Crash (Visions (Simon Pulse)) (17 page)

“Oh, good job, vice president of awesome. So . . . what do Mom and Dad think about me stealing the food truck?”

“It was a bit of a shock. They didn’t know you’d ever driven it before, so obviously they think you’re going to become a crazed food truck thief. And probably a mobster, too. An addicted one.” He gives me a sad, sideways grin. “Truth is, they think this is all Sawyer’s fault, and he’s turning you into some lovesick emo rule-breaker. I’m not sure this whole thing did your relationship any favors.”

I let that sink in. “Oh. That’s bad.” I don’t yet know how I’m going to explain the truck. Or the relationship. I ponder it for a moment, and then put it aside for when I can think more clearly. “Did you talk to the police?”

“Yeah. They wanted to know if the gas line shutoff was related to our adventure, because Grand Poohbah Angotti was apparently grumbling about it. I said I knew nothing of it.”

“Are you serious?” I shake my head. “He was grumbling about it? We saved his fucking restaurant and his
family, and he’s mad because he probably had to throw out a few pizzas? Besides, I don’t remember any gas meter being turned off.”

Trey regards me. “You don’t?”

I grin so he knows I’m teasing. “All I know is that we saw a snowplow driving crazily, and we acted on instinct when we saw it was aiming toward our rival’s restaurant. We headed it off so it wouldn’t hit people, because we are human beings like that. That’s it, that’s all. End of story.”

“So you’re not going to mention the vision thing?”

“What vision thing?” I smile sweetly.

Trey laughs. “You don’t know how relieved that makes me. It’s gone, then?”

I nod. “It’s gone.”

“Phew.”

“Right? Totally gone. But back to the reporters. They said what about me, exactly?” I bat my eyelashes. My lids feel all puffy and weird.

“They said a sixteen-year-old girl driving illegally with her stunningly handsome brother—who is eighteen and available, by the way—saved the world with their giant balls. Ah-ha-ha-ha.”

I roll my eyes.

“They interviewed Sawyer’s parents, who actually sounded grateful, and his cousin, Kate, I think her name was, who saw the whole thing from the time we were
rolling. She said if we hadn’t been there, the snowplow would have hit right where the dining room window is, right next to the kitchen. The cops said that with the gas meter and kitchen ovens going full blast, there could have been a tremendous explosion. But PawPaw Angotti said the gas had been manually shut off just minutes before, ruining some food—yes, he really did mention that on TV, making him look like a total douche.”

“Hmm. Must have been an angel or something who turned off that gas.”

“One of the world’s unexplained mysteries, right alongside the Loch Ness Monster and the purpose of ‘being all gangsta.’” He leans back in his chair. “Oh, and then a honey of a boy came on the interview, almost forgot. The heir to the emporium, as it were.”

“Sawyer?”

“Indubitably. After his little statement, I think I’m sort of back in love with him again.”

“You jerk. Tell me what he said!”

He pauses. “Okay. In all seriousness, he said something like Julia Demarco was a real hero, putting herself in harm’s way to save the lives of diners and employees of a rival business, and that the Angottis were indebted to her and the entire Demarco family. And then he choked up on camera, which was superhot, and all of Chicagoland melted just a little bit that day.”

“Shut up.”

“True story. I’m not kidding. I watched it ad nauseam from the chair in the living room Friday night and all day yesterday.”

“Did you record it?”

“Rowan recorded it just for you.”

I grin. “Aww. She’s so awesome.”

“Ahem.”

“I mean, you guys are so awesome. Thank you for coming out to find me, Trey. I’m not sure we would have made it if it hadn’t been for you.”

“Of course.”

It’s quiet for a moment. And then I tell him, “Sawyer came by. I guess it was last night. I’m kind of groggy on what day it is.”

“Don’t tell Mom and Dad I told you, but he’s been here the entire time, almost. He’s in the waiting room. He sleeps there, leaves for an hour now and then to eat or shower or whatever. Then he comes back.”

My stomach flips. “Are you serious?”

“And please don’t mention to Mom and Dad that you let him in here. They don’t want you to have anything to do with him—they’re being really cold assholes to him, actually. Dad, mostly. I mean, obviously they’re upset about all of this, but I think it’s also the family rivalry thing.”

