“How’s your week?” he asks, unwrapping a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit from the local deli that he must have picked up before school.
I shrug. “It’s okay, busy with some tests. How about you?”
“Just peachy.” He grins through a bite. “But we have to stay late at practice tonight, have some extra drills today or some shit. Everett is the assistant coach running our unit now, and he’s a total dick. The guy hates me. Clearly.” Logan throws me a side-eye.
My cheeks heat up, and I know they must be at least pink. “About that … that wasn’t supposed to happen. I was really caught off guard. It was rude for it to happen in front of you.”
We haven’t talked about what Everett did at the diner, and he also has no idea that Everett kissed me again on the street.
Logan just gives me a good-natured shrug. “People have histories, I get that. It seems complicated, and not so fun. Me? I’m fun. I won’t put too much pressure on you, and I think you’re pretty damn special, Kennedy. So, if you want to keep hanging out, I’ll be here.”
I am a real idiot. Here is a handsome, kind guy who gets along with my friends and doesn’t have any demons hiding in his closet, for all I know. I should say yes, that I want to hang out with him. In my final months before leaving Brentwick, I should be looking for a fun, maybe sexy time with someone who won’t grow attached.
Even though all of that might be true, my heart isn’t interested in logic.
It’s invested in Everett Brock, rational thought be damned.
23
Kennedy
I’m not sure what lures me to the woods behind my house, but my restless brain won’t sleep and this has always been the solution.
After they came to tell us that Everett was presumed dead, I spent many nights out in the trees, walking the familiar path to the tree house that the owner’s long before my parents had built for their children. It was a hideout, a sanctuary, and in our later years, Rachel, Bianca and I would sneak out to meet here if one of us was going through something. And since they’re at Everdeen without me this weekend, on account of my total lack of excitement to step foot there, I need a hideout of my own.
Technically, it’s not anywhere close to my backyard. My parents barely remember that it’s here, it’s so far into the forest. If they knew I was traipsing almost half a mile into the wooded area behind our house, they’d be seriously pissed off.
I’m no longer afraid, though, as the tree house and the woods around it have kind of become my place of solace. Just like Batman has his Bat Cave, and Superman has his Fortress of Solitude, Kennedy Dover has her shabby tree house in the suburban Jersey forest. It’s nothing fancy, though I’ve kept a blanket and some pillows and a flashlight up there since I began making frequent night visit, but it’s mine. In every aspect of my life, I’m expected to be on. Vivacious, intelligent, focused. I’m the girl everyone expects to have a plan or a goal in everything I do. Out here, I can let it all go. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I let myself dare to dream about leaving it all behind, going on the road and never looking back. I don’t have to answer to anyone in the tree house, least of all, myself.
When I reach the large oak that houses the fourteen-by-ten wood structure high in its branches, only the sounds of crickets keep me company. I’m about to ascend the ladder, feeling for the familiar hunks of wood nailed into the tree. I’ve climbed this dozens of times in the dark, and even more in the light.
A hand snakes around my upper arm just as I reach for the first plank and wrenches me back.
“Oh my God!” I scream, fear slamming into me like a tractor trailer.
The figure clamps its hand down on my mouth, pulling me into it. My heart hammers against my ribcage, and I literally see my life flash before my eyes. This is it, I’m going to die. My body will be left out here, all because I couldn’t sleep and felt too secure in my suburban town.
The fight-or-flight instinct in me both kick in as I realize I need to escape. Wriggling, I struggle against the body, but it’s too overpowering. I might be scrappy, and against another person I’d have good odds, but this mysterious lurker is far too strong. I can barely move an inch, that’s how tight of a hold it has on me.
“Stop fighting me. Be quiet,” the voice commands in my ear.
Instantly, the blood drains from my face; I feel it, but my relieved breath whooshes out onto the palm blocking my mouth. In one second, I’m both calmed and terrified.
