THESE THORN KISSES, page 40
She’s my best friend and she’s the person that I’ve betrayed the most here.
I never got to tell her; another thing I didn’t get to do before it was over. And that will always haunt me. The fact that she had the right to know but I still hid things from her.
Maybe I’ll still tell her about it one day. When it won’t hurt too much to think about.
But for now, I’m going to go back to being a good, loyal friend and support her by accepting her invitation.
It will be fine.
It will be like it is at soccer practice. I will keep my head down, stay busy with other people, and soon it will be over.
Only I don’t count on something… bizarre.
Something so totally out of this world.
Her brother hitting on me.
Not the one I’m in love with. But her other brother, Ledger.
Ever since I arrived at the small get-together with Salem and Poe, he’s been staring at me. I didn’t notice it at first because I was busy not noticing things.
As I feared, he is here as well.
Tall and broad, wearing his usual white shirt and navy blue jeans. And since it’s sort of springy weather, he doesn’t have a sweater on and his top two buttons are unbuttoned.
I’m afraid to say that I noticed that right away. I also noticed that his hair has grown out since he last had a haircut. It already was when I was still with him, and when I pointed out that he needed a haircut, he proceeded to stare at me in his usual way before telling me that it was out of courtesy for me. Since I liked touching it, playing with it, fisting it during sexy times — only he didn’t exactly say ‘sexy times,’ he used other colorful words.
“Frankly you’re obsessed with my hair,” he murmured, sitting at the kitchen island.
I threw a piece of bread at him. “What, and you aren’t? Newsflash, Conrad: you’re obsessed with my hair too. You’re beyond obsessed with my hair. You touch it in your sleep. Yeah, I’ve noticed. You touch it when we’re watching TV. You touch it when we’re doing the dishes. You touched it the first time I came here and we were looking at those photos. Don’t think you got away with that. I noticed that too. You touch it all the time.”
By the time I finished, his whole gorgeous face was colored in amusement and his eyes were flashing as he said, “I do. And I am.”
“You’re what?”
“Going to touch it now.”
And then he did. First when he pulled me in for a wet and hungry kiss and then when I got even hungrier and got down on my knees to suck his cock. He touched my hair then as well. He fisted it actually and used it to pull me on and off his thick, tasty dick and…
That was when I stopped noticing.
Things about him at the party, I mean.
And since everyone is here, all of Callie’s brothers, Reed and his sister, Tempest — who’s really kickass and has taken quite a liking to Poe — I got distracted by them.
Until I realized that I was being watched.
By Ledger.
Which came as an epic surprise for a lot of reasons, including the fact that I think I picked up a very strong vibe between him and Tempest.
So when he corners me in the kitchen — where I’ve gone to just take a second to myself before going out to where he is — and asks me out on a date, I’m speechless. I’m even more speechless when after my refusal, he keeps trying to convince me.
“What about her though?” I ask finally.
“What about who?”
I look him in his pretty brown eyes. He’s got great eyes.
I would draw them if I still drew. And if I could draw anyone else’s face.
Other than his.
“Tempest,” I say.
That gets me a reaction. A pretty fierce one.
His brows snap together and his square jaw goes tight. His entire body goes tight as he replies, “What about her?”
“I thought… she was important to you. I mean, the way you were pretending to not stare at her and —”
“Tempest is nothing.”
And that’s my answer.
I know he’s lying. And I know that I was right about the vibe that I picked up. There’s something there, between them, and maybe that’s why he’s asking me out on a date. Because of her.
I smile at him sadly and say, “You know, it would be a great idea to go on a date. But you’re…”
But I trail off because I notice movement behind Ledger’s shoulders.
A flash of dark hair and stricken gray eyes.
Tempest.
She’s standing at the kitchen threshold and from the looks of it, she heard everything. When she spins around and leaves, my heart twists for her, for the disdain and rejection she must’ve heard in Ledger’s voice.
I’m about to go after her, maybe help her understand what’s going on in Ledger’s head, but I freeze.
Because she isn’t the only one who heard things.
He heard them too.
The man I’m in love with.
He emerges from behind the light-colored wall and stands where Tempest was standing only a moment ago. And his features are… stricken as well.
Stunned and tight.
But only for a second though.
After that, he loses that stunned look and then there’s simply tightness. A tight jaw. High and brittle cheekbones. Hard eyes.
With which he gives me a last look and leaves.
And then I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should go after him and tell him that…
Tell him what?
That I’m not interested in his brother. That he has no reason to be jealous or territorial. Because I know he gets that way. But then, that was before.
Before, when he wanted me.
Now he doesn’t.
Now he’s with someone else.
So I’m going to let it go.
Which is what I do for the rest of the party.
