Iris Boys Box Set

by Lucy Smoke

Still, he didn’t respond, and it felt like my chest was being cracked open. A lack of an answer was an answer.

  I turned around before I could do something stupid and walked away.

  Lots of people say that the whole heart is a beautiful thing. I disagree. I think a heart in pieces is the most beautiful because each piece can be given to someone. A heart in pieces can love multiple times over, but a whole heart could only love once.

  As we road silently in the limo back to the house, Grayson avoided not just my gaze, but the guys’ as well. I felt as though one of those pieces of my heart had been shattered. Unfortunately, for me, I felt like those new, smaller, pieces were already in love with someone and couldn’t love anyone else.

  I loved Knix.

  I loved Marv.

  I loved Bellamy.

  I loved Texas.

  And…my broken pieces loved Grayson too. I only wished that was enough.

  Chapter 19

  3 days later…

  “Harlow, you have a visitor.” I looked up from the book I had been reading. Bellamy stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his broad shoulders.

  “I’m not really feeling like it,” I said, turning my eyes back to the words on the page. I had read and reread this same page for the last ten minutes. To be honest, I wasn’t feeling much of anything.

  “It’s your brother,” Bellamy clarified.

  I stiffened and then sighed. I really wasn’t feeling like dealing with him, but I supposed there was also no getting around it. We had been expecting his arrival sooner or later. To be honest, I was a bit surprised that he hadn’t come sooner—as in, I was surprised he hadn’t shown up at the house immediately after the masquerade.

  I closed my book. “Fine,” I said, standing up from my seat in Knix’s office. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in the living room,” Bellamy answered. “I can tell him to go away if you don’t want to do this now.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s probably better to get it over with.”

  Bellamy eyed me as though I were one of his cars—something he could take apart and fix. I would admit, I was being particularly closed off. After what had gone down between Grayson and me, I just wasn’t feeling up to much of anything. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t really want to read—but it was a way to make it look like I was doing something without anyone questioning it.

  “Okay, well, if you need anything. Texas and I will be upstairs.”

  I blinked. I hadn’t even considered that the others would be around. I wasn’t exactly seeking them out lately. “Where is everyone else?” I asked.

  Bellamy shrugged. “Marv is out working on a new Iris project. Knix went to look at a construction site and I think Grayson’s at the diner.” I flinched at Grayson’s name. If Bellamy noticed, he didn’t say anything.

  Grayson hadn’t said anything more to me after we got home. I didn’t know if he was still thinking things over or not, but he hadn’t gone out with any of the guys since the charity masquerade either. Maybe he was still thinking about where he stood. He never said whether or not he was staying, but he hadn’t packed up his things yet. It felt like one more thing could push him over the edge though, and I didn’t want to be the reason he left.

  I nodded quickly, as I tried to cover up my reaction. “Thanks.”

  He tipped his head and then disappeared around the corner. I followed behind a bit more slowly. My stomach was a rocky pit. My heart was a mangled piece of flesh. I didn’t want to deal with Michael or Grayson or Teddi or anyone really. I just wanted to take some time away. But life doesn’t always give the best of options. I would have to handle Michael sooner or later. I might as well get it over with now.

  Michael stood in the living room facing the windows when I entered. He must have heard the sound of my footsteps and recognized them because as soon as I walked in, he turned to greet me. I stood with a placid face, watching him. Michael was like the male version of me. Rich brown eyes, dark brown hair, tan skin. Only his hair was shorter, his eyes set wider apart and there was the telltale shadow of beard stubble on the lower half of his face.

  "Harlow," he said, his voice quiet.

  "What do you want?" I asked.

  "I told you we would talk," he said. "I know you were upset with me when we saw each other at that charity masquerade, so I thought I would give you a few days."

  "And it's been a few days," I said.

  He nodded.

  "Well," I said, “you wanted to talk.” I gestured for him to start, "so talk." Michael's gaze strayed to the staircase and I guessed that Bellamy had come back through here to return to his room upstairs. Therefore, Michael knew we weren't alone and he wasn't completely comfortable with that. I sighed. "Is there a problem?"

