Remember When #featured #AllStars

Chapter 26

GUILTY BY SUSPICION

We'd decided to head back to his house, knowing that we'd have the place to ourselves. His sister and parents had gone into the city to have a late dinner in Mr. Wilmington's new TRU hotel, which was slated for the grand opening in a few weeks.

Since we only had about a three-minute ride, I decided not to get into any in-depth conversation until we hit the house. I was looking forward to getting rid of the awkwardness between us, hash out any lingering kinks about our standoff and get up to date on what we'd both been up to in our lives since then. As great as it was to have him back in my life, there was still this implicit unease that hung like a cloud over our friendship.

When we pulled into the driveway, I couldn't believe the house I was looking at. It was a huge, stone mansion with oversized windows and a steeply pitched roof, the sheer size of the massive structure dwarfing the surrounding pine trees.

Trip's voice broke my gawking. "Oh, shit. They're home."

I noticed the Mercedes parked in front of the garage doors and wondered what the big deal was. I didn't really see too much of a problem. The Wilmingtons lived in a mansion. I was sure we'd be able to find some privacy somewhere in the humongous house.

I got out of the truck, saying, "Yeah, so?" and started to walk up to the front door, Trip asking, "Hey, you want to go to the diner or something instead?"

I tossed over my shoulder, "What's the matter, Chester? You don't have anything to eat here?"

He opened the door, saying, "You really gotta stop calling me that."

I laughed, then was immediately silenced by the sight of the foyer I was standing in. Easily the size of half my entire house, the room was three stories of white-painted federal paneling with an elaborate, curving staircase that reminded me of Twelve Oaks. I'd never seen anything so extravagant in real life, but I tried to sound unaffected when I remarked, "This place is a real shithole, huh."

He just rolled his eyes.

I was going to ask which direction I should head in, when a light flicked on from the hallway upstairs and Mr. Wilmington's voice yelled down. "Terrence, is that you?" It was easily two in the morning and I hoped that Trip's parents were up because they'd just gotten home themselves, not because we'd woken them.

Trip started to shuffle me into the next room, saying, "Yeah, Dad. It's just me and Layla."

I shot Trip a guilty look, hoping he wasn't going to get in trouble for bringing friends home in the middle of the night when his father chortled out, "Layla? The Warren whore's girl? What's she doing in our house?"

I don't know how long I stood in that foyer, my jaw dropped wide open and my eyes bugging out of my head, but it was probably no more than a second. It felt a lot longer. It felt like I'd been slapped.

Trip looked as though he'd been punched in the stomach. His posture deflated instantaneously at the burden of his father's words. He turned toward me, all broken empathy, but I was only able to catch his eye for an instant before making a break for the front door.

I flew down the front steps and bolted down the walkway, my only goal to get as far away from the scene as possible, when I suddenly realized I had nowhere to go. Trip drove me there and I was miles from home. I didn't even have the comfort and sanctuary of my own car to assist in the escape.

I ran the length of the long driveway, my heart beating wildly even though it felt as though my blood had frozen in my veins.

When I hit the iron gate near the street, I stopped running. I sank to the ground at the curb, the full force of Mr. Wilmington's words sinking in and finding purchase.