Like Never and Always

by Ann Aguirre

  Clay ignores that, urging me toward a kitchen chair, and then he plucks the towel from my hands. “I’ll do it.”

  “You’re really sending mixed messages,” I mumble.

  I can’t remember the last time anyone took care of me like this. The towel covers my whole head and the way he rubs, it feels like he’s massaging my head. My eyes close. Tension flows out of muscles I didn’t even realize were knotted. While he tends to me, I half doze through it, though I make some little sounds when he’s combing my hair.

  At the end, I feel like a lax rubber band when he scoops me into his arms. Clay carries me out the back door and around the front. So Nathan’s probably home. But it’s only a fleeting thought, nothing that mars my euphoria. I snuggle closer, arms around his neck. Maybe we don’t have to talk tonight.

  I snap alert when he takes me to his room, however. The last time I was in here, it didn’t end well. “I can sleep on the couch, don’t give me your bed.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Huh?”

  The light clicks off.

  Then he provides the nonverbal answer by depositing us both on the bed. Yet he still doesn’t let go of me. I’ve never been held this way, but it feels really good. Probably I should ask some clarifying questions or tell him I’m not sleeping with someone who isn’t my boyfriend, but really, I don’t give two shits about labels. He’s still the person I love. Quietly, I reach for the rumpled covers with my free arm and pull them up.

  “No arguments?”

  “That would be stupid. This is where I want to be.”

  “You’re killing me,” he whispers.

  Clay takes my hand and presses it over his heart, so I can feel how hard and fast it’s beating. The tempo is so out of control, I’m a little worried about him.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “In the best possible way.” He draws me even closer, so I can’t see his face anymore, not even the lines and shadows. Gentle hands stroke my back. “I shouldn’t say this. I shouldn’t even think it. But…”

  “Tell me. I proved before that I can share anything with you. Show me you can too.”

  “All my life, I heard from my dad … ‘You’re the oldest, Clay. Be a good example. Watch out for your little brother.’ Seemed like that was all he ever said to me. And I did, I did my best, until I was just so sick of it.”

  “I remember you mentioning your rebellious phase.”

  His laugh sounds bitter. “Even then, I was still taking the blame for shit Nathan did. I mean, I raised my own hell but when he started to follow in my footsteps, I had to cover for him. Because I had nothing to lose and he had everything. He’s always been the good Claymore, so unlike the rest of his family.”

  Until now I never knew how much this hurt Clay. “That’s not true. You’re—”

  “No, let me get this out. Because it’s ugly and it’s chewing at me. You know how happy I was when you picked me? You’ve been with both of us, and you picked me. First time in my life that’s ever happened. I want to be with you so bad, not just because I love you, but also because it feels like taking from him. But I can’t treat you that way. You understand now?”

  “Like a trophy?” I distinctly recall telling him not to treat me like property.

  “Exactly. And it’s all tangled up in my head—you, me, Nathan. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me.”

  “You’ve been carrying your family since you were nine,” I say softly. “In one way or another. So it makes sense that you want someone on your side, somebody who sees you.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “I think it is. You don’t have to be strong with me. I can take care of you, too.” To emphasize my words, I move my arm from around his waist so I can rub his back.

  “Please don’t,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’ll just make it that much harder to let you go in the morning.”

  “You’re operating on a catch-and-release system?” Keeping my tone light, I smooth my palm upward until I can knead his neck.

  A low groan escapes him. “Maybe not.”

  “Well, I’m not trying to weaken your resolve.”

  “What are you trying to do?”

  “Make you feel half as special as you do me. Even when we were faking it, you were a better boyfriend than most guys.”

  He laughs softly. “Please, you thought we were together for real when you woke up. Which explains a lot, actually.”

  He sounds much more relaxed, so I keep rubbing his neck until he lets out another soft moan. Surely I’m not the first girl to do this for Clay, but he reacts like it’s new. I work his neck and shoulders until he’s practically purring. His breath tickles my ear, making me shiver.