Because I’m not here alone. I’m not going to be left for dead. No, I’m here with Everett.
“What are you doing out here?” My voice cracks on the question, and I sound half insane.
“Trying not to be convicted of assault on a teenage girl, if you’d keep your voice down,” he clips out, but doesn’t release me.
I’m acutely aware, at this moment, of our proximity to each other. My back is pressed to his front, all the muscles he now sports rigid against my limbs as they hold me. His hand covers my mouth, but at an odd angle, so that the tips of his fingers caress the corner of my lips. At first, I’m not sure he realizes he’s stroking his thumb against my bottom one.
Involuntarily, my back arches at the tiny gesture of exploration, my butt pressing into his groin. An electrical charge ignites between us, whipping through the air and pebbling goose bumps up my skin. I wore a sweater and Ugg boots out here, aware of the chill, but now I’m burning under the restricting clothing.
Everett’s breath is husky in my ear, my vision still straight ahead at the tree, with the fort lingering above us.
“What are you doing out here?” he accuses, not letting go.
I stay stock still. “This is my backyard, so I shouldn’t have to answer that. But, if you must know, I come out here when I can’t sleep.”
“Seems like an awfully dangerous thing to do. Any murderer or creep could be waiting to pounce.”
“Are you calling yourself a murderer? Or just a creep?” I throw back, annoyed at how turned-on I am.
He’s been nothing but callous and awful since he got home, something I’ve tried to dismiss. But now he’s messing with my alone time, at my tree house, and I’m tired of the antics. Plus, he hasn’t bothered to call or see me since we rocked the shit out of each other’s worlds with that kiss, so I’m extra pissed.
“I’ve killed people in cold blood, shot them right in the head. I guess that makes me a murderer.” His voice takes on an odd note I can’t place.
That should chill my blood, but it only makes my heart weep. What’s become of the boy next door?
“Up you go.” He flourishes a hand, those pearly whites sneaking out as he smirks. Or maybe it’s a snarl.
All I know is, his smile hasn’t looked the same since he came home.
I should tell him to leave me alone, to go back to his house. Part of me protests the idea of getting into an enclosed space with him. It seems like we’ve been simmering for a while now, and if push comes to shove, we’ll boil over. I’m not sure I want to know what happens then.
Especially after the last time. We had the most perfect of first—well, okay, technically second—kisses, and he’s now looking at me like I’m dirt again.
At the same time, though, I’d be a damn liar if I wasn’t jittery with excitement at the prospect of being close to him. Goddamn my foolish heart.
“Why are you out here?” I say as I crest the landing, pulling myself up onto the weathered floorboards.
“I guess I’m looking for the same thing you are.” Everett pulls himself up behind me and looks out at the dark forest.
“I don’t want to play games anymore,” I whisper, because my heart can’t take this. “Either we … do this. Or we don’t.”
He turns, life dancing in his eyes. Sparks of energy light as he stalks toward me.
“I don’t want to play. I don’t want to not play. But I can’t help it.”
Before I can argue with him, tell him to stop fucking with my mind and heart, Everett crushes his lips to m
ine. And I know what I just said, what I’ve felt for the week he hasn’t called or bothered to explain the kiss in town square.
But this is us we’re talking about. Something I’ve wanted for so long. And while we’re out here in the dark, my shame and rejection can take a back seat if no one is here to witness it.
Everett engulfs me, walking me backward as he kisses me until my back collides with the rough wood wall of the tree house. My tongue invades his mouth, the kiss deepening to a passionate, crazed level that I know won’t stop like the one in town square.
I pull his sweatshirt up and over his head, the sound of Everett hissing through his teeth as I graze his naked flesh hitting my ears like the best kind of music. It’s dark, the tree house barely letting any moonlight in, and I can hardly see a thing. But my fingers rove, hitting muscles after muscle, feeling his skin in a way I’ve only dreamed about.
