Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2)

by S. L. Jennings

  “Scarecrow?”

  Angel tapped her temple. “All the necessary parts yet no brain.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about me, love,” Victoria winked. “I’ve handled blokes much cheekier than him.” She reached over and pinched CJ’s cheek, causing him to blush scarlet from neck to brow as he damn near purred into her palm. The simultaneous clank of silverware falling onto plates around the table was deafening. CJ? Blush? Surely we had to be witnessing an act of divine intervention.

  After dinner, we cleared the table and covered it with a Monopoly board, and the room crackled with childish glee. I had already filled in the gang on Toby’s affinity for board games, and Kami thought it’d be a great way to make him feel welcomed. Since he was mute, Raven read his cards aloud for the group at first. But after a few turns, Toby pulled out his notepad and shorthanded the instructions. It took longer and probably made his hand cramp trying to scribble things down as fast as he could, but he wanted that piece of independence. And, thankfully, no one denied him that.

  We were a good hour into the game when both Raven and I had gone bankrupt, along with CJ and Angel. That left Blaine, Kami, Victoria and Toby to battle it out for victory.

  “He’s really good,” I said to Raven as we watched from a few feet away.

  “Yeah,” she smiled thoughtfully. “I remember playing games with him when we were younger. Candy Land. Trouble. Sorry. He was always quick, even then.”

  “How old was he when you left?”

  I watch the way her throat moved as she swallowed the bitter taste of remembering. “Too young.”

  I wanted to press for more, but not here. And I seriously doubted she wanted me rummaging through her past with everyone present, having a good time. But I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to be near her. I just didn’t know if she’d let me.

  “Hey, you wanna go for a drive?”

  “Now?”

  I shrugged. “Why not?”

  She nodded towards Toby, who was snickering as he took Blaine’s money. “I can’t leave him alone.”

  “He’s not alone. I’d trust Kami and Angel with my life. Blaine too. And oddly enough, as crazy as CJ is, he’s a good guy.” Just as I said it, he leaned over and whispered something in Victoria’s ear, causing her to squeal and smack him on the shoulder. If someone could learn to feel something for him within the span of just a few days, surely he couldn’t be all bad.

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “We could take him with us.”

  She grimaced with uncertainty. “I don’t know if he’ll want to leave.”

  I should have let it go but I wanted time with her more than I wanted my pride. “Well, we could . . .”

  “Oh, just go, you two lovebirds,” Victoria called out from the table, surprising us both.

  Raven’s face blushed deep rose, her blue eyes wide with embarrassment. “Huh?”

  “He’s fine here with us, Raven,” Kami chimed in, a sheepish smile on her face. “We’ll take good care of him. Plus, I’m sure Toby doesn’t want to miss dessert.”

  “Oh, yeah, buddy. Kami’s brownie sundaes are the shiii—uh, the best,” CJ added.

  Raven looked at the eager faces around the table, each one sharing looks of reassurance. “Are you sure?” she asked her brother, leaning down to meet his eyes. He gazed back with complete certainty and nodded. Then he did something that caused tears to shine in her bright blue eyes, as well as every eye in the house. He placed his palm against her cheek.

  I knew what that simple gesture meant to her—to them. Toby had been so closed off since she had come back into his life. And here he was, trusting again. Telling her that she could do the same.

  “Ok.” She stood upright and turned to me, her gaze full of apprehension, but something else too. Maybe fear. Maybe hope. Maybe a mixture of both.

  We were mere steps from my car when she said, “Wait. I’m not going.” I stopped in my tracks, my heart sinking into my gut.

  “What’s wrong?”

  A sly smile stretched itself across her face. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Unless I drive.”

  Shaking my head, I fished my keys out of my pocket and tossed them at her. She liked to be in control, and I liked letting her take control. It was a win-win for us both.

  “So where are we going?” I asked as we pulled out of Blaine’s quiet, suburban neighborhood.

  “You’ll see.”