  "Is there somewhere where we can speak more privately?" he asked.

  I shrugged. There were places. Grayson wasn't home so I could have taken him to the pool house, but I wasn't going to do that. That was Grayson's space and even though I wasn't on speaking terms with Grayson at the moment, I also wasn't going to invade his privacy like that.

  "Yeah," I finally said, an idea blossoming in my head. "Let's go for a drive. I assume you drove here?" He nodded and scrambled to reach in his pockets before withdrawing a small key-ring. There was nothing else on the key-ring but the car key and a key fob. Just as I had suspected, he was renting a car. I held my hand out and he lifted a brow.

  "I'll drive," I said, staring back at the same brown eyes that I had and wondering if I was making the right choice.

  "The car is a rental," he said, confirming my suspicions.

  I nodded, keeping my hand out. "I'll take good care of it," I assured him, not backing down.

  Michael stared back at me for a moment more as if he were trying to unravel the mystery that was his sister. I kept my face plain and indifferent and, finally, he caved, reaching out and dropping the keys in my hand.

  I turned and headed for the front door, expecting that he would follow. I was, after all, the one with the keys. Michael trailed behind me as I left the house, and as polite as ever, he closed the front door behind us. I headed to the only car I didn't recognize in the driveway, a newer model silver sedan. I got into the driver's seat and pulled the seatbelt across my chest as Michael got in next to me. I put the key into the ignition and cranked the car, letting it rumble to life. Michael didn't say anything as I backed out and turned, heading for the road. An awkward tension filled the air as I waited. I wasn't the one who wanted to talk and therefore, I wasn't going to be the one to start it. I would wait for him.

  After several moments stewing in the tense silence, Michael finally cracked. "Harlow," he started, "I want you to know that I didn't come here to tell you how to live your life."

  "No?" I put my blinker on and made a lane change.

  He shook his head. "No, but I am worried about you."

  "Oh, you are, are you?" I sighed. "The same kind of worried you were six months ago?" I asked.

  "Six months ago?" Confusion colored his tone.

  I nodded. "Yes, when Mom and I were being evicted. Or is this the worried you were when I had to get a full-time job to support us? When I was all alone in the world and you were up in New York?"

  "I was getting my degree," he said sharply—defensively. "I was getting a job, I was learning how to survive."

  "I know. So was I. Guess what," I said, chancing a glance his way. "We both learned how to survive. I just don't judge you for the way that you learned."

  "Harlow, that's not—” He paused, obviously struggling. “I'm not..." he tried again, trailing off.

  "Go ahead and say what you want to say," I said helpfully when he couldn't seem to get the sentence out. I had no doubt that he was simply trying to word what he wanted to say in a way that wouldn't offend me. I was going to be angry either way, or rather, I was already angry, so it truly didn't matter how he said it.

  "I'm worried about those boys you live wit
h—those men. Harlow, it's not normal. I honestly didn't know what to think or believe when I got an email from that woman, from Teddi. She has a detailed report on your activities these last few months and, to be honest, it really concerns me."

  "You didn't know what to think?” I ask. “You didn’t think 'hmmm, my sister might have a stalker, maybe I should report this to the police?’ Interesting..."

  "Harlow, I'm being serious." Michael grunted as I flipped the blinker and veered into the next lane rather quickly.

  "So am I," I snapped, feeling the burning fire of my hurt raging inside.

  "You're being a child," he accused.

  "No," I said, turning to look at him as I slowed the car in front of a stop sign. "I'm being a fucking adult, like I've had to be ever since you left."

  "Don't blame me for leaving," he said. "If you want someone to blame then you can blame Mom."

  "She was sick," I hissed. "And you knew that."

  “She kicked me out,” he replied. “I didn’t leave of my own volition. Don’t blame me for something I couldn’t control. She was abusive.”

