Table of Contents

Chapter One: If you play with fire, you get burned

Chapter Two: Old Wounds

Chapter Three: Abandoned

Chapter Four: Distractions

Chapter Five: Singled out

Chapter Six: Going After What You Want

Chapter Seven: Hate is a Strong Word

Chapter Eight: Slave

Chapter Nine: Jealousy

Chapter Ten: The Creeps

Chapter Eleven: Scripture Feeds the Spirit

Chapter Twelve: Goodbyes Are Never Easy

Chapter Thirteen: Used

Chapter Fourteen: Insignificant

Chapter Fifteen: Sermons

Chapter Sixteen: Lying Bastards

Chapter Seventeen: S.O.S

Chapter Eighteen: Rip it Off Fast

Chapter Nineteen: Left Out

Chapter Twenty: Tattoos and Gray Eyes

Chapter Twenty-One: Dimples Should Come With a Warning

Chapter Twenty- Two: Manipulative, Lazy Brown-headed Cowbird

Chapter Twenty-Three Leap of Faith

Chapter Twenty-Four: Fatal Attraction

Chapter Twenty- Five: Lies

Chapter Twenty- Six: Music

Chapter Twenty- Seven: Magic

Chapter Twenty- Eight: Floating Shit

Chapter Twenty- Nine: Uncovering the Truth

Chapter Thirty: Cops and the Bad Guy

Chapter Thirty-One: Teepee

Chapter Thirty-Two: Overwhelmed

Chapter Thirty-Three: Dangerous to Love

Chapter Thirty-Four: “You shouldn’t be here.”

Chapter Thirty-Five: Faith

Chapter Thirty-Six: Roses

Epilogue

Falling for a Bentley

Adriana Law

“In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die, where you invest your love, you invest your life.”

—Mumford and Son, Awake My Soul

We are all broken in some way. But it’s all the shattered pieces that give us depth. Like stained glass, it’s how the many pieces and colors fit together that truly makes us beautiful.

If you play with fire, you get burned

Victoria

I was seven when my grandma passed away.

It was the worst feeling in the world, losing someone I loved so deeply. I cried for three weeks straight. I cried until I was numb inside and out. After that I never cried again, but there was always an unfathomable hole left inside my chest that no amount of ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ could fill. Emptiness I couldn’t outrun.

My mother, on the other hand, never shed a tear.

Not when the word cancer was mentioned. Not when her great suffering was mentioned. Not even when ‘how could God let something so terrible happen to such a Godly woman?’ was murmured among those who’d come to our home to comfort us with food and forced smiles.

I was too young to find it odd that my mother didn’t cry, but at the funeral I’d overheard several relatives expressing how they were afraid my mother was in shock, since she’d lost her father only a year earlier and how she might need to go see someone. I had no idea who that someone was. In fact, I’d spent weeks wondering if it was the same someone my grandma had gone to see. If so, I was convinced my mother would leave and never come back, just like grandma. I needed my mother more than this someone everyone kept mentioning. I was angry at this someone for taking my grandmother away from me. He was selfish. I would never forgive him.

After the funeral I was terrified to let my mother out of my sight.

I had separation anxiety. Or at least that’s what the therapist told my mother when we both went to see that someone everyone kept mentioning. Turns out this someone we both went to see was not God but a therapist instead. The therapist didn’t make the hole go away. She only dulled the pain, but it was still there, permanently changing who I was and how deeply I allowed myself to care after that. It was then that I understood why my mother didn’t cry. She’d stopped letting the pain in long before grandma’s passing.

You see before my grandma died both my parents were gone most of the day. It was my grandma who took care of me: we’d read books together, went to the park, cooked dinner… She was the one who’d taught me how to tie my shoelaces, how to say my alphabet. At seven years old I believed that was the norm—mommies and daddies worked all day, and grandparents were there for the sole purpose of taking care of the children. After all grandparents were the ones who had all the patience.

Shortly after my grandma’s death my parents hired a babysitter. I wasn’t too fond of her. She was a young girl who’d rather watch TV then go to the park or read a book. Whenever she had to go to the store to pick up something for my mother people always asked her if I was her little sister. I’m guessing it was because we both had brown hair and green eyes, I couldn’t really see any other resemblance. The only good thing about my babysitter was her ability to get free stuff. All she had to do was bat her long eyelashes and the guy down at the supermarket gave me all the free candy I wanted. Thinking back on it now I’m thinking that was just the guy’s way of buying my silence while he flirted with my babysitter.

I didn’t mind the time alone in my room though. I grew addicted to it, it was my solace. Being alone gave me a chance to watch my birds and in a way it was like my grandma was still there, sitting beside me watching them too. Every year a momma Blue Bird would build her nest right outside my window in the fork of one of the scaly branches of an old oak tree. My window was on the second floor.

Once I’d said to grandma, “That momma bird has to be sick of rebuilding her nest every year.”

She laughed, her gray-green eyes sparkling over the rim of her reading glasses. “Oh honey, it’s not the same bird every year. It’s most likely one of the babies coming back to build their nest.”

The spring after my grandma passed away three speckled eggs hatched in our nest.

I spent many days with my knees tucked under my bottom on a chair, fingers clutching the windowsill, my breath fogging the glass. The babies grew strong and healthy, bald heads bobbing up and down in the nest of twigs, peeping, their greedy mouths split wide. I thought the momma bird must have a lot of patience to deal with so much demanding at one time.

Then came the time for our babies to fly and something horrible happened. One of the babies never made it out of the nest. The featherless lump lay there, still for days, days I hadn’t seen its mother come to the nest to feed it. Thinking back now I’m pretty sure the baby was already dead, but at seven I couldn’t come close to grasping the total concept of death. All I knew was I had to help it.

My father told me, “Now sweetie, it’s okay if you watch the birds, but you must never, NEVER open your bedroom window. Do you understand?”

Most times I’d just stared at him like he was crazy.

Why would I ever want to open the window, daddy?

Ignoring his words, my seven year old brain rationalized ‘just this once’, so palms pressed to glass I slid the unlocked window open. The lock had always been broken ever since we’d moved into the home. My father planned to fix it, but had never gotten around to it.

April air warmed my cheeks as I leaned out, stretching an arm to gage how far it was exactly to the limb. Further than my reach I knew that for sure. I twisted a strand of hair around an index finger, eyeing the distance to the nest my little mind hatching a plan.

Chair legs scraped over polished hardwood as I angled a chair by the open window, the whole time keeping a watch on my bedroom door, afraid my babysitter would pull herself away from her television long enough to catch me, and then tell my father. I was really careful stepping up. I really was. One shoe tracked the glossy white paint of the windowsill as I crouched in my polka dotted sundress and tried stretching again, my fingers so close to the nest… a little further… almost got it… there!

I can still remember the triumph that washed over me as I felt my fingers touch twigs.

Then I slipped, my hands flapping wildly as I tried to regain my balance, but it was too late. One of my hands did make it to the branch in time, in time to latch on, but the weight of my dangling body was too much to hold. Instead of stopping my fall I only managed to scrape the flesh from my fingertips over the rough bark as I went down. At some point I must have looked down, because even to this day I remember how the ground looked as if it was rolling up at me. My back hit with a sickening thud, forcing the air from my lungs. I’d never felt pain like that before, a complete-overwhelming-breath-stealing pain. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. All I could do was lay there gasping for air trying to move, while everything ached. My knee hurt the worst. I tried to bend my leg and cried out from the heat spreading through it, my back bowing up off the ground.

“Oh. My. God!” was the first thing I heard, along with an awful lot of screaming and cursing. Then my babysitter was kneeling over me, her usual smirk transformed into a look of sheer terror. I knew it was bad, just by the way she was staring at me. She never looked at me as if I wasn’t a bother until that moment.

“The baby, it needs me,” I managed to get out, feeling a sense of urgency. “I have to help it before it’s too late.”

“You’re not helping anything! Stay still!” A palm smacked over her fuchsia pink stained lips and I could sense another fit of hysteria was on the horizon. “There’s so much blood. I’ve never seen so much blood in my life! Look at me, Victoria! Can you hear me? Don’t you dare pass out on me!”

Everything went black.

In the darkness there was a flame.

The flame danced as if a mighty breath blew upon it. It flickered out and then reappeared, growing taller, drawing me to it.

“If you play with fire, you get burned,” a seductive voice sang. “You don’t need the light. Stay. Stay here with me in the darkness.”

I ignored the voice going closer, stretching out a hand and just as the voice warned the flame leapt to my sleeve. I jumped back, screaming and slapping wildly at the flame that ate at my clothing. The one flame split and turned into two … then three … four… until it devoured me.

There was pain, intense pain. But like a snake shedding its worn-out skin I felt the old me melt away. I welcomed it. I longed for it.

Out of the midst of the fire, out of the pile of ashes I shot straight up out of the darkness and into the bright light, soaring, twisting, spiraling testing my glorious wings, my curled talons sharp enough to pierces any size animal, my hooked beak strong enough to crush bones.

For a second I was free, weightless. At peace.

“Victoria!” was screamed and I opened my eyes to the blinking lights of the ambulance.

Old Wounds

Victoria

I struggle to keep up.

My mother’s hand squeezes mine tight as she pulls me along until we reach the glass door to the brick building. The brace on my leg is stiff making it hard to keep up. Coming to an abrupt stop my mother crouches in front of me. Her hands go to my face smashing my cheeks. “Hey, look at me, don’t you worry. The physical therapists are excellent here. They’re going to make you brand new. One day soon you’ll be standing on the top of a pyramid cheering for your school just like mommy once did and all of this will be a distant memory.”

Edge Rehab & Wellness is spelled out in big white letters across the glass.

Since Grandma’s death my mother has made my full recovery from the fall her sole focus.

The automatic doors part and I am whisked inside. We sign in. A lady approaches my mother with a smile and clip board. She looks like one of those women you’d see on television early in the morning doing stretches on a blue mat with a peaceful setting behind her. She is even dressed for the part, wearing workout clothes.

“I’d like to stay,” my mother tells the woman.

“I’m sorry, but I really need to work with Victoria alone.” Intelligent blue eyes lower to mine. “We’ve got this, don’t we?”

I nod dropping my mother’s hand.

“I’d still like to stay,” my mother says. “I think my daughter would push herself more if I were here.”

The woman turns the clip board sideways and sticks it under an arm, exhaling. “Mrs. Anderson, I know you want to see your daughter have full mobility again, but you’re going to have to trust me. My attention needs to be focused on your daughter, not divided between the two of you. I’m sorry, but if you’re not willing to let me do my job—”

“Okay. Fine!” My mother huffs. Her eyes shift down to me. “I’ll be back in an hour. Push yourself! It’s the only way you’re going to get well.” She storms out the automatic door and I sigh with relief.

The woman bends, clutching her knees, her blue eyes sparkling. “Well, Ms. Victoria, we have a lot of work to do, please, follow me.”

I do as I’m told, my right leg stiff in the brace as I drag my foot sideways along with me.

She leads me into a sunny room with long glass windows on three sides. Exercise equipment fills the room: weights, bicycles and treadmills.

“By the way … the pigtails are super cute,” she says, tugging at one.

“Thanks.” I smile.

“Have a seat,” the woman says, nodding at a wooden chair. I drop onto the chair keeping my right leg straight in the process. She pulls her own chair over angling it in front of mine. “My name is Sherry.” Her gaze settles on my good leg and how it’s swinging back and forth.

“Are you nervous?” she asks.

“A little,” I admit.

“Understandable, this is a lot for a nine year old.” She flips through the papers on the clip board talking more to herself than to me. “I see you suffered Femoral nerve damage in your leg, fractured your pelvis, and broke your wrist. Two surgeries on your leg ending with titanium plate being put in.” Her eyes lift to mine seeing the confusion there. “Do you understand any of that?”

I shake my head.

Sherry leans to the side laying the clip board on the floor. “Well, here is all you really need to know, I’m going to be working with you over the next couple of months. We’re going to make your leg and hand work better. How does that sound”

“Good,” I answer.

“Now, I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that it’s not going to hurt, because it will hurt. But anytime you feel like you’ve reached your breaking point just let me know, okay?”

I nod.

Sherry leans forward. “First we’ll work on your hand. Can you tell me some of the feelings you’ve experienced?”

“It tingles sometimes,” comes out small. “Umm, it’s felt numb before. And sometimes it feels really weak and I have trouble holding onto things. I drop things a lot.”

“Very good. We’re going to fix that. Now,” she leans, digging a tennis ball out of the box next to her chair. “This is going to be simple.” She lays the tennis ball in my palm. “I want you to squeeze that tennis ball really tight and hold it for ten seconds.”

I squeeze and she counts.

“Excellent. I want you to do that for me ten times.”

While I grip tight and release she says, “Is there anything you like to do with your hands, Victoria? Like … maybe make beaded necklaces?”

Grip.

Release.

I shake my head.

Sherry smiles revealing perfect white teeth. “It would be really great if you could think of something you can do with your hands that you enjoy. Even with therapy your hand is going to have moments where it feels that weakness you mentioned. You’ve probably had episodes where it feels like your hand has gone to sleep on you?” She pauses and I nod. “Yeah. I bet. Keeping that hand active is the best way to keep that under control.” When I’m finished she takes the tennis ball dropping it in the box. “How does your hand feel? You okay?”

“Good,” I answer, curling and uncurling my fingers. “I mean yeah. It’s okay.”

She smiles, scooting her chair closer and undoing my brace laying it on the floor. I hate this part. My face feels really hot as she eyes my scar. “Looks really good, now I want us to work on the leg, what I want you to do is place your feet flat on the floor. Good. I want you to tap your toes as if you’re following the beat to your favorite songs. Do you like music?”

“Yes. I love music.” I wince from the pain, already doing what she said. It’s way worse than my hand.

“I’m sorry. I know it hurts sweetie, but you’re doing such a good job. Now alternate your toe tapping with lifting your heel.”

Chair legs scrape over the floor as she stands up. “I need you to follow me over to the wall and stand against it.” I stand against the wall like someone is going to mark my height and Sherry latches onto my arm, I guess to help keep me steady since I sometimes wobble. “I want you to lift yourself up onto your toes bringing your heel off the floor. Hold for the count of five and slowly return you heel to the floor. One, two, three … you okay?”

I want to tell her I’ve reached my breaking point, but my mother said to push myself. “I’m okay.”

“Good. Five,” her expression softens. “Can you do that for me ten more times?”

My stomach drops. Ten more times! I’ll never be able to do it. “I can try.”

“One, Two, Three ….” Sherry counts.

I have trouble keeping up.

I push harder, my body damp with sweat. My muscles jump under the skin.

Sherry’s face beams with pride when I manage to do the exercise ten times. “Wonderful! Keep this up and next week we’ll get you into the pool.

Abandoned

Jonah

Shit.

I’ve always assumed cooking is relatively easy. I mean it never looks that difficult when mom does it. I’ve seen her fry chicken, mop, clean out the refrigerator, and do laundry, all at the same time. I consider myself a fairly intelligent guy, her type O positive blood runs through my veins; surely I must have inherited some of her multitasking abilities.

Apparently not.

Several serious burns later and I’m rethinking my whole idea to surprise my mom with dinner.

Frowning, I take a sudden step back as a cloud of steam pours out from under the glass lid vibrating on the tall pot. Rice. It’s supposed to be steamed right? I thought it liked it. It said so right on the box. The more steam there is, the more the lid rocks until it resembles a shuttle right before liftoff. I’m cautious going anywhere near it, even with one of those girly potholders protecting my hand. I might be a brave guy, but I also know when to accept defeat.

Burns hurt like hell.

I take another step backwards.

As if I need any more proof of how much of a moron I am the fire alarm overhead goes off, blaring. The obnoxious, constant screeching sound causes my nine year old beagle, Roscoe, to push his arthritis-diseased body up from where he is flopped down on the tile floor. He releases a long continuous string of howls. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him this wound up.

My mother has always said I have a soft spot for the underdog.

“I’ve got this under control,” I shout over the alarm and my dogs howling. Which is a total lie. Roscoe tilts his head, his eyes unsure, an ear perked up. “Annoying fire alarm or actual blazing fire, which do you deal with first?” I ask Roscoe.

He cocks his head to the side, clueless.

Major dilemma here. Fire? Alarm?

“Some help you are. I thought beagles are supposed to be smart. You’re a disgrace to your breed.”

Decision made. I walk, not run, over to the sink (I do have some dignity), wrestle out the rubber hose thing, turn the water sprayer on my Teriyaki chicken and mixed vegetable flaming up in the pan. The odor filling the kitchen smells all too familiar, similar to when my neighbor accidently set his cat’s tail on fire with a sparkler. I’m still skeptical about the whole “accidental” part, but have you ever smelled singed cat fur? Not pleasant.

My thumb circles the little silver button on the hose getting the feel of it.

Deep breath, aim, steady, just like a fireman does it…

“Sweet Jesus, what’s going on in here?” Mom hollers over the top of the two paper grocery bags filling up her arms. She plunks the bags down on the countertop, drops her purse, and grabs a broom from the hall closet (I wonder what for… I mean, isn’t this a bad time to be sweeping?) Flipping the broom upside down, she jabs the red button on the fire alarm with the wooden handle and the noise dies off instantly.

Well, I feel stupid.

She gives me the meanest face she can manage, which I hate to tell her isn’t all that mean.

“I hope you weren’t planning on spraying my stove with that thing!” She says, grabbing the sprayer and the handle of the smoking pan dousing it under a steady stream of water in the sink. Whoosh her pan makes in protest.

Damn. I really messed up. I attempt the innocent face, but she has grown immune to it.

“I hope you’re not all that hungry,” I tell her, hooking a thumb in the back pocket of my jeans eyeing my mess. The kitchen looks like shit. The food looks even worse. And poor Roscoe, he deserted me in the midst of the chaos running for cover. I’m assuming he is under my bed. He’s under there quite a bit; old age. His nerves are shot.

The brightest smile spreads across my mother’s face. She leans in and presses a firm kiss to my right cheek, which I’m thrilled no one sees, because hey, it would be majorly embarrassing for someone to see my mom kissing me. One of her hands goes to her chest and she sighs all dreamy like.

“Were you cooking for me? Wow, you are nothing like your father. Sometimes I wonder if you’re even his kid.”

I thought I’d grown used to her pointing out how much of a loser my father is. Nope, still hurts. I’ve learned the best thing to do whenever he’s brought up is to quickly change the subject: same policy goes for my teachers and friends when they ask about my father.

Shrugging a shoulder as if it isn’t a big deal I explain, “You’re always working so hard. I can’t remember the last time we’ve eaten dinner at the same time. I thought it would be nice.”

Mom is a waitress. She works double shifts just to make ends meet. I know if it wasn’t for me she wouldn’t have to work so hard. She’d probably be remarried by now to some doctor and have someone to take care of her for a change. She sacrificed a lot for me. I see it more every day.

“Aww, honey, it is nice, and I’m so sorry I’m hardly ever here.” Her face falls and she sinks down into one of the two metal chairs around our retro-style table. You know … the ones with metal legs and an ugly ass gold vinyl top.

Oh, no. I’ve managed to make her feel like a sucky mom again. Not what I was going for.

She adds, “between two jobs, church and helping with AA I’ve forgotten all about you haven’t I?”

Sinking into the chair across from her I pick up the salt shaker and roll it around on its base as if it holds some fascination. Truth is, I can’t look at my mother knowing tears of regret are already collecting in eyes the same shade of brown as my own. I hate when she gets like this. All weepy and ‘I am the worst mother in the world’, because she isn’t. My mom is the strongest, most amazing person I know.

She met my father when she was sixteen. Love at first sight. Or so I hear. More like lust at first sight, at least for him. They drank heavily and experimented with drugs, wild teenage rebellion stuff, until surprise … a baby boy was conceived.

Five months later I pop out premature and underweight from my mother’s drug use.

Yeah, I’ve heard the story, over and over and over. Don’t forget my mom is an active member of AA; she loves telling the story of how she got from where she was to where she is today. She lives for that shit: talking, sharing, and helping others. I don’t think she’s fully forgiven herself for how I was introduced to the world. She says she has, but I’m not so sure. Anyways, my mom says the instant her gaze connected with my “big brown eyes” that there was an instant connection. She says she knew her life needed to change, for the better. My father must have not had the same bonding experience, because shortly after his eyes connected with mine, he was gone. Splits Ville. We were abandoned. You can’t miss what you never had. Right? What a crock of shit. I miss my father, even though I never knew him. It would have been nice to have someone to toss a football with or to have a father present for Father’s Day. Then there was cub scouts. That pretty much sucked a big one. Another moment in my life it became painfully obvious all the other boys had fathers and I didn’t. Of course mom always showed up in his place, which kind of took the embarrassment of being fatherless to a whole new level, but I never told her. I let her do her thing. She did the best she could. The best any single parent can do.

You have to learn how to turn lemons into lemonade.

That is what my grandmother use to say, well that, and what she always sneered whenever my mother mentioned my father.

It’s like getting a pig in a sack. You never know what you’ve got until you turn him loose.

Seventeen years clean and sober my mom has an unusual knack (she calls it her gift) for helping others in the same desperate situation she was in, hence, why we rarely get to have a meal together without someone calling in the middle of it with an impending crisis: a drug addict strung out and threatening to check out permanently, some young teenager, drunk, in the need of a safe ride home and someone to listen, or ONE of the lucky ones who’ve beat the habit but find themselves in a weak moment needing to be reminded how far they’ve come. I admire my mother for always rushing off to help, day and night.

Helping others with addictions is her passion.

That and church. The two make her happy. I get it. I really do. She needs to feel like she has a purpose. Everyone does.

Her nose scrunches as she glances around at what was once her spotless kitchen.

“How about we go out to eat, an actual sit down meal? What’d you say, kiddo?”

“Sure,” I answer. She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I’m always starving. “What do you have in mind?” I ask, thinking steak. My cell goes off at that exact moment and I glance at the number. Oh no, impending crisis alert. Reluctantly, I swipe a finger over the screen.

“What’s up?” I say into my cell phone.

Mom watches as my face goes through what I’m sure is a multitude of expressions: from boredom to surprise to annoyance to frustration. “Yeah, I know where his house is. I can’t tonight. Already made plans.”

A high pitch squeal comes from my cell, followed by an awful lot of begging and I can feel my cheeks getting hot. The last thing a guy wants is for any girl to flat-out beg in front of his mother. It’s humiliating, the ultimate being-put-on-the-spot, especially when your mom likes the girl.

“Please, come to the party tonight, Jonah. I know you don’t like Colton, but he told me to invite you, I swear. Everyone is going to be there,” is squealed.

My mom can hear. I can hear. Even Roscoe’s (yes, he crawled out from under the bed) dark sad eyes roll up at me from the floor. He pities me, hell, I pity me. Is this a foreshadowing of the rest of the night?

Mom shakes her head and enthusiastically waves her hands to get my attention. I pretend to not see her. Oh God, please no! Don’t let her say it out loud.

“Go! Have fun. We’ll eat together another night.”

“Hold on…” I move my cell to my lap and speak low, “It’s just a party at some asshole's house I’ve never liked. It’s not a big deal. Really.”

“Jonah Tucker Stevens, do not use the word asshole! It’s not Christian-like. Maybe you haven’t given this guy enough of a chance. He might surprise you and end up being your best friend one day. He might need a friend like you.”

I snort. Yes, snort. I can’t help it. The thought is that ridiculous. “Not likely. You don’t know him. He’s a real dick. Sorry, I meant to say jerk.”

“Sure you did. Anything has to be better than sitting at home with your mother. Go. It will be refreshing to have the house to myself. I’m looking forward to reading some scripture tonight.”

Oh no. Whenever my mother reads scripture she feels the need to share. She’ll want to talk about it, which means I’ll have to hear it. I know that’s horrible for me to say, but I get enough of it on Sunday mornings.

Her gaze sweeps over her dirty stove and the stacks of dishes piled up in the sink. “On second thought, maybe you should stay home and help me clean up, since you made the mess.”

Even worse.

I put my cell back to my ear. Decision made. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

When I end the call mom has that twinkle in her eyes. I try my best to ignore the goofy way she’s staring at me, while I grab a soda from the refrigerator and pop the tab, learning a hip against the cabinet. But a guy can only take the suspense for so long.

“What’s with the look?” I ask.

She smiles, hopeful. “Are you two an item?”

“An item?” I chuckle at her choice of words. “Gosh darn, Mom, not sure I can speak old-people. Do you mean are we dating?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. You know what I meant. You two have been spending a lot of time together lately.”

“We’re friends.” I tip back my head and chug the soda. She’s still staring when I compact the empty can and ring the trash can a few feet away. “Don’t try to turn it into something it’s not. And just so you know children learn by example. If you don’t want me saying smartass then you probably should stop saying it yourself.”

“You’re not a child anymore, Jonah.”

“Thank you for finally noticing.”

“Forget what I said. You are your father’s kid.”

Distractions

Victoria

Most girls cringe at the thought of going into a basement. After all, that’s where creepy scary things hide in the dark. I happen to love our basement. It’s quiet. Cool. No one else comes down here. It’s where I spent most of my time avoiding the latest babysitter my parents hired until I was old enough to take care of myself. It’s where I make my birds, endangered birds carved out of cedar wood. I started making them when I was twelve. The physical therapist had said I needed to find something I enjoyed doing with my hands. Carving was it.

I know all the scientific names of my birds and all the little facts that go along with them: like do you know the brown-headed cowbird lays her eggs in the Kirtland Warblers nest and the unsuspecting Warbler raises the young as her own? Pretty amazing. An odd little fact I know.

My father is a contractor. My mother is a doctor, but she sneers whenever someone refers to her as a doctor, especially me. “I’m a surgeon, sweetie. Big difference,” she’ll insist. I never could understand how two people so totally opposite could end up getting married, but it works for them. I love my father. He has the patience of Job. Without him I would’ve gone crazy by now. My father has calluses on his hands from hard work. He doesn’t have an uppity air about him. My mother, well, she is as uppity as they come. Money matters to her. Prestige matters. What a person does for a living matters. Sometimes I wonder if she silently thinks she settled when she married my father, a simple carpenter from Colorado Springs. If they ever divorced I’d choose to live with my dad. It would be the easy decision I ever made in my life.

My father’s not the only one who disappoints my mother. I’m sure she has contemplated the possibility that maybe her perfect beautiful baby girl was accidently switched at birth for one with ‘average’ genes. First) I look nothing like my mother who is tall and willowy. She just looks like money and has incredible wavy dark hair that cascades over her shoulders. Occasionally, she jokes about how she came close to being a ballerina. Of course she says dancing wasn’t going to pay the bills, so she gave up believing in silly dreams for her family’s sake. Second) I am not class president. I am not head cheerleader. And I most definitely am not prom queen—three things my mother most definitely was.

But then my senior year I started dating Colton Bentley. And then I started hanging out with my cousin, Keria. Well, my hanging out with Keria was more my mother’s decision than mine. Whenever I would buck my mother’s plan to fix my social outcast status she’d pull out the Keria’s- family card. I learned it was easier to play along.

Suddenly there is meaning to my life, a reason for me to come up out of the basement—I know this is what my mother is going for, a new improved version of me.

“You’re just slow coming out of the gate,” my mother explains, comparing me to a horse.

Suddenly, since I’ve acquired the right friends my life is headed in a more acceptable direction. There is still hope for me. Yay!! Her baby girl is one step closer to being prom queen, one step closer to attending Harvard or Yale, one step closer to getting a degree in medicine, and most importantly, one step closer to puking. I mean literally. I hate the sight of blood. Seriously. Once I accidently sliced the tip of my finger pretty good with one of my carving knives and I almost fainted at the sight of the blood streaming down my arms. It cost me several stitches and one long lecture from my mother about how carving was ridiculous in the first place.

Needless to say my cousin is beautiful.

Keria McKinley is the girl every girl wants to be and the girl every guy wants to date, at least that’s how it is at Moorhead High, home of the Razorbacks. Go hogs!

The funny thing is Keira doesn’t date. Ever. She is happy being considered the player, the untamable; flirting and hooking up, but never committing. Every guy wants to be the one. You know the one that changes her, the special one.

Lately I’ve been wondering if my boyfriend wants to be that guy, the special one. I don’t know who was more excited when Keira and I started hanging out, Colton or me. It hurts when he calls her cell to ask to talk to me, instead of calling mine directly and they end up talking for more than an hour.

I mean does he think I’m stupid? He knows my number. He has it memorized. Of course he denies having any real feelings for her.

“Keria is like a sister,” he asserts. “When are you going to get it? I love you, Tori, and only you.”

After someone tells you that they love you over and over, eventually you start to want to believe it. You start to get comfortable with it, thinking it will always be that way. Colton’s become familiar. We’ve been together so long I don’t know how to not be together.

Colton’s parents are going out of town on a business trip. They do that a lot. When we first started dating whenever his parents were out of town we’d rent movies and cuddle on his couch. It was nice. Comfortable. We talked about how he felt about being home alone all of the time. I asked him if it was lonely. If he wished his parents were around more often. Colton told me things I don’t think he’s ever shared with anyone, not even his closest friends. I told him I’d never had sex. He was okay with it. Patient. How many guys would be willing to wait until their girlfriend is ready. I think our deficiency’s offset one another’s—he hated to be alone and I craved it. I think he thought he could fix me and maybe I secretly thought I could fix him.

Colton and I don’t spend time alone anymore. Whenever his parents go out of town, naturally, that spells P.A.R.T.Y at ‘the bone crusher’s house!

Oaf! Oaf! The football team pumps fist high in the air. Oh come on, really? Colton accidentally broke a guy’s arm once during football practice and he automatically becomes ‘the bone crusher’, taking him from the quiet awkward guy I was accustomed to and liked to be around, to a cocky-inflated-head status that was quickly becoming annoying.

All his teammates pitch in to buy several kegs for the party.

“Here, wear this. Colton will spend all night keeping the guys off you. He won’t have time to be an ass,” Keira say’s, handing me the shortest black dress I’ve ever seen. It’s backless. Sexy. “Don’t shake your head. Just go put it on.” She sighs, flopping down on the bed, brushing blond hair off her shoulder.

“I can’t and you know it.”

Her blue eyes settle on my bad leg. “Why … because of a little scar. It doesn’t matter, Tor. You’re the only one that notices.”

“I’m not wearing heels.” I eye the dress in my hands. “This kind of dress needs to worn with heels.”

“Exactly,” she exclaims with the flourish of her hands. “I’m glad we agree.”

I grit my teeth. Keria knows I only wear flats.

“I’ll try it on, but I’m not making any promises.” I wobble into the bathroom and close the door. No way am I letting anyone see me in this dress until I see myself in the mirror first. I talk through the door as I slide the rubber band from my wrist and pile my brown hair on top of my head. I wiggle the slinky dress past my almost nonexistent hips, up my body and struggle to tie the straps around neck. “Speaking of favors, Keira, promise me you won’t drink too much tonight.”

“Yes mother anything else,” she replies in a mocking tone.

“Don’t roll your eyes. I’m serious,” I return.

“Doors closed, Tor, you can’t see me rolling my eyes.”

“Don’t have to,” I say, momentarily forgetting what I am wearing. I step out into my bedroom.

My gaze narrows on her. “I’m serious. Something bad is going to happen. It happens all the time, girls getting taken advantage of whenever they’re trashed.”

Her eyes go wide and she squeals, her hands flying to her mouth. My mouth gaps as I glance down at the black short dress hugging my body.

“Looks horrible, doesn’t it?” I turn to go take it off and a brush smacks the center of my back.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Wear more dresses like that and you’ll have all the power you want. You’ve got to learn how to use your assets. You have to make Colton want to drop his friends to get you alone.”

I collapsed down onto the bed with a sigh. “I’m not sure I want to manipulate my boyfriend into spending time with me.” I frown, glancing down at the dress. “It feels fake. Shouldn’t he be just as attracted to me when I’m wearing jeans and a T-shirt?”

“You’ve been reading way too many romance novels. Love doesn’t just happen. A girl has to work to get a guy’s attention and keep it. Don’t look so miserable. Wear the dress and you’ll see. All the communication problems between you two will disappear. Trust me.” She takes hold of my hand tugging, hauling me up off the bed. “I’m in the mood for some Rocky Road, how about you?”

“Lead the way,” I say.

Five minutes later we are sitting on my bed with our backs pressed against the headboard, licking spoons full of yummy ice-cream and giggling.

“So which endangered bird is it this month?” Keira says, making me regret ever telling her anything about them. I’ve never actually showed her one of my carvings. Mostly because she gets that same look my mother gets any time she mentions them; like they are pointless and time consuming.

Distractions from real life that’s what my mother calls them.

Keria scoops out a spoon full of ice cream, flips the spoon over and licks the ice cream off. “Okay, don’t answer. Moving on to the next question. How did you ever get Colton to finally ask you out?” She huffs warm breath on the round end of her spoon, watching as the silver fogs up.

My stomach goes all fluttery not liking this question any better than the first.

“I don’t know … We’d been friends for a while and before I had time to really consider what it meant we were more.”

“Do you ever wish you two would have just remained friends?” She glances up from under curled lashes coated with mascara and I see it, the pink tint in her cheeks. I’ve never seen Keira blush.

“Sometimes I wish we’d stayed friends. Then I wouldn’t have to worry so much about us breaking up. It’s too late for that though, I don’t think it’s possible to go back.”

“Oh, I think you could. I think you’d find some way to still be his friend, if anything ever did happen. I can’t see you having hard feelings towards him or anyone, Tor. You’re too nice.” The corners of her eyes crease with a smile as her metal spoon clanks the bottom of her bowl. “I can see him dating someone else and still coming to you for relationship advice, and you’ll help him because that’s just how you are.”

I frown at the bottom of my own bowl, suddenly in the mood for more ice-cream.

We’re all in Colton’s basement; half the guys from the football team surrounding us five girls sitting at a table: Keira, Stacy (the girl known for making out with most of the seniors, guys and girls), Lizzie, Amber, and me. Amber is the only one other than Keira that I really ever hang out with on a regular basis.

Music is playing, but it is hard to hear over all the noise in the basement: conversations blending, laughter, chair legs scraping over the concrete floor, the football players bragging on their contributions to the team.

Colton is showing signs of being drunk. He’s embarrassed me by getting into an all-out shoving match with Keira. At one point he had her trapped from behind, his arms encasing her upper body, one of his legs hooked in front of her legs to keep her from getting away. They wrestled, flirting with each other until it was difficult for me to watch. Everyone at the table was laughing hysterically, except for Amber who shot me a sympathetic look when no one was watching. I know I must have turned every shade of red imaginable. I could see the pity in her eyes and it made me sick to my stomach.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Colton asks, tugging at the hair falling down across my cheek. He sits on the bar stool next to mine. “You’re not pissed because I was teasing Keria, are you?” He doesn’t give me time to answer before he flicks my right hip, what he always does whenever he is going to say something pertaining to my injury. “Because you know I want nothing more than to be able to pick around with you, but I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I won’t break, Colton. I have to go easy on the leg, that’s all.” You’d think after a year of me telling him this he would get it.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I said.” He twists the cap off a Lager and takes a chug. “Dude, bout time your ass showed up!” And then he is gone no longer interested in our conversation.

The basement is packed with people, most of the crowd concentrated over in our little corner. There are a few guys sitting on an L-shaped couch over by a big screen T.V., the same couch Colton and I used to watch movies on together. I notice these guys because one of them is Jonah Stevens. We have creative writing together. The teacher has a habit of forcing him to stand up and read his stories out loud in class. I suspect it’s because they are good, really good, and he is supposed to be the example for the rest of us.

I’ve heard he plays an acoustic guitar too and writes his own songs. I don’t know if the rumors are true or not, since I’ve never gotten up enough nerve to ask him. Okay, once I said ‘excuse me’ as I slipped past him when he was blocking the doorway of our classroom, and he said, ‘Oh. Sorry.’ in a deep voice, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count as an actual conversation.

Jonah’s blonde hair is buzzed short like a marine. He has a strong jaw, which, when the light hits it just right you can see the blond stubble along it. His eyes are a Carmel color just like the work boots he wears every day, unlaced, thrown on so quickly his jeans are still stuck in the top of the boots. He is tall with broad shoulders and muscles that don’t come from using steroids. He wears Fox racing and DC skateboarding T-shirts.

I’ve watched Jonah way too much in class. I know his stress reliever is rubbing the back of his neck. (I’ve seen him do this many times, leaning over a notebook, pencil in hand, really engrossed in what he is writing about.) His expression turns all serious as he bites down on his bottom lip. It’s cute.

As if he can feel my eyes on him, Jonah turns on the couch and glances over at our table. Crap. I quickly look away feeling the heat rush to my cheeks.

“I have an idea! Why don’t we play truth or dare!” Keira squeals bouncing up and down in her seat, drawing my gaze away from the sitting area by the TV.

“Isn’t that game something you play in Jr. High?” Colton reaches over and does his best to mess up her hair, which she eludes.

“Please.” She bats her curled eyelashes up at him. “It will be fun. I promise.”

Colton turns a color I’ve never seen before on someone’s face—more purple than red.

One of Colton’s buddies, Duncan, star quarterback, shoves his shoulder. “Come on bone crusher. Everybody knows you can’t say no to Keria.”

I am close to vomiting. The bowl of Dorito’s in the center of the table is not helping.

“Oh goody. Who wants to go first,” Keria exclaims.

At that moment I realize not only is Colton drunk, but Keira is well on her way to being there. She is usually an okay friend. Tonight though, she is giving me evil glares as if she has something horrible in store for me. I try to catch her gaze a couple of times to secretly ask her, what did I do? But she won’t look at me. Not once. I’m so busy replaying the events of the night to see if I can pinpoint the exact moment I made my cousin angry that I don’t notice it’s my turn.

“Tori!” Colton shouts close to my ear, shaking my shoulder until my eyes focus on him.

“Truth or Dare?” He asks slowly as if I have a comprehension problem.

“I’m not playing,” I mutter.

“Oh yes you are,” Keira snarls across the table causing me to flinch on my stool.

Our gazes clash and hold. I swallow hard knowing, whatever it is—it’s coming.

“Truth,” I squeak out.

She settles down a bit in her chair and offers a fake smile. I know it’s fake, because I know her. “Okay, truth Tori, have you ever fantasized about making out with anyone other than Colton?”

What?

“Ohh bone crushers girl is in the hot seat,” surrounds me. Loud. Ridiculously loud. Loud enough that everyone in the basement looks over at our corner, even the guys on the L-shaped couch. Not that I have time to worry about any of them. I’m too busy hyperventilating. It suddenly gets really hot in the basement.

“No,” I reply. “I have never fantasized about making out with anyone other the Colton.”

“Liar. I say since she refuses to tell the truth we give her a dare,” Keira smirks and I shrink on my hot seat. “I dare you to make out for ten minutes with….” Her narrowed gaze slowly searches the room, then suddenly she wiggles fingers as if she’s just spotted the perfect candidate for the group to torture, or for me to torture. My eyes follow the direction her excited fingers are going spastic in.

Oh no. I breathe in a deep breath and hold it.

No way.

NO.

No.

No!

“I dare you to make out with Jonah Stevens for ten minutes!” She says springing up from her chair.

The crowd gathered around us breaks out in long drawn out, “Eww”s and an awful lot of laughing.

“I double dare you,” Stacy adds.

“I triple dare you,” Colton blurts out and everything goes quiet. Or at least I go quiet.

My boyfriend wants me to make out with another guy? Is this us breaking up? While everyone watches? I don’t think I can handle a public break up.

“Don’t look at me like that, Tori. It’s not a big deal.”

Am I the only one finding his reaction odd?

He cocks an eyebrow. “I mean, come on … you would never like that fagot. I know that.”

“But….”

“Lighten up Tori,” Keria taunts. “ It’s just a game. Are you going to do it or what?”

She is not staying at my house tonight. I don’t care if she is my cousin.

She adds, “I’m thinking Tori might have a little crush on Stevens.”

“Ew Tori! That’s gross,” Stacy sneers at me.

“I do not!” I scoff. “I do not like Jonah!”

Keira crosses her arms over her chest. “Prove it. It won’t be a big deal if you’re telling the truth.”

“Tori, don’t do it if you don’t want to,” Amber mutters.

Keria’s eyes narrow. A long sigh comes from my deflated body. “What are the rules?”

“Only one.” She points at the couches where Jonah is sitting, oblivious that we are all watching him. Poor guy. “You two have to stay where we can see you, so there’s no chance of you lying.”

“Can I tell him it’s a dare?”

“Tell him whatever. I don’t care. Tell him whatever will convince him to lock lips with you for ten minutes.”

Singled Out

Jonah

Party’s suck.

Party’s at Colton Bentley’s house suck even more.

Why am I here? Oh, yeah, to escape clean up duty. If I had known this party would be this boring I would have offered to clean the whole damn house. I would have listened to mom preaching. Anything to avoid sitting in a semi-dark basement on a pleather L-shaped couch, inhaling clouds of second-hand smoke as couple’s link fingers and disappear into one of the bedrooms. Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can watch the few guys I know at the party play Wee on the big screen without falling asleep.

Leaning forward, elbows braced on my knees, I run my hands down my face in frustration, and then make the move to get up.

“I’m out. See you guys at school,” I say.

“All right, man.” Lewis—pretty cool guy once he lets you beyond this massive wall he’s carefully constructed to keep people at bay—holds out a fist bumping it to mine, never once removing his gaze from the game he is completely submerged in. I’m telling you … major wall, 6 feet tall, encased with barb wire. His body twitches with excitement as he gives the controller in his hands hell.

Slumped down on the other side of Lewis is Josh, who is staring down all mopey-like at his beer. He voices his own opinion about the party. “Funny how we ended up isolated over here on the couch by ourselves. I’m kind of feeling unloved. And thinking it’s intentional.”

I can’t help smiling. “Imagine that … even out of school we still don’t fit in. But hey, Colton Bentley graciously opened his home to us—three lonely outcasts—without tossing us out and for that we should be ever grateful.”

Bentley can kiss my ass.

He treats his girl like crap. That alone is enough to make me despise the guy. Besides everyone in this basement knows we weren’t invited, they’re just too drunk to care.

I glance over my left shoulder at Victoria Anderson, AKA Colton’s girlfriend. Her dark brown hair falls down over her shoulders. She has hazel eyes and lips that look like she is pouting even when she’s not, nice cheek bones, and an easy slow smile. She always appears to be deep in thought, making you curious what she is thinking. It’s more than looks though. She’s different. Smart. Way too smart for Colton Bentley.

Josh’s face lights up. I forgot what we were talking about.

“You’re right,” he says. “I should thank Colton for allowing me to stay. It would be the polite thing to do.”

“Woah, it was a joke, man. I was being sarcastic. Look around you, we're being tolerated. Have some pride.” Time to exit this party before I get all preachy and start quote bible scripture like my mother. I go to stand up right as laughter erupts in the corner where a crowd is gathered around a table, around Victoria Anderson’s table.

Another eruption of laughter. Okay, I’ll admit I’m a tiny bit curious. I drop back down on the couch.

“I thought you were leaving?” Lewis mumbles robotically.

“Yeah, well, I think this party is about to get interesting.” I answer, throwing a covert glance over my left shoulder. Keria McKinley goes from looking pissed off to looking like she’s about to pee herself. I swear that girl can shift moods like nobody’s business. Her eyes do a sweep of the basement, and then she points … Oh shit! I jerk my gaze back around to the big screen and the game Lewis is playing, my heart seriously pounding.

Did Keria just point me out?

What the hell is she telling them? What the hell is she telling Tori?

Going After What You Want

Victoria

“Here drink some beer, it will help.” Colton places a plastic cup in my hand and I just stare at it, completely freaked out. No way, my stomach already feels iffy. I sit the cup on the table. Rubbing my sweaty palms over my jeans, thankful I did not let Keria bully me into wearing the dress.

You can do this.

You can do this.

I take slow deep breaths to calm the butterflies battling in my stomach.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes are going to feel like an eternity, if I can even convince Jonah into doing it. Is this really happening? Am I actually going to talk to Jonah Stevens? No. I’m not just going to talk to him. I’m going to ask him to kiss me.

Ugh. Ten minutes. Why not five or two? Why the prolonged torture.

“And the clock doesn’t start ticking until the making out begins,” Keira shouts as I’m walking away.

What is her problem?

She is definitely not staying at my house tonight.

Bah. Who am I fooling? I’ll forgive her in a heartbeat. She’s my cousin, she’s family; you don’t trash family.

First step, second step, keep walking, if you stop now you’ll only chicken out. Behind me all the whistling and prodding fades.

All I can see is the back of Jonah’s head.

I swallow hard glancing over my shoulder to make sure Colton isn’t freaking out. He makes a move-a-little-faster gesture. Him, I will not forgive. This is his fault. He could have said, “My girlfriend isn’t making out with Stevens,” and that would have been the end of it. Instead he’s the damn cheering squad.

My frown deepens as I come around the L-shaped couch. I swallow hard. A few more steps ... Oh crap! Jonah’s brown eyes meet mine and my knees turn to jelly.

“Um… uh…. Can I talk to you for a second?” I choke out.

He gives it some thought and goes to stand up. “Sure.”

Obviously he thinks I mean alone.

“No, don’t get up, stay there,” spills out. Jonah must sense the hysteria in my voice, because his brows pull together in confusion. “I mean, is it okay if we talk here?”

“Yeah. Sure. What’s up?” Again he seems confused, understandable, strange girl singling him out and all.

He is wearing a white T-shirt and faded jeans, and those damn camel work boots. His brown eyes study me with an intensity that makes my leg wobble as he waits for ... What is he waiting for? Oh, for my reply.

I sink down and glance over my shoulder at my so-called friends. Glad they’re finding my current situation so entertaining. Keira is balanced on one of Colton’s knees, an arm thrown friend-like over his shoulder, a sight I am getting used to.

“Me and my friends were playing ….” ME’s not supposed to come before my friends. Would it be me or I? My brain is fried. “We were playing truth or dare. I mean … we are playing truth or dare.”

I’m rambling.

He chuckles, the sound pretty amazing. “Truth or dare. Really? I didn’t think anybody played that game anymore—”

“I’m supposed to talk you into making out with me for ten minutes,” I blurt out bury my burning face in my hands.

I feel his fingertips brush against my wrist as he pulls my hands away from my face. He lowers his head and forces me to look him directly in the eye. “Relax. There’s nothing to freak out over. It’s just a game, right?”

“Um, yeah, just a game.”

“Why me?” He asks.

“Why you what?”

A corner of his mouth rises. “Why did your friends dare you to kiss me when we’ve never even spoke to each other before?”

“Yes we have. Once I said ‘excuse me’ and you said, ‘oh. Sorry’.”

“You’re right. I forgot,” he laughs. His smile is infectious. “What’ll your boyfriend say about us kissing?”

“Nothing. He doesn’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really? That’s strange.”

“We haven’t got all night!” Is yelled from the corner of the room.

Jonah turns to see all my friends watching in eager anticipation.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll just go tell them no deal.” Leather crunches as I go to stand up, but his fingers around my wrists stops me. He yanks me back down. On his lap! I feel the scorching heat, it starts in my neck, then crawls its way up to my face, which I’m sure is bright, bright red at this point.

“I’ll do it.” He shrugs a shoulder.

“What? Are you serious?” I sputter.

In a matter of seconds his hands are on my waist, those brown eyes of his penetrating mine. “I’ll kiss you. If it will help, you know, with your friends.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“Hey, trust me, it will be the highlight of my night.”

His brown eyes drop to my mouth and my stomach goes all goo-goo.

“Give us some lip action!” Reminds me we have an audience.

One of Jonah’s hands settles my thigh. He tilts his head, leans in, his breath warm against my lips. “So, I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay with you?”

I nod. Ten minutes. Ten minutes. You can do this.

My lips tingle with expectation and my body stiffens on his lap, waiting. Nothing happens? I open my eyes to find him watching me. I say, “The clock doesn’t start until you actually kiss me, so the sooner we get started the sooner it will be over.”

“Wow, you’re really starting to do a number on my confidence.”

What? NO! “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean … it’s just we don’t know each other … never talked… ”

“Tori, it’s okay. I was only joking. God, you’re trembling. You really don’t want to do this, do you?” His gaze narrows and then he sighs. “Just tell your friends you’re not going to do it. I’m pretty sure the world won’t stop spinning because you say no.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t.”

“What don’t I understand? You think I don’t get why they sent you over here? It’s a joke, right? They’re not daring you kiss me because they think you and I would make a cute couple.”

“Make out with you for ten minutes because you said kiss, as in one. I want to be certain you know what’s expected, so there is absolutely no confusion.” I am rambling again. He is staring at me the same way Colton stares at me when he finds something I’ve did cute, saying ‘my cuteness’ is what does it for him.

One of his hands moves to my waist, the other presses at the small of my back encouraging me slowly toward him. And then he kisses me. I knew his lips would be soft, you can tell that much by looking at them, which I have spent many, many class periods doing just that, but never did I imagine the electricity they could deliver to a girl. My arms slide around his neck of their own accord, my fingers interlocking. I am kissing Jonah Stevens! I’ve fantasized about this moment and I only had what ... nine more minutes of heaven?

“Woohoo … you go Stevens!” I vaguely hear one of the guys on the couch cheer.

“… Six, five, four, three, two, one… times up!” is yelled. Not one voice, but the entire corner.

“That was not ten minutes,” spills out of my mouth.

Jonah pulls back, presses his forehead to mine, both of us breathless.

“Was it as bad as you thought?” he asks his eyes penetrating mine. He doesn’t give me time to answer before he says, “we can ignore your friends and keep kissing.” To prove his point he catches my bottom lip between his teeth, gently teasing another kiss out of me.

“Get your hands off my girl,” Colton growls, snatching me off Jonah’s lap. I am dragged away. “Thought I’d give you an easy out,” Colton says giving me a lazy grin. “I know how much you hate hurting anyone’s feelings.

A hand lands on my shoulder and Colton pushes me down on my stool. “Sit. This is where you belong. Here with me.”

“Tori, you’ve got more guts than I thought,” Duncan slurs, coming up behind me. He smells like liquor as he clamps a hand on my shoulder, leaning in close for details. “How was it? You can be honest. Was it worse than kissing your dog?”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“But if you did?”

“Yeah Tori, what was it like?” Stacy joins in. “I can’t believe you actually kissed Stevens.”

She shivers with apparent disgust and slides over a couple of chairs next to me, smiling like I am her new best friend.

Brave, brave Tori.

Once again I am in the hot seat.

Oh, how I do not want to be in the hot seat anymore.

It is the deciding moment. Truth. Or a lie. They don’t want to hear how amazing it was kissing Jonah. They don’t want to hear how he is actually a nice guy if they would only give him a chance. They want details, something to twist and shape into juicy gossip laughing about it in the school cafeteria on Monday.

I glance over at Keira for help, but all she does is shift in her chair refusing to make eye contact with me. Who invited Jonah to Colton’s party anyway? He isn’t part of our clique. He doesn’t fit in. He doesn’t belong. Not in my world.

Colton slides his hand in mine, threading our fingers. He brings our hands up and kisses the top of my hand imprisoned in his.

Duncan grins still waiting for my reply. It really isn’t so bad, is it? To tell them what they want to hear. Jonah himself admitted it was a joke. But then again, this feels like the ultimate ‘wanting to please others’.

In my head good and evil battle:

Keira: “Come on, Tori. Why the hesitation? He’s a nobody.”

My mother: “It’s a small price to pay for fitting in, sweetie.”

Colton: “Are you really going to let this loser come between us?”

Grandma: “I believe in you, Toriabear. You’ll do the right thing. Listen to your heart.”

My stomach clenches. I know this decision; the one I’m about to make will change everything.

Evil wins.

“It was pretty bad, yeah, kind of like kissing a slobbery dog. Not something I’d ever want to do again,” I answer, the words leaving a funny taste in my mouth. What is that I taste? Shame? It’s bitter. Unpleasant. Leaves an awful aftertaste.

“Ohhh Man that was harsh!” surrounds me, rippling out like a wave. Colton snickers behind a closed fist and I know … I just know Jonah Stevens is standing behind me. My entire body tenses and I draw in a deep shuddering breath, clamping my eyes shut. No way can I turn around.

I may never look at Jonah Stevens again.

Hate’s a Strong Word

Jonah

A dog, huh? I think of poor Roscoe and his canine disgusting breath and the amount of drool that always comes along with it. Well, screw her. I don’t care. I’ve never had a girl complain before. And she’s the one who asked me to kiss her, not the other way around. Maybe she’s the one that kisses like a dog. Sliding in behind the wheel of my old truck I exhale a breath and scrub my face in an attempt to forget what it felt like kissing Victoria Anderson.

“Shit.” I can’t get the feel of her soft lips moving against mine out of my head. “This isn’t good.”

Keys dangle from the ignition. I sit there in the dark cab of the truck sneering at Colton Bentley’s three story brick home, party still going strong inside. It’s wrong to envy what someone else has. I know this, but oh man, I really, REALLY, hate him. Hate’s a strong word, a word my mom would go ballistic if she ever heard me use it, but in this case it pretty much sums up my feelings for the arrogant, loud mouth asshole. It doesn’t have squat to do with Victoria Anderson. Or her delicious lips.

“Forget her. She’s way out of your league,” I mutter under my breath. Forget? Impossible. No way am I ever going to get the taste and feel of her mouth out of my head.

“Dammit!” My boot hits the clutch and I fire her up. Rumbling backwards down the concrete I consider taking out a few scrubs in the neat sculpted triangle at the end of the drive, but the destruction of Colton’s parent’s property isn’t going to fix anything. Nothing is going to fix it. Something major has changed tonight. Victoria Anderson has gone from being a fantasy to something I can actually touch and feel making her very real.

Slave

Victoria

“Give me the keys,” I demand holding out my hand. All 105 pounds of me is blocking the driver’s side door to Keira’s Honda Civic. Even when she tries to elbow past me I hold my ground. No way am I going to let her get behind the wheel. “I’m serious, hand ‘em over.”

Keira gives me a once over, then wrinkles her perky little nose, shoves blonde hair off her shoulder. “I’m fine Ms. I-am-in-charge. My buzz has already worn off THANKS to you. See, I can walk a perfect straight line. ” She gives a demonstration on the edge of Colton’s driveway. I have to give her credit, she only stumbles a few times, but the endless giggling tells the truth, she is in no condition to drive.

Colton and Duncan are in no better shape, snickering somewhere off to the side. In fact, Colton doesn’t seem to care that his house is probably getting trashed while he is standing out here with us.

There’s no time to deal with Colton. His house can be replaced, Keira cannot. I sigh hating being the bad guy, or girl. “I’m not moving until I get those keys.”

Her bottom lip puckers out. “I’m not ready to go home yet. Who wants to hit up Waffle House for breakfast? I’m starving.” She smiles and makes a gesture of pulling a rabbit out of a hat, except it isn’t any rabbit she pulls out. “And I brought a few of my little friends with me to keep the party going.” Mini airplane bottles of liquor ting together in the bottom of her purse. She pulls one out, breaks the seal and takes several swallows not even flinching from the burn.

What girl hides alcohol in her purse?

“Hell yeah. Let’s go!” Colton cracks the passenger door, his head popping up over the top of the car. He drums his long fingers on the hood, waiting. He knows how it is. Why is he encouraging her?

My voice breaks from all the anger building up inside me. “Have you both forgotten my curfew is 12:30?”

“Oh please, you know your mom won’t say anything as long as you’re with me.” Keria scoffs taking another swig from the little bottle.

The sad thing is she’s right. I square my shoulders and take a step toward her. “You’ve been acting weird all night. If you have something to say then just say it instead of acting like a spoiled brat.”

She huffs and jabs a finger at her chest. “I’m acting like a spoiled brat? Me? What about you, Ms. my-birds-keep-me-connected-to-my-dead-grandma. Give it a rest Tori AND grow the FUCK UP!” Her hands shove against my chest. My backside slams into the side of her Honda Civic. Air rushes from my lungs. She shoves my chest again. “I had big plans for tonight. You messed everything up. Tonight was supposed to be special instead it’s been one big disappointment after another, YOU getting what you want like usual.”

My mouth falls open. “What did I mess up, Keira? Tell me!” I yell.

“Girls, girls, as much as I’d love to see a cat fight… ” Duncan steps in-between us giving us both a once over with his perverted gaze. He lays a palm on each of our chest separating us. Like he thinks we’re going to start hitting or clawing each other, please. “There’s no need to shout. Why don’t we all calm down, ladies, and go get something to eat. Tori, you can drive. Keira, hand over your keys.”

“NO!” I scream in his smug face. “I told you I have a curfew! I am going home! Not to eat. Home!”

Keira turns in her stilettos, pulls out her cell phone the light of it illuminating her fair face in the dark. She walks a few feet away and stands with her back towards us. She talks low in a cupped hand like her call is all top secret.

Duncan and Colton cage me in against the car. Apparently afraid I might go after Keria and rip her long honey-colored hair out by the roots. What a joke. Me. I am the only sensible one here.

“So what’s this Colton? You on her side?” I ask, eyeing my boyfriend. He grips my upper arms holding me in place. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m on my girlfriend’s side. We’ve all had a shitting night, Tor. Why don’t you back off until she sobers up? ”

“She’s never going to sober up if she keeps drinking,” I point out.

How is that not taking her side? Him telling me to back off. His choice to take her side hurts deeply. It’s a blow I should have seen coming. Any normal girl would cry right about now. I’m too pissed to cry. I concentrate hard on listening to what Keira is mumbling.

Keira smiles, I can’t see it, but I can hear it in her voice. “Hey, yeah, I’m still here. Listen, I’ve had a little too much to drink. Think you can come pick me up? You sure? I feel horrible asking you to come back out.”

“News flash, I can still hear you,” I shout, trying to see around Colton’s shoulder. I’m suddenly feeling all this aggression and honestly I don’t know what to do with it.

“What’s up with you tonight, Tori? You’re acting different,” Colton says.

“Maybe I’m tired of being pushed around! Maybe I’m tired of watching my so-called boyfriend hang all over my best friend!” Maybe I’m tired of everyone expecting so much. “Maybe I’m tired of you in general!”

Duncan chokes on his own laughter.

Colton’s eyes widen and his jaw drops. He says nothing. He’s too shocked to speak. I’m shocked. Wow. Where did that come from?

Keira crams her phone in her purse and tosses a conceited smile my way that says ‘I’m one up on you.’ Of course neither guy sees it because they’re too busy studying me with confused expressions.

“If I let you go, think you can play nice?” Colton asks, releasing his hold on me. He takes a step back. Nobody has ever asked me that. Can I play nice? Please, I’m always nice.

“I’m not the one who started it Colton and you damn well know it. She’s been being a bitch to me all night. You’ve been too busy drooling over her to notice.”

“Tori, you’re doing it again … turning nothing into something. It’s not like that and you know it. Damn. Is it so horrible for me to want my girlfriend’s cousin to like me?” He goes to hug me, a-boyfriend-like thing to do. I step back, not so sure I want him anywhere near me.

Keria saunters back over brushing her hair off a shoulder. Every snotty gesture she usually possesses is magnified by the alcohol. She places a hand on Colton’s arm, takes his hand and turns it over dropping her keys in it. “Bring my car by tomorrow morning… say... around eight a.m.”

Yeah. Like my boyfriend is her personal slave. I snort at the humor in that. He’d never get up early on a Sunday morning for anyone.

“Okay. Car. Tomorrow morning,” Colton stutters.

