A Thousand Reasons Read online

  His lips pull into a wider smile, and his eyes close as he nods. “It was good.”

  I want to ask what changed? What secret remedy was concocted to make him so happy? But, I don’t know him well enough to admit I noticed he was miserable all of last year.

  “Wes!” Max calls out, raising a long arm into the air.

  I follow Max’s gaze to the door to see Wes McCleary. We had a few classes together last year, but we’ve never spoken. Wes turns from where he’s stopped right inside the classroom door and glances around to see who called his name. His eyes land on Max before he grins and jogs up the steps that lead him to our aisle. He sits on the other side of Max and shoves him in greeting. “Look at you showing up to class early.”

  Max laughs again. It’s a nice sound. “I went running with Ace this morning,” he says.

  My heart sinks. It isn’t normal or logical, and I try to blame it on my pending list of things I need to accomplish.

  “She’s a machine,” Wes says as he boots up his computer.

  “I think she’s nervous about changing her major.”

  Wes nods, his lips pressed together with thought. It causes my eyes to linger on them, noting their fullness. His cheeks are tanned and freshly shaven and his hair is a light brown, sun bleached around his temples. As I begin to look closer, trying to decipher if his hair is curly or just mussed, I notice him watching me inspect him. His eyes are pools of black ink, expressing more humor than his lips, which are twitching, fighting a smile.

  “Hi. I’m Wes.” Reaching in front of Max, he extends his hand.

  “Oh, sorry.” Max leans back, coercing me to shake Wes’s hand.

  I’m not surprised Wes doesn’t remember me. “Leela,” I say, pushing my long, red hair over my shoulder with my free hand.

  Wes grins, and a dimple appears in his right cheek, stamping deeper when his smile grows. “It’s nice to meet you, Leela.”

  His dimple makes me self-conscious of my tousled hair and plain T-shirt, as though this smile is only for me.

  “I’ve heard this guy’s a clown,” Max says, distracting me from considering how to respond to his friend.

  Wes’s smile doesn’t slip, but he rolls his eyes. “Who’s a clown?”

  Max nods to the front of the classroom. “The professor.”

  “Everyone’s a clown compared to you,” Wes says.

  Max’s eyebrows lift and fall with agreement, and then he laughs. “Tell Ace that tonight. She’ll love it.”

  Wes’s eyes close and his face dips so I can’t see his expression as he chuckles. “I’ll be sure to.” He grips the small desk as he sits forward in his chair and turns to his laptop. “But for the record, I’m pretty sure she makes your cool status go up tenfold.”

  Max doesn’t respond. He’s absorbed with the messages he’s rapidly sending and receiving. Ones I have no doubt are from Ace based upon the smile that has each of his features alight. It’s a look that I’ve rarely seen in a world filled with infatuation and lust that rarely translates to genuine love and romance.

  “Who’s Ace?” I brave asking the question while directing my attention to Wes, curious about his mood which is clearly less enthusiastic than it was moments ago.

  Wes tucks a pencil behind his ear and looks at me, another expression of bliss already in place. He cocks his head toward Max. “His girlfriend, and one of my best friends.”

  There’s a sensitivity surrounding the subject. One so thinly veiled I feel as though I could infiltrate it with one carefully posed question. “That’s cool. Is that how you guys met?”

  One side of Wes’s lips quirk upward, and he steals a glance at Max before he chuckles. “No. We met when Max was being jumped by three guys before a baseball game back in high school.” His grin turns into a smile as he recalls the situation, revealing it wasn’t a big deal. If you get jumped in my neighborhood, you aren’t telling the story with a grin or a smirk—drawing attention to the stark contrast between our lives.

  “Talk about clowns,” Max says, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Those three were the epitome of morons.” He runs a hand through his dark hair. “Wes saved my ass by breaking a guy’s nose.”

