Beautiful Oblivion (The Maddox Brothers, #1)(8)

Less than two years before, Trenton’s life changed. He was riding in the passenger seat of Mackenzie Davis’s Jeep Liberty on their way out to a spring break bonfire party. The Jeep was barely recognizable when it was hauled back into town on a flatbed trailer the next day, just like Trenton when he returned to Eastern. Swallowed by the guilt of Mackenzie’s death, Trenton couldn’t concentrate in class, and by mid-April, he’d decided to move back in with his father and drop all of his classes. Travis had mentioned bits and pieces about his brother on slow nights at the Red, but I hadn’t heard much more about Trenton.

After another half hour of studying and chewing at my barely there fingernails, my stomach began to growl. I ambled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Ranch dressing. Cilantro. Why in the hell is the black pepper in the fridge? Eggs . . . ew. Fat-free yogurt. Even worse. I opened the freezer. Score. Frozen burritos.

Just before I pressed the buttons on the microwave, a knock sounded on the door. “Raegan! Stop forgetting your damn keys!” My bare feet padded around the breakfast bar and across the beige carpet. After twisting the bolt lock, I yanked on the heavy metal door, and I instantly crossed my arms over my breasts. I was only in a white tank top and boxer shorts, no bra. Trenton Maddox stood in the doorway, holding two white paper sacks.

“Lunch,” he said with a smile.

For half a second, my mouth mirrored his, but then it quickly disappeared. “How did you know where I live?”

“I asked around,” he said, walking past me. He sat the sacks on the breakfast bar, and began pulling out containers of food. “From Golden Chick. Their mashed potatoes and gravy remind me of my mom’s. I’m not really sure why. I don’t remember her cooking.”

Dianne Maddox’s death had rocked our town. She was involved in the PTA, the Junior Welfare League, and coached Taylor’s and Tyler’s soccer team for three years before she was diagnosed with cancer. It caught me off guard that he mentioned her so casually, even though I suppose it shouldn’t have.

“Do you always surprise attack a girl’s apartment with food?”

“No, but it was time.”

“Time for what?”

He looked at me, blank faced. “For lunch.” He walked into the kitchen and began opening cabinets.

“What are you doing now?”

“Plates?” he asked.

I pointed to the correct cabinet, and he pulled out two, sat them on the bar, and then began spooning out potatoes, gravy, corn, and dividing up the chicken. And then he left.

I stood next to the bar, in my small, quiet apartment, with the smells of chicken and gravy wafting through the air. This had never happened to me before, and I wasn’t sure how to react.

Suddenly the door blew open, and Trenton walked back in, kicking the door shut behind him. He was holding two large styrofoam cups with straws sticking out the top.

“I hope you like Cherry Coke, baby doll, or we can’t be friends.” He placed the drinks beside each plate, and then sat down. He looked up at me. “Well? Are you going to sit down or what?”

I sat.

Trenton shoveled the first piece of food into his mouth, and, after some hesitation, I did the same. It was like a little ball of paradise on my tongue, and once I started, the food on my plate just sort of disappeared.

Trenton held up a Spaceballs DVD. “I know you said you were studying, so if you can’t, you can’t, but I borrowed this from Thomas the last time he was in town, and I still haven’t watched it.”

“Spaceballs?” I asked, pushing up one of my eyebrows. I’d seen it with T.J. a million times. It was kind of our thing. I wasn’t watching it with Trenton.

“Is that a yes?”

“No. It was really nice of you to bring over lunch, but I have to study.”

He shrugged. “I can help.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

Trenton wasn’t fazed. “Then he’s not much of one. I’ve never seen him around.”

“He doesn’t live here. He’s . . . he goes to school in California.”

“He never comes home to visit?”

“Not yet. He’s busy.”

“Is he from here?”

“None of your business.”

“Who is it?”

“Also none of your business.”

“Fine,” he said, picking up our trash and tossing it into the garbage can in the kitchen. He grabbed my plate and then his, and rinsed them off in the sink. “You have an imaginary boyfriend. I understand.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he motioned to the dishwasher. “These dirty?”

I nodded.

“Are you working tonight?” he asked, loading the dishwasher, and then looking for soap. When he found it, he poured some in the small container and then shut the door, pressing the start button. The room was filled with a low, soothing purring sound.

“No, I have the weekend off.”

“Awesome, me too. I’ll swing by later to get you.”

“What? No, I—”

“See you at seven!” The door closed, and once again the apartment was quiet.

What just happened? I rushed into my room and grabbed my cell phone.

Not going anywhere w u. I told u, I have a bf.



Mmk.