  I nodded. "Yeah, I know. I had to live with that abuse for several more years. I know just how abusive she could be and I know how she’s changed too.”

  Silence descended and Michael, who'd turned to meet my gaze, sat back against his seat as I flicked the blinker once more and made the turn.

  “I don’t care how she’s changed,” he snapped.

  “Of course you don’t. It’s why you haven’t been answering my phone calls. It’s why as soon as I told you I was doing okay for the first time in my life, you dropped off the face of the Earth. You only stuck around on the outskirts of my life—as a phone call here and there, a letter in the mail, a cheap birthday present—because of guilt.”

  A sharp shocked pause manifested and then just as quickly as it had risen, it fell. "I want you to move out of that house,” Michael said. “That’s why I came down here.”

  "There it is," I said with a shake of my head. "That’s why you’re really here. You want to take away what I’ve managed to do for myself. Well, why don’t you use that college degree of yours, Michael, and read my fucking lips for the answer? No."

  "Harlow, think about it. What will people think? What will they say? How are you going to get a job in the future? Have you even thought about going to school?" He shifted in his seat, facing me fully with his chest turned. “If you move to New York with me, I could help you.”

  “Oh, now you want me?” I scoffed. "I don't care what people think or say about where I live, Michael. It's none of their business. How about you do me a favor, hmmm?" I sucked in a breath before continuing. "Why don't you explain something to me. Why is my absentee brother suddenly showing up on my doorstep after disappearing for several years?"

  "You knew where I was," he said. "We still talked."

  "Up until a few months ago," I snapped. "What did I just say? As soon as you got the go-ahead that you didn’t need to feel guilty anymore, you disappeared." I looked at him. "Do you know how badly I wanted to be you?" I asked. "I wished that I had the nerve you had to leave. I wished that I could be free. I was scared and alone and you weren't around. Not only did I never see you because you moved several states away, but you stopped calling, you stopped returning my calls, stopped texting me. My life exploded and where. Were. You?"

  My throat grew thick as I spoke, but I forced my way through it. The words scraped against my raw throat, cutting deep as they finally came free. I sniffed hard, trying to keep myself together as the pain of feeling like I had been abandoned resurfaced. I pulled into the parking lot of the Summerville Cancer Care Center, but Michael still hadn't seemed to notice. When I parked and shut off the car, he finally looked at me.

  "I'm sorry you feel that way," he began.

  "Stop." I held up a hand. "Did you just hear yourself?" I gritted my teeth against the pain blossoming in my chest. Tears threatened to overwhelm me, but I kept them at bay by sheer force of will.

  "'I'm sorry you feel that way,’” I repeated. “Do you even know what that sounds like? That sounds like you're not sorry at all. That sounds like you're irritated that I feel the way I do. Well, fuck you, Michael. My feelings are valid. You abandoned me and then you show back up in my life because a stranger—a fucking stranger, Michael!—sends you an email about where I'm living. You're not here because you care. You're here because you feel guilty again, and if you’re looking for someone to absolve you of your guilt, I’m not the fucking girl.”

  I took the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me as I made my way to the sidewalk. Michael still wasn't done, though. He got out as well and followed after me.

  "I'm sorry I stopped calling!" he called after me.

  I paused and turned to face him. "Why?" I demanded, hands on my hips.

  "Why did I stop calling?" he clarified.

  "Sure, I'd like to know that too," I amended, "but I'd also like to know why you think you're sorry."

  Michael dropped his gaze away from mine—perhaps the heat of my anger was too much. “I know I left you to deal with her,” he began. “I was a teenager and I didn’t know what to do. So, I took the only way out that I had. I went to college, I worked my ass off to get a job, and honestly…” He trailed off, but I could guess what his reasoning was.

  “Out of sight, out of mind, hmmm?” I said.

  He stiffened but didn’t deny it. I sighed. “Michael,” I said a bit gentler. “I’m not mad that you left me. I’m mad that you left and you stayed away, and now you think you can just appear back in my life and pretend like it never happened.”

