Sidetracked: Part 1

by S. K. Kelley

  But, honestly, does it matter?

  Has Ice ever shown any indication that what I look like matters to him? Sure, he said he prefers my hair down, but I can’t recall him mentioning my appearance unless prompted, and he waved it off when I wore a casual dress to a formal restaurant. I don’t think he cares about any of this.

  Is that good? Is that bad?

  Ugh. You’re overthinking it again.

  He obviously likes me. He wouldn’t go through all this trouble for me if he didn’t, but we need to have this conversation so we can finally be on the same page.

  “Don’t forget that Ice did this to himself,” Night says brightly. “Don’t feel bad for him for a second.”

  “I feel bad for myself.”

  She laughs, but her eyes are apologetic. “So don’t go easy on him either.”

  “Well... I guess I’ll let you know how it goes?”

  She pats me on the shoulder, and I convince myself to leave her room. Ice is waiting by the door to the garage, wearing a fitted t-shirt and dark jeans, his hair pushed back and his leather jacket slung over one arm. He looks amazing—a little bored, but amazing as always.

  “Ready to go?” he asks.

  “Ready.”

  He opens the door, and I follow him out.

  THE DATE IS GOING FANTASTIC. And nothing like I had planned. The drive to the restaurant was pleasant. Ice didn’t talk much, but that’s typical when he’s driving.

  When we arrived, he opened the passenger door for me, and he smiled as I climbed out of the car. Then he offered me his arm. I don’t know why I laughed, but I did. Though I still placed my hand on his arm, and we walked inside together.

  Since then, I’ve been too nervous to say anything that might ruin the mood, but watching him smile and talk easily as he sits across the table makes me feel pathetic for not speaking up.

  What am I so afraid of? The worst he can do is reject me, and even that wouldn’t be the end of the world.

  Right?

  I sip on my iced tea, still skeptical of his decision to have a rum and coke before dinner. So much for not drinking much, huh?

  But it’s cool.

  Ice is an adult, and it seems like immortals don’t have to worry about moderation the way I clearly do, but the mere thought of alcohol brings a little queasiness with it—just enough discomfort to set me on edge.

  Not that I show it.

  My energy is focused on our innocent, safe conversation and not looking like a complete nervous wreck. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to ask. My mind really is somewhere else.

  But I try to inch closer. I talk about visiting the hair salon with Night. How Carmen joked that I should cut my hair short. He is not impressed, and I can relate. I talk about the teahouse and how I wish my iced tea tasted like the milk oolong I drank there.

  Ice listens with a passive interest—a passive amusement—that gives me a rush of determination. Then he smiles, his eyes darting aside for an instant, long enough to catch my full attention.

  “I’m curious,” he says. “Do you enjoy staying with me?”

  “Um...”

  What does he mean? Do I enjoy staying with him? Like, in general? Or at his parents’ house? Or what? This is the first thing he’s said all evening that stuck out in any real way. Is he going somewhere with it? How should I answer?

  I don’t know.

  “Staying at your house is nice and all, considering, but...”

  “You don’t like it there?” he asks.

  “Oh, no. That’s not what I’m saying, I just—” What are you saying, Jayde? “—miss my bed. I guess.”

  His smile quirks up on one side. “Is that all? My previous offer stands: You’re free to take mine.”

  Ah—!

  I laugh and straighten out the silverware on the table in front of me. “I don’t know. I’m alright in the den. I already feel like I’m imposing as things are, so...”

  “You’re hardly imposing.”

  “Ha...”

  I raise my glass to take a drink, providing an excuse to not speak, but I haven’t forgotten why I came here in the first place.

  I was supposed to be upfront with him. I was supposed to ask for answers—demand them if I have to. I want to know how he feels. What he thinks. I need to know, but—

  “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” he says. He watches the ice cubes swirling in his short glass. Then, with a smile, his eyes flick up to meet mine. “Another convenience of feline form.”

  Why push it when I already said I’m fine?

  We stare each other down for a moment. I say nothing while he takes a drink and waits for my answer. But how am I supposed to feel about any of this? He’s just trying to be nice. Maybe he understands how anxious I’ve been and wants to help.

  “Fine. I’ll stay in your room if it makes you feel better.”

  “Me?” With a laugh, he sets his glass down and rests his chin in one hand, his elbow on the table. “You’re comfortable at the house, then?”

  “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

  A flicker of recognition. “Right.”

  Right.

  Glancing away, I clear my throat. “But I don’t think I’ll stay much longer. I mean, I’m not supposed to leave the cottage empty. The complex manager will notice and make a fuss.”

  “Right.”

  Right.

  “Honestly, my roommate thinks this whole thing is weird.” I sigh and drop my hands into my lap. “She knows I’ve been staying with you guys, but I can’t tell her everything, so... It’s probably better if I go back soon. So she doesn’t get worried.”

  “Is she worried?” he asks.

  The curiosity in his voice surprises me, and his eyes reflect the same emotion. He’s genuinely interested.

  But, once again, I’m not sure how to answer.