  I reached over to fiddle with the radio, eliciting a slap on my fingers. “Driver picks the music, Trevino.”

  I put up my palms in surrender, letting her have her way with the music dial. I was more than surprised when she stopped it on an oldies station.

  “Were you even born when this song came out?” I asked as The Bangles’ “Eternal Flame” played through the Bose speakers.

  “Were you?”

  “Good point.”

  Silence hung between us for a long moment before she murmured, “My mom liked this song.”

  “Before she . . .”

  “I didn’t know her before she died. Not anymore.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, or what to say. So I went with the one thing that felt appropriate. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not me you should be feeling sorry for.”

  I turned to study her profile in the setting sun. She didn’t look at me, her focus trained on the road, but I could see the regret in her haunted eyes. She didn’t want my pity, and I had none to give her. “I don’t feel sorry for you.”

  I thought she might be offended by my words, but instead she nodded, understanding what I had meant. “Thank you.”

  Minutes passed as she drove, the sounds of Michael Jackson, the Eagles, Cheap Trick and the Bee Gees filling the silence. She sang along quietly to some, loudly with others. I watched her with rapt attention, amazed by this woman who commanded all of my senses. She was gorgeous without trying, unintentionally funny, and her energy was infectious. I couldn’t look at her without smiling. I couldn’t be near her without wanting to be closer still.

  When we pulled onto a dirt road and began to follow a steep path uphill, I knew exactly where we were going. Back in the day, we called it Lookout Point. It was the place us high school kids would go to drink cheap-ass Boone’s Farm and hook up under the stars. I had taken my fair share of impressionable young girls there, but I hadn’t been in years. Especially with someone I actually gave a damn about.

  “Here we are,” she announced, putting the car in park. Then she reached behind the seat and grabbed her purse. “I’m glad you suggested a drive, Dom. It’ll make this a whole lot easier.”

  Confusion settled on my brow. “Make what a lot easier?”

  When Raven’s gaze collided with mine, I knew that bringing me to a dark, secluded area wasn’t by chance. She had a purpose—a mission. And that mission was me.

  “Get out. I’m going to shoot you.”

  THE LOOK OF SHEER horror on Dom’s face when I opened my purse and pulled out my weapon of choice?

  Fucking hilarious.

  Of course, we were both in stitches when he realized that it was a camera in my hand, not a gun. But after our last time together on the roof of my building when he joked about me pushing him off, I just couldn’t resist.

  “Ha Ha, very funny,” he grumbled. “I knew you weren’t going to shoot me-shoot me.”

  I was still in hysterics. “Oh really, Trevino? So you just walk around sporting a what-the-fuck face? Come on. I want to get this shot.”

  I positioned him just a few feet from the cliff drop, causing him to groan with nerves.

  “Do I have to be so close to the edge?”

  “Yes,” I insisted. He didn’t really, but I liked to mess with him. Dom was just too easy to screw with. “Ok, now act natural.”

  He frowned, and I couldn’t deny myself the chance to capture it on film. “Natural? I thought that’s what I was doing?”

  I shook my head, grinning. He was
just too damn adorable. “Just be loose. Stop thinking about the fact that you’re in front of a camera. Haven’t you ever modeled before?”

  “Uh, no,” he said running a hand through his hair. Click click click. Another one for my collection. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just seems like you’d be the type,” I shrugged. The type being insanely hot.

  “Nope. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Who said anything about being disappointed?” I asked, zooming in on the way his lips sat in a natural, naughty smirk. Nope. Not disappointed at all.

  When Dom grew tired of being my muse, he insisted he have a turn with the camera, making me his reluctant subject. I was used to being behind the camera, not in front of it. Seeing yourself through someone else’s lens seemed so personal, so intimate. I was afraid of how Dom saw me. Maybe even a little afraid of how I saw myself.

