I can’t focus on it, though. It’s hopeless. I like him too much.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I brush my arm against his. It’s only a tiny amount of contact, but it sends a crackling static feeling through me. He keeps watching. I stop paying attention to the movie, to focus instead on how close I am to him. It feels as if time has slowed down.
Our arms are almost touching, and we’re nearly skin to skin.
I keep watching.
I brush my arm against his again. He doesn’t move.
I do it again, and then he moves his arm out, so it’s resting against mine. I glance at him, and he’s focused on the movie.
“Hey,” I say.
He swallows. “Hey. Did you decide, is this okay?”
“Yeah, I like it,” I say.
“Cool, I like it, too. How about this? Tell me if I go too far.”
His foot moves across and touches mine. I tilt my foot and touch his. And all of a sudden it’s on, we’re bumping and touching each other.
I like it so much.
I can’t do this.
“Sorry,” I say, my voice coming out a little raspy. “Stop. We can’t.”
He goes still. “Dude, talk to me. What do you want?”
“I just … I keep going from wanting to be friends to not wanting to see you at all, then wanting to be, like, more than friends with you. And I can’t figure out what the smart thing to do is.”
He moves away, and his foot goes still. “Okay. I’m really confused. Do you want me to stop?”
“I don’t know. I like this. It’s just, I think kissing is too far, but urgh. I want to; I really want to. But I feel like it’s a mistake. I’m sorry if I’m being frustrating. I just don’t want to do the wrong thing. I still don’t know how much I trust you.”
“You can trust me. I swear, I’m not here as a Donovan. I’m here as your friend.”
“Okay, I get that.”
“Then what makes you feel like kissing is the wrong thing?”
I push my thumb into my palm. “It’s just what my instincts are telling me. Even if you don’t have some scheme, it can’t end well, right?”
“Okay. I’m getting the impression that you like me, and you like fooling around, but you don’t want to get into a relationship, because of who we are.”
“Yes, exactly! That’s, like, totally it!”
“Right. Well, what if we just say that we’re friends who sometimes do stuff? We’re not dating or anything. We’re just two guys … trying stuff out. No pressure, and we can stop at any time. Would that be okay with you?”
“Like, friends with benefits?” I ask.
“I mean, yeah?”
Would that be okay? It doesn’t mean I’m being any more disloyal to Dad and my family than I would be if we were just friends. Nor am I putting my family in danger. Jason already knows I like guys, so even if he did tell his family about this, it wouldn’t matter.
“I think so,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I need more than that. I don’t want to do anything with you unless you’re fully sure. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”
“Okay,” I say. “Then I’m in. Friends with benefits it is.”
“In that case, screw the movie.”
“Yeah, screw you!” I say to the TV. “I can’t believe I just said that. You know that’s my favorite movie, right? That’d be like you saying screw you to Skyrim.”
“Trust me, I know, and I appreciate it.”
He laughs, and puts his hand flat on my chest, and just holds it there.
I chew my lip. “What are you doing?”
“Touching you,” he says.
“Okay.”
He slides his hand under my shirt, until his hand is in the same spot as it was before, but under, so his palm is on my bare skin. I let myself stop thinking so much and just enjoy how it feels to be touched.
I get really into it.
“You like this?” he asks, his voice low.
“Uh-uh.”
“God you’re cute.”
He slides his hand out from under, and brings it up to my face. Then he leans down and kisses me. I open my mouth, and tease my tongue against his. He’s moving his mouth slowly, and I try to mirror him. It feels really good.
He pulls back.
“Good?” I ask.
“So good.”
“Should we take our shirts off? We don’t have to go further than that, but, do you want to?”
“Definitely.” He tears off his shirt, and then he frantically takes mine off me.
We take a second to look at each other, both shirtless. He’s so perfect. I run my hands down his chest, to his stomach. I touch his abs, feeling the individual ridges of muscle. They feel different from what I was expecting. More solid. I didn’t even know a stomach could feel like this.
He knots his hand through my hair, and for a second I think I should stop.
I’m not sure if I can be just friends with benefits with him.
I think I like him too much for that.
When he leans down, I let him kiss me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I’m at Jimmy’s, sitting at a booth near the back, by myself. I’m thinking about Jason, trying to figure out what I’m going to do about the epic shitstorm I’ve found myself in.
Being friends with benefits with him is never going to work.
I know that.
I like him way too much, and I’m way too attracted to him.
In fact, I’m genuinely worried about us getting so close and going so far that when it all falls to pieces, I’ll be ruined. I really can see us getting that close. Or at least my liking him that much.
Let’s be real, though.
Even with the risk, deep down I know I’m not going to stop seeing him.
I don’t know if I could stop, even if I wanted to.
The bar is dim, like always. Sara is drinking a Scotch alone at the bar, and Grandma is talking to Barbie. Dad’s upstairs. It’s his first night back.
Ending things with Jason now would be a really good call. I know that.
And I want to be smart. I really do.
