Sidetracked: Part 1

by S. K. Kelley

  The hostess smiles again before returning inside.

  “We’re lucky,” Night says. “Business is slow today.”

  I run my finger over the cloth napkin, folded origami-style into the shape of a heart, on the table in front of me. This is cute. And Night fits right in here.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask.

  “Right.” She laughs, sounding more at ease. “First things first, I wanted to assure you that immortals aren’t as complex as you might think. We aren’t very different from humans, emotionally speaking.”

  “I know that.” I’m not dumb.

  “Yes, well, I also wanted to make sure that Ice isn’t making you keep...secrets? Or anything like that.”

  “Secrets?”

  She nods, and I hesitate.

  Warm hands cupping my face. A blank smile, asking if I want to forget. But that’s not what she means, is it? She doesn’t mean what happened the other day, and she’s not referring to immortals. She means...secrets. Like something bad—something only the two of us know.

  Right?

  I shake my head. “Not really. The Fourth of July sucked, so we agreed to forget about it, but—” Wait. “Well, he did...suggest that I avoid other immortals because of what happened with James, but I said I’ll hang out with whoever I want.”

  “Did you?” Her eyelids flutter, but her level expression doesn’t change. “And he backed down?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  She glances away. “Hm. I see...”

  “Hey, um, it doesn’t bother you that I like him, does it?”

  “Why would it?” She frowns as she looks to me again. “Before this mess, I honestly thought having you around might be good for him. Even after he told you about immortals.”

  A small, nervous pit grows in my stomach.

  “But?” I ask.

  “You said you kissed him.” Her thinly veiled grimace only confirms that she pities me. “It didn’t go well, did it?”

  My face flushes. “I was drunk. He knew that, so he was right to reject me, wasn’t he?”

  “Ice isn’t so much of a gentleman.”

  A door opens. I bounce my knee, struggling to maintain composure as the hostess sets our table with a porcelain tea set and small, three-tiered serving tray adorned with an assortment of cute finger foods.

  Night thanks her, her expression the pinnacle of pleasantry, and the hostess smiles before she leaves. I suck in a deep breath, my hands balling into fists as I refocus on Night.

  “You think he doesn’t like me?” I ask, though my blank tone makes it come across more like a statement than a question.

  Instead of answering right away, she pours steaming, golden tea into two fragile, white cups. She slides one cup on its matching saucer toward me. When she finally meets my gaze again, her eyes tell me nothing.

  “I don’t know how to say this without upsetting you, Jayde.”

  And the sinking feeling returns.

  “He does like you,” she says. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t bother keeping you so close—that’s the type of person Ice is. However, I’m not sure his feelings are exactly what you hope them to be.”

  I stare into the depths of my teacup. “What does that mean?”

  “You really do like him, don’t you?” She sighs. “You should tell him yourself. When you’re not intoxicated, of course. Don’t let him mess with your head like this.”

  “Is that what he’s doing?”

  “Intentionally? I can’t say.”

  She takes a careful sip of tea. I drop a sugar cube into mine and watch it dissolve in the hot liquid. When I look up from my cup, she’s still frowning.

  “You seriously have no idea why he told me about immortals?”

  “He doesn’t confide in me as often as you think he does,” she says, her apologetic tone tinged with disappointment. “Especially now, when it comes to matters involving you.”

  “But you know him better than anyone else, right?”

  She glances down at her cup, neither confirming nor denying my assessment of their relationship.

  “He acts like you know secrets,” I say.

  “Secrets? Me?” She suppresses a grimace. A flash of surprise. “I mean— Well, I suppose there are things he’d rather me not share with anyone, but—”

  “Nothing about me?”

  She considers my question, her nails tapping her porcelain cup. Then she sighs. “I may know Ice better than anyone, but you’ve surely realized he’s not exactly an open book. Believe me; I’ve asked more times than I can count, but he will not tell me why he told you about immortals. Or why he decided to sponsor you. Or why he...wants to be with you.”