  My focus dances between the two as I try to imagine Wes in a situation where he needed to throw a punch. He’s definitely toned, and looks strong, but that in no way makes you a fighter, it certainly doesn’t prepare you for being jumped or capable of defending yourself. “What kind of school did you guys go to?” I ask.

  “His school,” Max says. “I was only there for an away baseball game.”

  “Because there weren’t ever any fights at Saint Christopher’s, right?” Wes mocks his friend, and suddenly Max’s beat up bag seems a bit more out of place. I know about Saint Christopher’s Prep school. I know the tuition fees to attend that school. I also know how few scholarships they offer.

  “Did you go there for baseball?” I ask.

  “To be scouted?” Max asks. A nearly silent scoff leaves him, and I can tell it wasn’t intentional by the way his eyes go vacant with thought.

  “No. Were you at Saint Christopher’s on a scholarship?”

  Wes’s laughter has several people in front of us turning around. “He would have lost that within the first week.”

  Max nails him with a glare that slowly falls as he shakes his head. “I had a bit of a reputation back in high school,” he admits. “But I was a good student.”

  “He was a better baseball player,” Wes says. “But it was his left jab and undefeated title that he was known for.”

  “Street fighting?” I look between them, my chin dropped as I try to refrain from judging them as privileged, rich kids, willing to throw their futures away because they have well-connected parents to fall back on who could get their records expunged and find them a career with a promising six-figure salary, full benefits, and an early retirement.

  Max shakes his head, and then runs his nails over his short facial hair again, and the sound is almost sharp, like I can feel the roughness of his beard. He frowns, making everything a bit more confounding. “It was just stupid high school shit.”

  Our professor enters the classroom, ending our conversation. He’s dressed in a tan tweed blazer and brown slacks that are too long for his short stature. They’re both a decade out of style and appear to have been purchased for someone else.

  “If you think you’re here to be a hero, there’s the door,” the professor says. “I am not here to teach you how to be Superman. I do not have radioactive spiders in the closet nor do I believe in miracles.”

  “Charmer,” Wes mutters.

  “I am here to teach you how to recognize symptoms so that you don’t cause whichever hospital or private practice you end up working for, a three-million-dollar lawsuit. If you think that is what insurance is for, then I ask you now to go out that door.” He points again, and it emphasizes how poorly his jacket fits him. He peers around the room, making a point of making eye contact with several students when no one moves. “I’m Professor Kline, and if you can’t read my class syllabus on your own, you shouldn’t be sitting in my class, so you should also leave.” Again, he pauses and looks around the room. “I don’t do extra credit. I don’t do make up assignments. I don’t grade on a curve. I also don’t have an assistant or TA.

  “You all need to think long and hard about your decision to be here today and every day, ladies and gentlemen, because I do give pop quizzes. I do make you work, and you will work very hard if you choose to remain in this class. And I do have an attendance policy. If you think you’re going to become a doctor by reading the class notes online, you need to choose a new profession.

  “You are not here to get rich. You are not here to meet your spouse. You are here to save lives. Period.”

  I sit forward, his ill-fitting clothes and bushy eyebrows forgotten. This is why I’ve always dreamed of becoming a doctor. It’s as though he’s speaking directly to the line of thinking that leads to my passion of being he
re.

  When Professor Kline dismisses us, Max leans forward in his chair and drops a sheet of paper on my keyboard. “We’re having a small barbecue at my house tonight. Why don’t you come by?”

  I’ve never been invited anywhere by a guy who’s in a relationship. And while it’s obvious that he’s happily involved with his girlfriend, the invitation sits strangely on my nerves.

  “You should come.” Wes says, packing up his things. “It will be fun. And if you don’t stop by, we’ll just keep hounding you.” He winks.

  “I don’t know,” I begin. “I have a lot of things I need to get done this week.”

  “You have all week. This is one night. Come on.” He smiles, and his eyebrows rise with what appears to be hope.

  “Maybe I’ll stop by.”

  Wes smiles again, and this time it’s broader, his eyes shining brighter. I know that I’ll be going, just to see if he’ll smile at me again like that.