But hanging out with him … it’s everything to me. I like it way more than anything else in my life. I can’t give it up.
I swirl my drink and take a sip.
It’s just Coke, but I’m hoping people think it’s got bourbon or something in it. I feel like drinking just Coke is too childish, and for some reason I care about that right now. Not that anyone is giving me much attention. Cassidy isn’t here tonight, so I’m back to sitting by myself, waiting for the night to be over.
The bar looks quieter than normal. It seems like a lot of allied families have sat this night out. Maybe Cassidy’s theory was right. That this exodus is because of the Friend Scheme. Like the Mackenzies, who we’re allied with because they are the best at supplying weaponry. Or the Davidsons, who help run the illegal gambling rings we have set up around the city. They’re not here, and we need them.
I guess that’s paranoia for you, though.
It’s not rational by definition.
I just wish Dad would listen to me. He can’t see this because he’s so sure he knows everything. But us losing allies is really bad. We need them, even if he thinks we don’t. I know in my gut that he should listen to me, but I don’t think he’s ever going to.
It makes me wonder if I’d like being a part of this world a little more if I were at least somewhat respected.
I’m not, though, and I don’t think I ever will be.
I’ll always be Little Matty. The black sheep. The only person who listens to me is Jason.
I …
I pause, because Dad appears on the steps that lead up to the top level of the bar. He winces, then presses his lips together. He’s wearing a suit now, so the gauze on his stomach is no longer obvious. The bartender turns the music down, and the bar falls silent.
“Family meeting,” says Dad, his
voice filling the room. “Millers only, upstairs, five minutes.”
He turns and slowly walks back up, having to use the handrail for support.
There’s a lull, and then chatter breaks up among the bar patrons. The music turns back on. Most of the people from allied families look seriously pissed. I get that. Nobody likes being left out. They’re probably wondering why they even showed up.
I finish my drink, then stand up. Luke is at the bar, talking to a girl with strawberry-blond hair. I’ve seen her around a few times, but I don’t know her name. I probably should, because I’m expected to know everyone here.
I guess Dad would be fine with his talking to her because he trusts Luke more than he trusts me.
As I walk over, she crosses her arms.
“I’m sorry,” Luke says to her. “I know it sucks.”
“You have no idea,” she says. “And hey, Matt.”
I wave. “Hey.”
“This is Dad’s idea, not mine,” says Luke. “If it were up to me, you’d be in there, too, I promise. He’s just been paranoid lately, because of the scheme.”
She turns away.
Luke touches her arm. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
She finally turns back. “You better.”
He grins, which makes me think he’s going to enjoy making it up to her.
The girl turns around and waves down the bartender.
What is her name? I think it’s S-something. Stacey?
Luke and I cross the bar. Once we’re out of earshot, he huffs.
“That seems to be going well,” I say.
He nods.
“Nice work,” I whisper. “She’s really cute.”
He chuckles. “You’re the only guy I know who’d call her cute.”
“But she is cute.”
“Yeah, but … she’s hot, too. There’s a big difference. Most guys know it.”
I mean, I feel like one of these days Luke is going to stumble face-first right into the truth.
“It’s sweet,” he says. “Sometimes I wonder if there’s a romantic bone in my body. The only bone I have is in my—”
“Stop!” I say. “I so don’t want to hear the end of that.”
He chuckles. “That’s fair.”
Together, we go upstairs.
It’s a long hallway, lined with windows. The wooden floorboards beneath me creaks. If I look out, I can see the parking lot, lit by neon. I think back to when I first got in Jason’s car, and how scared and excited I was.
He still makes me feel that way.
My blood chills. It would’ve been so easy for anyone standing where I am now to see me get in his car. So maybe we were watched. But surely if someone saw, I would’ve gotten in trouble by now.
Luke and I go inside a room to the right. It’s a conference room, with a long table in the middle, surrounded by high-backed chairs. About ten family members are already seated. There’s an unlit fireplace at the head of the room, although I think that’s more for decoration than anything, as I’ve never seen it lit. On the table are glasses of Scotch, a few bottles of red wine, and a bowl filled with fresh fruit, mostly red apples and grapes.
I think I’ve been here maybe three times in total.
I’ve hated it every single time.
Hanging on the wall opposite the fireplace is a portrait of my grandfather. He’s wearing a black suit, and I swear the artist did a great job of capturing his disapproving sneer. I catch Grandma looking at it, her eyes glassy.
I wish I could say I miss him.
But I blame him for the Miller legacy. The darkness and our lies.
Luke and I sit near the head of the table, where Dad is sitting. He has a half-empty glass of Scotch beside him. In the dim light, he looks gaunt. He lost weight while in the hospital and hasn’t put it back on yet, which is even more obvious now that he’s shaved. He’s clearly mad about something. His hands are resting on the dark wood of the table, and one of them is clenched into a fist.
Soon, everyone is seated. Silence falls over the room.
“Now,” says Dad. “Given recent events, I need all of you to promise that what we talk about tonight will not, under any circumstances, leave this room. Not a word, to anyone, do you all understand?”