I close my eyes and sigh. “So this didn’t cure anything.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it will eventually.”

“Why does he come here?”

Trey snorts. “Duh. He’s into you. I talked to him. He feels guilty, definitely, but he’s always had a thing for you, I think. He told me he was sorry about fifty times. I asked him to make it up to me, but he rejected every one of my suggestions.”

My eyes fly open. “Stay away from him, he’s mine.” I narrow my gaze and frown. “You really think he’s into me?”

“Sister, trust me. He’s into you.”

“Well, why the hell has he been blowing me off since seventh grade, then?”

Trey wrinkles up his nose. “You should probably ask him yourself, but I think something strange is going on over at the Angottis that nobody knows about.”

“You mean like maybe his dad is a hoarder with depression issues?”

He laughs. “Maybe. Though that would be a really weird coincidence.”

I think for a moment of the conversation I had with my mother before the crash. “Mom said I wasn’t the first person who had to say good-bye to an Angotti.”

Trey sits up. “Say whaaa?”

“She said that. Really! And I said, ‘You mean you?’ And she said it wasn’t her. So who does that leave, besides Dad?”

Trey sinks back down. “Well, there’s me.”

“You?”

“No, it wasn’t me, but I don’t like to be ruled out without a scandalous discussion first.”

I laugh again and grab my side. “Oh, my aching—stop that!”

“I guess we have a mystery to figure out.”

I nod and lie back, exhausted from the conversation, but not sleepy for once. “Two mysteries, even.”

He nods and squeezes my hand. “Mom and Dad and Rowan will be back later. They’re closing up early tonight to see you. Eight o’clock. So it’s just you and me, and whoever might be out there, and I have homework I can do . . . just so you know.”

I nod, and we share a look that says,
Bring the hot boy to Jules.

“We need to talk about some things,” I say to
Sawyer as he sits down.

He nods. “We do.” His dark hair hangs in little ringlets on his forehead, and he appears freshly washed today, which is better than what I can say for me. He’s not wearing an Angotti’s shirt anymore, either.

“First, I don’t want you to mope around feeling guilty anymore, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Second, what the hell happened in seventh grade that made you hate me?”

He holds my gaze, unwavering, his green eyes sending lasers into mine. “Fair question,” he says finally. He drops
his gaze to my bedside table and picks up a pen, weaving it through his fingers.

“You don’t want to answer it?”

“No. But I need to. I’m thinking.”

I take in a quick breath, moved by his honesty, ignoring the searing pain that the motion leaves behind. And I stay quiet.

“Where to start,” he says, lost in thought. “My grandfather,” he says eventually, “is a very controlling man.”

I nod.

“He used to hit me.”

My eyes spring open wide. “Your
grand
father? Didn’t your parents stop him?”

He hesitates. “No. They didn’t. My mother couldn’t, and my father was angry enough that he wouldn’t.”

“I don’t get it. Why couldn’t your mother stop him? What kind of a—”

He sets the pen down and clasps his hands together, staring down at them. I look at his hands too and remember the feel of his touch on my cheek. And then he looks up at me again, his eyes unwavering for an almost frightening amount of time.

“Your father and my mother had an affair, Jules.”

The words take a moment to register. “What?” I say, incredulous.

“My mother just told me everything yesterday, after all
of this—” He waves his hand at me, at the hospital. “When I was so angry and upset, and I didn’t understand why things had to be the way they are between us. She made me promise not to tell you, but I can’t help it. I think you need to know.”

I bring my hand to my hair and try to work my fingers through it. It’s weird. I don’t feel anything about this. No emotion, nothing. And then I think about my poor mother, and my heart cracks. “When?” I say.

“A long time ago, when we were really young.”

“Wow.” I stare up at the ceiling, trying to process it.

“It was short, and Mom said both of them eventually realized it was a mistake, but it happened,” Sawyer says. “I can’t believe she told me all of this, but she’d been drinking. It was late.” He glances at the door and then says quietly, “She said they planned to leave their spouses, combine restaurant assets, and become an enterprise. Take over business from the chains, sell products commercially and all that.”

My mouth drops open. “Products? Made from secret family recipes?”

