by Doe, Anna B.
Max looks around like he’s actually contemplating my response. “Nah, I think I’m good.” Leaning back against the wall, he tilts his chin my way. “Whatcha working on?”
Nothing now that you’re here. But I can’t say that out loud. “None of your business.”
He chuckles again, the sound echoing in the empty room. My skin prickles because it feels like his voice is touching my skin, and my breath hitches in my lungs.
Why is it suddenly so hard to breathe?
“I could have guessed that.”
What the hell does that mean?
“Guessed what?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
“That you’re one of those artists.”
“And what kind of artists are those artists?”
Is this guy for real?
“You know the kind.” He shrugs. “Secretive. Obsessed with perfection. Self-critical to the point that nothing quite measures up to their expectations.”
This time I can’t help but laugh. “Dude, you couldn’t be more wrong if you actually tried.”
“No?” He eyes me curiously, challenge shining in those freaky light irises. “Then show me what you’re working on.”
“Try that reverse psychology on somebody else, Sanders. I’m not showing you what I’m working on, but it has nothing to do with perfection or me being self-critical.”
More like my self-preservation.
If he saw what I was painting, he would know, and he can never find out.
Taking the board off his lap, he jumps to his feet and slowly starts walking toward me. Dark, broody, and lethal. He stops just shy of the canvas, those piercing eyes staring into mine.
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
Just my soul. But of course, I don’t say it out loud.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, boring into each other’s eyes, waiting to see who’ll be the first person to back down. The first one to break.
He’s standing so close, too close really. I inhale sharply, trying to hold on to my breath so I’m not affected by his scent. A mix of soap, just a tad of cologne and something that’s plain Max. Spicy and intoxicating, it surrounds me and makes my head spin.
Why is he so close?
If I extend my hand, I’d be able to touch his chin. A light, few-days-old stubble is covering his jaw, and my fingers itch to touch it. Feel its texture underneath my fingertips, trace those pouty lips.
My own lips part, mouth going dry, as the memory of his mouth on mine assaults me out of nowhere. Gentle yet commanding. A shiver runs through my body, my teeth digging into the soft flesh of my lower lip and sucking it in.
Max’s eyes fall down, staring at my mouth. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
If it’s possible, it feels like he’s even closer than he was before, our hot breaths mingling together in the space between us. My heart is thumping wildly, so wildly I wouldn’t be surprised if it jumped out of my ribcage. The heartbeat echoing in my blood, in my mind, making me dizzy.
I’m so immersed in this moment, so immersed in him, that I don’t hear the door open.
“Hey, Brook! I just wanted to…” Lia storms inside, but stops short when she sees us standing so close to each other. The only barrier between us is the canvas I’ve been trying to hide from him. We jump back, like two kids caught doing something naughty. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t… I’ll just…”
She starts walking backward but trips over Max’s backpack. She would have fallen if it weren’t for his quick reflexes.
Always the hero.
“We were just…” Max starts, but stops suddenly, at a loss for words. He scratches the nape of his neck, and if I’m not mistaken, I think I can see his cheeks flush.
Bile rises in my throat as my heart, which was beating like crazy only seconds ago, starts to free fall until it crashes to the pit of my stomach.
Lia looks at me, but I turn my head away, unable to face her.
“Max was just leaving.”
Pressing my lips in a tight line, I turn my back to them and start cleaning up, completely ignoring them both. Maybe if I do, the guilt and something else, something deeper and uglier that I’m afraid to name, will go away.
* * *
“So… you and Max?”
“Huh?” Bringing my nose out of the book, I slip my finger between the pages to mark where I stopped before looking at Lia. She’s sitting at her desk but is completely turned toward me, watching me expectantly.
I can only imagine how long she’s been sitting like this, waiting for me to pay her attention while I was immersed in the world of Jane Eyre.
Chocolate eyes narrow at me, but her little tough act is ruined when a glossy strand of hair falls from her messy bun right into her face. Frustrated, she puffs it away. “Don’t you go on pretending like you didn’t hear me. I know you did.”
Well, it was worth a try.
“There is Max and then there is me.”
She rolls her eyes exaggeratingly. “Oh, please. Who are you trying to fool?”
I shrug nonchalantly, looking out the window at the descending sun coloring the sky in oranges and pinks. My fingers itch to grab my brushes and paint, but all the supplies are at school and there is no way I can capture something like this with a pencil, so I stare out the window, trying to memorize this beauty with my eyes alone and hopefully, I’ll be able to recreate it later.
When Lia doesn’t get an answer, she continues. “What happened today? Why was he in the art room?”
“He was passing by when he saw me. I don’t know why he stopped, but he thought it would be easier for him to concentrate on studying in the art room instead of the stuffy library. I wanted him gone, but I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Since when does Brook Taylor worry about not being rude?” Lia challenges.
I glare at her. “Since when did Amelia Campbell become so nosy?”
“Touché.”
“In my defense, I did try to throw a paint tube at him.”
Pale brows rise up. “Try to? How do you try to throw a paint tube at somebody?”