Ugh.

“Where do you think you’re staying tonight?” I snap sarcastically at Keria, taking pleasure in the fact that I know she hates to go home. If she thinks she’s staying at my house she is sadly mistaken.

“A friend is picking me up,” she mutters, not looking directly at me.

Headlights flash up in the drive and then go out. My hands go to my hips as my eyes narrow trying to get a good look at the make of the car, but it’s too dark and it’s too far. The rumbling engine dies and a car door opens and slams. I hear the jingle of keys and solid footsteps. A cough. Male? Keira takes off squealing down the slope of the driveway basically tackling whoever it is.

It is so not Stacy. My chest tightens.

Out of nowhere things begin to click into place, highlights of the night in rewind to the exact moment my best friend became my enemy. It’s as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over my head to wake me up.

“Jonah Stevens,” I mutter, blinking in disbelief.

“No way the hell,” Colton finishes for me.

Jealousy

Victoria

The moon overhead offers enough light to see the slight lift of Jonah’s gorgeous lips, lips that had been hot over mine not more than a couple of hours ago.

“Colton. Duncan. I know you know Jonah.” Keira announces with the flick of her dainty wrist. I am not included, but then again she knows how well I know Jonah, doesn’t she? “Jonah this is the guys.”

“Don’t trust this loser, Keira. Let Me and Tori take you home,” Colton says, puffing out his chest.

Am I the only one missing the big picture here?

“How do you two even know each other?” I stammer.

Jonah goes to explain, “My mom…”

“It’s none of her business. Come on, let’s go.” Keria takes one of his strong arms (I know they’re strong because I’d felt them around me while he’d kissed me) and pulls him away before he can finish explaining. He doesn’t seem to mind following her wherever she leads him, another one of Keira’s mindless slaves.

I can see it now, Jonah, struggling to keep up with her in the hallways at school, his arms loaded down with books, her purse slung over his shoulder shrinking his male creditability. He’ll rush off on his break to pick her up a box of tampons down at the nearest convenient store. She’ll flirt and giggle and he’ll become a babbling, incoherent idiot without a spine.

“Hold up!” he says stopping the middle of the drive and turning. “Do you need a ride?” he asks me.

“She can get her boyfriend to drive her home,” Keira panics.

“I don’t mind. Really,” Jonah adds. I witness a ghost of a smile and I stop breathing.

My gaze slides to Colton, who appears worried that I might actually take Jonah up on his offer. Colton has been drinking. He has no business driving anyone home. I can’t drive a straight drive so me driving Keria’s car is out.

“Okay, thanks,” I start down the drive.

Colton runs up next to me and grabs my elbow causing me to stop dead in my tracks.

“You’re not going with them,” he orders.

“Um, yes, I am.” I jerk my arm free.

I ignore Colton and walk away. He almost trips over his own feet trying to keep up. “Okay, if you’re going, I’m going too. No way in hell is my girlfriend riding off with that freak. I don’t like the way he was looking at you or kissing you earlier.”

Jealously? A little late isn’t it? Where had the jealousy been … I don’t know, say, two hours ago when he’d ushered me off the kiss another guy?

We reach Jonah’s truck and I stop. Colton stands there, waiting. I know what he wants. He wants me to say something that will reassure him. He is feeling insecure, really insecure. The feeling is foreign to him. He wants me to say the kiss meant nothing. He wants me to talk crap about Jonah’s technique. I know this because I’ve did the same thing myself whenever I’ve blamed him for liking Keria so I could hear him deny it.

I realize in that moment, I don’t want to reassure Colton that everything is okay. He deserves to worry like I have.

“Go. Enjoy your party, Colton. I don’t need you to supervise. ” I turn back toward the truck.

Keira grabs the silver handle on the passenger side door and swings the heavy door open. We both study the one long seat. She goes to get in first, but then suddenly Jonah’s hand is on my elbow, ushering me up into the cab first. “Hop in.” Once Keria crawls in he slams the truck door and walks around to his side.

“You knew I wanted to sit there,” she grumbles, her eyes lowered as she attempts to dig something out of her purse.

Knuckles rap on glass. Colton’s white teeth show in the passenger side window causing me to jump, startled.

I lean across Keira and crank the window down. “What Colton?”

“Text me as soon as you get home. I mean it, as soon as you get there.”

Before I have a chance to reply Jonah is next to me in the driver’s seat, his right thigh warm, pressing up against mine. Again I see something resembling a smile as he starts the truck. Every nerve ending in my body seems to come alive. He smells amazing. Like freedom and the unknown.

Colton points at Jonah from the passenger side window. Both guys lock gazes. “You do anything to hurt my girl and I’ll kick your ass.”

The truck suddenly lurches backwards almost clipping Colton’s toes. I stifle a giggle. Horrible. I know.

“You shouldn’t taunt him. It’s not nice,” I tell Jonah.

A corner of Jonah’s mouth rises and I know he’s trying hard not to laugh too.

Colton’s palm smacks the hood of the truck. “I mean it Stevens, TOUCH HER and you’re mine!”

Keria yells out the window. “What is wrong with you? Jesus, chill! You’re making my head hurt.”

Both Jonah and I burst out laughing. Keria just stares at us like we’re crazy.

As soon as Jonah turns out of Colton’s development Keira retrieves another mini bottle of Jack Daniels from the stash hidden in her purse. Presto. It’s like magic. They just keep coming.

“Do you have an entire bar it that thing?” I ask.

She ignores my question, breaks another seal and takes a long chug. The truck is dark, but I can still see her unsteady hands and heavy eyelids.

Jonah glances over. “She’s right. You should stop drinking, Ker. You don’t need to show up at your house drunk.”

“Maybe you should worry about all the rumors that will be circulating Monday after the little show you two put on back at the party,” she returns.

“You know I don’t care what people say,” Jonah replies.

My head is going back and forth as if I’m watching a volleyball tournament. I feel like a barrier between the two of them. I suddenly wonder why Jonah wanted me here: to be near me or to separate him and Keria. The thought does funny things to my insides.

“Yeah, you’ve told me,” Keria throws back at him, gathering her hair in a ponytail. She cranks the window down, focusing all her attention on the tree’s zipping by on the side of the road. There’s an awkward vibe in the cab of the truck.

Why oh why did I kiss Jonah Stevens?

I want to forget about that kiss, especially as I avoid meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror. Several times I’ve felt his eyes on me.

I look ridiculous with my hair switching my face, the sting painful. I pull a wild spit covered strand free from the corner of my mouth and pin my flapping bangs to my head with a palm. The night air roars, whipping into the cab from the passenger side window. Goosebumps rise on my bare arms. The night air holds a chill. Finally, unable to take the beating any longer, I elbow her.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Is that too much air on you?” She cranks her window up a few inches, not enough to make any real difference. This has nothing to do with trying to get fresh air. She is doing this on purpose to make me suffer, to prove a point.

“Roll the window up or I’ll make you roll it up,” I tell her.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she laughs, not even blinking an eye. She’s pretty confident in her statement. “You don’t have it in you.”

“Keira, just roll up the window,” Jonah adds.

Several minutes go by of her ignoring both our demands. You know the old saying ‘I wouldn’t even bring you a glass of ice water in hell’?

Yeah, I think that pretty much applies here.

She makes a point of casually chugging from her little bottle. She yawns.

“Okay, whatever, I warned you.” I lunge over her lap, stretch and start cranking the window up…

“Hey! Stop it!” Her nails dig into the flesh on my arm.

Two can play that game. I grab a handful of her most prized possession, her hair.

“Ouch! Let go!” She cries.

“Not until you roll the freaking window up! OW! OW! Stop biting me!” I smack at her. She’s like a rabid animal, all teeth and slobber, a rabid animal that has been doing the backstroke in a barrel of alcohol.

“Stop it! You’re both acting crazy!” I kind of hear Jonah shout.

It’s hard to pay attention with someone’s elbow up your nose. The truck swerves and I lose my balance, the weight of my body being thrown over on Jonah. My left hand lands in between his legs, my wrist rubbing up against his groin.

“You’re going to make me wreck if you two don’t chill the hell out!” He growls.

All my attention is suddenly fixated on that part of him. I do not want to look up at him, especially while my hand is where it is. I quickly remove it and raise my eyes to his. Could I be any more embarrassed?

Apparently so as he snaps, “She’s drunk. What’s your excuse?”

“My excuse for what?” My voice comes out small. I feel small, about as small as a pebble on the bank of a river.

“You’re reason for attacking her?” he explains.

He has not lived my life. I am tired of taking Keira’s crap. I am tired of excusing my boyfriend’s obsession with her. I am tired of always doing as I’m told. I am tired of people always assuming I’ll take whatever they dish out. Mostly I’m just tired. Jonah doesn’t know me. He can’t possibly know or understand.

Sighing, I straighten with a huff. No answer comes from my mouth, because honestly, I don’t have one. I focus all my attention out the window. Tonight has gotten way out of control. I’ve lost my best friend, fought with my cousin, and kissed a guy who is not my boyfriend. Even worse I want to kiss him again. Great. Can my night possibility get any worse?

“Pull over!” Keria’s cheeks puff out and her face goes white. She struggles frantically with the truck door handle even though the truck is moving.

Uh oh, I’ve seen that look before. “Better listen, unless you want puke all over your truck.”

“Oh, shit!” Jonah slams the brake. Keria’s door swings open and she’s gone.

I’d told myself I wouldn’t hold her hair if she puked. It was a total lie. I get out, walk over, and crouch down beside her bent form on the ground. “Keria, you need to stop drinking so much.”

She clutches her stomach and hurls again, gagging sounds filling the night. She wipes tears from the corners of her eyes and laughs, actually laughs right after vomit spews out her nose. She asks, “Do we really have to talk about this now?”

I laugh too because this is the Keria that I like: the crazy, funny side of her.

I tell her, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me tonight. I shouldn’t have been so mean.”

“Just don’t ever do it again,” is her response.

“Um, I’m pretty sure you … never mind, just forget it.” I was going to say she deserved it, but I’m tired of fighting with her.

“You okay?” Jonah asks kneeling on the other side of Keria. He had missed the worst part, but hey, I never expected him to actually get out of his truck to check on her. I’ve never thrown up from drinking before, I’ve tasted the stuff, but that’s it. Once I’d had a stomach bug though and puked like crazy. Colton came over to watch T.V. He never once got up to help me or check on me. I’m pretty sure he’d just come over because he and his parents had gotten into a major fight. I remember struggling to stay awake on the couch while he talked nonstop about it. Two days later he came down with the same bug and was mad at me for a week for giving it to him.

“Yeah, no thanks to you!” Keria tells Jonah giving him a playful shove. “How about staying on the road next time.”

“It wasn’t my fault. I was distracted by the two hot chicks wrestling in my truck.” His lip twitches.

Keria punches his arm and he yelps, rubbing the spot with his hand.

“You’re got some grass on your….” He grins brushing off her rear-end. The red in Keria’s cheeks is obvious in the moonlight. She stumbles in her stilettos and in one fluid motion he sweeps her up, carrying her back to his truck. The way they interact with one another causes jealously to flare deep inside me.

The rest of the short ride to my house is made in silence. Tension crowds the cab, the three of us elbow to elbow. I want to go home and forget this night ever happened. Jonah clears his throat and I catch a flicker of his blue eyes in the rearview mirror, then they are gone concentrating on the road.

Keria admits she’s pretty tired and asks if she is still welcome to spend the night at my house. I figure this is code for ‘Tori and I have some things to discuss,’ because yeah, we kind of do.

I’m dreading this talk more than I dread a calculus test. Later, at my house, my body feels shaky and uncertain inside as we stumble into the kitchen wearing our PJ’s. I get out two glasses, milk, and a pack of Oreo’s. Keira is a licker; she likes to lick the creamy middle out, and then dunk the chocolate cookie part in her milk. I am the exact opposite (non-licker) scraping the sickening sweet creamy center off, and then dunking the chocolate cookie in my milk. It is a ritual with us. We take our Oreo’s very serious.

Keria leans an elbow on the granite countertop and opens her mouth, showing her tongue coated with the white cream mixed with a glob of spit.

“Tell me, what does this remind you of.” She grins as if she’s clever.

I wrinkle my nose and shove her shoulder.

“Gross, Keria. Is that all you ever think about.”

She closes her mouth, focusing on twisting her next cookie apart, her expression suddenly serious. “No it’s not. I like Jonah, Tori. More than I’ve ever liked any guy.”

“You can have the rest.” I slide the cookies her way. “My stomach’s been feeling funny all night.”

She laughs. “Well then, don’t go around Colton. You know how pissed he got the last time you made him sick. Can I have your icing?”

“Sure.” I slide my icing toward her too. She can have it all—she usually gets it anyways.

Keira studies my face for a moment. She exhales a frustrated breath, “There’s a lot you don’t know, Tori. Dad left us a couple of years ago.” At my shocked expression she explains, “My mom doesn’t want your mom to know so this goes no further than here. Mom has been pretending to be fine when she’s around family, because she is too ashamed for anyone to know the truth.” Keria closes the pack of cookies and frowns, apparently no longer in the mood for sweets either. “Anyways, my mom drank a lot while they were together. Yeah. She’s was good at hiding that too. I guess the drinking was her way of coping with my dad’s affairs. They fought all the time. I hated it. Eventually dad just gave up … on her and on me. I haven’t seen him since he left.” She sniffs. “I wasn’t that shocked about him leaving. I mean, he was never really ever there anyways; the only thing we missed was his money. I was happy he was gone. I thought things would get better and my mom would finally be happy. After Dad left, the opposite happened and her drinking got worse. We were forced to move. Downsize mom called it. She couldn’t afford the payments on the house we were living in any longer.” Keria wipes away the tears streaming down over her high cheekbones, cheek bones I’ve envied for so long. “We live in a major dump now, that’s why I never invite anyone over, well that, and my mom’s tendency to get plastered and have over one of her scummy boyfriends.”

“Why didn’t your mom ask my mother for help?”

“Your mother is so judgmental. She only sees things as black or white. She wouldn’t be able to deal with the truth.”

I pull Keria into a hug feeling pretty much like crap. We stand there in the kitchen in baggy plaid pajamas and thick white socks, silent, hugging for the longest time. I don’t know my cousin very well. There’s this whole other side to Keria that makes us strangers, pretending to be family on the surface, but not really anything underneath.

“I’m so sorry, Keria. I never knew. Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I ask.

She pulls back, her face wet with tears and pinched with pain. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Not even me? You should have told me.”

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” I push for more, something I should have done a long time ago.

“I don’t know, you always seem to have it so together,” she returns.

I snort because apparently she’s overlooked how screwed up I am. How many girls hide in their basement carving birds? How many girls bury their emotions and never cry?

Keria goes over to our kitchen table and sinks into a chair as if she has nothing left to give. I join her, sitting across from her. It has been a long night. I’ve never seen Keira such a mess. For the first time I am the one that seems to have it together, the strong one. Only it’s all an illusion and I’m not really strong at all. I guess we’re both messes. I distance myself from people, never fully connecting and so does she.

She runs a fingertip along the polished cherry wood table top, the oil on her fingertip leaving a trail of haze. “My mom’s been sober for a couple of months now. I think she might be able to do it this time. I don’t know. I hope so.” Keira’s posture relaxes. “She has an awesome sponsor this time.” The color in her cheeks brightens. “Jonah’s mother, Charlotte, is my mom’s sponsor. She is the sweetest, most amazing lady you’ll ever meet. She doesn’t take my mom’s crap which is great.”

The nausea returns.

“So I’m guessing Jonah’s been over to your house?” I ask, suddenly needing to know. I need to know if Keria has shared parts of her life with Jonah before anyone else. That kind of would make him special, wouldn’t it? The special one—what every guy has strived to be.

Ugh.

Her eyes drop to a fingernail, a fingernail she inspects. “Jonah comes over a lot with his mom. Usually whenever my mom was high or had been drinking. My mom’s supposed to call Charlotte anytime she considers taking a drink or using so Charlotte can talk her out of it. At first I despised Jonah, thinking he’d blab how pathetic my mom is to everyone at school. I mean, if I were him I’d probably tell everyone after the way I’ve treated him, but he promised he would never tell anybody. He has kept that promise, which, judging by the crappy men my mom chooses to have in her life, a guy you can trust is pretty awesome and a rare thing. He’s actually pretty funny and smart too. He has ever tried to make a move, which honestly is a little confusing.”

Keira McKinley is gushing, going on and on, ticking off every amazing quality this guy possesses, and I kind of fade away in my own thoughts. Jonah is the reason for all her questions earlier, not Colton. He was the one she wanted to get to ask her out. I have been way off. He is a one-time deal for Keria. She knows him, trust him, and likes him for reasons that have nothing to do with his appearance or how popular he is, because he’s not. He knows her better than I do. He knows the real Keria, the one she hide’s from the rest of us.

Oh man, Jonah Stevens is totally off limits to me.

“So yeah, I think I’m in love with him,” she mutters, blushing profusely.

I bury my face in my open hands.

“Keira, then why did you make me kiss him?” I whine, hating what I’ve been reduced to. A whinny people pleaser.

Her voice spikes in eagerness to make me understand. “I don’t know. I’d begged him to come to that stupid party, Tor. I was prepared to flaunt our friendship out in the open for everyone to see. For the first time I didn’t care what anyone else thought I just wanted to be with him. That’s major for me. And then when he showed up at Colton’s he didn’t even talk to me. He acted all grumpy because he was there. He’s never even tried to kiss me. All I think about is him. He’s got me doing irrational things. My mom says alcohol gives her courage and I wanted to be able to tell him how I feel, then I saw you watching him and I kind of freaked. I guess it was a test to see if you’d actually go through with it … so I’d know … you know … if I had anything to worry about.”

“And I failed the test?”

“I knew … I knew by the way your face looked whenever his name was brought up!” Tears well up in her eyes and she attempts to fan them away. She’s an emotional wreck and I’m partly to blame for it. She huffs, her sad eyes locking with mine. “Tori, what are we going to do? We both like the same guy? I don’t want us to not be friends anymore.”

The moment of truth. Am I willing to risk my friendship with Keria for some guy I barely know? Okay, I’ve kissed him. So what? Yeah, there definitely was sparks there, at least for me, but those sparks were probably due to the excitement of something new, and most likely one sided.

Taking a deep breath I steady my resolve. “We’re not going to do anything, you are. You’re going to tell him how you feel. I think there’s a very good possibility he feels the same way.”

Her perfect brows arch. “But….”

“You’ve turned this whole Jonah and me kissing into something it’s not. I’ve never kissed anyone other than Colton, and okay, I might have been a little curious to see what it would be like but you want to know what I found out?” She sighs already appearing relieved and I haven’t even said it yet. “I found out I don’t want to kiss anybody else.”

Her entire face lights up, “Really?”

“Really.” My heart skips a beat. I can’t use the word love. “I’m happy with my boyfriend.”

Three hours later I crawl out of bed, go down on a knee, and dig out the black binder wedged in-between the mattress and the box spring. Carefully, I tiptoe over and slide through the narrow crack out into the hall, pulling the door slowly closed until it latches.

I’d fought sleep waiting for Keria’s breathing to even out and the snoring to kick in.

My fingers fumble for the light switch in the kitchen. The fluorescent light overhead hums as it heats up. I place the black binder on the granite counter top and flip through the pages filled with my girly handwriting, all my memories: grandma, my entries about Colton and Keria. Everything we’ve all been through, everything I’ve been through, page after page of memories. Some things are painful to remember. Some make me smile. Writing is therapeutic. It helps to put my thoughts down on paper. Maybe one day I will want to reread it all: the ups and downs, the heartbreak and love. Maybe I’ll laugh thinking how childish some of my thoughts were.

Maybe not.

I keep flipping through the pages until I come to the entries made since I started taking that stupid writing class. I’d needed one more elective before graduation. If it wasn’t for that class I’d still be blind and miserably happy with Colton.

Okay, I wasn’t so happy with Colton even before the whole Jonah thing, but still, I wouldn’t have ever realized just how unhappy I was if it hadn’t been for Jonah.

I take hold of the chunk of pages dedicated to my ‘secret crush’—not such a secret anymore—and rip them out crumbling them in a fist. A corner of one of the pages slices a fingertip. I flinch and suck the blood bubbling to the surface tasting salt. It stings. I should cry, but I don’t. My heart hurts, but I won’t cry. I open the cabinet where our garbage can is kept out of sight. Under broken egg shells, coffee grounds, and brown soaked, empty cartons of Chinese, “Yuk.” I bury the crumpled pages, bury them deep, beneath all the nastiness and then I go to bed, plotting out how I’m going to fix mine and Colton’s dying relationship and feeling more alone than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

The Creeps

Victoria

Sunday’s are always set aside for Church and brunch (my mother’s word) with the family afterwards. Around 10 a.m. every Sunday morning Keria finds some crafty excuse to tell my parents so she doesn’t have to go with us to church. She claims it freaks her out hearing our pastor talk about sin and how to ask for forgiveness.

“I swear he stares right at me whenever he talks about sin.” Keira makes a show of getting a chill as if the thought of Pastor Michael’s eyes on her freaks her out. “It’s as if he sees all and knows all. It gives me the creeps.”

She shivers again.

“You are so full of crap,” I tell her pushing my hands through the sleeves of my dress shirt, pulling it over my head. “It’s your conscience that gives you the creeps. You need to be in church. You might learn something.”

“Don’t get all preachy,” she sniffs. “Just because church is your thing doesn’t mean it’s mine. I like my life the way it is. Besides there is no way I could go a single day without sinning so why bother?”

Standing in front of the long mirror on the back of my closet door, I comb my fingers through the loose curls at the tips of my hair and dot some lip gloss on my lips. “Everybody sins, Keria. Nobody expects you to be perfect.” I watch her reaction in the mirror. Indifference shows in her expression. I add, “That’s not what it’s about. It’s about trusting…. ”

“Save it.” She rolls her eyes and grins as if she is clever. “Besides it’s way too early. My pillow is calling my name. A girl needs her beauty sleep.” She scoops up her keys from the dresser and cracks a blind to see out into the driveway. “Wonder if dipshit dropped my car off this morning like I asked him to?”

She turns from the window.

“Your boyfriend is such a good listener. If only I could train all guys that easily,” she exclaims on her way out the door.

Cracking a blind I see Keria’s car parked in the driveway. I sink down on the foot of my bed. My boyfriend is wrapped around Keria’s little finger. I exhale a long breath. What am I going to do about it?

Scripture Feeds the Spirit

Victoria

Every Sunday our pastor’s message seems to speak directly to me, like he prepared it with me in mind. Answering questions I have but don’t acknowledge out loud. This Sunday the message is about why storms come into our lives. The answer being: sometimes we have to be made vulnerable before we can see there is a need. Guilt settles in my stomach like a heavy stone when I realize I never pray unless I need something.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” (James 1:2-4)

“You need to bring that cousin of yours with you,” Pastor Michaels says after the service, shaking my hand, his other hand going to my shoulder. His eyes are thoughtful behind a pair of wire rimmed glass. He smiles, determined.

I’m almost tempted to tell him Keria feels like he singles her out. Pastor Michaels would laugh and probably say God singles her out. Everyone can see Keria needs some guidance in her life. Convincing her of that is the challenge.

Instead I sigh loudly. “I know. I know. I can’t seem to get her to commit.”

His smile widens. “Well, don’t give up.”

“I won’t.”

I move on toward the open door, catching up with my parents.

Trailing behind them across the sunlit parking lot I watch as my father slides an arm around my mother, pulling her close to his side. He’s the only person I know that has a positive effect on her. She lays her head on his shoulder, both of them laughing softy. They bring out the best in each other.

I want that someday.

“Three,” My mother announces as we step into the restaurant after church. It’s amazing how she can make one word sound all snippety. The thin man hovering near the counter glances about the dimly lit dining room, checks his seating chart, and glances about some more. He seems kind of twitchy, like seating people isn’t his usual job; but then again, it could just be my mother. She is intimidating.

“There is a fifteen minute wait, Ma’am,” he stutters not meeting her relentless gaze.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding!”

“No ma’am, I’m not.”

“It was not a question,” my mother sneers. She turns from the man, a scowl present on her face. “What now, William?” She aims all her snarky attitude at my father, since he was the one who suggested we try the new Italian bistro that recently opened up downtown.

My father diffuses the situation by burying his hands in the pockets of his dress slack as he leans against the counter in a lazy manner. He is one man who doesn’t mind waiting. “I heard the food here is excellent, Olivia. What’s fifteen minutes? Relax. Enjoy spending some time with your family.”

Did I mention his innate ability to convince my mother of anything? All he has to do is flash his dimples and she is putty in his hands. I honestly think she married him, because of those dimples.

“Oh, all right … Anderson,” my mother sighs out our last name for the man to pen into his book. “Can I at least order a glass of wine while we wait?” She ticks off names of French wines, frowning every time the man shyly shakes his head. Finally, she gets lucky by ordering one actually on the menu, and we’re off, meandering over towards the waiting area.

“I hope the food is worth the trouble. So far I’m not impressed,” she says.

My father wraps an arm around her pressing a kiss to her forehead. At that exact moment a gush of outside air blows my skirt as the door opens. The thin man smiles at the two entering and digs out two menus, motioning the pair immediately towards the dining area.

Ugh oh.

Big mistake.

“Um excuse me, you can’t seat them before us,” my mother exclaims, taking a step towards the man, who is backing away with a frightened expression on his face.

I hang my head. “Please, Dad, make her stop.”

“They have a reservation, ma’am.” The man seems shorter than he was five minutes ago.

“Psh, an establishment as poorly managed as this does not do reservations!” My mother starts. The man looks like a dog that has been kicked and I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for dad. For me. My mother is insane, needing to control everything and everyone.

“It’s fine, my son and I don’t mind waiting,” a woman offers. Her voice is light and has a warm welcoming feel. I glance up so I can attach the voice to a face. The woman is somewhere in her early thirties. She has brown hair with that blonde pinstripe appearance that says she’s visited a salon recently. She is a little on the bigger side, wide hips, but not overweight. She is wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt.

My attention slides to the guy next to her. My eyes lock with familiar blue.

Jonah Stevens.

He stifles a laugh. “Hey, Victoria.”

Could the ground, please, open and swallow me whole? There is no way I can pretend I haven’t seen him. Trust me, if I could, I would. I’m horrified. Mom’s being a bitch, cute guy I kissed walks up to witness it, even worse, with his mother.

My father elbows my side. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend, sweetheart?” He doesn’t stop there. “I’m Tori’s father, Will, and this is my wife Olivia.” He offers Jonah and his mom a stern handshake.

Oh, he knows how much his wife hates him shortening our names. ‘Will does not sound as professional as William,’ she always says. Not as pretentious is what she means to say. Speaking of my mother, she is eyeing Jonah and his mom as if they are lepers.

“Jonah Stevens, sir. Victoria and I have a class together. This is my mom, Charlotte. Really, if you’re in a hurry we’re good to wait for the next table.”

Jonah winks at me. I’m in hell and have a feeling it’s about to get worse.

“The food here is amazing,” Charlotte tells my parents, offering me a genuine smile. “It’s well worth the wait.” Her cell goes off. She digs it out of her Wal-Mart brand pocketbook slung over her shoulder and grimaces. “Oh no, you know I have to take this,” she tells her son with a frown.

“Of course,” he replies, not in a sarcastic way though, more a this-happens-all-the-time BUT I’m-okay-with-it way. Jonah leans a shoulder against the far wall and settles in. Problem is, he settles into staring at me. His grin is sneaky, as if he has a secret that no one else knows.

Remembering the kiss, my cheeks grow warm.

“Excuse me. I’m so sorry.” Charlotte gives us a parting glance, already immersed in conversation as she walks a few feet away. “Where are you? Stay there! I can be there in …” she checks her watch, “fifteen minutes. Does that work?”

My mother’s gaze rakes the length of Jonah. Her nose crinkles as if she has smelled something offensive. “If you and your mother honestly don’t mind we are kind of in a hurry.”

“Mom, we’re not taking their table.”

“Honey,” my father says to my mother, laying a hand on the small of her back, “they should be calling our name any minute. Be patient.”

He flashes those dimples. You go Dad!

Charlotte is back. She exhales a long frustrated breath shaking her head at her son. “Looks like we’re going to have to skip lunch, kiddo.”

Jonah moves toward the door. “It’s fine, mom.”

“No it’s not. This always happens. If it wasn’t an emergency—”

My parents and I shamelessly hang on every word, especially me, since I now know I won’t be suffering through them eating in the same restaurant as us. Mom has the nerve to take it a step further. Damn her.

“An emergency? Oh no. I hope it isn’t Mr. Stevens?” She feigns sympathy. Please, she’s just being nosey, fishing for information.

“There isn’t a Mr. Stevens. He took off right after Jonah was born.

Red mingles with the tan in Jonah’s cheeks.

“Anderson!” The man calls, holding three menus and appearing anxious to seat us. I like this thin frail man. I’m sure he’s going to need to go out back and have a cigarette once my mother is satisfied.

“Finally,” my mother huffs. She turns to follow the man with me right on her heels.

Dad lingers. Why is dad lingering?

His deep voice stops me in my tracks. “You know … your son is welcome to join us for lunch. We’ll bring him home right after.”

No, dad! I scream, although nothing comes out of my mouth. Nothing. All I can muster up is a scowl, which Jonah answers with a slow grin.

Charlotte’s gaze skips over everyone involved ending on my mother who appears to be as displeased as I am. Charlotte speaks to my father, “If you’re sure you don’t mind. My son’s manners won’t allow him to admit it, but he’s starving. Poor kid is terribly neglected. I can’t remember the last time we’ve ate a meal without an interruption. It’s not very often my son gets the chance to sit down for a meal with an actual family. It’s nice of you to offer.”

“You sound like you’re trying to talk them into adopting me,” Jonah moans.

My mother exhales an impatient breath. “Can we get on with it? Are you staying or not, young man?”

Jonah shoves his hands in his pockets. “I am kind of hungry.”

“Well then, let’s go.” My mother sweeps her hands in the direction of the dining area.

Ten minutes later I choke on a bite of garlic bread and have to take several swallows of Pepsi to get it to slide the rest of the way down. Jonah is sitting beside me, his thigh and arm occasionally bumping against mine.

“I’d like to be a full time writer,” Jonah replies to my mother’s question regarding what career he plans to pursue in the future.

“You can’t be serious? Oh, it’s fine for a hobby, but only a Select few ever make any real money at writing.”

“It’s not always about money!” I say.

Jonah’s leg bumps mine under the table. He tells my mother, “Well then, hopefully, I’ll be one of the select few.” He pauses, his brown eyes glinting with honesty. “Tori’s right though, it’s not about the money for me.”

“Surely you have something more dependable in mind?” My mother sneers.

Jonah glances at me, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smile before he answers, “Of course. If the writing fails, then I’d like to be a full-time musician, maybe form a band.”

He shrugs a shoulder.

My mother chokes on her red wine. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” She coughs and sputters.

“It’s always good to have a backup plan,” Jonah answers confidently, taking a swallow of his coke, his eyes never leaving my mothers.

It’s a standoff to see who will bow out first.

My father chuckles behind a fist, putting his other hand over my mother’s on the table top. It doesn’t help like it normally would. My mother takes a slow sip of wine and continues, “Victoria’s boyfriend Colton, now he has the right idea. He’s going into sports medicine. Very wise of him, doing something medical related.”

Jonah seems to not be intimidated by my mother at all.

“I’ve heard a lot of people have trouble finding jobs after they graduate from sports medicine,” he replies. “I’m guessing that means only a select few ever make any real money at it. I believe I’d have a better chance becoming a published author and plus I love it.”

My cheeks ache from smiling.

Goodbyes are Never Easy

Victoria

On Monday, Mr. Brooks, my writing instructor, gives orders for the entire class to form a line by the door. We all hesitate, exchanging looks of disbelief. I mean, most of us are Seniors. It’s been years since a teacher has ordered us to form a line over by the door.

“What is this … a potty break? Are you going to give us all name tags and force us to hold hands? ” Comes from Jude—the lanky guy slouched down in his desk in the back of the room. He shoots a cocky grin over at his buddy, who covers up a laugh with the clearing of his throat.

Yeah, a potty break would be right up their ally, something they could relate to. High school doesn’t necessarily mean more mature.

“Mr. Honeycutt, I could always have you sit in a chair out in the hallway while we’re gone, if you’d prefer?” Mr. Brooks says, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. I didn’t know Mr. Brooks had it in him, to make wisecracks. I’m impressed. He looks a little like Clark Kent, which always makes me wonder if there is possibly a superman hidden somewhere underneath the intellectual facade.

“Didn’t think so,” he says as Jude’s cheeks turn flaming red. “If no one else objects, please, quickly form a line,” Mr. Brooks adds.

I shove my cell phone in the back pocket of my jean skirt, slide from my desk, my flip flops flapping over to where everyone else is standing. Jonah comes up behind me in line and I pretend not to notice. He leans a shoulder against the wall seeming in no more of a hurry than he had been at the restaurant yesterday. He is staring. I shift nervously not sure what to do with my hands or how to stand without bringing attention to how affected I am by having those blue eyes on me.

He’d been anxious to exit the car when we’d dropped him off at his modest but cute home afterwards. He thanked my parents (including my mother) and muttered something about seeing me at school. My mom had made a sound of disapproval in the front seat. I suspect a nice little talk, warning me to stay away from guys who lack direction is somewhere in my near future. So far, my mother hasn’t dared.

Jonah nudges my foot with his bringing me back to the here and now.

“My mom wanted me to thank you and your parents for yesterday,” he says.

I look up then to find his arms crossed over his chest. A corner of his mouth lifts. “She wants to invite your parents over for a cookout. Soon she said.”

“You’re teasing, right?”

“No. My mom is very serious.”

Rubber soles squeak over the floor as the line moves forward. I follow the guy in front of me, he follows the girl in front of him who follows Mr. Brooks. We take the long hall all the way to the end and around the corner. A heavy metal door creaks open to the stairs that the maintenance men and an occasional prankster with water balloons usually takes to get up on the roof.

It smells in the tight space, like dirty socks and musty sweat. Six step’s lead up to a small landing, turn and six more steps lead up in the opposite direction to the next landing, and so on: concrete and bright yellow treads for the steps, burgundy painted hand rails. The hospital has the same type of stairs leading to each floor of the car deck. The lighting is always poor.

Mr. Brooks comes to an abrupt stop one flight up and turns, calling down a couple of guys playfully shoving each other in the back of the line. After no response, he uses his fingers to whistle. “I expect you all to be on your best behavior.” He glares over the top of his glasses, and then pushes them higher on the bridge of his nose. “No fooling around! This isn’t recess.”

Everyone in front of me doesn’t hesitate in gripping the metal railing and following him up. I take a deep breath taking one step, two steps, three, four … I freeze.

“Tori, you okay?” Jonah asks as he slams into my back, pushed by a wave of guys still cutting up behind him. He grabs hold of the railing to keep most of his weight off me. His fingers are warm next to mine. He repeats the question, his mouth near my ear, “You okay? You look pale.”

“Yeah. Give me a second.” Breathe. It’s just a rooftop.

My grip tightens on the handrail and I take a reluctant step up, then another, and another, the whole time my heart picks up speed. I can see the crumbled baby bird in its nest: broken and lifeless and see the distance to the ground. It wasn’t a long drop, but to me, I’d fallen for forever. The pain from that fall was very real. Something you never forget. I’m going to freak before I reach the top. It’s happening. The overwhelming need to run. There’s a metallic taste in my mouth. My chest and forehead break out in a sweat, the beads of sweat trailing down my skin, salty, stinging my eyes. We come through the metal door to the roof. I am two seconds away from puking. I can feel it surging up in the back of my throat, threatening to give me something else to be embarrassed about. Who wants to puke in front of their entire class? If I spew now, everyone will scatter and wrinkle their noses at the weird girl tossing her pizza from lunch.

A breeze carrying the smell of fresh cut grass hits my face. I take a couple of reluctant steps out onto the rooftop. The air suddenly turns heavy with the smell of machinery. I turn into Jonah’s chest.

“Are you sure you’re all right? Are you going to pass out?” Jonah hugs me to him, my body rigid in his arms. He backs me a few feet away from the others.

“I can’t do this! I need to go back down!” I start to beg, practically dragging him by his arm toward the door.

Jonah stares down at my face, his hold tightening around me.

“Shit Tori, you’re trembling. You’re afraid of heights, aren’t you?” he whispers.

“A little.” I avoid glancing over the side, although I can see green and blue: the tops of tall pine trees and the sky, which seems closer with its puffy, white smothering clouds.

“More than a little. Why didn’t you tell Mr. Brooks … or me?”

“I thought I could handle it.” Only two people other than my parents know about my fear of heights. Keria and Colton. Colton reacted to the knowledge by first laughing and then pressuring me into every uncomfortable situation imaginable.

“What you need is to face your fears” Colton said.

To prove this he’d taken me up on an old rickety train bridge and wouldn’t stop dragging me toward the middle until I actually started beating him with my fist, my gaze locked on the long drop beneath me.

Keria had once pointed out the oddity of my fascination with birds and my fear of heights. She asked if it was possible I envy what comes so natural to them. Her observation had stumped me.

“Please, don’t try to force me to the edge,” I say to Jonah now.

“Relax. I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want to do.” Instead he moves me into the shadows, until my shoulders press into the rough brick wall, a safe distance from the edge. His long fingers curl around my upper arms, his face inches from mine. His pupils swallow the blue in his eyes.

A few feet away Mr. Brooks goes right into discussing how words are like paint and with them we can paint a memorable picture for our readers. And as artist’s, we can manipulate emotion and feelings in the mood we create through our work. He gazes out across the well-manicured grounds surrounding the school watching the way people interact down below, suggesting we do the same. The rooftop air conditioning units rumble on, blowing hot air, drowning out everything Mr. Brooks is saying.

Not that I care.

It’s impossible to care about writing or art or anything when I’m feeling like this.

My arms are stiff, slightly out at my sides, my palms glued to the brick wall as if my hands have the ability to suspend me in air if the floor collapses. The problem is I’m not Spiderman. “This is embarrassing,” I acknowledge.

“Tori, lots of people are afraid of heights,” Jonah replies. “It’s no big deal.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.” A weird noise comes from my throat.

Jonah studies me for a moment. “Stay right here,” he tells me walking over to Mr. Brooks.

“Like I’m going anywhere,” I mumble still glued to the wall.

There is a smile on Jonah’s face when he heads back toward me. He slides a strong hand in mine and tugs me towards the exit door.

“What did you tell Mr. Brooks?” I squeeze his hand. My flip flop gets stuck on the previous step and I almost trip, a clear sign that I’m destined to break something else.

Jonah pauses giving me time to slide my toes back in flip flop. Rubber flaps, the sound amplified by the acoustics in the high stairwell. Remind me to never wear flip-flops again.

“I told him I sprang my ankle on the way up. He said to have someone help me to the nurse’s station.”

“And I am your someone?” I can’t resist smiling. It’s sweet. He’s sweet.

“You are definitely my someone.” He stops on the bottom step and turns to face me. I come to an abrupt stop, his hand still in mine by my side. He is so close I can feel his heartbeat against my chest. Not even aware of what I’m doing I breathe him in. He smells like guy whose just ran track.

“Better now?” he asks. “You survived.”

“Yes. I did. Thank you.” My grip loosens on his hand. I feel stupid now, for losing it up there.

Jonah stares down at where our fingers are threaded together. His brows pull together. “I won’t tell anyone about you being afraid of heights.”

“I know. Keria said you’re good at keeping secrets,” I reply.

Trustworthy, that’s the kind of guy Jonah is. That’s why Keria trusts him with her worst secrets. That’s why I trust him.

I stare up at him. He is a good head taller than I am. My gaze drops to his lips. The bottom one is fuller than the top one. I remember those lips and the feel of them on mine. At that moment I find myself wishing he would kiss me, kiss me again the way he had at the party, before we were interrupted. Instead he clears his throat and takes a step back, releasing my hand. “We should probably head to the nurse’s station.”

“Oh. Right. Your injured foot.” I shake off what just happened. I have a boyfriend and shouldn’t be fantasizing about kissing another guy.

It doesn’t take long for the nurse to figure out there’s nothing wrong with Jonah’s foot. She laughs, shaking her head. “The things you kids will do for a few minutes out of class. Here, give this excuse to your teacher.”

We make it back to writing right as the bell rings and the class is dismissed. Twenty sets of feet shuffle toward the exit door making it difficult for me to get to my seat. There is complaining about some new assignment. I clear my things off my desk, put them in my book bag and heave it over my right shoulder, sending Jonah a smile for helping and understanding. I’m almost out the door when Mr. Brooks calls, “Ah, I almost forgot about you two...” He motions Jonah and me over to his desk, pencils our names in on the sheet in front of him, and looks up at us. “Stevens and Anderson, the only two left. Guess that means you two are stuck with each other.” Mr. Brook smiles and hands us both a sheet of paper. “This is the questionnaire. You’ll be writing a biography about each other, due at the end of the quarter. So use these questions to get to know each other.”

Jonah walks with me until we reach the courtyard.

“So I’ll text you later about the assignment,” he says, hesitating. His gaze stays focused on his camel colored work boots swallowing the hem of his jeans. He rubs the muscle that runs along the back of his neck, tense. I can tell there’s more he wants to say. It’s one of those moments when you feel like something amazing is about to happen … and then it doesn’t.

The opportunity expires.

“Yeah. Well. See ya.” He turns and crosses the courtyard.

The courtyard is packed with students toting book bags, bustling along the concrete pathways that lead to the separate cafeteria. Students who usually eat outside in the sunshine are already beginning to gather along the brick wall and over by the picnic area: smart kids, Goths, and the big-time partiers who have consumed so many drugs their entire outlook and appearance have changed—bathing and hygiene less important. The cool kids eat inside where it’s air conditioned. That is where Keria, Colton and I usually sit, but lately, the three of us seem to be having trouble being in the same place at the same time.

My gaze lands on Keria and Colton in a heated discussion on the other side of the courtyard.

The fight: Keria is yelling, shoving a finger at Colton’s chest. I’m too far away to make out what she’s saying. I’m not so sure I want to know. With the flip of her blonde hair, she goes to storm off and Colton grabs hold of her arm, his face twisted in pain. That’s when Keria sees me heading their way and her entire body turns rigid as stone. She mutters something to Colton that makes him glance my way. His hand drops from her arm and is shoved through his seen-better-days hair.

I make my way towards them.

Colton avoids looking me in the eyes. He exhales a breath appearing completely strung out. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. He says nothing. With every passing day, he’s becoming more and more distant, a stranger.

“Tori, are you hungry? I’m starved! I think we should eat inside,” Keria says latching onto my arm. She offers no invitation for Colton to join us, not that he ever needs one. I struggle to keep up. She drags me across the courtyard, far away from my sulking boyfriend. Nearing the cafeteria door, I glance over my shoulder to see if Colton is still there. He is gone.

“What the hell was that about?” I ask reclaiming control of my own body and pace.

“What do you mean?” She bounces through the double doors, straight up to the serving line, grabs a salad and a bottle of water plunking it down on her tray. The tray glides along the cold steel. Retrieving my own tray, I do the same. Not once does Keria look over at me, I mean real eye to eye contact. In fact, she seems to be avoiding it like she avoids church.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” I ask. I hand the lunch lady a five dollar bill, collect change and head towards our usual table. Do I really want to know what is going on between her and Colton? Yes. I have to know.

She catches up, keeping pace beside me. “Okay, don’t freak out, because it’s really not a big deal…” she pauses as if she wants to say something else but then decides against it. I get the feeling I’m not getting the whole truth. Only the parts she thinks are important. “I talked Colton into buying me a couple of pills, something mild to help me have more energy and now I kind of owe him the money, which I don’t have. Your boyfriend can be a real asshole!”

She leaves me standing there, stupefied. What just happened? There’s so much wrong with what she just said, so much that I don’t even know where to begin.

Colton is waiting by my locker after school. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his gaze focused on the floor. He looks deep in thought and I get a strange feeling something is about to change.

“Hey,” I say, my stomach tied in knots.

He glances up then. “Hey,” he pauses, “think you can come over later? We need to talk.”

“I agree.”

His gaze narrows on my face, like he hadn’t expected me to agree so fast.

“Well… I have practice first,” he informs me. “I should be done around six?”

“Six o’clock is fine.”

“All right, Tor…” He hesitates, then cups my face in his hands and presses a quick kiss on my forehead. “I better go. You know Coach gets really pissed when we’re late.”

Three and a half hours later, Colton opens the front door for me wearing nothing more than a pair of gym shorts. “Hey, beautiful,” he says.

Being at his house is awkward. It doesn’t feel like we’ve been a couple who has dated for a year. Understandable I guess, since we haven’t spent much time together lately. We’re slowly drifting apart. It’s my fault just as much as it is his.

“You hungry?” he asks. “I was about to make a sandwich.”

“I’m not hungry, but thanks.” I follow him down the foyer and into the kitchen, where he already has out everything needed to make one major sandwich.

“Are your parents’ home?” I shove my hands in my pockets. I don’t know why I even asked. The house is quiet and it’s obvious, like always, we’re the only ones here.

“Nah, they flew out to Vegas last night. They should be back in a couple of days.” He stacks layers of folded sliced roast beef and veggies on the bread, compacts it all together, licks his fingers, and then sits his paper plate down on the glass table in the dining area. Grabbing a soda from the refrigerator he offers me one. I shake my head dropping down in the chair next to his, my hands on the table top. Eyeing his well-crafted sandwich, I remember how we use to share food. Now the way Colton chews with his mouth open, his spine straight with his broad chest out, while he tries to carry on a conversation when he should be focusing on not spitting food when he laughs. I hate that about him … and his laugh, now that I think about it.

“What’s wrong? You look like something is bothering you,” he says, glancing over at me, while he downs his mega sandwich in a few loud hefty bites. The amount of food guys can pack in their mouth at one time has always amazed me.

“I was just thinking how it used to be… you know, between us,” I answer.

Another huge bite. Some soda to wash it down. God, please, don’t show me the food blended with soda. That image will be burned into my head while we’re kissing.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately too … how it used to be,” he returns.

“Colton, I…”

He pushes the empty plate away, sighs, and goes straight into messing with one of his mother’s red place mats. “Please don’t say anything until you hear me out. It’s my fault. I’ve been a little,” he pauses. “I’ve been distracted lately.”

“Keria said you bought her pills. Are you selling now?”

His head jerks up, his gaze meeting mine, his wide eyes.

“Is that what she told you?” He comes up out of the chair, his jaw working under the skin. He paces. “I should have expected as much. I didn’t buy her shit and NO, I’m not selling Tori. How can you even ask me that? Your cousin is seriously fucked up. She’s liar and a tease. Everyone knows that you can’t trust a thing that comes out of her damn mouth.”

I blink, staring up at him. “What happened between you two?”

He collapses into the chair, runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair, before grabbing hold of my chair angling it to face him. My knees fit between his legs. He laces our fingers together placing our hands on his knees, his expression more serious than I’ve ever seen it. “Whatever she said she’s lying. She’s miserable and wants you to be just as miserable. Can’t you see that?” Lines appear between his brows “I’ve been thinking a lot about the way I’ve been treating you: always picking around with Keria. It’s wrong. You’ve got to believe me when I say I never meant anything by it. I never stopped to think how it made you feel, even when you brought it to my attention. I get it now. I can’t stand to see you talking to Stevens and I sure as hell wouldn’t understand you two being friends.”

“Colton, if you like Keria just say so. I think I will survive.”

I mean it. More than I’ve ever meant anything in my life.

I. will. Be. Okay. Without. Colton. His expression darkens and then softens. I don’t know what I want him to say. Maybe somewhere deep down I want him to end it for both of us. It isn’t easy, being the one to call it quits on a relationship you’ve invested so much time in, hurting someone you once cared about.

Goodbyes are never easy.

He focuses on our hands fitted together for the longest time, his shoulders slumped. I can see he is conflicted. He draws a breath and exhales it, his eyes rising to mine.

“But I might not survive, Tor.” His eyes seem clearer than they’ve been in a while, determined. “I think I’ve always liked the idea of her more than anything.” My stomach drops hearing him finally acknowledge he’s at least thought about it. So I’m not crazy. It’s not all in my head. There has been something there all along.

He tips my chin up. “Hey. Don’t get angry at me for being honest. I’m trying to come clean with you. I need you to know that when it comes to being with someone, sharing stuff, personal stuff, you’re the girl for that. Not Keria. You listen. It’s not always about you. You don’t suck the life out of me. I’d be a fool to fuck that up. I guess what I’m saying is… I’m ready to stop all the bullshit and be one hundred percent committed to our relationship. No more flirting around. No more taking you for granted. No more hurting you.” He lifts one of our joined hands pressing the top of my hand to his lips, offering me an easy smile around the kiss. “We’ve got a good thing going here. Something worth saving, don’t you agree?”

I slip my hand from his and slide my chair backwards for some space, my body trembling. “I need time to process everything you’re saying.”

You don’t suck the life out of me. What does that mean?

The clarity in his eyes vanishes and he nervously looks about appearing unsure of what to do with his empty hands. He leans forward, planting his elbows on his legs, his face buried in his open hands.

“I’ve already fucked it up, haven’t I?”

Is he crying? I can’t handle actual tears. Not now. I lift a hand, hesitating mid-air but then finally placing my hand on his bent head and he comes out of the chair, going down on his knees in front of me, his arms circling my waist. He squeezes tight, so tight it’s hard for me to breathe. He cries into the belly of my shirt.

“You haven’t messed anything up,” I whisper.

Lifting the hem of my shirt his presses feather light kisses across my stomach, causing me to hold my breath.

“You mean it. You’ve been acting so weird lately. I thought…” He rises up covering my mouth with his, his kiss urgent and desperate. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. You still owe me a movie, Ms. Anderson.” He grins against my lips.

“I did promise you a movie alone, didn’t I?”

Before I have time to think he lifts me and tosses me over his left shoulder, heading for the basement stairs. My palms slide along the walls on the way down. It’s been a long time since he’s been this Colton, the Colton that was my friend before he was anything else.

This can still work right?

It has to work.

I’ll make it work.

An hour later I doubt his sincerity and my decision. We’ve been making out for over thirty minutes on his couch, when I call for a cooling down period. I can’t get the hurt look on Keria’s face earlier out of my head. Something is off. I keep replaying everything he said earlier and every time the word tease screams red flag. As if I haven’t already had enough of those. My life is full of red flags.

Supporting his weight with his arms, he glares down at me. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. I need room to breathe.” And think.

He exhales a frustrated breath, crashing down on his side of the couch. He props his feet up on the coffee table, aims the controller at the big screen TV.

I work on hooking my bra back, righting my shirt, and fastening my shorts. “I’m sorry, Colton. Are you mad?”

Stupid question. Of course he’s mad. He’s always mad when I say no.

He clenches his jaw, flips through the channels. “Nah. It’s all good.”

“Don’t do that. Talk to me,” I urge, digging my toes into his muscled thigh. I know he hates it. It’s the only sure thing to make him talk.

“Stop with the toe thing! What do you want me to say, Tori? That I understand why you won’t have sex with me? Because I don’t … I don’t get your damn logic. We’ve been dating for a year. I think I’ve been pretty patient. Most guys wouldn’t put up with your bullshit.”

I sit up and tuck my legs under my bottom, staring at his side profile. “Have you forgotten how weird it has been between us lately?”

“Have you ever thought maybe this is exactly why it’s been so weird?” He doesn’t even look at me when he says it. It’s as if the television is memorizing, and I’m not.

Ugh. My insides are all knotted. I could scream. “Are you saying we are close to breaking up because I won’t have sex with you?”

“All I’m saying is we’d be a hell of a lot closer if we had sex like a normal couple.”

“So, you think sex would fix everything?”

“I didn’t say that. Don’t go switching my words around. I just don’t get why you insist on making things so damn difficult.”

Honestly, I don’t have an answer. Do I really need to explain why it hasn’t ever happened? I’m not ready. Isn’t that good enough? Apparently not.

“Maybe we should take a break,” rushes out of my mouth. There. I said it. What I’ve been thinking for weeks.

“What? No.” He cuts his eyes my way, frowns, slides over next to me, and starts kissing my neck. “You know what, forget I said anything. It’s not a big deal. We have time. Shit, it’s your fault for making me want you so bad, Tori.” His mouth moves along my jaw up to my mouth, his weight shifting, until I can feel him pushing me back down. “You’re driving me insane here. You smell so damn good. Taste so good….” His cell goes off. He pauses long enough to check to see who it is, and just like that his face transforms into the buddy-mode crashing back down on his side of the couch. I blink, stunned. Nothing has changed.

“Perfect timing, you piece of shit,” He says into his cell phone. He mouths, “It’s Duncan” and rolls his eyes for my benefit. Like I wouldn’t recognize that annoying loud laughter anywhere.

“Did I interrupt something?” Whooping and hollering comes through in the background.

“Don’t you always?”

“Yeah, well, put your little dick back in your pants and get your ass over here.”

“Can’t. Me and Tori are hanging out.”

“Fuck, did y’all hear that? The bone crusher is turning into a whiny ass bitch.” Duncan yells to whoever is at his house. There’s laughter in the back ground. “They said grow some balls and tell her it’s bro’s before hoes, now, you coming or what?”

Colton gets up from the couch. He shoves a hand through his hair sparing one single glance in my direction, his voice lowers, “Dude, give me fifteen minutes. I’ll see what I can do.”

“All right you fucking sissy, see you when you remove your head from Tori’s ass!” Duncan yells his deep voice rumbling with laughter.

“You can go,” I say. He eyes me with an are-you-sure look. “Really.,” I confirmed. “I want you to go.”

Used

Jonah

The house smells like cat piss and nicotine. It always does. I do my best to ignore it. I know how easily this could’ve been my life: no stable man around, an alcoholic mother, no food in the house, nasty parasite-free-loaders sniffing around my mother all the time.

“Keria will be out in a minute.” Mrs. McKinley glossy collagen filled lips curl. It’s one of those smiles that make a guy feel really uncomfortable. I shift legs where I’m standing, work on the kink along the back of my neck, not sure if I should sit or stand.

“Have a seat.” She balances her short jean skirt on the arm of the broken-down sofa. Her long legs are covered in sheer black hoses making the skirt look more trashing riding up on her hips. She taps out a slim cigarette and lights up, smoke rolling out of both her nostrils. “I’m not going to bite, Jonah, you can sit next to me.”

I sink into the couch, leaning forward on the edge, elbows on my knees not wanting to get too comfortable anywhere near Keria’s mother.

“You and my baby have a date?”

“Keria called needing help. Homework I think.”

Bleach blond hair falls forward over her hunched shoulders, the dry tips getting caught in the massive amount of cleavage that’s pushed up in the tank she’s wearing as she snubs out the cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. First time you meet Ms. McKinley you automatically assume she is ten years younger than she actually is. Second time the wrinkles and flabby skin along her arms and neck tell her real age. You can tell she was once an attractive woman until life beat her down. Until men beat her down.

“Yeah homework, riight,” she winks, “I get it, you two kids be careful.” She elbows my shoulder, staring down at me from where she’s perched on the arm of the couch. “We don’t want her getting pregnant, do we?”

I choke, hiding my coughing and struggling to swallow normally with a fist. What do you say to that? She makes me uncomfortable as hell. I get the impression that telling her the truth, how I have no interest in her daughter other than friendship would disappoint her. Keria is an attractive girl. I really don’t think Ms. McKinley needs to try so hard to pawn her daughter off on a guy. Maybe I should tell her.

Ms. McKinley nudges me over and squeezes her thin frame down in the narrow space between me and the end of the couch. She leans in, her glossy lips near my ear, her cleavage pressed against my side; she winks, placing a gentle hand on my leg, long red nails curling into the flesh. I straighten my back into the cushions of the couch dying for the extra space it gives me to breathe. My heart jacks up a beat. I divert my gaze to anything besides her hand, which seems to be crawling up. My mom has a bad habit of kissing me on my cheek; she’s very huggy-feely in the motherly sort-of-way. How Mrs. McKinley is touching me does not feel motherly. All I know is I wish Keria would hurry the hell up. I clear my throat. “How are you? My mother wanted me to ask you for her.”

“I’m all right.” She smiles. “I have good days and bad days, you know how it is. My daughter is lucky to have a friend like you, Jonah. Am I making you nervous?” She purrs as her hand moves toward the inside of my thigh. Any higher and this will get real awkward.

“I have a suggestion,” she announces.

My gaze meets hers, my voice coming out a little high-pitched. “Oh yeah, what’s your suggestion?”

“Flowers.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bring her flowers.” Her hand leaves my leg, settling in her own lap. She works her fingers, cracking knuckles. Her pale blue eyes glisten behind all the smoky black liner and her voice cracks, “I’ve dated a lot of men, men I thought were pretty amazing and not a single one has ever brought me flowers. Why do you think they never bring me flowers, Jonah?” I open my mouth not really knowing what to say. I feel sorry for her. She saves me from having to answer, by continuing. “I mean, I always do what they ask. Always. I treat them right. Give them what they want. Anyways,” she smooth’s the wrinkles out of her skirt staring into her lap, “my baby girl deserves flowers, so I don’t care if you have to steal them from someone’s yard you bring her some, okay?”

I swallow hard, uncomfortable for new reasons now. I find myself making promises I’ll never keep. “Okay. I’ll bring her flowers.”

Keria’s bedroom door opens. “There you are.” Her gaze settles on me and then her mother, her hands flying to her hips. “Is that my jean skirt?”

Mrs. McKinley stands up, turns in a complete circle, hands out like she’s modeling. “The extra five pounds I lost has done wonders. The skirt looks pretty awesome on me, doesn’t it? What you think Jonah, shocked to see an old lady look so damn hot?”

Keira grabs hold of my arm, dragging me toward her room, her attention fixated on her mother. “Stop hitting on him and stop wearing my clothes!” Once we’re both safely in her room she slams her bedroom door with enough force to shake the glass in the windows.

“Ugh, can you believe her!” She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes; my guess is to keep from crying. “It’s so embarrassing! Now you see why I never invite anyone over here. What did she say to you?”

I sit down on the edge of her bed fiddling with a brass key on my ring, not really sure what to say. “She said to be nice to you.”

Keria comes over, sighs and drops down beside me. “You’re lying.”

“No I’m not. Really. That’s what she said.” In a roundabout way.

“You just don’t want to tell me what she really said. Gah. I hate her so much!” She sniffs a couple of times looking in the opposite direction. I am way out of my element here. Being a friend is all good, but what this family needs most is a really good shrink.

What would my mother say? I nudge Keria’s side with my elbow. “You shouldn’t say that about your mother. She loves you. More than you think.”

“Whatever.” Keria scoots across the bed until her back is pressed against the headboard. She pats the space next to her. “Come sit beside me.”

“Keria—”

“I know, you told me. We’re friends. Something happened yesterday and I really need to tell someone.”

“Why can’t you talk to Tori about it?”

“I can’t. It’s about her.”

“What do you mean … it’s about her?”

“It’s something Colton did yesterday and I can’t tell her. I need advice … advice from someone I can trust.”

I hesitate, but my curiosity has me going around to the side of the bed and sitting down next to her, one leg stretched out on the mattress, the other bent my foot resting on the floor.

“Okay. I’m listening.”

She buries her face in her hands. “He kissed me, Jonah! He tried to force me to do more, but someone walked in.”