  “Because I’m human?”

  “Because a lot of things, Jayde,” she says with her teacup at her lip. Resting the cup on its saucer, she sighs again. “So, no, I don’t have the slightest idea. Perhaps it was because he likes you. Perhaps it was out of spite—because I said he shouldn’t. But it’s entirely possible he only told you because he was bored. Whatever the reason, the situation changed the moment you learned of immortals—the moment he had that necklace made for you while he was in Seattle—and even he can’t ignore that forever.”

  When I don’t say anything, she apologizes and meets my gaze with a certain urgency. “That’s why I think you need to talk. You need to— Well, you need to let him know that you’re serious. Your emotions aren’t a game, and he needs to make a decision. You can’t let him do this to you. Teasing you with a relationship? Pretending to forget awful things? How is that fair?”

  I blink. The forgetting was my idea, but— “It’s not fair, is it?”

  “No.” Pink touches her cheeks, and she slaps them softly. When she refocuses, she’s quite serious. “But you should know this, Jayde. Ice has a terrible habit of doing things for absolutely no reason. And, sometimes, he doesn’t know when to stop—or how.”

  I pick up my teacup. The tea smells floral and creamy. Sweet from the sugar. Tasting it, it’s smooth. No bitterness. The flavor reflects the scent.

  It’s good.

  As I set the cup down, I sigh and meet Night’s mild gaze. She looks a little concerned. A little hesitant.

  “I think I understand,” I say.

  Her expression softens. “I hope you get your answers, Jayde. More than anything, I want you both to be happy.”

  WE WALK THROUGH THE great room, still chatting, and find Smoke in the den. His eyes light up when he sees his sister, and he closes the distance between them.

  “Aah—” Grinning, he fluffs up her feathery hair. “It’s so short. So soft.”

  “It’s different, isn’t it?” she asks with a laugh.

  “Short hair suits you. You look mature. Mom would like it.”

  “Mom would say I look like a proper businesswoman,” she says, “but that’s not quite what I was going for. I want to be elegant and ethereal.”

  Smoke laughs. “I like it. Yours too, Jayde.”

  “Ah, thanks!” I’m surprised he mentioned me.

  “Have any plans for your hair?” Night asks her brother. “It’s getting long.”

  “Hm...” He considers it before gathering the top section of his hair into a ball near the crown of his head. “I’ve thought about getting an undercut. Would I look good with a topknot?”

  As Night laughs, and their conversation continues, I toss my purse onto the loveseat. I walk down the hall, I smooth my hair and fix my bangs, and then I knock on Ice’s bedroom door.

  A few seconds pass before a voice inside acknowledges me.

  I crack the door and peek through. Ice is lying perpendicular on the bed, with his feet hanging over the edge and nearly touching the floor, and his eyes focused on the ceiling. It doesn’t look very comfortable, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

  I wasn’t expecting this, though.

  “We’re back,” I say, hesitance slipping into my voice.

  “I heard.”

  Pushing the
door open the rest of the way, I step inside. He doesn’t move and keeps staring upwards with a most unreadable expression. Thoughtful, maybe? Tired? Annoyed? I can’t tell.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “I’m fine.”

  Ugh...

  But he sits up, stretches, and does look fine when he finally meets my gaze. A little pensive. A little curious.

  “You said you were out getting a haircut, right?”

  “Oh...” My face flushes hot, but I ignore it and mess with my new bangs to make them more obvious. “I did.”

  He tips his head. A beat of silence. Then footsteps dash down the hall and stop in the doorway behind me. A hand slaps against the doorjamb as I glance over my shoulder to find Night standing there with a flustered fire in her eyes.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asks, her frustration only partially feigned. “We both look great, don’t we? Smoke said so.”

  Ice raises one eyebrow. “Smoke is gay, Night.”

  Ah.

  “Hmph!”