  “Are you sleepy?” I whisper.

  “Not even remotely,” comes the surprising answer.

  “Really? I thought I was helping you unwind.”

  Clay laughs. “Baby, you got off on my lap, then you got naked in my shower. Now you’re wearing my clothes, putting your hands all over me. Do you know anything about guys?”

  Then he shifts so I can feel how turned on he is.

  “Holy crap.”

  “It’ll go down eventually. Just stop teasing me.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” My voice comes out fluttery, sexier than I’ve sounded before.

  Apparently Clay agrees. “Okay, that didn’t help.”

  Deep down I don’t really want him to power through it. I want to touch him, just because. Not because he’ll get blue balls or to even the score, just … for me. It doesn’t matter if this is the only night we’re together. This once, I’m longing to know what it’s like to touch him. In a way, the idea makes me feel powerful since he’s not asking for anything.

  “Will this?” I pull away enough to slip a hand between us and run it down his chest.

  He catches my fingers as they brush his hip. “What’re you doing?”

  “You, if you let me. Your choice, though.”

  49

  The silence builds. I’m trying to be cool, but inside I’m all tingles and anticipation.

  Clay laughs quietly. “Are you kidding? I didn’t even have the willpower to keep from kissing you.”

  That seems like permission. He even shifts onto his back, settling onto the pillows. Moonlight shines through the window, and now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark, I can make out the muted hunger in his expression. But Clay doesn’t do anything. Instead he leaves it all up to me. And that’s really hot. I’ve never had a guy give himself to me as a present before.

  “Shirt,” I say, tugging at the bottom of it.

  His fingers tighten on my hand, stilling it for a moment, and he puts his face close enough for me to see his eyes. “I don’t know if I can make any promises. Maybe tonight, that’s all there is. No matter what, he’s still my brother. So I understand if you’d rather not. I still want you in my arms tonight.”

  “That’s fine.” I can’t seem to stop smiling. Even though he’s viciously turned on, I’m calling the shots.

  If anything, that makes me more eager to be with him. After all, a good memory is better than nothing, and I’ll never regret a choice made freely. Even I’m not sure how far I’ll go. Morgan’s not a virgin; Liv is. Which puts body and mind at odds.

  In answer Clay shrugs out of his shirt. His chest is smooth and defined; I can’t resist touching him. He moves and moans, telling me without words what feels best. Soon he raises his hips, silently asking for my hands.

  Breathless, I go for it. It doesn’t take long before he’s panting, whispering that it’s so good, and he finishes clutching my head to his shoulder, like he doesn’t want me to see. Afterward, he cleans up and comes back to bed to hold me.

  “Sleepy now?” I tease.

  “Shut up.” But he truly does sound blissfully content.

  We fall asleep tangled together, and it’s late by the time I wake up. Blinking at his clock, I think, Shit. I missed two classes already. Clay rouses slower and he d
oesn’t want to let go of me, which is bad since I need to pee. His arms tighten as I try to squirm away.

  “Don’t go,” he mumbles.

  My heart turns over. “I’ll be back.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Finally he lets go and he’s asleep again when I pass through Nathan’s room to go to the bathroom. Since I’m skipping, I’m especially glad that asshole went to school. The morning after, it would be awkward as hell to have breakfast with him. While I’m at it, I also wash up a little and brush my teeth with my finger. I do look like I got some last night, though. Before, I always thought it was an exaggeration, but my cheeks seem a little pinker today.

  Clay is in the kitchen when I come out, scrambling eggs. This scene is so domestic that it makes my toes curl. Since he doesn’t turn around, I hug him from behind.

  “I could burn myself with distractions like that.” But he’s smiling when he turns to kiss me. “Morning.”

  It’s almost ten, but yeah. “Sleep well?”

  “God, yes. Do you want to go somewhere with me today?”

  “Don’t you have to work?”

  “Not today,” he says. “I always have October third off, no matter what day it falls on.”

