by T. L. Martin
“You’re gonna call me that till the day we die, aren’t you?”
“Damn straight, I am.” He winks. “See what I did there?”
Eva smirks.
“Aren’t you looking handsome, Isaac,” Whitney says, stepping toward him with a smile so genuine you’d never suspect our heated argument just seconds ago.
His grin stretches. “Little Whit, you’re looking fierce.”
While the two of them hug and catch up, I flick my gaze to Eva. She’s avoiding me like a pro. I continue to stare, to try to get a read on her, and I wish I could just fucking ask if she’s okay like a normal person would. My frown deepens when Isaac bumps my elbow with his.
“Well, will you look at that . . .” he says, nodding toward the plain silver bracelet on Whitney’s wrist.
Whitney’s cheeks redden as she fidgets with her bracelet, and she folds her arms over her chest to hide it. “Don’t act so surprised.”
Isaac chuckles. “I knew you were taking the pledge seriously, but I figured by now, you would’ve broken it. With our brother as your boyfriend? Just saying, not sure I buy it.”
Eva’s brows furrow. She has no idea what he’s talking about, and based on the way Whitney shifts on her heels and laughs awkwardly, Whitney doesn’t want her to know either.
To most people, the sleek silver chain looks insignificant. Only Isaac would recognize it. He was with Whitney the day she went to Tiffany’s and purchased it, declaring it her purity bracelet. She keeps the whole abstinence deal under tight wraps, but she trusts Isaac. As she should. It took two years of proving his devotion to the cause and his church group before he felt he’d truly earned his own purity ring. He was eighteen and already in college when he stepped away from the party scene and nixed sex until marriage, a born-again virgin in a sense.
Whitney’s just a virgin. She’s walked in on her dad with other women one too many times, but it was the last time a few years back, involving a girl her own age, that cemented her decision to wait. She’s serious as all hell about the pledge. The most we’ve done is make out, and even that’s rare depending on who she wants to make a scene for.
“Easton is a gentleman,” Whitney says, slipping her arm around mine. “You know that.”
My jaw tightens as I shrug her arm off. Again. She’s paying me to keep up appearances, but Eva’s eyes are burning into me, and I can’t bring myself to pretend in front of her this time.
“You’ve been together for, what?” Isaac looks between us. “Over two years now? No one’s that much of a gentleman.” He smirks. “I’m the exception, and I credit my gayness for my gentlemanly ways.”
“I’m missing something,” Eva says, eyes curious. “What does the bracelet mean?”
Whitney fakes a laugh, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. “I need to use the restroom.” She glances at me. “Walk me there, babe?” She leans in to kiss me.
I turn my head slightly so her lips land on my cheek, but I’m not quick enough. She catches my mouth. It’s only a second, but that’s all it takes for a visible swallow to pass through Eva’s throat.
“Please?” Whitney asks, her expression almost sincere, and then she whispers, “Give me a chance to fix this with you.”
My attention slides to Eva, who narrows her eyes. She doesn’t hear what Whitney’s saying, but the way she’s speaking intimately into my ear looks all kinds of fucking wrong. Something Whitney is clearly pleased about. She flashes a slow smile Eva’s way.
Clenching my jaw, I take a step back and nod toward Isaac. “Go ahead, man. Tell her about the bracelet.” Whitney sputters something in protest, but it’s lost on me as I turn and walk away.
A moment later, Whitney stomps up beside me. “You can’t let him tell her. Our deal was to never tell anyone about our arrangement, not even family, and there’s no way she’ll buy that we’re a real couple if she knows we aren’t sleeping together.”
“It’s a bracelet, Whit. Don’t wear it if you don’t want people to ask.”
It’s one thing to want Eva as badly as I do; it’s another to know she wants me too. After everything she said to me in the bathroom the other night, she still thinks I left the party with Whitney. I can’t fucking stand the thought.
Whitney scoffs. “It’s nondescript for a reason! You’re seriously toeing the line. I won’t pay you if you break our agreement, Easton. That’s not right.”