When I get to his back, that’s when I feel them. The divots, the raised scars, the long, jagged sections that I’m sure stand out in the daylight. I’ve tried to put this part of his homecoming to the back of my mind, where I don’t have to address it. But I saw it the other night in town square, and I’m feeling it now.
The boy next door was tortured, maybe to within an inch of his life, and it’s no wonder he can’t open up to anyone. I want to hold him, just cradle him in my arms.
Just then, Everett’s lips and stubble work their way down my cheek, to my jaw, nipping and kissing a path to this spot behind my earlobe that—
“Oh my God!” I all but shriek.
The sensation he just elicited is one I’ve never felt before, and it hits me square between the thighs.
“You taste like fucking heaven,” he growls, doing something sinful to my body that reduces it to a puddle.
But I can’t fully give in.
“You didn’t call.” I breathe, my head spinning with his lips on my neck.
Everett pulls back, his green eyes blazing as he drinks me in. “I can’t think straight when it comes to you.”
Before I can say another word, his lips are back on mine, and those large hands are flirting with the hem of my sweater. Arching into him, until I can’t get any closer, I give him silent permission to take it off. Before he pulls back to remove it, I’m pressed against the large, rigid form of his arousal, so clear and present between us.
It’s big, and I know I have no experience, but I wonder idly just how that would fit inside me.
Slowly, so slowly that I want to scream at him to tear it off, Everett lifts my sweater from my torso, then over my head. We press together, our bare upper-halves, in the freezing cold.
But I’m so, so hot. Burning up against him, as he curses under his breath and fills his palms with my bra cups.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he bites it out like it pains him.
All I can do is blink, he’s reduced me to a mindless, needy thing. I press up, kissing him as our arms twine around each other. With each lap of a tongue, nibble of a lip, I’m brought closer to the brink of something I can’t quite describe.
As if he knows the cure, Everett stops us, grabbing his sweatshirt and laying it on the wooden plank floor. Then he maneuvers me until I’m lying down, the muscles of his bicep bulging as he lies on his side hovering above me.
“Do you trust me?” A lock of golden hair flops onto his forehead, making him look even more devastatingly gorgeous.
I should say no. I should say that he’s been sending me up and down like a roller coaster for weeks. But I don’t. Because I do trust him.
Gulping, I nod. I can’t possibly speak right now.
His hand crosses the boundary of the waistline of my black leggings, moving down as my heart thunders in my chest. I squirm, so turned-on that I can feel the wetness coating my thighs and between my legs. I should be embarrassed, or self-conscious, but all I feel right now is an arousal so sharp, I need relief.
Everett looks like he’s in agony, his head dropping to my chest, brushing kisses up and down my cleavage.
When he finally reaches my center, one finger sliding up and down my crease, I almost explode. My hips buck as electric shocks vibrate through my body. Everett brings his mouth back to mine, kissing me until I see stars. As I squirm against his hand, I don’t realize he pushes a finger into me until a sharp pain makes me cry out into his mouth.
“It’s okay, give it a minute.” He stills every part of his body.
The pain consumes me for a minute, until it starts to fade, the edges fizzling into pleasure. I seek his lips, trying to tell him it’s okay to keep going. He takes the hint, stroking inside me. My God, is this why everyone chases these encounters? I feel so good, so free.
Everett moves his finger faster, plunging into me as he kisses me senseless. When he adds another finger, something happens. It’s as if a trigger is pulled, something inside me snaps and fires.
I can’t catch my breath, my limbs won’t stop shaking, I might be crying or cursing but I can’t hear a sound my mind is so gone. Everett is chanting my name, telling me to let it all go. I follow the feeling, ride the high of it, until my vision begins to come back.
Holy crap. So, that’s an orgasm.
As I come down, I realize the milestone I’ve just crossed. I’m no longer a girl, one who wonders about sex and experiences and men. I’ve joined the club, the one where things become all that more dangerous but all that more fun.