  Now I’m intrigued. “Sure. I’ll ditch. I’m sure Mrs. Rhodes will write me a note.”

  “People will say I’m a bad influence.”

  “I can live with that.”

  We eat breakfast quickly, and I leave the house wearing his clothes. It’s not worse than what I’ve seen other girls wearing, but for Morgan Frost, it’s a fashion faux pas of astronomical proportions. Smiling, I shrug it away as I climb in Clay’s beater. To my surprise, he stops at the convenience store for pork rinds and beer.

  “Well, that took a surprising turn,” I murmur.

  He smiles so the sun catches the gold in his eyes, and honest to God, he’s so handsome I can’t breathe. Some of the scruff is gone, and he’s in jeans with a white T-shirt that accentuates both his awesome arms and the warmth of his summer tan. I could stare at him forever, but after a while, looking isn’t enough so I run my fingers through the shaggy softness of his hair.

  “Trying to drive here.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “It’s your fault if I put us in the ditch.”

  “I’m that distracting? Really?” My tone is skeptical.

  “Not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but I’m pretty crazy about you.” The gentle tone takes my breath away.

  And I just can’t believe it—this is the same boy that people whispered about. He steals cars. He sells drugs. Older women give him presents for services rendered. Now if I heard someone talking shit about Clay, I might punch them in the face.

  “Likewise,” I manage to say. “So where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  He’s not kidding. When he takes me to the cemetery outside town, I’m half afraid he thinks it’ll be funny to make out on my grave. But his steps angle away from where Olivia Burnham was laid to rest. Taking my hand, he leads me up a small hill to where a crab apple tree spreads its branches. The headstones aren’t large up here, just small markers.

  He stops before a very unimpressive one and says, “This is my dad.”

  Kneeling so I can read, I see there’s only the name and date, no space for sentiment. It registers then—this is the anniversary of his father’s death. Clay joins me, taking the beer and pork rinds out of the plastic bag. He’s also got some wipes, which he uses to clean off the stone and then he plucks the weeds that have sprung up over the summer.

  “You come every year?” I guess.

  “It’s kind of a tradition. At least my dad’s always where I can find him.” The joke falls flat because I can see how much Clay still misses his father.

  “Do you talk to him?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly I drink a beer and eat some of these pork rinds because those were two of my dad’s favorite things. I remember him saying, ‘Here’s the key to happiness, son. Well, that and baseball,’ and he’d turn on the game. God, he loved the Braves.”

  “He would be so proud of you.”

  “You think?” The shy, hopeful light in Clay’s eyes just scoops my heart out of my chest.

  “Definitely. Let’s drink to him.”

  While I drink a soda, he downs part of a beer and munches the pork rinds. Then Clay crumbles some up and empties the rest of his beer like he’s making an offering. I’ve never known anyone to do that, but it feels right. Sometimes I think I feel Morgan nearby but this time it’s definitely his dad. The sunlight on our shoulders might be his hands and the breeze could well be him ruffling our hair in passing. You’d think this would be a depressing way to spend the day, but I feel oddly peaceful when we finally prepare to leave. It’s been hours, and that half beer is long gone.

  “I’ve never brought anyone with me before,” Clay says, offering his hand.

  Afraid to hope, I wonder what this means. I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. “Not even Nathan?”

  “Nah. He thinks this is macabre, at best.”

  That makes me bristle. “The human body is sustained by energy, right? And energy can never be destroyed, only transferred. So maybe death is more of a transition, so our loved ones never really leave us. They’ve just taken on a different form.”

  “Are you trying to science death?” he asks, amused.

  “Maybe,” I mumble.

  “You’re definitely Liv.” But it doesn’t sound like he minds anymore. In fact, after saying so, he takes my hand.

  “I was. But I’m not all her anymore.”

  Since he brought it up, I explain my theory about the dual components that comprise human identity and then end by postulating that I’m now a hybrid individual. Brow cocked, he listens with evident interest to all my pseudoscientific rambling.