Pushing out an exasperated breath, I stop walking and swing around to look at her. She gasps, bumping into me before she catches herself.
“You want to fix this?” I ask, gesturing between us.
She nods.
“Then stop with the games. Eva and I live under the same roof. She deserves to know you and I aren’t sleeping together.”
Anger flashes. “She deserves nothing.”
“What the hell is your problem with her?”
“Everything. She’s rude . . . and tacky, and . . .” She grows flustered. “Ugh, just promise me you won’t tell her about us. She’ll spread it through the whole school!”
“Come on. Even you know that’s bullshit.”
She glances away, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her voice is almost a whisper when she responds, like she’s losing the fight, “Easton, you know how bad the pressure got to me at one point. You know. No one has said anything to me in so long. Guys leave me alone because I’m taken, and the girls, well . . . ever since they thought we were a real couple, people have just”—she shrugs—“let me be. No one asks about my mom, or where I disappear to so often. They assume I’m with you, that I have no worries beyond my boyfriend and school. It’s like . . . it’s like I’m okay.”
My lips thin, and I run a hand through my hair. I remember how badly the pressure used to get to her, and the fact her world was already crumbling at the time only made it harder to deal with. I started keeping her company at the hospital well before she ever offered to pay me, and rumors about us being in a relationship took off like wildfire. So, when she said she wanted me to make it look like we were a real couple, when she told me why and how much she’d pay . . . I took the deal without a second thought.
“Listen,” I mutter. “We’re good through senior year, all right? I’m keeping my word on that. But I can’t promise I’ll never tell her.”
Her eyes widen. “What about me? What if people find out?”
“They won’t.”
“But what if they do? What will I do?”
“For fuck’s sake, Whitney.” Exhaustion rolls through me, and I start to walk away. “You’ll be an adult next month. Maybe you can learn something from Eva and stop caring so much about what others think.”
I head in the opposite direction to leave the room when a man I don’t know slips in front of me and blocks my path.
“You must be Easton,” he says, thin lips pulling into a slow smile.
I cock a brow and eye him up and down. I thought my dad’s intern was dressed like a tool. This one’s wearing a cashmere scarf over a floral brocade suit. With peppered slicked-back hair and gold jewelry, the man’s pretentious as fuck.
“Do I know you?”
He extends a hand. “Paul. The pleasure is all mine.”
We shake, and it’s only now I notice the slight beads of sweat forming beneath his hairline. A weird contrast to the iciness of the hand against my palm.
“There are racks by the door if you want to take off your coat and scarf,” I offer. “You warm up pretty quickly in here.”
“Sure do.” He runs clean, blunt nails down his tie.
You’re a friend of my father’s?” I ask without any interest. Skimming the room, I hone in on Eva. Isaac’s nowhere to be found, and there’s another guy taking his place. Unfortunately, by the look he’s giving her, he doesn’t appear to be gay.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Paul says. “I just wanted to introduce myself to the young man stealing hearts.”
Okay, that’s fucking weird.
“Uh,
I’m not sure what you—”
“No matter.” After looking over his shoulder and following my gaze to Eva, he pats my arm with a bit more force than expected. “I can see you’re distracted. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Easton.”
He steps away, and an uneasy feeling lingers with me as he fades into the crowd. When I resume walking, I realize he never actually answered my question about if he was a friend of my father’s. I pause and look around, finding him again, but he’s already started talking to Whitney. The sight of them together doesn’t sit right with me. Something’s off about him.
I’m contemplating separating them when Eva’s warm, brown gaze connects with mine, and I blow out a breath. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Something’s different in her expression, curiosity sparking behind her eyes. Isaac must have explained the purity bracelet. I know it’s wrong, that it shouldn’t matter, but I’m relieved she doesn’t think I’m fucking Whitney anymore. I slept with a couple girls before our arrangement started, but it wasn’t worth it. Not when the only girl I wanted was sleeping down the hall.
