My Sweetest Escape (My Favorite Mistake #2)(57)
Author: Chelsea M. Cameron

Dusty got out two glasses and poured me a soda and sat down. It was probably more comfortable for him that way.

“So, socks. What’s with the socks?” I said, trying for a subject change.

He smiled and took one of the bags and opened it.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this entire apartment is linoleum. From the living room and down the hall and out here. As you know, linoleum can be very slippery, especially if you’re wearing new socks, and especially if it is freshly cleaned. So, let’s put Napoleon back in his bed and get some socks on your feet, Red.”

* * *

“Sock sliding? We are seriously sock sliding?” I said when Napoleon had been shut safely in Dusty’s bedroom so we didn’t run into him.

“I have a lot of free time,” he said, putting a pair of the new socks on his feet as I did the same. “And I used to drink that time away, or smoke it away, or do other bad things with it. After I decided not to do those things anymore, I had to find sober ways to occupy my time. You’ve only met sober me. Drunk me was way more fun.”

“I don’t know about that. You’re pretty fun now. And I used to be no fun at all.” He took my hands and pulled me to my feet.

“You ready, Red?” He got in a position that made me think of runners preparing to sprint.

I copied him, getting down. “Ready.”

“And…GO!” We both took off running and then slammed on the brakes, trying not to crash into each other and also to keep our balance. I made it down the hallway, and Dusty got all the way into the kitchen.

“No fair,” I said as he moved backward to the door to prepare to go again.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said, getting down. I joined him at the door and we went again, but this time I tried to push him but he dodged me and I ended up not going very far.

“Cheaters never prosper, Red.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh, don’t pout. It’s too cute. Here.” He held out his hands and we faced each other. He started running backward and I planted my feet. I was afraid he was going to trip on something, but I was too busy squealing as he pulled me along the length of the apartment.

“Again!” I said the second we stopped.

“Let’s try this.” He went and got my sweatshirt and tied it tight around his waist and then had me hold the end. It reminded me a bit of sled-dog racing. He took off and I slid along behind him. Dusty was right—the new socks worked great.

We went again and again until we were both panting and laughing too hard to keep going. We both fell on the couch and he put his arm around me and pulled me close.

“Is this allowed?” I said, turning my face and looking at him.

“I think I can control myself. For the moment. We might need to bring out Napoleon again.” As if he’d heard his name, Napoleon mewed from Dusty’s bedroom.

“Poor little guy. I’ll go get him.”

I opened the door to Dusty’s bedroom and I heard him rustling around in my candy bucket.

“You’d better not be sticking your paws in my candy bucket,” I yelled out, taking my chance to look around his tiny bedroom. There was about enough room for his bed and that was about it, except for a dresser, a basket of laundry and a few knickknacks. I picked up the crying Napoleon and cuddled him.

“It’s okay, buddy.” I gave him a kiss and he licked my face.

“Thanks, I needed that.” I wasn’t snooping, exactly, but I was curious about Dusty. I still knew so little about him. He was cleaner than I thought he’d be. I saw one lone picture frame on his dresser and picked it up.

It was of Dusty, a few years ago, with his arm slung around another guy. A guy I knew.

The picture frame slipped out of my hand and crashed on the floor.

“Jos!” Dusty heard the crash of the glass and rushed in. “What happened?”

“N-nothing. I just… I dropped something.”

“Be careful. Come over here. I don’t want you to step on the glass.” He moved me aside, since we were both still wearing just our socks.

“I’ll get the broom,” he said, leaving me standing there, still holding the kitten.

How was it possible? Why would they be in the same picture? Clearly, they were close if they were in the same picture.

“Who is that, in the picture?” I blurted out when he came back. I saved myself from saying his name.

“What?” He stopped, his arm holding the broom out.

“The other guy in that picture. How do you know him?”

And then he said the thing that pulled the world out from under me.

“He’s my brother.”

Chapter 18

I nearly dropped Napoleon. Nathan was Dusty’s brother. How was that even possible?

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Just one thought ran through my head. One line, over and over. Get out, get out, get out.

“I—I have to go. Right now.” I set Napoleon on his bed and shoved past him.

“Jos, what’s wrong?” Everything. Fucking everything. I grabbed my purse and my keys and threw myself down the stairs with abandon. If they collapsed and took me with them, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Then I wouldn’t have to ever explain to Dusty the reason I’d freaked out and fled his house after dropping a picture of his brother that I didn’t know he had until he told me. A brother that was now dead.

Dusty pounded down the stairs after me, but I had a head start.

Shit, I didn’t even have my shoes on. I got in my car and peeled away from his house, heading for the only place I could think to go. Tears streamed down my face as I drove, and I had to keep wiping them away with my hand so I could see and not crash into someone. The snow was just barely starting to float down from the sky, but it was too warm still for it to actually stick to the ground.

It was a miracle of epic proportions that I made it to the parking lot near Hannah’s dorm without killing and/or maiming myself or anyone else. I didn’t even know which room she was in, so I just sent her a text saying I needed to talk and asking if she was in her room.

She responded immediately, and then a short time later she was at the front door, holding it open for me, since my University key card didn’t work for her building. When she saw my tears she pulled me inside and I was crushed into a hug.

“Sweetie, where are your shoes?”

I was still wearing the brand-new socks, which, by now, were filthy.

“I left them somewhere.” My voice sounded robotic.