He glances at me.
Okay, ouch.
But message received.
Everyone nods.
“Good,” he says. He sips his Scotch. “I’ve called this meeting because I’ve come up with a plan to end the war.”
The energy in the room changes. Everyone is now listening intently.
Dad smirks. “I propose that we call a truce.”
There’s an uproar. Almost everyone is shouting, trying to get their opinion in.
I might be the only one not doing that.
Can this really be happening?
Is he going to finally ask for peace?
If a truce happens, there will be nothing keeping Jason and me from being friends, or maybe even escalating.
This would solve everything.
“Quiet,” says Grandma.
And everyone listens. The room stills.
It still feels charged, though.
“Now,” says Dad. “I want you all to know that I have no intention of actually honoring this truce. It’s too late for that. They took my father from me, and they tried to kill me. They need to pay.”
The crowd seems to like this, as the energy changes. They’re on board, I can feel it.
Everyone is but me. For a second I let myself fantasize about a world where Jason and I are allowed to be together.
That was obviously a mistake. Now I just feel down.
“So, what?” asks Luke. “You want to call a truce but lie about it?”
Dad nods. “Let me finish. I propose we call a truce. They will agree. They know we have larger numbers, more funding, and more allies.”
For now.
“If this war continues as it has been going, then it’s only a matter of time before they lose, and they know it. I do believe they will start lashing out soon, though, in their desperate attempts to rebalance the scales. We need to end this war now, in order to ensure our side doesn’t take heavy losses.”
Vince has his switchblade out. He opens it. “Just tell us, what’s the plan?”
“I say we ask them for an unarmed meeting to discuss ending the war peacefully. We tell them we are willing to give them the north side, as long as we keep control over the south and the beach. They can take back control of narcotics, and we will take back full control of gambling. We’ll go back to how things used to be.”
I know that a meeting like this is a sacred agreement, a safe space. On the streets, we can fight like animals … but if a meeting is called, violence is strictly prohibited.
And I think I understand what Dad is suggesting … It’s so dark. Surely he can’t be serious.
“And when they come to the meeting,” he says, “we have snipers ready. We can capture a few, and Vince can get them to give up the identities of the rest. We will wipe them all out in one swift strike.”
Nobody says anything.
The tension is so thick.
To break tradition like this … it’s a stink our family will never be able to get off us.
“We can’t,” says Grandma. “It’s not the way things are done.”
“They killed your husband,” says Dad. “They tried to kill me. Enough time has passed, and now we need retribution.”
“Did you learn nothing from him?” asks Grandma. “To suggest this spits on his memory.”
“To do nothing spits on his memory. We need to stop them.”
“I agree, but our allies won’t stand for this,” says my aunt Sara. “We could lose all of them. You would take out the Donovans but ruin our family.”
“I DON’T CARE!” roars Dad. “I want them dead! All of them! They need to pay!”
Grandma is fuming now.
“And they will!” says Sara. “But in the right
way. Joe, we can’t do this. If you stop and think for a second, you’ll realize you aren’t thinking clearly. There has to be another way.”
Dad nods. “Enough. I propose a vote. Everyone in favor of my plan…”
Dad raises his hand.
Luke does, too.
As does Vince.
Luckily for me, everyone else keeps their hand down. Dad sees that I’ve kept my hand down, though. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get the look he gives me out of my head.
“And now,” says Dad, “everyone who thinks we shouldn’t…”
Everyone else raises their hands. Once again, I keep my hands on the table. He already knows my vote. There’s no point rubbing it in.
“All right,” says Dad. “It’s decided. The plan will not go ahead.”
I feel like I just dodged a bullet. But the damage is done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jason wants me to meet him at the baseball stadium at the back of his school.
I know I’m going down a dark road … one that might just lead to him chained to a chair and tortured, then killed.
Or me. Or both of us.
But as long as I’m careful, we’re safe.
I think.
I’m ready to go. I’m wearing a gray tank, black skinny jeans with rips in the knees, and my boots. I leave my room and walk down the hall as quietly as I can. Nobody is around, and the house is dark. Eddie is asleep in his spot. Good.
I hear a noise, the fridge opening.
It’s the worst timing in all of freaking history.
That might be a slight overreaction. But it’s up there.
I pause. But as I take a step backward, my shoe squeaks.
Shit.
I really regret deciding to wear boots right now.
“Who’s there?” says a voice.
I’m so relieved. It’s just Luke. I step out from the darkness.
Luke’s features soften, and he smiles. He’s wearing a white tank, and his hair is mussed. I haven’t seen it this messy in ages and hadn’t actually realized how long it’s gotten. When it’s slicked down, it looks way shorter. This is a good look for him, though. It brings out the delicate parts of his features. I wonder if he got those from Mom.
“What are you up to?” he asks.
“I got invited to this house party, and I was thinking of going. Don’t tell Dad. Seriously, you can’t.”
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