“Yes.” Sawyer takes a deep breath and can’t look at me. “From what I know, your father gave my mother his family’s special sauce recipe, which my grandfather had been after for years. When your dad and my mom broke it off, and my father and grandfather found out, they were seriously pissed
off. To try to redeem herself, my mother gave them the recipe. Kind of a last-ditch effort to try to diffuse things and keep the family together.” He stares at the ground. “And my grandfather took it. And he patented it.”

“You are not serious.” I look at him in wonder. “That’s probably what put my grandfather into his big downward spiral. Betrayed by his son and his biggest rival.” A new realization hits me. “Maybe that’s my dad’s problem. It’s the guilt. Not just losing the recipe, but driving his father to kill himself. Holy shit.”

Sawyer nods. “It all sounds extremely dramatic, but that’s because it was, according to my mom.”

“Yes.”

Sawyer looks up at me, remorseful. “When you and I were in first grade, our stolen sauce line went to market, and it was a hit. Your father tried to sue us, but he didn’t have the proof he needed to win. It was a verbal recipe, handed down for generations, my mom said. He’d known it by heart. Never wrote it down.”

“Oh my God,” I say. “That’s when the hoarding started.” All the recipes and cookbooks piled up in our apartment. None of them holding a candle to the one that remained unwritten.

Sawyer doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I stare at the ceiling, letting everything sink in.

“My grandfather was furious that your dad would dare
to sue him. My father was hurt and angry over my mother messing around. And your parents had plenty of reason to hate us as well. So when you and I ended up becoming friends, it practically started a war all over again.”

“Wow,” is all I can say. I struggle to sit up, and Sawyer rises to help me. He lifts me gently, and his fingers linger on my shoulders before he sits back down.

“We hid our friendship really well, for a while, at least,” he says ruefully. “Didn’t we?”

“Until I saw you—” I say as he says, “Until the day before—”

“Seventh grade,” we say together.

“My father saw you with your dad, saw your smile, and he watched my face light up to see you. He knew it wasn’t just an acquaintance kind of smile. Back at home we ‘had a talk,’ which consisted of him and my grandfather telling me I was not to speak to you again, ever. When I protested, my grandfather got so enraged, he grabbed me by the collar and dragged me to my room. And then he started hitting me.”

“Oh, Sawyer,” I whisper.

He shoves his chair back and starts working his hands together. “He beat me pretty hard, but not anywhere you could see bruises. He was very careful about that. My mother couldn’t do anything—he threatened her, too, threatened to force my dad to divorce her after what
she’d done, take us kids away from her, and leave her with no money.”

“That’s insane.”

“It’s different when a man like that lives with you. Holds so much power over you—there’s no way you could understand.” He taps his fingers on the chair arms, distraught. “So I agreed to stop talking to you just to get him to lay off me. And that time,” he says, standing up and starting to pace around the bed, “that one time you and I had to do a project together, he found out somehow. And he beat me up, even though I cried and told him that I didn’t have any control over who got paired up. It didn’t matter. He wanted to make sure we never spent time together, ever again.”

I don’t know what to say.

Sawyer paces, agitated. “But the worst thing is that I let him hold that over me so long, even up until last week, even though I could probably take him in a fight now if I had to. He just kept that fear and control over me like he has over my parents, and I was just dead inside. All that time I didn’t talk to you, Jules, I wanted to. I watched you. I saw your hurt face and I made a choice against you. I didn’t do the right thing.” He rips his fingers through his hair and I can tell he’s upset at himself. “I’m so beyond sorry. And I’m not letting that happen ever again, even if it means I have to walk out on all of them.”

He comes over to the bed and grips the side rail. “I can’t believe I kept walking away from you instead of them, over and over. Even after you said . . . what you said . . . in the middle of the night. And the other day at school. It killed me, walking away from you at lunch, but . . .” He shakes his head. “It’s no excuse. But then you almost died because you wanted to save me. And it finally sank in. I’m the biggest idiot on the planet. And I’m done making bad choices out of fear.”

I don’t have any words to say. All I can do is watch him pull his heart out and set it in front of me. Watch him tell me he cared about me too, all that time. Watch him say how sorry he is, how much he wants to be the opposite of the kind of guy that his grandfather and father are. Watch him stand there, asking me to give him another chance.