  “I’m not pretending like it never happened,” he said defensively.

  “Oh, you’re not?” I challenged, the gentleness fading from my tone. “So, it’s normal then for my brother to walk into my life and order me around? My adult life, Michael, mind you, because whether you admit it or not, I am an adult now. Yes, I understand eighteen doesn’t seem very adult to most of the world, but I’ve had to take care of myself for the better part of the last few years. I may be your little sister, but I’m not a child.”

  “Listen,” Michael put his hand out—a gesture of peace. I wasn’t feeling particularly peaceful, but I let him continue without stopping him. He still didn’t seem to notice where we were. He was far too focused on me. I edged a step back on the sidewalk. “I know it probably seems like I’m just here because of Teddi, but I’m here for you. I was already thinking of coming back. I knew you were doing better, I didn’t want to disrupt that, but I wanted to see you. Then when I got that email—”

  “You what? Realized you really wanted to see me?” I shook my head. I didn’t sound like myself. I rarely got this angry. I felt a little bit like I had picked up some bad habits—like the sarcasm escaping my lips was pulled directly from Grayson and that thought sent another ricochet of pain through my heart. “Michael, I’m not leaving the guys. I have a job. I love them and if you can’t accept that, I’m sorry. But there is nothing you can do or say that will change my mind and if you keep trying, well, I’ve lived without you for some time now…I don’t need you.”

  I turned and strode towards the front entrance of the Cancer Care Center. I could hear Michael’s footsteps against the concrete as he followed. I paused as the front doors slid open and an older couple exited the building, nodding their heads at me politely in the way that all southerners were ingrained with. I nodded back and continued on as Michael trailed behind me.

  “Harlow, please—” He stopped. He must have realized where we were, or perhaps he was confused, because when I looked back, he was looking around with furrowed brows. “Where are we?”

  “We’re where I come to for advice,” I said as I bypassed the lobby and receptionist desk. Marie, one of the part-time receptionists there that I had met before, lifted her hand in welcome and, like I had done with the older couple before, I nodded at her before continuing on. She was a bit
more lenient than some of the others that worked there, especially with regular visitors like me. She usually let me sign in and out when I left, but she did raise an eyebrow at Michael as he followed along behind me.

  “What?” Michael caught up to me, striding alongside me—that look of confusion still etched across his features. I shook my head. He would find out soon enough.

  I took a turn that led towards the residential area of the Care Center, where long term patients were housed. Michael must have finally realized something because as soon as I reached Mom’s door, he stopped, reaching out and grabbing my arm in a vice-like grip. But by that point, I was done playing nice. I turned—the way Knix and Bellamy had taught me—and ripped my arm out of his grip, deftly snatching his wrist and pinning his behind his back.

  “Don’t ever try to stop me from seeing my mom,” I said in a low voice before I released him just as quickly. I stepped back and he turned, blinking at me in shock. “If you don’t want to see her, you don’t have to,” I said. “But now that she’s being properly medicated, she’s not the same person.”

  “Harlow, I don’t think that I…” Michael stepped back, as though the open doorway leading into my mom’s room was the entrance to a world that might change everything for him. I honestly didn’t want to push him, but here was the opportunity. I brought him. It was his turn to make the choice.

  “It’s okay,” I said, answering his unspoken question. “If you’re uncomfortable with coming in, you can wait out here. I wasn’t planning on staying long. Just sit over there.” I gestured to a seating area across the way next to one of the nurses' stations. “I’ll be out soon.”

  And with that, I left him standing in the hallway and entered the room, steeling myself for whatever happened.

  Mom was dozing lightly when I entered the room, the soft glow of the television mounted to the wall throwing strange shades of blue and white over her face and the wall. I sighed—even if Michael decided to come in, he might lose his chance to talk to her. I moved across the room quietly, reaching for the remote and turned the screen off. As soon as the noise from the old sitcom rerun was halted, however, Mom started and lifted her head, a little string of drool crusting the edge of her mouth.