I catch the glimpse of a bruise peeking out from under her short sleeves. Reaching out I push up the fabric to see the purplish bruises in the shape of finger prints.

“He hurt you?”

“It doesn’t matter. He swore it’s never going to happen again.”

“And you believe him?” I snap.

It’s like someone has flipped a switch and all of a sudden I’m seething angry. My chest is tight and my pulse is racing and I have this incredible urge to hit someone, someone named Colton Bentley.

What’s confusing is why I want to hit him. It has nothing to do with Victoria Anderson and everything to do with my friend. Keria is never innocent in anything she does. I’m not blind. She brings on a lot of the shit that happens to her. But no girl deserves this. It only takes one second inside her home to see that she hasn’t exactly had the best example. To her it’s perfectly natural for a guy to behave this way. To him she’s an easy target because her expectations are already low.

“You want advice?” I growl at her. “Go to the police. I’ll go with you.”

“What? NO!” she squeals in a panic. I can see she’s not going to give on that one. Her mind is set on protecting the asshole.

“Okay, then you should at least tell Tori. She deserves to know.”

“No! No! No! God, don’t make me regret telling you!” She grabs hold of one of my biceps, her manicured nails nicking the flesh. “She can’t find out! Nobody can! Promise me you’re not going to tell anybody, swear Jonah!”

I scrub my face with my hands. “Keria, you have to tell your cousin that her boyfriend is a scumbag.”

“He would never admit to what happened. Nobody would believe me and then I’d lose my best friend … my only friend.”

She grabs up one of the pillows, hugging it to her chest.

“Tori would believe you. Give her a chance.”

“No. Even if she says she believes me … deep down she will always wonder.” She laughs. “Hell, I’d doubt me too.”

Rage has me jumping up from the bed, my hands clutched at my sides, my jaw clenched. “Shit Keria. What you’re asking … it’s impossible.” I pace by the bed, stopping to study her tear streaked face every now and then.

Now I really want to hit him.

“Where are you going!” she calls, tossing the pillow aside and crawling to the edge of the mattress, sitting with her legs under her bottom. Her neck is blotchy from being upset. Her curled lashes wet.

“To tell your mom. Maybe she can talk some sense into you.”

“No. Please don’t. He tried but he didn’t … there’s a big difference, Jonah. He’s already terrified I’m going to tell someone. It will never happen again.”

“He should be scared.”

“And he is.” She gets off the bed and comes to stand in front of me, blinking up at me like a timid fawn. “Please calm down and listen. I don’t want anyone to know. I want to forget it ever happened.”

“You’re asking a lot if you’re asking me to forget,” I exhale, my arms going around her. She is trembling, weak. I place a small kiss on the top of her head when she lays it on my chest.

“Since nothing happened. It’s my word against his. Promise me it goes no further than this room. Promise me, please, don’t make me regret telling you.”

“Tori needs to know what kind of a guy she’s dating.”

“No.” Keria’s tears wet the front of my shirt and I haul her closer, my arms tightening.

She tips her head back looking up at me. “There’s more.”

My body tenses. Oh shit. I don’t think I’m ready to hear more.

“Colton and I were fighting about it and Tori walked up. Later she asked me about it. I told her Colton had sold me some pills and we were fighting about me owing him money.”

“Wait,” I say, nauseous. “Did you buy drugs from Colton?”

“No, of course not. He’s not selling.”

No. He only goes around beating up on girls.

“So, you thought it would be better for her to think he’s selling drugs, then to know her boyfriend tried … dammit I can’t even say it.”

“Well, yeah. They’ve been dating for a year. She’s crazy about him! It would devastate her if she knew.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like him as much as you think.”

“Whatever. I know Tori. You don’t.” She wipes a tear from her cheek. “Anyways, I’ve really been craving something to drink ever since it happened. I’m going to be just like her.”

“You mean like your mom?” She nods. “No guy is ever going to really care about me.”

It’s quiet, quiet for the longest time, where the only sound in the room is Keria sobbing. What do you do? What do you say? This girl is broken, begging for someone to give a damn.

“I care,” I murmur, stroking her blonde hair.

Insignificant

Tori

“Here, found this under the sofa cushion,” my mom says laying my cell on the kitchen counter. I stare at it over my glass of milk. She continues, “It’s really not like you to misplace your things… what’s got you behaving so scatter-brained lately?”

“Nothing. Everything is fine mom.”

“I hope all your day dreaming has nothing to do with that boy. What was his name, um…. help me out here?”

Sitting my glass down on the counter top with more force than necessary, my hands go to my hips, which is a reflection of her, so I drop them back to my side, clenching my fingers instead. It’s difficult to glare wearing pink pajamas with little bears on them, but I do my best. “Jonah. His name is Jonah.” I swipe my cell from the counter and hit the light switch. The room goes dark. Moonlight filters through the blinds over the kitchen sink lighting a path. She did not forget his name. I head for the door, mumbling under my breath.

“What did you say?” her words are stern, the tone a parent takes five seconds before they ground you.

“Nothing.” I square my shoulders, tilt my chin, refusing to let her get under my skin.

“Victoria, you know how I hate when you shut me out.”

“I said… you just want to make it known how insignificant he is by pretending you forgot his name.”

“Isn’t he?” She answers in that uppity tone I hate so much. “Insignificant?”

“Mom, don’t start.”

Just as I feared she follows me down the hall, up the stairs, and to my bedroom. She pauses in the doorway before striding in and bending, collecting all the clothes scattered on my floor. “I really wish you’d try to keep your room clean and please, don’t tell me you’re letting that boy mess with your head,” she sneers. “Did you not hear his mother? He has had no guidance what-so-ever.” I want to strangle her. I want to yell this is my space. She goes on, “Granted, I feel sorry for him, but not enough to hand him over my only daughter. You’d do well to stay with the one you’re with. Now Colton, he’s a keeper.”

Folding back my covers, I give her the face, you know, the you-are-being-ridiculous face.

“Victoria Rose Anderson, I’m not asking, I’m telling you… I don’t want a repeat of this past Sunday. Jonah is not welcome in this house.”

“Duly noted.” All tucked in I give the covers a couple of whacks, roll to my side, and wait to hear her footsteps retreating. My gaze is locked on my cell phone lying on the nightstand by the bed. After I’m certain she’s gone I reach for it. 12:05 a.m. Technically it is tomorrow.

Me: How’s today? I agree it would be best if I come to your house.

Taking a deep breath I push send, hoping he hasn’t forgot about asking if we could get together to work on our writing assignment.

Bleep. Bleep.

Stevens: I’ve already asked Jude to be my partner. Sorry.

I gasp. Jude!

Me: Are you talking about the immature guy who sits in the back of the room? Good Luck is all I can say.

Stevens: u seriously believed I would ask that asshole to be my partner? How about right after school?

Me: sounds good.

Stevens: do u still remember how to get here?

Me: if not… I’m sure I can ask my mother

Stevens: Haha yeah, I think I caught her locking the car doors when your dad turned into my neighborhood.

Me: for real?

Stevens: nah jk

Me: you suck!

Stevens: hey, watch it, cuteness.

Stevens: btw, what are you doing up so late?

Me: couldn’t sleep

Stevens: same here

Me: tomorrow then?

Stevens: can’t wait

Me: I think I might be able to sleep now. NightJ

Sermons

Jonah

For ten minutes I stare at her last message probably reading way too much into it.

I think I might be able to sleep now.

Did Victoria not being able to sleep have anything to do with me? Did her talking to me have anything to do with her now being able to sleep?

“Shit, get a grip.” I tap out a simple “night” and sending it. I turn off the lamp on the nightstand. The room is hot, too hot for the sweat pants I’m wearing. Kicking the sheets off I roll to my back, hook my hands behind my head, every part of me zinging with excitement.

“Victoria Anderson is coming to my house,” I say into the dark.

For an assignment, dumbass.

It doesn’t matter why she is coming, she just is. Then I’m hit with the reality that it’ll be the first time I’ve seen her since I found out, which means I’ll have to make a decision to tell or not to tell. I gave Keria my word. A guy doesn’t go back on his word.

The following day crawls by ridiculously slow. I’m on the edge of my desk all of my last class, leg bouncing in anticipation as I wait for the bell to ring. The clock on the class room wall ticks, the small hand barely moving. Home. Shower. Patrol my room for dirty socks and boxers. Beg my mom to not say anything remotely embarrassing, which means I’ll be asking her to basically not talk while Tori is there. Oh hell. What if my mom starts preaching?

“Come on bell. Ring.”

If I hurry I may have time to distract her.

Finally the bell rings and I dart for the door before any of the other students have time to block the aisles. Busting through the exit doors I take the front steps two at a time, making it half way across the sunny parking lot toward my truck when I hear my name being called. I keep going and pretend I don’t hear her.

“Jonah!” Keria continues to yell. “Wait! I need to ask you something?”

Realizing I’m not going to get away I stop, turn and frown.

“Ever thought of being on the track team?” she laughs, out of breath. She is wearing her cheerleading uniform: royal blue and white. It’s impossible not to glance down at the low cut top and short skirt, the sexy way it hangs on her narrow hips. “Seriously. You’re fast. I thought I’d never catch up with you. What’s the big hurry?”

“Homework,” I answer my gaze lifting to hers. It’s not a lie. It’s just homework with Tori. Something Keria doesn’t need to know about.

“Oh.” Her gaze narrows on my impatient expression. “You know, you always do that whenever you’re hiding something.”

“Do what?”

“Rub the muscles along the back of your neck. Not look me in the eye. Is something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

A short laugh comes out. “No. Why would I be mad at you?”

She nervously breaks eye contact. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

“No Keria. I passed Colton in the hallway and kept my anger in check. Happy?”

“You are mad.”

“Not mad … disappointed.”

“Thanks … for not telling.”

The more she stalls the more irritated I become.

“Is that it? I’m kind of in a hurry.” I nod at my truck a few feet away.

She scraps the soles her white tennis shoes over the pavement, kicks at a pebble. Her face is paler than usual, her frown lines deeper.

“Practice got cancelled last minute,” she says, giving me the doe eyes. “Can you give me a ride home?”

“Where’s your car?”

“Mom’s piece of crap car died again so she borrowed mine. Story of my life.”

I run through my options, the reason why I can’t take Keria home; really, I’ve got nothing but my own selfish reasons. Keria is a friend. She has shared things with me that she hasn’t share with anyone. Like how every person in her life has let her down. I don’t want to be one of those people.

“Yeah, okay, but I can’t stay.”

Her face lights up and she throws her arms around my neck, stands on her tiptoes pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek. “You’re the best. What would I do without you?”

Fifteen minutes later my truck is parked in front of her house with the engine rumbling.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” She says not giving any indication she’s going to actually get out of my truck this time.

“Okay. See you at school.” My right hand lays casually over the steering as my gaze slides to the passenger side door, which is hanging wide open. The last thing I want to be is rude, but she’s been staling for a good five minutes.

“Sure you don’t want to come in? My mom’s not here,” she asks.

At this I exhale and shake my head. “I’m sure. I need to get home.”

Catching me totally off guard she slides over, presses up against me. At first I think she’s going to kiss my cheek again, maybe that was even her plan in the beginning, but within the last few inches that brings her closer, so close I can smell her spearmint gum, she changes direction making the move toward my lips. The instant her mouth touches mine, my breath catches and my lips part, a knee jerk response. I’m a dumbass. I should have seen this coming.

“Stop,” I say against her warm lips, lips that are relentless and soft. Her kisses become desperate, needy. Her hands wonder up around my neck, finger laced over the back of my neck. For a second I get lost in way my body is responding to her.

This isn’t supposed to happen.

This is not what I want to happen. I panic, grabbing hold of her waist and forcibly siting her on her side of the truck. “Dammit Keria, I said stop!”

My mom would shit right now. ‘Jonah, you should always treat girls with respect.’

The way I just grabbed hold of Keria’s and the way I’m glaring at her, barely containing my anger and disappointment in her is not respectable, but do I have a choice? This is what it’s come to. “I’m not interested. How many times do I have to say it?”

“But…”

“No Keria, no buts.” I grab at that tense muscle popping along the back of my neck, release a long haggard breath. “It is virtually impossible to be your friend, isn’t it?”

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean, I thought maybe … you know what ... forget it!” She leaps from the truck, slams the passenger side door, darting up the step to her house. All the windows are dark. Alone, that’s what Keria has to look forward to tonight, being absolutely alone, unless her selfish teenage-acting mother shows up plastered.

Shit! My forehead hits the steering wheel with a thud.

An hour later as I walk in the front door I hear:

“...the fire alarm was going off. Jonah had the hose from the sink aimed at my stove.”

“Sorry. Something came up after school,” I tell both my mom and Tori as I drop my truck keys on the small table by the door and slide off my shoes before walking over to the couch.

“It’s okay,” Tori says as I collapse down beside her on the couch. She grins across at my mother in the oversized chair. “Your mom was telling me about how you almost caught the house of fire.”

“Please stop with the embarrassing stories.” My cheeks and the top of my ears are burning. I shift uncomfortably beside Tori on the sofa.

Tori laughs. She is beautiful when she laughs. My mom catches me watching Tori and I quickly look away.

“It’s okay,” Tori says. “I love hearing your mom’s stories. They’re insightful.”

Oh she has no idea. My gaze drops to my mother’s lap, finding in it what I knew would be there. The Bible is laid open, balanced on her legs. I swallow hard, praying she doesn’t give a sermon.

“We should probably get started on our questionnaire,” I say, cutting Tori a sideways glance. I’m tossing her a life preserver, but she’s not reaching for it.

“What are you reading?” Tori asks my mother.

Victoria Anderson has no idea the flood gate she has opened.

“I’m reading from the book of Haggi.” Tori’s gives my mom a confused expression. My mother explains, “It’s in the Old Testament.” She goes right into reading straight from the bible like I knew she would. “Now this is what the LORD Almighty says—”

“We don’t really have time,” I make a sudden move to stand up. “Seriously. We need to get started on homework.”

Tori tugs on my arm, urging me to sit back down.

“I think we have time,” she says. “I would like it.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I mumble under my breath, covering my face with one of the throw pillows on the couch. Tori yanks the pillow away from my face, laughing.

“I’m glad you think this is funny,” I mumble. “Once she gets started there is no stopping her.”

My mother’s face lights up. “I promise not to take up too much of your study time.”

She reads:

Now this is what the LORD Almighty says: “Give careful thought to your ways. You have planted much, but have harvested little. You eat, but never have enough. You drink, but never have your fill. You put on clothes, but are not warm. You earn wages, only to put them in a purse with holes in it.” (Haggai 5-6)

“Pretty powerful, isn’t it?” my mother says eyeing the two of us closely. Oh hell, here it comes. I shift beside Tori, uncomfortable. My mother can make you feel guilty with a look. Sometimes I wish she was normal, normal as in not always talking about God. Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears. Shit if she starts crying...

“I wish someone would have read this to me a couple of years ago when I wasn’t considering my ways,” she tells us. “Back then, I never thought there was a better way. An easier way. It wasn’t until I was shown there was a different way that my life truly changed. Wow! Powerful. Praise the Lord!”

“Okay. That’s enough. We really need to get to work.” I stand, hauling Victoria up off the couch with me. She slings her backpack over a shoulder, following me towards the hallway. She glances back at my mother, “Thanks for allowing me to come over, Charlotte.”

“You’re always welcome here, sweetie. Please ask your parents about the cookout.” My mother fluffs the pillows on the couch. “Oh, and Jonah… make sure you leave your bedroom door open.”

“Are you deliberately trying to embarrass me?” I snarl, horrified.

She holds up her index finger and thumb, leaving a little space between them. “Maybe, just a little.”

Lying Bastards

Tori

“Well, this is it.” He hesitates at the bedroom door.

“Your mothers really nice,” I say.

“Yeah. When she’s not preaching.”

I study his reaction to his mother. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it? Why? She didn’t make me uncomfortable if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That’s because you’re nice,” he returns, smiling as he ushers me past the door to his room. “Not everyone responds to her the way you do. We actually have relatives who avoid us because of the way she is.”

“Wow. Can’t they see she just wants to help them?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Guess not.”

“The only person my mother ever helps is herself.” My eyes scan the room, nothing unusual: Kakahi colored walls. A twin bed with a tan comforter thrown up over a roll of pillows, the top of the comforter wrinkled. A desk and a dresser covered with stacks of books, binders, and coins, mostly copper pennies, and a pile of dirty clothes in a corner of the room.

He hooks a thumb in the back pocket of his jeans. “We should probably get started.”

I go to make some kind of movement not sure what direction I’m supposed to go in. The room is small. There’s not many options. “Where do you want to sit?”

He rubs at the muscle that runs along the back of his neck. “I could go get another chair from the kitchen and we could sit at the desk … computers there. Or we could sit on the bed.” He motions at the open door. “My mom will probably be coming in to check on us every ten minutes, so you don’t have to worry about me trying anything.”

“The bed is fine,” I return.

I kick off my shoes and climb up on his bed, sitting Indian style in the center and unzipping my backpack. “I think this assignment is a little stupid, especially since schools almost out. If he wanted us to get to know each other … he should have given us the assignment at the beginning of the class.”

“I agree.” He crashes down long ways across the foot of the bed, props his up head with an elbow, flipping through his binder with the other hand.

I drop my gaze to the open binder in my lap. “So how do you want to do this?”

He clears his throat, pulls out the piece of paper Mr. Brooks gave us and focuses all his attention on it, his brows pulling in. I’m pretty sure he is as uncomfortable as I am.

“I guess we can start by going over the questionnaire,” he suggests.

“Okay.” Pen to paper I ask, “What is your full name?”

“Jonah Tucker Stevens. Yours?”

“Victoria Rose Anderson.”

“Victoria Rose….” He tries it out, writing it on his sheet.

“It sounds better when you say it,” I admit, slipping the strands of hair that have fallen into my face behind an ear. “Next question. Who do you live with?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He answers with a smirk. I point at the questions on the questionnaire. He shows me his palms and grins. “Okay. I live with my mom.”

“What about your father?” slips out. A wave of heat washes over me when I remember what Jonah’s mother said at the restaurant about his father leaving after he was born. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve had a long time to get used to it.”

The pen in my hand stills, my eyes coming up to meet his.

“What about you?” he asks.

“I live with my mother and father, of course.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. I’m an only child.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “I can tell.”

I nudge his leg with my foot. “Hey, watch it. What about you? Any brothers and sisters?”

“Do you see any?” He starts tapping the end of his pen on his binder, those deep brown eyes of his focus on me. “You said you were thinking about your grandma the other day in class. Is she your mom’s mother or dad’s mother?”

“My mother’s.”

“Does she live with ya’ll? Is she as feisty as your mother?”

“No. She died when I was seven.”

It’s quiet for a few moments and then his fingers brush my arm leaving goosebumps behind. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… shit, it was a joke. I had no idea. I’m taking it you and your grandma were close?”

“Very.”

“What was she like?” he pauses. “What’s wrong? You’re looking at me all weird…”

“Nobody has ever tried to get me to talk about her. Everybody is always trying to get me to not talk about her… especially my mother.”

“Maybe your mother is still hurting.”

A laugh escapes. “I don’t think anything ever hurts my mother. She’s the most unsympathetic person I know. I don’t think she has any feelings about anything.”

He shakes his head. “Really? I didn’t get that. She seemed a little too emotional. Intense. You can’t hate someone as passionately as she hates me and not know how to feel.”

“She doesn’t hate you… she dislikes you.”

He chuckles. “Glad you cleared that up. Seriously, you should give her a break. You might have lost your grandma, but don’t forget she also lost her mother.”

“How did this turn into being all about me?”

“I don’t know… seems to be your favorite subject.” He’s grinning when he says it, the most adorable grin I’ve ever seen, and I can’t resist smiling too. One of his hands slides over the comforter, covering my hand on the mattress his fingers mingling with mine. Heat spreads throughout my body. It’s a small gesture, but it’s a start.

I clear my throat, “Next question. Where do you see yourself in five years?”

He gives it some thought. “Hmm, I guess I see myself publishing my first book. It will be a huge success, of course. I’ll travel and sign autographs. Your turn. Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“I see myself married. Kids would be nice.”

“That’s it? Your only goal is to get hitched to some guy?”

“Yes. I mean of course I want other stuff but mainly I want what my parents have. Separate they’re a mess, together they make sense. Everything else will be easier if I have someone to share it with, you know, to make decisions with as a pair. ”

My eyes travel up to his face, certain I’ll see signs that he is on the verge of laughing, instead he seems to be deep in thought. He scratches his jaw. “That’s pretty cool. I’m all for true love but I’d like to accomplish a few things before I’m strapped down to a wife.”

Not the response I was expecting.

“Do you see yourself married to Colton?” he asks, his gaze slamming into mine.

“That’s not on the questionnaire,” comes out strangle by my laughter. No. I don’t see myself marrying Colton.

“I know. This seemed like the perfect time to point out that your boyfriend is a douchebag. I’ve never understood why you’re with him.”

I read the next question. “If you were granted one wish what would it be?” He cocks a brow. I wave the paper. “It’s on there. Number four. Look if you don’t believe me.”

His head tilts back, his eye’s shifting up at the ceiling. “If I had one wish, what would it be… let’s see.” I can see the movement of his tongue along the inside of his cheek while he is thinking, then his gaze settles on my face. I swallow hard as he comes closer. Warm breath hits the curve of my neck, but his lips never touch my skin. “Hmm, I’m still thinking…” He brushes my hair back off a shoulder, exposing the side of my neck. “One wish? That’s all I get?”

I nod, because honestly, my mouth is so dry I doubt I’d be able to talk even if I tried.

“I wish you were no longer dating Colton Bentley.” He drops back to where he was sitting leaving my insides twisted in knots. There is silence, a long stretched out moment where neither of us says anything but then he clears his throat.

“Your turn,” he says. “What do you wish?”

“You wouldn’t wish for something more substantial?” I ask. “Like the end of world hunger or world peace?”

“Watching you with some other guy is pretty substantial to me. It’s my wish. I get to decide how I want to use it.” His gaze flickers to my bad leg, but then his gaze is quickly onto something else. No one ever wants to me to catch them staring. He says, “You can use your wish to end world hunger if you want to … or for something else.”

“I wish—” I start, my gaze going to my bummed leg.

His cell phone goes crazy with one text message after another interrupting where I was headed.

Sighing he checks his phone. “Oh no,” he grumbles.

“Is something wrong?”

He clenches his teeth. “Have you ever wanted to shake someone hard until they wake up?”

“Sure.” I laugh, thinking of my mother. “All the time.”

“Will you be upset if we call it a night?” He closes his binder and stands up, frowning. “I’m sorry, Tori.”

I do the same, sliding on my shoes and gathering my things. “Don’t be,” I smile, reassuring him that it’s okay. “We can finish it another night.”

I spend the rest of the evening in the basement, carving. Until around 9:50 p.m. when I notice two missed calls from Keria.

S.O.S

Victoria

I grip the doorknob tight. The brass is cold in my sweaty palm. My heart beats wildly in my chest threatening to leap up into my throat. On the other side of this door is Keria’s bedroom. Behind me an eerie silence stretches out, engulfing the small, four room duplex I just passed through only minutes earlier. Empty beer bottles are lined up on the glass coffee table in front of the dusty blue and mauve plaid couch. Beside the bottles is a crumbled McDonald’s bag, two unfolded wrappers, one still containing a partially eaten 99cent cheeseburger, ketchup smeared over canary yellow. There’s a dusty mirror and a straw. Nearby a television is on flickers of blue and white light pulsing in the dark, but there is no sound.

Coming through I’d held my nose to avoid smelling the stomach-turning stench of the two litter boxes in a corner of the room. I don’t think my aunt ever bothers with changing either of them. Ammonia is the first smell you notice as soon as you enter the house. But there is something else in the air ... something hopeless. Everything in this duplex screams the people who live here have given up, defeated by a harsh life.

When no one answered my persistent tapping on the front door, I considered leaving, but Keria asked me to come. No begged was the more appropriate word. She’d called and left a message saying she needed me. Without hesitating I’d quickly pulled a gray Hoodie on over my tank top, ignored that the hoodie looked ridiculous with my pink and white polka dot pajama bottoms, slid into a pair of flip flops and rushed out to my car without telling my parents where I was headed at 2:30 a.m. Keria’s voice mail sounded urgent: her slurred speech, her sobbing, and her unspoken plea for help. It all left me with an uneasy feeling as if I could sense she’s finally reached her breaking point. I try not to look around too much and pity her life.

Taking a deep breath, hand on the knob, I cast one final glance down at the used-to-be-beige carpet with its many cigarette burns; unsure what shape I’ll find my best friend in once I turn this knob.

“Keria?” I call, carefully turning the door knob. The door gives way with a groan, swinging open on its paint gunked hinges. My entire body turns to stone. Air rushes from my lungs as if someone has buried their fist in my stomach, weeks of what I thought possible no longer an option. My reality is forever changed, defined by this moment. And all I can think is … why?

I see the movement under the covers and it sickens me—flashes of flesh, sculpted muscles along Jonah’s back tensing and then relaxing, her long fingers curling, gripping those muscles. My mind trips over everything leading up to this moment. I should have been prepared. I should have seen it coming. This is my fault. I told her to go after what she wanted. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I can’t speak. I can’t think. I can’t react.

A few feet away my best friend gasps when her gaze connects with mine.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stutter. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shit, Tori, can’t you knock!” I hear her murmur into Jonah’s shoulder.

As he is getting off of her, my cousin stretches over the side of the bed, gathers her discarded top, showing the length of her naked spine, each vertebrae revealed as the sheet slides down to puddle around her waist making this all real.

“Tori….” Jonah says as he slides from under the covers. “I swear. If you’ll give me a minute I’ll explain.” He stands beside the bed, naked, an image I soon won’t forget. He quickly tugs up a pair of jeans, not even taking the time to fasten them before he takes two steps toward me, barefoot and shirtless. My gaze darts from him to my best friend, from my best friend back to him, processing what I’ve walked in on.

I feel like such an idiot. Everything I thought I wanted has changed and now I’m more confused than I’ve ever been. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.

Shoving her hands into the sleeves of her shirt, my cousin’s confused gaze meets mine dead on. She looks like hell: black mascara smudged, blonde hair tangled, blue-gray eyes rimmed with red from crying.

“Tori, please ...” he takes a few unsure steps in my direction.

“What the hell …” I hear Keria mutter, somewhere off behind him.

Jonah takes another step toward me.

“I’m fine. It’s okay. Just pretend I wasn’t here,” I say, backing up into the narrow hallway until my shoulder blades bump the wall announcing I can’t go any further. I turn and take off for the front door, ignoring the trembling in my leg, getting the hell out of there the only thought in my head. Footsteps trail me, quick and steady: past the ugly plaid couch, out the front door, down the wood steps. As soon as my feet hit grass I whirl around leveling him with every ounce of the hatred I feel welling up inside me. Light’s come on in the house next-door and I lower my voice fully aware all the slamming doors are causing a scene.

“I’m serious! Go back inside,” I jab a finger in his direction. “I am fine! We’re working on an assignment together, that’s all.”

I have no reason to be angry. I know that. I feel more humiliated than anything else. I want to crawl into a deep dark hole and never come out. I want to erase the years of disappointment.

Jonah exhales a shaky breath, his face a little paler than usual. Good. I hope he feels like shit. I’ll never believe what another guy says. I’ll never trust another guy. First Colton’s flirting with Keria. Now this.

“You do care,” he says. “It’s written all over your face, Tori.”

“I. Do. Not. Care. You kiss like a dog, Jonah. Remember? ” I aim a finger at my chest. “That was me who said that in case you’ve forgotten. If I want a dog I’ll go to the dog pound.”

Guys are all lying bastards. Perfect example—the guy standing in front of me seeming truly confused.

“You’re being mean,” he says.

I can’t resist laughing. Although it’s a weird laugh that kind of makes me sound borderline nuts. “No. I’m being honest.”

“I’m not using her, Tori. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

He comes to stand right in front of me and reaches a hand toward my cheek.

I cringe, my gaze snapping to his. “Don’t—”

He retracts the hand, rubbing his short buzzed blonde hair instead, his facial features more relaxed than they’ve been in weeks.

“Honesty will set you free,” I mumble under my breath.

He tilts his head and studies me. “What?”

“Forget it.”

“Tori, you wouldn’t still be standing here if you didn’t care. I feel like you think I led you on. That I made you think we were more than friends and I believe I did. This is my fault. You and me… it’s what I wanted … what I thought I wanted for a long time. I shouldn’t have … Keria and I … ” he pauses, confusion marring his brows like he can’t believe what happened either. He swallows hard. “I felt sorry for her. Things kind of got out hand from there.”

My eyes narrow. “Kind of?”

He goes on. “What I’m trying to say is it was unexpected. I didn’t plan on this happening. I didn’t plan on her happening. I don’t know, maybe I have been lying to myself all along and there has always been feelings there. It’s hard to be around Keria and not care, you know?”

Yeah. I know exactly how she sucks you in. She’s family. To hell with him. To hell with her. I sure don’t want to hear how they were drawn to each other. How they need each other. How they’re ‘meant to be’. And how I should think about Keria’s situation, her shitty past and feel sorry for her because of it.

He exhales a breath and reaches out again, slipping his fingers in mine, holding them loosely like yesterday in his room. Yesterday when he implied he wanted me to break up with Colton. Yesterday when I’d believe there could be more. Yesterday when everything had been different and was starting to make sense. Only this time him holding my hand doesn’t hold the same meaning.

Not even close.

I know it and so does he. He’s letting me down gently, letting go of what-could-have-been for what is. Those brown eyes I’ve been fascinated with for weeks lock with mine, holding sadness and regret. His voice is like water crashing over battered rocks, “I really did like you. I was being honest about that. I’ve liked you ever since you started dating Bentley. I hated having to watch you with him everyday. It was torture, but then the party happened. The kiss. Then you said what you did about it.” I cringe realizing I actually barked at him. “ I figured you weren’t interested.” Jonah’s hand drops back to his side. Shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, his shoulders drop in defeat as he says, “She is annoying. I can’t stand how she acts like she’s better than everyone else … but it’s all an act, you know that better than anyone.” He focuses on a spot on a ground, the same spot that keeps drawing his attention. “Keria is the most insecure girl I know. The girl has major issues that grate on my nerves” He shakes his head. His gaze lifts to mine. “Keria doesn’t have anyone … except you.”

“And you.”

“Please, don’t let this—” he cast a glance over his shoulder where Keria is emerging through the screen door. Her lips are pressed into a glim line. Her hands are clenched by her sides. Luckily she put all her clothes back on: slutty skirt and a tank top showing off her pushed up cleavage.

I laugh under my breath. “She’s becoming her mother more every day.”

“Don’t let this come between your friendship,” Jonah begs. “She’s your cousin.”

Keria moves to the steps. I focus on her pink toe nails as she lingers on the bottom step and then my eyes lift to hers. Hers are wild and full hurt. She charges at me and I tense, my stomach plunging. Jonah intercepts, encasing her upper body from behind with his arms. She stuggles, trying to break his hold on her.

“Stop! Stop it, Keria! It’s not her fault!” He breathes in her ear, his arms tightening as she tries to buck him off her. “If you want to blame someone, blame me!”

There is nothing inside me but this building anger.

Keria screams, “I can’t believe you! You knew I liked him! I confided in you and you were talking to him behind my back this entire time you lying bitch! You can’t ever be happy with what you have, can you? You’re a horrible friend! Hell, you’re a horrible person!” Jonah drags her screaming toward the house. She has no choice but to stumble along with him. Her eyes never leave mine though. “You deserve Colton!”

My head snaps back at her declaration. I deserve Colton. What’s that supposed to mean?

Keria doesn’t stop. “You should have done us all a favor and stayed in your basement whittling your damn STUPIDASS birds! I’m ashamed to call you family.”

There’s only so much a person can take, before they’ve had enough.

“It’s not whittling you manipulative slut!” I return. My gaze slides to Jonah. “All I can say is good luck. You’re going to need it.”

Rip it off Fast

Colton

Bang, bang, bang, bang comes from downstairs, loud, non-stop knocking. I force open an eye, the other buried in my pillow. I reach for my cell laying on top the pillow thrown on the opposite side of the bed. My body doesn’t want to do what I’m telling it. It wants to sleep. I glance at the time. What now? Doesn’t anyone understand Saturday mornings are for sleeping?

“Its seven fucking a.m., come on people, I have a hangover!” I roll off the side of the bed and land on my hands and knees. Disoriented, I bypass the whole getting dressed part, stumble down the stairs wearing a pair of boxers, praying whoever it is they have one hell of an excuse for waking me up so early on a Saturday morning. Narrowing my eyes against the early morning light pouring in the many windows downstairs, I feel my way to the front door, jerk it open; one hand scratching my nuts, the other wiping at a piece of sleepy caught in the corner of my eye.

“Yeah, what is it!” I snarl.

“Are you deaf? We’ve been knocking for over fifteen minutes,” my cousin Sawyer says.

“Saw, what are you doing here?” My mouth falls open and immediately I’m wondering exactly how much I drank last night if I’m seeing three relatives that live in Los Angles standing on my front porch at seven in the morning, wearing clothing fit for a wedding or a funeral. My gaze rakes over Uncle Bentley, Sawyer, and Sterling: chicks dig the dark and mysterious vibe they have going on. It creeps the hell out of me. Reminds me of the grim reaper.

Leaning lazily against the door jam, arms folded over his chest, Sawyer flashes his legendary smile. He removes the dark shades shadowing his eyes.

“I take it we’re the last people you expected to see?” he drawls out.

That’s when I see it … Uncle Bentley’s long face. He never really is a happy man, but this long face is bad, even for him.

“We should probably take this little reunion inside. Mind if we come in, son?” He asks.

“For God sakes, it’s fuckin’ hot out here.” Sterling plants a palm on the door shoving it open wide, his shoulder bumping mine as he passes. His polished shoes make contact with the tile floor in our entry way. He’s followed closely by Sawyer and Uncle Bentley. The three of them take in their surroundings, silently appraising the inside of my parent’s house, their expression saying they’re not too impressed. I’m not surprised. You could fit my entire house inside theirs five times and still have room to spare. But then again my parents don’t own one of the largest modeling agencies in Los Angles. What most people don’t know is they’ve made most of their money off of oil. Gas stations. Money—the Bentley’s have got it coming out the yin yang.

The three of them stroll toward the living room, their polished shoes hardly making a sound. Leather sighs as Uncle Bentley and Sawyer have a seat on the couch. Sterling dumps himself on the arm rest not smiling (this is not unusual for him, the fucker never smiles) unlike his younger brother, who is always open and friendly. Sterling is a broody, arrogant snob and I can’t stand his ass. Unlike Sawyer who has this laid-back relaxed way about him Sterling always gives off this ‘I don’t really want to be here’ vibe. Word is Sterling takes after his father Uncle Bentley, but I say no way he’s an asshole all on his own.

I stand there under their heavy gazes, my nipples pebbling from a chill and my nuts still itching.

“Dude, stop scratching yourself and go put on some fucking clothes.” Sterling shoots me a disgusted look.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” With that I’m charging up the steps, taking them two at a time, my face steaming from embarrassment. Something about my relatives has always made me feel like a scrawny stupid son of a bitch. We visited them. They have never visited us, which is why my mind is doing double time trying to figure out why the hell they’re here.

Five minutes later I’m back wearing black gym shorts and a white T-shirt. I see Sterling has already found the liquor cabinet and poured a glass. Sitting on the armrest again, his dark eyes study the original artwork on the walls. It’s colorful, light, probably nowhere near his gothic taste. Uncle Bentley and Sawyer are sitting forward, elbows braced on their knees, exchanging words in hushed tones. A board in the floor creaks under my weight and they both look up wearing grim expressions. Suddenly I feel close to puking and drop into the oversized chair opposite the couch, bracing for the worst. I rub my sweaty palms over my kneecaps.

“What is it?” I ask.

Sawyer clears his throat and hangs his head, shaggy hair falling into his eye, the muscles in his biceps flexing. He is usually a happy guy in comparison to the rest of the Bentleys. Not today.

Uncle Bentley chest rises and falls with a long sigh.

“I know you realize we wouldn’t be here unless it’s bad.” He places a hand over his mouth. The wide gold band on his finger catches my eye. “Give me a second,” he chokes out. He gets up and goes over by the French doors staring out into the back yard. Uncle Bentley is a tall man with broad shoulders. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in anything other than an Italian suit and I’d bet a hundred bucks he flew here in his private plane and there’s a limo parked out in the drive. But, hell, Uncle Bentley all choked up? WTF! I sit forward, wringing my clasped hands, swallowing as hard as a fagot. The tension in the room is strangling me. I wish someone would just…

“Your parents were killed in a plane crash,” Sterling throws out.

Sawyer shoves his brother’s shoulder almost knocking him off the end of the couch.

“What the hell, Ster. You have about as much sensitivity as a damn rock! Sometimes I think you have ice ruining through your veins.”

“It’s better to rip it off fast,” Sterling returns with a shrug.

Sawyer smacks Sterling on the back of the head and gets the look of the death from Sterling. “He’s not a fucking Band-Aid!”

“I know asswipe.” Sterling rakes a hand through his hair.

It’s as if I’m surrounded by glass walls, locked in this tiny suffocating box all by myself. Outside my glass enclosure both my cousins continue to bicker, swapping punches. Uncle Bentley sullen-faced, paces by the hearth.

It’s not fucking fair.

I haven’t done anything to deserve this kind of heartache.

I hear strangling sounds and wonder where the sound is coming from, then freak when I realize it’s me.

“SHUT UP! SHOW SOME FUCKING RESPECT!” Uncle Bentley roars and both his sons go silent. “Can’t you two see the boy is hurting? Have a little compassion. He is family.”

He shoves a thick finger in my direction. My gaze locks with onyx colored eyes.

“How are you?” he asks, his expression softening dramatically.

Fuck.

This can’t be happening.

“I don’t know,” I answer my mind not fully working. Leaning forward I rake both of my shaking hands through my hair, grab handfuls of it, exhaling all the air I’ve got in me. I force out, “In shock, I think. It all seems so surreal. Like I’m dreaming.” Deep breath. “Are you sure there hasn’t been some kind of mistake? I mean, I just saw them yesterday?”

At that moment, Sterling stands, and I’m very much aware of how much I despise the guy and his sketchy ways. I’m tempted to lunge at him and bloody his nose or give him a black eye. It would feel really good to pound something or somebody right now. The guy can’t be in a room for more than a half hour without acting like a caged animal with rabies. I don’t know what the hell his problem is, but…

“Here.” A glass of amber-colored liquid is held in my line of sight. I don’t reach for it. Refuse to. I don’t want his help.

“Take it. It will help numb the pain,” Sterling orders.

I reach out, my unsteady fingers circling the glass, because shit, I’d do almost anything right now to not feel like I do. I glance up at Sterling before draining the contents of the glass. He shrugs a shoulder as if his single act of kindness isn’t a big deal. I don’t have time to over think what just happened, before Uncle Bentley demands my attention.

“A Boeing 737 crashed yesterday while approaching Resolute Bay Airport, Nanavut, Canada, killing 12 of the 15 passengers on board. Your parents were two of the 12. I know this is a major blow. It is for all of us. Your father … well, he was a good man. And your mother was like the sister I never had.”

I scoff. Well yeah. My father was a good man, too bad you barely knew him, since you’ve been absent for most of the last seventeen years. And my mother? The sister he never had? Bullshit. All of it is bullshit.

“Why wasn’t I notified first?” I ask.

“You’re still considered a minor. The airline and the authorities thought it would be better if you heard the news from a close family member. Being your father’s only brother … I’m the closest family member you have right now. I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do, but we need to discuss funeral arrangements. We only have a window of a day or two to work with.” He cast a worrisome glance over at Sawyer, who rolls a shoulder.

“You’re going to have to tell him,” Sawyer advises.

There is more. I’m not so sure I am ready to hear more.

My chest tightens. A strange noise comes from my throat. Oh, hell no. I will not cry like a sissy! Not in front of them. I come up out of the chair and pace. This is too much, too much to process at one time. Oddly, Sterling’s earlier words make a lot of damn sense. “It’s better to rip it off fast.” I wheel around, give Uncle Bentley a level stare, square my shoulder, and clench my fist by my sides saying, “Okay, I’m ready. Tell me the rest.”

“There were no bodies to bring home for the funeral.”

My legs go to shit and I feel myself going down. Within seconds Uncle Bentley and Sawyer are surrounding me, huddled around me, holding me up while I sob uncontrollably into Uncle Bentley’s wide shoulders. A large hard pats my back. I believe it is the first time I’ve ever cried and just as luck would have it, the three most in control men I know are there to witness it.

A firm hand clamps down on my shoulder. “We’ll stay to help you thru this, son, but after, you’ll come to Los Angeles to live with us. Family takes care of family.”

Left Out

Victoria

I sneak into the brick building behind our house and fall asleep in the same spot I use to hide in as a child; curled up on a sleeping bag under one of the dusty work benches. The building is plenty large enough that it could have easily been turned into the perfect shop. I’d wanted to make my carvings out here. There are windows for light and fresh air, power and plumbing.

But my mother turned it into a storage building long ago.

Boxes are stacked to the ceiling now, long forgotten.

Christmas decorations fill a corner: reindeers, a nativity scene and snow men for the yard collecting cobwebs. Sunlight creeps into my corner on the floor, finding me under the bench and forcing my eyes to squint against the bright light. My back is stiff from sleeping on the cold concrete floor, the thin sleeping bag not doing much to prevent it.

I can’t hide out here forever. Sooner or later I’ll have to go inside to eat. My stomach rumbles confirming it. Pushing up from the floor I roll the sleeping bag up and lay it on top of one of the boxes. My gaze is drawn to the box beside it, open.

Inside are books.

I need a distraction, an escape from my shitty reality. Digging through the box I skim the titles, choosing a few of my favorites.

My hand stops on the black leather bound bible.

Beverly Hamilton is embossed in gold in the bottom corner. My grandmother. A sadness consumes me as I collapse down on one of the five gallon buckets of paint. My fingertip grazes the gold letters.

“I miss you,” I mutter. “Things would be different if you were here.”

I flip open the cover, turn pages until I come to my grandmother’s handwriting.

My daughter Olivia Grace Anderson accepted Jesus as her savior on March 2, 1998.

Olivia Grace Anderson - baptized on April 2, 2005.

Birth of my first granddaughter Victoria Rose Anderson - August 12, 1983 “From birth I have relied on you; you brought me forth from my mother’s womb. I will ever praise you.” (Psalms 71:6)

There is an entry added at the bottom of the page, away from all the others:

Olivia hopefully one day you will forgive me.

That’s it. No explanations. No date. I’m not even sure my mother has ever seen it.

The door to the building creaks open. ‘You finally awake?” my father asks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay. How did you know I was out here?”

“I saw you sneak out here last night.” Dimples show. “Figured you wanted some time alone or you would’ve came inside.” His gaze drops to my bible open on my lap.

“I found grandma’s bible in one of the boxes,” I tell him. “She’d kept up with the dates of when mom and I were saved and baptized.” My gaze connects with his. “But you’re not in here?”

He leans against the doorjamb in his usual lazy manner. “Yeah. Your grandma wasn’t too fond of me back then. She thought your mother could do better. It took her a while to realize I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Are you saved, dad?”

“Same day as your mother. I think you were like three. We’d started going to this little Baptist church.” His smile widens. “Your mother and I both really liked the pastor. It always seemed like he was speaking directly to us.”

“Pastor Steve?” I ask.

“Yeah. Pastor Steve baptized us both and you … when you were old enough to decide for yourself.”

“I remember. I was ten.” I study my grandma hand writing. “Grandma obviously loved mom.”

Lines of confusion form between his brows. “Off course she did.”

“Then why did they always fight. Why was there always this undeniable tension between them?”

The sunlight from a nearby window lights his features. “I don’t know, probably because they were both very strong willed opinionated women. Both of them wanted control, neither wanted to give in. Sound familiar?”

I snap the bible shut, stand, placing it back in the box. “I’m nothing like her.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m positive,” I return, slipping past my father in the doorway. He pulls the door to and both of us cross the yard together.

“What are your plans for the day,” he asks.

“Sleep,” I grin.

“What, you didn’t find the concrete floor of the building comfortable?” he chuckles.

I rotate my neck, a faint cracking noise coming from the action. “Nope. Next time you see me sneaking into the building make me come inside to sleep in my own bed.”

“Alright, will do,” dad says, slinging an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. He suddenly stops and draws my cell phone out of the pocket on his shirt. “Oh, I forgot. This is why I came to find you … I believe you have several messages.”

I take it and check my voice mails, a frown creeping in.

“Anything important,” dad asks.

“No. It’s just Colton.”

I try the front door to Colton’s home expecting to find it locked. It’s not. Pushing it open wide I hesitantly step inside, feeling an instant chill. No. Chill is not the appropriate word, more like an Antarctica glacier slams into me. Is it my imagination or did the temperature just drop a good thirty degrees? My hands go to my arms which are covered in goose bumps, vigorously rubbing flesh to generate some heat. I kick off my flip-flops by the door, and then scold myself as my bare feet touch the freezing cold tile in the foyer. It was Colton’s mother who’d enforced the rule, ‘no shoes on in the house’. With her gone there isn’t anyone to scold me. A great sadness envelops me. I can still picture her sitting with my mother on the sofa, both of them with wine glasses in their hands. What do you say to someone who has just lost both of their parents? I remember how I felt right after grandma died. Nobody could make it better.

Standing there in the foyer I get an overwhelming sense I’m where I’m meant to be

“Colton. Where are you?” I call. No answer. Only silence. Stairs stretch up in front of me, stairs to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are located. To my left is the den, to my right a formal dining room. My toes curl into the carpet on the stairs creaking under my weight. I seriously think I can see my breaths, it’s that cold. At the top of the stairs I take several deep breaths, preparing myself for the first time I’ve seen my boyfriend since the accident. Errr says his bedroom door, swinging open on its stiff hinges.

“Colton?”

The room is dark. Shades are pulled down over the windows to block out the sunshine. Colton is there, under a mound of heavy blankets, shivering. I go over and take hold of his limp hand. His eyes are open. Black. Void of emotion, staring out into nothingness.

I clear the sudden lump that has formed in my throat seeing him this way.

“What are you doing? Are you trying to freeze yourself to death?” I whisper.

No answer. He doesn’t even acknowledge I’m in the room. Should I call someone. A doctor?

“I’m going to go cut the heat up,” I tell him, my teeth actually chattering.

“No. Don’t,” is barely spoken. “Don’t leave.” He folds back a corner of the blankets and moves over to make room.

There’s this incredible weight in my stomach and on my shoulders, both impossible to ignore. He is still my boyfriend. I sure as hell can’t break up with him now. That would be majorly screwed up. We graduate in a couple of weeks. I want to see him happy, not suicidal.

“Okay.” I climb in, burying my feet under the weight of the covers. I settle down on my right side, hands clasped and tucked under my cheek resting on the pillow. He scoots forward, sliding his arms around my waist. We are spooning. The tip of his ice cold nose trails over my neck causing the fine hairs along my arms to rise. This is ridiculous. It is 85 degrees outside. Sunny. Daytime. I think this qualifies as losing it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says after a few minutes, his breath warming my shoulder.

“Me too.”

“I guess you got my message?”

“Yeah. I got it. Colton, you don’t leave a message like that and then not pick up your phone. I was worried.”

His voice sounded horrible in the message, strained. I could tell he’d been crying, something I know Colton does not do. He’d said: “My parents died in some crazy ass plane crash, but I’m fine. Well … thought you’d want to know. Call me later.”

And that was it. It was the worst way imaginable for a guy to tell his girlfriend his parents were killed, but that’s how we are, cold and distant from each other.

His arms tighten around my waist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t feel like talking to anybody.”

“How’d you find out?” I mutter.

He rises up on an elbow and turns me so I’m facing him, on my left side, gazing into eyes I never could quite figure out. Colton has always kept a part of himself locked away. I used to beat myself up wondering if it was my fault. Maybe I sucked as a girlfriend. I don’t know if that true. Colton is just who he is, never fully committing to anyone. Maybe we’re similar in that way. I have no idea why I can’t make a decision and stick with it. It’s as if I’m chasing something I can never find. It’s like I know It’s out there, whatever it is, it just always eludes me.

He stares back, running a fingertip down the side of my face. “You are so beautiful. Have I told you that lately?”

“Colton—”

“Don’t say anything, please.” Then his cold lips touch mine. He is gentle, gentler than he’s ever been. The hand that was on my face moves to my hair, where he combs fingers through the length of it. “Jesus, you smell good. You feel so good in my arms, too. This is how it should be … you and me, always.” He presses me to my back and then he is on top of me, moving between my legs. That’s when it changes. His hands and mouth are everywhere, insistent. I can feel his stiff erection through his gym shorts. He’s managed to get off my shirt, so I’m lying under him in my bra and jeans, zipper undone.

It’s all happening so fast. I can’t think. This feels empty. I want more, especially for my first time. I tear my lips away from his, panting.

“Wait, Colton, stop,” comes out in a panicked rush.

His lips move against the hollow spot at the base of my throat. “I know you want to wait, Tori. But shit, I need to be with my girlfriend. Can’t you understand? Please, don’t deny me this. Let me make love to you. I’ll go slow. I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

It’s as if my body has a mind of its own, arching into him, my palms running over the hard muscles along his back. He slips his hands behind me and unhooks my bra. A shudder rips through me. Every part of my body is begging me to say yes. Do it. Just get it over with; our relationship will be better afterwards. But my heart tells me if I give in to this urge I’ll lose a part of myself. My palms flatten out on his chest and I push, angling my head away as he tries to kiss me. “Colton, I mean it, stop.”

He freezes over me, holding his weight up with his elbows. His hands grip my face, forcing me to look at him. His forehead presses against mine. He closes his eyes and exhales. “Can you at least do what you do sometimes?” his voice comes out small, unsure.

My stomach turns queasy and I go cold, any desire I felt a few minutes ago vanishing. Before I even have time to answer he is sliding his shorts down under the covers, kicking them off the bed with his feet. He directs my hand to his erection and our gazes lock, his pleading and desperate.

“Please, Tori. I feel like I’m about to explode from all the tension. My Uncle wants me to come live with them in Los Angeles. I really don’t want to leave. I’d rather stay here with you. But then I think about it and I don’t really have anything here to stay for, except you. I’m so fucked up right now I can’t think straight. I feel so alone, and if you won’t let me make love to you … will you please at least touch me?”

Without giving it much thought I begin to move my hand, stroking him. I close my eyes. Colton’s breaths become heavier the faster I move my hand. My stomach rolls. How did I get here? How did we get here? Will I ever feel anything? Or is this it, the closest I’ll ever get to love?

Colton tenses. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and then he’s kissing me, his lips stiffer than usual as warmth fills my hand.

We lay there together, facing each other. Colton drifts off to sleep. I can’t help staring at him. His breath warms my face. None of this makes sense. Why can’t I be happy? I don’t make sense. Is every teenage girl this confused? Every now and then, Colton’s body jerks or he whimpers in his sleep, then his features smooth out and he’s back to drooling on my wrist. He’d fallen asleep grasping my hand, now that hand is pinned between his cheek and the pillow, his parted wet lips on my wrist.

Can you feel so obligated to someone that you’re willing to forego your own happiness to please them?

I must have fallen asleep also; because when I open my eyes again the room is dark. Colton and I are entangled under a mound of heavy blankets, the tip of my nose feels frozen. This cold is ridiculous. It’s time to put some heat on. Carefully, I wrench my arm free, slide from the bed, pulling one of the covers up over Colton’s chilled shoulder. I tiptoe over to his dresser and grab one of his T-shirt’s and a pair of boxers from a drawer and change. If I’m staying then I need something more comfortable to sleep in. Pulling the shirt over my head I notice my cell phone on the dresser. New messages:

Jonah: Please, talk to me. I owe you a better apology.

Jonah: Tori?

Jonah: Are you there?

Jonah: Can you meet me somewhere? Anywhere. You decide. We can get something to eat and talk. Your friendship matters.

I don’t reply to the text. Instead I go out into the hallway in search of the thermostat. I find it on the wall at the top of the staircase. I reach up, adjusting the dial to seventy degrees and turn, smacking right into a slab of rock-hard chest.

“I didn’t expect you to get out of bed and follow me,” I blurt out, startled.

“Are you the insane person trying to freeze us all,” is snarled deeply at me.

My mouth falls open and then snaps shut. I jerk my hands from the chest, my face hot.

It’s not Colton.

Instead it’s a guy around 6’4” with dark gray eyes that have these amazing long black lashes framing them. His hair is messy, a few cowlicks taking over making me long to tame them with a hand. There is something about this guy that causes a foreign reaction in my body.

His face is masculine, more mature than boyish. Stubble shadows his sharp jawline. A corner of his bottom lip is pierced. My gaze slowly sweeps down the length of him: broad shoulders, washboard stomach, and a narrow waist. His arms are folded over his chest and all he has on is a pair of black boxers showing the dark line of hair that disappears under the band. He is shivering, his hands vigorously rubbing biceps covered with tattoos and I notice his nipples are also pierced. He looks like a guy who’s just darted out of bed to take a quick leak before diving back under the covers where it’s warm. Speaking of beds and covers—did I really just tell him I didn’t expect him to get out of bed and follow me?

He cocks an eyebrow and gives me a quick once over. “I’m sorry, am I expected to know who you are?”

“Umm….” Mouth, please work. “I—I thought you were Colton.”

His gaze narrows. He frowns. Although I don’t think the frown is new, he hasn’t done anything BUT frown since he bumped into me.

Like an idiot I start to ramble, “I’m Victoria, Colton’s girlfriend. He wants me here, you know, because of his parents.” I aim a finger over the guys shoulder at Colton’s closed door. “We were sleeping. He’s still asleep.” I exhale a frustrated breath and decide I should just shut up.

Again he eyes me up and down. I shiver under his heavy scrutiny. “Whatever, Phoenix. I could care less. It’s cold as hell in here.” He nods at the thermostat on the wall. “Mind jacking that thing up a little?”

“Yeah. Sure. I mean, I have … jacked it already.” My cheeks flame at the way my words come out. “That is NOT what I meant at all.”

His brows lower in confusion. What am I doing? He couldn’t possibly know. What is wrong with me? It’s this guy. He’s making me stupid.

“O-o-okay,” he drawls out. He goes to leave, but not before eyeing me one last time as if HE thinks I might be better suited for a straightjacket. At the moment I’d have to agree with him.

“I’m Sterling… Colton’s cousin.”

I stare at the tattoo on his upper shoulder blade; it’s a mandala, I’d know the combination of geometric shapes and colors anywhere. My eyes are drawn to it just like the time I stumbled on one in an internet search for designs. Intrigued by their attractiveness I searched the meaning: a dreamer's search for completeness. I shake the revelation from my thoughts, my mouth still open until the bedroom door across from Colton’s shuts.

Sterling.

Like the silver color of his eyes.

Did he call me phoenix?

I call my mother early the next morning to explain what happened. She was horrified and like I knew she would, she agreed to me staying at Colton’s for a couple of days. She seemed happy, as if my staying at Colton’s meant Jonah was no longer an issue, which he wasn’t, but for different reasons. She only became an overbearing parent with all kinds of insane rules when it suited her. She’d been so terrified I was going to end things with the amazingly perfect Colton Bentley that I bet she would’ve agreed to me running off and eloping with him.

“What can I do,” she asks on the phone the next morning. “You should do something really nice for Colton.” Already have. “I can’t imagine how horrible this must be for him ... losing both his parents at the same time … poor boy. I’m sure he’s hurting. You should do something extra nice, Victoria.”

“Colton has to make arrangements today for the burial. I thought I’d stay here and clean while he’s out. His family is here. I’m sure they will need to eat,” I say, picking at the frayed edge of the hole in the knees of my jeans. I need to go pick up more clothes from my house.

“It’s good you’re staying there,” my mother says. “You need to stay by his side. He needs you. This will solidify your relationship. You’ll see.”

“Mom, his parents died and you’re thinking about solidifying our relationship. Our relationship is probably the last thing on his mind.”

“You know I believe a woman should pursue a career and not a man. But, it doesn’t hurt to have the right partner that is just as career oriented as his wife. Death brings people together, Victoria.” Not always. “You’re meeting Colton’s extended family for the first time. That’s an important step in you two’s relationship, whether you want to admit it or not. A step that is long overdue if you ask me.”

I didn’t ask. “I need to get off here. Tell dad I said hi.”

She goes on, “In fact, I’ll have Cecily prepare something for Colton’s family tomorrow evening. Invite them for me. We can all sit down for a meal. I would love to meet the Bentley’s. You know they own one of the most successful modeling agencies in Los Angeles, don’t you? Very impressive. Oh! No need to worry about what you’ll wear … I’ll pick you up a striking new cocktail dress. They won’t be able to take their eyes off of you.” She takes a breath, slowing her momentum, “I feel horrible for the tragic circumstance in which we’re meeting the Bentley’s, I really do, but I have to admit … I’m excited to meet Colton’s family.”

If the rest of the Los Angles Bentley’s is as beautiful as Sterling, then no wonder they own a modeling agency.

“I’ll call you with the details.” And my mother hangs up. She is off to work on securing my future husband before I even enter college, buying me a dress she knows I will never wear.

Tattoos and Gray Eyes

Tori

Am I desperate?

Not yet.

Standing in front of the mirror over the sink in Colton’s bathroom I drop his dry tooth brush back in the stainless steel holder on the counter and eye it with distain. I’m definitely not that desperate yet. To me there’s nothing grosser than using someone else’s tooth brush. I don’t care if you do kiss them. The thought of sticking something in my mouth that has scrubbed out tiny food particles from in-between the tight crevices of someone else’s teeth is not appealing to me. Squeezing out a line of tooth paste onto the tip of my finger I smear it over my teeth, spitting the tooth paste in the sink and running my hand under the running water swishing it around in the bowl. Gagging sounds mingle with the running water as I drag a glob of tooth paste over my tongue. Turning off the water I glance up into the mirror, gathering my hair in a ponytail, creating a messy bun.

I look like crap, but it’s the best I can do at the moment.

I’m not sure what to expect down stairs. Colton filled me in on the Bentley’s first thing this morning. There is Sawyer, the youngest. Then Sterling, who sadly, intrigues me. And then there is Uncle Bentley, who, honestly, sounds a little frightening. Supposedly he has a very standoffish personality. I’m guessing this is where Sterling inherited his lovely personality. Wouldn’t most people make a joke out of practically plowing you over, apologize and introduce themselves? Not Sterling. He’d been moody, giving off this vibe that somehow him running into me was my fault.

His Uncle just died, Tori. Give the guy a break.

Taking a deep breath I shove the tattooed bad boy out of my mind. Glance one more time in the mirror before I head down stairs to get the introductions over with.

Stepping into the kitchen I pause, taking another deep breath to steady my courage. At the head of the dining room table sits an attractive older man. Well, attractive for someone in their sixties. He has aged gracefully. He’s tall with broad shoulders, in an expensive suit. His dark hair shows no signs of graying or thinning. He has black soulless eyes. There’s a hardness to him that makes you want to immediately take a step back. He reminds me of one of those men you see on television who are head of the mob. I wonder if he is and if he could have me eliminated with one quick phone call. His gaze meets mine over the rim of the coffee mug pressed to his downturned lips and I stop breathing. The frown never falters as he steadily sets the mug down on the table. I didn’t expect him to smile, seems the norm with the Bentleys.

