by Wood, Vivian
I immediately feel like I need to make him comfortable. I screw up my face. “That’s not a big deal. Jimmy Marsterly has been held back four times and he’s one of my best friends.”
“Jimmy goes to our school,” Grayson says to Aiden. “He’s twelve but he’s in Olivia’s grade.”
Aiden looks thoughtful. I expect him to make fun of me for being young or try to get Grayson to play somewhere else to avoid me, but he doesn’t. Instead he looks me dead in the eye.
“Do you like to swim?”
I bite my lip, looking at Grayson for reassurance. “I don't really know how.”
“Well, you should both come over to my house. We have a pool and a ton of cool inflatables. You’d like it.”
Grayson clears his throat. “Maybe another day. We are stuck here waiting for our mom to show up. Which she probably won’t.”
Aiden absorbs that, nodding slowly. “That’s cool. What do you guys do all day around here?”
“I have a bunch of comic books next to my bunk inside.” Grayson jerks his thumb in the direction he means. “Wanna check them out?”
“Sure.” Aiden strides to the door, but Grayson holds up a hand.
“Hey man. You can’t leave your bike there. It will get stolen in a heartbeat.”
Aiden casts his glance backward. “You think?”
“He’s right,” I chime in. “Your bike is all shiny and new. You had better bring it inside with you.”
He turns his gaze on me again. I look up at him, only now realizing just how gorgeous his dark eyes are. It’s a color somewhere between brown and black, smooth velvety and piercing all at once.
For a moment, I’m awestruck. He gives me a lazy smile. Every tooth is perfectly in place. His nose is just the right length for his face. His eyebrows are a little bushy. There are freckles on his face, very faintly sprayed across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks.
I suck in a breath as he shrugs. “It’s all right. If that bike gets stolen, there are way more where it came from.”
He doesn’t tell me where he expects to get another bike, but I believe every word he says. He turns to pull open the door, holding it open for Grayson. Grayson looks at me as he goes into the building, jerking his head toward the hallway.
He’s asking if I want to go. I shake my head, swallowing against the lump in my throat. I feel tingly all over but I don't know why.
“We’ll be back in a little bit,” he says. Then he lets the door slam shut behind him.
In the silence, I can suddenly hear the thumping of my heart. I find myself wondering when Aiden will be back. Looking over at his abandoned bike lying on the ground, I bite my lower lip.
There is not a lot I can do to protect his bike. But I can shield it from interested onlookers by making it look like all the other junk laying around the group home’s yard. I pedal my bike over to his, dismounting and laying mine down on top of his.
Pleased with myself, I lay back on the patchy grass and wait.
Chapter Thirteen
Aiden
In the early hours of the morning, I dream of my childhood home. Eve and I are sitting on the floor of the living room, playing with my collection of model airplanes. We’re about twelve and four, respectively; as the older brother, I love lecturing her about what she should and shouldn’t do.
“You’re holding that plane wrong.” I look down my nose at her. She frowns and just keeps holding it by the tail, making revving engine sounds. I roll my eyes. “That’s not what airplanes even sound like, Eve.”
Her brow crinkles. She looks very serious, with her long dark hair and her starched white dress. “Is so.”
She has a lisp on every S because she’s missing one of her front teeth.
“It is not,” I tell her. “Look at what I’m doing. See how I’m holding the plane from the top?”
Eve squints at me, bored. She’s never really had time for any of my bossiness. Her eyes slide to the TV, which is turned on to PBS. ‘Shining Time Station’ is playing, and right now that’s more interesting to her I guess.
Feeling haughty, I reach over and snatch the plane from her hand. “If you’re not going to do it right—”
Eve tosses her head back in a wail. “Mommy! Mommy, Aiden is being mean!”
“Am not!”
Our mother appears in the doorway, wiping off a dish. She looks funny, wearing a fancy dress and yellow kitchen gloves. Eve and I both give her extra long looks as she surveys us.