  3

  Wes

  “You guys already started?” Kendall asks. She streams into the kitchen of the house that she lives in along with Max, her boyfriend, Jameson, Ace, and our friend Landon.

  I look to Landon, slicing tomatoes beside me, then back to Kendall. “We were just starting on burger toppings.”

  “Can I help?” She pulls her blonde hair up as she asks. “I thought maybe we should grill some onions again. Jameson really liked those.” Kendall is Ace’s older sister, and while the two share several characteristics and similarities, time has made both more difficult to recognize.

  “Sure,” Landon says. “We’ll sauté them tonight since the grill will be full. You want to grab a pan and a few onions?”

  She nods, gathering the few items along with a cutting board and knife. Kendall stands beside me, her movements slow and precise as she chops the onions into uniformed strips.

  “Careful, that piece looks bigger than the others,” I tease.

  “Don’t be a jerk.” She swats me with the back of her hand before resuming her careful cuts.

  “Good God, I’m glad it’s the weekend,” Jameson says as he enters the kitchen still dressed in a suit from work. He pulls out a chair and takes a seat, sighing heavily. “Who all’s coming over for the barbecue tonight?”

  Jameson, Landon, and Kendall all graduated last year with varying degrees. Landon works at Homeland Security, and Jameson is working in finance. Kendall is currently working with a public relations company, but has been debating going back to school.

  “Just us six,” Ace says, appearing with a bag of groceries. Max follows close behind, carrying additional bags.

  “Oh! What did you get?” Kendall asks. “Any avocados?”

  “Yeah.” The girls start rifling through bags that Max places on the table. He grabs a paper sack and carries it over to where Landon and I are, revealing a six-pack of beer.

  “Wes also invited a girl from class, but we’re not sure she’ll show,” Max adds. I shoot him a look of confusion, and he winks at me.

  “What was that face?” Kendall asks, not missing a beat.

  “Because Max invited her,” I tell her.

  “But, I did it on your behalf,” he says. “You kept smiling and looking at her. It was pitiful. I thought you needed some help.”

  I scoff. “I don’t need your help getting a date.”

  Max’s lips teeter with a smile. “Good. Because, I’m only going to ask her out for you this once.”

  Kendall and Ace look between Max and me. “Wait. You invited someone over for Wes?” Kendall asks, mischief has her eyes swiftly moving between Max and me.

  “It’s nothing,” I tell her.

  “Do we know her?” Kendall asks.

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  Kendall and Ace stare at me earnestly, waiting for more information. I ignore them and slice more toppings, knowing the suspense is killing them.

  “What’s she like? What’s her name? What does she look like? Are we going to like her?” Kendall lists the questions off in rapid succession.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I tell her.

  “Wes McCleary, you have to tell us about her. We need to know what to expect. What topics are safe to discuss. If she’s going to fit in or if we’re kicking you out of the group!” Kendall continues.

  The others laugh, but I just shake my head.

  “Her name’s Leela. She’s cool,” Max says, giving in because he knows the two won’t stop.

  “Is she a redhead?” Ace asks with a grin.

  “Indeed,” Max sings. They all know redheads are my weakness.

  Ace smiles widely. “I’m excited to meet her.”

  “I don’t even know her,” I remind them.

  Max grins. “That’s the point of tonight. You seemed interested in her, now you can see if you like her.”

  As we finish slicing and plating the toppings, Zeus, Ace’s Newfoundland, wanders through the kitchen, his large, black nose in the air.

  “You ready to go outside, dude?” I ask Zeus, opening the back door with a plate filled with hamburger patties for the grill. He trots out to where the girls are filling a cooler with drinks.

  I head to where Max is lighting the grill. “Hey,” he says. “Think we should cook something else for Leela in case she doesn’t like burgers? We’ve got some steaks and chicken breasts in the house.”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Ace says. “I’ll grab a couple of each.”