“Looks like your girlfriend finally decided to wake up,” he tells Colton.

My stomach turns over as my gaze slides to the digital clock on the microwave over the stainless steel stove. 8:30. His tone suggested it was afternoon and I’m lazy.

Colton shoots me a weak smile and gets up, coming to press a kiss to my forehead. He drags me to the chair beside his, dumping me in it.

“Morning, beautiful,” Colton says. He leans forward and folds his arms on the table top, his head turned in my direction. “How’d you sleep?”

He isn’t the only one staring at me. They all are. I can feel it. I’m also very conscious of Sterling sitting across the table.

“Good,” I reply weakling, pulling my hand from his and placing it nervously in my lap.

On the other side of the table, next to Sterling, Sawyer stands and extends a hand. His face lights with a smile as I accept it. “I’m Saw. Colton’s ridiculously handsome cousin. You’re too pretty to be dating ugly here,” he teases, nodding at Colton. “How much did he pay you to sleep with him?”

“Hey!” Colton warns.

“Sit down and shut up. You’re implying she’s a whore,” Sterling grumbles, yanking his brother down into his seat. My eyes go wide. I hadn’t thought of it that way. Now they all were. It’s like screaming don’t look at the pink elephant! and everybody looks.

“There’s been a death in the family. Can’t you go one day without tormenting your brother,” Uncle Bentley snaps at Sterling, who actually was coming to my defense if you think about it.

Uncle Bentley stares at me as if I somehow provoked Sawyers comment. Do I imply that I’m a whore? Did I forget to put on a bra before I came down? Are my nipples poking against cotton? One quick drop of my eyes and I sigh heavily, relieved.

“I didn’t mean it that way and she damn well knows it.” Sawyer smirks at his brother. “You’re just an ol’ grump in the mornings. You have to admit she’s hot and he’s ugly which makes no damn sense.”

Sawyer is completely at ease; opposite of his brother who always acts like a bug crawled up his ass.

Colton reaches over, takes my hand again, lacing our fingers and bringing them up on the table top as if he wants them all to see. “Well, she’s mine ... believe it or not.”

Sterling is hunched over his breakfast, his thick forearms resting on the table next to his bowl of cereal like he’s guarding it. Cold cereal? I’m guessing they usually have a cook and cold cereal was the best they could do on their own.

“I could make breakfast,” I offer.

Sterling levels me with his emotionless gray eyes. “It’s too late for that.”

It’s only freaking 8:30! Damn people. Stop making me feel like a worthless lazy slut.

Uncle Bentley speaks directly to me, “We have arrangements to make for my brothers funeral today. Colton’s going to be busy. It will probably be best for everyone involved if you make yourself useful by staying out from under our feet. I suggest you go home … nap … you can pay your respects at the funeral like—”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Colton voice slices thru Uncle Bentley’s. His hand squeezes mine. “I mean, it was my parents who died. My parents I’ll be burying tomorrow. Don’t you think I should have the right to decide who I want with me?” He throws an affectionate look my way. “I want Tori here.”

Uncle Bentley scrubs his face with his hands. “Very well, she can stay, but only if she stays out of the way.”

My gaze connects with Sterling’s, his narrows, before shifting down once to where Colton and I are holding hands, then his gaze is back up on my face. He is wearing black jogging pants and a white T-shirt, a contrast against tan skin and tattoos. Being this close to him and not having to talk to him gives me the perfect opportunity to discreetly check him out.

I study his tattoos.

There are so many I find myself wondering if the tattoos and piercings represent this boy’s walk on the wild side or if he is a sheep in wolves clothing? My attention starts at the side of his neck where there is a blue swallow. Don’t mistake a swallow for a sparrow, there is a difference. Luckily, I know my birds. Swallows were symbolic for sailors that logged miles at sea. Sailors would get their first swallow after 5,000 miles, their second after their 10,000 miles. I wonder if Sterling really has sailed around the world, or if it’s just wishful thinking. I like the swallow; it’s interesting and my favorite out of all his other tattoos and there is plenty to choose from: on his left arm a girl/angel cover’s his bicep and on each knuckle a letter I notice spells the word “tordu”. His right arm however is less subtle. Starting at his wrist there is black barbed wire leading my eyes to what seems to be a black and white maze, I can’t tell where one shape ends and the next begins. There are masculine flowers/shapes meshed in with the maze, dead in the center a crimson red rose with elegant petals, the hint of purple peeking through where they curl at the edges. Medial to the rose there is a blue anchor with a ribbon suffocating its shank “Sink or swim” in cursive. His upper arm has the outline of a double headed cow skull, I can’t see his shoulder but I know it is covered with the vibrant designs and colors of his mandala.

“We’ll stay for a week or two to see you through this; afterwards, I really think you should come live with us.” I vaguely hear Uncle Bentley tell Colton. “There’s nothing keeping you here. It will be for the best. That’s what your parents would have wanted.”

The chair next to me creaks under Colton’s weight. “I don’t know. I’m eighteen now, which means I’m an adult. I could stay here.”

Uncle Bentley’s deep sardonic laughter sends chills down my spine. “There’s more to being an adult than age. Being an adult means being able to support yourself without any help. You’ll run through what money your parents left you in no time and be begging for my help. Hell, my oldest son is twenty- five and he can’t even make it a week without begging for money. Give someone your age any substantial amount and they go crazy. Better let me hold onto it until you’re ready.”

I see Sterling tense, but he doesn’t defend himself, instead her focuses on the bowl of cereal in front of him. He has barely eaten any of it. I know that look of defeat and acceptance of all the crap in your life. I’m sure I have the same look every time my mother makes me feel small and worthless. I’m not sure why parents do that; point out their children’s shortcomings as if we are unaware of them ourselves. Trust me. We’re well aware. It slowly eats away at our self-confidence, our self-worth. I don’t even know Sterling, but automatically I find myself wanting to protect him.

Colton shrugs a shoulder. “My parents had a savings account that should take care of the bills. Once I’m out of college I’ll be able to—”

“Nothing needs to be decided today, except funeral arrangements,” Uncle Bentley says pushing his chair back and standing. He strolls out the kitchen as if he already knows how this is going to go down. He seems to be confident in his ability to convince Colton to go back with them.

It’s hard for me to focus on anything. Sterling has pinned me with his silvery eyes and won’t stop staring. I wonder if he can smell fear?

“Babe?” I hear, but don’t respond. My shoulder is lightly shaken. “TORI!!” A finger touches my chin, turning it toward Colton. “I said … we’re going to be out for a while. You can stay here today and straighten up the house.”

It’s not a question. It’s a demand. “Yeah. Fine,” I absently agree. “Whatever you need me to do.”

“Looks like I should go take a shower if we’re going out,” Sawyer says, standing up. He aims a lazy grin and wink my way. “Care to join me? I’ll let you wash my back.”

Colton shoots his cousin a scowl. “How about leaving my girlfriend alone.”

Sterling shoves his chair away from the table. I stop breathing. There’s a loud clunk as he sets his cereal bowl noisily in the sink.

“I’m sure she’d prefer not to be exposed to Chlamydia,” I hear him mutter under his breath.

Sawyer’s clamps a hand on his brother’s shoulder in step beside him as they’re headed out of the kitchen. “Hey, that’s your thing, bro, not mine.” He aims a finger at Sterling’s crotch. “You might want to get some medicine for it though, or at least have it checked out.”

“Get off me.” Sterling shrugs his brother’s hand off. “Do us all a favor and wear some damn deodorant the next time you go running.”

Sawyer laughs out loud and I can hear the two of them arguing until their voices fade into some other part of the house.

One brother smiles and looks alive. The other looks damaged and tired. Why?

“He is such a dick,” Colton says once they’re gone.

“Your Uncle?”

“No. Sterling.”

“I don’t know I kind of felt sorry for him.”

Colton folds his arms over his chest, studying me from his chair. “What the hell? I lost my parents, Tor, I’m the one you should be feeling sorry for, not that jackass.”

“I am. I do. It just seems like his father is extra hard on him.”

“You don’t know the whole story. If you did you’d understand.”

“Okay. Then tell me the whole story.”

“Can’t. I have to get ready to pick out caskets,” he says, standing up.

My mouth drops. He’s right. I am a horrible person. “I’m sorry. It’s not important.”

He leans over me, one hand on the back of my chair, the other on the table. “Let’s just say the guy used to live with his slut-of-a-mother until she abandoned him, making him my uncle’s problem.”

“Sawyer and Sterling don’t have the same mother?” I ask, starting to understand.

“Nope. Sterling is the product of a short affair that’s haunted my uncle ever since. Uncle Bentley made a mistake and ended up with a constant reminder of it. The woman wasn’t nothing but a gold-digger who thought she’d hit the jackpot, big-time. You should have seen the getups she used to wear; she thought she had style … the name Sterling says it all. She thought she was high society but she was a joke. He’s a joke. So stopping trying to find some redeemable quality in him.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips. “Yeah, don’t look so surprised I know how your mind works. Tor, you’re incapable of being mean. If you found a lost puppy that was sick and needed to be put out of its misery, you’d try to save it. I already know this is a flaw of yours but I still love you even if you are a little naïve sometimes. There are several piles of laundry in my room. Start there. Thanks babe, you’re the best.”

Sterling is the unwanted child.

No one should ever feel unwanted.

Balancing a laundry basket full of clean clothes on my hip I pause at Colton’s parent’s bedroom, nudging it open with the tip of my foot a deep sadness washes over me. Their bed is neatly made. It’s a gorgeous ornate king-size four-poster bed with a mahogany finish. The bedding is silk: sage green and a linen color. It’s beautiful, same as everything else in the room. One of Colton’s father’s jackets and striped ties is lying out on the bed from before their flight and the room smells like his mother. Floral. Gardenias I think. I wonder how long it will take for her smell to fade from the room. My heart aches. The two of them thought they had a lifetime together, now they’ll never get a chance to see their son graduate high school or know their grandchildren. It doesn’t make sense. It’s not fair. Life selfdom is.

I quietly pull the door shut and move on to Colton’s room.

He wasn’t kidding about the laundry. I spent the better part of the morning cleaning his room and private bath; forcing me to come to this conclusion … guys are nasty slobs. I learned more about my boyfriend in those three hours than I have over the entire year we’ve dated: like he has a habit of peeing on the toilet seat and eating half of a sucker and sticking the uneaten portion in the small trash in his bathroom. This may not sound that horrible, but keep in mind he never puts a garbage bag in that trash can, so I spent fifteen minutes prying off half-eaten suckers glued to the plastic. Eventually I gave up and ran hot water in the trash can and let it soak. The suckers finally broke free and floated to the surface along with any loose hair. I found dirty boxers and socks shoved under his bed accompanied by his stacks of dirty magazines, his favorite most-visited pages dog-eared. What was under his bed had been under there for a long time because it smelled really bad. There were crusty boogers on the tiled floor of his shower, pubic hairs stuck in the hard tooth paste accumulated around the lid of the tube I used this morning, crumbs in his bed, and unidentifiable stains on his sheets.

But when I say I learned more about him in that three hours I was referring to the slew of condoms I found when I opened one of his dresser drawers to put in his clean clothes. And the other: his cell, which is usually always with him but was accidently left behind this morning providing me with the rare opportunity to snoop. I hold his cell phone in my hand now, thinking about the condoms and debating if I really want to know.

Yes. I want to know.

I scroll through his recent calls. His call log is full of girl’s names, some I know, others I have no idea who they are. I swipe a finger over the screen and his text messages pop up. I sink onto the side of the bed my face blank as I read through them. I’m not surprised at what I read:

Colton: I miss you! ;)

Aubrey: I miss you too! You stopping by tonight?

Colton: Are your parents out of town?

Aubrey: Yes. We’ll have the whole house to ourselves. ;)

Colton: All right. I’ll bring the alcohol. You bring the sexy.

Aubrey: For you? Always.

The text was from Friday night, the night before Colton found out about his parents. He was with Aubrey? I know her. She knows Colton and I are together. She’s also pretty, really pretty. I sit there on the side of the bed in a state of confusion. I’m not jealous. Honestly I feel nothing when I should feel angry. Reaching up I straighten the messy bun and glance down at the simple white T-shirt and faded jeans I’m wearing. My hands aren’t shaking. My heart’s not racing. I realize in that moment I don’t feel anything for Colton.

I want more.

A helluva lot more.

I want to feel something real. I want to care what I look like when I’m around my boyfriend. I want to miss him. Obsess over him. And crave him.

The front door slams downstairs and I hear a guy’s deep voice. Oh no! They’re back! Already? I quickly ditch Colton’s cell phone where I found it and cram folded socks in the open dresser drawer, on top of his supply of condoms and the box of K-Y jelly.

There’s one more load of clothes I need get out of the dryer downstairs and then I’ll make them some lunch. Lifting the empty laundry basket I head down the stairs, freezing; one foot barely touching the wood floor in the foyer when I hear a female giggling and making mewing sounds. Careful to stay out of sight I peek around the corner into the living room on the right. I have a clear view of the sitting area and my stomach does a somersault.

Sterling is slouched on the couch. His beauty steals my breath: the dark line of lashes lowered over the breathtaking color of his eyes. The way the black T-shirt is stretched tight across his chest. Even the way he is sitting with his legs slightly spread in a lazy manner. But what is not pretty is the way the girl leaning over his chest is acting as if she can’t get close enough to him. All she has on is a short skirt and a red bra. She is blonde, beautiful and practically laying in his lap, crawling up him, giggling. Her arm is stretch up, her eager fingers making their way up over his chest and around his neck. She presses her voluminous breast (that cannot be real) against his chest, her fingers playing with the sides of his hair. She nips at his ear and he rolls a shoulder as if he doesn’t like her mouth anywhere near his ear. She talks in a pouty baby voice that grates on my nerves.

“You don’t have a playful side at all, do you?” she asks him.

He reaches up and carefully peels her arms from his neck. Never acknowledging her question he unfastens his jeans and lowers the zipper. My eyes go wide and the breath catches in my throat as his hardon springs free and he pushes her head down at it.

“Do both of us a favor and don’t talk. Suck or leave. It’s that simple.”

His words cause a chill to run through me … through the entire room. I immediately jerk my gaze back into the foyer, my heart now racing. Pressing the back of my head against the wall at the bottom of the stairs I cradle the laundry basket to me closing my eyes.

He is a bad guy.

Colton was right about him.

I was wrong.

I can hear it. What the girl is doing for him even after the way he treated her. Why? Why would any girl willingly degrade herself like this? He’d talked to her as if she has no worth.

“Mmm, you taste good,” the girl murmurs. I slap a palm over my own mouth to cover up the sound of me gagging. It’s like a horrible book that you can’t stop reading because you so desperately hope something with happen to redeem it. I glance around the corner into the living room again.

Sterling’s head is relaxed against the couch, his eyes focused on the ceiling. He has hold of a fist full of blond hair, guiding her head up and down on him.

“Deeper,” he instructs, his hips rising slightly. The muscles along his throat tense and he lifts his head staring down at her. His lips part and his breaths become heavier when he suddenly pulls her off of him.

“This was a bad idea,” he says. “You need to go.”

Sterling retrieves her discarded shirt from the end of the couch and tosses it at her.

She catches it and shoves her arms into the sleeves. “Are you serious?”

“I couldn’t be any more serious.”

“But you didn’t …”

“And I’m not. Not with you.” He stands, tucking and adjusting himself inside his jeans.

“You’re insane! You pick me up, bring me here, and then tell me to leave!” Her voice breaks as if she’s about to cry.

“Nice way of saying it, but yeah, that sums it up. You can leave now. All the begging in the world won’t change my mind.”

“Fucking asshole!” the girl snarls, sliding on shoes with heels I’d break my neck in if I ever tried to walk in them.

My heart leaps up into my throat. Sterling is headed my way. Of course it is that exact moment that my hand goes to sleep on me and the empty basket tumbles out into the foyer. I gasp, staring at the upside down basket in horror. Only able to come up with one option on such short notice I casually walk out, scooping up the basket, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I don’t risk a glance in Sterling’s direction. Basket in hand I wait until I’m out of sight and then I take off sprinting, curse my piss-poor luck, slipping and sliding in my socks over the hardwoods through the dining room, straight for the laundry room.

Once safely inside I shut the door and lean my shoulder against it replaying the images of what I saw. Once I can breathe normally again I go over to the dryer and open it, dragging the clothes inside into the basket. After it’s all out I jab my knee up into the dryer door slamming it. I mumble a curse under my breath as I screw the lid off the Tide and pour the lid full, dumping it into the tub of the washer, pulling the dial out, setting it on heavy load. Sounds of spraying water consume the small room along with the clean smell of the detergent. I reach up sliding my hand blindly across the shelf overhead, knocking off an iron, several boxes of fabric sheets, cleaning products and everything else in my path until I get my hand on what I want.

I’m vaguely aware of the door opening behind me.

“Everything okay in here?” His voice is deep and sexy, pissing me off even more.

“Yeah. Everything is fine.” My tone lets him know he is not my favorite person. “Just washing clothes.”

He leans against the doorjamb looking skeptically down at all the mess I made on the floor.

“Are you sure? Because from where I was it sounded like you were tearing apart the room.”

“It was the shelf, something’s wrong with it. I think it’s not level or something. Everything just rolled off into the floor.”

It’s a total lie. I throw an evil glare over my right shoulder to let him know he’s not getting the truth while uncapping the Clorox, pouring it straight into the washer. I catch him staring at my rear-end and against my best attempts to not let it affect any part of my body, it causes tingles.

“What?” I snap. “Are you always this crude?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t stop. “You have a nice ass. Anybody ever told you that?”

Our gazes lock and hold for longer than appropriate with my boyfriend’s cousin. He raises an eyebrow, nodding at the washer.

“You might want to … I don’t know much about washing clothes, but I think that’s probably enough bleach.” He shows me his palms when my mouth drops open. He shrugs a shoulder with indifference. “I’m just saying.”

I jerk my head around, horrified to see I’ve been pouring bleach into the washer this entire time, a clear indication that I am NOT fine. I press a palm to the side of the washer and stare in at the rising water level, realizing I don’t even have any clothes left to wash. Suddenly he is there behind me, his front pressed against my backside as he reaches around and slips the jug of Clorox out of my hands, stretching an arm, sitting the jug back up on the shelf for me.

“Let’s put this down for now,” he says, his words warm near my ear. I can smell the booze and women emanating off of him. “Take deep breaths.” He demonstrates, drawing in deep slow satisfying breaths and then releasing them, showing the release with the down sweeping of his hand. He is being condescending. I can tell by his tone. He thinks I’m crazy: first the little episode in the hallway, now this. I close my eyes, shivering from his hot breath on my neck.

Oh dear lord, I am fascinated by this smartass!

I clear my throat, elbow him out of the way and bend to pick up the basket, dumping its contents on top of the dryer to fold. I turn my head and my gaze connects with his. His cocky confidence is really starting to annoy me.

“I don’t need you to show me how to breathe,” I say.

“You don’t?” He looks skeptical.

“I think I can handle the simple act of breathing without you.”

“But are you breathing properly?”

“I don’t know. I breathe the same as everyone else.”

“Your boyfriend has you doing his underwear?” He lifts a pair of Colton’s boxers, dangling them from a fingertip in front of my face.

How did we go from my breathing to underwear?

I snatch the boxers away from him, scowling in warning as I wad them up just because I can and toss them back into the pile. “I’m being supportive … unlike you.”

“I’m here. How’s that not supportive?”

My hands go still right in the middle of folding one of Colton’s T-shirts. I stare at Sterling in utter disbelief. “You’re serious, aren’t you? While your cousin is out making arrangements to bury his parents you’re bringing girls over to suck your …” I can’t even say it, but understanding flares in his eyes. “Does that seem right to you?”

“It was one girl.” He tilts his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Why do you care who I bring here?”

I shrug a shoulder, folding. “I don’t care. You want to be an insensitive selfish ass ... then whatever. I think it was tacky since you knew I was going to be here all day. And Inconsiderate. And Bold. And Trashy. Vulgar. ”

My stomach drops when I finally pause long enough to glance up into stormy gray eyes. Sterling leans in closer, his mouth near mine, and for a brief second I think he might actually be stupid enough to kiss me. An angry spiteful kiss just to prove he can. I focus on the piercing in his lip.

“Don’t take your pent-up frustrations out on me,” he growls. “You’ve got a boyfriend for that shit. You want to bitch somebody out … go bitch at him.”

“I don’t have any pent-up—”

The door slams and I’m left without anyone to hear the rest of what I was going to say.

It always seems to rain at funerals.

Colton’s parents were cared about by a lot of people. An insane amount of food and flowers started pouring into their home yesterday evening. I’d spent all night answering the door and working on rearranging places in the house to put it all. They would have plenty of food to feed them until they went back to Los Angles. Oddly, Uncle Bentley was semi-nice to me and Sawyer; he was his usual happy self. Colton set quietly in the living room staring off into space most of the night. I think his parent’s death finally hit him.

“Want to talk about it?” I’d asked him.

“Not now, Tori.” He’d snapped, staring off into space. “I just want to be left alone.”

A cab picked up Sterling and he didn’t show up again until ten minutes before time for him to be a pallbearer this morning. I am shocked he’d even found time to put on a suit and tie. I’m not going lie, my stomach behaved funny at the first sight of Sterling looking like a guy who has his shit together. I guess an expensive suit and a nice pair of eyes can fool anyone.

I’d worn the simple black cocktail dress my mother laid out for me to wear, with strappy heels, and left my hair down, curling it like I did for church on Sundays. The last funeral I went to was my grandmother’s. I remember my mother laying out what I should wear then too.

I breathe in the smell of the flowers filling the entry way, sent as condolences to the family. Just beyond the open red double doors the concrete leading up to the brick church glistens wet from the rain.

I am in charge of standing by the door, greeting people and handing out a Mass card with a saint on it. Inside is a prayer along with Colton’s parent’s names and the service arrangements. I don’t mind. Many of the faces are familiar; people I’d seen stopping by the house last night to check on Colton.

“How are you doing?” my father asks showing his dimples. My father also looks nice in a suit. He leans in giving my shoulder a light squeeze.

“My feet hurt,” I admit softly in his ear.

“A small price to pay for beauty,” he returns with a wink. “I’m going to go find your mother. It will be starting soon. Need anything?”

I shake my head and nod at mom standing a few feet away talking to Uncle Bentley. Of course Sawyer charmed my mother with his smile. My gaze slides to Sterling, the black sheep of the family. He has slipped off his jacket and is leaning forward in a chair, his elbows on his knees, while he stares at the floor. He seems to be hiding in the narrow hallway just outside the bathrooms. He looks tired and sad. Maybe he does have a heart after all.

He lifts his head and glances over in my direction and I quickly look away, greeting the next people to walk through the door with a forced smile.

One of them is Aubrey, the girl Colton is seeing behind my back. She has naturally curling strawberry blond hair and freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. Shifting nervously in her silk lavender dress, one arm straight by her side, the other folded loosely over her stomach, she offers me a weak smile.

“Hey. How is Colton?” she asks.

“Okay, I think. He hasn’t really talked about it much.”

“That’s not good. He should … you know … talk … to somebody.”

“Yeah. He should.”

“I hated hearing about his parents.” She looks everywhere but directly in my eyes. “If I don’t get a chance to see him … will you tell him I’m sorry? Make sure he knows.”

I nod. “Yeah. I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks, Tori. You look really pretty,” She says, nodding at my dress. Red spreads across her cheeks. “Shit. Is that the wrong thing to say at a funeral? I never know what to say at these things.”

For some insane reason I laugh, finding her, I don’t know … endearing maybe? She’d worn lavender to a funeral, said the word shit in a church, and is willingly to walk into a room full of complete strangers alone and be civil to the girlfriend of the guy she is having sex with. She is either crazy … or in love. I figure the only way to make her feel more comfortable with her inadequacies is to point out my own.

“Thank you,” I return, pinching the side of my dress and doing a little curtsy. “My mother picked out this dress for me.”

My gaze flies to where Sterling is sitting when I hear a low chuckle.

Oh my God! Did he laugh?

Sterling stands up, slides into his jacket and disappears through the door to the restroom never once glancing at me. A palm goes to my chest where my heart is racing.

One thing I know for certain…

I want to make Sterling Bentley laugh again.

Dimples Should Come With a Warning

Victoria

“You’d think the guy would’ve at least shaved before he came over here.” My mother mutters, proudly eyeing the prime rib roast in the center of the dining room table as if she actually cooked it. Please, give me a break. This entire meal was planned and prepared by Cecily, our housekeeper, not my mother.

Cecily out did herself this time, setting the table with our finniest china and crystal. She’d even turned the cloth napkins into swans. Cecily is a pro when it comes to origami and making our average dining room appear more elegant. There is a linen table cloth covering the table top, fresh cut flowers with sprigs of lavender and baby’s breath in a crystal vase. I wouldn’t be shocked if a man in a penguin suit pops out of our pantry with a folded towel draped over his arm asking, “Will there be anything else, Madam?”

It’s all a show for the Bentleys.

The only thing my mother was in charge of was lighting the candles and even that she didn’t do.

My mother goes on, “If I were that boy’s father I’d insist he take out that piercing and cover up whatever that is on the side of his neck.”

I bite down on my lip to keep from smiling. I thought she liked the Bentley’s. Sterling has seemed to snap her out of her infatuation with their money. She probably would have refused to let him through the front door if she knew about the rest of his piercings and tattoos underneath the long sleeves. I arch a brow, silently thinking, while helping my mother worry over straightening the place settings. I wonder if getting your nipples pierced hurts. Is it a good pain? I’ve heard the pain of getting a tattoo can be very erotic, addicting even, the sting of the needle creating a natural high.

This guy is corrupting my thoughts.

He is invading my thoughts.

I think how Sterling looked only minutes ago, sitting on our couch. He stands out in his faded jeans and dark gray long sleeve thermal Henley, the perfect combination with the eyes. The guy is sexy without even trying to be sexy. It just oozes off of him like a pheromone, attracting any horny female within a five mile radius. Tonight I seem to be that girl.

“It’s a swallow … his tattoo.” I tell her. “Ouch!” the flame of the match burns down to my fingertip and I blow out what’s left of it, wishing it had been my dress that caught fire so I’d have an excuse to run upstairs and change. Don’t get me wrong. My mother has great taste in what’s young and hip, nothing embarrassingly hideous, especially when she’s ensuring I end up snagging Mr. Right, well, her opinion of Mr. Right. The dress is red, short, with spaghetti straps, the tight fit guaranteed to show off any assets I might have. It’s not a cocktail dress, but more like something Keria would wear to a party on the weekend. My mother bought jewelry and heels to match.

The heels are killing me and my scar is visible, which means I’m basically naked.

My mother goes on, “I don’t care what the tattoo is. It makes him look like he comes from white trash, instead of the family the guys been blessed with. I’ve never understood people like him.” I can believe that. “Ungrateful. He is obviously on something. You can tell by his eyes. I don’t want you talking to him. Smile and be polite, but keep an eye on the silver… I’ve heard druggies pawn it to pay for their next fix.”

She uncorks a new bottle of wine allowing it to breathe.

“Mom … you’re over reacting.”

Suck or leave. It’s that simple. Okay, maybe she’s not over reacting, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Just don’t talk to him, Victoria, I’m serious. Lord only knows what inappropriate things go through that guy’s head,” she warns.

I shiver thinking about where Sterling’s mind goes, but not for the same reasons as my mother. She looks over at me then, her concerned eyes narrowing.

“You know what? I think you should go upstairs and change. It was creepy the way he was staring at you earlier.”

Now I don’t want to change the dress.

“If you didn’t want me to wear the dress then you should never have bought it and he was not staring at me. You’re paranoid.”

“What I am is no longer comfortable with you wearing that dress. Not with him here.”

Folding my arms over my chest I level her with a look of defiance, challenging her to make me go upstairs and change.

“Oh, all right, you’re right; it will probably offend Colton’s family if you change now. Just stay away from his cousin,” she orders bearing down on me with her gaze. Her high heels click over the polished hardwood fading into the living room.

“I believe everything is ready,” I hear her tell the others in a cheerful voice.

Colton is the first one into the dining room, the others meandering this way. He grins slowly as he strolls toward me in a sports jacket and tan dress slacks. My hands leave the back of the chair I’m standing next to falling to my sides. His arm slips around my waist yanking me up against him. Colton angles his head smothering the side of my neck with wet sloppy kisses. He smells minty and his freshly shaved jaw is smooth sliding along my skin. The hand on my back moves lower cupping my bottom, squeezing it, his erection pressing into my lower stomach easily felt through the thin fabric of the dress.

“You can’t tease a guy by wearing a dress like this and not expect him to want to get underneath it. The only good thing that’s come out of all of this … is your mother feeling bad enough for me to let you sleep over at my house. I’m sick of waiting, Tor. Tonight … I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

“Do you two lovebirds need a few more minutes alone? We could go back out there and stall the old folks,” Sawyer chuckles, aiming a thumb over his shoulder at the doorway him and Sterling just came thru. “Damn, the sexual tension in here is crackling.”

Colton’s hand leaves my bottom, these final words being whispered near my ear before he takes a step back, “We’re a couple. It’s time we start acting like one. Tonight.” He pulls out my chair and nods for me to sit, grinning wickedly and my stomach goes all fluttery, but not in a good way.

Sterling’s palm slaps down on the corner of the table earning a what-the-hell glare from Colton. Colton’s moody cousin blatantly checks me out, head to high heel, before kicking out the chair nearest him, his movements off as he collapses into it. He stares at me from across the table with heavy eyelids. A chill crawls down my spine. Oh no. He’s high. I mean seriously messed up. He is actually grinning. Okay, it’s a dopey drug-induced grin, but it’s a grin.

“How about passing that bottle of wine down this way,” he slurs at his brother, his fingers making the gesture of hand it over.

I hear Uncle Bentley’s deep voice drawing closer, “It’s so nice … you doing this for us, Olivia. It really wasn’t necessary. There is more than enough food at the house to sustain a small army.”

My mother’s voice, “We don’t mind at all. Your nephew is very dear to us. I hate we’re meeting under such horrible circumstances. If there is anything William and I can do to help … we’d be happy to, right honey.”

My father’s voice comes from right outside the doorway, “Of course.”

I freak watching Sawyer pour red wine into Sterling’s glass.

“I don’t think he needs anything else to drink, do you?” My tone is scathing.

“Yeah man, maybe she’s right,” Colton agrees, scowling at Sawyer. “Your brother looks like he’s had enough of whatever he’s on. We don’t need him showing his ass.”

I’m conscious of my parents and Uncle Bentley deep in a conversation over firearms as they enter the dining room. They take their seats around the dining room table, immediately drawing Sawyer into their conversation. Apparently he has a strong opinion on the subject and spends a lot of his time at the firing range. I vaguely hear his desire to be a cop which (not only shocks me) but sends Uncle Bentley into shaking his head in disapproval which gives me more time to defuse the ticking time bomb across from me.

“No son of mine is going to be in law enforcement. They’ll have to bury me first.” Uncle Bentley tells my parents. “If either of my boys is eager to work … then there is plenty to do within the family business. To be quite honest I have trouble motivating my oldest to even get out of bed so Sawyer is going to have no choice but to learn the business.”

“What my father doesn’t understand is I’m not interested in overseeing any conceited anorexic models or his gas stations,” Sawyer states.

The two bicker back and forth, but I’m no longer listening to them. All my attention is on Sterling.

I silently warn him to not drink anymore wine.

One of his eyebrows rises and I get my first glimpse of dimples. He reaches for the glass, a grin curling a corner of his mouth. He keeps his eyes on me as he downs everything in the glass just to spite me. He is hell-bent on turning tonight into a disaster.

Dimples should come with a warning: Dangerous! Could knock your world off its axis, categorized as a weapon, proceed with caution.

Colton is oblivious to anything around him, texting on his cell phone. Thank goodness. One rebellious male at a time is enough for any girl to handle.

“You’ve had enough,” I mouth at Sterling.

He leans forward, closing as much distance between us as the table will allow. His eyes glisten with repressed laughter.

“I thought we’d already had a discussion about where to direct your bitching.”

“I’m just trying to save you from embarrassing yourself.”

“I don’t need saving, Victoria.”

Sterling drops his eyes to his plate and picks up the napkin sitting on top of it, Cecily’s wonderful origami. Lines form at the corners of his eyes as he smiles, bringing the dimples out full force. My stomach fills up with butterflies.

“Is this supposed to be a fuckin’ swan?” he mutters to his brother, sticking the folded napkin in Sawyer’s line of sight. Sterling shakes his head, amused. Sterling aims what is meant to the beak of the bird at Sawyers cheek making a Caw, caw sound.

“Dude, get that crap out of my face,” Sawyer snaps, leaning out of range and knocking Sterling’s hand away.

“Crows caw, not swans,” I correct, fighting really hard not to smile.

“Who says? Are you the bird police now?” Sterling balances the swan on the linen table cloth, looking it over carefully at eye level. He smooth’s the beak down and then up. “There, that’s better … a swan with attitude.”

A giggle escapes before I can stop it and gray eyes lift to mine. He elbows his brother and motions for him to pass the wine down again. Sawyer does it as if it is an automatic response.

My mother clears her throat. “Should we eat?”

“I know I’m hungry,” Sawyer responds, already holding up his plate.

Yes. Please. Let’s eat before this turns into the dinner party from hell.

My father slices into the roast. The Cesar salad is passed around. Silverware clicks against plates.

“How about you? Are you planning on leaving to go to college after graduation?” Uncle Bentley asks me.

“He’s snooping,” Sawyer teases, seeming amused beneath long lashes. “He’s hoping you’re leaving so dipshit here will decide to come back to Los Angles with us. You do realize you’re the only reason he’s staying? That makes you a problem.”

Colton shoves his cell phone in his pocket.

“Hey! She’s not the only reason. I happen to like it here. I’ve lived here my whole life, just because my parents…” Colton’s jaw tenses, muscles jumping under the surface. “Can’t you all give me a break? Time to digest all that’s happened over the last forty-eight hours? Is that asking too much?”

“Nice attempt to deflect the truth.” Sawyer shrugs a shoulder as he shovels a spoon full of salad in his mouth.

“What’s the truth?” Colton asks.

“That you’re whipped.”

“I like spending time with my girlfriend, so what! That doesn’t make me whipped.”

My mother jumps in.

“Victoria has been accepted into a number of prestigious colleges. She basically can take her pick. After college she’ll be headed off to medical school. I think Colton and Victoria’s relationship is strong enough to overcome this time apart. They have the same goals. The same drive.”

My hand goes numb and I drop my fork, the noise of it clinking against china drawing Sterling’s attention. I pick the fork up, pretending it never happened.

I look at my mother as if she is crazy. I’m not sure where my mother gets this stuff. Does she not have eyes? Can she not see the trouble I have with my hand? My limp? Can she not see that this crazy dream of hers of turning me into something I’m not is never going to work? My mother is living in denial. I’m not so sure she can face the truth. Sometimes I think my mother is the weak one.

“So you want to be a doctor like your mother? That takes … how many years does it take?” Uncle Bentley raises a brow, looking very much like his sons, unconvinced.

“I don’t want—” I start.

“Four years college, four years medical school, and after that she’ll become a resident which is another four years.”

Uncle Bentley folds his arms over his broad chest settling back in his chair, bearing down on me with his disapproving gaze. “So you’re looking at twelve years, minimum?” he asks me.

“Yes. Twelve years.” My mother nods, taking a small bite of roast. “Counting college.”

I think he gets it mother.

He whistles out a long breath. “How the hell will you have time for a boyfriend then? You’re going to be a very busy girl, too busy to be playing house with my nephew.”

“I don’t really want—” I start again, but no one will let me talk.

My mother interrupts. “It will be good for their relationship. Strengthen their bond. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that what they say. They both know how important it is to pursue their careers before starting a family.” She holds her wine glass out as if to make a toast, smiling over at Colton and I. “Here’s to a perfect couple; may you grow to appreciate one another.”

“Still it will be hard,” Uncle Bentley persists.

My father clears his throat, wipes his mouth with his napkin, and places a hand over my mother’s on the table. “Honey, why don’t we let Tori answer her own questions?”

“What my father is working so hard to point out is that your girlfriend is about to dump your ass,” Sawyer tells Colton across the table. “You might as well give in now. The man is relentless. I bet a hundred bucks you’ll be in Los Angeles working for my father by the end of next week.”

“And I bet a hundred bucks he has you pumping gas by the end of the next week,” Colton returns.

“There is nothing is wrong with having to work your way up from the bottom,” Uncle Bentley confesses. “I started out pumping gas when I was a young man. Hard work conditioned me to go after what I wanted which was to never have to answer to anyone.”

Hello??? Am I even at this freaking table? I want to wave my arms high in the air until I’m seen and heard, calling a timeout for everyone, instead I motion for Sterling to pass the wine bottle. I finally get it. Why he is always plastered.

My father’s chair scrapes across the floor as he pushes away from the table and leaves the room. Everyone is silent. I guess they’re all assuming something pissed him off so he left. If they knew my father, they’d know the man has a high tolerance for bullshit.

“I’m not going to work for my father,” Sawyer mutters to Colton. “I’d jump of a bridge before I pump gas.”

“I know where a really high one is.” Sterling tips back his wine glass, his throat working to suck down what’s left in the glass.

“You and your swan make a cute couple,” Sawyer returns shooting a smug grin his brother’s way.

Sterling scratches his unshaved jawline with his middle finger, aiming it at Sawyer.

I’m glad I don’t have any brothers.

My shoulders finally relax when I sense this Dinner-party-from-hell is nearing its end, thankfully. Sterling seems to be having trouble focusing and his movements are sluggish, but at least he’s eaten something with all the wine he’s consumed. Maybe that will help him hold it together until the Bentley’s leave. Reaching out I bring my own wine glass to my lips, freezing at my father’s voice.

“Can you believe my daughter carves these,” he says, standing next to Uncle Bentley’s chair, smiling like a proud papa as he hands the Eagle to him. “Pretty talented isn’t it.”

Dad Nooo! Why? Why would you do this?

My gaze lands on my mother: her cheeks are beet red and I think I can literally see steam rising from the top of her head. Not really. But I can imagine the curse words that would be flying if she wasn’t swallowing them down with her wine. She sets the glass down a little too hard on the table, the tips of her manicured nails tapping crystal.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it talent,” my mother pouts.

“Dad you shouldn’t—” I panic. They’re all focused on the Eagle. My hands tremble and I’m nauseous.

My father returns to his seat. This is not going to go over well with my mother.

“Wow. This is … unusual.” Uncle Bentley laughs; switching the Eagle from hand to hand like it’s a football, glancing down my way. “Why birds?” He turns it over, his wide fingertips running along the length of the cedar, over the groves that hint feathers, the slightly raised wings. “They’re nasty creatures that shit on everything.”

I fight the urge to reach across the table and snatch it from his hands so he can no longer sneer at it. He shakes his head, a rumble of laughter coming from his chest. “Odd.”

“It’s kind of cool,” Sawyer says, taking it from his father and holding it up to his nose. “It smells like cedar. Reminds me of the chest Sterling used to lock me inside of every time we’d go visit our grandmother.”

“Honey, do you mind putting that blasted thing up so we can have desert.” My mother tells my father.

She stands up, picks up a knife and starts slicing the apple pie. Mom serving desert? Wow. She is really out of sorts. She talks while she globs a piece of pie on everyone’s plate.

“It’s a silly hobby she does down in the basement. I’ve tried to get her interested in other things.”

“A girl who knows how to use a knife is sexy?” Sterling says, leaning in eyeing the piece still in Sawyers hands.

My mother chokes on her wine, sputtering and coughing.

“I’m impressed.” Sterling glances over at me wearing a smirk. “I never would have pegged you for the creative type.”

“Yeah and I never would have pegged you for the flattering type.”

“I’m not. Not usually,” he shrugs a shoulder, “But I can recognize talent when I see it.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” I snort.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me. It makes me nervous and clumsy among other things. I might combust in my seat if he doesn’t stop staring as if he can see straight to my soul. I shift in my chair. My hormones must be out of whack. Something chemical has to be going on inside my body to cause this heat inside my body. I blow strands of hair out of my eyes, my shoulders rounding him the chair.

Colton chuckles, his voice laced with arrogance as he speaks to Sterling, “I think you’ve made a bad impression on my girlfriend, dude.” He drapes an arm around my shoulder, crushing me to his side. I’ve never noticed how strong Colton’s cologne is. The alpine pine smell smothers me. It’s like having a Christmas tree constantly shoved underneath your nose: at first it’s pleasant, but soon your eyes start to water and you sneeze. Colton proceeds straight into lets-embarrass-Tori. “Get this. Victoria is scared as hell of heights but she’s fascinated with birds. Explain that shit.”

“I’m not crazy about heights either,” Sawyer admits aloud and I give him a small smile, wondering if he only said it to make me feel better. Sawyer isn’t so bad. There is something charming about him even though he hits on anything with a vagina. He sits the eagle on the table. It becomes the hippocampus in the room.

Please, dad, do something.

As if my father hears my silent plea he reaches across, picks up the eagle and leaves the dining room to put it back in the living room. Coming back in he settles in his chair, offering me a weak smile. I know that didn’t go the way he had planned.

“It’s okay,” I silently mouth for only him.

My mother joins the conversation going on at the table, “She is. It’s true. Victoria is insanely terrified of heights. She won’t go anywhere near a Ferris wheel. She won’t walk over a bridge and she avoids going anywhere near her bedroom window.”

“You’re scared to go near your bedroom window?” Uncle Bentley chuckles.

“Victoria fell out of her window and broke her arm in three places when she was seven. It was my fault. The window should have been locked,” Dad offers.

I glare at my mother. I don’t know how my father puts up with her. It must be true love.

“It wasn’t your fault, dad.”

Uncle Bentley speaks, “I don’t hold myself responsible for either of my son’s accidents and believe me they’ve had plenty. My philosophy is, if you climb up where you shouldn’t and end up breaking a bone, you’ll learn not to climb.”

“Oh babe, you’re blushing. Are we embarrassing you?” Colton presses a kiss to my forehead. “It’s weird that’s all: your obsession with birds, your fear of heights, the limp and how you’re always dropping things. I mean C’mon you have to admit it’s funny.”

Can someone, please, put me out of my misery?

Colton rubs his index finger and thumb together for the others to see. “Her fingers get numb. Her little bird carvings are supposed to help with that.”

OMG. I’d told him that once in private!

“Numb fingers? That comes from nerve damage, am I right? How’s that going to work with practicing medicine. Isn’t that going to be a hindrance?” Uncle Bentley asks.

“Yes!” I snap and everyone goes quiet.

“I want to see these carvings,” Sterling says drawing their attention to him. “Where did you say they’re at? In the basement?” He suddenly stands and loses his balance, tumbling into the table. His hand knocks over the vase of flowers. Water and flowers spill out everywhere. It causes a domino effect: the vase rolls knocking over wine glasses, red spreading in the wet table cloth. He grabs onto the table cloth to steady himself and almost jerks it clean off the table. Fragile crystal shatters tipping over on china. Sprigs of lavender and baby’s breath actually land on top of my plate.

“Dammit. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Sterling laughs out in the silence, fumbling to right the vase that started it all. There is a huge crack in the rim of it. It was my mother’s favorite.

“Man, the crotch of my pants is soaked!” Colton growls, coming up out of his seat.

“Damn, it looks like you pissed your pants. Did you?” Sterling asks Colton.

“Go to hell. Do you screw up everything you touch?” Colton returns.

The two guys hold gazes.

Water drips from the cockeyed table cloth forcing us all away from the table.

“I’d appreciate you not cursing in my house!” My mother sneers, throwing her napkin on top of the mess. She levels Sterling with a disgusted look. “In fact, I’d appreciate it if you would leave my house. I knew you were going to be trouble the instant I laid eyes on you.”

My father steps around the table and takes my mother’s elbow. “Olivia, he didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident.”

“AM I the only one who can tell the guy is obviously on drugs? He CAN BARELY STAND without holding onto something for heaven’s sake! Open your eyes, William.”

Sterling’s palms slam down on the table top jarring everything upon it and I jump back with a gasp. His hair falls forward into dark menacing eyes. His unshaved jaw clenches. He pins my mother down with his pissed off gaze. “Lady, you can’t control me like you try to control your daughter, but what you can do is take this fork here,” he holds a piece of the silver my mother had been afraid he’d steal, “and stick it up your highfalutin ass!” He raises a brow challenging my mother to say another word.

Her mouth snaps closed.

Mine is gapping. No one has ever talked to my mother like that.

“I think you need to listen to my wife and leave. You’re not going to make us uncomfortable in our own home,” my father interjects, positioning himself between Sterling and my mother even though they’re on opposite sides of the table.

Uncle Bentley tosses his napkin on the table, his expression hard and unforgiving. “You’re right. My oldest son has disgraced your family and his own enough for one night. I apologize for his clumsiness and bad behavior.”

“Screw all of you! I don’t need this shit!” Sterling scoops up his wine glass, about the only glass that is still standing, tips it back gulping down the last of the wine in his glass. He sets in on the table and stalks from the room.

My chest rises and falls quickly watching him go, adrenaline pumping throughout my entire body. I get the feeling this will be the last time I’ll ever see Sterling Bentley. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’d do anything to have him look at me just once before he walks out of my life. Just once and I’ll know this spark I’m feeling is not in my head and he feels it too. He punches the wide casing on the doorway and keeps going, never once looking back.

“I’ll go make sure he doesn’t windup killing himself,” Sawyer tells his father following Sterling out.

“I’m going home,” Colton pouts, stalking from the room, dragging his pride on the floor behind him.

The focus is no longer on me.

Thanks to Sterling.

Manipulative, Lazy Brown-headed Cowbird

Victoria

I knew something significant happened tonight. My father exposed the part of me that my mother hated most to everyone around that table. He’d forced her into a corner and I knew, like any cornered animal, she’d fight her way out.

I just didn’t know it would be so soon.

After everyone left I went upstairs to change out of the dress. I tug on a pair of gray cotton sweat pants, folding the band around my waist twice until the sharp slant of my hip bones are exposed and slide on a tank top. I gather my hair pulling it up into a ponytail and sit on the side of the bed, lacing my tennis shoes before I head downstairs to help clean up from the party.

My father is standing at the kitchen sink, suds up to his elbows. Since when did my mother forgo a chance to force us all to clean? She is adamant about never going to bed with a messy kitchen. A sick feeling churns in my stomach.

I descend the basement stairs quickly in a panic.

“What are you doing?” I scream, seeing my mother shoving my carvings in a trash bag. Her movements are jerky and it’s difficult to keep up.

“It’s time to get rid of these things. It’s an unhealthy attachment … you and these … these … stupid carvings.” Her voice is calm, void of all emotion, which makes it creepy. “All they’re good for is collecting dust. Things are going to change around here starting now. I gave up my silly little fantasies of becoming a ballerina. It’s time for you to grow up too, Victoria. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.”

I want to grab hold of her and shake her until she stops. Or slap her, hard.

“No! Don’t touch them! You have no right. It’s not my fault you’re unhappy with your life! Don’t take your failures out on me! Grandma was right about you! You always find something to complain about.”

“I’m perfectly happy with my life. Or I will be—” She stops. The cold indifference falters and I finally see some emotion. “It’s time you let the past die! If I have to hear one more word about how that woman was a saint—”

“Why do you hate her so much? You were never there for her! You never tried to be there her! She was dying and you didn’t even care!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about! You were seven years old! You barely knew the woman!”

“What’s going on?” my father asks coming down the basement steps. “What’s with all the screaming?”

“She’s throwing all of my carvings in the trash!” I feel the first sting of tears since my grandma’s death, but I force them away. Dammit! I WILL NOT cry! Not in front of this heartless woman.

My father gently reaches out, turning my mother toward him. If anyone can talk sense into her, it’s him. Dad tilts his head, faint impressions of dimples beginning to show. “Honey, don’t you think you’re being a little irrational?” His tone is that of a grown up reasoning with a small child. “Victoria’s carvings are not really what you’re angry about. You need to take a breath and calm down before you do something or say something you’re going to regret.”

“Tell her, William,” my mother snarls. “Tell her the truth about that woman or I swear to God I will.”

My father’s gaze full of pity meets mine and I clutch at my stomach.

There’s no way to stop her once she’s gone mad.

“I don’t think this is the time to—” he starts.

My mother turns, screaming directly at me, “For God’s Sakes, I can’t take another day of this! I thought after that woman died I’d finally find some peace. But I can’t with YOU always bringing her up! Even now, from her grave, my mother is trying to control everything in this house!” She pins me with her wild-eyed gaze and a chill runs down my spine. “Do you want to know the real Beverly Hamilton? She was a bully, a manipulator. She had to be in control of me, of everything. What she called brutal honesty was plain cruelty. THAT was your grandmother. Not this perfect bird-watching compassionate woman you THINK she was. Honesty, Victoria, you have NO idea what you are talking about!”

“You just hate that she was a better parent than you!” I shout.

My mother laughs and returns to clearing my birds from their shelves one by one. Her hand lands on the carving of a Kirtland Warbler: the bird that is tricked into raising the young of the manipulative, lazy Brown-headed cowbird as their own. I dive for it, clawing at my mother’s flawless hand putting a scratch on it. She appears truly shocked, startled.

I snatch the Warbler from her grip.

This doesn’t stop her; if anything it only fuels her anger. She lunges for the carving while I cradle it to my chest. I’m vaguely aware of my father shouting for us to stop. We play tug of war with it, until finally, she wins. She rears back an arm and slings the Warbler into the basement wall.

My father’s arms encircle my mother’s upper body from behind. He soothes her by whispering in her ear. All the tension seems to leave my mother’s body and she goes limp in his hold.

“Being angry with each other isn’t helping!” He says. “Why don’t we all go upstairs, sit down, and talk calmly about this.”

I walk over, kneel and pick up the carving of the Kirtland Warbler. The wood is marred.

It doesn’t matter. It’s only a piece of wood.

“My mother hated your father….”

“Honey, don’t. You’ll regret telling her,” my father warns.

My mother doesn’t heed his warning. My father sighs releasing her knowing she is hell bent on saying whatever she is about to say. Even he can’t stop her now.

“She said your father only wanted to marry me for our family’s money.” She chuckles, her eyes glassed over. “She didn’t believe anyone, not even a contractor with less than a hundred dollars in his checking account could love me without having a reason. When she heard I was pregnant, well, she said I’d once again screwed up and I’d never be able to have a family and dance. She wanted me to get an abortion.” She exhales a long breath. “I remember every cruel thing that woman ever said to me but that had saying I should get rid of you had been the cruelest.”

What? My head is spinning. Emotion roil in my chest.

“You’re lying,” I shriek, my hands clenched. “You’d say anything to change the way I feel about her! You were always jealous of her! You’re jealous of mine and dad’s relationship! You can’t accept that you have NO REAL connection with anyone!”

My mother kneels beside me, clamping a hand on my rounded shoulder. “Look at me, Victoria. I despised that woman. She refused to say one thing nice to me even on her death bed. My mother said you were a mistake, do you get that? Truly get that my mother didn’t want me to have you?”

“It’s not true. Why would you say such horrible things?” my voice comes out weak. There are so many things I’m unsure about now. “Grandma loved me.”

“Not in the beginning. In the beginning you were just another disappointment.

“I tried to have a relationship with you, Victoria! My mother wouldn’t allow it. She always knew best! She always had the right words. It wasn’t long before you preferred her.” She sobs.

My father reaches for her hand. “It’s okay. I don’t like seeing you upset. Let’s go upstairs. We’ll all take a breather and then you can finish.”

“No. I need to get this out. All I could do was fade into the back ground, Victoria, and find something to take my mind off that I was also failing as a mother. ”

“That’s enough, Olivia!” My father shouts.

“Yes. I remember my mother all too well: the belittling, the snide comments, the hatred and anger, the need to control everything! Are you blind? You do the same thing to Victoria and it has to stop or I’ll pack my bags and leave you. Do you understand?”

My mother slaps a hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen my mother cry. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

I let the eagle fall to the basement floor and stand up feeling dead inside.

I will never carve another stupid bird.

Backing up I drown out my mother’s voice, unable to listen to anymore of how I was unwanted. I shake my head, refusing to believe it. I was her Toriabear. Trembling, I back up until my hamstrings hit the stairs, and then I turn taking them two at a time. Not taking the time to pack anything I run out to my car. Tires squeal over concrete as my father and mother step out onto the porch. Dad jogs down the side walk motioning for me to wait, but I can’t, not even for him. There’s years of suppressed emotions inside of me threatening to come to the surface. I literally feel like I’m going to explode. All I want is to get away, as far away as I can from all the lies and hurt, from all the degrading remarks.

I want to get away from her.

Leap of Faith

Victoria

I pull up into Colton’s drive and kill the engine. Pressing my forehead to the steering wheel I replay the events of tonight and then I laugh, like a crazy person I sit in my dark car laughing because the worst thing I’d expected to happen tonight was Sterling making an ass out of himself. I laugh until my sides hurt. The back of my head hits the head rest and I take deep breaths.

In a couple of weeks I’ll be graduating, but I don’t care anymore. Graduating signifies moving on from one chapter of your life to a new one. It’s a transition into adulthood: being able to make your own decisions, your own choices even if they’re bad ones. I don’t want to be a doctor. And I really don’t want to go in Colton’s house.

Tonight he’d said.

I DO NOT want to have sex with Colton Bentley.

But maybe I will. Maybe I will have sex with every guy I bump into while Keria and I are at the beach over graduation and end up pregnant and not know exactly who the father is. Ugh! The beach. I almost forgot about going to the beach. I can’t go with Keria to the beach now. We’re not friends anymore. Life sucks. It’s all random bullshit that adds up to nothing but chaos.

Serendipity: accidently finding something good while not looking for it.

A few get lucky. The rest of us fight for what’s left over.

I step out and slam my car door, filling my lungs with the cool night air as I follow the lantern lit walkway to the front door. My gaze takes in the three story brick home shrouded by a black sky. Stars, resembling pin holes in the universe, twinkle high above.

Tonight he’d said.

I pause with my fist mid-air hearing Colton’s mother’s voice in my head. I can still see her swinging open the wood door, smiling:

Tori, you know you don’t ever need to knock. Colton is upstairs in his room, go on up.

My fist taps lightly on the wood door, everything is different now. Folding my arms over my chest I bury my hands, my shoulders curving inward against the chilly night air. The last thing I’d thought about was grabbing a jacket. My body bounces with annoyance. Why isn’t anyone answering the door?

I knock again, a little harder this time. There is still no answer. I inhale a deep breath and push open the front door, quietly pulling it shut behind me. Light from the living room spills out into the foyer.

“Get the fuck up!” Uncle Bentley’s voice causes me to stop in my tracks. I move out of sight, leaning against the short wall before the doorway to the living room. On the other side of that doorway is the stairs leading up to the second floor. I could flee; dart across and run up to Colton’s room. I should, but I don’t. Peering around the wall I see Sterling crouched on the floor. He wipes the blood from his lip and then shoves up from the floor only to be struck down again. I remember the wide gold band on his father’s finger and cringe. All the air rushes from my lungs and I’m forced to cover my mouth with a hand to remain quiet.

Every blow, every lash, I feel it. My body jerks. The keys in my hand make indentions in flesh as I make a tight fist around them. My mind is spinning. I want to yell stop! I want to dart upstairs and forget what I’ve seen. This is one of those moments you look back at and wish you’d done things differently.

“COME ON! Don’t be a pussy. Where’s the smartass who made a mockery of his family? Get up!”

Another jab to the face!

“Not so mouthy now, are you? Do you even know how embarrassing that was! Watching you make a fool out of your brother … Out of ME!”

He clutches the fabric of his son’s shirt hauling him to his feet. Their faces are only inches apart.

“That woman was kind enough to invite us into her home and you insulted her with that foul mouth of yours! I should scrub your damn mouth out with soap like I did when you were five! You tell her to stick a fork up her ass! How about I put my foot up yours?”

A blow is delivered to Sterling’s ribs and he doubles over stumbling to regain his balance. Why doesn’t he fight back? Adrenaline pumps through my veins afraid the next hit will knock Sterling down for good. Uncle Bentley pauses, towering over Sterling. “Look at you … you’re such a pussy! Get the hell out of my sight! I’m tired of lookin’ at you!”

Sterling stands, his jaw tenses as his gaze locks with his father.

Colton comes into view on the landing of the steps. He is wearing navy jogging pants and white socks. His hair is damp as if he just stepped out of the shower.

“Tori, why didn’t you come on up to my room?” echoes off the walls in the foyer. “Come on,” he orders with the motion of his hand.

“No,” I simply say. My forehead thumps against the wall and I shut my eyes, silently praying that didn’t carry into the living room. The next time I open my eyes and turn my head to the side Sterling is there, a shoulder planted against the door casing. I gasp at the sight of the gashes in his bottom lip and above a brow. His lip is already swelling. Blood is splattered down the front of his shirt, his blood. His posture doesn’t hold the same arrogance it normally does. Instead he is slightly bent, a hand held loosely at his side as if to protect a couple of cracked ribs. He looks like a whipped puppy, one I want to save and take home, hiding in my room until my mother tells me I can’t keep him.

I see the sadness in his gray eyes causing a knotted pain in my stomach.

“Hey,” I say to him, lifting a hand, my lame attempt at a normal greeting. “I just got here.”

“Yeah?” his eyebrows slam down with confusion.

My arms ache to hug him. “Yeah. Like a second ago.”

He studies me closely and I shift nervously. He knows I’m lying.

“Now you know the ugly truth,” he says.

“Sterling, I….”

Colton breaks in and whatever is about to be said is lost forever.

“What the hell happened to your face?” Colton sneers at Sterling.

Sterling’s gaze slides to him and changes, narrowing, darkening. Sterling’s shoulder slams into Colton’s, knocking him out of the way—a ‘don’t fuck with me’ expression on his bruised face. He takes the stairs two at a time.

“Did I miss something?” Colton asks.

“Your uncle….”

My entire body stiffens and my words die off when I catch the sight of Uncle Bentley creeping up behind Colton. He digs a handkerchief out of the pocket of his dress slacks and soaks up the perspiration dripping from his brows. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, Victoria. My son needed an attitude adjustment. You understand?”

I never answer his question. I never get the chance.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He spits Sterling when he comes jogging down the stairs lugging a duffel bag. Sterling’s jaw is set, steel and determination. He doesn’t acknowledge his father. He swings open the front door and steps out onto the porch.

A cab is already waiting in the drive. There is no way they could’ve had time to get here if Sterling just called them. He’d known he would need that cab. He’d prepared.

“Do not ignore me!” Uncle Bentley yells, a vein bulging in his forehead as he clamps a hand down on his sons arm. His face is beet red. Sweat popping out across his forehead. “I asked you a damn question!”

Gray eyes land on me. Sterling adjusts the strap of the duffel over his shoulder and then stretches out his hand to me.

“Are you coming?”

I stop breathing, a hand going to my chest. “Me?”

“No. She’s not coming!” Colton splutters. “Why would my girlfriend go anywhere with YOU?”

Butterflies wage a war in my stomach. All I can see is Sterling. He can’t be serious. Can he?

“I need an answer? Are you coming or not?”

He is serious.

“Tori, what’s going on? Is there something you need to tell me?” Colton growls at me as if I’ve done something wrong. “Why is this jackass even talking to you?”

“I’m going to count to five and then I’m leaving,” Sterling warns.