“Okay,” I admit. “Maybe I did throw it at him.”
I look at her, and we both burst into laughter. Not that long ago, Lia would probably keep her opinions to herself, but lately, she’s become more open. I guess we have Derek to thank for that. Since they started dating, she’s more confident.
Lola, Lia’s six-year-old Charles Spaniel, lifts her head, brown eyes blinking the sleep away. She doesn’t seem amused by our antics judging by her serious, are-you-for-real face.
When our laughter dies down, she curls into herself again, sighing loudly.
Drama queen if I’ve ever seen one. That dog possesses more attitude than some people, and most of the time it feels like she knows and understands everything.
Lia turns in the chair, getting back to working on her homework or whatever she’s doing. I think our conversation is done, but just as I’m about to do an internal happy dance and open my book to continue reading, her words stop me.
“For what it’s worth, I think you two would make a good couple.”
Sighing, I let my head fall back. “Lia…”
A not so good aspect of her and Derek being together is that now she has this need to see everybody happy and settled down. Don’t get me wrong; I love the girl. But happily ever afters are not meant for everybody.
“Brook.” She drawls my name in the same manner. “You’re my best friend, and I want to see you happy. I think Max could do that.”
“Most of the time I want to strangle the guy. How does that make me happy?”
If that’s not some pretty twisted thinking, I don’t know what is.
Lia looks over her shoulder, her brown eyes shining with mischief. “Your eyes light up every time you bicker. I think he gives you a high like nothing else can, and you actually enjoy giving him a hard time. The two of you kind of r
emind me of an old married couple.”
I shake my head. “You’re crazy.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs playfully. “Maybe not. I guess we’ll see.”
There was nothing to see. Our bickering was just that, bickering. Max irritates me with his good guy act, and he can’t stand my sarcasm and standoffishness. There is nothing hiding underneath it all. No chemistry, no sexual tension. Nothing. But she couldn’t see that because she was too blind for anything and anybody except Derek.
Too blind to see that Maximillian Sanders, in all his goodness, has fallen in love with her but won’t do anything about it because he cared more about her happiness than his own.
* * *
I stayed at Lia’s for a little while longer, both of us doing our own thing. Too engrossed in our work to pay attention to one another. That’s what I loved about our friendship; it’s natural. Easy. We both know what the other needs and can spend hours together without actually talking to each other. Our silences are comfortable. Just the fact that we’re together is consolation enough.
I wish I could have stayed there, but the real world called. I had an evening shift at Joe’s Drink n’ Drive—I know, fancy, but beggars can’t be choosers—and Lia was off to hang out with Derek and some of his friends.
She tried to convince me to go with her and Jeanette, but this time I didn’t give in. I couldn’t. No matter how much I hated my job, I had to take every extra shift I could get so I could save enough money. When the time comes, I’ll need it. The thing is, I couldn’t say anything to Lia. Not about the job, and definitely not about my end game.
I’ve never had a good relationship with my mother, but with years it’s only grown worse. She’s become more and more abusive with time, and I’m not even referring to physical abuse, although she did still slap me from time to time, but emotional abuse. I’m never good enough, useless and unlovable, unwanted. I’ve stopped counting the number of times she’s told me she wished she’d gotten rid of me when she had the chance. Getting drunk and high only made things worse, and she did it every chance she got.
At first, it hurt. It hurt so much that I would cry myself to sleep most nights. I didn’t want to accept it. I tried to convince myself she’d get better, that no matter what she says, deep down she doesn’t mean it. It’s all the alcohol talking; she loves me. What mother wouldn’t love her child? Then came the anger. Mean words were exchanged more than once daily; fights were constant and intense. But when all that anger culminated I was tired, tired of fights, tired of anger and tears, so I’d bargain. Both with myself and her. Because maybe if I was better, maybe if I gave her what she wanted, she’d give me what I need so desperately—my mother and her love. Only she never did.
At the time I didn’t understand it, but later on, I found out what it was—five stages of grief. Something people go through when they lose somebody they love or something life-changing happens to them. Me? I was grieving the mother I never had. Accepting the constant solitude and emptiness.
And I just knew that if I wanted to survive, I had to put myself first. I had to distance myself from her and not give in, not ask for her approval, because I will never get it.
Josephine Taylor thinks about one person, and one person only—herself.
So I made a promise, a promise to myself, that once I’m old enough, I’ll walk away. Far, far away, out of her reach and I’ll never come back. I’d rather spend my life alone than beg somebody to love me again. I won’t be that desperate little girl, waiting for scraps of attention somebody will throw my way. I deserve more.
I am more.
Amelia showed me that. Lia and her family. I didn’t plan on meeting her, didn’t plan on befriending her. The only thing I wanted was to help her, but once I did, she didn’t want to let go. She became my best friend. She let me brood, she let me be angry and lash out, not once giving up on me.
“That’s what family does, Brooks.” She smiled that sweet, innocent smile of hers. “They don’t give up on each other. You stood by me, and now I’ll stand by you. Family doesn’t give up on family.”
