Take Me On

Chapter 45

Haley

My fingers trace the split of my lips as I stare at the sprawling house from the passenger side of West’s SUV. I’m not sure if my fingers are there to keep the words in or to help them out. I think of those sci-fi movies where a character sets his gun to stun. I’m stunned. This—speechless, frozen, numb—this is what being “stunned” feels like.

“There’s a five-car garage around back.” West’s keys clank together as he circles them on his finger. “I can show you that if you’d like or we can head inside.”

My chest moves as I inhale, then exhale. Never would have I imagined that this is where he lives. “It’s a mansion.”

“It is.”

“They threw you out?” Aren’t people with money supposed to be better than...well...everyone? The way his hands clutch his keys tells me how terribly wrong I am.

“Yeah.” A pause. “I’m not like you—I’m not a good person. My dad had valid reasons for throwing me out. In fact, it’s amazing he didn’t throw my ass out sooner.”

West focuses on his lap and I have to force myself out of my stupor. Words. Words would be good right about now. But I don’t know what to say. He lives in a mansion.

But mansion or not, I hate the pain on his face. I bite my bottom lip and reach out to West, just like he reached out to me in the parking lot with Matt a few feet away. I rest my fingers on his shoulder and brush my thumb against the material of his shirt.

When he doesn’t respond, my heart flutters at the thought of becoming bold. My mouth dries out and I swallow. I’m not a bold person, not when it comes to intimacy—to touching. I inch closer, and, like I’ve dreamed of a thousand times, I caress the hair on his head, sliding my fingers into the golden-blond strands, then retucking it behind his ear.

West finally allows his deep blue eyes to meet mine.

“Will you take me inside?” I ask. “Will you show me your home?”

We’re out of the car in a heartbeat, and, with our fingers knotted tightly together, West leads me up the white stone stairs as if he’s terrified I’ll change my mind or he’ll change his. He shoves the floor-to-ceiling door open and the air rushes out of my lungs.

And I thought it looked huge on the outside. “My God.”

West shuts the door and my eyes dart about, trying to comprehend the splendor. I stand on a marble floor and in front of me is a sprawling staircase that winds with immeasurable grace. The ceiling appears to soar to the heavens and at the very pinnacle above us is a domed skylight. Because this house is perfect, the moon itself is centered in the middle.

I glance at West and I expect to see quiet expectation or a glimmer of pride. Instead, his expression contains an ache. I squeeze his hand. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s excessive.”

I appraise my clothes: my best blue button-down shirt, my best pair of jeans and black shoes. There is no way my best could ever measure up. My grip on him loosens and West clings tighter. A constant seesaw between us of holding on and letting go.

High heels click against the floor and I raise my head to notice a slender woman gliding into the foyer from a back hallway. She has mail in her hands and she flips through it with an air of absentness. I bet she doesn’t receive collection notices.

“Hi, Mom,” West says and I flinch, startled by his voice breaking the silence.

She stops abruptly. It’s obvious where West inherited his good looks, golden hair and blue eyes. A tender smile brightens her face as she surveys him. “You’re home. I thought you’d be out celebrating with your friends.”

Celebrating? My forehead scrunches. Is he purposely avoiding my gaze?

“This is Haley Williams. Haley, this is....” West pauses and the pleading glance he sends me causes me to shift. Meeting parents can be awkward, but West is acting like he’s about to slash open my heart or his. “My mom, Miriam Young.”

Young. I suck in a breath as my heart pounds faster. He’s Young.

West Young. I’ve heard his name—have said his name—a hundred times and it never clicked. Not once...until now.

He’s not just any Young. He’s the Young. This is the family that half of the buildings in the city have been dedicated to. They’re the reason why the zoo can throw a Halloween party. Because of a plaque at the check-in desk, I knew they were the ones who paid for the mattress I slept on at the shelter.

I let out a slow, steady stream of air because breathing is helpful. Breathing can keep me upright and deter the black dots encrypting my vision. Breathing may possibly make this moment less real.

“It’s nice to meet you, Haley.” His mother’s eyes dance as she spots our joined hands. “And I’m assuming Haley is your...”

“Girlfriend,” answers West.

A sound leaves me that’s akin to a squeak. West Young claimed me as his girlfriend.

Mrs. Young’s smile overtakes her face, and, as she moves forward, I let go of West and extend my hand because that’s what you do with royalty, right? Crap, maybe I should curtsy. Mrs. Young accepts my hand with both of hers, then draws me in for a hug. “West has never brought home a girl before.”

“He hasn’t?” I hug her back, sort of, because I’m wondering if I’m allowed to touch.

Mrs. Young pulls back and stretches out my arms in that weird assessing way. “She’s beautiful. Really, West, she is. Simply gorgeous.”

And she’s touchy. “Thank you?” Am I a contestant in a dog show?

I shoot a please-help-me glance to West, and, thankfully, he swoops in for the rescue. He lobs an arm around my shoulder and his mother finally drops my hands.

“I thought I’d show her around,” he says.

She claps. “That is a wonderful idea. You do that. I’ll change into something less formal, and then we can meet in the kitchen. It’ll give me a chance to properly celebrate your birthday.”

We both stand as still as pillars of salt and watch as Mrs. Young sweeps up the stairs and out of sight. “That’s my mom,” he says with a hint of apology but mostly the pride I’d been expecting earlier.

“She’s—” enthusiastic “—welcoming.”

He chuckles. “She’s a nutcase, but she’s my mom.”

“You’re a Young,” I say and there’s a sad hollowing out in my stomach. He didn’t tell me, but at the same time, he didn’t not tell me, and I never cared to ask for details.

“Yeah.” West lowers his head, then raises it. “I am.”

West points in several different directions. “Kitchen, formal living room, formal dining room, Dad’s office, bathrooms, sunroom, a couple more other rooms and the basement is for lounging.”

West claims my hand and starts up the stairs.

“Where we are going?” I ask.

“My bedroom. We need to talk.”