Both guys wait for an answer.

“Where are we going?” I take a couple of steps toward Sterling.

“One,” He says starting the countdown.

“Shit.” Colton steps in-between us, his palms splayed on my chest to keep me from moving forward. “You can’t actually be considering it! Tor, tell me what the hell is going on!”

“Two.”

“I’m ashamed to call you my son.” Uncle Bentley’s sick laughter poisons the night air. “Will you ever grow up and be a man?”

“Three.”

I can’t keep my body still. This may sound strange but it feels like my ass is on fire. I can’t remain still. I want more time. I need more time. “This isn’t a decision you can make by the count of five, Sterling!” I panic. “I didn’t even bring a purse with me.” I motion a hand at the work out pants, tank top and tennis shoes as proof. “I have no money. Nothing. I’m not prepared.” I draw a breath. “I’m graduating in a week!” I’ll still get my diploma, even if I don’t walk with my class, I reason.

“SHUT UP, TORI!!” Colton shouts. “You’re not going anywhere with this asshole!”

“Four.” Sterling turns, his unmistakable swagger taking him toward the waiting cab. He hikes the duffel higher on his back.

I’m at that table with everyone screaming for me to hurt Joanna’s feelings, urging me to be cruel:

Keira: “Come on, Tori. Why the hesitation? He is nobody.”

My mother: “It’s a small price to pay for fitting in, sweetie.”

Colton: “Are you really going to let this loser come between us?”

Grandma: “I believe in you, Toriabear. You’ll do the right thing. Listen to your heart.”

It was one decision, one chance to make the right choice and I’d made the wrong one. I shove against Colton’s chest only one voice inside my head now and it’s mine, mine alone, and it’s screaming for me to take a chance, to go with this guy or I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

“Move out of the way, Colton!”

He cages me in not allowing me out of the front door. “HELL NO! You’ve lost your fucking mind!”

“I mean it!” I snarl, shoving against his puffed out chest. “Move!”

Sterling is half way down the sidewalk when I hear five.

I bring my right knee up as hard as I can. Colton’s eyes bulge, both of his hands flying to his nuts.

“Wait!” I shout, sprinting out of the house.

One minute I’m stepping off the bottom step to the walkway, the next minute there’s a whack and everything goes blurry. My ears ring as a sharp pain shoots through my jaw. My tailbone smacks the edge of the bottom step, brick cutting into my palms as I try to cushion my fall. The impact jars my teeth and sends a sharp hot pain through my bad leg.

Sterling throws down his duffel and charges at Colton. His shoulder connects with Colton’s gut, the impact lifting him up off the ground. Both guys wrestle to take the other down first, arms locked around each other’s body, legs spread wide, moving in a circle they crash into the railing.

I scream, crawling backwards to avoid being trampled.

Uncle Bentley encases Sterling’s upper body with his arms from behind, imprisoning him, dragging him out into the yard and away from Colton.

Sterling bucks, his face flaming red with anger.

“You fuckin’ ever hit her again I will kill you!” He roars at Colton who is bent over, head hung, clutching his knees, his chest heaving as he spits blood.

Colton lifts his head, his bottom lip stained crimson red. “You stay the hell away from her and I won’t have a reason to hit her, you dumbass! This is all your fault!”

With Sterling being restrained by his father I know Colton is free to do whatever he wants to me. The thought is repulsive. Last place I want to be right now is anywhere near my EX boyfriend. I force myself up from the ground, pick up Sterling’s duffel, yank the strap up over my shoulder and walk backwards toward the cab.

Colton angles his head, one eye narrowing more than the other. “Tor, what are you doing?”

“I’m leaving with him.”

“You’re going to regret it.”

“Maybe, but no worse than if I stay.”

“He’s going to turn you into one of his crack whores,” he warns, believing every word of what he is saying. How much he hates Sterling’s oozes off of him. “Babe, think about what you’re doing. This isn’t you. You’re better than this.”

My body tenses.

Sterling’s father releases him. What other choice does he have? He can’t keep him imprisoned forever. Sterling is a grown man, able to make his own decisions. No. Uncle Bentley cannot keep his son imprisoned forever.

But then again, maybe he knows I’m making a huge mistake. Maybe he already knows how this will end and he is silently laughing. I mean this is the same man who said:

If you climb up where you shouldn’t and end up breaking a bone, you’ll learn not to climb.

I guess the same could be said:

If you give your heart away and it gets broken, you’ll learn not to give your heart away so freely.

“Drive,” Sterling instructs the cabby sliding in.

I turn in the seat watching Colton jog after the cab. “Don’t do this to me! Dammit don’t do this!” He shouts, stopping when he reaches the point where he is out of breath. Through the rearview window I watch as he is swallowed by the darkness along with the only life I’ve ever known.

What have I done? I turn back around in the seat, my hands fidgeting in my lap. The headlights of cab illuminate the road ahead.

Sterling’s head is resting against the window on the other side of the cab. His hair is a mess and his face is a mess, but as his lashes lower I realize he is still beautiful even with the ugly bruises.

Leaning closer, he turns my face toward me.

“Let me see,” he gently says, sucking in a strangled breath at the sight of my face up close. I wince as his thumb grazes where my jaw is tender. The pupils in his eyes swallow the gray. “It looks like it’s going to leave a pretty bad bruise. How’s your leg?”

“It’s fine. Where are we going, Sterling?”

“The airport,” his hand drops from my face and he returns to his side of the cab, “then to my apartment in Los Angles.

I focus my gaze out the window. Oh God. Isn’t it his father’s apartment?

“What are you thinking?” he asks softly.

“That this has been the worst night of my life,” I answer honestly.

He chuckles low, the sound causing goose bumps to rise on my flesh. “If this was your worst, then you’re lucky.”

Awkward silence settles between us. It goes on until I can’t take it any longer. I need to know.

“What are you thinking?”

“That this was one of my better nights,” he replies, staring blankly out the window.

The flight from Colorado Springs to Los Angeles is supposed to take two hours. I wouldn’t know. I slept the entire time.

“Oh God,” I say lifting my head from Sterling’s shoulder. I wipe the drool from my chin glancing groggily around, the reality of what happened just hours ago sinking in.

I’m on a plane with Colton’s insanely sexy cousin.

We’re seated in first class; a row of seats to ourselves. I’d slept hard, waking up clinging to the warmth of Sterling’s side. My gaze lifts to gray eyes and I feel the color heighten in my cheeks.

“Did I snore?” I mumble, unable to keep the horrified expression off my face.

“No. But you talk in your sleep.”

Even worse.

My gaze drops to the large wet spot on the sleeve of his shirt. “Oh no, did I drool on you?”

He inspects the spot before shrugging. “It’s okay. It’s was my fault. I’m the one that laid you over on my shoulder. You didn’t look comfortable the way you were sleeping.”

“Umm, my neck thanks you,” I offer with a small smile moving back into my seat.

I’ve never notice how long his eyelashes are until now. His head is resting back on the seat, lulling to the side, his eyes watching my every move. My gaze drops to his parted lips. I’ve never noticed how kissable his lips are. Okay, maybe I have noticed. His hair is nice too. I’d heard Keria describe a guy’s hair at our schools once as ‘freshly fucked hair’. I never understood what she meant until now. I tear my gaze away from him and focus out the window.

“Does this bother you?” he whispers over at me.

For a moment I think he is asking if it bothers me being trapped on the inside of the seat, his long legs stretched out blocking my only way out. Maybe it does. Did someone just suck all the air out of first class? I glance out into the aisle struggling to breathe normally.

“Shit. It does, doesn’t it?” He clenches his jaw, suddenly looking like he’d love to punch himself.

“It does what?” I blink, confused.

He nods at the small window. “You’re afraid of heights. Right?”

“Eh, no.” tumbles out. “That’s not it.” It’s you. “I’m only afraid of heights when I’m up high and can actually see the ground.”

“Then trade seat,” he says, indicating for me to slide over him.

How am I supposed to do that without touching him?

“It’s fine. Really.” I blush.

“No. It’s not Phoenix. The only way I’m going to feel better is if we switch seats.”

I do as instructed; rise up, slide over top of him, my rear-end brushing his lap on the way over. I swear I hear him groan, which causes hundreds of butterflies to suddenly fill my stomach.

I plop down in the seat.

Sterling Bentley thinking about someone else’s comfort, who would’ve thought he had it in him.

Fatal Attraction

Victoria

The cab drops us off in front of a tall industrial type brick building. Right next door is a small café with a green awning with Something Italian in large white letters, a small cluster of tables out front. The smell of fresh tomato sauce and baked garlic bread causes my stomach to rumble.

A dark eyebrow rises as Sterling readjusts the strap of his duffel over a shoulder. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” I lie.

Sterling lights a cigarette. He takes a long draw and exhales as if he is releasing all the stress he’s been holding inside. Smoke clouds the space between us, neither of us saying a word. He crams the cigarette in the ashtray on top of the trash can beside the steps leading up to the building. He holds out a hand for me to take right as a woman plows into us. I stumble. The woman and her friends pass between us so caught up in trying to gain Sterling’s attention that they don’t notice I’m standing here. She whispers something to her friends offering Sterling a flirtatious smile.

He ignores them; reaching through them and taking hold of my elbow, leading me up the steps.

“Do women always stare at you like that?”

“I don’t know.” He seems uncomfortable talking about it. “Why are you asking? Are you jealous?” He bluntly asks.

“Not at all,” I sputter.

As we step into the lobby his phone busses and he checks the screen, tapping out a reply. Sterling grabs hold of the metal gate to the elevator raising it. I hesitate, not very confident in anything as old as this elevator.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “It’s safe. I promise.”

I step in and he slams the gate down and then we’re going up. Pulleys whine and when the elevator jars to a stop at the top floor I’m forced to grab onto the wall to keep from losing my balance. Sterling cuts me a sidelong glance and heaves up the gate shaking his head.

“I think next time I’d prefer to take the stairs,” I say.

“The stairs are under construction.” He inserts a key in a heavy metal door. “Home sweet home,” he grins pushing the door wide, allowing me to go through first.

“It’s exactly what I expected,” I voice out loud, wandering inside the apartment.

“Oh really?” He drops the duffel on the light colored hardwood floor. His keys clatter on the bar separating the modern kitchen from the rest of the apartment.

I don’t answer not wanting to insult him by saying I expected overindulgence. And here it is, stretched out before me.

It’s a large open space with no interior walls. There’s an area for sitting, an area for sleeping and an area for eating. The only room not visible the instant you walk in is the bathroom. I can only imagine what it is like. The entire outside wall of the apartment is made of old brick, with long windows that overlook the city. The ceiling is ridiculously high with exposed wood beams. There’s track lighting aimed carefully at the painting’s hanging on the walls. Stainless steel glistens in the kitchen. Natural light hardwood floors stretch out in every direction giving the apartment that added artsy feel. All of Sterling’s furnishings are either black or white, or a combination of the two.

I walk the length of the apartment pretending to not be blown away.

But honestly, it is the art hanging on the walls that truly make this place spectacular, well that and the black piano positioned perfectly over by the floor to ceiling windows.

“Do you play?” I ask, running a fingertip over the glossy finish of the piano.

“No.” He buries his hands in his pockets, his shoulder slightly curved forward.

I glance suspiciously at him. “Are you lying?”

“I bought it for the aesthetics, thinking it would add something to the space,” he insists.

“You’re right. It does add something to the space. And the art?” I slowly walk the perimeter of the room, studying the odd paintings. “Is your interest only in the aesthetics there too? Or are you the artist?”

My head tilts, my gaze narrowing on the impressionistic painting of a bearded homeless man stooping by the opening to an alley. There are three pennies and a nickel glinting on top his soiled palm. He is smiling, one crooked tooth showing. I can smell the alcohol and feel the man’s surrender to a life of homelessness and despair. But the more I focus on the painting the more I realize I’m the one projecting unhappiness; the man, he appears content, which in a way is happiness. How many of us can say we’re content?

Further down the wall is a young boy running barefoot through murky water overflowing out of a sewer drain. Poverty stricken homes line the boy’s street. His pants are way too short and his upper body naked, showing a barrel boyish chest. He is the poster child of malnutrition, but smiling. My heart breaks for the boy in the painting. I get the sense that he is trapped and he’ll never be free from the poverty. But again, I’m projecting my own sadness. The boy appears happy.

All of art work hanging on Sterling’s walls—each one causes a strong reaction in me.

I glance over my shoulder to find him carefully watching me. He is nervous. I can tell by the way his top teeth catch the piercing in his bottom lip giving it a fit. He doesn’t want me analyzing what’s on his walls. My stomach flutters with understanding. No one enjoys having their own work critiqued.

“I prefer paintings that tell the ugly truth,” he explains shrugging a shoulder before leaving me, strolling toward the kitchen area.

I follow him.

The ugly truth.

It’s same thing he’s said when I witnessed his father hitting him.

“There’s food and bottled water in the refrigerator. Snack food is in the cabinet. Eat anything you want. Somebody needs to.” He swings open one of the overhead cabinets showing off all the junk food cluttering the inside of the cabinet, the movement showing off his strong biceps. I’m crazy. This guy could do some serious damage if he decided to play rough-up-the-female.

“You okay?” He softly asks.

“Yeah. Tonight has been crazy. Overwhelming. I’m trying to process it all.”

He goes on, determined to feed me. He grabs a bag of chips from the cabinet, eyeing the package. “Might want to check the expiration date before you eat anything though, some of it’s been here a while.”

Moving on from the food he strolls toward the sitting area in the center of the room: an off-white sofa and two oversized leather chairs, glass tables with black wrought iron legs and a black fuzzy rug.

“I don’t really watch television so I never bought one, but there’s a computer. You’re welcome to use it.”

Next is the bedroom, all part of the open floor plan. Since there are no walls there is no reason for me to panic being in his bedroom… except for the king-sized bed that seems to dominate one entire corner of the apartment.

It’s fully decked out with white bedding and black throw pillows. The head board is pushed up to the brick wall lining the outside of the apartment.

He peels back the comforter on the bed and instantly this becomes real. I am in some stranger’s apartment in Los Angeles, alone. I’ve watched the show Unsolved Mysteries. Any person with common sense would warn this is dangerous behavior for a young girl. But he is Colton’s Cousin—my rational voice whispers as if that makes it okay.

My throat closes up when he digs out a T-shirt and a pair of boxers from one of his dresser drawers, tossing them down on the mattress.

“You can borrow these to sleep in.”

“I can sleep in what I have on.”

“You’re going to get hot.”

“I’ll be fine.”

His gaze slowly travels down my body, over the tank top and the sweat pants. My body responds, tingling, waking up. I lose my balance, stumbling, my right tennis shoe landing crossed over the left when I regain control.

“Whatever. You’re welcome to the clothes if you change your mind.”

I cross my arms over my chest, staring at the bed. I really didn’t give any thought to the sleeping arrangements before agreeing to take off with him.

He sighs, seeming to sense my hesitation.

“Look, I’m not going to try anything. It’s a king-size bed. There’s plenty of room. You’ll have your side and I promise to stay on mine. It’s just a place to sleep.” He smears fresh blood from his swollen lip and then looks down at the blood on his fingertips. “Shit, I’m bleeding again.”

“You should probably put some antiseptic on it, and the one over your eyebrow,” I say.

A thick fingertip touches the gash over his eyebrow as if he’d forgotten it was there. He winces. I go on avoiding looking him directly in the eyes. “The numbness is probably wearing off. It looks pretty deep. It might need stitches.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse,” he returns and then I’m the one wincing.

My gaze follows him as he moves with cocky strides across the apartment, and my feet move in that direction, following him as if we are connected by an invisible thread: wherever he goes I have no choice but to follow.

Pausing in the bathroom doorway I watch him standing in front of the mirror as he reaches behind his head and grabs the neck of his blood stained shirt pulling it off with on fluid movement. I stop breathing at the sight of his muscles and tattoos. I know—standing there watching him—that this guy could possibly tear down my walls. I have a feeling I’d do anything he asked. I’m drawn to him like ants to a rotting carcass.

Sterling is not my usual type. There is a roughness about him that I wouldn’t normally find attractive. On him it’s insanely sexy and too tempting to resist.

He leans over the sink splashing water up on his face and then dries it on a hand towel. He examines the cuts close up in the mirror.

“Where’s your first aid?” I ask, coming up beside him. It’s a pretty large bathroom, but suddenly it feels much smaller standing next to him. I feel much smaller. But I owe him this. No one has ever stood up for me like he has.

Smoky gray eyes connect with mine in the mirror.

“Under the cabinet,” he says.

I bend, pull out the basket and sit it on the counter top.

“Now, be still, this may sting a little,” I warn squeezing antibiotic ointment on the tip of my finger. “You’re going to have to turn toward me.”

He obeys and the breath catches in my throat. His eyes are unbelievable up close. Having them focused on my face makes me extremely nervous. The way he is staring as if I am the most intriguing thing in the world to him is unnerving. No one has ever looked at me like that, so completely.

“Be still,” I murmur careful not to breathe out too much.

“You’ve already said that.” He grins down at me. “I’m a big boy. I think I can handle a little pain.”

Yeah, but can I?

“Okay, ready?” I ask, my fingertip hovering over the gash above his eyebrow.

He reaches up, his fingers circling my wrist. “You’re the one shaking. If blood freaks you out I can do put the medicine on myself.”

“Actually,” I say finally touching the gash. He releases my wrist now that I’m steady. “I do usually get a little squeamish around blood, but I’d forgotten about it until you just reminded me.”

The eyebrow I’m globing ointment on slightly lifts.

“Really?” he sounds interested.

“Yeah, usually I would’ve passed out by now,” I gently laugh out. “From all the blood splattered on your shirt earlier and this,” I answer honestly, working on the cut on his bottom lip now. I’m really careful, lightly applying the medicine, not wanting to hurt him. I try not to stare too long at the piercing in his bottom lip or the way his teeth latch onto it when he is thinking. His head is bent, his mouth close to mine, his warm breath feathering out over my lips. My tongue flicks out wetting my lips.

“What’s different about now?” he asks hoarsely.

I wince at the distress I hear in his voice lifting my finger from the cut. “Am I hurting you?”

“Not at all,” he says, a small grin playing on his lips. He breathes and I swear I inhale the same breath. A corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re pretty good at playing nurse. I’ll have to remember that.”

Dropping my hand I take a step back. “All finished.”

“You’re turn,” he says, a knuckle grazing my jaw. It’s sudden, him touching me. My finger lifts to the tender spot along my jaw. “It’s just a bruise. There’s not really anything you can do for it.”

“Turn around,” he orders.

“Excuse me?” I swallow thickly. The air between us electrically charged.

He takes the ointment out of my hands and uncaps the tube. “Don’t ask questions trust me.”

The way he says trust me has warmth spreading throughout my body. My heart rate spirals out of control. I do as I’m told and turn around. His fingers brush my lower back as he lifts the hem of my shirt and then his fingertip is smoothing the ointment over the place where my tailbone begins. It stings, but feels amazingly wonderful at the same time.

“I noticed the scrape when you bent over to get the basket” he breathes out warmth over the back of my neck and my eyes close. “Does it hurt?”

“Hmm,” escapes.

I find myself wishing I had more injuries for him to soothe. More reasons for him to touch me. His fingers are suddenly gone and he takes a step back. I reach for the tube, drop it in the basket and put the basket down below; acting as if being close to him hasn’t caused my body to melt.

A frown forms between his brows when I go stand in the doorway, needing room to catch my breath and calm my heart rate.

He reaches for his tooth brush. I pretended to be semi-interested in him brushing his teeth, when really, him doing the smallest things fascinates me. I can smell mint and almost taste it. He gags like I do sometimes when I force the toothbrush back too far on my tongue. His eyes find mine in the mirror again as the blue foam coats his lips. I wonder if the tooth paste stings the cut. He sucks up the water caught in his cupped hands and spits, shutting off the water and drying his mouth on the hand towel. As he slips by me in the doorway he nudges my stomach with the tip of his tooth brush, giving it to me.

I stare down at the tooth brush in my hand. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Use it.” I follow him out clutching the handle of his tooth brush, my mouth falling open as he digs out a clean shirt and pulls it on over his head hiding the muscle I enjoyed seeing. “I’ll pick you up a new one while I’m out.”

“Wait. You’re going out?”

“Yeah. I won’t be back until really late. You should get some sleep.” He scoops up his jacket off the back of the sofa, headed toward the door; he stops to swipe his keys off the bar.

I follow him, that tiny thread connecting us coming unraveled.

“You expect me to stay here by myself … in your apartment? I don’t even have a cell phone. What if I want to leave?”

“Then there’s the door.” He nods at the steel door, sarcasm and impatience dripping from him. He drags a hand through his hair and sighs. “Look, I didn’t kidnap you. You’re not my prisoner and about you not having a cell phone … I don’t see how that is my problem. Everything you need is here. If you decide you want to call a cab then there’s a pay phone outside the building.”

And that’s it, he walks out the door.

Everything you need is here….

I sag against the door.

Not everything.

Light spills into the apartment from out in the hallway. The front door burst open. Keys clatter against the hardwood floor, and then Sterling is staggering in, almost tumbling over as he bends to pick up the keys. He is not alone. Another leggy blonde—similar to the one he’d been with at Colton’s—is right behind him, holding onto his waist. Shifting on the mattress my heart picks up speed the madder I become. Watching from under the comforter I swallow down the vomit rising up in the back of my throat. I pretend to be asleep, because really, what else can I do. Pitch a fit? I’m thinking that’s probably what he expects and wants.

Drama.

The front door swings shut killing my source of light.

“Shit! That chair wasn’t there earlier!” Sterling mutters when he runs into one of the tall chairs by the bar. The chair—black like Sterling’s soul—tumbles over smacking the hardwood floor. I’d sat at the bar for over an hour after he’d left earlier, wondering what I’d been thinking in those few minutes when he’d stretched out his hand to me saying, ‘are you coming’. I guess I forgot to push the chair up to the bar.

Giggling grates on my nerves. Do they all giggle?

“ooooo there’s a ghost in your apartment that likes to move chairs.” She snorts. “Bad ghost.”

“Shhh, don’t be so loud,” Sterling scolds.

The blond giggles. “Why? Does noise piss it off?”

Seriously. Is this girl for real?

Does Sterling even remember I’m here?

There is once again light in the apartment, coming from the open refrigerator. “Got any beer?” The girl asks. She is bent over so far rummaging through the contents in the refrigerator that the short mini dress she’s wearing shows the beginnings of her butt checks.

“Yeah. Grab me one too.” Sterling collapses onto the leather couch like he’s been waiting to do that all night.

The light vanishes, forcing me to rely on my hearing.

Her high heels tap against hardwood over to the couch. Glass clinks against glass, bottles of beer being sat on the coffee table. Leather crunches when she sits and then more leather crunches as they start to do what I can only imagine they’re doing judging by the heavy breathing and smacking sounds. I’d thought about kissing those very lips earlier. Imagined what it would feel like to kiss Sterling.

Freaking asshole! He knows I’m here. Does he really think this is okay? Of course he does. He brought a girl to his cousins in the midst of a funeral. I regret offering to put medicine on his cuts earlier. In fact, I now wish Colton would have beaten his ass and I was still at home.

“Careful with the lip,” Sterling warns.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Did some crazy ex do that to your face? Do I need to be concerned? I don’t like surprises … or crazy possessive exes.”

“You don’t need to worry.”

“Good.” She gives a little moan. “My kind of guy … skips all the bullshit going straight to the fun stuff. Do you have a condom?”

“Huh uh.”

I imagine them quickly undressing each other caught up in a moment driven by overwhelming lust and need. It takes every bit of the restraint I have to remain still in the bed. The reflexes in body literally struggle against my brain telling them to not move.

“What the hell.” The girl mutters and I hold my breath … suspended in suspense. What the hell what? What happened? What’s going on? That didn’t sound like a good what the hell.

“Your fucking kidding me!” the girl sighs loudly.

Why isn’t Sterling saying anything?

A faint glow comes from over on the couch. I can see the girl’s angelic face lit by it.

“Hey, can you come get me?” She says into her cell. “Yeah. Now would be nice. The asshole fucking passed out on me right in the damn process of pulling down his jeans. Hell no! We never got that far. I don’t know. Hold up and I’ll check.” There is movement. “Wait, I’m looking the switch on the lamp. I can’t see a damn thing in here. This guy’s apartment is fucking unbelievable. You wouldn’t believe the valuables … yeah, we should. ”

The lamp beside the couch dumps light. Finally I no longer have to fill in the blanks. The blonde pins the cell to her ear with a raised shoulder while she rolls Sterling’s limp, shirtless body toward the inside of the couch. His jeans are pulled down revealing half of his rear-end, a heck of a lot whiter than the rest of him. The crack of Sterling’s ass and the knowledge that he is going commando shouldn’t cause the tingles I’m feeling. I should be turned off rather than turned on by his pathetic passed out ass, but sadly, I have a weak spot for Sterling. I realize that now.

The girl shoves her hand in the back pocket of his sagging jeans and pulls out his wallet. She opens it.

“Holy shit! Jackpot!” she squeals. “The stupid fuck has a thousand dollars in his wallet!” she tells who ever she is talking to. “Okay. Meet me out front in ten … yep, the same building you dropped us off at earlier.”

The girl is in the middle of sliding on her heels when I throw back the comforter and cross the apartment. I stop at the end of the couch. The girl—busy recounting the bills in her hand—screams when she looks up and sees me standing there. She scuffles to the far end of the couch.

“Who the hell are you?” Her gaze travels down seeing I’m wearing one of Sterling’s T-shirts and his boxers, before landing on an unconscious Sterling and her hands come up in defense. One hand stuffed crumbled with green bills. “The fucker said he didn’t have a girlfriend! How was I supposed to know?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I say, my hands going to my hips.

She exhales a long breath, her shoulders relaxing. “Thank God. Neither am I.” She giggles. “Looks like the shithead did a number on us both. Oh well, I’ve got a thousand dollars here … half can be yours … think about it … both of us can walk away from this night without it being a total bust. What you say? Halfsies?”

I glance down at Sterling passed out on the couch. His arms are folded over his chest as if he is cold. My gaze returns to the girl. I hold out my hand. “I don’t make deals with the devil.”

“I’m not the devil. He is! Look at how pathetic he is. He is so out of it he won’t even remember a thing in the morning. Come on, you can’t honestly tell me you’re not a little tempted. The guy deserves it.”

“Give me all of his money or I’ll call the cops.”

She huffs. “Give it all to you! I at least deserve some form of retribution for tonight!”

I reach for Sterling’s cell lying on the end table and swipe a finger over the screen. Of course the asshole has it locked. I pretend to punch in the numbers.

“What’s it going to be” my fingers hover over the screen, “Cops? Or not … it’s your call, but I’m getting tired of waiting.”

“Fuck it, take the damn money you greedy bitch!” The bills scatter in the air raining down on the glass top of the coffee table. She grabs up her purse and stalks out of the apartment.

My gaze lands on Sterling’s shoulder blade, trailing down his bulging bicep covered in ink. He is curled up, facing the inside of the couch, the crack of his ass still showing. My eyes roll up at the ceiling while I contemplate how exactly I’m supposed to get him to the bed. I could just leave him on the couch. Looking over my shoulder at the king-size bed I realize how tired I am. It would be nice to have the bed to myself but he could throw up while he is passed out and chock on his own puke. That happens right? I am way out of my comfort zone here. I have no idea how to take care of someone who is drunk. Okay, that’s not exactly true. I’ve taken care of Colton and Keria more times than I could count. This was no different.

Sitting down on the coffee table I give his shoulder a vigorous shake. “Hey, think you can make it over to the bed if I help you?”

He mumbles something incoherent and flops onto his back. My eyes take in the nipple piercings. He looks more like a helpless young boy with identity issues than the unpredictable womanizing asshole he usually is. I guess everyone is initially good until someone fucks us up. My chest tightens, aching for this guy to still have some good somewhere inside him.

Exhaling a long breath I decide it’s now or never and slip my hands under his armpits and try to heave him up off the couch.

“Come on, help me out a little,” I mutter after several failed attempts. I’m breathing heavy and sweat is forming along my brows. I never realized how much heavier he is than me. Without any effort on his part it’s dead weight. My hands go to my hips as I assess the situation. His jeans are still low on his hips which means I have to keep forcing myself not to look. I decide to do something about it and grad hold of the band of his jeans yanking them up where they should be. My fingers are on his zipper my face practically in his lap when he opens his eyes. There is a hitch in my breath. He lifts his head off the couch, glancing around as if he’s not too sure about his surroundings.

“Where the hell am I?” he asks in a groggy voice. His blood shot eyes travel down my body: his T-shirt and boxers. “Guess you changed your mind about the clothes.” He grins smugly.

“I got hot.”

“I’ll say.” His gaze narrows on my fingers still gripping his zipper. “Go ahead. I won’t complain.”

“It’s not what you think,” I stutter.

He cocks an eyebrow and pushes up onto his elbows. My bottom returns to the glass coffee table putting some distance between me and his crotch. I blow loose hair out of my eyes, my face on fire.

“You’re in your apartment. I was trying to help you walk over to the bed.”

“What did my zipper have to do with helping me walk?” he asks. My mouth opens but nothing comes out. Where do I start? “Forget it,” he says collapsing back down onto the couch. “Bring me a blanket. I’ll sleep here.” He rolls into the back cushion.

“You can’t sleep here.”

“And why not?” is muffled.

“What if you need my help?”

His shoulder shakes with laughter, which pisses me off.

“I’ve been taking care of myself for twenty-five years. What makes you think I suddenly need your help?”

“Whatever. Keep being a jerk.” I stand up, go over to the bed, drag off one of the blankets and toss the heap on top of his head. “I hope you smoother!”

“Hold up.” He punches his way out of the wad of blankets and rolls off of the couch, standing up none too steady. He takes two steps and then plants a palm on the glass end table to keep from tumbling over.

Before I have time to comprehend what I’m doing I’m reaching out to catch him.

He straightens, knocking my hand away. “Stop! I can do it myself!”

“There is nothing wrong with asking for help, Sterling,” I pause and smile, “or should I run down stairs and give your money back to the blonde that just left.”

“The bitch tried to steal from me?” he reaches for his wallet.

I save him time and effort by nodding at the stack of bills on the table by the couch. “Yep. While the full moon was out.”

“What?” he asks confused.

“Nevermind. You wouldn’t get the humor in it.” I step aside and watch as he staggers over to the bed. He rests his palms on the mattress when he reaches it. It looks as if he needed a breather.

“I’m impressed you didn’t fall on your face on the trip over,” I say.

He hangs his head, his spine rounded, every gorgeous muscle defined.

“I think I might need to puke before I lie down,” he groans, making a U-turn for the bathroom.

He’s in the bathroom for a good forty-five minutes giving me plenty of time to realize the mistake I made by coming here. This happens in books all the time: some bored young girl taking off with a sexy, emotionally wounded guy who ends up being her soul mate and they live happily ever after. I laugh out loud lying in Sterling’s bed. The apartment is dark, the only light coming from the moon shining in the windows. Combing my fingers through the length of my hair on top I stare up at the ceiling listening to him vomit just beyond the bathroom door. In real life the young girl ends up running off with a womanizing coldhearted druggie. Her heart gets broken into a million pieces and she goes crawling home in worst shape than she was in before she left. End of story. No happy ending. No prince charming.

I listen harder. The puking sounds stop. The silence piques my curiosity. Maybe I should at least go check on him. I push up in the bed right as the bathroom door squeals open and I quickly drop onto my side, pretending to be asleep.

He staggers over to the side of the bed. The moonlight provides enough light for me to see skin that appears flawless. He wobbles a second then regains his balance planting his palms on the mattress, the zip of the zipper of his jeans lowering the only sound in the room.

I rise up on an elbow, my eyes widening at his strip tease. His jeans drop to the floor and he steps out of them. I get a full front view of his penis dangling soft surrounded by dark curls. My eyes squeeze shut at the sight of a very naked Sterling.

“What are you doing?” I practically scream.

“Going to sleep,” he says as if it is obvious. He drops down on the mattress with a sigh. “That okay with you?”

“Do you always sleep nude?” I snap.

It is more of an accusation than a question.

“If you think I’m going to suddenly start wearing flannel pajamas to please you … hate to tell you but you’re going to be disappointed.”

I wiggle over to the very edge. He rolls onto his side facing away from me, pulling the sheet up over his tattooed shoulder. Covering his body doesn’t change anything nor does the space between us; I still know he is nude.

“Would it kill you to at least wear a pair of boxers?” I mutter. “You were wearing boxers when we bumped into each other out in the hallway that day. So I know you own a pair.”

“Go to sleep, Phoenix. It’s hot in here, my head is fuckin’ pounding, and I couldn’t get it up even if I wanted to. I’m not going to touch you. I swear.”

“It’s still awkward.”

“It’s only awkward because you’re over thinking it like you do everything,” he returns groggily.

Turning my head I glare at his back. “What’s that supposed to mean. I don’t over think things.”

“Yes you do.”

“You don’t know anything about me!”

“No but I’ve met plenty of girls like you who freak out over every lil thing.”

“And I’ve met arrogant guys like you who think they know everything.”

I wait for a response. I don’t get one. After a few minutes his breathing evens out turning into deep snoring. I’m in bed with a very naked male. I can feel the heat of him so close, but not close enough to actually touch. A throbbing starts between my legs, frustrating me even more. A dozens sexual thoughts run through my mind. Its torture: being near an incredibly sexy man like Sterling and having him not try anything. I’ve seen his crude behavior, the way he is with women and here he is, sleeping soundly.

As if I’m not here.

What is happening to me? I used to dread Colton’s advances now I’m lying here offended that a guy I barely know isn’t trying to have sex with me. Rising up on an elbow with a huff I throw one last glance over at Sterling’s back, punch my pillow a couple of times settling in on my side facing away from him.

How can he go to sleep in the midst of an argument?

Sunlight pouring through the apartment windows wakes me. I stretch giving a wide mouth yawn before details from last night force me up in the king-size bed. I feel nauseous as I glance over at Sterling.

He’s sleeping on his side facing me, an unshaved cheek smashed into the mattress, his pillow shoved up toward the headboard. The white sheet has slipped down showing a narrow waist, a hip bone and a dark line of hair disappearing under the sheet. My mouth goes dry at the sight of all the tan flesh and ink visible on a jaw dropping body.

My gaze drinks him in: the dark lashes, the full parted lips, the messy hair, and the piercings … all making this guy seriously impossible not to want. And even though I know I shouldn’t, I do.

He looks peaceful while he sleeps. Like a boy who would never break a girls heart.

“A sleeping tiger isn’t any less dangerous,” I mutter going up on my knees, inching my way closer to Sterling. My heels press into my bottom as I sit back on my hunches, observing him as if he is the most fascinating thing on the planet.

Right now he is.

My fingers twitch wanting to brush his bristly cheek. Run a finger over his bottom lip. Move the strands of dark hair out of his eyes.

“Don’t make me fall for you,” I whisper near his ear.

My hand reaches for the arm resting on the bed by his chest. Lifting his hand I gently turn it over. I suck in a sharp breath never expecting to see two scars on his right wrist: pink, raised scars. Razor marks. Two times this guy thought death would be better than living. A panicky feeling envelopes me at the thought of never getting the chance to know Sterling.

My gaze trails higher to the needle marks on the inside of his arm. My gaze doesn’t stop there. There are needle marks visible in his lower stomach near a hip bone, a couple of the marks are fresh ones, bruised and inflamed. I remember him stumbling in last night with the blonde. The puking. The hard time he had staying upright. Mix alcohol with heroine and no wonder the guy was so out-of-it.

His lowered lashes flutter and a sound comes from his throat. I swallow hard, freezing, my fingers pressed into his flesh. If he wakes up and catches me he’ll know: I’m either crazy or obsessed.

Heroine.

I have never used heroine; it’s something that’s never crossed my mind. I don’t know anyone who uses. When I think of people using I think of lowlifes: the kind of people you see walking down the side of the street, strung out, begging for a couple of dollars in a parking lot somewhere or raiding a dumpster for something to pawn. I guess anyone can become an addict.

Sterling stills and I bring his hand down on the bed, easing my way off the bed backwards, small, slow movements that won’t jar the mattress.

I’m faced with two options: call my parents and ask for a plane ticket home or stay.

Lies

Victoria

From across the apartment, glancing over my shoulder from where I’m standing in front of the stove I see Sterling peel the sheets back and sit up on the side of the bed: bare skin and ink catches my eyes. He scrubs his face with both hands exhaling a long breath as he reaches for the pair of jeans thrown on the floor. My focus returns to the sizzling pan feigning disinterest in anything going on behind me.

“Whoa!” he says. “Ouch! What’s with all the banging this morning? Is it necessary?”

I turn to look at him, a spatula in my hand.

He lazily leans against the other side of the bar. Planting his elbows on the granite top he buries both hands in his hair, pressing into his scalp.

“I’m making you breakfast,” I state.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat.”

“I’ll repeat … I’m not hungry.”

Using the spatula I rake half of the eggs in the pan out onto the plate in front of Sterling. I’m not big on pouting, but I figure it’s worth a shot. Extending my bottom lip I try to whine like one of the girls I’ve seen him with. “Okay, if you want to be rude and not eat what I cooked for you then whatever.”

A dark eyebrow goes up. Okay. My pouty face needs work.

He sighs and drags the plate down to the stool he settles onto. “Since it’s obviously going to hurt your feelings if I don’t eat, then I will try to force down some….” He pokes the food on the plate with a fork. “What is it exactly that I’m eating?”

“It’s an omelet with bacon and spinach.”

“How much spinach did you put in it?”

“A lot.”

“Shit. It really stinks.” His face goes pale and he makes a sound between a gag and a belch. “Don’t take it as an insult if it comes back up.”

“I won’t,” I say leaning a hip against the bar with my own plate in hand.

A fist pounds the front door and I jump fork full of omelet hovering near my mouth. Sterling’s expression turns to stone as if he already knows who it is. He abandons his food, opens the door not inviting in whoever it is out in the hallway.

“The office called this morning. One guess, who didn’t show up for work?”

I set my plate down on the counter at the sound of his father’s voice. My stomach drops knowing he has every right to make me leave if he wants to. I suspect this is his apartment.

“I’m sick,” Sterling replies sarcastically.

“You’re hung-over, not sick. There is a difference. My question is … are you going to continue to be a fuck up your whole life? Because it’s getting real old … having to support your ass.”

“I thought you were staying in Colorado Springs for a couple of days,” Sterling tries to shut the door, but a hand stops it.

“Yeah, well you made certain to screw that up real good before you left. Colton thinks you seduced his girlfriend which makes your brother and I unwelcome in his home. I give the boy a week and he’ll land on my doorstep.”

“You sound pretty sure about that.”

“Oh no, I’m not here to talk about Colton. You leave all that to me.” Uncle Bentley pushes the door wider, insistent he is coming in. He ignores his son’s scowl his gaze landing on me. “Mind explaining what the hell you’re thinking bringing her here? In case you’ve forgotten I pay the bills around here and she’s not staying. March your ass down to the airport, buy her a ticket and put her on the first plane home. Her mother is considering pressing charges on your dumbass.”

“For what?”

“For kidnapping!”

“I’m eighteen,” I interrupt. “It’s not kidnapping if I go willingly.”

“You heard her.” Sterling crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw clenched. “She’s here of her own free will. Tell her mother that.”

“You fucking knocked her up, didn’t you ... you stupid shit!” Uncle Bentley reaches for the wallet in his back pocket, making a show of pulling out crisp bills. “How much will it take to clean up the mess you made this time? Five hundred?” he pauses. “A thousand? How about I make it well worth your time … two thousand? Will that get it done?” He slams a fist full of cash in the center of his son’s chest. “Here, take it! Or do you need more?”

Sterling’s gaze drops to the hand, to the cash. His brows pull together. And then he grabs the money out of his father’s hand. “This is enough.” He grips the money in a tight grasp

My mouth falls open. No he didn’t! He didn’t just take money from his father for a fake pregnancy. Why would he do that? Why would he think it’s okay for his father to think I’m pregnant and WORSE why would he let him think that I wouldn’t want to keep my baby. My baby? What the hell!

I shake my head to clear it. My fingers curl around the edge of the cabinet envisioning it is Sterling’s neck. I want to break it.

His father makes a deep throaty sound, gives me a look that could kill, and then strolls triumphantly toward the door. I am scum on the bottom of his polished dress shoe. “I expect her to be gone and you to be back at work in the morning. I don’t pay you to sit on your ass.”

The door shuts and all the anger I’ve been suppressing is let free.

“To be so defensive when your brother referred to me as a whore you sure took that money quick! Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”

“I need the money.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that. Like you really give a shit what my father thinks.”

“I definitely care if he thinks I’m pregnant when I’m not. What if he tells my parents?”

“Relax. He’ll be on to another one of my screw ups by tomorrow.”

“I have to go get ready for work,” Sterling says.

“No! We’re not finished!”

“Yes we are.”

“So, that’s how it works! He bullies you. You do nothing, never fighting back because you’re afraid he’s going to cut off your money supply?”

“Sounds about right.” He is halfway across the apartment. “You’re a lot smarter than I thought.”

“Apparently not smart enough to stay away from you,” I throw out.

His head turns in my direction, gray eyes narrowing. He stalks toward me and my entire body tenses. He stops once his face is only a few inches from mine. His chest; still bare and still very much a distraction rises and falls quickly. His intense gaze holds mine. Neither of us says a word, neither of us willing to look away first. Finally Sterling breaks eye contact, slapping the wad of cash down hard on the bar next to us.

“Go buy yourself some clothes and your own damn tooth brush.”

I scoop up the money counting out twenty hundred dollar bills. My gaze lifts to his, green flashing in my hand. “Don’t I at least get half? Since I am the one getting the fake abortion?”

“You want half?”

“No, Sterling! I don’t want half!” I glare up at him, a head shorter, as I slap the money to his chest. “Here! You can keep it all! It’s obvious you need it more than I do. I’m curious though, how long are you going to let your father control you so he’ll continue to pay your bills? Wouldn’t it be easier to just get a … I don’t know … A REAL JOB!”

He takes a step closer. Warm breath hits my cheek.

“How about this … I give you enough for a plane ticket? I’m sure mommy dearest is dying to have you come crawling home. You want to talk about controlling. She’s right up there at the top, but I’m sure you’ll set her straight … since you’re the authority on standing up to people.”

Oh My God. I’m sharing an apartment with Satan.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.

The muscles along his jaw jump under the surface. His voice is deep. Doing things to my body it shouldn’t.

“I saw the way you always acted around Colton. You didn’t like the guy, but your mommy sure did. You did whatever it took to stay in her good graces, which I think makes you no different than me. I think you’ve got this notion in that pretty little head of yours that you’re lucky to get whatever bread crumbs life throws at you.” His gaze drops to my bad leg. “After all, you are damaged.”

Silence. My chest rises and falls in quick breaths.

“I’m not the person to save you, Phoenix. I can’t even save myself.” He lays all the money his father gave him on the bar and turns; his cocky gait obvious as he crosses the apartment.

I glare at his back as he walks away from me, if only looks could kill. I’m forced to turn quickly when he drops jeans to the floor. I can hear the rustling of clothing and turn around to see Sterling is now wearing a black pair of gym shorts and, of course, still no shirt. I feel awkward and out of place, watching him slide tight black gloves onto his hands. He avoids looking at me as he struts to the shelf in the far corner of the apartment.

“I didn’t ask you to save—”my words are interrupted as Sterling reaches the stereo across the room. He deliberately twists the small knob and music blares from the large speakers.

My mouth drops open when he jumps grabbing onto the pull up bar mounted to the wall.

The song is screamed through the speakers:

‘I'm scared to get close and I hate being alone. I long for that feeling to not feel at all. The higher I get, the lower I'll sink. I can't drown my demons, they know how to swim. Can you feel my heart?’

I drop my weight down into one of the chairs at the bar, crossing my arms over my chest, resembling an angry bird sitting on its perch with its feathers ruffled.

He can’t avoid me forever; after all I am in his apartment.

I watch him intently as he lift one, two, three times—his muscles contract under the flesh with each determined thrust, his profile demonstrating his mouth is set in a thin line.

Yea, I’m watching you arrogant asshole.

My eyes travel the curves and lines that are Sterling Bentley. I see the sweat starting to cover his muscles, the mandala on his shoulder glistening with the salty moisture. His black shorts are hanging low on his hips, showing a faint white tan line. I have the intense urge to go shank him, but I’m sure he would continue his pull-ups as though nothing happened. It’s as though he is reading my thoughts because I see a crooked grin developing on his lips. I rise from the stool in defeat and stalk towards the bath room, all too aware of the joy he’s getting from ignoring me.

I glare one last time over my shoulder, my eyes meeting his. They boar into me, sucking me in like a black hole, I feel the pull to fall into their darkness.

You might have won the battle, but you won’t win the war.

I slam the door and strip, stepping into the shower.

After Sterling leaves to go work with his father the silence in the apartment drives me insane; too much quiet with nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company. I replay the scene with my mother.

I meander around the apartment noticing there are no photos in frames. No clutter. I pick up the glass ash tray on one of the tables, the only thing sitting out.

Who the hell doesn’t have a television?

I admire the paintings, the view of the city from his windows. Several times I pause by the bar chewing a thumb nail staring at the stack of money.

“No. You’re not going to spend it. It’s a matter of principal.”

Flopping down on the King-size bed, I stretch out, ankles crossed. I stuff a pillow between my back of the wrought iron headboard settling in, Sterling’s laptop computer balanced on my lap.

Being noisy I pull up recent history and scroll through the websites Sterling has visited recently: soccer stuff … ugh, boring. No porn. I’m shocked and now more intrigued.

Sterling is a mystery.

I move on to his saved documents. I’m a horrible person. I’m five seconds away from clicking out of what is none of my business when something catches my interest, The Last Will and Testament of Sterling Bentley. The arrow hovers over the file. I’m tempted, but this is a huge invasion of the guy’s privacy. I clutch at my queasy stomach remembering the faint razor marks across Sterling’s left wrist and the needle marks. Oh God. I’m in way over my head here. My heart is heavy with sadness. Why would someone so young think about death so often?

Clicking out of my documents, I bring up Sterling’s Kindle. My eyes widen when I come across Fifty Shades of Grey in his library. Am I the only person who has never read this book? I select it to read dying for a distraction. Hours pass like minutes. Pages turn. I literally bark with laughter, ridiculously blushing, when Christian Grey spanks Anastasia for the first time. A ball of jumbles nerves collects in the bit of my stomach.

Run girl! Run as fast as you can from this possessive damaged man.

Afternoon turns to evening, evening turns to night forcing me to look away from the screen long enough to lean over and flick on the lamp beside the bed. I’m captivated by the story, a little turned on, and a little freighted now to be sitting in some strange guy’s bed.

My gaze reaches out into the apartment swallowed by the dark except for where I’m at on the bed. I’m alone in an unfamiliar city. No family here. No friends. I’m vulnerable; at this guy’s mercy.

I haven’t seen any red room of pain. No bleeding woman’s womb.

No whips.

No floggers.

Sterling hasn’t asked me to sign any contract.

But I do know he is on a collision course to self-destruct.

I glance over at the time. 10:30 p.m. and still no Sterling. There’s no way he is still at work.

It hits me: how stupid and reckless this all has been. It’s not so much all the ways Sterling could hurt me physically as it is all the ways he could hurt me emotionally.

I don’t think I’m ready for his kind of intense.

Crawling off the foot of the bed I stand and slide down Sterling’s boxers, reach for the pants I’d worn here and tug them up. I leave on his Manchester soccer jersey since my only shirt is dirty. I’m sure the loss of one shirt won’t kill him. I wince. Swiping a twenty from the counter I head for the door, giving the apartment one final glance before I leave.

“Can I get change for a twenty? A couple of dollars in quarters?” I ask the waitress in Something Italian. The smell of pizza surrounds me luring me in. I consider spending the twenty on food instead. But then I remember why I’m leaving.

“Sure,” the waitress smiles her black tennis shoes squeaking over the floor. She motions for me to follow her over to the cash register. “Nice shirt,” she says, eyeing the jersey with interest. Her fingers slide the money out of the dividers in the open drawer, her gaze glued to me the entire time. Her hip clips the drawer, shutting it.

“Thanks.” I absently slip one of the quarters she gave me in the box for children with leukemia, taking one of the mints in exchange. I feel guilty about worrying over what I’m going to tell me father when I call. The bald children smiling in the picture on the box make my problems seem trivial.

Whatever you present situation is … it could always be worst.

“My ex played soccer for Manchester,” the girl draws my attention back to her. She nods at the jersey. “He had a full ride until he fucked up his life.”

What are the chances?

All of a sudden I feel possessive when I have no right to. She’s probably not even talking about Sterling. A Manchester jersey isn’t all that uncommon. Is it? The girl (I now notice as beautiful) stares at me with an intensity that makes me uncomfortable. Her arched brows scrunch together in thought. I can sense she is waiting on a name. Well she’s not getting one. If she wants info about her ex, she’ll have to ask him.

“Thanks for the change.” I force a fake smile before turning to leave.

Sterling Bentleys dating life is none of my business.

Cradling the receiver between my ear and shoulder I listen for a dial tone. Behind me the city noise makes it impossible to hear. I drop in a couple of quarters, punch in the numbers to my father’s cell and wait, pressing a fingertip into the opposite ear so I can hear. It goes straight to his voice mail.

I slam the receiver down hard.

What now?

I pick the receiver up again and drop in more quarters, calling the house phone this time. “Please, pick up dad.” It rings and rings until finally …

“Hello.” My body tenses and my heart races at the sound of my mother’s voice. I panic and immediately go to hang up but the bite in her voice causes me to pause, bringing the receiver slowly back up to my ear. I don’t say anything. I just listen. I don’t know why. I’ve heard it all before, but maybe I’m hoping she’ll say she is sorry and she misses me.

“I know it’s you, Victoria. What are you thinking? This is insane … what you’re doing to this family. This guy is not a good guy. It’s not safe for you to be with him. Do you hear me?”

No. Sterling is not a good guy. But I think he could be. I’ve felt more with him over the past twenty four hours than I ever felt with Colton. Then I’ve ever felt. My mother doesn’t get it. She can’t possibly understand. She’s never had to make a choice that would change everything; her life, her plans for the future.

A little voice in the back of my mind screams, yes she did … when she kept you.

She goes on, her tone getting stern from my not answering. “Okay. If you don’t want to acknowledge what I’m saying is the truth then I think before you come home you need to learn there are always consequences for your actions. If you’re calling to beg your father and me to bail you out of the mess … I’m sorry but WE ARE NOT sending you any money. You understand? This is all on you.”

There is a scuffle on the other end, my father’s voice in the background. “Is that Tori?” he asks hopeful.

“Yes, but—” my mother is saying when he steals the phone from her. I can picture it happening.

“Listen to me, Tori,” he breathes out. “This is out of character for you. You’re not the kind of girl who just runs off. Come home and we’ll talk.” He pauses and sighs. My mouth opens, I’m dying to tell him that’s exactly what I want, to come home. I want to tell my father that I love him and miss him.

My father’s voice cracks with emotion, “I know you have a good heart, but this guy is not a wounded bird, sweetheart. You can’t save him.”

What he says strikes a nerve. I slam the receiver down my hand frozen to the cold plastic. Several moments pass before I can remove my hand.

I’m sorry dad. I’m just not ready to give in yet.

At 2a.m the mattress dips with a deep sigh in its wake and my eyes snap open. Sterling gets comfortable. I can feel the mattress moving. Hear his agitated breaths. I don’t need to look over a shoulder to know he is on the edge of the mattress facing away from me. Neither of us acknowledges the other. It’s horrible; being so close to what you want and being afraid of it. He is clearly trying to run me off.

I shut my eyes and go to sleep with the most dangerously sexy man I’ve ever met sleeping within arms distance.

Music

Victoria

Day three in Sterling’s apartment…

I wake up in a good mood, optimistic today will be better than the last.

The bathroom door opens and out walks Sterling with a white towel tied low around his waist. My breath catches at the sight of bare skin, hard muscle and ink. His hair looks jet black when it’s wet, slightly wavy. I’ve grown used to seeing him with stubble, but this morning he has shaved. The absence of stubble shows off the perfect shape of his jawline and boyish soft skin. I force myself to focus on the food on my plate and not him as he comes over to where I’m sitting at the bar.

Sterling settles on the stool next to mine.

“So you’re big on breakfast?” he comments. “Is this going to be a common occurrence every morning?”

“You’re not big on breakfast.” I return.

He looks adorable. Long lashes lowered as he struggles to fasten the clasp of silver watch around his wrist. Sighing, I swivel on the bar stool.

“Here, let me do it,” I offer.

My fingertips brush his wrist and I hold my breath. I hurry to fasten the clasp before I breakdown, leaning in, nose pressed to his neck to smell his aftershave. I look everywhere but at the coarse black hair disappearing underneath the towel.

“What makes you say that?” he asks in a guttural voice.

My gaze flickers up to steely gray. “Say what?”

“That I’m not big on breakfast?” His gaze flicks down to where I’m touching him. “Are you finished yet?”

I lean over, getting closer to see what I’m doing and I swear he smells my hair. “Almost. There. Got it.” I turn back to my food as if I’m unaffected by him when I’m actually trembling. “Because you never eat breakfast. Come to think of it you never eat anything.”

He picks up a piece of bacon tearing a piece off with his teeth. “Happy?”

I nod. “Are you working today?”

He nods, dropping the piece of bacon back onto his plate.

“Why do you carve birds?” He asks out of nowhere.

“Why not birds?” I shrug a shoulder. “Would it make more sense if I carved cats?”

“You tell me why birds and I’ll tell you something about myself.”

“Who says I want to know anything about you?” I glance over at him.

He raises an eyebrow in warning.

I sigh, poking at my eggs. “Bird watching was something my grandmother and I used to do together.”

“So you lurk around in parks with a pair of binoculars?”

“I do own a pair,” I admit. “You make it sound so ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Continue. Tell me about one of the birds you’ve carved.”

“Martha,” I say without giving it much thought.

“You named one of your carvings Martha?”

“I didn’t name her.” I sit my fork down beside my plate. “Martha was a passenger pigeon. You sure you want to hear this?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well … passenger pigeons were once the most numerous birds on the planet. Their flocks were so dense that they darkened the sky for hours as they passed overhead. But since they nested in colonies they were easily hunted. You may have heard of pigeon pie?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “What does this have to do with Martha?”

“Martha was the last of her kind. She died in a Cincinnati zoo in 1914. She was named after George Washington’s wife. Call me crazy but I think it’s sad how there were billions of Passenger pigeons and we reduced them to one and she died in captivity.”

“You’re not crazy. It’s the ugly truth. We’re a selfish race,” he bluntly says. “We’re not satisfied until we fuck something up. I understand where you’re coming from though. That’s why I paint.” He motions at one of his paintings, the homeless man begging for change. “To relay a story and sometimes it’s not a pretty one.”

“I thought you said you weren’t the artist?”

His cheeks spike with color. Sterling Bentley blushing? There’s a first.

His bar stool scrapes over hardwood. He stands taking his nearly untouched plate and glass to the counter by the sink.

“I thought you said you were going to tell me something about yourself,” I remind him.

“I just did.”

“I already knew you were the artist.”

He stops next to my stool.

His voice is low and sexy causing me to hold my breath so I don’t miss a single word. My gaze drops his lips, to the piercing. His head dips, his lips coming close to mine. My chest rises and falls quick like my heart, waiting, silently begging for him to kiss me. His eyes dance over the features of my face, lingering on my parted lips.

“You really want to know something about me?” he asks.

He is baiting me; wanting me to beg. I control my eagerness. “Not unless it’s something you want to share with me.”

“It’s not something I can tell you. I’ll have to show you.” His hand slips down my arm, caressing as it makes the slow movement down toward my hand. He entwines our fingers, hauling me up off the stool, giving me no choice but to follow him. I swallow thickly, my stomach full of butterflies.

Something he can show me in this apartment?

“Umm, is it sexual?” I blush, hesitant in my steps.

He bursts out laughing dragging me toward the baby grand piano.

“No. Relax. It has nothing to do with sex. If I’m going to show you this you need to promise to be serious. I can’t have you making fun of me.”

He collapses onto the bench wearing nothing but his white towel and a grin. My stomach clenches with desire and longing for this multitalented man. He paints and he plays the piano. My heart can’t take it. I don’t even care if he sucks at it. It won’t change my opinion.

His back is relaxed, his feet apart, he looks completely comfortable. He pauses as if he is nervous, wipes his palms over the towel covering his thighs. His fingers stretch over the keys becoming familiar with the feel of them. I see it now; the length of his fingers, a dead giveaway that he plays, well that, and a piano being the focal point of his apartment.

“You were wrong,” I whisper, “You sitting at the piano totally makes me think about sex.”

He chuckles, shakes his head and starts to play.

Propping my elbows on the shiny finish I rest my chin in my hand watching Sterling make love to the song he is playing. I’m mesmerized. I know I should be focusing on his hands, but I can’t stop myself from watching his face as he plays. His eyes close lightly; I can see the movement hidden behind them as if they are scanning along with the music. I see his jagged jaw tighten at the sound of each note, and the slow erotic way that he lightly sways as he entirely loses himself in the song. I feel that familiar draw to him. I want so bad to reach out and touch him but I’m afraid to ruin the moment. The hairs along my arms rise when I realize I’ve heard this song before.

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.

Silently, I sing the words while he continues to play.

“My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room. I was the one you always dreamed of, you were the one I tried to draw. How dare you say it's nothing to me? Baby, you're the only light I ever saw...”

The song ends. Our eyes connect, it seems like minutes pass without either of us saying a word. It’s the first time he has looked at me, really looked at me and not through me. It’s in this moment that I realize I’m falling for this guy. I think I fell for him the first time he called me phoenix. It was then that I knew something was different about him.

He breaks the awkward silence, “So, how about that sex?”

It was a romantic moment and then he ruined it.

I wait for Sterling to leave before I get in the shower. I’ve read enough romance novels to know the guy always walks in on the girl while she’s in the shower. Although I wouldn’t mind Sterling seeing me naked I’d like to avoid any embarrassing moments. Stepping out onto a rug I towel off and reach for my clean clothes I pulled out of the dryer. Sooner or later we’re going to have to address the clothing situation. I can’t keep wearing his T-shirts and boxers while my one pair of pants and shirt is in the wash. Bending I towel dry my wet hair and come up the ends slapping the center of my back. I dig a comb out of the drawer and pull it through the tangled ends.

Knock, knock, knock!

Hovering in the bathroom door I try to decide if I want to go answer the front door or not. There is only one person it can be: Sterling’s father. The knocking turns into pounding. He knows I’m in here. Hiding is only going to make him think he intimidates me which he does, but I don’t want him to know that.

“Coming,” deliberately I turn the dead bolt and swing open the steel door. My stomach drops. “Colton, what are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he says, “I took my Uncle up on his offer to move out here. Colorado Springs has nothing to offer me anymore.” He invites himself in, pushing past me. “So this is Sterling Bentley’s place,” he strolls the perimeter, his gaze touching every little thing. “I’m not impressed. The art is kind of tacky … like everything else.” He turns his attention on me, his eyes slowly raking from my damp hair to my toes. “Just get out of the shower?” I don’t answer. He chuckles low, “I thought the guy had taste. I guess I was wrong.”

I feel exposed.

Naked.