I never had family, and looking back, I think I wanted to test her. See how long she’d stick by me. Would she still want me to be her friend, her family, if I didn’t belong in her perfect little world?
Turns out I was wrong, and she was right. She did stick by me, through good and bad. She and her whole family adopted me as one of their own. They made me open up my heart and let them in. I wanted to resist it, but they were persistent, breaking down wall after wall I’d put up for them until I finally surrendered even though I knew, in the end, I’d still do what I needed to in order to save myself. I’d go away and never come back.
Josephine Taylor didn’t love me, she didn’t want me, but I knew she wouldn’t let me be in peace. She hated having me, but she would be too miserable on her own to let me be.
My shift at Joe’s dragged more than usual. Thursday evenings were busier than the rest of the week; I guess because for some people the weekend began early. I went through the motions, doing my own thing and not causing trouble.
Once the clock struck one, I was more than happy to get my stuff and go home. My whole body ached from the work, and I couldn’t wait to crash in bed. Tomorrow I have to be up for school, then there was a hockey game Lia coaxed me into attending, and then I have to be back at Joe’s for another shift.
At least I’ll be in my bed soon.
As I walk toward my building, I turn the corner and stop abruptly when I see two shadows standing nearby. Pressing myself against the brick wall so that they don’t see me, I will my breathing to even out before I sneak a peek.
I’m not even sure why I did it. Usually, I just keep my head down and move on in a hurry, but something about those two piqued my interest.
A man and a woman standing in the darkness near my building. There shouldn’t be anything unusual about them, yet…
Thankfully, they haven’t seen me. They’re too focused on whatever they’re discussing in hushed but heated voices.
The man grabs the woman by her forearm, leaning into her face. His back is turned to me, so I can’t see his face, only his shadowed, imposing form. He’s wearing a suit, an expensive one by the looks of it too.
What the hell is happening here?
She pulls her arm out of his touch, her hair and whole body swaying with the motion and revealing her face.
Josephine?
Her mouth starts to move rapidly, and whatever she’s saying to him makes him stumble backward in shock. Even from here I can see that crazy, drunken gleam in her brown eyes.
What the hell is happening here?
She keeps talking, her finger poking the guy in his chest, and once she finishes, she turns on her feet and walks away.
Shell-shocked, my heart rapidly beating, I stay hidden, looking at the unknown guy standing in the darkness. I don’t know who he is or how they’re connected, but whatever she said to him must have been really bad to get that kind of reaction.
What the hell are you up to now, Josephine?
Chapter Twelve
MAX
Loud music and the familiar buzz of the crowd occupy the hockey arena. We’re playing on our territory, the sea of white and blue jerseys filling the stands, heavily outnumbering the colors of our rival. Their cheering is so loud it’s almost deafening. I’ve been playing for years, and with time I’ve gotten good at tuning out all the noises and distractions, concentrating on the ice underneath my blades, the puck sliding over the white surface, my teammates around me. But something about today made it hard to get in the zone.
Concentrating on evening my heavy breathing and rapidly beating heart, I rinse out my mouth, my eyes not once straying from the action happening on the ice.
“Last few minutes, guys.” Coach gives us a quick look before returning his gaze to the action. “Ready to wrap this up?”
This game has been more grueling than we expected, our opponents giving us a good fight.
Right now it’s a tie, but there’s still more than enough time for us to turn this over.
King, Hill and I exchange a look before jumping to our feet. I shake my muscles loose, ignoring the ache already setting in, as I wait for Coach to give us the signal and then we’re off.
We meet at the center for the face-off. I give the guy across from me a hard stare as the usual taunts and trash talk spread across the ice.
The puck falls down, both guys launching at it at once.
“Dammit!” I curse when I see the guy in the red jersey skating away with the puck on the tip of his stick.
Taking a second to assess the situation, I see an opening and grab it. Skating fast, I intercept him in no time. Flashing him a smile, I steal the puck from right underneath his nose.
Take that, fucker.
The flash of white from the corner of my eyes catches my attention. Right on time.
It was like the guy possessed some kind of inner compass or some shit. No matter what we thought of each other or what shit was happening between us off the ice, on the ice, we clicked perfectly. So perfectly it would be creepy if it didn’t end up in goals that ultimately lead our team to victory.
Not one to waste an opportunity, I send the puck flying right to Derek. He catches it effortlessly and shoots for the goal as I get in the way of the guy who’s been tailing him and steer him away.
The team quickly catches up, forming a barrier between Derek and our opponents, a maneuver we’ve been working on for a couple of weeks now.
Come on, man. I chant in my mind.
The big clock on the wall catches my attention. Seconds tick down slowly.
One goal. That’s all we need. Just one more goal.
The guy I’ve been steering away from Derek tries to shove through me forcefully. I hold my ground, my stick darting forward and making him trip just when a collective gasp spreads through the arena, followed by utter quiet.
I make a quick turn, just in time to see Derek face plant on the ice.