Starring Role [ Ziall ]

Chapter 1;

In my neck of the woods, old trucks with crusted wheels were parked outside of a house during a party. Not foreign, classy cars - which in this long driveway, there were no less than 20 of those.

I guided my mom's fifteen year-old Ford Pick-up slightly away onto a sandy patch of grass, so that I wouldn't be in anyone's way. How nice of my dad to forget to tell me that there would be a party tonight. Eh, he didn't say much in general.

I didn't even know why he hadn't shown up at my mom's funeral. The only thing I knew, was that I never would've dreamt of driving to Florida. If I had somewhere else to go, that is.

I had to sell grandma's house, so I could pay for my mother's doctor's bill. There was nothing left anymore, besides my clothes and the Pick-up. And honestly, calling my father -after him not even glancing at us while my mother had been fighting cancer the last three years- had been hard, to say the least. But in the end, he was the only thing left of my family.

I stared at the big, imposing villa, build right beside the beautiful, sandy shore of Rosemary Beach.

My father's new home. His new family. I didn't fit in here.

Suddenly, the door to my car swung open.

Immediately -or automatically, really- my hand grabbed the gun under my seat. I held it up in the air, aiming it with both hands at the invader.

"Woah!"

A boy with messy, brown hair stood on the other end of the weapon, his eyes big and hands up in the air in defeat. "Actually, I just wanted to ask you, if you got lost, but I'll tell you anything you want as long as you put this thing away!"

I raised an eye-brow, not moving an inch. I still didn't know who the hell he was. Strangers just opening doors were not a usual thing for me. Even more so, when I didn't look intimidating in the slightest.

"No, I did not get lost. Is this Bobby Horan's house?"

The boy gulped, nervously. "Uh, I can't think straight with this thing in my face. Could you please put it away before it discharges by mistake?"

By mistake? Seriously?

"It's dark. I'm alone. I don't know you. And I don't know this area. So, forgive me, if I don't feel save at the moment. And nothing happens by mistake here, trust me. I know what to do with a gun. Pretty well, actually."

There was also the fact that besides the weapon in my hand, I couldn't do anything else to defend myself, but I wouldn't admit that to him.

The boy didn't doubt that I could handle a gun, of the looks of it.

But the longer I looked, the less dangerous he seemed. Still, I wasn't ready to put it away.

"Bobby?" the boy said slowly. He was about to shake his head, but stopped himself. "Wait, Bobby is Zayn's stepfather! But he's in Paris with Patricia."

Paris? Zayn? What?

I hoped he would keep talking, but he only stared at the gun's muzzl, with his breath caught in his lungs.

I put it away, slowly, as I kept on watching him. Maybe now he'd start being more talkative.

"Do you even hold a license for this?" he asked in disbelief.

I really wasn't in the mood to have a chat with a stranger about if I'm allowed to have a gun with me or not. I wanted answers.

"Bobby is in Paris?"

I needed clarity. My dad knew full well that I'd be here today. I had called and told him that just a week ago, shortly after I sold the house.

The boy nodded. He relaxed, visibly. "You know him?"