I’ve almost escaped the room when the lights dim, and a familiar sound blares through the house. My steps freeze. Limbs turn stone cold.
That sound.
Slowly, I turn my head toward the open French doors that showcase speakers and mics set up for the congratulatory speeches. My father sits on a patio chair behind a lowered mic, arm cradling his guitar like a long-lost friend. His fingers strum slow and soft, and my own fingers shake in my pockets. Isaac sits beside him, his plucks on his guitar a little clumsier. He only started to learn how to play after he moved out.
Father and son.
Picture-perfect.
The crowd quiets and draws closer to the music.
My heart thuds, pounding harder, harder against my rib cage.
My mom stands in the front row, angled just right so everyone by the moonlit pool can see the wetness gathering in her eyes. It can’t be real. Dad on the guitar again. Listening to him night after night was the reason I taught myself to play. I wanted to follow in his footsteps, but the better I got, the more distant he became. The guitar isn’t something we share together; it’s like my own private comfort now. I only ever pick it up on the one night of the week I can guarantee he’ll be out on some business trip or another, not able to overhear.
All these years, I thought something happened to make him hate playing. Turns out, he just hates playing with me.
Despite everything, I can’t stop listening. My hands fist in my pockets, and I’m caught so off-guard my eyes burn. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why does it hurt so damn much? Each strum pulls me deeper into quicksand, until my lungs cave in from the building pressure.
Soft fingers touch my wrist, and my muscles tense. I glance to my right, where Eva now stands.
She’s staring ahead at the performance, but her eyes are glassy, melted chocolate glinting beneath the dimmed lights. Unlike my mother’s tears, Eva’s aren’t for show. A long, rough exhale leaves my lips, releasing some of the weight on my lungs. Her thumb brushes my palm, and a sudden heat in my chest drifts downward. Eva gently squeezes my hand before she turns and walks away.
I keep my eyes on the father-and-son duo, but now, all I can feel is the heat of Eva’s touch. The raw and almost painful sensation expanding in my chest at the gentle squeeze of her hand.
There’s a lot of bullshit in my life. But Eva is real. More real than the blood pulsing through my veins.
Eva
“Not only for the shining example of marriage, family values, and work ethic the Rutherfords have demonstrated over the past twenty-nine years . . .” Vincent’s business partner, Jacob, raises his champagne glass, and the clones surrounding me follow suit. “But also for their generous contributions toward our schools, local charities, and, of course, for opening their home and hearts to the children who need it.” He turns and tips his chin toward Vincent and Bridget. “Happy anniversary, you two. May this year crush all the rest.”
Bridget smiles, Vincent nods in acknowledgment, and we drink. The sparkling water fizzes on my tongue, cooling the burn in my throat as I watch Easton from across the pool.
The ache in his eyes as he watched his father and Isaac play together was palpable. A living, breathing heart that broke right in front of me.
I’ve made a lot of bad decisions. Enough that I think it’s safe to say I’m not a good person. I haven’t earned a good life. But Easton isn’t like me. He’s good and genuine, and he deserves so much more than what his parents offer him. Than what any of us offer him.
Pulling in a lungful of cool night air, I skim the countless faces littering the enormous backyard. Whitney should be with Easton, but instead he’s standing alone. I lift my glass to my lips, and a sharp breeze draws a shiver from me.
Isaac told me about the purity bracelet. He told me because Easton wanted him to. Why? Did he want me to know he’s not fucking her? Now that I do, I’m more confused than ever. I’ve seen enough of him to know he’s not the wait-until-marriage type, so what’s he doing with Whitney?
A loud applause brings my focus back to the mic, where Isaac now stands. I arch a brow as I watch him pretend to shake off his nerves. What a bullshitter.
He grabs the mic and clears his throat. “Good evening, everyone.”
The crowd’s already eating him up like a tray of Jell-O shots. I’m proud.
“Some of you may not know me since I usually only make it out here for the Christmas party. I’m the oldest of the ‘children who needed saving’ Jacob was referring to.” He winks, and a few chuckles drift through the crowd. “I’m happy to be here tonight with my dapper big brother, Easton”—I flick my gaze to Easton, catching his little smirk—“and our fearless little sister, Eva.”