“I was actually about to get ready to leave,” I say, leading him toward the door.

“Leave?” He takes a seat on one of the bar stools. “Where the hell could you be going, Tor? You don’t know anyone here.”

“Why are you really here?”

“My uncle told me you’re pregnant.”

I flinch at his tone and the way his eyes drop to my stomach. Now would be the time to tell him the truth, but I don’t. I don’t owe him any explanations.

“I think you should leave,” I say instead.

He pushes off from the stool, stalking in my direction. His chest bumps mine. He is so close I can smell the alcohol on his breath. Colton is always meaner when he’s been drinking. My heart races as I try to take a step back only to be held in place by his tight grip.

His eyes probe every feature of my face. “That’s the best you’ve got? I was thinking we could do some catching up since you’ve already been broken in.” I tense. “What you’ll let that piece of shit touch you and not me? I don’t know how I feel about that.” His voice gets louder, his grip tighter. “Yes I do. It pisses me the fuck off!”

“Stop, Colton.” I wince. “You’re hurting me!”

“You owe me!”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“That’s where you’re wrong … you owe me an apology for running off with my cousin.”

“Okay. I’m sorry,” I say. His fingers dig into my skin and I squirm.

He shakes his head. “Say it like you really mean it.”

“I am sorry.”

“C’ mon babe, you can do better than that.”

“I am sorry you are such an egotistical asshole.”

“Careful,” he smirks. “You’ve been hanging around Sterling too much. You’re starting to act like him. He is making you look and sound cheap, Tor.”

I lean into him, whispering in his ear, “The sex is fucking fantastic!”

He jerks back, his eyes flashing with anger, but then a slow smile appears. “You’re just like your friend. All you need is a little motivation.”

Smack!

The flat of his hand comes across my cheeks, the sting intense. I think about how weird Keria acted before I left. How she had no use for Colton anymore.

“What did you do to her,” I force out between gritted teeth, a palm over the cheek.

“Nothing … yet.”

It’s the way he says yet that has me l latching onto his arm, my nails digging in.

Colton’s sick laughter fills the apartment. “I see, you like it rough do ya? I can give it to you rough.”

His arms encircle my waist crushing me to him, his mouth covering mine. I make a sound of protest the flat of my palms pushing against his chest. My stomach rebels vomit rising up in the back of my throat. I twist, encased in strong persist arms, tearing my lips from his.

“Let me go!” I shout.

One second Sterling is walking through the front door and the next he has Colton pinned to the floor, his fist repeatedly pounding him. I watch in horror as he picks Colton up off the floor and hurls him into one of the glass end tables knocking over a lamp. Colton slides off the other side of the table immediately pushing to his feet, knowing Sterling isn’t finished. Fear flashes for a second in Colton’s eyes and then it’s gone. Sterling shakes out his fist, his knuckles already swollen and bleeding. His jaw flexes under the skin.

The two guys face off.

“I told you to never touch her again!” Sterling hisses.

“You worried?” Colton chuckles. “Worried Tori might decide to leave with me?”

“Phoenix isn’t going anywhere with you!” Sterling snarls.

“I’ll kill you before I let her end up with someone like you,” Colton returns.

Sterling’s lips pull up into a cocky grin. “From where I’m standing it looks like she’s already with me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. All you’ll ever be is just some tattooed punk girls use to piss off their mommies. Nobody ever takes you serious.”

“I’ve decided,” Sterling says. “I’m going to enjoy kicking your ass.”

“It’s a shame we can’t choose who we’re related to … oh wait … there’s no real proof you’re not some illegitimate bastard that crazy woman tried to pawn off on an innocent man with money.”

I see Sterling’s eyes blaze and step in-between them, facing him, a hand on his chest. “Okay. Enough!” I glance over my shoulder. “Get out of here Colton!”

Colton snorts, wiping blood from his nose. His eyes rake slowly down the length of me. “It’s a shame I didn’t take what was mine a long time ago. I would’ve if you hadn’t played the injured good girl ... I can see now it was just an act.”

Sterling lunges, but he stops when I refuse to let him at Colton. “I said go, Colton! Now!”

Sterling shoots me a dirty look. “You’re taking up for this prick?”

“I’m taking up for you. If you kill him you’ll go to jail.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well … I do.”

“This isn’t over,” Colton jabs a finger in Sterling’s direction while working his way toward the door. Bullies always tuck their tails and run. “You can’t be with her every second.”

The Steel door opens and shuts and I sigh with relief. Sterling’s chest heaves with unspent rage. His gaze flickers to mine and he panics, rushing at me, cupping my cheeks, inspecting my face up close. The last bruise Colton gave me has finally faded away. Sterling’s eyes narrows on the cheek that still stings. “Did he hit you? I swear to God, I know he is family but if he ever hurts you again I’ll kill him.”

I pull back, putting some space between us, a hand covering the cheek. “I’m fine.”

He studies me with a concerned look as if he doesn’t believe me.

This is insane. Colton coming here thinking I’m pregnant confirms the situation has gotten way out of control.

I am far from fine.

“Sterling, why did you bring me here?”

He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head staring at me, but then, just like always when the topic of conversation turns to us, he walks away.

“That’s an odd question to be asking right now don’t ya think?” He crosses the apartment and sinks down on the side of the bed, removing his dress shoes.

“That’s not an answer.”

His fingers work on the button of his dress shirt, undoing them. He stands and slowly sheds the crisp shirt, discarding it a few feet away. “It’s the only answer you’re going to get.”

“When are you going to stop avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” he says huskily.

“Yes you are,” I insist, ignoring the sound of his belt being undone, the swish as it’s yanked from the loops clattering against the hardwood. Thank God he is wearing boxers this time, although the little bit of fabric doesn’t hinder his sex appeal or my knowledge of what’s underneath them. My mind still goes there. He might as well be naked from the slow burn that ignites deep inside me.

I swallow hard, looking anywhere but at him as he strolls over and digs out a pair of jeans, shoving one leg in and then the other. He pulls on a long sleeve Henley.

“There has to be a reason a guy who is obviously content with the way his life is would bring a strange girl he just met to his apartment and parade girls in and out in front of her. Acting like she is invisible. But continue to allow her to stay. And then what you said to Colton just now … the way you acted. Why, Sterling?” What is it you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” He sounds convinced padding barefoot across the apartment.

“Then why am I here?” I ask, following close behind.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe I felt sorry for you and wanted to give you an escape.”

“So you wanted to rescue me? I don’t believe it.” I’m frustrated that he never opens up. “I think your too selfish for it to be about me. There has to be something in it for you. Tell. Me. Why. You. Brought. Me. here? The real reason.”

He abruptly stops and I ram into solid muscle. He turns around to face me dead-on. “Since I’m so selfish,” he closes the distance between us in two steps. Overwhelmed by his height and the intensity in his gray eyes I hold my breath. He is trying to intimidate me and force me to back down. Obviously he doesn’t know how stubborn I can be. His voice is raspy, “I brought you here to be my sex toy.”

“Not true.” I challenge. “You haven’t tried to kiss me once and you have plenty of girls willing to fill that role.” There is a catch in my voice, “You don’t need me.”

You don’t need me. Those four words are suspended between us, our gazes locked. I wish I could read his mind. There’s a moment when his mouth opens and his expression softens that I’m eagerly waiting his next words. But as quick as the moment comes it is gone. Whatever he was about to say is lost forever.

“Why the hell does it matter? Why do you need a reason? You’re here. If you don’t want to be then you know where the door is. You can’t control everything, Phoenix? If you think you can then you’re delusional.”

“I know there are things that are beyond my control.”

“Do you?” he taunts. “Because I’m not so sure. It may look like the people around you are controlling you, but is that really what’s going on? Or are you controlling them by pacifying them so there is no chance they will push you out of your comfort zone. You hate that you can’t control me. You hate that you can’t manipulate me. You hate that you can’t predict my every move. Hell maybe Colton is right … maybe I am just some tattooed punk you’re using to get back mommy.”

His head dips, our labored breaths mingling. I shiver. His clean smell mixed with alcohol is intoxicating. How can the combination be so pleasing? I breathe him hating that I want him, hating that I want to kiss him. I hate that he might be right, not about the using part, but I have been creating peace so I don’t have to confront anything. With Sterling there is no peace. I can’t predict what he is going to do next. I’m wound tight, in constant turmoil with the unknowing. Sterling Bentley is well aware of his effect on me and he uses it to keep me off balance.

Whose using who here?

“Aren’t you manipulating me,” I mutter.

He ignores my question. “I think it is only fair to warn you, Phoenix, keep this up and you might get something started that you won’t be able to stop or control. Are you ready for that?”

“I want to know why you brought me here,” I insist.

“Okay, here it is … In case you haven’t noticed I’m not happy. I am fuckin’ miserable.” His pupils swallow the gray in his eyes. “You make me feel something I haven’t felt in a longtime.”

“What? What do I make you feel?” I ask, expecting him to shut down as soon as he opens up. It’s what he does.

“Hope,” he says. “You make me feel hope.”

My mouth goes slack. Well I asked for it; the truth. Now what do I do with it?

He tilts his head closer, grinning smugly. “What, no witty come backs?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first. Look, it’s difficult to explain, but when I’m around you I think maybe things can be different ... maybe I can be different.”

“Then why don’t you?”

He cups my cheek with a hand. His eyes focused on my mouth. “Why don’t I what?”

I think about the needle marks. “Try to be different?”

“Are you saying you don’t approve of how I am?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“It’s not that easy, Phoenix.”

“I know. I’ll help you.”

“You have no idea what you’re asking. My shit is a lot more complicated than I think you’re equipped to handle. One look at the truth and you’ll beat your own shadow out of here.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Decide what I’m going to do before you even give me a chance.”

His fingers circle my upper arms; he lowers his head, his expression softening. “I’m saying my world is a lot different than yours.”

“And I’m saying I want to be a part of your world,” I struggle to breathe as I stare up into his eyes. “I understand more than you think. I’m not walking into this blind. It’s what I want, the only thing I want at the moment.”

He lifts my chin with a finger, his mouth skimming mine, coming dangerously close but never touching. He is teasing me. Giving me a small taste of what I can’t fully have.

“Are you hungry?” His grins.

Yes. I’m starving for you.

It’s frustrating. My eyes close, an hmm vibrating over his lips.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he groans taking a step back. “I have somewhere I want to take you.”

I follow him over to bed. He collapses on the foot of it tugging on a pair of Pumas, lacing them up. His gaze trails down over what I’m wearing: his boxers and a T-shirt. “Put on a pair of tennis shoes.” He nods at the dresser. “You can borrow one of my long sleeve shirts. Second drawer on the right. There’s a jacket in the closet. It might get cold where we’re going.”

Magic

Victoria

Sterling chooses a booth in the back of the restaurant, away from the other customers.

“The pizza here is amazing,” he says, dropping down in the booth across from me. The smell of garlic and butter consumes the air. Bread crumbs litter the floor. “I usually get it loaded with everything, but there are all kinds of options if you want something else.”

“You’re giving me an option?” I try not to smile. “I thought men like you give orders, not take them.”

He raises a brow in warning. “This day is not going to end well if you keep this up.”

Folding my arms on the table I stare across at him. “How’s it going to end then?”

“With you underneath me,” he simply returns, shutting me up real quick.

We’d spent the day shopping; buying me clothes. He’d even taken me to buy a tooth brush and some necessities for women: deodorant, make up, underwear. It had been embarrassing sifting through the thongs piled up on a table in the middle of the lingerie department. Thankfully, Sterling had not asked me to model anything. I’d expected at least a little sexual innuendo, but he’d never said a word, just watched my every move as my fingers slipped through the piles of silk and lace. I’d barely taken time to check sizes before laying a black bra and a four pairs of panties on the counter for the sales clerk to ring up. Of course the sales clerk’s attention had been on Sterling the entire time. Apparently guys are drawn to him too. Sterling pretended not to notice the guy checking him out.

“Don’t you need more than that?” Sterling asked from beside me, reaching for the wallet in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Exactly how long do you expect me to stay?” I muttered.

“As long as you want,” he replied.

The waitress plunks two menus down on the table. “Haven’t seen your moody-ass in here for a couple of weeks.” She levels Sterling with bright blue eyes, her hands going to her narrow hips. “I was beginning to think I might need to come hunt your ass down. Where you been?”

“Colorado Springs,” Sterling reluctantly answers, focusing all of his attention on the menu open in his hands.

Her blue eyes slide to me and brighten. “Hey, I know you. You came in here for change.”

Dark brows lower over Sterling’s eyes as they lift to me. I squirm in the seat knowing he knows I considered leaving. So what. He’d said it was an open door policy. I’m free to come … and go.

The girl pulls a pad and pen out of the small red apron tied around her thin waist, a splash of color against the short black skirt and tight white tank top she’s wearing. Her long black natural curly hair is in a low ponytail, swept over one shoulder. There’s a nautical star on the side of her neck, just below an ear. There is another tattoo surrounding her wrist resembling a bracelet of twisted briars. She’s tan. Exotic. With long black curled lashes that make her blue eyes pop. She’s the kind of girl my cousin would hate immediately.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” she nudges Sterling’s shoulder.

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” he mumbles.

“Okay, grumpy.” She sticks out a hand to me; a genuine smile transforming her dark features into breathtakingly beautiful. “As usual he’s being rude … Hi, I’m Starr.”

Her grip is strong, steady.

“Victoria.”

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Victoria. All I can say is you are one brave girl. Being around this guy is no joyride.”

“Like you have any room to talk … you’re not exactly Ms. Sunshine.” Sterling responds with a sparkle in his gray eyes I’ve never seen before.

“I love your necklace,” I say, nodding at the yellow stone lying against the scoop neck of her white tank.

“Thank you. I made it myself,” her fingers absently rub the stone, her gaze flicking briefly in Sterling’s direction. “Amber absorbs negative energy … something there is always plenty of whenever Sterling is around.” She playfully nudges him again. I wish she’d stop touching him. She grabs the menu out of his hands. “I don’t know why you’re pretending to look at the menu when you always order the same thing.” Her eyes return to me. “Sterling is a creature of habit.”

Sterling’s menu smacks closed. “Starr is into that weird shit; you know moonbeams, healing powers and Mother Earth; hence the name Starr, which is fake by the way.”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” I admit. “I’ve always thought it would be interesting to study the energy of certain stones. A cousin of mine made a necklace for her baby. She said it helped with the pain while he was teething.”

“See there …” she jabs a finger in my direction. “I told you it works.”

“Oh hell, not another one of you,” Sterling grumbles. “Next you two will be stringing beads together singing Kumbaya.”

Star’s eyes light with laughter. “See, negative energy.”

She tells Sterling, “This one is sweet. I like her.” Her head turns in my direction. “I already know what he wants. What can I get you to drink?”

“A coke.”

“Coke and a beer. Got it. Be right back.”

“Actually, I think we’re ready to order,” Sterling says right as Starr turns to go get our drinks. He appears anxious to eat and go. He stares over at me, obviously waiting for me to say what I want.

“Whatever he usually orders is fine.”

“A large with everything.” Her black tennis shoes squeak over the vinyl floor as she heads toward the kitchen.

“Old girlfriend?” I ask once Starr disappears through the metal swinging door. Sterling appears surprised. I shrug a shoulder. “I picked up on the ex -vibe.”

He leans on the table with his elbows, his gray eyes never once leaving mine. “It was a long time ago.”

But still he is a regular where she works. Okay, he does live next door, but still … could this be a red flag? Like there haven’t already been numerous red flags. This guy is nothing but a walking red flag.

“Starr is nice,” he says. “We tried dating once. It didn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re too much alike.”

“I can see that. She doesn’t seem like the type to put up with any bullshit.”

His eyes widen, laughter following. “I’m not so sure you meant that as a compliment … for me I mean.”

“I didn’t.”

“You know … you have that look.” He is still chuckling.

“What look?”

“The jealous-girlfriend look.”

“I’m not jealous,” I insist.

“You sure about that?”

“Do you want me to be jealous?” I snap, eyeing him carefully.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. How did you ever end up with my cousin?”

“Colton used to be nerdy.”

A corner of his mouth pulls up. “And that’s why you like him?”

“No. We were friends. His father pushed him a lot.”

He takes a chug of his beer. “Sounds like it runs in the family.”

“His father wasn’t as bad as—”

“It’s okay. You can say it. I know my father is an asshole.”

Thankfully Star comes back with our drinks before I have to.

“Where are we going?” I ask from the opposite side of the cab.

I notice he sits closer to me this time then when he’d first brought me here. He sits with ease, his long legs bent the nearest one occasionally bumping mine, his gray eyes bemuse beneath his long lashes. “That’s the fifth time you’ve asked. I told you it’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises,” I grumble.

“I thought all girls like surprises?” Red mingles with the olive tone in his cheek as if he just realized he is unsure what girls like. He is not always as confident as he pretends to be. I’m starting to wonder how much experience Sterling has at this. There is difference between him having sex with a girl and him actually getting to know a girl. One takes effort.

The cab’s tires crunch over gravel and come to a stop in an empty parking lot. I stare out the window, confusion settling in.

“A Jr. High baseball field,” I mutter, definitely surprised. “Are we going to watch a game?”

“Not exactly.” He swings open the cab door, pays the cabby and we both stand in silence until the cab pulls off. We cross the vacant lot, me feeling small at his side. My stomach drops when I see the hot air balloon anchored by stainless steel cables in the middle of the field. Empty bleachers surround it. I come to a halt glancing up in awe at the royal blue and red balloon with Bentley boldly printed on it floating in the light breeze.

“You own a hot air balloon?” I mutter.

“My father owns a hot air balloon,” he returns, smiling, his teeth white and perfect. I focus on the balloon sensing that he is watching me closely. He is acting like a small boy; excited and eager to unwrap the bright wrapping on a present.

“I hate to disappoint you but I’m not riding in that thing if that’s what you think,” I go ahead and get it out of the way.

Sterling’s grin is smug, confident that he will get his way, eventually. I hate to tell him but this will be one time those dimples won’t work. He reaches for my hand and pulls me along. Reluctantly I match his pace. If he wants to impress me by showing me his family’s balloon, then fine, I can be polite.

“She’s ready, sir,” the gray-haired man tells Sterling as we approach. He is dress in a suit and sweat is beading up on his top lip.

Standing next to the basket Sterling sticks his hands in a pair of gloves and curls a finger. “Come here.”

I shake my head, backing up. “No. There is no way I’m getting in. You can’t make me.”

“Wanna bet,” he says, not a speck of doubt anywhere in eyes.

He comes at me, his jaw determined. Oh dear God. He’s not going to take no for an answer.

“What are you doing?” I shriek.

“Helping you inside the basket.” One minute my feet are firmly on the ground the next I am swept up in his arms. I squeal, my arms circling his neck. “Put me down! I’m serious!” I kick my feet, but it doesn’t keep him from carefully dumping me over the side into the basket. Panicking I attempt to climb back out, but he is by my side before I get one leg over.

“I can’t. I’m afraid of heights,” I grit my teeth, my gaze snapping up to his.

“I remember,” he returns. “Look, it’s perfectly safe. There’s a fire extinguisher and a first aid kit.” He retrieves a lighter from his pocket. “And I have an extra one of these incase the flame goes out.”

It’s not a fire I’m worried about.

He goes on, pointing and explaining how safe the balloon is and how it functions. “I have a helmet you can wear if it will make you feel better.”

“You’re joking, right? This isn’t funny!” My knuckles turn white from my tight grip on the band of the basket. My gaze flickers up inside the balloon dancing above us, to the burner, to the banquette seat, to Sterling’s serious expression.

“Do you see me laughing?” he asks.

“No. But I get the sense you’re laughing on the inside.”

“Relax.” He grabs hold of what he explains is the rip line. Hot air rushes out. “It will be okay. I promise.”

“Oh God! What are you doing? Stop!” The basket is jarred loose. My eyes widen as I grab onto one of the cables in addition to the band of the basket. The movement tickles my belly and causes my eyes to water.

“See you in a couple of hours,” Sterling calls out to the man.

“Yes, sir. It’s supposed to be a beautiful day!”

“He’s not going with us?” my anxiety is taken to a whole new level.

“Nope.” Sterling’s muscles flex under the long sleeve shirt as he pushes and pulls, working on getting us up and off the ground. “You’re going to have to rely on me.”

“Do you even know how to operate this thing?”

“Since I was eight,” he flashes me a wicked grin and a wink. “One of the perks to being a Bentley.”

“Oh shit, we’re moving!” I yelp, punching his arm. “I really hate you right now!”

He chuckles. “You’ll get over it.”

“I doubt that,” I pout, staring over the side as we lift high above the school, high above the trees, higher and higher, up and up and away. The basket gently rocks in the breeze.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” I mumble, slamming my eyes tightly shut. I feel feverish. Dizzy. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. I’ll never forgive you”

“Hey. Look at me,” he says, the close proximity of his voice startling me. At some point he’d come to stand by me. After I don’t respond he takes it upon himself to cup my chin forcing me to do what he says. The sun illuminates his face, each individual lash. I keep my eyes on him and not on the fact that I’m surrounded by blue sky. He hesitates briefly. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Phoenix.”

I swallow hard, captured by the sincerity in his eyes.

“I believe you would never intentionally hurt me,” I say. “It’s accidents beyond your control that frighten me.”

His thumb absently strokes my jaw, his gaze demanding and steady on mine. “Are you thinking about heights right now?”

I blink. Staring up into his eyes I decide that right now—the piercing in his bottom lip catching my attention—I want to kiss him. His face is all angles: his jaw sharp, his chin square, his nose almost straight; the perfect subject when sculpting a block of wood. I could carve that face, but I’m afraid I’d never be able to do it justice.

His mouth curves, his hands going to my waist turning me into his body. His muscles are lean and strong under my palm. He clears his throat. “You’re no longer thinking about crashing, are you? I’m a good distraction, then?”

“I guess,” I answer, eyeing him suspiciously. What is he up to?

“You guess?” He lifts a brow, his head dipping, his mouth hovering near mine. A hot feeling consumes me, interest and excitement. He is overly confident that he can convince me to forget my fears by teasing me. “How about now. Are you distracted?”

I gently shake my head, my tongue coming out to dampen my lips. He watches the action like I knew he would.

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to where we’re going?” I whisper.

“I’ve got it all under control,” his voice is raspy. “We own the sky right now, like the birds.”

One of my brows raise and I slightly pull back away from his lips.

He makes an impatient noise, diminishing the distance I put between us. “It doesn’t take much effort to control where we’re going. I’d rather let the wind take us wherever it wants to take us. That’s the best part … being surprised.”

“You know, for someone who pretends to not care about anything ....” I start but never finish when he tugs me up against him.

I’m thankful for the light breeze that hits my cheek, without it my skin might catch fire from his closeness. I’ve never felt this much anticipation over a simple kiss. Not with Colton. Not with Jonah. Not with anyone. My body radiates heat.

His teeth catch my top lip and my breath falters when his tongue follows the same path of his teeth, hot along the seam of my mouth. His lips mold mine, persuading me to open for him. My hand comes up to caress his cheek, his stubble rough against my palm. His hand presses into my waist, pulling me closer. When I draw a strangled breath his tongue slips in. Every part of me awakens in that moment. Parts of me I’ve ignored for too long. He tastes like youthful abandon and all things forbidden but you can’t resist. My fingers find soft wild hair, tangling into it. I lean into him and he makes a muffled groaning sound as his mouth slips to my neck which I arched for him. His teeth scraped skin, a sucking sound following. He urges me backwards, pinning me to the side of the basket.

Yes. He is the perfect distraction.

I forget where I am. Hell, I forget who I am or at least the old version of who I am.

He braces his hands on either side of the railing of the basket, his mouth moving up my neck returning to my mouth. My mouth opens giving him entrance, longing for the feel of his tongue against mine. He abruptly breaks the kiss, breathing heavy and stumbling back in a daze. I recognize the look of being incredibility turned on; because I’m sure I have the same look. My lips tingle in the cool air. Sterling doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t tell me what I did to make him stop he just latches onto the side, peering over the light breeze rustling his dark hair.

I step up beside him doing the same and draw in a deep breath at how high we are. I’d not been paying attention. We’re drifting, everything below us tiny. A smile touches my lips when realize I’m no longer afraid. I’m actually enjoying the balloon ride.

Maybe it has something to do with who I’m with.

“Makes you feel insignificant, doesn’t it?” he mutters, leaning over the side, balancing his forearms on the basket his hands clasped.

“I was going to say the opposite,” I reply. “I’m always so hung up on how I feel I never take the time to realize I’m a part of something … something larger.” I nod at the activity going on below us: busy streets, swarms of people appearing small going about their routines … It reminds me of an ant farm I made once for school, all of the ants working toward one common goal. “I feel less alone right now then I have my entire life.” I pause, glancing sideways at him. “Is that a smile?”

He shrugs a shoulder staring off into the sky, “You’ve given me a new perspective on hot air balloons. It looks like it might rain. We should get back.”

“Yeah, looks like rain,” I mumble.

Sterling turns away from me preoccupied with taking us back in.

He acts like the kiss never happened.

I start to wonder if it did or is I was dreaming.

“Come on in. Have a seat,” Starr calls over at me before turning back to the table where she is taking a couples order.

I hover over by the door, waiting. Starr glances my way again and she must be able to sense my tension. She holds up a finger that implies ‘give me a minute’.

“Hey, I didn’t come to eat,” I breathe out as she walks up.

“Is everything okay?” One of her hands goes to my upper arm, her blue eyes penetrating mine. “My God, you’re shaking. When’s the last time you had anything to eat?”

When we got home from the balloon ride he went out like he normally did. But this time he didn’t come back. It’s been four days and I need to know. It’s driving me crazy not knowing where he is.

“Have you seen Sterling?” gushes out.

Starr blinks, confused. “Not since you two were in here a couple of days ago. What happened? Did you two get into a fight? I know he can be a coldhearted bastard sometimes.”

My gaze widens at her brashness. “No. It’s nothing like that. He just … took off. I haven’t seen or heard from him in four days.”

Her face softens, there’s a look of pity.

“I’m sorry, Tori. It’s not unusual for him to hook up with a girl and not call her after. It’s what he does. I hope you didn’t think…”

“I know, but he left his cell behind,” I hold it up as evidence. “He keeps getting all these weird text that make no sense… Starr, my gut tells me something is wrong.”

“Wait.” An arched brow goes up. “Sterling Bentley gave you his cell phone? THE Sterling Bentley? The same guy we both know? ”

I nod, crossing my arms over my chest. “At first I thought he left it as a hint that he wanted me to call my parents. But then I thought maybe he was trying to be nice. I don’t know what. Who knows with Sterling … All I know for sure is he hasn’t shown back up at his apartment in four days.”

She shakes her head, pulling me over to one of the booths, forcing me to sit.

She gives her few customers a quick glance before sliding in across from me. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re staying at Sterling’s apartment. He left you his cell phone—you assume—in case you needed it and now he is MIA and you’re driving yourself insane with worry?”

“That pretty much sums it up.” I laugh, to keep from breaking down. “He wouldn’t just disappear would he? I’ve seen his father …”

“Yeah, his father is a real bully.” Starr sighs, giving another quick look to her satisfied customers. “Okay, listen, I get off in thirty minutes. Tamara’s shift starts in another ten. Hang around and we’ll go look for him. I think I might know where he is. In the meantime I want you to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” I hug my stomach, nauseated.

“I don’t care. I’m not going anywhere with you until I see you eat.”

Starr is so much like Sterling it’s scary: from her tattoos to her desire to feed me. She slides out of the booth to go place an order for a pizza I’ll never be able to force down.

“It’s this way,” Starr says, nodding up the sidewalk. We turn left.

“Sorry. I had to change,” she says. “I’m not too comfortable going where we’re going in the short skirt; brings back old memories, makes me feel way vulnerable.”

In the break room of the restaurant Starr had changed into a pair of jeans and covered the white tank top with a short jean jacket with multi-colored beads on the pockets. Her dark natural curly hair cascaded over her shoulders being set free from its ponytail.

Now, her fingers nervously fidget with the amber necklace that is supposed to repel negative energy.

I can tell this is bothering her more than she is letting on.

We pass Sterling’s building and keep walking straight, past a row of shops. I cut a sideways glance at Starr.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

She hesitates, pondering how to answer. “How much has Sterling told you about himself?”

“Not much.” I focus on the sidewalk in front of us, an uneasy feeling settling in my stomach.

“I’ve noticed needle tracks. But we’ve never talked about it,” I say, not mentioning the scars on his wrist.

Her head turns in my direction, a light warm breeze blowing the wisps of hair around her face.

“Yeah?” she raises a brow. “You noticed them?”

I nod, my throat suddenly dry.

“Why didn’t you ask him about the needles?”

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t feel like I had any right. I figured he’d tell me if he wanted to.”

She buries her hands in the pockets of her jacket. Our feet sound over the pavement. The city lives and breathes around us. It’s evening; the sun is beginning to disappear behind the tall buildings. I can’t spend another sleepless night wondering where he is. I need to know for my sanity.

After a block of silence we turn down a side alley.

Starr clears her throat. “I met Sterling at the lowest point of my life. I was an addict. I did some horrible shit; turned tricks for cash, lied to my family, stole…”

“You don’t look like…” my words die off.

“You were going to say I don’t look like a junkie.” She laughs now, her blue eyes full of life. “Nobody ever thinks they can end up living on the streets, Tori, but it happens. It happened to me.” She removes a hand from a pocket quickly wiping away the few tears rolling down her cheek. She looks up at the sky and sniffs.

“Dammit! I promised myself I’d never go back there. I can’t believe he is fucking doing this to me; forcing me to come down here after his grumpy ass. He is smarter than this.”

A lump forms at the base of my throat making it difficult for me to swallow. I know she is talking about Sterling.

“Where is he?” I ask, needing a straightforward answer.

“I think he might be hanging out at this crack house we used to frequent a lot.” Her head turns back in my direction, shame and self-loathing oozing off her. “I bet you’ve never met anyone who’s turned tricks, have you?” She lifts the belly of her shirt showing a scar. “I bet you’ve never met anyone who’s been stabbed by a screw driver?” She lets the shirt fall back into place. “Don’t look so shocked. It happens. God, you must think I’m awful don’t you?”

My gaze travels over this beautiful girl. She doesn’t look hard or beaten down like I’d expect. She looks normal.

“No. Not awful. Amazing for beating it,” I tell her, because it’s the truth. I’ve never met anyone as strong as Starr.

“Yeah, well,” she snorts, “if you would have asked me two years ago where I saw myself in five years … I would have said dead.” She flicks a quick glance over her shoulder in the direction we just come from. “If you’d told me I’d be the manager of Something Italian, living in my own apartment, clean and sober, I would have said there is no fucking way. I was trapped in a nightmare. A fucking living nightmare I could never wake up from. I knew there were only two ways out—dead or by some miracle. Sterling Bentley was my miracle.” She studies my side profile. “You okay hearing this?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I lie.

She sighs. “Sterling and I hooked up. Misery loves company, right? He was the only nice guy I’d ever met. Anyways, it meant more to me than it did him, enough to make me think family and kids were in the picture. It was enough motivation for me to check into rehab. I got out. Sterling didn’t want out.”

I hate the way the knowledge of what Sterling meant to her—maybe still means to her—makes me feel. Jealous when I have no right to be. These two have a past. Sterling and I have … what—one kiss?

“I’m sorry, Starr.” I give her a sincere smile.

She shrugs a shoulder. “Don’t be. I’m not. After Sterling I realized I wanted to kick it … for myself. I wanted my life back. I deserve the fairy tale. We all do. So, yeah, I’m not sorry. But I’ll always want what’s best for Sterling. Even when his life was shit he looked out for me.”

We stop walking and turn to face one another standing in the shadows of the narrow alley. A chill consumes me and I hug myself rubbing my arms to create friction. Truth is I’m scared to death. I’m scared of what I’ll see when we find him.

“You’re kind of wonderful,” I tell her. “He’s lucky to have you.”

A smile spreads across her face. “Now I know why you’re so special to him; why you’re the exception to his ‘never commit’ rule.”

“I’m no exception,” I say, my cheeks burning.

It’s true. I’m no one’s exception. We’re both talking about the same self-adsorbed, cold-hearted unattainable guy. He is no different with me than he was with her. Only difference is he gave me a key and a cell phone.

Not his heart. Never his heart.

“Oh yeah, trust me, you are Sterling Bentley’s exception. I knew that the instant he brought you into the restaurant. He has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.” She nods at the lonely side door to a building. I hadn’t even notice we’d reached our destination. Trash litters the alley outside the door.

“This is it,” Starr says. “Maybe you should wait out here.”

“No. I want to go in.” My voice is strangely steady, while the rest of me trembles.

“You sure, Victoria? This isn’t going to be easy to see. I’m not even sure he is in there, but if he is, hard telling the state he’s in. Might not be something you want to be faced with. Do you understand?” She tries to relay some kind of message with her eyes. “There’s a lot of skanks that will latch on to a guy like Sterling.”

“Skanks?” I mumble letting it register.

“Yeah, skanks who figure if they have to trade a blow job for drugs they would rather blow Sterling than some nasty ancient guy.” A look of horror passes over my face. She must notice. “You know what; you’re obviously not ready to see this. I’ll go in. Look around. If I find him I’ll assess how bad the situation is and then come get you.”

Floating Shit

Starr’s POV

This girl is determined to get her heart broken.

They say opposites attract. It must be true because Tori and Sterling are as opposite as it gets. She’s polished. He reeks of filth. I bet she likes things gentle. I know Sterling likes them hard and fast.

With my finger curled around the steel handle to the heavy door leading into the crack house I glance down at Tori’s hand lying on my arm.

“I’m coming in,” she tells me leveling me with a look. Her jaw is clenched and there is an uncertainty in her expression, but she is not going to give on this. She already has herself convinced she can save him. Problem is … Sterling Bentley doesn’t think he needs saving.

“Okay. Stay close and watch where you step,” I warn, yanking the door open. The wonderful stench of the crack house pours out into the alley tainting the fresh air.

“Oh Lord,” Tori covers her nostrils and mouth, coughing and gagging into her palm.

“If you think it stinks now, wait till you’re inside,” I say. “Not too late to back out.”

“I’m not backing out. Lead the way.”

She peers over my shoulder into the dim entrance to the basement.

We take the busted-up stairs down. An old worn out rug covers the cement floor. The only light comes through the broken windows along the foundation and the single light bulb dangling from the low ceiling. We pass a broken down mattress where a black thin man is curled up on his side. He is oblivious to us. To life. Lost in a world I’m familiar with. For a moment that undeniable urge to use slams into me. I remember the warm sensation. The out-of-it sensation. Flying high. Indescribable. Unstoppable. My mouth goes dry. Oh God, what I wouldn’t give to feel that dreamlike state one more time.

“You okay?” Tori nudges my side. “You look pale. Need some air?”

I chuckle. Need some air? Hell, this is my stomping ground. This girl doesn’t even have a clue. Need some air? I chuckle again.

“I’m fine.” I lie, to her and to myself. “Moving forward,” I murmur, watching where I step. “Always moving forward.”

There are piles of clothes saturated with urine, discarded: vials, razor blades, pen casings for snorting, car antennas used as crack pipes, Band-Aids used to cover boils and sores caused by aids. We pass a young girl—eighteen maybe—laid out on the floor; a soiled comforter covered in mice dropping bunched under her head for a pillow. She looks up at us with cloudy distant eyes.

“Please don’t tell my brother I’m here. He’ll be angry … won’t understand … I’m bad … don’t deserve love … disappointed everyone,” the girl mumbles swatting at flies. She is a skin-and-bones crack-whore with smeared red lip stick. Outside she’d be considered psychotic, in here she’s invisible. Her lips move but no sound comes out, a silent conversation with her demons, the ones holding her captive. Her hands are pinned under the sides of her ass. She does this to try to control her hands, because in her state, there is little control.

I get it.

Tori is probably thinking the girl is acting like a mindless zombie, moaning and rocking. I glance over a shoulder and sure-enough Tori’s mouth is hanging open. She looks like she is about to bolt. I don’t blame her. Nobody wants to be here.

“Is she going to be okay?” Tori chokes out.

“Probably not,” I answer honestly. “When she comes down from the trip she’s on she will eat the first thing she can find, whether its moldy bread or something from the garbage. They don’t care what they eat. They’re only concerned about their next fix. That is ALL that matters.”

A scum bag appears on Tori’s left causing her to jump, startled. He looks about forty although he is probably still in his early twenties. Life is hard on you down here. It will age you in a heartbeat. Destroy you in a second. His stubble covered cheeks are sunk in. His body is frail and beat-up; inflamed sores scattered across his high forehead. He takes a long drag off a cigarette, the tip glowing. He is down here searching for company.

Tori’s eyes widen. She looks like a scared rabbit not knowing whether to surrender or run, so she remains still waiting for him to get bored and move on.

The guy’s desperate eyes travel down Tori’s body in a suggestive way; over the simple jeans and T-shirt. Hell, I’m shocked he is interested at all considering she doesn’t have the same amount of bare thighs and tits on display he is used to seeing. The guy’s slimy tongue flicks out wetting cracked lips. I can hear his nasty thoughts already seeing Tori’s head bobbing in his lap.

“I got what you need, sweetie. We could make a trade.” More fucking her with his eyes. “It’ll be good for both of us.”

“I-I’m not interested.”

“Get the hell off her,” I say giving him a hard shove. “She’s not going to be you’re slut.”

He stumbles. A grin spreads on his face showing broken teeth. His eyes are on me now. Thank god I changed. I don’t think I’d have the courage if I were dressed like I still belong here.

“If you’re jealous hotstuff I can do you both.”

“Fuck off creep!” I snarl.

My body trembles, but I don’t let it show. Never show your weakness. A couple of years ago I would have begged this creep to let me suck his dick for a trade.

“Hey, whatever.” He throws up his hands walking backwards until he is some distance away. “It’s your loss.”

He is afraid we’ll cut him and steal what he has. A quick lesson you learn down here; watch your back.

“Shit, Tori, walk,” I breathe urging her forward. We move deeper into the bowels of the basement, the smell of shit growing stronger.

“What’s behind the sheet?” Tori nods at the dingy sheet hanging from the ceiling to serve as a partition.

“That’s the bathroom door.”

She cocks her head, her eyes widening. “There’s a bathroom?”

“Yeah. Want to use it?” I chuckle. She looks horrified like I might be serious. “If you call a couple of five gallon buckets full of shit and urine a bathroom, then yeah there’s a bathroom. Keep moving.”

“Where’s the Clorox smell coming from?”

“They put it in the buckets.”

She gags, slapping a hand over her mouth. I almost do the same. You would think you’d get used to the smell, but you never do. It’s disgusting. This entire place is disgusting.

I grimace, remembering my pathetic past. “This place is like staring the devil straight in the face and having him stare back at you.” I feel sorry for Tori. “Sterling shouldn’t have sucked you into this world. You don’t belong here.” I tell her, wishing I could slap Bentley upside the head for being so inconsiderate.

“Neither do you, Starr.”

No one does.

“I don’t see him anywhere,” she says.

“We’ll keep looking.” I avoid telling her I know Sterling’s spot and we haven’t got there yet. I don’t want her to know whatever we’re about to see, whoever her boyfriend is latched onto, I was that girl once.

I hear Tori suck in a strangled breath as we come to the far left corner. My heart aches for her. I can feel her pain. There is nothing worse than being shown who you love is not who you think they are. Instead, they are the evil twin of your beloved. But your heart still longs the same for the evil twin regardless.

There, on the concrete, just like I knew it would be, lays a stained, broken down mattress. Sterling and some crack hoe are on it. He is sitting up, his back pressed to the cement block wall. His dark eyes narrow slits, his just-fucked hair a sure sign of what he’s been doing down here over the past four days, well that, and the fly of his jeans open showing the line of hair surrounding his temporarily tucked away penis. A short sleeve black T-shirt shows the tattoos on his arms.

Sterling has always been way too pretty to be down here; a diamond in the rough.

There’s a cigarette stuck over his right ear and a broken miniature Jack Daniels bottle in his hand, a handmade crack pipe. His attention is on the rock of cocaine on top the foil. He strikes the lighter underneath the glass, heating the cocaine. His eyes shut in anticipation. He inhales deeply. His eyes roll back in his head, his head collapsing against the wall.

Sterling is fucked up; in more ways than one.

My gaze slides to Tori standing beside me. I reach for her hand, squeezing it to let her know I’m still here. Her face is pale. She’s not crying. Not allowing the curse words to fly like I would be. She just watches with a blank expression that makes the hairs on my arms stand-on-end, like she is absorbing it in, finally seeing the truth.

“Does he ever black out?” she asks, her eyes still on Sterling.

“Sometimes.”

“Has he ever been to jail?” Another crazy question. This girl truly has no idea who she is getting mixed up with. I think that is becoming clear.

“Yeah, for possession with intent to distribute, shoplifting, loitering….”

Her eyes clamp close.

I feel sorry for her. You can’t help who you love.

“Has her ever gotten a girl pregnant?”

My fucking stomach plummets to the floor. I’m not sure how to answer. I’m not sure I want to answer.

“Once. The girl had a miscarriage in her second month.”

Sterling lifts his head, his head bobbing on his shoulders. He passes the crack pipe to the trampy girl stretched out next to him: her lowered eyelids are painted a coal color, her blonde hair greasy looking with its two inches of black roots, but she’s got the tits guys drool over spilling out for all to see, pink nipples puckering in the air. If I was Tori I’d grab this bitch by the hair and drag her off the mattress screaming and kicking. Then I’d plant my foot in Sterling’s crotch making it hurt where it counts.

His eyes land on us standing there. A cocky-ass grin makes a slow appearance.

“This isn’t going to be pretty,” I whisper to Tori, warning her.

“Look who’s here … my two favorite girls,” Sterling slurs, arms spread wide as if we’re his best friends in the world. He crawls toward us over the mattress and pops up to his feet.

The blonde doesn’t give a fuck what Sterling does; she’s too busy sucking on the pipe, escaping her own shitty reality.

I’ve seen that glassy look in Sterling’s eyes before. He’s out of it, thinking he can take on the whole damn world at the moment. Believing he is one happy motherfucker.

He approaches Tori with the grace of a three-legged dog on crack, his eyes never leaving her. He strokes her arm and I can see her flinch and pull away.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” he says to her, chuckling low. “I thought you would have already run home by now crying to mommy and daddy. Played with your wood,” he grabs hold of the crotch of his jeans, moving his penis around. “I got some wood you can play with.” She holds his gaze, barely blinking. “It’s hard.” His hand leaves his dick long enough to reach for her wrist, his fingers circling it. He tugs, attempting to bring her hand to his crotch. Her arm stays glued to her side, stiff, fighting his pull. “Come on, feel it,” he urges.

She blinks, looking like she’s about to throw up in his face. I wish she would.

An eyebrow rises. “What’s wrong, Phoenix? You don’t approve … A little too nasty for your taste?” His fingers leave her wrist sliding up and down her arm. His lashes lowered seductively. “Still want to be a part of my world, baby?”

“Back the hell up,” I say, a palm planted in the center of his chest. “Give her some room to breathe.”

“Hey, you bitches came into my territory.” He wobbles, grinning.

“You can’t disappear and expect her not to worry, Sterling. You left her sitting in your apartment, alone.”

He moves over to me, having trouble keeping his eyes focused on one thing. “Nobody said she had to stick around.” He steps closer, closing the distance between us. He knows I don’t like anyone in my personal space unless I’m high off my ass. I’ve been raped far too many times to be comfortable with any guy trying to establish some dominance over me. I know what a guy like him can do if he wants to. The pain he can cause.

“You miss it don’t you,” he taunts, focusing on torturing me and not Tori. “Why else would you be here? I can make you feel good, Star. You know that. I know you haven’t forgotten how good it can be.” His smile is wicked. I can almost hear the devil in there somewhere bending a finger for me to come on over to the dark side.

“I’m here for your girlfriend, asshole,” I growl in Sterling’s face.

His mouth hovers near mine. My heart races, too many bad old memories.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he announces. “It can be like old times. Don’t tell me you don’t want it. You can’t hide it. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You stink.”

“Come party with me and in a few minutes you won’t care what I smell like,” he says, nodding at the mattress on the floor. I never want to end up back there.

“Don’t—” I try to protest but his mouth crushes over mine. My lips remain closed, tight, unmoving. I hold my breath. It’s a rough kiss. An angry kiss. A kiss that destroys any hope he had with Tori. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard not to kiss Sterling back. I shove against his chest until he allows me to break the kiss.

“What the fuck was that?” I yell, wiping the remnants of his spit off my mouth.

Both of us glance over at Tori at the same time. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. She turns and takes off running, weaving and sidestepping through all the chaos.

“Why would you kiss me in front of her? Are you a complete asshole! I THOUGHT you were my friend … but I’m not so sure I want to be friends with you anymore. That was way beyond fucked up even for you!” I rant. “You know she has it bad for you. Anybody can see it! Are you trying to destroy her?” I aim a finger at the whore passed out on the mattress. “Because if your intention is to screw up whatever you two have. I think you’ve succeeded.”

Sterling looks shell-shocked, comprehension dawning. “I … she…”

“You’re going to regret it tomorrow. Tomorrow when you wake up and realize you’ve chased off anyone that ever cared.”

His mask of happiness slips.

He goes to move past me like he’s going to go after Tori.

I block him. “Oh no, I’m not letting your ass anywhere near her, even if I have to put her on a plane myself.”

He grabs hands full of his hair, yanking as if he’d love nothing more than to rip it out by the roots.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” He growls, smacking his forehead hard several times with his palm. “Fuck. He’s right I am a screw up. I sabotage anything good!”

Suddenly he is fixated on me again. Oh hell what’s going to be his next insane move?

“You have to talk to her. Fix it.” He sinks to the floor on his knees in front of me and wraps his arms around my right leg. A choked sob rocks his body as he presses his forehead to my leg. It’s not unusual for him to get melodramatic when he uses. His emotions are all over the place. It’s difficult to tell which is real.

“Please, Starr,” he begs into my jeans. “This isn’t me and you know it.”

“If you don’t get your shit together, Sterling, people are going to stop looking for you.” I should console him. Put a hand on his bent head and tell him it’s okay, but I can’t. I can’t baby him. He needs to face the truth, the harsh truth. There always comes the day when they stop looking for you.

“Let go of my leg.” I struggle to keep my voice steady as I attempt to shake him off.

His fingertips press into the back of my leg. His hold tightens becoming desperate. I manage a couple of steps dragging him. He pulls back and stares up at me with a haunted expression, his wet lashes coal black. A lonely tear slowly slips down his cheek.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

I reach down and pry him off my leg. He collapses in a heap, looking like he is praying and kissing my feet. He tackles my ankles.

“No. Don’t leave. I’m scared. Don’t leave me,” Sterling pleads. Now he is bawling and it’s hard to watch. His mind isn’t working right. I’ve been there. I crave going there now. I think about using and then I think about dying. I’d never gotten as bad as Sterling, but I was getting there. Once I’d seen a girl that no longer could find a vein to shoot into anymore that wasn’t collapsed she’d had to resort to stabbing herself with the syringe. The front of her shirt was soaked with blood and puke. I’m still terrified that will be me one day.

Staying clean is a constant battle.

A lump forms in my throat. I wrench my feet out of Sterling’s grasp and back away.

I kneel in front of him and grab a hand full of hair forcing his head up. He has trouble focusing on my face, but I know he hears me. “Go fuck your whore, Ster. Do your drugs. Life won’t stop just because you no longer want to participate. Everyone you care about and love will move on without you. You’ll wither away to nothing but skin and bones and die in this shithole because you’re too damn weak to do anything about it. If you want to self-destruct than you’ll have to do it by yourself.”

“Please, don’t—” he cries, snot dripping from his nose and saliva gathering in the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Bullshit. You know exactly what to do. You’re just too selfish. You’d rather hurt the people who love you instead of giving it up. ” I release his head letting his chin hit his chest. I stand up, turn and walk away from my best friend, the one that changed my life and didn’t even know it. If I hadn’t lost the baby from my inability to stay clean then I never would have realized just how far I’d fallen. I never would have hated myself enough to get help. Losing the life that was inside of me was my rock-bottom.

Uncovering the Truth

Victoria

The side door to the building opens. I stop pacing in the alley my head turning towards the moan of steel. My stomach sinks the instant I see Starr. Her face is pale. Her body is trembling.

“Where’s Sterling?”

“He’s not coming,” she says already headed toward the exit to the alley.

I struggle to keep up. “What do you mean he’s not coming? We can’t leave him there. We have to go back in there and make him come with us.”

She comes to a sudden stop swinging to face me. “Look, I get that you want to make him come with us, but it doesn’t work that way. We can’t make Sterling do anything. He has to want to do it.” Behind her the busy street is filled with traffic: yellow cabs, honking horns, moody drivers anxious to get home. It’s all irrelevant.

“But we can’t leave him in there. What if something happens to him?” comes out in a gush of panic.

Starr sighs. “Tori, he’s where he wants to be. Besides you can’t talk any sense into him while he’s like that. And yeah, bad shit happens every day. Sterling knows the risk and he doesn’t care.”

“You can convince him,” I return. Sterling kissed her. They were something once. Starr could convince him if she tried. I shudder considering the alternative. “I can’t stand the thought of him with that girl. Please don’t leave him in there with her.”

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head and turns, headed toward the restaurant. “It has to be his decision. I can’t do it for him. You can’t do it for him. Best thing you can do is be on the next flight out of here and forget about him.” Her bottom lip twitches and I know, even though Starr is acting like this isn’t bothering her, it is. “I’m starting to think Sterling is a lost cause.”

“Don’t say that,” I mutter, falling into step beside her.

“Hi dad,” I say when his cell phone clicks over to voice mail. I hesitate. This is hard. It’s my mistake and now I’m asking them to fix it. “I’m ready to come home. I hate asking … could you please wire me the money for a plane ticket? I’ll explain everything when I get home … you can reach me back on this number. I’m sorry dad. I love you.” I hit end call and shove the phone in my back pocket.

Waiting is not good enough. Being in this apartment makes me sick to my stomach.

My heart races as I jerk open another drawer on the dresser. I turn the stacks of T-shirts every-which-a-way until my hand brushes the wood bottom of the drawer. Nothing. Not a damn thing. Slamming the drawer closed with a hip my gaze travels the apartment in search of somewhere else to look.

There has to be something; a debit card or a check book.

I’ve seen enough to ruin whatever feelings I might have had.

Dropping to my knees I look under the bed. There is nothing underneath the bed except for a sprinkling of dust over the light colored hardwood. My head snaps up, my attention landing on the door on the other side of the bed: Sterling’s walk in closet.

“You should have started there first,” I shove up from the floor and wipe the palms of my hands on my jeans.

I hit the light switch and the fluorescent overhead buzzes.

His closet smells like him, I ignore it not allowing myself to get caught up in it. Everything is color coordinated. Shoving dress shirts on the hangers aside I scan the floor of the closet seeing shoes lined neatly in rows. Reaching high above my head I feel around on the shelf, my hand stopping when it bumps something hard wedged between two plastic containers. Whatever it is it pushed to the back of the shelf. My stomach wrenches with curiosity.

Wrapping my fingers around it I gasp at the familiarity of its shape: raised wings and notched out feathers.

I bring down my eagle.

When?

How?

Why?

At the party, the party Sterling destroyed. I remember my father going to put the eagle back on the mantle in the living room. That was the last time I saw it. This single act changes the way I view Sterling. I no longer see a monster whose only intention is to hurt the people around him. Sterling doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but himself. I see someone lost and confused. Someone I can’t give up on so easily. I pull out Sterling’s phone and scroll through his contacts until I come to Sawyers name. Sterling will hate me for involving his younger brother, but I don’t care. It’s time to get Sawyer involved.

Family takes care of family.

Cops and the Bad Guy

Sawyer

Victoria leads me through the stench of shit.

I breathe through my mouth instead of my nose as much as possible.

“Damn it stinks in here,” I complain on the tail end of an embarrassing gag. This should not bother me, but something about the dump causes my gut to churn in ways it never has. I knew Sterling had a problem, but I didn’t know he'd sunk this low.

“What made you decide to call me?” I ask Victoria.

“Ya’ll are brothers.” She cuts me a sideways glance. “You’re supposed to beat the stupid out of each other, right?”

“Yeah. Right.” I return, a shitload of regret getting lodged in my chest.

When I was thirteen I'd wanted a Ruger Air Hawk rifle more than anything in the world. Hell, to me that damn rifle was the world. I’d begged for the rifle until my father finally caved and bought me one. Of course my father had to make it a special occasion. He’d bought the rifle for me getting into a fight at school. He was proud I’d only allowed the boy to get in one good punch before I’d tackled him to the floor, pulverizing his face with a fist until a teacher pulled me off. The boy’s face looked ten times worse than mine and I’m almost certain I broke his nose. I’d been expelled, which dad said was bullshit since the other boy started it and I just defended myself. He’d smirked with pride, a hand clamped down on my shoulder as we left the principal’s office, pink slip in hand.

“Oh well, you deserve a vacation. Those people don’t know shit and sure as hell don’t have the authority or experience to tell me how I should parent my sons,” my father said.

“You need to be careful with that thing,” Sterling warned passing through the living room with a fist full of paint brushes. My brother thought he was the next Vincent van Gogh spending hours in his room painting. Sterling was sixteen at the time; wearing a gray T-shirt with the sleeves cut off exposing spindly arms not fully development into man status. He’d like to think he was all grown up and tough, sometimes I had to point out he wasn’t quite there yet just because he’d finally grown a little hair on his face.

“Relax,” I told him. “The safety’s on.”

“Still, don't be pointing it inside and be careful you don't blow off a toe,” he returned, pointing a finger.

His bedroom door shut and I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I continued to tighten the screws on the stock of the rifle. After dropping the screw driver on the cushion I wiped down the wood and metal with a soft cloth. I thrust the barrel back into place, shouldering the rifle, closing one eye and looking through the fiber optic sights. The gun shouldered well and had a comfortable grip. The tip of the rifle scanned the room; trees just beyond the glass door magnified through the scope. Cheek pressed to wood, one eye still squeezed tight I pretended to take a shot at a bird in the high branches beyond the glass. POW! I imitated the gun firing. Pow! Pow! My finger stroked the trigger.

I don't know what I was thinking.

I guess I wasn't.

The gun fired for real, the pellet hitting dad's television screen. Tiny cracks spread out from the small hole, resembling a spider web in the glass. Sterling charged into the room, his face red with anger as I leapt to my feet ready to defend myself.

“What did you do, Saw! I told you to be careful!” His mouth gaped.

We both stared at the screen in horror.

Ever had a moment where you wish you could turn back time? One minute things are fine, the next … everything turns to shit.

“I – I didn't … it was an accident. I was cleaning it and—” I stammered. Right then I heard the front door open and my body tensed all over. Dad was going to beat the everliving shit out of me. I deserved it; Sterling and I both knew it. My brother looked down on me barely blinking, his jaw clenched. Dad footsteps sounded in the foyer. I tilted my chin and squared my shoulders ready to take my punishment like a man. Sterling's hand shot out jerking the rifle from my grip..

“Hey!” I protested. “Gimme my gun back.”

“What the hell happened in here,” dad's voice exploded from the door way. His brief case clunked onto the floor. Dark brows lowered, his gaze landing on the rifle in Sterling's hands.

“I was showing Saw how to clean his gun and it went off.” Sterling said. “It was my fault. I guess I forgot to put the safety on.”

“You guess you forgot to the safety on.” Dad’s head snapped back. He stalked toward Sterling, a head taller and definitely meaner. “Why am I not surprised?” He grabbed the gun out of my brother’s hands. “You tear up my shit; it's only fair I get to tear up yours. Sounds about right, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Sterling mumbled.

Dad slid out of his suit jacket, picked up extra ammo and turned on his heels. My gut wrenched knowing where he was headed. Sterling's face turned pale matching dad’s long strides, never once letting on to the truth. I wished he would tell. The guilt was eating me up inside.

Dad kicked open the door to Sterling's room and stalked over, collecting the canvas's propped along the wall.

“Grab that one on the easel too,” dad barked at me. My gut hurt at the sight of Sterling’s unfinished painting of a young boy playing in a sewer drain. I hesitated, but eventually scooped up the painting knowing what would happen if I didn’t. “Come on, Saw. Time for us to have us a little target practice.”

“But, he really didn't mean to!” I tried following my father all the way out into the back yard. “Please don't.” My head whipped around. “Ster, tell him the truth! I don’t care. I can take it. Honest.”

“Shut up,” Sterling snapped.

In that moment the difference in Sterling’s age and mine seemed astronomical. I’d respected my brother more on that day than I would ever respect my father.

Dad's angry steps crossed the yard. He leaned the canvases in front of trees scattered around the yard and backed up, aiming my rifle and firing, one shot after another. He smiled the entire time.

An old lady rented the carriage house on our property. Elaine was a weird old bag that kept to herself and never opened her blinds. My father rented the house to her for that exact reason, because he thought she would mind her own business.

On that day Elaine made the gun fire and the sixteen year old taking punches in the gut her business. The law had showed up twenty minutes after we’d gone back inside.

My father slung an arm around Sterling’s shoulders, crushing him to his side, beaming with fake admiration.

“Next time my boys and I decide to hang out we’ll make it a point to stop by Elaine’s to let her know there is no need to be concerned.” He flashed white teeth at the cop.

The cop sat his coffee mug down, burying his ballpoint pen in the pocket of his navy shirt as he stood up, sticking out a hand toward my father. “I think we’re all finished here. Sorry to interrupt your afternoon.”

“No. I’m the one who is sorry you had to come out for no reason on such a beautiful afternoon. You should be home enjoying your family,” my father said, following the cop to the door. The cop stopped and turned once more, shooting Sterling and I a look that said, listen to your father and behave.

Metal gleamed on cop’s shirt. A gun hung from his holster.

As soon as the door closed our father spun around and glared at Sterling.

“Don’t you ever embarrass me like that again,” he said his eyes full of loathing. He stormed off to the kitchen leaving Sterling and me standing there in disbelief.

“I’ve decided …” I said, pausing.

“What have you decided?” Sterling asked still staring at the front door.

“I want to be a cop.”

“Why would you ever want to be a cop, Saw.”

“So I could see through all the bullshit. I’d know what really happened,” I said.

“I never did much of the saving,” I admit to Victoria now. “It was always Sterling saving me.”

We reach the back corner of the building where my brother is passed out on a dirty old mattress with urine stains; some whore curled up next to him. I crouch beside the mattress seeing that familiar face from my childhood. Shit. I’m a guy. Crying is not acceptable, but fuck seeing my brother, the same guy who always bailed me out reduced to a junkie without anyone to come bail him out has the tears rolling down my cheeks. I absently smear them away and reach for his shoulder. His eyes are closed, but I don’t have to see them to know the sadness they hold, I’ve seen for years. Most of that sadness was put there by me. Sterling had an escape, a full ride to college, sometimes I think he blowed it to stick around for my sake.

He smells like the sewer he’s spent the last couple of days in.

“Hey, wake up. You’re going to get you out of this shithole.” I glance up at Victoria. “Thank you for calling me. He never would have.”

“He shouldn’t be here,” she says. Her arms are crossed over her chest a clear sign that this is more than she is prepared to handle. But her eyes say otherwise. Her eyes say she is in it deep with my brother.

“I agree,” I tell her. “You ready?”

She nods.