Reaching for Everett’s pants, which are now tented to the point that I can see down them and the obvious bulge peeking out of his waistband, my mouth goes dry. I want to do this; I want it to be good for him, but I have no idea what I’m doing.
He puts his hand over mine. “Kennedy. This was about you. I’ve dreamed about seeing you like that for … Christ, for a long time. Tonight was about you.”
His words are more gentle and compassionate than I’ve heard from him in the entirety of his return to Brentwick. Here I am, thinking a monster is slowly pulling my heart into the darkness, along with his own, when he decides to surprise me.
Twisted, lonely Everett is one I can almost hate, one I can guard myself against.
But I have absolutely no chance against the boy who just gave me an unselfish gift. I have no shot if he starts speaking to me, treating me in the tender way he is now.
And I don’t want one.
24
Everett
Another muscle pops somewhere in my jaw, and I know that if I continue to grind my teeth during this game, I’ll lose a molar.
But goddammit, he’s looking at her like she’s a piece of meat and his next meal is a juicy, center cut steak.
“MYERS!” I explode. “Get your fucking helmet on, you’re going in.”
No mind that he’s not a very good player and we’re down by two touchdowns, but if he doesn’t get his eyes off of Kennedy, I’m going to fucking uppercut him.
It’s been a week since I made her come in the tree house, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. The way she looked as she unraveled, the endless amount of time we spent kissing, how I freely got to touch her after so many years of trying not to.
Fuck, it was heaven. And not something I’m sure I can repeat. Because what happens if I let her in, and she truly sees my soul. What happens when I hurt her, which is inevitable, what then? Kennedy has always been the girl I wanted to end up with. And if it ends, what will I have left?
It’s why I haven’t seen her. Why I haven’t texted. I’m sure it looks like I’m an asshole, hell I am an asshole. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to stand here while Logan Myers makes fuck-me eyes at her and she smiles back.
One of our coach’s calls a timeout, and I stalk over to where she stands on the sidelines, in formation with the other cheerleaders.
I want to grab her arm, drag her to my car and kiss the hell out of her, but that would look pretty bad to this crowd. Plus, my knifed-up hero banner was discovered in the town square, and people have been asking questions. I
don’t need more attention thrown my way.
“Can we talk?” I bite out, standing close to her.
She keeps up her peppy smile, but I see the panic in her big brown eyes. “Not right now, I’m cheering.”
“I don’t care.” My voice is all restraint.
“Everett—”
“This is not a request. Come with me now, or I’ll put you over my shoulder again.”
An audible sigh leaves her lips, and she turns to talk to Rachel for a brief moment before shrugging at me and motioning to lead the way.
Without an explanation to my other coaches, my position is purely for show anyway so who cares if I disappear in the middle of a game, I make my way around the bleachers. You’d think there would be people making out down here, or doing drugs. Typical high school shit. But all that’s there to witness our conversation is some old football practice pads and a couple empty Gatorade coolers.
And once we’re back here, alone, I get all up in her space.
“If he doesn’t stop looking at you, I’m going to rip out his throat,” I snarl, so close to her lips that I can taste the cherry seltzer she was drinking.
Kennedy rolls her eyes so hard, I fear they might not sit right in their sockets afterward. “Cut the shit. Logan and I are friends. And last time I checked, I can smile at whoever I want.”
My fists shake at my sides. “You don’t want to test me on this, Kennedy.”
Before I know what’s happening, she shoves me. Hard. Anger radiates from her body, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“You don’t want me. You’ve never truly wanted me. You talk a big game and let your ego do the walking, but when it really comes down to it, you never commit. For years, I was right there for the taking. I would have been yours in a second if you just snapped your fingers. Hell, I’d have even fallen at your feet when you came home just months ago. But you don’t really want that, do you, Everett? Attention. Validation. That’s what you want. This is more about your bruised soul than it is about wanting to be with me. And that’s just vicious to me, Everett.”
Hometown Heartless Page 12