Mom and Dad have had a lot of fights about her wearing her kitchen gloves outside the kitchen. Violent fights, fights that end with Dad screaming and Mom sporting bruises.
Dad isn’t home, which is why Eve and I are playing and watching TV. I guess this is Mom’s time to wear her kitchen gloves where she wants, too. It just seems like an odd choice of rebellion.
“What happened, Evie?” she asks, her voice soft.
Before Eve can answer, there is the sound of heavy steps on the stairs. All three of us straighten as one, our heads turning toward the sound. We are attuned to every single sound he makes, anxiously watching our father’s face to get a hint of what direction the wind is blowing.
I glance at the TV. It’s the middle of the day. He wasn’t supposed to be home for several hours at least.
He emerges from the stairs, looking for all the world like an old Hollywood star. Handsome as sin, tall and dark haired, immaculately dressed in a navy three-piece suit. He runs his hand over his slicked back hair, a dead-eyed look on his face.
“Michael!” my mother cuts in. “I didn’t know you were even here.”
My dad ignores her, panning his gaze over to Eve. “What’s wrong with you?”
Eve is almost crying already, her chin trembling, her bottom lip sticking out. “Nothing, Daddy,” she whispers.
Please don’t let this upset him, I pray silently. Please. Please.
His glance slides over to me. He sneers. “I’m home early because the school called. Does anyone want to guess what they had to say?”
I break into a sweat, looking at my father with wide eyes. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that this is about me. No one says anything, although Eve does shake her head in response to his question.
In the background, I hear my mother trying to silently strip off her kitchen gloves.
He circles Eve and I, coming around to our other side. Then he grabs me by the scruff of my neck, yanking me up. “Stand up, Aiden. STAND UP! Your principal called to explain why my idiot of a son can’t pass the third grade. Do you know how fucking terrible that makes me look? Huh?”
My eyes fill with tears. He shakes me at the end of every sentence, almost as punctuation. Dad grits his teeth, leaning down until he’s eye level with me. “I asked you a question, boy.”
“I— I’m sorry,” I say, my face crumpling.
He looks disgusted. “Don’t cry about it. Otherwise I’ll fucking give you something to cry about.”
I can't help the tears that leak down my face. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
He slaps me hard across the face, the blow unexpected. I’m stunned for several long seconds, my cheek pulsing. “I don't know why you make me do these things to you. You’re so fucking stupid, failing third grade. And on top of that, you’re bad. You made your sister upset. Look at her!”
I glance at Eve, who is watching the two of us with a horrified expression on her face. She tries to speak up in my defense.
“No, Daddy—”
My dad silences her by pointing a finger at her. “Shut up, Geneviève. No one asked you to speak.”
She instantly buttons up. My dad turns back to me, shaking me again and gripping me hard. “You have to be punished. You know that, don't you?”
Wordlessly, I nod. Tears roll down my face.
“I told you to stop fucking crying. You’d do well to listen better.” He turns me loose, shoving me toward my bedroom. “Hurry. Get upstairs and wait for me. I have to go find my belt.”
My eyes widen.
There is nothing I can do right now, which makes me feel helpless. On top of that, there is a little voice in the back of my head.
You’re stupid.
You’re bad.
You deserve the beating you’re about to get.
Dad having to go get his belt is the worst. He has a belt on, but he probably means that length of electrical cord that he used last time. I can already feel the welts forming on my back and buttocks, even though the cord hasn’t even touched my skin.
I start the march upstairs, seeing Eve still sitting on the living room floor, crying silently. The last thing I glimpse before I disappear up the stairs is my mom, her knuckles pressed against her teeth, her tear-filled eyes following me as I go.
I wake up to my phone buzzing insistently next to my ear. The sun is well up, throwing strange shadows across my bed. The fine hairs on the back of my neck are still standing on end because of the dream I guess. It’s a regular in my nightmare rotation but that doesn’t make me any less reactive to it, apparently.
Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I pick my phone up and look at the screen.