I give Sterling’s shoulder a shake. His heavy eyelids flutter and then he is cracking them staring up at me through their slits. I slide my arms under his armpits and haul him up to his feet. “All right, time to get you back to your apartment and your life.”

Victoria grabs a side without me even asking for her help.

“Dammit, just leave me alone. Just let me die here,” Sterling mumbles, attempting to shake off my hands. “I was having a good time.”

“Yeah. I could see that.”

His eyes focus on me now, a smirk coming to his face. “You won’t get far without a little effort on my part.”

“Shut up and let me bail you out for a change,” I return.

Day One of Sterling’s detox-Flu like symptoms:

Victoria

Sawyer left to go do what he hates most: work for his father. He said it is the best way to keep their father off Sterling’s back and to keep him from asking why Sterling isn’t showing up for work.

Sterling darts from the bed. The bathroom light comes on. I blink rising up on an elbow in his bed. He drops to his knees in front of the toilet, grips the sides of the bowl, his spine rounded as he violently heaves vomit spewing from his mouth.

Folding back the covers I go to the door of the bathroom.

He didn’t shut me out this time.

“Do you want me to go out and get you some ginger ale?” I offer.

“No. Go back to bed,” he snaps, gagging and coughing. “I don’t want you to see this.”

Liar. He wants me here. For some reason I am the only one he wants here: not Sawyer, not his father, not Starr. Sterling picked me to experience this with him.

The sour smell of vomit leaks out into the room. “I want to be alone,” he keeps saying.

I ignore his pleas and walk over and open the linen closet. The sound of running water drowns out his complaining.

“What’s that for?” he asks, staring up at me.

“It’s a cool wash cloth. It will help.”

Shifting to his rear-end he rest his back against the side of the Jacuzzi, legs bent, an arm draped over a knee the wash cloth in a closed fist. He looks doubtful about the wash cloth’s ability to make him feel better.

“Didn’t your mother ever bring you a cool cloth whenever you were sick?” I ask.

“No. My mother wasn’t the nurturing type.” He presses the cool cloth to his glistening forehead, to his neck. “My mother was always too busy trying to fit in.” Gray eyes lift to mine. “Your mother doesn’t really seem like the nurturing type either.”

I flop against the door casing staring at the floor. “She had her moments. She always made a big deal whenever I was sick. Ginger ale and cool wash cloths. I’d forgotten.”

“Maybe your mother isn’t as bad as you remember.”

“Maybe.”

I’m dying to ask him questions. I want to know him. I sense any question about his father would destroy what little progress I’ve made of getting beyond the wall surrounding Sterling.

“How about your brother? Were you and Sawyer ever close?”

“As close as my father would allow,” he laughed out. “I think he’s always been afraid I would corrupt Saw.” A tortured expression crosses his face. His gaze drops to the floor between his bent legs. We both know why he is throwing up. We both know Sterling is experiencing withdraws, but neither of us acknowledges it out loud. “My father’s probably right. I would corrupt him. Saw is on the other side. He wants to be a cop and I avoid them.”

“I’m sure Sawyer has his own demons. I think he secretly looks up to you. You are his older brother.”

He pushes up from the floor. “Yeah, well I’m definitely nobody’s role model. I need to stretch out for a minute before I pass out.”

And that’s it the walls come back up blocking me out.

The puking seems to never end. Just when I think Sterling has finished he darts from the bed and pukes again. When there is nothing left to come up he transitions into the dry heaving stage. Honestly, I don’t know which is worse: when he tossed everything in his stomach or when he lays limp against the toilet seat making the worst coughing/gagging sounds I’ve ever heard.

“I’m going to go get Starr,” I announce, handing him down the fifth wash cloth tonight. I turn to leave and Sterling lunges sideways from where he is sitting by the toilet, a strong hand clamping around my wrist yanking me down to his eye level.

“No.” He snaps staring deep into my eyes. “I don’t want her here.” A chill racks my body. His voice lowers, “I. only. Want. You. here.”

“But I feel helpless,” falls out. It’s the truth. I feel absolutely helpless.

“Do you really want to help me, Phoenix?”

I nod.

“Then help me get back in the bed.”

I kneel. He drapes a hand around my shoulder and I help him stand. He is weak, but still carries most of his weight. His body trembles pressed into my side. We walk slowly toward the bed and he flops down with a groan, draping an arm over his eyes.

He gives the mattress a light pat beside him. “Lie down, Phoenix. You need to sleep.”

I do as I’m told and lie down on my side of the bed. Rolling to my side I stare at him until he opens his eyes to stare back. He is on his side hugging his chest his legs slightly drawn up.

“Are you cold?” I ask. “Do you need a blanket?”

“Promise me no matter what happens you won’t call 911,” he mutters into the dark. “I can’t go to the hospital.”

“I can’t do this, Sterling.”

“Yes, you can. I trust you. Promise me you won’t call.”

I’m terrified of what exactly he thinks might happen.

“But—” I start.

“No buts. I need you to promise me.”

“I promise,” comes out strangled.

Satisfied, Sterling closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

I watch over him.

Day two- Muscle aches and desperation:

“Fuck! I can’t take this anymore!” he grinds out, pressing into the sides of his head. “You’re going to have to go get me something!” he growls.

We’re both sitting on the floor. Sterling’s back is pressed to the wall; his knees bent, his thick forearms resting on his knee caps. “I’m serious, Victoria. You’re going to have to go to where you and Starr found me.” He motions over at the dresser. “There’s money in my wallet. Take it all … just get whatever you can find. I don’t care what it is as long as it takes this fucking pain away,” he moans, tugging at his hair.

“I can’t go buy you drugs,” I tell him, laying a hand on his arm.

He flinches at my touch, his watery bloodshot eyes connecting with mine. I can see the magnitude of his pain in their depths. Sweat covers his forehead and his chest. His skin is clammy. He looks as sick as my grandmother looked in her final days, which terrifies me. Can someone die from withdraws?

“You can’t get me something or you won’t?” he spits.

“You’re right, I won’t. You can get through this. I know you can.”

“Easy for you to say while you’re sitting there just watching,” he laughs out. “You have no idea how it feels … how bad my body aches … how bad my body is rebelling against me. You have no fuckin’ idea!!”

“You wanted my help. This is how I’m going to help you by refusing to let you give in.”

The look on his face is pure horror when he realizes I don’t plan to let him bully me. His gaze meets mine for the longest moment in which he relays the message that this is entirely my fault. I’m the one keeping him from having what he wants. He makes a guttural sound his forehead smacking his knees in defeat. I place a gentle hand on his rounded back as his shoulders shake with sobs.

I swallow hard. He has no idea how much this is hurting me.

Day three- Chills and Aggression:

In the darkness there is a flame.

The flame dances as if a mighty breath blows upon it. It flickers out and then reappears, growing taller, drawing me to it.

“If you play with fire, you get burned,” a seductive voice sings. “You don’t need the light. Stay. Stay here with me in the darkness.”

I ignore the voice going closer, stretching out a hand and just as the voice warned the flame leaps to my sleeve. I jump back, screaming and slapping wildly at the flame that eats at my clothing. The one flame splits and turns into two … then three … four… until it devours me.

There is pain, intense pain. But like a snake shedding its worn-out skin I feel the old me melt away. I welcome it. I long for it.

Out of the midst of the fire, out of the pile of ashes I shoot straight up out of the darkness and into the bright light, soaring, twisting, spiraling testing my glorious wings, my curled talons sharp enough to pierces any size animal, my hooked beak strong enough to crush bones.

For a second I am free, weightless.

A single arrow slices through the blue sky with the sound of a jet ripping through the atmosphere. The tip spears the underside of my wings. A high-pitched screech erupts from my chest. Scarlet spreads swiftly amongst fiery feathers. My broken wing curls inward of no use.

I’m falling; spiraling, twisting, and plummeting out of control down toward earth… the ground rolls up …

I jerk awake, bolting straight up in the bed, crawling backwards toward the iron headboard my body slick with sweat. I blink, forcing remnants of the dream out as I take in my surroundings. Even though I’d fought to not fall asleep—afraid Sterling would take off—I must have dozed off.

My gaze snaps to Sterling. He is arms distance away, jerking with violent chills. His arms are hugging his bare chest, his teeth shattering. It’s at least seventy degrees, but he acts as if he is freezing.

“You okay?” I ask, going to him and pulling a blanket up over him. I give his shoulder a gentle shake.

No answer, only teeth knocking.

I scoot closer, leaning over his shoulder to see if he is asleep. His long lashes are dark against pale skin.

“Hey, can you hear me?”

No response, so I do the only thing I know to do, I warm him with the heat of my own body. Molding his back I wrap my arms around his chest. His skin is cool against mine. It’s the first time I’ve ventured over from my side of the bed. It’s the first time I’ve fully allowed myself to want this; him and me like this.

I feel every shiver and every tremble and his heartbeat under the palm of my hand.

“You need to try to eat something,” I tell him slowly approaching the bed carrying a tray.

Sterling is lying flat on his back in the bed with his head propped up on a stack of pillows, unshaven, noticeable paler. His mood has gone from whinny and desperate to pissed off.

“I don’t need fuckin’ soup!” he sputters, protesting in an outraged tone. His hand comes up under the tray clipping a corner of it. The tray flips in the air, hurtling over the side of the bed. Hot broth splatters, the scalding liquid burning the top of my feet and ankles. My steps falter briefly, my spine stiffening and my chin coming up. The wood tray clatters to a stop on the hardwood floor.

“Was that necessary?” I snap. “You know it might make you feel better if you eat!”

“I don’t need more fuckin’ food to puke up.” Sterling’s expression turns dark, distant. “What I need is … forget it! You can’t possibly understand what I need! It’s something no one can understand unless they’ve been through it,” his voice is cold.

“You keep saying that. Explain it to me! I want to understand,” I insist, narrowing my eyes at him. I bend and turn the tray on its right side, carefully picking the broken pieces of the bowl out of the puddle of soup, collecting them on the tray.

Sterling throws back the covers, leaps from the bed and stalks toward where I’m crouched cleaning up his mess. A strong hand circles my upper arm, the grip almost painful as he hauls me to my feet, jerking me up against him. I can’t resist even if I want to. Stormy gray bears down on me. A vein in his throat jumps.

It’s first time in days I’ve seen him this alert and strong. I recognize it for what it is; an overload of adrenaline giving him a sudden burst of undeniable energy. He leads me by the arm to the closet, his hold gentle yet determined. He is overpowering, dominating. Sterling flings open the door to the walk in closet and shoves me into the small space, blocking the door with the bulk of his body.

My heart races.

My mouth goes dry.

Still is strength is intimidating.

I have about a minute to wonder what he is planning to do to me. Is he going to slam the door and lock me inside to punish me? He stretches, the tattoo on his bicep flexing, his hand disappearing up on the shelf. Is he looking for a gun?

Feeling around on the shelf for what he is looking for he cuts me a sideways glance, a growl coming from his throat. “Shit. You actually think I’d hurt you don’t you?” He frowns, bringing his hand down, his fingers curled around the body of the eagle. He thrusts it at me. “Take your fuckin’ bird and get out!” he says through clenched teeth.

He is giving me the bird?

I tilt my head up at him, confused.

“I don’t want to leave,” I admit.

“Did I ask you what you want? I’m serious. Get the hell out!” He shoulders his way past me, storming into the bedroom, barreling around to face me. “You’re only making this a-hell-of-a-lot worse. Your damn voice inside me head constantly. It’s irritating. You’re irritating.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re afraid I might understand.” I blink. “I might understand you and that scares the crap out of you.”

“Why?” he snaps.

“Why what?”

“Why the hell would you need to understand how it feels?” sarcasm oozes off of him. “Are you planning on getting you a nasty habit of your own to kick?”

“That’s not funny.”

“You’re right. It’s not funny.”

He takes a step closer. I can feel the warmth of his breath on a cheek. See the stubble along his jaw. The down sweep of his long dark lashes as his gaze lowers briefly to my lips and then slowly rises, skimming every feature of my face before it meets my gaze head-on. My flesh tinkles with the awareness of his erection pressed against my lower stomach.

“Damn you for having a kissable mouth,” he growls, a finger brushing my bottom lip.

I inhale and hold it. “I want to understand you,” I breathe.

“No you don’t. You just think you do.”

“I’m here,” I murmur as if that’s proof.

There are several intense moments: our mouths so close but not yet touching. My stomach clenches with anticipation. I remember the feel of his tongue sliding over mine, the wild taste of his scorching kisses in the hot air balloon.

Damn you for having a kissable mouth.

He sighs, stepping back. He turns and walks out of the walk-in, over to one of the floor length windows and props a shoulder against the window casing, staring out. I ditch the eagle, putting it back on his shelf and follow him. His voice is deep, tortured sounding. “I can’t stop shaking. It’s the worst feeling in the world not being able to control your own body. Inside, my blood hurts. It is actually painful being pumped through my veins. Nothing will stop the pain. It won’t stop until my body gets what it craves.” His voice cracks, “I need a hit! I can’t fuckin’ take this much longer.”

“Yes you can,” I insist coming up behind him and laying a hand on his shoulder. Muscles tense under my palm.

“Is this ugly enough for you … Am I ugly enough?” He turns into me.

Now I’m the one tensing. His words settle like a stone in the pit of my stomach. “Honestly,” I pause staring up at him, choosing the right words. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. So beautiful you steal my breath sometimes.”

“Don’t …” he shakes his head, his eyes connecting with mine. “This is not beautiful. This is fucked up. It’s pathetic. I shouldn’t have brought you here. It was wrong. You deserve better than this.”

“So do you,” I murmur.

He chuckles and I can feel the vibration clear to my toes.

“What’s so funny?” I ask staring up at him.

“When you look at me like that I almost believe you.”

My heart rate takes off at the thought of Sterling kissing me again. I inhale deeply his scent. I close my eyes for a moment remembering the feel of his tongue, his taste. My lips actually tingle with anticipation. My nipples pebble against the fabric of my shirt. My roughly spoken name stirs the hair at my temple. I open my eyes to see him pulling away.

Day four-Fatigue and open wounds:

A memory from my childhood is cream of chicken soup over toast. My grandma would make it for me whenever I was sick.

I shift standing by the bar, taking some of the weight off my bad leg, slathering a piece of toast with butter and laying it on a plate with two others. I spoon the soup over the pieces and sprinkle pepper on top. I swear Sterling has dropped fifteen pounds over the past four days. If he doesn’t eat something soon I’m afraid of what might happen.

“Foods ready,” I shout, sliding the plate to where he usually sits at the bar. I refuse to let the soup end up on the floor like before, so he’s going to have to come in here to eat it.

“I’m not hungry,” is returned from the bathroom. “You eat it.”

“You’re either going to eat or I’m going to be forced to call 911 when you collapse from malnutrition.” I’m halfway joking, halfway serious. He needs to eat and he’s not going to do it unless I force him.

There’s a loud bang, and the sound of stuff crashing down on the tile. Walking around the bar I call out, “Sterling?” It’s not until I step into the bathroom door that I see him lying there on his stomach by the toilet.

“Oh no, Sterling,” I rush to his side lifting the shelf he tumbled over with him back into its place against the wall. Everything that was once on the shelf is scattered on the floor. I sink to my knees next to Sterling, one of my knees smearing through blood on the tile. Oh God. I hate blood. I shake his shoulder begging for a response. I don’t get one.

I grab onto a shoulder and roll him over. Sterling flops onto his back. Blood gushes from the wide gash along his cheek. His bottom lip is cracked open. His face is pale. My hands tremble hovering over him.

What should I do?

Stay calm. Find out how deep the cut is.

My gaze rises, quickly traveling the bathroom ending on the hand towel lying up on the counter top. I push up to my feet and stretch for it, dropping immediately back down next to him. I press the towel to the cut, applying pressure. I’ve heard somewhere you’re not supposed to let someone go to sleep for an hour after they hit their head, luckily it appears Sterling hit cheek first. After the towel is saturated I take it to the sink, rinse it out and repeat the action until the bleeding slows down. Pulling the towel away I inspect the cut up close. It looks worse than it is. “Sterling? Hey. Wake up,” I try again.

He mumbles something incoherent and I exhale a long breath in relief as his eyelashes flutter.

“What happened?” his words are weak as he tries to sit up.

“Don’t move yet,” I order pushing his shoulder toward the floor.

His hand lifts to the cut and he winces as a finger touches it.

“Last thing I remember was taking a piss,” he says.

I nod at the sharp corner of the cabinet, “I’m pretty sure you took a face dive into that. I thought I was going to have to call 911 for real.” My tone changes, fear being replaced with anger, “don’t ever do that again! You scared the shit out of me!”

He chuckles seeming to have trouble focusing as he stares up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, I didn’t enjoy it too much either.” He attempts to get up again only to collapse back down. “The fuckin’ room is still spinning.”

“That’s because you’re starving yourself. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get you up by myself.” I’m already at a disadvantage with the leg.

“Just let me lie here for a second,” he tells me closing his eyes.

I went into the bedroom and brought back his cell phone and a blanket, sitting down and lifting Sterling’s head into my lap, never expecting ‘a second to end up being five hours. Five hours that seems like an eternity.

I refuse to call my mother and father not wanting to hear I told you so. I could call Saw but honestly, right now I want to talk to someone who is not a Bentley. Looking down at Sterling’s limp body in my arms the weight of everything hits me like a ton of bricks. I glance around at the white walls surrounding both of us on the floor; this is all so big, bigger than me, so why do I feel like I am suffocating? It’s that moment when I realize how alone I am. Sterling has been here all along, but not really here.

It’s time to put on your big girl panties tori.

Resolute in my decision I punch in the number. The phone feels cold against my cheek, colder than normal.

“Hello--” Keria picks up immediately.

“Hey, it’s Tori … I umm, I’m sorry this was a bad idea,” I stumble over my words, reaching for the small red phone on the screen.

What was I thinking?

“OMG, why haven’t you called me? I have been so worried. Is this your new number?” now Keria is the one stumbling, while my finger hovers over the magic red button.

“No, well kind of, it’s Sterling’s. What do you mean why haven’t I called?”

Was I the only one who thought we hated each other?

I hear disbelieving whines on the other end of the phone. “Tor, I’m not going to lie, that day … you know when you walked in on Jonah and I, it was bad—”

“Really bad,” I say quickly, I know where this is going. I can feel the relief enter my chest.

“Yea, like EPIC bad.” I hear muffled laughter in Keria’s voice, and something else … she’s relieved too.

Silence--How did I let this get so bad?

“I don’t hate you, you know. Actually, after you left, I hated myself Tor. I have realized a lot in the past few weeks. I’m so glad you called, I was terrified we were going to end things the way we did …Are you still there?”

“Yea, I’m here, there’s just so much to say. I’ve missed you,” tears well in the corners of my eyes. I needed this. I needed her.

“Well we could start with, why the hell you’re in Los Angeles? Your mom told me what happened, you should have called me.”

I know

“I was scared, it seemed like everything was caving in around me. I guess that’s why Los Angeles. I thought I’d be able to breath better” I exhale the cooped up air in my lungs, boy who was I kidding.

“Well I understand…you had a lot hit you at once with the me and Jonah thing and Colton…”Keria trails off at her own mention of his name. The one name strong enough to create a barrier between best friends, I try it out silently sounding out each letter, Colton.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I let it escape from my lips, crap.

There is a lack of words allowing only the sound of Keria’s stifled sobs.

“Who told you, I wanted to tell you tor, I really wanted to. I am so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“Keria…none of that was your fault, you were a victim. Guys like Colton may try and convince you that you’re the problem, because they don’t want to face the facts that their screwed up.” I feel warmth pulsating through my veins as my anger towards Colton flares.

“Yea but I flirted with him and egged it on right in front of you, Oh god I was so awful. It was my fault, if I would have just been a good friend to you none of this would have happened,” she chokes out.

“He came to Los Angela’s Keria … to find me. If you were the problem, tell me why he did the same thing to me?”

“Oh my God, What happened” she sounds shocked, I don’t know why.

“He pushed me around a little, I’m sure it could have been a lot worse but Sterling came in.” I glance down in my lap at my protector, now unable to even fight himself, its heart breaking.

“I’m glad Sterling came in, Colton is strong, the bruise’s he put on me are just now going away. I can’t imagine what he could have done with more time,” Keria says, her voice sounding heavy and distant.

Sterling shifts in my lap, a groan coming from his lips. What if Colton had more time with me?

I hear Keria clear her throat, snapping me back to reality.

“So how is everything with Sterling,” she clears her throat awkwardly again “How’s Los Angeles?”

She knows things aren’t so good in paradise.

“Honestly, things couldn’t be any worse. I don’t know what to do.” I admit. “I don’t want you to think I only called you because everything is so horrible, but I’d be lying if I said I was okay.” My words fall out of my mouth like pebbles in a waterfall.

I’m not okay.

“What’s wrong Tori? Tell me what I can do to help, anything,” she replies.

“Could you get me Charlotte’s number? I have a few questions I need to ask her,” I cautiously ask, trying to avoid the J word. We’re not ready for that

“I’m actually at Jonah’s right now! I’ll get her for you,” she squeals, excited to help.

So Jonah heard all of that, great.

“Victoria, what’s wrong? Can you hear me?” the reception cause’s her words to go in and out giving me time to soak up the situation at hand: Sterling passed out in my lap, bleeding.

I hear the door to their home open and close on the other end; my panic mode sets in as soon as Charlotte is on the line.

“Sterling hit the bathroom cabinet and split open his cheek. His cut was bleeding pretty bad,” comes out in a rush. The adrenaline pumping inside my body makes me talk faster than normal. I’m not even sure anything I’m saying makes sense. It’s all a blur, the entire night. “The cut finally stopped bleeding and then he passed out on the floor by the toilet. He made me promise I wouldn’t call 911, but I-I can’t wake him up now. I feel so helpless! He’s been asleep for five hours. How can anyone sleep for five hours straight on the floor? What if he never wakes up? Is that possible?”

“Listen, Tori, I want you to take a deep breath. You need to calm down. Everything is going to be okay.”

“But—”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“I can only imagine what you’ve seen,” she says.

I cover my mouth with a trembling hand to muffle a sob so she won’t hear it. I’m losing it. I’m falling apart, coming unraveled. She goes on, “Pretty scary stuff I bet. I want you to think about how much he’s suffered over the past forty eight hours, so you’ll understand me when I say Sterling being comfortable enough to sleep is a good thing. Do you agree?”

I nod, forgetting she can’t see me.

“I can be there in a couple of hours.” Charlotte says. “Don’t try to move him until I get there. You won’t be able to do it by yourself. He probably doesn’t have enough strength left in him to help you get him off the floor even if he did wake up, so let him be until I get there. Okay?”

“You don’t have to pay for a plane ticket to come here … I didn’t expect….” I choke out.

“I know I don’t have to, but will it make you feel better if I come and make sure he is okay?”

“Yes. Thank you, Charlotte!” I wipe away the tears rolling down a cheek. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“I know exactly how much you appreciate it, Tori. I’ve experienced it from both sides: my own battle with addiction and Jonah’s fathers.”

Teepee

Victoria

“Okay, let’s help him up and try to get him into the tub,” she says kneeling next to Sterling on the floor.

“You sure a bath ….”

“He’s not going to like it, but it will make him feel better.” She stands over him, checking the cut. “Hopefully after we get him cleaned up we’ll be able to get him into the bed where he can sleep this exhaustion off. How long has he been going through withdraws?” She glances up at me. I’m shaking. I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten or slept. All I’ve wanted to do is watch over him. The sternness in her voice snaps me out of my trance, “Hey! I know you’re worried. He’s going to be okay.” My eyes snap to hers, hers soften. “I promise. I’m going to need you to be strong though and help me.” I nod. “How long has he been going through withdraws?”

I hug myself with my arms. “Um, five days?” I shake my head to clear it. “Yeah. Five days.”

“Perfect.” She gives his shoulder a furious shake, a palm covering the tattoo on his bicep. I fight the urge to tell her he is not as bad as he seems. I wonder if the tattoos have already caused her to form an opinion of him. I don’t want her to have a bad opinion of him already even he is laid out on the bathroom floor, bleeding, smelling like sour vomit.

“Sterling, we’re going to get you up now. Get you a nice hot bath,” She says slow and loud enough to interrupt his sleep. He moans, slightly lifts his head, his eyes unfocused on the room.

“Grab an arm, Tori.”

I do as I’m told and we heave Sterling up to his feet. He stumbles, staggering back on the bathroom cabinet. A can of shaving cream falls off the cabinet rolling over the tile. He rests his rear-end against the cabinet, propping himself up, clutching the edges of the granite top. His face is washed out. His eyes are weak and distant. Muscles tighten under my fingers wrapped around his upper arm. His eyes penetrate mine and then slide to Charlotte on the other side of him.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks her.

“Help me get him undressed,” she says, ignoring the moody glare she is receiving from him.

I reach for the button of his jeans, working on unfastening it. My trembling fingers accidently brush the coarse hair disappearing under his jeans and my breath catches. I grimace, struggling to get the zipper down.

“Nobody is undressing me,” Sterling spits, slapping my hand away. I tense. He adds, “Not while some strange woman is watching.”

Charlotte chuckles. “I have a son close to your age. You’re not going to show me anything I haven’t already seen.”

A slow smug smile creeps on Sterling’s face. “Don’t be so sure, lady.”

“All right Romeo, I’m sure you are impressive, but trust me, my interest goes no further than getting you in the tub.”

He glances over at me. “What’s this crazy woman doing here?”

“I called her. You passed out in your own puke. It was more than I could handle own my own.”

Sterling looks back at Charlotte and waits for her to say something profound; to enlighten him with her wisdom; something that makes her worthy of being here in Sterling Bentleys almighty bathroom. I’m embarrassed by his cockiness. I’m sure Charlotte has dealt with guys just like Sterling before; guys who can’t be told anything they haven’t already heard a thousand times, but it is still embarrassing.

Charlotte’s hands go to her waist and she levels Sterling with a determined look. She is clearly accepting his challenge.

“You’re a prisoner,” she simply states. “Do you want to continue to be one?”

Sterling snorts and rolls his eyes. I small laugh escapes from me. Can he be anymore stubborn?

Charlotte doesn’t back down. “You’ve built all these walls thinking they will protect you, but what you don’t realize is you’ve imprisoned yourself in darkness. Now I know you’re going to fight me every step of the way while I try to help you, but I will strip you myself if I have to.”

“How do you know this … about the darkness?” He eyes her as if he is suddenly aware she is not a figment of his imagination.

“I was in the same darkness,” she tells him giving his jeans a yank. They drop to his ankles and I instantly look away, blushing miserably. Charlotte clears her throat. Oh goodness. Please let Sterling be wearing boxers. My head turns, my squinted eyes slowly cracking.

“Of course not,” I mutter out loud.

They both look at me. I’m sure Charlotte thinks Sterling and I have already had sex. She has no idea we’ve only kissed. Once.

I force myself not to stare at his penis.

“Lift your foot,” Charlotte says bending over and pulling the jeans puddled around his ankles out from underneath his feet.

Sterling doesn’t say another word. Charlotte Steven’s just showed him whose boss.

Once Sterling is settled in the tub Charlotte gathers his jeans off the floor and pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “Let me know when you’re finished bathing him and I’ll help you get him out.”

The bathroom door clicks closed.

I kneel beside the tub, submerge my hands, wetting a wash cloth and soaping it up.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says.

“Yes I do. I’m not leaving you in here by yourself.”

He leans up and I start on his shoulders and chest. He stares at me from under long wet lashes and I struggle to keep my breathing normal with my hands feeling the dips and planes of his muscles. I’m very aware of the rhythm of his breaths, ours seeming to become one. He relaxes and hangs his head with a sigh. I squeeze the wash cloth and hot water trickles down the arch of his neck, down over his back. I watch the beads of water.

He is the strongest and most damaged man I’ve ever met. But I have my own wounds, don’t I? So how can I judge?

“Lie back so I can do your legs,” I struggle to keep my voice unaffected.

He lays back intently watching me, his lips curling slightly as if he is amused. His incredible dimples show causing a tightening in my chest. I break out in a sweat, rubbing more soap on the wash cloth and leaning over, starting on a leg. Water flattens the hair on his legs to his flesh. I scrub and rinse, avoiding glancing at his mid-section. I can’t help but touch him in the course of bathing him. Willing myself to think of bathing him as only helping a friend I find myself enjoying it in ways that are anything but friendly.

His hips are narrow with nothing more than flesh over hard bones. His stomach is firm, resilient.

“This is really bothering you, isn’t it?” His voice comes out hoarse. One quick peek and I see he is hard from me bathing him. His legs are slightly bent, resting open against the sides of the tub, his erection lying up on his belly, his long muscular arms stretched along the sides of the tub. My cheeks catch fire and I squirm under his intense gaze. He grins and I know he knows I am getting worked up.

Resting my forearms on the side of the tub I continue to soap up a rag that already is foaming with excessive bubbles. A large hand seizes my hands forcing me to stop. My eyes connect with his. He removes the rag from my clenched hand allowing it to splash into the water. His fingers circle one of my wrists and he drags my hand toward him.

“Touch me,” he orders low and raspy.

Knuckles tap on the bathroom door and I instantly yank my hand away, surging to my feet. Water splashes as Sterling sits up hastily in the tub.

“Ready to get him out yet?” Charlotte calls thru the door.

I panic lunging for the door knob to open it, mostly because I don’t want her to think anything is going on.

“Wait.” Sterling warns me, his eyes dropping to his erection. “You’re going to have to give me a second for this to go down.”

I frantically scoop up a towel from the floor and toss it at him.

“Cover it up,” I mouth at him.

“Umm, that’s not going to work. I’ll have a Tepee.”

The flash of his dimples infuriates me.

“This is a lot for a young girl to absorb.”

Victoria

A couple of hours later Sterling is asleep. It was a lot easier getting him out of the tub than it was getting him in. Charlotte was right. The bath helped tremendously. For the first time in days he seemed to be at peace, that torturous look of constant pain gone.

Now Charlotte and I sit at the small table off from the kitchen enjoying the quiet of the apartment, talking. She’s actually the first person I’ve seen beside Sterling in days. I’d not realized how much affect what he was going through was having on me until I stared across the table at another face. I burst into tears the instant she reached across on patted my hand. She didn’t say a word while I unleashed what had been pent up inside me for days. Finally I take control of my emotions shooting her an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why that just happened,” I laugh out, smearing the last of the tears out from under my eyes. “Good thing I wasn’t wearing mascara. That would have been a disaster.”

“This is a lot for a young girl to absorb,” Charlotte says. “I’m sure you’re terrified you’re going to let him down, but at the same time you probably feel like running as far away from him as you can get.”

“Oh no, you’re going to make me cry again,” I warn her, fanning my face and blinking up at the ceiling. When I’m positive I can look at Charlotte again without losing it, I lower my gaze to her. “I’ve read somewhere it takes ten days to break a habit. Is that true?” I ask her, pulling a foot up in the chair, balancing my chin on my knee.

She shakes her head. “It takes ten days to make a habit, forty days to break it and even that doesn’t apply here, Tori. Once your boyfriend makes it through the withdrawals it’s not over, nowhere close. This is serious. I’m not sure you fully understand how serious it is.”

My stomach flutters at her choice of words. “I don’t know if calling him ‘my boyfriend’ is accurate. We haven’t really discussed what we are.”

She leans forward, forearms on the table, her fingers circling the mug of coffee in front of her. “All the more reason for you to listen closely to what I’m about to tell you.”

I swallow hard, not so sure I want to hear what she has to say. It’s not like I don’t trust her. I do. Completely. But I don’t want anyone to change my feelings for Sterling. As crazy as it sounds I’m addicted to the way he makes me feel. I don’t want anyone tainting those feelings.

She offers me a sympathetic look as if she knows how deep I am in this. “Victoria,” Oh no. Use of my real name. Here it comes. I straighten my spine in the chair. “You need to really think hard before you have sex with this guy. Don’t look so surprised. It was obvious, the way you acted in the bathroom earlier.” She inches a little closer to the table. “It’s really none of my business but I feel like I should warn you that sex is a huge step. To me … sex is a commitment; whether it’s on a little piece of paper or not; sexual partners will always own a piece of you. Give away to many pieces of yourself and you’ll feel empty. You can’t take it back.”

I nod. “I understand.”

She tilts her head, studies me. “Do you really?” She exhales a long breath. “Sterling will struggle with his addiction for the rest of his life. He will crave it every single day. Every time life gets a little crappy he’ll think about using. When everything is going perfect he’ll think about using. He’ll wake up at 2:30 a.m. for no reason at all craving it. It’ll cross his mind while dropping the kids off at little league. Is that something you see in your future?”

“This isn’t about me. It’s about him.”

“You’re wrong. The ones that love an addict, it is very much about them. If he fails you’ll blame yourself, hell, he’ll blame you because it will be easier than him facing where the real blame should fall. It will wear you down as much as it does him and you won’t even be the one using.”

“So you’re saying it’s impossible?”

“No. Not impossible. Life changing.” She sighs. “Have you ever been in love with someone so much it hurts, and even though you know loving them will destroy you … it doesn’t matter?”

“Yes,” I choke out. “Sterling.”

There it is again. The pity look. She lowers her gaze to the black coffee in her mug. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Quickly I smear away the tears hoping she doesn’t see them.

“He will need help,” Charlotte says. “He won’t be able to do it alone no matter how tough he thinks he is.”

“He brought me here because he didn’t want to be alone,” I acknowledge out loud for the first time. “You know, going through this. He doesn’t want to be alone.”

“That’s fine, Tori, but he will need more than you. He’ll need counseling, serious counseling. Sterling has some serious soul wounds. There are reasons why he uses. Those reasons are not going to magically disappear.”

I think of Sterling’s father and the way he bullies him: the beatings. A young child being told he can never do anything right. That he is worthless. How his mother left him. I imagine Sterling has always felt like an outsider, as if he didn’t belong anywhere.

My heart literally aches and I rub the area directly over it.

“And even counseling won’t be enough,” Charlotte continues. “All they can do is help him sort out his past. Sterling is going to have to learn how to forgive what was done to him before it destroys him. That kind of strength only comes from one place.” She bends, digging her iphone out of her purse. “Can I read you something?”

“Sure.”

“Give me a second.” She swipes a finger over the screen, talking while she looks up something on her iphone. “I’m still getting used to using this thing. My fingers are too thick. I’m always hitting the wrong letter. You ever have that problem?” She chuckles but doesn’t look up. “Of course not; if a strong wind came up it would blow your skinny butt away.” She pauses. “I recently downloaded a bible app; my favorite thing about this phone now. You can search any word.” She turns it so I can see the screen. “Like for instant you can search the word darkness and find all kinds of scripture.” Her face brightens with pure joy. “Here we go. Found what I was looking for.” Her gaze flickers up to mine for a second. “I hope you don’t find this offensive? I just want to share something with you that gave me comfort when my life was falling apart.

“Not at all.” I give her a genuine smile scooting my chair closer to the table.

She reads scripture out loud:

“I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them. (Isaiah 42:16)

Sterling is not alone, Tori. God’s waiting on him to call out.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was mad that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.” (John 1: 1-5)

She finishes. We’re both silent while I digest what she read. My head is spinning.

“I have some questions, but they’re stupid,” I finally admit.

“No question is stupid, Tori.”

“What is the word?” I ask.

“Christ.”

“That’s what I thought, but I wanted to make sure. What is the darkness?”

“Our separation from God.”

“Well, what is the light?”

“Christ,” she smiles. “He says I am the light. It’s the love he has for us … the healing and acceptance. Right now Sterling is in the darkness. He is being hammered by the storm. The light is the only way he is going to see all that is wrong. Without out it he sees nothing. Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

I hesitate, retrieving my memory. “After my grandmother died the things she’d always said about God stayed with me.” I focus on the table, ashamed it took me so long to really understand what my grandmother had been trying to tell me. “I didn’t fully get it until I was fourteen. One day, when I was carving I sliced my finger open with my carving knife. It was overwhelming. Not the pain, but all the memories and scripture I’d heard piling in on me. I couldn’t breathe. My mother and I had gotten into a horrible fight earlier that day. Looking back now I’m positive I was having a panic attack. So I prayed. I prayed for God’s forgiveness. I accepted Jesus into my heart. And all that fear went away.” My eyes lift to Charlotte’s. “I am one hundred percent sure I trusted Jesus as my savior that day. I believed he died on the cross for my sins. I know that was the day I was saved, but I expected ….”

“What did you expect? A mighty wind storm? Flashes of intense lighting?”

“No.” I laugh. “I know it’s not like that. But I thought it would be easier after that. I thought my mother and I would become closer, that our problems would disappear. I thought I wouldn’t long to fit it like before. I thought I would … I don’t know … I thought I would find instant peace.” I straighten in my chair, my hands flat on the table top. “I felt something change inside me that day but at the same time I was still the same. Does that mean I’m not saved … because I’m still me? The old me?”

“Here, give me your hand,” Charlotte says reaching across the table. Her hand is steady, yet gentle in mine. She stares deep into my eyes, her expression soft and serious at the same time. “Remember I mentioned soul wounds?”

I nod.

“We all have them. When a baby cries and its mother doesn’t come to pick it up, comfort it, that’s a soul wound. It’s the love and acceptance we missed out on in our childhood. Scars. These hurts we experience accumulate, piling onto one another. These hurts shape us and condition us to how we think we should respond to the hurt. Take Sterling for instance … I don’t know him from Adam, but I’ll bet he felt unloved as a child. Those walls I mentioned Sterling has surrounded himself with are there to protect him from ever feeling unloved again, although he continues to feel that way. Now listen very closely. That’s the devil’s way of keeping us in the dark. Were you saved that day? If you fully believed and accepted Jesus died on the cross for you, then yes. But your deep soul wounds speak louder than the spirit. You still long for the same healing and this keeps you in a constant tailspin.” She chuckles. “The devil’s clever isn’t he? Think of it like this … If I would have stayed where I was ‘chasing my own tail’ still consumed by my hurt and failures would I be sitting here talking to you right now? The devil doesn’t want you to mature as a Christian, Tori. Yes. You can be saved and still be so preoccupied with the past that the people lives you should be affecting never see God’s gift.”

A rush of emotion pours out of me. I can’t hold back the sobs. My shoulders shake. “I’m sorry,” I sniff.

Her hand squeezes mine. “Don’t be. I completely understand. I still cry. I still struggle with my past but I don’t let it consume me: hatred, anger, spite, resentment…. I don’t want to give the devil the power to control me and those are things he uses to do just that.”

“I should probably be heading out so I don’t miss my flight,” Charlotte says with a spark of an apology in her eyes. She lets go of my hands. Her chair creaks as she goes to get up and I panic. I have so many questions I want to ask her: about my grandmother’s suicide. About what I should do about Sterling. I need some motherly advice. Some guidance. I only have enough time to ask one last question. Will it be the past or present? Past? Or Present?

I glance over my shoulder at where Sterling is passed out in the bed.

“One last question?”

Charlotte nods.

“What happened to your husband?”

She gives it a moment’s thought, settling back into her chair, laying on hand over her chest. “Well technically—on paper—he was never my husband, but in my heart he was.” She shakes her head, swallowing hard. “James didn’t want to change, even after Jonah was born. He enjoyed his life even though it was killing him … us.” Tears well in her eyes now; I can tell it’s painful for her to talk about. “He wanted us to continue living the same lifestyle we were living. One night, when it had gotten really bad—like Sterling, I was covered in my own puke and shame—I hit my knees and submitted to God’s plan for me. I didn’t care what that meant—what I would be giving up—anything was better than how I’d been living. I was hoping that plan would include Jonah’s father, but obviously it didn’t.” She exhales a long breath. “I don’t know where James is now. Probably in prison or dead unless he came to some realization that what he was doing was headed nowhere.” She shrugs a shoulder, pretending it doesn’t still hurt. “Who knows…?”

“God,” I say, wincing in case it is bad humor.

She throws back her head and laughs. “You are right. Only God knows what my ex-husband is doing.”

“I’m sorry though … about Jonah’s dad. I can only imagine how painful that is; having a child with someone and then them not wanting to be a part of it.”

“It’s okay. I came to terms with what is within my control and what’s not a long time ago. You may be forced to come to the same conclusion. I can tell you Sterling is beyond your control. You can’t fix him. Sometimes the most selfless act we can do is walk away giving the person we love a chance to figure it out on their own. Sometimes all we are is a hindrance. Sometimes they never get it.” She glances at her watch and grimaces. “I’m going to miss my flight if I don’t go now.”

We both stand. I walk her to the door, nauseated over what she said about walking away.

“Are you going to be okay?” She asks, pulling me in for a hug.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” I almost say the worst is over, but I stop myself. “Thanks for coming to check on him.”

She pulls back, searching my face. “You sure you’re okay?”

I force a smile. “I’m sure.”

Other than a broken heart ….

Dangerous to Love

Victoria

Easing down on the side of the bed I stare at him. My chest tightens. How can I feel so deeply for someone I just met? I can’t imagine leaving him, not now. It’s terrifying. Needing him. Wanting him.

He is breathtaking; all muscle and sin. It’s intoxicating, so much that I sometimes feel drunk when I’m around him.

I’ve heard somewhere the most desired face shape is square. I believe it now. Sterling is proof. I reach out, my fingertips enjoying the coarse stubble along his strong jawline, the slant of his nose, and the full dark eyebrows above eyes that speak into the very depths of my heart. I could sit here and stare at him for hours, days, weeks—fantasizing that this beautiful guy is in love with me.

But that wouldn’t make it so.

I lay down, stretched out beside him, my head resting on his arm, breathing in his breaths.

The evening sun spills through the row of floor length windows along the outside wall of the apartment, gleaming off the glossy black paint of the Baby Grand piano. I’m drawn to it, feeling that same tug toward it that I feel toward Sterling. Even with all the clothes sterling bought me I still prefer wearing his T-shirt’s and boxers. I like being clothed in his scent. It’s not an overwhelming cologne smell, but more of a clean smell, soap and downy fabric softener.

I linger next to the piano, his shirt tickling my bare thighs. The hardwood is cool under my bare feet. Sterling’s apartment is so high up no one can see in the windows even if they wanted to. My index finger grazes one of the ivory keys, the sound slicing through the silence in the apartment. I glance over my shoulder at where Sterling is asleep in the bed before dropping onto the bench. Again, my fingers slide over the keys: one at a time, black then ivory, ivory then black, admiring each ones unique sound.

The only song I know how to play is Mary Had a Little Lamb. I know, not impressive, but I thought it was impressive when I was younger. Stoking the slender black keys once more I decide what-the-hell and position my fingers. Mary Had a Little Lamb rings out into the quiet. I play through it once, and then the next time I change it up a bit, feeling more confident.

I’m certain my passing the time with something other than watching Sterling sleep is a good thing. Sterling sleeps so deeply now, peaceful, since the vomiting has let up and the aches have subsided. A smile curves my lips. He’s getting better every day, stronger.

My heart begins to thump wildly when I feel his unmistakable heat against my back. I gasp as his fingers slip tenderly under the collar of the T shirt touching bare skin. I close my eyes for a second, memorizing this moment.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I mutter, my hands still over the keys.

Without thinking I rest my weight back on him, trusting him to not let me fall. Can I? Trust this beautiful man to not shatter my heart into a billion pieces. He gently brushes the hair off my shoulder and my eyes close again, a tiny moan escaping when his lips follow the same path as his fingers. I’ve slept beside the man, longing to have him doing exactly this … reaching out.

Oh God, this guy is dangerous to love.

I can’t not respond to him; it would be like trying to not respond to hunger, the desire to have him is too strong. That’s why I really came here, isn’t it. To finally voice what I want?

And I want him.

“Waking up and seeing you sitting at my piano in one of my T-shirts,” his teeth graze my shoulder his warm tongue soothing the sting, “that could never be a disruption.” He smiles against my skin. “At first I thought I was dreaming but then I realized you’re definitely real. I can smell you on my sheets.”

He slides in behind me on the bench so I’m caught in-between his legs, his hands covering mine on the keys. His bare chest is warm against my back. My eyes shut at the feel of his lips on the curve of my neck.

“Go ahead. Keep playing, he says over my skin.

“Twinkle, twinkle, Little Star?”

“Sure.”

I focus on playing until I can no longer take him nipping and sucking at my neck. I turn in his arms. “How am I supposed to focus with you doing that?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at my mouth and I wait for him to do something. Moving from behind me he stands up and spins me on the bench so I’m facing him. My stomach drops at the sight of him. There is nothing sexier than a guy in nothing but a pair of faded jeans. My eyes lift to the piercings in his nipples and I notice the tips harden, either from a chill or he can sense I’d like to have my mouth there. My gaze rises higher to the tattoo on his neck before meeting his to find him watching me with the same intent.

“See something you like?” He grins.

“This.” I reach up, a fingertip tracing the outline of the swallow on the side of his neck.

He swallows hard. “I like when you touch me,” his voice comes out hoarse. “You should do it more often. It gives me chills.”

He uses a knee to nudge my legs apart and then he kneels, fitting his body between my legs as his hands cup the sides of my face, a thumb brushing over my bottom lip. He tilts my head back. I take a deep breath knowing what’s coming. We haven’t kissed since the hot air balloon. My entire body blazes with interest.

I angle my head; my eyelashes lowered staring at the silver in his bottom lip. My hands go to the nape of his neck, pulling him down to me. “Sterling, I ….”

“Shh.” His mouth covers mine, his warm tongue sliding inside. He kisses me deep, his tongue getting familiar with my mouth.

My fingers slip around his waist. He smells like the many days he’s spent in bed, sweating one minute and then freezing the next.

Something about seeing Sterling at his worst: his unwashed wild hair and the sleepy daze in his eyes cause me to clutch at him, trying to get as close as I can to him. Something about watching him lose all of his arrogance and swagger while he fought his cravings, becoming vulnerable and real melted my heart in ways I never thought possible.

My body hums with anticipation.

He pulls back and I see the flash of his dimples as his fingers work the boxers down over my thighs. As the cotton passes over my ankles Sterling looks up at me, checking to see if I’m okay with this. I hold on to his shoulders, stepping out of them, the muscles along the inside of my thighs jumping under the skin.

“Put this leg up on the bench,” he orders, touching my good leg.

I do as I’m told and lift my left leg, propping my foot on the bench, my eyes never straying from his. I need to see him. I need to know I’m with the one I’ve waited for. His lashes lower. His thumb gently brushes over the scar on my right knee. I tense, until his eyes find mine again, no longer on the scar.

“Now, lean back,” he gently commands.

My elbows slam down too hard on the piano keys. He chuckles low when my body tenses, startled by the loud sound.

“Relax,” he says.

Sterling’s hands slide down to my hips, stilling them. He yanks me down a little further to the edge of the bench. I gasp, my heart hammering inside my chest. The daylight streaming in the windows does nothing to help hide that I’m now sprawled out for him to see, but there is an ache, a throbbing that makes any shame and embarrassment I would normally feel take a backseat. I stare down at him. Feel his fingers graze my inner thighs. Watch as his thumb rubs where I’m wet for him. I don’t know what I was expecting. Colton and I had experimented. No sex, but there had been a lot of touching. But it had never felt like this with Colton.

I want this.

I need this.

I need Sterling. I could live off the rush he gives me happily until the day I starved from malnutrition. At least I would die knowing what true undeniable passion feels like.

His eyes rise to mine, heavy-lidded and suggestive. My fingers rake through his messy hair, my nails scraping his scalp.

“I want to taste you,” he growls and chills crawl up my spine. It is five words. Five words when strung together they’re the dirtiest thing a guy has ever said to me.

His head dips and his tongue follows his fingers. I squirm on the bench, whimpering.

One of his hands moves to my waist to hold my hips still. I adjust my elbows on the piano feeling the wood mar my skin. My head lulls back and I shut my eyes being sweep up by the moment.

The sensations build.

Sounds I never thought would ever come out of my body pass over my parted lips. I clutch the edge of the piano and shatter.

I collapse back onto the piano laughing at how insanely wonderful that felt. I struggle to catch my breath. I’m vaguely aware of him walking over to the dresser and opening the drawer. And then he is back. It happens quickly. One minute I’m still recovering from what just happened, the next Sterling lifts my arms sliding the T-shirt up and over my head. He takes hold of my waist on both sides and he lifts me from the bench, plunking me down on the top of the piano, the keys no longer digging into my spine but the fleshy part of my bottom. Sounds from the piano go out into the apartment. I am completely nude now. He drags his gaze over my body. I arch my spine loving his gaze on me. His mouth makes a path down my jaw, my throat, stopping at my breast. He presses a kiss to the swell of it.

“Sterling, I …”

His mouth swallows my words, his tongue seeking entry. It’s a deep wet kiss that says ‘I want you. I want all of you’.

He kicks the bench out of the way, stands up his eyes never leaving mine. His jeans hang low on his hips, showing off a flat stomach. My gaze takes in his impressive six pack, his strong chest, all mine to devour with my eyes. I reach for the button and zipper of his jeans, frantically undoing them. My mouth goes dry as I stare at his naked body. I watch as he rolls on a condom and moves over me.

It’s not something we discussed, having sex.

“You are so beautiful,” his voice breaks through the haze of need surrounding us and I lift my head, our eyes connecting. Sterling’s other hand grabs hold of my hip, his fingers curling into the bone and without warning he trust hard. The burning sensation is sudden. It feels like I am being split in two, and instead of arching into him like I was; now I’m trying to scramble away from it. Sterling makes a deep throaty sound and collapses down onto me. His body tenses as he gathers me close to him. He presses several tender kisses into my shoulder.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he says. He grits his teeth. “Be still.”

Tears roll from the corners of my eyes. My knees press into his sides.

He grips my hip, pinning it down. “I’m serious, baby. If you don’t stop moving I’m going to lose it. I won’t be able to stop.”

“I don’t care just get it over with,” I plead. My legs wrap around his waist and my hold on him tightens.

He pulls back, our eyes connecting, both of his hands going to the sides of my face. Using the pads of his thumbs he gently wipes away the tears wetting my cheeks. He suddenly looks very serious. “If you want to hit me you have my permission. I deserve it.”

I laugh out loud at his absurd comment. “Why would I want to hit you?”

“Your first time should have been special. If I’d known….”

“It was special, I mean it is. I’m with you.”

“You should have told me.”

“I didn’t think it was important,” I lie, raising my hips as I arch back onto the piano, encouraging him to move.

He groans. “Of course it was important. I would have handled you with the care.” His eyes lower to where his hand is making a slow path out over my skin as if he is admiring every inch, memorizing it by sight and touch. The pain has become bearable, if not fading completely. He pulls his hips slowly back and pushes back in. “I would have treated you like something fragile.”

Okay, suddenly the feeling of him dragging in and out feels good, great actually.

“I’m not fragile, Sterling,” I murmur leaning up, seizing his lips, convincing him to put aside his guilty conscience. My lips move against his, “Finish what you started.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ll only hurt me if you stop.”

His tongue slips into my mouth pulling a moan from deep inside me. I close my eyes hooking a leg around his thigh, the heel of my foot urging him to thrust forward. I feel safe. Like I’m right where I should be, a feeling foreign to me but welcomed. His hand makes its way out over my shoulder blade, slowly sliding down my arm, lacing our fingers once his reaches mine. He kicks his jeans to the side and lifts me, carrying me across the apartment.

“I’m sorry,” his words are whispered against my lips.

“Stop saying you’re sorry. It’s what I wanted.”

“I’m not saying I’m sorry for before … I’m saying I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.” His voice is deep, sexy. “You’ll be sore.”

“I don’t care.”

My fingers trace out over his shoulder, his flesh several shades darker than my own. On impulse I lean forward and press a kiss to his nipple, my tongue flicking out over one of the piercings that has fascinated me ever since I met Sterling. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and I notice him shiver. I smile loving I can cause such an intense reaction in him. My mouth slowly travels up to his collar bone, his throat, out over his jaw, when my mouth reaches his I kiss him slowly savoring the feel of his tongue moving against mine.

I’m vaguely aware of him walking me backwards toward the bed. We fall back onto the bed, his elbows cushioning the fall. But what will cushion my heart? Nothing will be the same after this. Sterling Bentley will always own a piece of me. He will always own my heart.

“Shit.” He lays his forehead on mine, bracing himself up over me. His eyes clamp close. I can feel his heart racing, his erection captured between our lower bodies.

“I want to make love to you without a condom on,” he says, his voice raspy with need.

Did he say make love?

This is a horrible time to think of needles and prostitutes. No. Now is the perfect time to think of needles and prostitutes.

“We can’t,” I say breathlessly.

“Relax Phoenix, I said I want to. I know we can’t.”

I kiss a corner of his mouth, one of my legs hooking onto his hip.

An hour later we’re spooning, nude, skin glistening with sweat, one of his legs pushed between mine beneath the sheet. His chin rests on my shoulder. His fingers trail leisurely down my arm until they reach my hand; he lifts it bringing it to his mouth where he places gentle kisses on the inside of my wrist, and then on the inside of my palm rubbing it over the side of his cheek. I stretch, bowing into his warmth, the same hand he’d kissed creeping around to the back of his head, my finger combing affectionately through his messy hair. A smile spreads across my face at the thought that I’m the one that made his hair a mess. Well, the two of us together, it was a joint activity. And now I can’t stop touching him and he seems to feel the same way, nipping at the outer part of my shoulder.

“Your turn,” I tell him.

“You sure you want to talk? I can think of a dozen things we can do that is far better than telling each other about our shitty pasts.”

I slowly shake my head, giggling when he tries to roll me toward him so he can have access to my breast. “Uh huh, I told my story. Now you have to tell me yours. It’s only fair.”

He presses me to my back, laying his ear on my chest close enough to my heart to hear it beating. I swallow hard, my stomach fluttering as I continue to comb my fingers through his hair. He exhales a long breath warming my skin. “In high school I’d dabbled with cocaine,” he admits. “Nothing major, just occasionally with friends on the weekends. In my first year of college I secured a rep as a badass and I figured every badass needs a motorcycle. So I bought one with the money my father put into an account; his way of buying my loyalty. I was high on power. I thought I didn’t need anything or anyone. I was arrogant. A real jackass.”

A small chuckle causes my chest to shake. It’s not funny. None of this is funny.

“What?” Sterling’s asks, lifting his head to look up at me.

“You’re still arrogant,” I inform him and he tenses. I get the sense he can’t help it. “I’m sorry. That was mean. Please continue.”

“Oww,” I squeal when he bites the tip of a nipple. He rests his head back on my chest.

“Two weeks after I bought the bike I laid it down in a curve. I was damn lucky. My doctor said I should have died that night and someone must be looking out for me. One second I was the star soccer player with a full ride, the next I was laid up in bed being pumped full of morphine for the pain. Goodbye scholarship. They told me it would take years to get back to where I was physically. When my doctor noticed I was abusing the morphine he stopped prescribing it.” Sterling reaches for my hand dragging it to out in front of his face. He slides his against mine, fingers straight, my hand appearing small next to his. I still can’t get over the fact that he plays the piano. How can someone with so much to offer lose sight of how special he is?

Sterling continues, “I freaked when the doctors cut me off of the morphine and went looking for something that would give me that feeling.” He raises his head again, staring up at me from under the sweep of long lashes. “I wasn’t always like this, Phoenix. I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to become a junkie. I’ve spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling, wondering how I got here. I’ve devoted the past couple of years to heroine. It’s getting harder for me to not use.”

I shudder. His hold tightens, pulling me closer.

“I know it sounds horrible,” his voice is hoarse. “Believe me I know. I’m desperate to escape it. The dope sickness is the worst.”

“Dope sickness?” I ask, noticing goose bumps have covered his arms.

He lightly chuckles at my curiosity. “Yeah. The withdraws that make it painful to walk, to talk … hell, being alive is a fuckin’ chore.”

I reach for his chin forcing him to look directly at me. “You made it through the withdraws, Sterling. You’re a lot stronger than you think.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m weaker than you think. I’m going to disappoint you. It’s what I do.”

“Sterling, have you ever been tested?”

“Yes.” He grimaces. “But it’s been a while.”

My stomach drops.

He curses, groaning. “My shit is affecting you.”

I capture his face with my hands forcing him to look at me. Sterling feels a lot of shame and self-loathing. I guess we all do, he just has more shame and self-loathing than most. “Shhh, we used protection,” I reassure him even though I still know there is a risk. There is always that risk when you’re with someone. “We will always use protection until we’re certain.”

His pushes up onto an elbow staring down at me. One of his hands comes up to slip the hair out of my eyes, tucking it behind an ear. His knuckles brush the side of my cheek. “Your skin is like porcelain. Perfect. I’m always afraid I might break you.” He presses his lips to mine whispering, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m not as breakable as you think.” I smile. “I think we’ve proven that tonight.”

He chuckles low. “I’ve fallen in love with you phoenix.”

“Don’t say that to me …” I growl into his chest. He places a finger under my chin, urging my mouth back up to his.

“But, I am … I have.”

I want so badly to say it back, I want him to know my heart is like putty in his hands, but I can’t … the words are stuck. I don’t know why.

“Enough serious talk,” he laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

Love doesn’t follow any rules.

“Hmm, something about me … I want to travel.” I admit. “I’ve never been anywhere other than Colorado Springs.”

Dimples show. “That’s not exactly true.”

“Okay I forgot, the only other place I’ve ever been is here—”

“With me,” he finishes, planting a kiss on the tip of my nose.

“I’m trying to be serious. You said you wanted to know something about me … so there it is. I want to travel the world.”

“Where would you like to go, Phoenix.”

“Alaska, Greece, Ireland, France …” I can tell by the look of boredom on his face and the way he is absently stroking my cheek that he has already visited all of those places. “I know that might sound silly to someone who—” I start all huffy.

“Hey. It’s not silly. I will take you to France.” His expression turns all serious. He presses his mouth to my ear murmuring, “Vous pétez dans votre sommeil.”

Sterling whisper French in my ear is beyond sexy. “What did you say?” I ask him as he pulls back to look at me.

“I said … you fart in your sleep.”

“I do not fart in my sleep!” I insist, horrified. I push against his chest trying to knock him off of me.

“How would you know if you’re asleep?” He seizes my arms and rolls taking me with him so I am now on top of him, my legs on each side of his hips.

“Because I just know,” I continue in between his laughter. “That was mean.” I glare down at him. “Couldn’t you have at least said something nice?”

“Like what?” he says, his laughter tapering off.

I give it some thought. I don’t know much French, but maybe I know enough to piece something together.

“Give me a second,” I tell him.

His arms tighten around my waist as he lifts his head, his teeth grazing my throat. His tongue makes a warm path our over my shoulder. I can feel his erection press against me. “Stop it! You’re making it hard for me to think.”

“Good. I’m tired of talking,” is muttered against my skin.

“I’m serious, Sterling” I respond by moving seductively on top of him. I shower his neck with the same attention, his stubble rough against my lips and tongue. “You had your chance … now I get to have mine.”

He swallows thickly, gripping my hips tight. “I’m listening.”

“Tu es mon feu,” I whisper.

You are my fire.

“Is this where you ask permission to sketch me?” I ask, giving him my best come-hither smile, walking backwards, purposely staying beyond his reach. I’m slightly bent, moving my hips in a playful way. I’m wearing one of Sterling’s dress shirts which—on me—serve as a short dress. Grabbing the collar I flash him some skin since he acts like he is getting bored.