  After he was done torturing me, we leaned against the hood of the car, watching the city lights spread out below us. I don’t know why I had brought him here. Maybe I had secretly hoped it would trigger a memory . . . something he had buried deep inside a long time ago. Maybe something he wanted to make right after all these years.

  But . . . nothing. And I couldn’t say I was upset about it. I hated to admit it, but I was actually starting to like the guy, especially after seeing him so dejected yesterday morning. It made him seem more human to me. More real. Not the cold-hearted bastard I had told myself he was, when I stayed up late plotting my revenge. Planning all the ways I could hurt him just as he had hurt me.

  “Thanks for getting me home safely,” I blurted out, not really knowing where it came from. I couldn’t remember if I’d thanked him, but I knew I was eternally grateful. He could have left me at the bar, piss drunk and sick. But instead, he showed me compassion. Something I hadn’t shown to him despite all his attempts to be kind and generous.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he remarked, with a shrug. “We’ve all been there. Some of us more than others.”

  I nodded, and fell back into listening to Foreigner sing about a love that felt like the first time. I closed my eyes and tried to block it out . . . the hurt, the humiliation. I was torturing myself. It was like I wanted to suffer more than I already had. More than we already had.

  When Dom spoke next, his voice was pensive, almost regretful, as if he didn’t want to go down this line of questioning, but it was inevitable.

  “What happened to Toby . . . before he found your mom? Was something done to him?”

  I shook my head, because, honestly, I couldn’t answer that question. Nothing and everything had been done to my little brother. After I left, and Adel had fallen apart completely, he was neglected. She stopped caring for him, stopped feeding him, stopped cleaning him. So eventually, he had to learn to do it himself. He was nine then, so he was old enough to figure things out. But that was before the alcohol started. Then the drugs. Then the men. And by the time I came back for him, after learning about my mother’s death, it was already too late. He had lost his voice, along with what little hope he had left. Just as she had lost her will to live.

  “He’s never told me himself,” I said to the moon. “But the doctors believed he had endured so much mental anguish through her years of drug use, that her death had tipped him over the edge. She was a shitty mom, but after I had left, she was all he had. And finding her . . . dead . . . face down in her own bile, it broke him. That little boy crumbled right there on the ground beside her dead, rotting body. By the time anyone found them, it had been three days. He stayed next to her corpse for three days and didn’t say a word. Or maybe he said his last words to her.”

  My chest squeezed so hard, that I didn’t think I’d be able to choke it all out. I had never told anyone that story. No one. I was disgusted with myself for not being there. I was angry at her for allowing herself to die. And I was heartbroken for Toby. He was the real victim in all this. He was the one who had hurt the most.

  I didn’t tell Dom about Toby’s stint in a mental hospital after he had gone mute, considering that he probably already knew. At first they believed he was in shock, and maybe he was. But it never got better. He would just sit and stare out the window for hours, never saying a word, barely moving. Sometimes I’d fear that his hope was to stop breathing. That way, he and Adel could be together.

  Once they had decided he wasn’t insane or suicidal, they granted me full custody. I never told him that his own father, Gene Christian, had refused to take him. He had a new family, one that didn’t bring him shame and tarnish his good name. And taking in the poor mute kid that he abandoned, just didn’t fit into his life.

  “I failed that little boy,” I found myself whispering. “I failed him. I failed myself.”

  I felt his hand grasp mine, the warmth of his skin radiating up my arm and touching the cold place inside me. The place I had kept hidden from the world, locked up tight. The place he created, yet didn’t even know it. Yet, here he was, thawing it with his touch. Reclaiming the space he deserted so long ago.

  His voice was full of secrets and thick with emotion. “You didn’t fail, Raven. You saved him. You saved . . .”

  I looked at him then, needing to see his eyes. So much conviction there, yet he gave nothing away. I wanted him. Godammit, I wanted to give him my crazy. I wanted him to remember what it felt like to want me too. I just didn’t want him to remember me. Not like that.

  “Be still.” Only our heated breath lay between us.