It’s a text from Grayson.
Hey. Are you up?
And then, Do you want to come to Whiskey Bend two days from now?
I think about what I have going on tomorrow. Nothing really sticks out in my mind. I’m done scraping the outside of the house, and moving on to painting it. But that can wait a day, I guess. Actually, it really can wait however long it takes for Olivia to turn up some dirt about my biological dad.
A sigh on my lips, I text back.
Sure. I can do that. Did Olivia talk to you?
Half a minute goes by. Then, No. I only know that she got a local job. Should she have?
I hesitate. How much should I say? I start three different texts before I finally hit send.
You know how I’m working nearby while I’m on leave from NPS? Olivia is here too. I guess the estate really needs a lot of work.
A full minute passes this time. By accident?
Completely by accident. But it’s okay. I figure someone has to look out for her. You know, protect her and stuff.
I can just imagine the look on Grayson’s face right now. He doesn’t buy my bullshit for a minute. It’s okay, because neither do I.
He shoots back a text at last. Yeah, okay. We can talk about it more when you get here. You’ll bring her?
Yeah, of course, I answer.
Cool, see you then.
I toss my phone aside with a groan. Somehow I have managed to avoid Olivia since she kissed me the other day. But when Grayson asks for something so simple, I can hardly deny him.
If only he realized what he was asking of me. Then again, if Grayson even had an inkling of the kind of thoughts I have about his innocent little sister…
I picture Olivia, blushing as she tells me she’s a virgin. In my imagination, I lean over, gathering her dark hair in my fist. Then I ravish her mouth, her breath hot and her taste sweet as a summer berry. I would run my fingers over her shoulders, her bare skin like the cream skimmed from milk.
God, I’m not even thinking of anything really dirty. Yet lying here, I’m already getting hard. And I sleep naked as a jaybird, so my thick cock is suddenly sensitive to even the lightest touch.
Pushing down the blankets, I tense my abs, enjoying watching my cock spring up. I slowly encircle my cock with my fist, giving it a few lazy strokes. Mostly, I’m wishing it was Olivia’s mouth instead of my own hand.
Biting my lip, I contemplate the bottle of lotion I keep right beside my bed. The box of tissues beside it make it pretty obvious what it’s all for. Reaching over, I grab the bottle of lotion.
“Hello?” Olivia calls from the front door. “Aiden?”
Christ, think her name and she shall appear. My cheeks flush a little, like I’m a teenager and she’s just caught me masturbating to her picture. Well, that part is almost true, I guess.
I get out of bed, sweeping the blanket up and putting it around my waist. “Yeah, hold on!”
Tossing the lotion back on the bed, I take a moment to adjust my cock so that my erection isn’t obvious. Then I walk out to the main room.
There is little Olivia, sticking her head inside my door. She sucks on her pink bottom lip, her inky dark hair spilling over her shoulder. She is as fucking tempting as ever.
She lays eyes on me and immediately blushes. Her eyes are so perfectly blue as she gazes at me, going wide as soon as she takes every inch of my bare skin in. I have to say, I don't hate the way she is looking at me right now.
And if she was anyone else, I think I would strip the blanket from my body now. But she’s not someone else.
My life would be a lot easier if I could just seem to remember that.
Gritting my teeth, I growl at her. “I said hold on. Fuck, Olivia. I could’ve been naked.”
Guilt flashes over her face. “Sorry! Sorry, I’ll wait outside.” She turns, but I stop her.
“What is it?” I ask, blowing out a breath.
She freezes. I take her in as she slowly turns around, admiring her perky little ass.
“I— I came for your driver’s license,” Olivia says a little breathlessly. She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Megan is at the house, and she said she forgot to ask to scan them last time she was here.”
I roll my eyes. “All right. Come on. I think my wallet is in my bedroom.”
I haul my tired ass back to the bedroom, expecting Olivia to follow. Dragging the blanket on the ground, I make it all the way into my room before I trip over the blanket. That pulls it from around my waist, giving her a brief glimpse of my ass.