Isaac gives me a nod, and I try to lift my lips. Fearless. The word replays in my ears, overbearing yet hollow.
An elbow nudges my arm, and I slowly drag my gaze to the jerk I met once before who stands beside me. The one who thought he was slick enough to whisper sweet nothings into my ear and touch my waist.
“Is he serious?” he asks me, lips twisting in revulsion. “That guy’s your brother?”
I follow his focus to the other side of the pool where Easton leans against the bar.
“I was sure you two were dating or something.”
Lifting a shoulder, I mask my unease with boredom. “He’s protective. What brother isn’t?” I set my half-empty glass on the patio table before us. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”
I walk away, thankful he doesn’t follow, and return my attention to Isaac’s speech.
“And so, that brings me to a very special announcement.” Isaac inhales, grips the mic tighter, only releasing the breath once he looks at Bridget and Vincent. “Mom. Dad. If there’s anything I’ve learned from your example as a married couple, it’s that marriage is something to take seriously. Something to safeguard. And something to commit to only when you’re ready.” His eyes travel through the crowd to land on the same ruggedly handsome face he introduced me to earlier.
Nerves twist my stomach. I knew he was going to tell Vincent and Bridget about Thomas tonight, but I assumed it’d be in private . . .
“With that in mind, I’ve asked the love of my life to marry me.”
Murmurs and “awws” circulate around me.
Bridget’s jaw drops, and then, a genuine, beaming smile quickly transforms her expression from shock to pure joy. She clasps her hands together, holding them to her chest. “Oh, Isaac . . . you didn’t.”
He nods. Swallows. Rakes a hand through his short brown hair. “I did. And he said yes.”
Bridget’s smile wobbles, but the rest of her remains frozen as she watches Isaac’s fiancé trot toward him with a barely contained grin. Isaac pulls him into an embrace, and they share a brief, classy kiss.
Bridget goes sheet-white. Vincent looks too stunned to flinch. But as claps erupt through the yard, a few whistles climbing above the noise, the
y collect themselves, putting on composed faces as they slowly clap, clap, clap.
I shake my head in amusement. I guess going public was the way to go after all. Isaac and his fiancé are protected by his parents’ social veneer. For now, anyway.
I find Easton with his eyes on me. His eyebrows rise as he claps, and he nods toward his parents. They couldn’t look more unnatural if they tried. I chuckle, and his lips lift in a crooked smile.
Warmth slides up my chest, but the sensation doesn’t last. Once the speeches end and the crowd starts to dwindle, everything changes.
Bridget and Vincent’s faҫades drop. Isaac’s shoulders go rigid. The evening’s cool air grows stale on my skin.
The pair of them quietly lead Isaac into the house, leaving a confused Thomas behind. Easton frowns as he tracks their movements, and soon, he’s following them, keeping enough distance to stay off their radar. My footsteps quietly fall in sync behind his.
We pass a few people lingering in the living room, and we wind up walking through the same deserted hallway Easton and I hid in earlier. Except Vincent and Bridget don’t stop. They lead Isaac farther and farther down the hall, until they push open the door to the back kitchen.
Bridget’s scolding is already piercing my ears before I sneak inside after Easton, quietly shutting the door behind us. We’re mostly hidden from view, thanks to a black partition dividing the kitchen area from the endless rows of boxes Easton’s parents have cornered Isaac near. Still, all it would take is a glance in this direction for us to be spotted.
“Is this amusing to you, Isaac? Do you find it entertaining to spring something like this on me in front of everyone?” Her cheeks are flaming, each hushed word loaded ammunition.
Isaac works his jaw, shoves his hands into his pockets. “Of course not. You were happy when I announced I was getting married.”
“Of course, I was happy.” She throws her hands up as if it’s obvious. “I pictured long hair and high cheekbones and future grandchildren, not . . . not . . .”