  We’re in public. Sure, I’ve talked about immortals in public before, but this restaurant is busier than the others we’ve gone to and less chaotic than Riverside Park. I’m still afraid of breaking the Secrecy Agreement by mistake.

  “I don’t know if she’s worried, exactly,” I say. “But everything is more complicated now, you know? I don’t know what to tell her sometimes.”

  “I suppose. Friends can be a pain.”

  At least he seems to understand.

  I brush my bangs out of my eyes and smile.

  Maybe it’s fine if I wait until after dinner. Maybe I should enjoy this moment of normalcy.

  forty

  WHEN WE GET BACK TO the house, Ice shuts himself in his room to do...something while I continue into the den to pack my bag.

  Night stands from the loveseat and hits me with a so, how’d it go? look. All I can do is shrug. Dinner was lovely. But I failed to ask Ice anything of importance.

  And now I’m moving into his bedroom.

  Ha!

  “I know I just need to get it over with,” I mutter, shoving my phone charger into my duffel bag. “But that’s easier said than done. You get it, right?”

  Smoke snorts from his spot on the far loveseat. “Oh, yeah. We all know that guy’s impossible to talk to.”

  Difficult. Impossible.

  The adjectives keep getting worse.

  I heft my bag over one shoulder. The joint twinges—a strange reminder that I hit the floor a bit too hard a few days ago. Maybe I packed too much.

  Night turns away from her twin and sighs as she approaches me. “He owes you an explanation, Jayde.”

  “I know.”

  I grip the strap of my duffel tightly, avoiding her gaze. She adjusts the silk marigold in my hair before planting her hands on my shoulders.

  “I’m serious,” she says. “I’m at a complete loss here, but you deserve to know why he dragged you into this. Dating. The secret. The Human Immortal Program. You need to talk. You deserve to know what he really thinks about you.”

  “Ha... You’re freaking me out a little.”

  She averts her eyes, and her hands fa
ll away. “Sorry. I just— Ugh. He makes me so...angry sometimes. Please talk to him. Now. Whatever he says, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  It’ll be fine? Whatever he says?

  “Calm down.” Smoke laughs. “Y’all are making me nervous.”

  I cough. And Night sighs, peering down the empty hallway.

  “Well, as I said before, I hope you get what you want out of this conversation.” With another glance at me, she flashes a smile. “Tell me if you need someone to beat him up for you. Perhaps we could call Carmen over.”

  I laugh, and some of the tension leaves my shoulders. “Alright, thanks. For everything.”

  She nods, and I take the first step. Another step. Then I’m standing in front of Ice’s bedroom door—soon to be the room I’ll stay in—and I knock.

  No answer, but he knew I was coming, so I let myself in.

  He’s standing in front of the desk with his back to me. Messing with his phone. His other hand on the desktop. With the way he focuses on the screen without looking up to acknowledge me, I worry he’s in the middle of something important.

  Though, it doesn’t really matter.

  I close the door and drop my duffel bag at the foot of the bed. Another moment of quiet watching, and he still doesn’t glance up from his phone. So I clear my throat.

  “Yes, Jayde?”

  He pockets his phone and moves a few sheets of paper from the top of the desk to a drawer. He looks busy, but I ask, and he says he isn’t, so I go for it.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  We’ve been talking all evening, so asking sounds weird, but here I am.

  “Of course,” he says, still tidying his desk. “What is it?”

  Just ask. Don’t think.

  I take a deep breath and force my hands to relax. “I want to know exactly why you told me about immortals.”

  He turns to face me. Golden evening light streams through the window and accentuates both his unreasonable good looks and his mild confusion.

  “Does it make any difference why I told you?” he asks.

  “Well—” I hesitate, caught off guard by his response. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been wondering.”

  “Do you regret your decision?”

  “No—”

  My eyes dart up from the floor to find him watching me, his head tipped slightly, and his expression calm but expectant. My fleeting panic fades, but...

  Ugh.

  “That’s not it.” I step closer and mess with my bracelet to keep my hands busy. “I don’t regret getting involved with immortals—not at all—but I can’t stop wondering why you want me around. I’m human, and you’re not, and it doesn’t seem like immortals do this sort of thing, so I guess I don’t understand...”

  My voice trails off, and he takes a deep, thoughtful breath. After studying my face a moment longer, he shrugs. Shrugs!

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Well, there is a reason, right?”

  His continued passive silence and unreadable face only serve to frustrate me more. Is this what Night meant?

  “Why did you tell me about immortals?” I ask again, my voice rising. “Why did you talk to me in the grocery store? Or offer to be my sponsor? Why did you do any of it? If you want me to stick around, you can’t keep doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “This,” I say, gesturing vaguely. “I just want to know why you want me around. That’s all.”

  Irritation flashes in his bright eyes. “There is no mysterious reason, Jayde, and looking for one is a waste of time. Why are my intentions so important to you in the first place?”

  Are you kidding me?

  “I just—”

  I glance out the window to my left. The curtains are partially drawn. My eyes focus on the strawberries on the far side of the backyard. Tiny white flowers and red dots in a lush planter.

  Please don’t cry, Jayde. Calm down.