  Then he cracks. He laughs, holding a hand over his mouth, and leaves the bed to join us near the door. He tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear and pats Night on the head.

  “You both look lovely,” he says. “There. Happy now?”

  She groans, rolling her eyes, and retreats back to the den.

  But I don’t move. I stare up at him as his eyes return from following Night’s path down the hallway.

  She’s convinced he likes me, but she also thinks he’s messing with me somehow. What does that mean? Does he not understand my feelings, or is it something else? I could ask, but—

  Do I really want to have that conversation right now?

  “It’s not a big change,” I admit with a smile, “but...thanks.”

  thirty-nine

  NIGHT WAS RIGHT. I absolutely need to talk to Ice.

  I tried last night, while we were hanging out on the patio after dinner. We were alone. It was perfect. All I had to do was break the silence and say, “How do you feel about me?”

  But I couldn’t.

  Then he asked how much longer Rose will be out of town, so I talked about her for a while. We talked about his studio apartment in Palo Alto and the book Night let me borrow. The conversation was easy and comfortable. I didn’t want to screw it up by talking about my feelings. And—

  Ugh.

  I’m such a baby.

  The worst thing he can do is say he lied on the Fourth of July or that he doesn’t like me the same way. Or change the subject without addressing my question at all. I’m not expecting a heartfelt confession or an apology or anything, so I don’t even know what the best outcome would be.

  Recognition? Sympathy? A less awkward kiss?

  What do I even want?

  I agreed to pretend nothing happened too. I hate thinking about it. How much I drank. The kiss. What James did. Smoke may have healed the wounds, but the memories aren’t gone. It still happened.

  Is it okay to act like it never did?

  This isn’t the real issue.

  I nestle further into the crevice between the plush cushion and arm of the couch, hug the canvas throw pillow tighter, and focus my dagger eyes on the TV screen.

  Night put the Netflix-original crime drama series on right after breakfast, but I’ve been so distracted, I’m not even sure what’s going on. Well, I vaguely remember the murder at the start of the episode, but that’s it. The lead actor, who plays a rookie homicide detective, is an earth immortal with perfect cheekbones and sharp eyes. And, obviously, there is a lot of sexual tension between him and his equally gorgeous female partner.

  It’s basically a cop version of Night Hospital.

  A door opens and closes in the hallway, and Ice walks into the den looking like he just stepped out of the shower. He pushes back his damp hair with one hand before sitting on the other end of the same loveseat I’m sat at.

  Who is more attractive—the crime drama actor or Ice?

  God, I honestly can’t decide.

  After briefly acknowledging my existence, he asks Night for the TV remote. She squints at him, but she hands it over without complaint even as he changes the TV input and opens the channel directory.

  “You guys have cable?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Why are you surprised?”

  I shrug, still clinging to the throw pillow.

  Night’s annoyance over his intrusion is clear—he didn’t pause her show before he changed the channel—but she simply watches as he selects a local news and weather station. It’s in the middle of a commercial break.

  “Something wrong?” she asks.

  “Not yet.”

  She glances at the curtain over the sliding glass door, at me, and then back at the TV. The commercial break ends, and their heightened interest in the program leaves me puzzled. The female news anchor speaks about the success of Music@ThePark’s first few events. A brief piece on local election results. Then they cut to the weather. The announcer points to images on the display and predicts a storm.

  “I knew it,” Ice says. A water droplet falls from his hair and leaves a dark spot on his shirt.

  Night sighs in apparent agreement, but I’m lost even as the announcer continues to describe the upcoming “unusual weather event.” It’s expected to bring high winds, torrential rain, and sporadic lightning with low temperatures ranging from the mid-60s to low 70s.

  I leave the couch and pull open the thick blackout curtain over the sliding glass door. The sky is clear and blue. Not a single cloud in sight. Warmth soaks into my skin through the glass.

  “You don’t believe it?” Ice asks.

  I glance over my shoulder. He’s watching me with a dry smile and passive eyes. More water drips from his hair.

