge gets stronger and stronger the more and more I speak with this guy.

We both come to a stop when we walk around the corner, the light brown stone walls caging us in the small corridor and I see her.

It’s hard to miss Catherine Fables. Especially when she’s all I fucking see sometimes. I immediately know that it’s her against the wall, her fingers flying over her phone in her hand as she wipes her face with her jumper.

Wes tries to walk, but I stop him, holding my arm out. “Is she fucking crying?” he asks, his voice quiet. Oh, so now he wants to be quiet. Great.

“It’s hard to tell,” I say, trying to keep my voice as low as possible. “Lemme go and talk to her. Stay here.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Wes grumbles.

I smooth my sweaty palms over my jeans as I start to walk towards her. She’s clearly the one going through something, so I don’t exactly know why I feel nervous. She looks up at me as I reach her in five long steps.

“Hey, are you… Are you okay?” I ask, shoving my hands in my pockets. She blinks up at me, her face shining with tears, those beautiful eyes staring right into mine. She runs her hands down her skirt quickly.

“I’m fine,” she says, smiling, wafting her hand in the air.

“Are you, or are you just doing that girl thing where they say they’re fine but they’re really not fine?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. She laughs a little.

“No, I’m actually fine. I just got my grade for my last assignment. I’m just being emotional about it,” she says, giving me a noncommittal shrug as half an answer. When I don’t say anything, still staring at her trying to gauge her reaction, she says, “I was freaking out about it, but I did really well. So, I’m happy.”

“That’s really good, Cat. You should be proud,” I say, playfully nudging her shoulder. Her whole face lights up, her nose scrunching in the most adorable way.

“Thank you. Rotford said I should be grateful, not proud. Whatever that means,” she mumbles. She drops her gaze to the ground and it takes all that I am not to lift her chin up to get her to look at me and speak to me. “Anyway. I’m going to get a celebratory packet of chips from the vending machine. Do you want one?”

I gasp, holding my hand to my chest. “Are you suggesting that you’re going to get me a bag of chips out of the kindness of your heart?”

“You know what? Forget it. I was just trying to be nice since you were nice to me, but it seems like you prefer–”

I cut her off with a laugh. “It’s okay. I’ve got to go find Nor anyway. Do you know where she is?”

“If she’s not in the theatre room, maybe check the studio,” Cat says. “She said she had rehearsals this morning, but you never know with her.”

As I expected, Nora wasn’t in either of those places.

Instead, I spotted her in an empty classroom on the other side of campus to the Arts building making out with her boyfriend. Ryan Valla is a nice guy. He always has been and he’s perfect for Nora. They’re both theatre majors and some of the duets they’ve done have actually brought me to tears. Their chemistry on and off stage is palpable, but having to witness my twin sister make out with him is where I draw the line.

“That guy is such a prick,” Wes grumbles. I look down at him as he watches through the door into the classroom, grimacing.

“He’s fine and you know he is. Cut it out,” I say, pushing him out the way.

“Fine? That guy looks like a Ken doll with a stupid British accent,” he says, squaring his eyes at him. I chuckle, knowing that the British part is right. He spent two summers in London and he acts like he was born and raised there.

“Sounds like you’re jealous, dude.”

“I’m not,” he growls. “I just don’t see how he can satisfy her. Especially if they’re sleeping together. Nora is—”

“Okay, okay. Your work here is done. I’ve found her so you can leave now,” I say, shaking my head at whatever thoughts this guy has about my sister.

He pins his arms against his chest, leaning against the door. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Fine. Do you want me to tell Archer?” I watch as his face grows pale. We’ve seen Archer angry one time and it was enough to scare the living daylights out of him. And me too.

I finally push open the door as Wes falls backwards right onto his ass. I laugh as I step over him, watching my sister scramble apart from her boyfriend. His hand was getting way too far up her skirt for my likings and in a goddamn classroom for God sake. I don’t know when she started to become the reckless one out of the two of us, but it’s not a good look.

She grabs her bag from the table, her brown hair bobbing on her shoulders, as she pushes her eager boyfriend to the side. “What the hell are you doing?” she asks, smoothing out her skirt as she walks towards me. She looks down at Wes who is still on the floor. “Wesley.”

“Nora,” he says, grinning.

She steps over him, shaking her head. “I told you to meet me an hour ago. We’re going to be late.”

When Nora and I moved out for college, we made an agreement with our parents that we’d come home at least once every two weeks to visit them. We’ve always had a strong relationship seeing as we’re the only children and we don’t have much extended family.

They were only eighteen when they had Nora and I and it always felt like they’re the ‘cool’ aunt and uncle all my friends talk about having. It’s always been us in this small little bubble in a huge house in Fort Collins.

High school me would definitely deny it, but I’m one hundred percent sure that I’m a mama’s boy. I’ve gotten used to it now, knowing that I’m always going to need my mom in my corner, but as a kid I would do anything to deny it.

I’ve always loved my dad and I always will. He’s the one I have to thank for getting me into football, but there is nothing that will compare to the kind of bond my mom and I have.