“Oops,” I mumble, glancing back to Olivia.
She’s in the doorway, but she isn’t even looking at me. Instead, her eyes are glued on the bottle of lotion and wad of tissues on my bed. Some of the lotion has leaked out onto the bed and the tissues, and it looks bad.
I start trying to explain. “Oh… that’s—”
“I shouldn’t be here,” Olivia blurts out. Her gaze swings over to me, so embarrassed that it looks like she’s going to faint. “It’s your business, not mine! Maybe you can just bring your ID to Megan yourself?”
Then she turns and actually runs to the front door. The screen door bangs as she sprints out of my apartment. I’m left clutching at the blanket around my waist, unsure what I could’ve said to avoid that awkwardness.
Chapter Fourteen
Aiden
I can’t take Olivia to Whiskey Bend like this. Not when she won’t even look at me. So I scroll through the events section of the Seattle Times on my phone, determined to find something to ask her to go to.
A fair is in town. A Seahawks game is scheduled for tonight. Neither of those seem quite right though.
I want to pick something that will clearly be just for her. Something that will say I’m sorry without saying I still want to get in your pants. I scroll through pages of events before I land on one that sounds promising.
The Art of Folded Paper: A Multi-Media Appreciation of Origami
That sounds like straight up nerd talk, which is what I am going for. Plus, it’s in Port Angeles for the week, so I don't even have to drive that far. Sounds like a win-win to me. I go ahead and buy tickets, then I wait outside my apartment for Olivia to come back.
When she does, in a loose white dress with a heavy-looking black bag slung over her shoulder, I pounce.
“I need you to come with me,” I say, rising from my steps.
She narrows her eyes. “Where?”
Shit, I was just anticipating her agreeing to whatever I had in mind. I clear my throat. “To an art thing.”
She crosses her arms. “I don't think that’s a good idea, Aiden.”
Shit, have I already burned that bridge with her? I really hope not.
I try a winning smile. “Come on. I already got tickets. It’s about paper folding or some shit.”
Olivia doesn’t look impressed. “Surely you can find so
meone else to go with, Aiden. Don’t you have a little black book just bursting with names?”
She starts moving toward her apartment. I’m suddenly in a weird place, out of my depth and in swift moving water. For me to be the desperate one in this situation, the one that needs someone else’s cooperation, seems… backwards.
I walk over to her, grabbing her wrist. “Please, Olive?”
Her eyes have never been quite so blue as they are when she looks back at me, reining in her impatience. When she says my name, it sounds like a warning.
“Aiden…”
She turns toward me though. I grin because I know I’ve won.
“Go put your bag down,” I say, releasing her wrist. “I’ll wait.”
Those blue eyes narrow on my face and she shakes her head. But it doesn’t stop her from coming back outside with a sigh on her lips.
She’s silent most of the trip in my Jeep, turning the radio up and looking out her window. We leave behind the scenic coastline in favor of a few houses. Slowly the development builds, a gas station and a couple of local businesses first. Then we are suddenly in the heart of what you might call downtown Port Angeles. Both sides of the little two-lane highway are lined with buildings, people skittering here and there.
Once we pull up to the mansion-turned-art gallery, Olivia seems to perk up a little. I escort her up to the light blue turn of the century mansion, its steeples and roof lit from below to stand out starkly against the dusky early evening sky.
We climb the brick steps, waiting for a moment in a queue to be admitted. Once I wave my phone under the nose of the door attendant, we are admitted to a line of people, slowly filtering through the house. The second we step inside the front door, Olivia looks around with wide eyes. Delicate origami cranes of every different color hang suspended from the ceiling at random intervals.
“Ohh,” I hear her breathe out.
The ceilings are high above, tall enough that even I could not reach them without a ladder. The walls of the foyer are blank and light gray, the floors a dark polished wood. This leaves the paper birds as the only decoration.