I mingle with people. I eat Callie’s cupcakes. I help her with things because it’s difficult for her to move around these days due to her pregnancy. Although I probably don’t really need to help her, since Reed somehow always appears when Callie seems to need things.
But anyway, once things wind down, I do my share of the cleaning up. When Poe accidentally cuts her finger on glass — because in her words, she isn’t made for manual labor — I rush to the bathroom to get the first aid kit.
Which is where he finds me.
Not only does he find me, he keeps me there for a little while as he enters and closes the door behind him. My back’s turned as I root around in the medicine cabinet for some band-aids, but when I hear the soft click, I spin around.
And there he is.
Standing by the closed door, arms folded, eyes on me.
Like he always did. Back then.
And I’m not sure what I should do.
My robust system doesn’t have anything in it about being shut up in a room with him.
In a room as small and confined as this.
So I have no choice but to focus on him. No choice but to look at him, really look at him.
Something that I haven’t done in three weeks.
And God, I can’t stop staring. I can’t stop looking. I can’t stop flicking my eyes over his features and wondering why they look so tired. Why do they look so strained? Why is he sporting stubble?
There was only one time when he looked like that.
Back when he said all those awful things at the library and he came to apologize for them at the tree.
And I can’t help but wonder if this is because of what happened at his office and…
I shake my head to break my own fanciful thoughts. “I need to bring them the —”
He cuts me off. “How are you?”
“What?”
His jaw tightens for a second before asking again, “You okay?”
I’m not sure why he’s asking me that. And why he’s doing it in that intimate tone of his that both cuts me and soothes me at the same time. But I still answer with as much nonchalance as possible, “Uh, yeah. Of course.” Then, with a slight smile, “How are you?”
His familiar response to my smile — the clenching of his jaw — makes me tighten my hold on the kit as he asks, “How are your classes?”
“Classes?”
“Yeah.”
Again I’m not sure why he’s asking me these things and why he chose to corner me in the bathroom, especially when it’s in a house full of people.
People we both know and care about and who don’t know anything about us.
“Classes are fine. The usual,” I tell him. “Uh, is there something that you wanted?”
“And homework,” he continues like I hadn’t spoken.
Frowning, I reply, “I really think I should go. Poe cut her finger and —”
“She’ll live,” he says, his eyes flashing and flickering with something unknown. “You’ve been doing a lot of it.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of what?”
“Homework,” he explains. “You’re always in the library. Doing homework.”
I swallow again.
I remember what Salem said the other day, about him asking after me.
And I’ve tried to not dwell on it. I’ve tried to forget it, chalk it up to normal concern on his part.
I mean, he’s not heartless.
He’s just in love with someone else. And when he got the opportunity to be with her, he broke off his relationship with me. So when I stopped showing up for lunch, he got a little worried.
Nothing else.
But I don’t…
I don’t understand this.
I don’t understand what’s happening here.
Shaking my head, I reply, “Yes, I have been. But I’ve also been prepping for finals and —”
“They are still four weeks away,” he tells me like I don’t know.
“Well yeah, but you can never be too prepared for them, right? I mean, finals are finals, so.”
He studies me for a beat, something like irritation passing through his features, as if he’s annoyed at the thought of finals. “And your parents.”
“My parents what?”
“Are they still giving you a hard time?” he asks bitingly. “About art school.”
Right.
So my parents haven’t talked to me in three weeks.
Ever since that weekend when I finally stood up to them like I should’ve a long time ago, they haven’t made any contact with me. Usually they have their assistants call me at the school to keep me updated of any events that I need to attend during visitation weekends. But I’ve heard nothing in the last three weeks.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
On the one hand I’m relieved that it’s all out there now, but I’m also sad that finally owning up to my feelings has made them even more distant.
Shrugging, I tell him, “They’re the same. I think. I haven’t spoken to them since… you know.”
The party.
I can’t say it.
Because so many things happened at that party.
So many things ended and so many things began. And I just… I can’t handle it.
I can’t handle him being so close to me, looking at me like this.
Asking questions, showing concern, looking angry and agitated on my behalf like we’re still together. Like there’s still something between us when I know there isn’t.
“Can I…” I clear my throat. “Can I go? I —”
“Ledge is a good guy,” he says abruptly.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, pressing myself into the edge of the sink.
He doesn’t answer right away.
I don’t think he can. He’s suddenly gone extremely rigid. Not only his features, which were already tight and smooth to begin with, but also his body.
I can see his biceps bulging and flexing through the sleeves of his shirt. His chest isn’t faring so well either. It expands and goes all massive as he takes a breath, widening his stance.