  Frowning, I draw the curtain shut. “But the weather is so nice.”

  As I return to the couch, Ice passes the remote to Night. I meet his gaze and bring the throw pillow back into my lap so my hands have somewhere to be.

  “I hate the rain,” he says, his smile rather fixed.

  Ah.

  Night reminds him that rain is good for the earth, and I parrot something I read in an article a few months ago that said California has experienced drought conditions for several years now, and his expression softens ever so slightly.

  “I am aware,” he says.

  Five full days of rain, though? It’s not supposed to start for a couple days, but there’s a twenty percent chance of rain tomorrow evening. If Ice dislikes rain, maybe...

  “Hey,” I say.

  The overt curiosity in his eyes when he glances over catches me by surprise. My heart races, and my brain forgets how to form coherent thoughts.

  “We should go out tonight,” I stammer.

  “Oh?” He blinks. “Just the two of us?”

  Nodding stiffly, I feel the inexplicable need to justify myself. “Before the rain starts, you know? I think...it would be nice?”

  Night grimaces from the other loveseat, but I slap a smile on my face for Ice’s sake. She tears her gaze away and focuses on the TV instead, where something quite exciting is going down.

  “Before the rain?” he asks, laughing slightly longer than I feel he should. Then he smiles with bright eyes. “Of course. Where shall we go?”

  Uh—

  Where should we go?

  I didn’t pack my new plum cocktail dress because I’m an idiot, and I only have one decently cute outfit in my duffel, so we can’t go anywhere fancy. Unless I borrow something from Night? Aah... I want to wear that dress out somewhere eventually, but now...

  What have I done?

  “I have an idea,” he says. Thank god one of us isn’t completely hopeless. “How does Aquarius sound?”

  “The seafood place? That’s fine.”

  He grins and stands from the couch. “We’ll go at six.”

  I offer a thumbs up, and he leaves the den. A door closes in the hallway, and I finally draw a full breath. Night is still watching the TV but
honestly looks a little embarrassed. I’m not mad.

  “I’ll talk to him eventually.”

  “I don’t blame you for being nervous,” she says, her delicate tone unable to mask the underlying dryness. “He can be...difficult to speak with, but you need to have this conversation. It’s getting painful to watch.”

  I am aware.

  Rose said something similar when I messaged her last night. Something like, This is so sad. Rip the damn band-aid off already.

  I know I need to tell Ice how I feel and ask him how he really feels about me. I can’t let him ignore my feelings anymore. That technically wasn’t part of the forget what happened deal.

  “Maybe over dinner,” I say lamely.

  Night pauses her show, leaving the muffled music in Smoke’s bedroom behind us the only sound.

  “Jayde, listen.” When our eyes meet, her expression is level and strangely intimidating. “Ice cares about you in his own way—I know that—but he also turned your life upside down without any regard for your feelings when he told you about immortals, so you deserve to hear that from him directly.”

  I frown. “It sounds like he’s dense when it comes to this sort of thing?”

  “Surprisingly so, I’m afraid—either that or he’s in denial.”

  I look away, and my hand reaches for the River Sapphire.

  Turns out, I’m not great at dealing with my emotions either. Since I haven’t had much luck figuring Ice out, and it took getting drunk for me to say anything to him. I just want to know how he feels about me.

  But I guess I can start by telling him how I feel.

  NIGHT CLIPS A FLUFFY silk marigold in my hair. I’m not sure it’s the headpiece I would have picked, but she insisted.

  I’m just happy she offered to hang out while I got ready. Her advice was constructive, and she let me borrow a pair of ballet flats because they match my outfit better than my new boots.

  “You’re cute,” she says.

  “Thanks.”

  She reassures me that I don’t look like a desperate teenager, but I still pause to check my reflection in the dressing table mirror. The cool yellow flower does compliment the various teals in my muslin dress. She obviously knows what she’s talking about.