  “I’m a little concerned about your game,” Kendall says, a colorful bottle of alcohol in her hand.

  “My game?” I ask.

  She nods. “I’m a little worried you don’t have one, since Max had to ask her out on your behalf.”

  Max laughs so hard he buckles at the waist. Kendall looks at him. “He does have some game, right?”

  He laughs harder.

  “You don’t need to worry about my game,” I tell her.

  She raises her eyebrows with question, injuring my confidence and making me more nervous.

  Ace thankfully returns with another plate filled with food for the grill. “We had some veggie burgers in the freezer, too,” she says. “Just in case she’s a vegetarian.”

  “Wes just assured me that he has game,” Kendall tells her.

  Ace looks from her sister to me. “Don’t let her get in your head.” She shakes her head, her brown eyes wide. “You just do you.”

  “She’s just coming to hang out.” I look to Kendall, knowing she’s the one who will need convinced the most. “I didn’t even invite her.”

  “But, you encouraged her to come,” Max reminds me.

  I did. And I’m hoping she does more than I care to admit.

  “We won’t make things weird,” Ace says. “We will be your awesome and supportive best friends, who will only embarrass you if she’s really cool or really awful.” She grins.

  Max laughs.

  “Where’s Landon?” Max asks, looking around the yard.

  “I think he went inside. I’m going to grab something to drink, I’ll check. You want anything?”

  “Nah, I’m good,” he says.

  I find Landon in the living room, watching a football game and drinking a beer. It’s clear he’s looking for solitude, but I sit beside him because while Landon sometimes needs the seclusion, he often traps himself in thoughts and memories from when he was a marine.

  Landon sighs heavily, and places his empty bottle on the coffee table. He thumbs through his phone and then drops it. Rarely will he discuss what’s bothering him, but then again, seldom does he seem bothered, and tonight it’s clear something is off.

  I shove his bicep with my elbow, while looking at the game and ask, “Everything okay?”

  “Yup.”

  We aren’t only acquaintances. A friendship was created through respect and time, but his one-word answer and refusal to look away from the TV tells me he’s not in the mood to discuss whatever is bothering him.

/>   “So…” I begin. “How’s work?”

  The doorbell rings, and Landon remains still. I do as well, wondering if it’s Leela or if someone else has stopped by.

  Landon looks at me, and then turns off the TV and stands. He opens the front door, revealing Leela with her hands fisted at her waist and her eyes wide with skepticism.

  “Hi…” Her voice is shaky, and her attention doesn’t seem capable of remaining on Landon as she takes a step back. Her red hair looks darker without the fluorescent lights from the classroom. I take my time going over her peach tinted cheeks and glossy lips before noticing her sea-green eyes appear to be looking for an escape.

  “Leela!” I call. “Hey! Glad you could make it.” I stand and move so that I’m in direct sight of the open door. “Come on in!”

  Her lips turn down before she smiles, revealing it’s forced.

  “Leela, this is Landon, Landon, Leela.”

  “Welcome to the mad house,” Landon says, waving an arm inside.

  She raises her eyebrows.

  “He’s the only mad one, the rest of us are sane,” I assure her as I take a step back to clear the door. “Come on in and I’ll introduce you to everyone. You want a drink?”

  “Um…” She moves and it’s stiff and awkward, as though strings are attached to her limbs. “I’m good.”

  “Trust me, you want something. A beer?” I ask.

  She stops and looks around the living room. “Where’s everyone else?”

  The front door that Landon was starting to close flies back open with the pull of his hand as we both realize just how much we are looking like creepy predators.

  “They’re in the back,” I reply instantly.

  Landon nods. “Yeah. They’re in the backyard… Girls and guys.”

  “Yeah,” I agree with a tight jerk of my head.

  Her lips curl, fighting a smile. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Landon and I both say, nodding again before we look at each other with the knowledge we have just graduated to looking like complete tools.

  “Come on.” I move toward the kitchen which is connected by a wide arch from the living room. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”