As if preparing himself to say his next words, which come out more or less as a thick growl. “He’s my brother. The youngest brother. I’ve watched him grow up. I brought him up basically. And as I said, he’s a good kid. A little impulsive, but that’s to be expected. He’s the baby of the family. Well, after Callie.”
“Ledger is a good kid,” I repeat, unable to say anything else.
A muscle starts ticking on his cheek as he goes on, “Yes. And he’s young. A lot younger than me. He just got drafted, Ledge. And even though he’s just starting his career, I know that he’ll go far. He’s talented. A good player. Needs to think things through sometimes. But I’ll be there, helping him. And he lives in New York.”
“New York,” I parrot his words again.
A short nod. “Yes. Where you’re going. For college. So yeah.”
I’ve gone sort of numb right now, watching him, hearing him, that even when I try to say something of my own, all I can come up with is, “Yeah what?”
My question makes him go even more rigid.
He already was when he started talking.
And through it all, his stillness has only grown. His posture has only grown tighter, more brittle.
Like he’s repelling something.
Repelling his own words.
“Yeah, you should say yes,” he clips, his biceps flexing again. “To him.”
And my heart drops.
It falls right through my chest and goes down on the floor.
Like he reached inside of me, from all the way over there, plucked it right out of my rib cage as if it were a flower and threw it carelessly on the ground.
So this is what it is.
He’s come to tell me that it’s okay to date his brother.
But then…
But then I can’t shake the feeling, this other feeling that I have, right at the center of my belly. That makes me dig my nails into the first aid kit and say, “You mean about the date.”
“Yes.”
“Because he’s young,” I continue, watching him, watching the effect my words have on him. “A lot younger than you.”
He breathes through his nose. “Yes. Twelve years.”
“And because he just got drafted.”
“Correct,” he confirms, something rippling through his features. “He’s going places. He’s going to be one of the best players. He might even go to the European League. So he has a bright future.”
I stare at him for a few beats.
I stare and stare at him.
At his still form. Lifeless form.
At the fact that he can barely get any breaths in or out.
Before I say, “Unlike you.”
I think I’ve slapped him.
That’s what it looks like at least.
He draws back slightly.
Not a lot, but since I’m watching like I always do, with all my heart and soul, I notice it.
I notice a vein appearing on his forehead as I keep going, “I mean, you clearly have no future. You’re not going places. You’re staying here. You won’t even go to New York. Where he lives. And where I’m going to be.” When he doesn’t answer, I prod him, “Right?”
Still he takes a few moments to answer, “Yes.”
“So you think going out with your brother is the right move for me.”
Looking into my eyes, he says, “Yes. It’s the right thing to do.”
Right thing to do.
That’s what he said when he called me into his office and told me that we were over.
That’s exactly what he said.
Along with a bunch of other things. Things that I kept focusing on for the last three weeks.
Idiotically, stupidly.
So fucking stupidly.
Not anymore though. Not anymore.
Now I’m going to focus on the real thing.
The truth.
Of what happened that day in his office.
I smile then, big and bright and fake. “Of course, I’m all for doing the right thing. So I think I’ll say yes. I have to admit that I did think it would be a little weird, going out with your brother, given our history. But I think I was wrong. I think he could be the guy for me. The right guy. Besides, you’re with the right girl of your own, aren’t you? You’re with your dream girl and I think it’s time I got a dream man of my own.”
I’m wearing my yellow ball gown.
The one I wore the night I met him.
I’ve kept it close to me ever since that night. I brought it to St. Mary’s with me even.
I think tonight is a good night for it.
To wear the dress he first saw me in.
I’m also wearing my favorite lipstick, his favorite too: Pinky Winky Promises. Along with a ton of jewelry, because he likes me in jewelry, and that belly chain he gave me, which I have to admit I did keep on despite everything.
Despite what he did.
But anyway, I’ve made myself up just the way he likes it.
Just the way he dreams about.
Because now I know what he dreams about.
I know.
And I’m going to tell him that.
I’m going to tell him what I know when I see him.
Because that’s where I’m going.
I’m sneaking out of St. Mary’s and going to his house in the middle of the night. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of things to say about that, about me roaming the streets in my pretty ball gown at midnight, but the thing is that I’m none of his concern now.
He gave me up himself.
So I don’t care.
Anyway.
When I do reach his house, I don’t go for the door.
Even though I know he’s awake; he doesn’t sleep much and I’m sure he’s definitely not sleeping tonight. Because only hours before he told me to go date his brother.
So he must be restless.
He must be in pain.
I’m not though.
For the first time in days, I’m not in pain. I’m not dead.
I’m angry.
I’m furious.
So I go to his truck that’s parked out front, on the empty, sleepy street. I set down my messenger bag I brought with me from school and, bending down, I root around for my favorite spray paint: pink. Also purple. Along with other colors.