My mom was the one who dropped me off at my first day of middle school and the same person who picked me up earlier after I freaked out during the icebreakers.

My mom was the one who took me out for ice cream after winning my first football game even when my dad tried to keep me on a diet.

My mom was the one who let me and Nora into her bed after she miscarried and made my dad sleep on the floor of the bedroom. Even though we fully didn’t understand the significance of what happened, she let us be there for her and joked around with my dad when he made breakfast for us the morning after.

Our family has never been perfect and it never will be. But that’s what I like about coming home. I like coming home to the faint smell of pumpkin and spices no matter what time of year it is. I like coming home to the maroon comforter that lays on the back of the couch that never seems to move. I like coming home into my parents arms as they run down the driveway as Nora and I jump out of my truck.

My dad gets to Nora first, trapping her in a hug as if they haven’t seen each other for years. It’s been two weeks, but still. My mom almost trips over the overgrown grass as she runs towards me, her white summer dress and red apron flowing in the wind as she reaches me.

I used to think mom was a princess because of the movies we used to watch. “I’m not a princess, sweetie. I’m just your mom,” she told me once after I went through a phase of calling her Princess Emma for a week straight. “You’re the best mom-princess ever,” I told her.

“Oh, honey,” she says, pulling out of the hug she immediately trapped me in. I smile up at her, her bright green eyes squinting at me in the sun. I reach into the car quickly, returning with the cookies I made. “And a Connor Bailey special? How did I get so lucky?”

“You’ll be lucky if you don’t die,” Nora shouts back, walking up the path back into the house, chasing after my dad and probably pestering him with questions about New York. Dad goes there a lot for business and it’s her dream to go one day. My dad has been planning a big trip for her twenty-first birthday, but she doesn’t know it yet. I do not want to be in the same room as her when she finds out.

My mom wraps her arm around my shoulder, her blonde hair tickling me. “How are you, my sunshine?”

“I’m good. Just a little tired,” I say, swaying with her as we walk into the house. When she shuts the door, she studies me curiously, her arms now pinned across her chest. “What?”

“You went out last night, didn’t you?”

“Yes…?”

“But you didn’t drink?” she asks, continuing her walk into the kitchen. I follow behind her, not sure what she’s getting at exactly. I don’t say anything and she takes my silence for an answer. “Connor.”

“Mom, you know I don’t drink during the season,” I say with a sigh, taking a seat at the island.

“I know, I know. I just feel like you need to loosen up a little, you know?”

“I can have fun without drinking.”

She sighs wistfully, looking out the window into the bright backyard and then back to me. “I just don’t want you to miss out on things, that’s all. You know I just want you to have fun. And part of that is because your dad and I had to grow up pretty quickly. I just don’t want you to feel like you need to be one-hundred percent responsible all the time, Connie.”

I’m not an uptight person. It’s never really been my style. Or, well, I thought it wasn’t. That was until I started college, realised parties and fraternities weren’t just for movies and they were actually very real.

Moving out and into a space where everybody wants to be out all the time and drinking was the main priority, was daunting. So I stayed away from it. I know people on my team can manage football and a social life easily, but for me, eliminating the social aspect that leads to drama and things that I can’t risk being apart of, has improved my performance immensely. I want it to stay that way.

“I’m fine, mom. You don’t have to worry about me. Trust me, I’m getting the full college experience,” I say as convincingly as I can. She nibbles on her bottom lip before her shoulders sag, signifying defeat. She presses a kiss to my forehead before walking past me and out of the kitchen.

I don’t get another second to breathe before Nora walks in, her hair somehow a mess from the car to the house as she inspects the box of cookies on the counter. Mom took a bite of one already and seemed to enjoy them. Well, she didn’t spit them out, but she also didn’t compliment them either.

“What are these supposed to be?” Nora asks, shaking the box of steel cookies.

“Cookies, obviously. Do you want one?”

Her face scrunches up. “Your baking looks like death inside a Tupperware container.”

One thing about Nora? She knows exactly where your weak spots are and how to poke them. “Mom ate one,” I say, desperately trying to justify the fact that they look inedible.

Nora laughs. “That’s because she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings,” she says sweetly, giving me that older sister – by eleven minutes – glare. “Watch,” she says, moving towards the white kitchen wall that connects with the living room. “Dad, do you want a cookie?”

“Ooh, yes,” my dad replies, his voice clear with excitement. I give Nora a sarcastic smile. She’s such a know-it-all sometimes and it pisses me off.

“Connor made them,” she shouts back, a smug smile on her face.

“You know what? On second thought, I’m good,” my dad replies and my heart sinks. Am I really that bad at baking? “I don’t want to fill up too much before dinner.”

My sister holds her chin high, doing her famous exit which she’s practised over a million times growing up.

I look back down at my apparently undesirable cookies and shove one into my mouth. They can’t be that bad.

They somehow taste even worse than they did this morning. Still, I force myself to eat it because nobody else will.

I love coming home to my perfectly imperfect family.