  “I want answers,” I say. “Because I feel like... Well, I feel like I don’t know why I’m here anymore.”

  He frowns. I stand my ground as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Then he sighs, his expression muted.

  “You’re interesting,” he says—the same thing he said on the Fourth of July right before I kissed him. “But I fail to understand what you hope to get out of interrogating me.”

  My face flushes hot.

  Interrogating him? Is that what he thinks I’m doing?

  What am I supposed to say to that?

  I’m just so...frustrated. So upset. And I’m not even sure who to be mad at anymore. Him, for acting like this? Me, for letting it go on so long without saying anything?

  “Ice, I—”

  The room falls silent. We stare at each other for some time. Five seconds. Ten seconds. He searches my face, and the words are on the tip of my tongue, but I...can’t.

  Then his eyes widen, but only for an instant.

  “Oh, is this about—?” As he cuts himself off, his posture relaxes. His face softens, and he smiles. “You’re in love with me, right?”

  Love?

  Am I—?

  The warmth drains from my cheeks as my chest fills with an uncomfortable tightness. I can’t tear my eyes away from his—that expression of discordant patience. I’ve been struggling to verbalize my feelings for weeks, but he said it so casually? Just like that?

  Why?

  “Ah... I don’t know if I—” I bite my lip, finally averting my eyes. “But, um, I guess it was something like that.”

  Ugh! That’s as vague an answer as he usually gives me. Why is this so hard?

  He sighs. “Yes, I am well aware of your feelings for me, Jayde. You’re rather easy to read.”

  Even now, he won’t mention the kiss?

  Does he seriously think I was too drunk to remember?

  Never mind.

  The conversation is headed more-or-less in the right direction now—for better or worse—so I may as well spit it out. He clearly understands how I feel. There’s no point in beating around the bush anymore.

  Get to the point.

  Don’t let him mess with you.

  Don’t go easy on him.

  Okay.

  Our eyes meet, and I don’t look away.

  “What I really wanted to know is—” I pause to take a breath between words. “—how you feel about me. I guess.”

  He takes a deep breath too, but he remains quiet and glances around like he needs time to think. Like it’s something he hasn’t considered or isn’t sure how to answer. But my question is simple enough, isn’t it? He either has feelings for me or he doesn’t. That’s how it works, right? So why can’t he give me a straight answer?

  Is this bad?

  What will I do if he turns me down? After everything he’s done? Sponsoring me? Giving me the River Sapphire? Letting me stay here for days on end?

  Ugh... I might cry. I seriously might cry.

  Surely, I can’t stay here if he rejects me outright. It would be too hard. Too awkward. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but I don’t want to force myself to hang around him if we feel so differently about each other. I don’t know if I love him, but I’m not sure Ice is someone I can be just friends with.

  So, if that’s how it’s gonna be, what will I...?

  A fleeting frown as he glances away. A few tense seconds pass. Then he offers me a small, tight smile, his eyes betraying unease as they meet mine again.

  “Do you want an honest answer?” he asks.

  The last thread of hope I was clinging to snaps, and, for an instant, I want to say no. If saying no meant I’d hear what I want to hear—what I wish Ice would say more than anything...

  But I can’t say no.

  What’s the point if I let him lie to me?

  “Of course,” I say. My voice wavers, but I power through. “Of course, I want the truth.”

  He nods, and his expression shifts. His overall posture remains relaxed, but his mouth forms a soft and unc
omfortable frown. Eyes cast ever so slightly downward. He seems...disappointed, almost.

  Oh, no...

  “Well, ah—” He clears his throat, and his face softens further as our eyes meet again. “I’m sorry, Jayde. I do like you, but I don’t feel the same way.”

  No?

  “I’ve never thought of you—or what I’m doing with you—in terms of love or romance or anything like that.”

  Never?

  I grit my teeth. “What about what you said to Carmen?”

  “What about it?”

  “You were messing with me this whole time?” My voice rises as my panic swells. “Is this a game to you?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  He blinks, his frown more pronounced. “Are you—?”

  But I stop listening.

  The moment he acknowledged my feelings for him, I knew he would say he doesn’t feel the same, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. My face is on fire. My heart pounds in my chest, which feels so tight it’s hard to breathe normally, and my head fills with nervous static.

  If I’m gonna cry, if it’s inevitable, maybe I should leave before I start. He doesn’t need to watch me break down. Rocking back on my heels, standing in front of the person I hoped—

  Ugh.

  My duffel bag is right behind me. Everything is already packed inside. I could have Night drive me home right now.

  Damn it... My eyes are already watering.

  I turn my head, only a little, to glance back at the door. But Ice stops me with a sharp motion. One hand lands on my shoulder. The other touches my chin, sliding through my hair to rest at the base of my neck.

  And he pulls me into a kiss.

  He kissed me.

  Is he close enough to hear my racing heart?

  Can he tell I stopped breathing?

  But, even with the roles reversed, it’s the same as the Fourth of July. Our lips pressed together. His body tense. His eyes wide and bewildered. Like he doesn’t know what he did or why he did it. Like he has no idea what’s happening at all.

  And I don’t either.

  But I can’t move.