He grins, slowly following me, resembling a lazy panther deciding if it is worth the effort to try to catch me. The boy definitely has swagger. After a quick shower he’d thrown on a navy sweat shirt and a pair of jeans. A navy baseball hat is turned around backwards on his head, pushing his bangs into his eyes. I thought Sterling couldn’t possibly be any more attractive than when he is wearing nothing more than a pair of jeans, but I was wrong. Even with the tattoos covered up by the long sleeves this playful comfy Sterling is sexy as hell.

I’m not sure many people are ever privileged enough to see this side of him.

I may be the only one.

“You want me to draw you?” he drawls, snapping me out of my trance of ogling his body. He gives me a mischievous grin while openly staring at my breast. “If I agree, will you stop withholding what is already mine?”

I continue the slow backwards movement, waiting for him to make a move. I have a feeling he is thinking, hatching a plan. Don’t underestimate the boy. He’s smart.

“Haven’t you ever heard nothing worth having comes easily?” I grin back at him.

The back of my thighs bump the end of the couch and eyes go wide. Opps. He lunges. I spin around and yelp, almost tripping over the arm of the couch. I put the length of the couch between us, smiling triumphantly from the other end.

I continue making my point. “About art. That always happens in books, some insanely sexy artist asking to sketch the extremely attractive girl.”

He snorts and makes another sudden attempt to catch me but I dart out of reach.

“I paint imperfections.” He hesitates, his eyes narrowing on me. “You don’t have any imperfections.”

“Yes, I do,” I smile widely slowly backing up. “I have plenty of imperfections.”

“Where? I don’t see any. Would you be still! I’m already out of breath. I need to save my strength for the real fun.”

“If you don’t see my imperfections, then you’re not looking hard enough.”

“Trust me, I’m looking.” He wags his brows, which only draws my attention to the cute hat getting me all hot again.

“Maybe you’re blinded by lust.” I smirk.

He chuckles low again, the sound’s addicting. “Yeah, you may have a point. I’m trying really hard to be good.”

“So, stop trying to be good.”

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever told me to stop trying to be good.”

The piano is separating us now. I’ve really screwed up. The wall of windows is behind me. Only two ways out and he can block either easily.

“What’s wrong? Is there a problem?” He stares over the glossy finish at me, a cocky grin in place.

“You outsmarted me,” I say breathlessly. “You pushed me right into a trap. You play dirty.”

“You haven’t seen dirty yet.” He laughs out loud when he captures me. My body slams up against his, his arms circling my waist. “Face it, Phoenix, you’re mine now.”

His fingers dig into my side and I giggle, wiggling in his hold, fighting to break free.

“Stop, stop, please stop,” I squeal, grabbing both his wrist to imprison his hands so he won’t be able to tickle me anymore. I pant hysterically. We’re so busy wrestling that we forget about the couch and tumble over the back of it. I sink into the cushions with him landing on top of me.

“You planned to do that,” I laugh, surrendering.

“I’m smooth, but not that smooth.” He grabs hold of my hands and pulls me up to sit beside him. He reaches for the glass of ice water on the glass coffee table. Tugging my legs up under my bottom I stare at his side profile as he drinks the water. He lowers the glass, wedging it between the opening in his legs. Smiling over at me he reaches out, a fingertip trailing down the side of my neck causing me to shiver.

“You’re sweating, baby.”

Just that simple touch and the smoldering look in his eyes has my breaths coming out ragged. My nipples harden underneath his dress shirt as if they are bouncing up and down screaming, woohoo touch me, touch me Sterling.

He lashes lower and he tilts his head, leaning over to lick my neck. My eyes flutter closed at the feel of his tongue. He doesn’t just lick my neck, he sucks it. His hands go to my upper arms, his fingers curling possessively into the meaty part. His tight grip speaks volumes of his desire and I moan, angling my head for him to have better assess. His teeth graze my skin and I shudder, then he is back to sucking, moving to the tender spot below my ear.

“Keep this up and I’m going to have to get in your lap,” I warn already rising slightly.

“What’s stopping you?” his breath heats my flesh.

The suction on my neck is broken long enough for his lips to move to my mouth. I raise up on my knees my tongue delving inside his mouth. He makes a deep throaty sound as I make a move to straddle him.

“Hold up. The glass is in the way,” he whispers over my lips. He lifts the glass out of the way so I can throw a leg over and lower myself onto his lap, instantly feeling his erection under his jeans press at my core.

“One second … I’m thirsty.” He grins breaking off from kissing me to take a huge swallow of the water, and then another, and another, watching my reaction the entire time.

Rubbing over the hardness under his jeans I become impatient to have his full attention.

“Seriously Sterling,” I whine. “Hurry it up. You can’t be that thirsty.”

“Patience baby.” I can hear the amusement in his voice. “Haven’t you ever heard nothing worth having comes easily?”

“Oh. My. God.” I punch him and he flinches as if I hurt him. “You are such a butt.”

I snatch the hat off his head, holding it up high, out of his reach. Careful not to spill the glass of water he lifts an arm, wrestling the hat out of my hand and dropping it back in place hiding his hat hair. His cheeks are bright red. If I didn’t know better I’d think Sterling was self-conscience about looking less than perfect around me. This coming from a guy who didn’t care what I thought when he’d brought those girls back to his apartment. If that hadn’t made me won’t to stay away I’m sure seeing hair flatted to his scalp won’t either.

He makes a show of taking one last swallow of the ice water and then leans forward sitting it on the glass table, crushing me over backwards in the process. He draws me up with him as he settles back into the cushion. His hands go to my bottom, cupping it and rocking me forward over his erection. He covers my mouth with his. His lips are still cold from water. As my tongue explores I find the piece of ice he is trying to keep away from me. He laughs into my mouth and I know he wants to play. I can be a very determined girl when I want something and I want Sterling’s ice. Taking control of the piece of ice, dragging it into my own mouth I smile against his lips, victorious.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he suddenly says, his nostril flaring as he runs his hands down over my hair to the tips. His eyes glisten with real emotion that causes my heart to stutter.

“Me too,” is all I can manage.

He leans in, kisses me, gentle at first, then becoming more aggressive and demanding. A hand slides up under the shirt, a thumb circling my nipple. He groans, deepening the kiss. Needing a breath he pulls back, his eyes hooded, dark with desire. His intense gaze slowly undresses me. I work frantically at unfastening the button on his jeans, images of me easing down on his rock hard length until he is buried deep inside me very vivid in my mind.

His zipper slides noisily down.

The way Sterling stares at my lips and then my neck … I assume he is picturing the same thing. He tilts his head a fraction before he hugs me tight, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

My hands fall from his shoulders. “Are you okay,” I ask, thinking he’s finally lost it.

“I’m sorry,” murmurs into my hair, and then he burst into unrestraint laughter, deep and husky.

“I don’t understand.” I pout, not liking being laughed at. “Did I do something funny?”

He struggles to catch his breath, to talk. His hold around my waist tightens. “Give me a second,” is chuckled into the hollow spot at the base of my throat. His hair tickles my skin.

“You know what … forget it, Sterling. You’ve ruined the mood.” I pry his arms off from around my waist and make a move to crawl off his lap.

“You’re going to kick my ass.” He covers up a delayed chuckle with a fist, his eyes dancing with mirth.

I’m half raised off of him, glaring down at him.

“Why? What did you do?”

“You might want to go look in the mirror.”

Immediately I wipe under my nose thinking I have a booger that he hasn’t bothered to tell me about. My horrified expression sends him into another fit of laughter. After I stand up he falls over onto the couch cushion holding his stomach as if it hurts from laughing too much.

Good. I hope he cracks a rib.

“You’re a jerk.” I shove his arm, storming off to the bathroom, my eyes widening as I step in front of the mirror.

“Sterling!” I yell, “You gave me a hickey!” Correction: not one, but two.

He appears in the doorway and leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest barely containing his happiness over officially branding me. “So what.”

“So I look like a slut.” I inspect the two purplish patches on my neck up close in the mirror; they’re bad, really bad: one on the side of my neck and the other at the base near my collarbone. There is no way I’m going to be able to cover them up with concealer. If I had any.

“It’s not funny!” I throw over my shoulder.

“I don’t know why you’re getting so bent out of shape,” he returns, taking the couple of steps that brings him to my backside. His hands grip my hips, his chin resting on my shoulder. “It’s just a hickey, baby. It’ll go away. It’s not like it’s permanent.”

Twisting free I put some distance between us. He always does this, makes light of everything. “You don’t get it. I promised Starr I would help her at the restaurant tonight. She asked me yesterday when one of her waitress asked for the night off. I can’t work with hickeys on my neck. What will her customers think?”

“I don’t give a shit what they think,” he spits out. “And why did you tell her you’d help?” His expression darkens. “Didn’t you think you should ask me before you agreed?”

“You expected me to ask you for permission?” I laugh out loud. This is insane! Okay, maybe I overacted about the hickeys but is he really trying to tell me I should ask for permission.

“Considering you’re staying in my apartment, sleeping in my bed … I think I should have had at least some say in your decision. What if I made plans for us tonight? What if I wanted you here with me tonight?”

“Are you serious?” I return. “Do you hear yourself? You promised your father you’d come help him anyways. You just want to know I’m sitting here alone all evening waiting on you! That is so messed up.”

“I’m not sure how it was between you and Colton but you running around only thinking about yourself … that’s not going to fly with me.”

“Oh my God! I should have known you’d be the possessive type who doesn’t know how to share his toys!” I shake my head in disbelief, storming past him.

He spins around following me out into the main part of the apartment. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means look at your father! You’re acting just like him!” I yell, sliding on my tennis shoes, heading for the door. I need to be able to breathe and right now I can’t around him.

“Well you’re acting like your psychotic mother,” he says on my heels. “Is it wrong for me to want to spend time with my girlfriend?”

I pause, my hand out on the handle of the steel door, on the other side is space away from Sterling.

“My mother is not psychotic.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” he chuckles, sarcasm pouring off of his demeanor. “Keep telling yourself that, baby. You leave now, before we work this out and I won’t be here when you get back?”

“Is that a threat?”

“I’m just telling it like it is.”

My stomach knots. I believe him. Sterling isn’t the kind of guy to sit around waiting on a girl to get home. The first boring night without me here and he’ll be out picking up a girl. Sterling can’t be alone. It’s impossible. Am I prepared to follow him around every second of every day to keep him from having sex with another girl? Do I want to be with someone I have to watch every second?

“I promised Starr. Get over yourself,” I snarl before walking out.

The Unexpected

Victoria

I use the key Sterling gave me, wrestling to keep a hold on the heavy grocery bags dangling from my hands, the weight of the bags starting to cut into my fingers. The apartment is dark. I’m out of breath from carrying the grocery up, the only drawback to having an apartment on the top floor. I nudge the steel door open with the toe of my tennis shoe, and use my butt to prop it open, the light from the hallway giving me ample light to find the switch. I bump the switch with an elbow, turning on the overhead track lighting.

“Sterling” I call out.

Movement from in the apartment gives me my answer. He’s already home from working with his father, removed his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and stretched out on the couch. I’ve learned his routine.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be home yet. I was hoping, but I wasn’t sure. I bought stuff to make lasagna.” I smile, plunking the bags down on the counter, anxious to go straddle Sterling’s hips and kiss him. I regret what happened earlier. I’d overreacted. Starr pointed out how hard it must have been for Sterling to refer to me as his girlfriend.

“Sterling? You’re not still mad are you?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted. This is kind of new to me too.” I sigh, removing the ripe tomatoes for the sauce from the shopping bag. I step around the bar. “I’ve never felt like this either—” I freeze mid-step. Oh God! No!

The breath had been knocked from my lungs the day I’d tumbled out of my bedroom window landing on my back. I can still remember the pain from the fall like it was yesterday. This is no different. In fact, I believe this is worse. A hand goes to my chest as I struggle to breathe.

This is a kick to the gut.

But my heart hurts the most.

Sterling is stretched out on the couch, a naked girl blanketing the top of him. The girl pushes up on her elbows, the tips of her blond hair brushing his bare chest. My skin crawls with disgust. It’s the girl from the crack house. My nails dig into my palms as I clench my hands into fist. He brought her here. Sterling lifts his head off the couch. His eyes are cloudy with lust and drugs.

“Hey baby,” he drawls barely able to keep his gaze focused on me. “I thought you had to work.” There’s resentment in his tone.

“Obviously,” I snarl already headed for the bathroom. The slam of the bathroom door causes the walls to tremble. I go down on my knees in front of the toilet and puke up the acid churning in the pit of my stomach. After I’m finished I fall back against the side of the Jacuzzi tub and press my forehead to my bent knees. Sobs rack my body as I curse the day I met Sterling Bentley. I curse God for bringing him into my life.

“Why would he do this?” I ask the room, God, I don’t know. “Why would he rip my heart out like this?”

I can hear movement beyond the door: muffled words and then the front door shuts.

Good. I hope he left so I will never have to see his face again. That’s a lie. I want to see him again so I can tear his heart from his chest the way he has mine. My mother warned me. Charlotte warned me. Even Keria warned me. I hug my legs tighter and cry into my knees.

A fist banging on the door causes my head to snap up.

“Go away!” I yell. “I don’t want to talk to you!”

“Too bad,” he says, a thump sounding against the door. I can picture him on the other side of the door wearing nothing but his dress slacks from work with his forehead pressed against the cold wood. Fifteen minutes ago I would have given anything to be that cold wood. A tiny ping of empathy creeps in, gone the instant he shouts, “You’re going to have to come out eventually.”

“I said leave me alone!”

Bam, bam, bam, bam!

“I’ll stand outside this damn door all night if I have to,” he bellows. “If you don’t believe me, try me.”

Releasing all the tension pent up in my chest in one long breath I push up from the floor. I dread facing him, but to leave, I’ll have to walk past him. The bathroom lock clicks and the door swings open. I level him with all the hatred I’m feeling.

“I’m leaving, Sterling,” I tell him.

He looks like a guy who just made out with someone: lipstick stained swollen lips, wild hair and sexy half-closed bedroom eyes. His forehead thumps against the doorjamb for a brief second and then he stretches out a hand for me to take, the dimples unleashed.

“Come on, let’s just go to bed and fuck,” he says looking unaffected by what’s happened, unknowing of what is coming.

A wild growl erupts from deep inside my chest and I go after him. My intention is to hurt him like he has hurt me. “You’re a selfish heartless asshole!” I rage, tears spilling. My fists slam into his chest repeatedly. He makes me crazy.

He takes a step back and stiffens; jamming his hands in his dress slacks, letting me hit his chest until I’m exhausted from it.

“Finished yet,” he finally says shooting an irritated glare down at me.

“Why did you bring HER here? Did you want me to see?”

He drags his gaze down my body and I notice the sway in his own. His eyes burn a trail over my flesh. An unsteady hand comes up to caress my cheek. A thumb over my bottom lip has my resolve weakening.

“You need to loosen up.” His breath warms my lips. “I can give you something to loosen you up, baby. I can make you feel things you never thought were possible, if you’ll trust me.”

I tense at his offer.

He continues, “There is a reason sex, drugs and rock-n-roll are always grouped together. The three make for an exciting unforgettable ride. Take that ride with me once, please, I’d give anything to watch you lose control.”

I don’t respond. I’m too hurt to respond.

“Come on, Phoenix,” he drawls in his most convincing voice while stroking my arm. “It’ll be fun. You only live once. Haven’t you ever wondered?”

“Do you know who you sound like?”

“Who do I sound like?” he smirks.

“Lucifer.”

He barks with laughter. “So now I’m the devil?”

“No. You’re not the devil, but he’s got a strong hold on you and he doesn’t want you to be happy. The only way he can win is if you’re as miserable as he is.”

“Please, just this once.” He is relentless.

“I don’t like you when you’re like this, Sterling. It’s not attractive.” I lean in close making him think, regardless of the venom dripping from my words I’m going to kiss him. I lower my lashes and part me lips, teasing him. He angles his head, waiting. “You have another girl’s lipstick on your mouth,” I say slipping around him.

He slaps a palm on the doorjamb, his expression hardening. “You know what? You’re boring and uptight. You’re a bitch. How the hell do you expect me to be happy with that?” He smears the scarlet lipstick with the back of his hand before meeting my gaze again.

“I don’t.” I tilt my head up at him, exasperated. “Still there.” I shove him. “I expect you to keep doing what you’re doing … getting wasted, screwing a different girl every night, sleeping all day while your father continues to support you. That is what I expect you to do, Sterling! Your right, YOUR shit is affecting me.”

“Cut me some slack.” He takes a step toward me. “I never made you any promises.”

“You’re right. You didn’t promise me anything.”

He sighs heavily. “Okay. I think you’re taking this all wrong. I don’t want to be with anybody else.” The smirk is gone, desperation settling in. He tugs at my arm, trying to pull me up against him. I resist.

“I hated the way she smelled. I hated the way she tasted. I hated that she wasn’t you. BUT you weren’t here! I never claimed to be perfect. I suck at being alone. I’m horrible at it. When I’m alone … I think way too damn much. You’re expecting me to change overnight, Phoenix. It’s impossible. You’re impossible.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what? A bitch?” A dark brow rises.

“Phoenix.”

“I don’t know. You like birds … it seemed fitting.”

“You didn’t know I liked birds the first time we meet in the hallway, but you called that … before you knew.”

“There you go trying to turn nothing into something,” he says the exact words Colton told me countless times. Although this wasn’t nothing considering my dreams and the fact that the only words I could put together in French was you are my fire.

Was he?

Was Sterling Bentley my fire?

I felt like I was changing just like in the dream, headed somewhere new.

If this was my meant-to-be then it sucked.

“I never expected you to be perfect,” I mutter. “What I expected was … I don’t know … respect maybe? It doesn’t matter because it will never be me again. I’m done.”

His eyes dip to stare at my parted lips. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do, Sterling.” A dark eyebrow rises at my sharp tone. “I can’t even stand to look at you. When I look at you it makes me sick to my stomach.” I turn to walk away.

He blocks me. “That’s because you’re in love with me.”

I scoff at his words but don’t deny it. “Move out of the way!”

“Where are you going?”

“The great part of working for Starr tonight is I made money. I’m going home.”

“No,” he simply says.

“Move. I’m serious. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

His eyes narrow in a challenge. “You’re not leaving me.”

“You can’t stop me!”

His jaw clenches and he studies me intently, his eyes searching my face. “You belong here, here with me.”

“Not anymore.”

“Dammit!!” he rages. “You have no idea how hard it is!! How can you … you’ve never been addicted to anything.”

My gaze slides to his, tears spilling over. He is wrong. I understand what it feels like to be addicted to something. I’m addicted to him.

His voice cracks, his fingers circling my wrist, his thumb rubbing my skin. “Baby, please, if you’ll just come to bed with me everything will be better in the morning. I promise. I had a shitty day. My father… it doesn’t matter. It’s no excuse. I fucked up. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, it will. You will always be messing up and saying you’re sorry.” I laugh out loud, even though I’m withering and dying inside. “I can’t believe I actually thought we could live in this little fantasy world we’ve created and nothing bad would ever touch us. I was wrong. It’s not what’s out there that’s the problem. It’s what’s in here, with us. We can’t pretend everything is okay.”

“All couples have problems,” he reasons.

“You’re addiction needs to be addressed, Sterling. I can’t do it for you. You need more help than I can give.”

“You’re wrong.” His hold tightens to near painful. “All I need is you.”

I wrench my arm free, covering my mouth with a palm to muffle a sob. I finally have what I want … love. I finally found what and who I was searching for but I still feel empty. In fact I feel worse. I’m grasping at something that I can never have and that has to be the most terrifying feeling in the world, losing.

“I can’t—I can’t be with you.” I yank my arm. “Please, let me go!”

Sterling’s eyes blaze. “Then go on, fuckin’ leave! That’s what you wanted all along… that’s why you agreed to work in the first place and don’t pretend it’s not! You don’t want to be here … I don’t want you here anyways. You Bitch too damn much!”

“You’re….”

“Fucked up?” he soberly cuts me off before I can finish.

“I was going to say confused.” I fight to catch my breath, chocking on the panic of walking away from the only man I have ever loved. I take a step back only to have him move closer not giving me the space I need. Blood whooshes in my ears. He pinches my chin between his fingers forcing it up and I stop breathing. His eyes are dark, his long lashes lowered over them. His grip on my chin tightens. He brushes a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth and I tense all over.

I try to shove him away again, only to have him capture my wrist to keep me from slapping his face. He makes a sound under his breath, a sound somewhere between anger and lust. He pushes me into the wall, pinning me there with the length of his body. He knees my legs apart, trailing hot urgent kisses down my neck. My neck stings from the scrape of the stubble along his jaw.

This has to end.

I taste alcohol. He secures both of my hands high above my head with one hand, his free hand sliding up under the fabric of my shirt. This doesn’t feel the same. I try to force the image of him with the blonde out of my head. But I can’t. When I’m aware of his grasp on my wrist lessening before disappearing completely I take advantage of the moment and break the kiss, pushing him away.

He growls, frustrated, coming at me again.

A fist pounding on the door to the apartment causes us both to freeze. “I’m coming!”

I sag against the wall holding his intense gaze.

Sterling slams a fist into the wall. “No. I’m not finished. Whoever it is they can come back later.”

Sawyer’s voice comes from the other side. “I know you’re in there!”

“This isn’t a good time!” Sterling yells his eyes never leave mine.

My heart is pounding. If Sawyer leaves I’ll never get out of here, I go make a move and my back hits the wall again, not hard, but hard enough to let me know he doesn’t plan on letting me go anywhere.

“Open the damn door!” Sawyer shouts, impatience in his tone. “This is important!”

Sterling jabs a finger in my direction. “Don’t move … I’ll take care of it and then we’ll talk.”

I glare at Sterling’s back as he crosses the apartment and jerks open the door with every intention of cussing out his brother.

“Try picking up your cell phone. I’ve been calling you for several hours. Can’t you at least return a phone call?” Sawyers eyes find mine immediately.

“We need to talk,” he tells Sterling. “Outside.”

Something about the way he says it and the way he looks at me causes a sick feeling. I go over all of the possibilities in my mind. If his father has finally decided to kick me out then he’s too late, I’m leaving on my own.

“You know better than to come here shouting orders,” Sterling growls, attempting to slam the door in Sawyers face. Sawyer catches it with a hand; he leans in, whispering something to his brother.

Throwing a quick glance over his left shoulder Sterling follows Sawyer out into the hallway. The door shuts. A chill runs down my spine. Pushing off from the wall I sprint over to the door and press my palms to it, an ear close enough to hear what is being said.

Their words are muffled, unclear.

I listen harder.

When I hear movement right outside the door I go to stand by the couch and wait, gnawing on a corner of my bottom lip. The expression on Sterling’s face when he walks back in tells me everything I need to know. He stops by the bar and sighs, frowning. There is a good fifteen feet between us. He is shirtless and adorably sexy in nothing but his dress slacks. I don’t care. I hardly notice. All I care about is that he went from being angry with me to feeling sorry for me in the short amount of time he spent out in the hallway with his brother.

“Baby, come here,” he says stretching out a hand.

I shake my head “What’s happened?”

“I think maybe you should at least sit down.” He flips one of the bar stools around for me and pats the seat.

My gaze lands on Sawyer, his hands are buried in the front pockets of his jeans, his shoulders rolled forward in the black tee. “Victoria, you should listen to him.”

“I don’t want to sit,” I tell them, clutching the back of the couch for support, the leather stiff under my sweaty palms. “I want one of you to tell me what’s going on.”

Sterling rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling a long breath. “It’s your father.” He swallows hard. “I can’t do this with you standing all the way over there,” he says, his voice hoarse. He takes several steps toward me, his eyes pleading.

“Don’t come any closer. I don’t want you anywhere near me … I just want to know.”

“Okay.” His hands disappear into the deep pockets of his slacks, the reflected image of his brother’s uncomfortable demeanor beside him, the only difference is Sterling never breaks eye contact. He is waiting, prepared for my reaction. Whatever it is he has to tell me he thinks it will devastate me. Tears gather in my eyes.

There is only one thing that would devastate me.

“Your father died three hours ago in the hospital.” Sterling pulls his hands free from his pockets holding one out. The room spins. I squeeze my eyes shut as sudden coldness hits my core. My breathing is suspended my grip tightening on the couch.

“I’m so sorry, baby. What can I do? Let me do something.”

My eyes snap open to see tears rolling down over his cheeks.

I don’t care. He can’t possibly feel as bad as I do.

I see a better man.

I see gentle eyes and dimples and a man that loves his wife and daughter more than anything. I see a man that is beyond healthy. He is a contractor for Christ sakes. He exercises and is out in the sun every day. Oh God, what was the last thing I said to him? I force myself to remember. A sob erupts from my chest. The payphone! I chose to stay. I could have been with him.

“How?” I ask Sawyer, avoiding Sterling’s eyes.

“A brain aneurism. It was sudden,” Sterling explains. “Your mother found him. My father gave her the number to my cell but when she tried to call ….”

“You were too busy to answer,” I finish already making a move towards the door. I’m on autopilot with only one thought and that is to get home.

Sterling steps into my path and reaches out, grabbing hold of my upper arms, his eyes desperate. “Phoenix?”

Tension crackles in the space between us.

“Sawyer, will you …” I start; glancing at the only guy here I can stand to look at. “I can’t deal with you right now, Sterling.”

“Right now?” he asks deeply. “Or never?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

Sawyer clamps a hand on his brother’s rigid shoulder. “I’ll make sure Victoria gets home safely.”

Sterling releases me giving me my freedom.

I accept it.

Faith

Victoria

I look up into the bright sun not even blinking. If it fries my retinas I wouldn’t care. I keep waiting on the rain, but there isn’t a single cloud in the sky.

It’s always rains at funerals.

A pair of stylish black sunglasses swallow my face. I always thought it looked ridiculous: family and friends gathered around the grave site, dressed in black wearing sun glasses. I always thought it only happened in the movies. I understand now. The sunglasses hide the blood shot puffy eyes.

Pastor Michael is standing at the head of the casket. He is reading from the bible spread open in his hands.

I don’t have a clue what he is saying.

I don’t care.

I glance over at my mother: Her simple black dress shows how thin she is. Her black stilettos make her easily the tallest woman here. Her naturally curly long hair is brushed out, coarse and thick but classy pulled back in a clamp at the nape of her neck, a few pieces springing free. A wide rim hat shades her face. Her lips are a subtle shade of red, just enough color to keep her from looking dead. Sunglasses swallow her face too. She still doesn’t cry, I wonder if it’s her way of being strong for the people around her, but everyone knows she is falling apart underneath it all.

She is a widow now.

My gaze returns to our pastor. God I wish he’d hurry up. I can’t pretend much longer. I can’t keep it together much longer.

White cow lilies hug the top of the elegant cherry casket. In a few moments the casket will be lowered and then we’ll all leave him here, uncovered and alone.

I tilt my head back looking up at the sky again, waiting on the rain.

It always rains at funerals.

My mother reaches for my hand and I tense all over. It’s totally unexpected, and I’m not too sure how I feel about it, but I guess it makes sense; all we have is each other now. She squeezes to the point where she is crushing my fingers, but I don’t complain. I shift my weight, pulling the points of my heels out of the soggy ground.

The past forty-eight hours have been a blur of arrangements.

The real challenge will be when we go home to an empty house with nothing to do.

God I wish he’d hurry up.

Absently I stare at Pastor Michael, hearing his words, “In light of these promises God has given us in His Word and in as much as it has pleased the Lord in His sovereign wisdom and purpose to take from our midst one whom we have loved, we now commit his body to its final resting place to await the fulfillment of another promise of Scripture. In 1 Thess. 4:13-18, writing to the Thessalonians church, the Apostle Paul wrote:

Pastor Michael reads from the bible.

The casket is lowered. Pastor Michael throws three handfuls of dirt into the deep hole.

I can’t be here any longer.

Dropping my mother’s hand I spin around and stalk toward the first car waiting in the circle drive. The sun heats my back. My hands clench by my sides, I won’t cry. I keep a steady determined pace; burying the rage, burying the desire to scream at the top of my lungs that it’s not fair. It’s a long walk, about the length of a football field.

“Victoria ….” Someone calls out from somewhere behind me. I stop, recognizing the voice. My entire body tenses my heart doing that familiar flutter it does whenever he is near me. Butterflies try to invade my belly but I mentally smother them into nothingness.

I slowly spin around to see Sterling erasing the distance between us. He appears flushed, nervous, stopping a safe distance away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I growl, turning and resuming my eager pace to reach the car.

“Where ever you’re at … that’s where I should be.” Sterling matches my brisk pace. I give him a sidelong glance. He is wearing an expensive black suit. His eyes are blood shot looking like he hasn’t slept in a while. His hair is a hot mess like usual. He reeks of cigarettes. I consider asking him for one but I’d die before I asked him for anything.

He makes an hmmm noise deep in his throat, rubbing the front of the crisp dress shirt over his heart.

“Don’t shut me out,” he says.

“You did that yourself.” Go home. Like I said, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Dammit it Phoenix, will you stop and listen for a second?” I’m jerked to sudden halt. My gaze drops to his hand clenching my arm before I glare up at him. He doesn’t remove the hand. If anything his hold tightens. “I didn’t have sex with her,” he says like that really matters now. He is an arrogant bastard if he thinks today is about him or about us.

Today is about my father.

“Only because I walked in before you had the chance,” I return.

“I can change. I haven’t used since you left. No girls have been to the apartment. I don’t want anyone else there. All I do is sit and curse myself for being so weak.”

A pang of remorse hits me. I never did like hearing him criticize himself. ‘Don’t call yourself weak’ is on the tip of my tongue. That’s what Sterling does. He gets inside my head. He sneaks his way into my heart.

He releases my arm, the hand that was holding it raking through his hair. “You need me and you and I both know it.”

“Do I look like I’m falling apart without you?” Thank God for sunglasses. “I’m a big girl. I’ve dealt with loss before, Sterling.”

The color drains from his face. He gives a slow disbelieving head shake, throwing a jittery glance at the crowd beginning to separate at my father’s grave site and head this way he says, “At least let me be here for you as a friend. I won’t push for more. Not right now. Right now I just want to be what you need.”

My chin trembles and I look away so he won’t see. “I can’t, Sterling. I need time.”

He sends me a long, painful look and then breaks eye contact. He stumbles back a step.

“I can give you time,” his voice comes out soft, broken. His shoulders drop, his hands disappearing in the pockets of his dress slacks. He walks away, giving me the time I asked for.

I dump the wasted food on my plate in the garbage. Our refrigerator is packed with a ton of it. It seems everyone we know feels compelled to feed us. It’s been three days since the funeral. I feel obligated—knowing the food will spoil if no one eats it—so I try to force myself to eat. A few bites and I become nauseous, same as I have been lately.

My mother is in the same place she’s been in since we came home; In front of the television, staring blankly. I hate having to pass through the living room to get to the stairs to my bedroom because I don’t know what to say to her to make her feel better. I can’t even manage to make myself feel better.

“Hey.” I pause, feeling like I need to say something. We can’t keep going on like this. “There’s still plenty of food. You hungry?”

She shakes her head. “You should eat though. Make sure you eat.”

I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “That’s where I just came from … the kitchen.”

“Good. I don’t want you to get sick.” Her face is long and sad. She is wearing baggy sweats and bunched-up white socks, her hair in a ponytail. No makeup.

“Okay, well, I’m going to take a nap.” I hesitate.

“Do you know why he brought this in the house,” she asks. She holds up the Bible in her lap, showing me the worn leather cover.

Grandma’s Bible.

My mouth opens but no words make it out. I go to sit next to my mother, slipping the bible out of her hands. My fingertips trace over the Beverly Hamilton written in gold. I turn the soft pages until I come to grandma’s handwriting.

“Why did she write: Olivia hopefully one day you will forgive me ?” I ask my mother.

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know she’d added that until your father brought it. It’d been a box out in the building ever since …” she clears her thought. “Maybe it was her way of telling me she felt bad that she didn’t approve of your father in the beginning. Our marriage almost didn’t make it because of her meddling. She was determined he wasn’t going to be a part of our family.”

“But then she moved in with us after grandpa died. Imagine that. She must have not disliked us that much after all,” I say a little snarky.

My mother smiles for the first time in days. “You’re right. She settled right in, didn’t she? We couldn’t get rid of her after that.” The smile vanishes like it was never there. She lays her hand over mine, our gazes meeting. “I shouldn’t have told you. It was wrong of me. I was being a bitch.”

“It’s okay.” I swallow hard. “I shouldn’t have kept bringing her up.”

“No.” She angles her body toward me. “You had every right to miss her, Victoria. You’re grandmother loved you very much. Yes. At first, when I was pregnant she didn’t like the idea but after she saw you … aww honey, she was putty in your hands.”

“I think she added the message after she found out. Grandma wanted the best for you … she just had trouble showing it.”

All the color drains from my mother’s face. She reaches for the Bible in my hands, reading over my grandma words. “I think you’re right. I understand how she felt now. I only want the best for you, Victoria. Sometimes that means I do things out of love that hurt you when the last thing I want is to hurt you. I’m so sorry … for everything.”

I lean into her, laying my head on her shoulder. I tap the leather cover with my index finger. “I found grandma’s bible out in a box not long ago and dad walked in while I was looking through it. I asked him why he wasn’t in here and he told me the date of when he was saved.” Lifting my head my gaze connects with hers. “It was the same day as yours. It was a decision you made together he said.”

She draws in a deep breath. “I remember. I miss him so much, Tori.”

“Me too.” I pull her to me, hugging her tight, murmuring, “I had no way of knowing it would be the last time I’d see him, mom. If I’d known … I would have told him how much I loved him … I would have come home. ”

Her hand strokes the length of my hair. “Oh honey, your father knew how much you loved him.”

A knock comes from the front door causing us to separate.

“Oh no, I’m not in the mood to have visitors,” my mother gasps a hand flying to her unwashed hair. “I guess I should …” She goes to stand and I stop her.

“It’s okay, mom. Whoever it is I’ll tell them to come back later,” I say. “They’ll understand.”

I go to the door, finding the last person I ever wanted to see standing on the porch.

“How are you?” Colton asks, burying his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts.

An angry heat spreads throughout my body. “You have some nerve coming here. I want off my porch and out of my life.” I go to slam the door, but his hand catches it.

“Listen, I know I messed up. I was pissed … maybe I didn’t handle it the way I should have.” He sighs. “We have something in common now.”

I slap a palm higher on the door, my gaze narrowing on his face. “I don’t have anything in common with you, Colton. Don’t call me and don’t ever come to my house again,” I yell. You got it!”

Without giving him time to answer I slam the door and head for my room, the air around me growing dense. I bypass mom not wanting to explain who it was. I’m still not sure she fully gets how much of a pervert creep Colton Bentley is. One day I’ll explain it to her and tell her everything … but not today.

The sun is setting, the light coming through my bedroom windows diminishing. I close the door and collapse against it placing a hand over my heart. It races under my palm. Rage consumes me.

“Oh God it’s not fair, none of this is fair!!” I yell, griping onto the wall as if I could lose my balance. I lift my heavy head, my attention going to the wood statue on the dresser across from me.

It stares at me in the eyes with its hard cold eyes.

Its features are that of an eagle, beautiful, wild … free, but it’s just a statue. It will never feel the wind beneath its wings, it’s just wood. I instantly regret bringing that stupid bird home with me. Eagerly closing the steps between us, I sweep everything on top of my dresser, including the bird, onto the floor with one angry movement of my arm. I pick up a stack of books slinging them at the wall. Within seconds I feel the weight of my body collapse around my knee. I scream in protest as the pain causes a rippling effect throughout my entire body, letting it all pour out.

“Oh God, he’s really gone!”

I crumble to the floor and glance at the large tree outside of my window, peering in at the sight of my break down. When I was seven I looked at that tree as is it would never let me fall, I had faith in its crackling branches … I also had faith in sterling. Now all of this is a constant reminder, the tree, the statues, my stupid knee; I’ve been falling all along ... but who would catch such a foolish girl? I pull my legs out from under me, looking at the pink scar alongside of my knee. The anger from everything pulses through my veins; I begin slamming both palms onto the tender area! It hurts, but I have to get it away from me! With each forceful punch, I can’t help the cries escaping my lips.

“Why? Why did you take him from me? Are you trying to punish me? Don’t you know I need my father! Why do you keep taking people that I love away from me? Did I do something wrong?” I scream breathlessly between each punch and scratch. My skin rips and tears under my nails.

There is no answer.

I’m suddenly aware of the blood oozing from the self-inflected scratches. I’ve lost control of the simple act of being able to breathe. I’m hyperventilating.

“I don’t need you to show me how to breathe,” I say.

“You don’t?” He looks skeptical.

“I think I can handle the simple act of breathing without you.”

“But are you breathing properly?”

“I don’t know. I breathe the same as everyone else.”

I can hear the tree outside mocking me, “you’re pathetic, look at you. You don’t deserve to be in my branches”

“Ahhhh…”I grab the wooden bird lying on the ground next to me and hurl it at the tree with the all the anger that is still left in me. The glass window shatters.

Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes I inhale and exhale, taking in slow deep breaths, lying over on the cold floor. I pray:

“I want understanding.

I want forgiveness.

I want peace.

I want a love that will never forsake me.

I want the light.

I have been searching in all the wrong places, Lord. All this time I believed if my mother would just accept me … I’d have those things. If I found the right guy … he’d give me those things. I put my faith in all the wrong things, Lord. I want a love strong enough to see me through anything. I don’t know what to do anymore. I surrender it all to you! Please lift this burden from heart! Take it! It’s yours! I don’t want to be angry anymore. Help me understand. Show me the way.”

“Victoria! Victoria, Honey?” My mother rushes through the door to find me lying on my side. I can imagine the look of horror on her face. I feel her arms under my sides as she lifts me into her lap. “Oh my God, what have you done?” she says rubbing my leg with her fingers. I can hear her heart pounding in her chest.

My voice trembles like my body, but not with heartbreak or sorrow but with the revelation that I’m one of the lucky ones to finally understand it. I tried to fix everything. Sterling is in the midst of a trial meant to bring him closer to the truth. I’m prohibiting that. I realize that God didn’t take my father from me, it was just his time.

I know now, more than anything, I am not alone. I’ll never be alone.

“I’m sorry momma, for everything” Tears escape my eyes, running down over my cheeks, the taste of salt on my lips. My mother rocks me back and forth. She’s quiet, too quiet. I angle my head prepared to see a look of disappointment; I have beaten myself up and broken her window, I half expect her to put me in a nut house. I would.

My mother looks down to me with eyes filled with love. I scramble from her lap and latch my arms around her neck, tears pouring from both our eye, we’re crying.

A month later…

Jonah’s house is the last place I thought I’d ever feel comfortable. His mother is wonderful. I think mostly I come here to see her. Charlotte is easy to talk to. She listens. Her influence over Keria has been remarkable.

It’s been a month since my world detonated like a bomb. I’m no longer angry.

“How’s your mother,” Charlotte asks me as soon as I come in. I slide out of my jacket laying it over the back of the couch. The house smells like burnt food. I hear a shuffle beyond the kitchen door and I smile, picturing Jonah in his stylish potholder mittens in the midst of a full-blown panic. The kitchen door swings open and Jonah walks into the living room, Keria on his heels giving him hell.

“She’s staying busy,” I tell Charlotte. “She cleaned out the building out back and has a carpenter coming by to build in shelves.”

“For what?” Keria asks.

“For my carvings. We’re painting the walls this weekend. I officially have my own work studio.” I plop down on the couch my gaze connecting with Jonah’s. “Did you burn all the food? I’m starving.”

Keria is waving her hands and nodding behind him. Jonah throws a look over his shoulder and Keria pretends to be doing nothing but listening.

“Hey,” Jonah pouts. “No evil cracks on my cooking.”

“I know what I’m getting you for Christmas,” I tell him.

Keria snorts, “What … a cook book?”

“No,” I laugh out. “Cooking lessons.”

“Oh yeah!” Keria wiggles excited finger in my direction. “And I can get him his very own chef hat and an apron with Stevens on it.”

“I see how it is.” Jonah moves to behind her, sliding his arms around her torso, his chin resting in the curve of her shoulder. “Go ahead. Make your jokes. See I ever cook another damn—”

“Jonah Elijah Stevens!” Charlotte breaks in, narrowing her eyes at him.

Keria and I crack up, laughing until our side hurt.

Knock, knock!

All of our heads turn toward the front door. The knock is persistent.

Keria goes and peeks out through a curtain. “It’s Sterling,” she says, turning to me.

Two words I’m not so sure I wanted to hear.

“I’ll get rid of him,” Jonah says opening the front door and stepping onto the porch. He pulls the door to, leaving panicking with what to do. They’re out there for a good ten minutes. We can hear Sterling shaking voice, the urgency in his tone.

“Call the police,” I finally tell Keria.

“Are you sure? It really seems like he just wants to talk to you,” she says, studying my reaction. “Can’t you at least here what he has to say? Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“Keria, you’re the one that told me he’s not a nice guy. You compared him to Colton. Don’t you remember?”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“No, Keria. You weren’t. Sterling has got it in his head that he can change. You and I both know that’s not going to happen. Guy’s like him don’t change.”

“But what if he’s telling the truth? What if he means what he’s saying? I really think he does care about you and I know you love him. Don’t try to deny it. Not all guys are like Colton.”

“He doesn’t even know what he’s saying,” I rationalize. “A month from now he’d hate me. I’d put all kinds of expectations on him and you know it. I’d destroy us.”

“Tori, you have it all wrong. You never tried to control Colton. If anything you let him walk all over you. You’re the most patient understanding person I’ve ever met. I can’t see you destroying anything.”

“But that was with Colton. It’s different with Sterling. I’m different with Sterling.”

“You’re afraid,” she says. “You’re afraid to be with him … that’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re terrified he’ll leave you and it will destroy you … not him. That’s what this is about, Tori. Even you’re not that selfless. Pushing him away isn’t for him, it’s for you.”

“Listen to me and call the police,” I repeat, but even I hear the doubt in my voice. “A night or two in jail and he’ll give up.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. His father won’t like having to come bail him out. He’ll convince his son to give up.” Even if he has to use his fist to do it.

“Just go talk to him,” Keria groans.

I see that this is not going anywhere. I have Sterling on one side of the door refusing to leave and Keria refusing to let me hide. With a huff I give in.

“Tori doesn’t want to see you,” Jonah asserts, guarding the door like his life depends on it. “Can you not get that? You need to stop calling her constantly. It’s getting old.”

“I’m not leaving until I talk to her.” Sterling’s voice causes that all too familiar fluttering in my stomach. “Please. Get her to come outside.”

“Man, it’s her decision … not mine. Respect her wishes and just go before you cause a scene.”

“Thanks, Jonah,” I say, laying a hand on his shoulder. Our gazes meet. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

“Okay.” He glares at Sterling. “I’ll be inside if you need me.”

I slip out the door pulling it until the latch clicks behind me. “Hey,” comes out small.

Sterling is standing at the foot of the stairs leading up to the porch. I don’t make a move. I don’t take off running to him slinging my arms around his shoulders. There’s a painful tightening in my chest. My heart beat stops momentarily at the sight of him. But I won’t give in to it. Not after everything that has happened.

Time seems to stop waiting on one of us to say something.

He looks like he’s lost weight since the last time I saw him. There are dark circles under his eyes. His clothes are rumbled like his hair. He is quiet, piercing me with sad gray eyes. “You look beautiful,” he eventually says.

My gaze drops to what he is holding in his hands.

“Oh, here, I brought you these,” he says.

I stare down, at what he hands me, that tightening in my chest getting worse. “You brought me one of your shirts and a pair of boxers?”

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. His dimples melt my heart. “I miss you wearing them. At least this way I can imagine that you wear them every night like before.”

It gets quiet. Awkward.

He climbs the steps coming to stand near me. He rubs his forehead, his eyes closed.

“Sterling, you’re going to have to stop calling me and showing up where I’m at.”

“Guess what?” he says, his eyes brightening. “I wrote you a song, well, I wrote a melody I’m still working on the words.”

I don’t think he is getting it. He’s refuses to hear what I’m saying. I hold his gaze, determined to get through to him. “Did you hear what I just said?”

He goes on, “I’ve had a lot of free time so I’ve been painting and playing more … doing whatever I have to do to keep my mind off you.”

“Sterling, it’s over. You need to go home,” I announce, feeling as if the floor is giving out beneath me. “You need to give up.”

“I still haven’t used since you left. I don’t want any other girl. I want you. I want you wearing my boxers. I want you in my bed.” He reaches but hesitates. He closes the distance between us.

“Don’t—” I warn.

“You saved me, Phoenix” He lifts his wrist, showing me the scars we’ve never discussed. “Before you I had nothing to live for. I planned on doing it, for real, after we came back from my uncle’s funeral. No more chickening out and not following through.” His gaze lifts to mine. “But then I ran into you out in the hallway that day and you lit my darkness. You took care of me. You made me feel like I mattered to someone. After I met you I didn’t think about dying anymore. All I could think about was living. I want to marry you and have children with you one day.”

My thoughts spin. I want to grab him, tell him it’s okay. Lie. Tell him he’ll never use again or want another girl in his bed. Tell him I can make him happy and be all he ever needs.

Sterling reaches out; lacing his fingers in mine, the instant surge of electricity is breath taking.

“This” he gestures with his hands, “This, was right. I just wasn’t and I know I’m far from it. Phoenix, I know you felt it to, that we were … right. I just wish I could be what you need.”

His grip on my hand loosens, and then he’s pulling away. I can still feel the pressure of his fingers next to mine, my hands now empty, so is my heart.

Sterling drops his head in his palms, letting out an exasperated breath.

“But I can’t …” is spoken into his palms, muffled, distant. His unexpected words suck the air out of my lungs. It all shifts and changes and I know … I know Sterling didn’t come here tonight to beg me to give him another chance. He came here to let me go.

I’m good at losing. I can handle losing him.

“You are a kind-hearted person,” he says now. “We met each other at such bad points in our lives. I wish we could start over. I wish I could go back in time … not just with you … with a lot of things. I want what you want and I want it with you but I need help. Please don’t completely delete me from your heart. I know you don’t want to talk to me. I wouldn’t want to talk to me either. I had a revelation the other night and I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for everything. I wanted to tell you that it finally hit me that I really do have a problem. I really need to learn how to love and respect someone. I really hope you can forgive me in your heart for what I did. You didn’t deserve any of it!”

“I’m going to start charging you a penny for every minute you’re on my mind and one day I’ll buy you a million dollar mansion.” He lifts my hand once more, his gray eyes locked with mine as his lips graze each one of my knuckles. “Goodbye Phoenix.”

My chest rises and falls quickly watching him go, adrenaline pumping throughout my entire body. I get the feeling this will be the last time I’ll ever see Sterling Bentley. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’d do anything to have him look at me just once before he walks out of my life. Just once and I’ll know this spark I’m feeling is not in my head and he feels it too.

He never once looks back.

Sterling Bentley taught me how to love what is ugly. He taught me to embraces the unknown instead of fearing it. I realized the love I was looking for all along wasn’t to be found in other people but inside me the entire time. A love that deaths, disappointment, regret, space or time cannot take from me.

Epilogue

A year and a half later …

“How does it feel to be the proud owner of your very own store?” Keria asks me from the chair next to mine. We’re all helping Charlotte sign guest in for tonight’s meeting. Jonah is out front, helping park cars. And Keria and I are in the lobby taking names and passing along pamphlets with valuable information for family members of addicts. I flip through the stapled papers, scanning for the name of the next person in line. Members, family, friends … everybody gets a name tag and their name marked through on the list.

There is a sign hanging on the front of our desks that reads, Sign in here for family night.

“It feels great,” I admit, smiling up as I hand the guy a tag with his name on it. He peels the sticky paper off the back of the tag and slaps it onto his shirt, over his heart.

“You look like such a professional,” she states. “With your hair all curled and pulled up with the right little pieces hanging down, look at you.”

“Okay,” I laugh out. I’d bought this outfit especially for the grand opening: a black knee length skirt, a red silk tank top and flats since I knew I’d be on my feet all day. It felt good to be received as someone serious and talented by all the people who’d came into the shop today. As I was locking up at end of the day I couldn’t resist smiling non-stop.

I’m serious. You look amazing and I am so proud of you,” Keria tells me in-between filling out stickers. “Before long you’ll be making enough money to take me to some fancy shmancy restaurant.”

“I don’t know about all that.”

The meetings can sometimes get intense; confusion coming from both sides—tonight is about bridging the gap.

Guilt resurfaces like it always does when I help Charlotte. I’ll always wonder if I made the right choice.

“Uh oh. There’s that look again,” Keria says. “You know … it’s been over a year. You’re going to have to stop beating yourself up over this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lie. “I’m tired. That’s all.”

Earlier today Keria and Jonah helped me with the grand opening of Victoria’s Woodcarvings. I know the name isn’t too original, but I decided I wanted to keep it simple. I think secretly, somewhere deep inside, I’m hoping he will come back to Colorado Springs one day and see the sign lit in the window and he’ll remember.

“Yeah. Whatever. You’re forgetting you’re my best friend and I can read your mind.” She shakes her head, writing on one of the stickers, handing it up with a smile. “You simply will not give up on that guy. Charlotte mentioned this guy …. ”

“No. I’m not going out on anymore lame dates. Whoever he is … find someone else to pawn him off on.”

Her pen stills and her head turns in my direction. My gaze narrows on her. Why does she look like she is about to burst into laughter. “Hey. You need a date for my wedding; otherwise I’ll just feel guilty all night.”

Did I mention Jonah and Keria are getting married in two days? “I think I’ll be fine,” I tell her sternly.

She sighs, deflating a little. “Are you sure? Don’t you ever want to feel butterflies again?”

“Where there are butterflies … heartache will soon follow,” I mumble. “I’ve had enough butterflies to last a lifetime.”

The Chaos theory—“it has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world.”

People stepping up to the desk are beginning to feel the tension between the Keria and me and give us weird looks. Tonight is supposed to be about helping Charlotte. Not my friends finding me a man. I’m assuming Jonah is in on this too. Why do my friends always try to make me feel like I am missing out on something? The felt tip of the black pen I’m using to fill out the name tags squashes under the pressure. The pen flicks out of my hand landing on the floor, where it rolls under my desk. See. Now they’ve made me upset.

“I don’t need a man to make me happy!” I assert. Chair legs scrape on the floor and I bend over in the chair chasing my pen. Stretching my hand under my desk I reach for the pen … almost … not quite … a little further … “there I got it!” My bottom is still in the seat, well on the edge of the seat, while the tips of my hair sweep the floor. I get an upside view of dress slacks and shiny dress shoes.

All the blood rushes to my head making me dizzy.

“But what if this guy is the one?” Keria calls down.

Those pants cuffs and shoes look like a Bentley. I’m thinking of one Bentley in particular. Oh no. It can’t be. Not now. My heart races as I sit up in the chair, facing the music.

My stomach plummets with disappointment when I see it’s not the right Bentley.

“Sawyer?” I breathe out. “What are you doing here?”

“Family night,” he answers with a crooked smile. He buries his hands in the pockets of his dress slacks looking very GQ and mature. He looks more like his brother than he did a year and a half ago. My heart continues to race.

“Family night?” I repeat in a trance.

The line next to us continues to move; Keria handing out her name tags, while pretending to not be paying close attention to what’s taking place on my side. She reaches over and takes a sticker, writes Sawyer Bentley on it and hands it to him saving me from gawking at him without saying a word.

He peels the back and sticks it to his starched shirt. “Can I have one of those?” He nods at the pamphlet in my tight grip. “Or is that the last one and you’re saving it?”

“What?” I blink. My gaze lands on the pamphlet. My cheeks flame with the heat of embarrassment. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

Ask him about his brother. You know you’re dying to know.

“This is for you.” I pass the pamphlet across the desk and go through the normal procedure of pointing him to where the meeting will be held. “Go through the double doors; turn right, it’s the last door on the right … in the auditorium.”

Sawyer steps to the side of the tables to let the next person in line move up. He bites down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing at me trying to remain calm. I know when a Bentley is suppressing laughter.

“Okay. I brought them inside. Next time … focus,” A girl is saying coming up beside Sawyer. “These heels are killing my feet and it didn’t help having to walk all the way out to the car because you can’t remember to do one tiny little thing.”

My eyes widen at the sight of Starr? The two of them being here can only mean one thing.

Sawyers gaze drops to Starr and he grimaces. “Is that all you ever do … complain?” He sighs. “I thought you brought them in. Well, where are they?”

“You expected me to carry them in here? I sat them on a table until we get signed in. Good grief boy. Give me some credit. I’m not stupid.”

“The twelve hours back home alone in a car with you is going to drive me nuts,” he exhales, scrubbing his face with his hands.

“Hey look at this, some incredibly cute country guy gave this to me out in the parking lot. I have no clue what it is, but I’ll take anything he is handing out.”

Sawyer glances down at what Starr crams in his hand.

“It’s a church track,” he tells her, shocking me. My eyes narrow on Sawyer and I immediately notice something is different about him. Okay, this agitated, frustrated tone with Starr is new, but there’s something else. Shaking my head I let it go not able to put my finger on it. I lean into Keria’s side while Sawyer and Starr continue to bicker near our tables. “Is this really happening? Or am I dreaming?” I whisper.

“Is that girl talking about Jonah?” her brows slam down. “I’ll claw her eyes out if she flirts with him.”

“Calm down. Jonah doesn’t notice any other girls when you’re in the room. He is marrying you.”

“Yah, I know. He is such a sweetheart.” She stares off into nothingness in that same dreamy daze she’s had the last couple months. I think it’s all part of the engagement phase. She is fluttering around high on love. I can’t believe I ever thought of Jonah like that. I shudder at the thought seeing him more like a brother now.

I straighten in my chair. Starr is clutching at the amber stone dangling from her neck gazing up at Sawyer. I remember what she said about it warding off negative energy and I smile. She still hasn’t noticed I’m sitting here and Sawyer seems to have forgotten. I’m starting to wonder if these two have one of those love/hate relationships and they are really here alone.

I’d be lying if I said I’m not disappointed.

Sawyer and Starr wander a little further away. I return to filling out name tags. There are only a couple of people left wandering up to the table. The day has been long and my body and mind are fatigued. The idea that Sterling might be here and I’d see him for the first time in a year and a half sent my body into an adrenaline overload. Seeing Starr and Sawyer made me realize just how much I think about him, every day actually.

“I’m going to start charging you a penny for every minute you’re on my mind and then one day I’ll buy you a mansion with it,” he’d said before walking out of my life for good. It was corny, but it’s stayed with me. Shaking my head I resign to finish the name tags and make it through the meeting before my body gives out.

“I’m sorry. What did you say your name is?” I blink up at the woman.

“Penny Johnson. I’m here for my son, Kile.”

I flip through the stapled papers, finding the names and scratching them off the list.

Lavender and baby’s breath in a vase appear in my line of sight. The fragrance tickles my nose and I glance up to see Sawyer and Starr smiling down at me. I’m speechless as I reach out and accept what I notice is the same kind of crystal Vase Sterling broke at the party. My gaze travels the room in search of him.

“There’s a card,” Starr says. “Read it.”

My fingers tremble. I do as she says and rip open the card with my name written on it. My hand flies to my chest tears welling up in my eyes as I merely whisper:

I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweetheart

Forcing the card back in the envelope I come up out of the seat, scanning the lobby. A happy cry escapes. “Is he’s here?”

“Yep,” Keria says causing my gaze to snap to her.

“You knew?”

“Yea, check the guest speakers,” she returns.

I scoop up the papers I’ve filtered through for the past hour and see his name there. Recovering addicts come to share their stories at every meeting, it helps everyone involved.

Recovery. I turn the word over in my mind.

Star aims a thumb over her shoulder at my stunned expression. “Out front,” she says.

Butterflies attack my stomach. Sterling is here and I’m going to see him and talk to him for the first time in a year and a half. Without even thinking I take off for the exit door realizing when I’m halfway there that I didn’t bring the flowers. I refuse to turn back not willing to wait a second to see him. Rushing through the doors I stop, my gaze sweeping the street seeing nothing but a delivery truck. Maybe he is out back, in the parking lot. Turning to go back inside my eyes lift and I freeze as the long white van pulls off, revealing the old beat up truck parked on the other side of the street. I bite down on my bottom lip to resist smiling. It reminds me of the movie Sixteen Candles, but this isn’t Jake Ryan leaning against a red Porsche 944 wearing a Fair Isle sweater vest with his hands buried in the pockets of his 501 button-fly jeans.

This is Sterling Bentley leaning against an old Ford, the tattoos on his arms easily seen crawling out from under the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt. His hands are buried in the pockets of worn out jeans. His hair is every bit as magnificent as Jake Ryan’s black hair moussed heavenward and his gray eyes… well gooey brown no longer does it for me. It is gray that makes my heart soar. Those gray eyes of his stays fixated on me as he pulls a hand from his pocket and waves.

He crosses the road with his usual cocky stride, confident I am going to forgive him. As soon as the dimples flash I know, contrary to whatever he believes … I’d already forgiven him the day he’d said goodbye.

One of his eyebrows lifts. He glances down the street separating us and then back to where I’m standing.

“Did you get the flowers?” he asks coming closer.

I nod, unable to do much else.

He takes a couple of more steps in my direction, hesitating as if he is unsure about my feelings. He shoves his hands back into his pockets, his shoulder caving in on him.

“Are you seeing anybody?” I think I hear him mutter.

“Not since you,” I answer honestly.

I want to believe it’s because I needed time to work on me. Time to work on opening my store. But there was more … there was always Sterling present in my heart and mind.

“Phoenix,” he starts but I can’t wait any longer. I take off running, throwing myself into his arms. His arms close around me sweeping me off my feet, crushing the breath from my lungs before sitting me back down on the ground. “God I’ve missed you?” he says moving a stray hair from my face.

“What are you doing here? I’ve missed you … I couldn’t get the last—”

Sterling puts a finger over my lips. I’m rambling. He bends kissing the tip of my nose, resting his forehead to mine.

Time stops.

“I’ve been clean since you left Phoenix, you showed me what it meant to be alive … you taught me how to hope. You don’t know how many mornings I’ve woke up and seen you in my apartment, or felt you sitting next to me while I’m asleep, touching my skin.” I sly smile forms on his lips. He knows. He knows I watched him sleep, wishing I could right all the wrong in his life.

“You were awake?” I ask pulling back to his face, remembering what I’d said that morning.

Don’t make me fall in love with you.

Sterling grabs the sides of my face, his eyes boring deep into mine “You know the last day I saw you, you said you didn’t know if you could ever give me another chance, I know you’re afraid to love me, but I promise I will never hurt you again. I know that’s what everyone says, but I swear with every ounce of my being … you’re safe with me, phoenix I-?”

Now I’m the one placing a finger to his lips.

I look up into the clear gray eyes I’d thought I’d never have the chance to look into again. My heart nearly bursts with love. Sterling Bentley is here with me, well; a less haunted and miserable version of himself.

“What took you so long?” I breathe, locking my arms around his neck.

“I could say the same thing,” he murmurs, bending me slightly back his lips finding my neck. My eyes shut squeezing tears of happiness from them.

“I’ve been waiting on you, Sterling Bentley,” I answer, being drawn back up by his strong arms, my gaze meeting gray again. A slow sexy smile reveals the dimples I adore.

“I love you,” I finally admit crushing his lips to mine.

Songs used in Falling for a Bentley:

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room by John Mayer.

Can You Feel my Heart by Bring Me the Horizon

Hey Ho by The Lumineers