  “Is this supposed to make me feel only half as guilty?”

  “You could interpret it that way.”

  By this time, we’ve reached his car. He opens the passenger door for me, then says, “I can’t quiet my conscience with a theory, but … it’s cool that you’re logical about this. If I woke up in Nathan’s body, I’d just go insane.”

  I’m happy that he’s thinking about us again—really thinking—instead of the knee-jerk You’re the one girl in the world I can’t touch I heard before. And if he decides it can’t work, I’ll accept it without being sorry about last night. Clay vaults the hood, which is kind of his thing, and I find it ridiculously hot. Then he climbs into the driver’s side.

  “Your car’s still at my place. I guess you need to pick it up?”

  Checking the time, I mumble a cuss word. “Could you drop me off at school instead? I have an exam scheduled … in twenty minutes.”

  God only knows how that’ll play out—ditching regular classes and only showing up for my Chem test. But Mr. Finney won’t give me another shot if I blow this one. Clay’s already driving, thank God, as he seems to sense my urgency.

  “Don’t worry,” he assures me. “Everything will be fine.”

  And in this moment with the sky so blue and the sun so bright, with Clay’s hand on mine, I choose to believe that.

  50

  “I’m worried about you, Morgan.” Mr. Finney frowns at me, taking in my ensemble and my general dishevelment. “You’ve changed so much in a short time.”

  “Change isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes a traumatic life event makes us reevaluate our priorities.” I’m quoting a self-help book now, God help me.

  “And your priority is skipping school?”

  “I was sick. If you don’t believe me, ask our housekeeper.” I’m betting on Mrs. Rhodes being savvy enough to confirm any story I tell. She likes her monthly bonus. “I was so dizzy this morning, but then I remembered scheduling this test, so I threw on the first outfit I found and came to keep my promise, so I didn’t waste your time.”

  The teacher sighs like he’s only
half convinced by my bullshit, which makes sense. Teenagers have been lying to him for close to twenty years. Yet he finally points at the first lab table. “Since you’re here, go ahead and take the final. You’ll also be performing a random experiment of my choice.”

  An hour and a half later, I’m mixing chemicals and hoping for the best. I’m relieved when nothing explodes and I manage to get the reaction I’m going for. Mr. Finney is visibly puzzled; likely he has no idea why Morgan Frost knows this much about science. Her transcript gives no indication that I could tell an alkali from a base. As I hold my breath, he marks my test.

  68.

  It’s the worst score I’ve ever gotten in science in my life, but considering I learned a year of material in seven days, I’ll take it. Because that’s a passing mark, though barely, and I won’t be going into advanced chem. I’m aiming for physics, so I have the complete gamut of science credits by the time I graduate.

  “I didn’t see this coming,” he says, rubbing his jaw.

  Happiness goes off in my chest like fireworks. “Does this mean you’ll let me in your physics class?”

  “That was the deal. I won’t give you any breaks,” he warns. “You’ve already missed the first month, so it may be tough.”

  “I’m prepared for that. Thank you, sir.” Afterward, I realize I’ve spoken to him just as Liv did in the old days.

  His chin jerks up and he studies me for a long moment, before finally giving an infinitesimal shake of his head. “See you tomorrow, Miss Frost.”

  Though I told Clay he didn’t have to hang around, I know I’ll find him waiting. Sure enough, he’s playing a game of pickup basketball on the outdoor court. He’s shirtless and glistening, going all out against the guy guarding him. I admire his speed and strength for a few minutes, and it’s like he senses me watching him. He turns, scanning for me, which results in him taking a pass to the head, but he shakes it off. With a wave, Clay jogs toward me.

  But I can see the moment he remembers that I used to be his brother’s girl and he’s not supposed to want me. The eagerness drains from his stride until his feet are practically dragging. The fact that he doesn’t meet my gaze offers a hint of what’s to come, and I try to brace for it, I do. But no matter how hard you try, getting kicked in the face emotionally always hurts.