  “Ok,” he murmured, leaving his lips parted. When he ran his tongue over the top of his teeth, the wind left my body. He had stolen it with that one, insignificant move that would serve as the straw that broke the camel’s back. The straw that broke me.

  “You won’t touch me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “If you knew about me. If you only knew the . . .” It wasn’t an answer.

  We sat there for much too long, our lips much too far apart, breathing each other in as if that were some type of replacement for the one thing that we both wanted, yet refused to have. It was like being on a diet. You see the cupcake—you want it—you know it’ll be good . . . but you know it’ll be bad for you. And while it may be the best thing you ever put in your mouth, you know the guilt and shame will be twice as intense. And you’ll hate yourself for being too weak to deny that fucking cupcake.

  He was the first to pull away. He was always the first one. And when he did, I still felt the guilt and shame. And I didn’t even get the satisfaction of eating the cupcake.

  “I’ll drive,” he said, moving to the driver’s side. I fished the keys out of my jacket pocket and handed them to him. I didn’t have it in me to argue or demand he let me take the wheel. I wasn’t angry at him. Just the opposite, really. I respected his restraint. I only wished I had had an ounce of the same.

  I’m lying, I thought to myself as we made our way down the hill and onto the priority road. I’d been lying to myself this entire time.

  I was angry. I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to want me so bad that it kept him up at night. I wanted him to need me to the point that I would invade his every waking moment. I wanted the madness of yearning. I wanted full blown, out-of-control, uncontained desire. I wanted his crazy, his ugly, his agony. And I wanted to give him mine in return.

  It was a special thing to give yourself over to the one person who had destroyed you. Maybe I was sick in the head. Maybe this was a case of Stockholm syndrome, and I had merely fallen in love with my captor. The only difference was, he didn’t want to keep me.

  We pulled into the driveway of Blaine’s house, and I was out the car before it even came to a full stop.

  “Wait,” Dom called out, just as I took the first step leading to the porch. I had no plan once I got inside the house. He was our ride home, and I wouldn’t make a spectacle of myself just because my stupid, girl feelings were hurt. So I turned around, careful to school my features in its usual passive guise. He wouldn’t see me care. I wouldn’t let him.r />
  He took his time reaching me, and for a second, I thought he was toying with me. But he was stalling. Whatever he needed to say, he didn’t want to, but he needed to. The same way I had felt before when talking about my mother.

  “The other morning . . .” he began, catching my undivided attention. I had worried myself sick about what I’d seen. I didn’t want to bring it up; I didn’t think it was my place. I figured if he wanted me to know, I would know.

  And now . . . he wanted me to know.

  “My life wasn’t—isn’t—what it seems. And when I was younger, there were things done to me . . . things I can never talk about. Things that would terrify you, Raven. And I don’t want you to be scared of me. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to guard yourself from me. So I’m not touching you because I don’t want to. I’m not touching you because once I do . . . I can’t stop myself. I can’t be with you, and be me at the same time. And I won’t do that to you.”

  His face looked so pained, so defeated, that I couldn’t stop myself from touching him even if I tried. It was just the brush of my hand against his cheek, but when my skin met his, he groaned. As if the contact physically hurt him. I was hurting him. I had dreamt of doing that very thing, yet there was no satisfaction in it. There was no feeling of victory. Only this overwhelming need to take every ounce of his pain away.

  I cupped his cheek with my other hand, feeling the soft scratch of stubble against my palm. He closed his eyes and groaned again, his jaw clenched tight. I moved my fingers to trace the angle of his chin all the way up to the shell of each ear. He shuddered under my touch, but it wasn’t enough to make me stop.

  To make me stop hurting him. To make me stop healing him.

  I was still standing on the step, putting us at eye level, and giving me full view of every single wince and tremor. It empowered me to know I could affect him, yet it was he who controlled me. This unattainable man that made me absolutely crazy with wanting what I shouldn’t have.