Page 4 of The Sweetest Cruelty: Hudson (A Sawyer Brothers Story #1)

I turned in my seat, staring at his side profile.

He was good-looking, and the creases and lines around his eyes gave him that wise look.

My father’s hair was dark with a bit of grey, and he had tanned skin and brown eyes flecked with green.

He was also tall and broad and worked out.

I had my mother’s pale colouring, white blonde hair, blue eyes, and small build.

“If she was such an amazing lady, why didn’t you stay together? You loved each other, didn’t you?”

His gaze flicked to mine before turning to focus on the road again, his thick brows furrowed. Turning away, I stared out at the scenery, trying to establish how I felt about the direction of our conversation.

“We weren’t ‘in’ love, and that’s a huge difference.

One that you’ll understand one day. Or maybe I shouldn’t assume you’ve never been in love.

How about it? Do you have a boyfriend or someone you’re close to?

” I appreciated how he backpedalled. He must have realised that ‘you’ll understand one day’ could have been considered patronising.

But he was right. I didn’t get the difference as I hadn’t been in love.

I’d had a big fat crush on Matthew Wilson, but that didn’t count.

All the girls liked Matthew; he was captain of the football team and beautiful to look at.

Running a hand across my tired face, I replied with a smile. “No, you can assume. I’ve never been in love. Most of the boys at school are immature idiots,” I confessed with a shrug.

My father chuckled and darted me a grin. “Sorry, I imagine I am the last person you want to talk about boys with. ”

I returned it. It felt better talking about boys than it did about my mother and her relationship with my father.

More normal. Like what most sixteen-year-old girls were supposed to talk about.

The death of a parent certainly wasn’t one of those things.

“No, it’s fine, and there isn’t anyone in my life like that.

I haven’t had time. I do have one close friend who’s a boy, but he isn’t a boyfriend.

” I thought about how Cassius’s face had dropped the day I told him I was moving.

The atmosphere lifted, and our chat started to flow instead of feeling forced. “Well, if you want to invite anyone over during any of the holidays, you can. The house has a couple of guestrooms.”

A surge of excitement shot through me. “That would be great.”

After giving my knee a reassuring pat, Dad slowed the car down to twenty-five as we reached the edge of a town.

Peering out of the window at the passing streets, I smiled.

The neighbourhood we were travelling in now looked like a scene from Young Sheldon, an American TV show I watched.

I wondered what the population of Newport was.

As we got off the main stretch and onto the smaller roads, my eyes scanned the stores we passed and the wooded slatted houses with huge porches.

After another five minutes, we pulled into a residential area. It consisted of houses and a green area, which looked like a park.

My eyes widened as my father pulled the car up a driveway, and my mouth fell open in surprise.

“Welcome to your new home, sweetheart.”

I released that pent-up breath that was in my lungs. Unable to put off the reality that I was there at last. About to move into a new, unfamiliar house and begin a new adventure. If only I weren’t in this position due to my mum’s death, I might have been happier and looked forward to the change.

Glancing around the green, leafy area, the neighbourhood looked sweet and homely. I smiled as I spied a couple of houses with the American flag in the front garden.

I started to unclip my seat belt as my father put the car in park.

I hadn’t realised how tense I’d felt until I started to climb out and stretched my legs.

I had come up with a hundred scenarios of how I’d feel when I saw the place I would be living, but none had felt anything like I did at that moment. It was hard to describe. Relief?

“What do you think?” Dad said as we both left the vehicle. I glanced at the house and then back at him over the roof of the car .

It took an effort to find my voice as I was so surprised. “It looks huge,” I replied. Again, the house was made of wooden slats and was painted white and grey.

Richard raised an eyebrow, “I suppose compared to British houses it looks big, but in the scheme of things. The house is an average size. We do have a pool, though.” I could tell he was trying to win me over, and I let him.

Material things could never replace what I had lost, but they could distract me from feeling shit about it.

A swimming pool? I couldn’t swim, but I loved to paddle. Maybe having a pool would encourage me to learn.

Hope snaked through me and almost made me breathless; it was an emotion I hadn’t experienced for the last few weeks.

“There’s a hot tub too, but it needs a good clean,” Dad added with a grin.

“You’re kidding?” It blew my mind to think I’d have access to a swimming pool every day, and I’d never even been in a hot tub.

My father’s expression softened as he said, “A couple of the houses along this street have pools and hot tubs,” he explained, motioning to the other properties.

The street was littered with trees and was quiet, apart from a little girl on her bike and a jogger further down the road with a dog.

“Hey, Mindy,” my father shouted to the pig-tailed biker.

“Hey, yourself, Principal Miller,” she shouted as she steered past with cherry red cheeks.

After that, I embraced that first night in my new home. I didn’t forget about what pained me; how could I? But I managed to store it at the back of my mind and channelled my energy into making my new bedroom my own. I even had my own bathroom.

The space was much bigger than my old room in England, and I had a dormer window that overlooked the side of the house.

As I peered out, I could see stunning roses climbing towards me, spreading across part of the roof.

I opened the window and leaned out, looking towards the rear where there was a small garden/yard and the pool Dad had mentioned.

It was rectangular with plain blue tiles and no steps to pull yourself out.

Around the poolside, there was patio furniture scattered, all that had seen better days, but it was more than I’d had in the UK.

I even had a double bed. Richard said his friend Martha had picked out the bedsheets, which were purple and as soft as a cloud. Lined up against the pillows were numerous teddy bears; rabbits, unicorns, and a large plush bumble bee. The room was girly and I liked girly.

I filed the name Martha in my memory banks, wondering how good a friend she was.

I knew my father lived alone or had up until I turned up, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a girlfriend.

Why wouldn’t he? He was a great-looking man and, from what I knew of him over the years, kind-hearted, strong, and fun.

He didn’t take any shit from anyone though; I had learned that during my more difficult years.

Dad gave me a brief tour of the house when we first came in through the door, but I was so tired I didn’t take that much notice. My room was the only one I fully explored that night, and after eating the tray of food my father had brought up, I fell asleep, fully clothed, on the bed.

It was the first time I had slept in weeks.

*****

The rest of that week was busy but not as hard as I had envisaged. There was that much to do that it took up most of my mind, which wasn’t a bad thing.

I sorted my room and arranged the furniture the way I liked it. Dad bought me a couple of second-hand bookshelves, and we painted them together in his garage. I helped in the kitchen, not wanting to be a burden, and things between my father and me were good.

I was eventually introduced to Roger, my father’s cat.

He was a large, fat black one with one white paw.

At first, I ignored his mews, as all he did was remind me that Mum was allergic.

I eventually caved and allowed him to sleep at the bottom of my bed, but Roger seemed to follow me about the house, and eventually, I got used to him.

As you can imagine, I missed my mother every day and would spend part of the night crying into my pillow. It was like leaving England had opened the floodgates. Roger’s presence started to help, and I found him a comfort.

I was introduced to our neighbours, who all viewed me like I were from another planet rather than another country.

One weekend, my father threw a BBQ and I hated the looks of pity from those who came over.

Like they sympathised with what I was going through.

Like they got it. But nobody understood. How could they?

My father took me to the mall several times.

It looked like a larger version of the Brentwood Shopping Centre in London.

It had all the usual designer stores, but we couldn’t afford to shop at any of them, so we stuck to the mainstream ones, Target being my preference.

It didn’t bother me; I had never been one for material things.

Most of my clothes at home I got from vintage shops, online or Primark.

My father bought me the essentials for school, such as a pencil case, pens, a backpack, and a calculator. The works. It was all about trying to help me settle as soon as possible. It also ensured I’d be ready for my first big day: my new life as a British freak in an American high school.

I’d tried my new school uniform on several times.

It wasn’t so bad: white shirt, pale grey tie with gold stripes on it and a grey plaid, pleated skirt with the same gold thread running through it.

My school shoes were plain black slip-ons, and white ankle socks were worn in the first semester until the colder weather came.

Then it changed to over-the-knee grey woolly socks and an additional grey jumper. Thankfully, there was no blazer.

As I’d looked at myself in the mirror one night, I’d still felt like a reject from that old movie Clueless. It was one of my mother’s favourites, and we’d watched it together loads of times.

To think I would never watch a movie with my mum ever again.

Stop dwelling, think of new beginnings.

Surely, there should have been a crackle of excitement at the thought of starting somewhere new, but I felt numb. I wasn’t even nervous. If I got any shit as the new girl, I’d do what I did best; ignore it. I was a calm person and rarely lost my temper. Walking away was always easier than drama.

I wondered what my mother would think of the uniform, it was much sluttier than my British one had been.

That night before my first day, I had attempted to remain positive. What I didn’t know was that my usual way of dealing with shit just wasn’t going to cut it.

And I realised that after day one.