I answer it anyway.
“No. He’s better.”
TWELVE
SHE’S BAFFLING. AND INTRIGUING.
It’s been a week since I moved in with the Matteo family, and Sabrina remains the biggest mystery of them all.
The first to fall prey to my charms was darling Mila, who seeks me out the minute she hears the car door shut and I’ve arrived home from work. She toddles toward me and coos and spends the majority of every evening in my arms. Grace and I play soccer with Sabrina, Dalis, Cason, and the other kids on the block for an hour after dinner. Sometimes, we can even get Mr. And Mrs. Matteo to join in on the game with us. Bianca, she’s more reserved than the rest of the Matteo clan. She reads a book on the couch while the rest of us play, barely speaks during dinner, and when her parents allow it, she’s up in her room, being a hermit.
Sabrina, however, I’m convinced is different from the rest of her sisters. She surprises me at every turn.
Probably because of the fact that I can’t get a read on her.
At around midnight, which is the time I put all my homework away for the day and have put my phone on the charger, she sneaks into my room and climbs into my bed. She doesn’t speak, just nestles herself against me and goes to sleep. And because of her presence, I do, too.
She’s unlike any other girl I’ve ever met. She doesn’t say the things I expect her to say, doesn’t do the things I expect her to do.
For instance, tonight, she broached the Forbidden Subject. Mr. and Mrs. Matteo took the younger kids out to the carnival, and Sabrina and I are home alone for the very first time.
Of course, this is a recipe for disaster.
“So, why don’t you tell me a little bit about Michele?” she asks, washing dishes beside me as I put away the leftovers from tonight’s dinner.
Everything in my world stops for a moment. In the middle of my scooping salsa out of this rock thing and into an airtight container, I stop and just close my eyes, giving myself a second to regroup. I wonder if she even knows the can of worms she’s unearthed by asking that question. Wordlessly, I continue to put away the food and then close the container and set the salsa on the counter. I hand the rock thing to Sabrina for cleaning.
“Isn’t there anything else you want to know about me?” I ask.
With a shake of her head, she turns the faucet off and, drying her hands with a towel, hops up onto the counter. She crosses her legs, which of course draws my attention to them. She grabs the colander full of tortilla chips and the container full of salsa.
“Can you pass me the cotija cheese?”
Have I ever mentioned how sexy she sounds when she speaks Spanish? I mean, the words roll off her tongue in a way that the English language never has. I love how she sways her hips and dances to Spanish music, and how her little accent comes out when she’s mad or excited about something, and how she knows all her Ama’s recipes like the back of her perfect hand, and how she treats her sisters like they’re her kids rather than her siblings and how her whole face lights up when she’s happy.
“Pass you the huh?”
“Right, I keep forgetting you’re not Hispanic. The ‘stinky’ cheese.”
She pours a small amount of the salsa into a bowl, and when I pass her the stinky cheese, she sprinkles a bunch into her salsa. She ties the bag and hands it back to me. I watch in wonderment as she dips a chip in her concoction and then puts it in her mouth.
God, her mouth. It’s such a perfect mouth. I spend the good majority of my day thinking what it would be like to kiss that mouth. She licks her bottom lip and looks up at me.
“No, I don’t want to know anything else about you. Just a few weeks ago, you were all gung-ho to talk about Michele, so let’s do this shit, Durham.”
Laughing, I give her a wary glance. “You go right for the jugular, don’t you?”
“Yep. Gimme the goods..”
Shit. If she only knew what those words just did to me…
I walk over to her slowly and she drops her chip to the floor. I lean forward, my palms flat on either side of her thighs, my face mere inches from hers. Her mouth drops open and I watch her chest heave the closer I get to her. I squeeze my eyes shut and when they reopen, hers are filled with lust.
“Sabrina, please don’t say things like that. I know I’m staying in your house, and I know we’re friends or whatever, but I’m still a guy. A teenage guy. A guy who can’t look at you for too long without imagining all the things I could be doing to you in the next two hours before everyone else gets home. A guy who wants to take you right now on this fucking counter. I want to. God, do I want to. But I can’t.”
She takes a deep breath. “Why not?”
“Because. That would cheapen you.”
With a grin, she nods. “Oh, I see. You’re afraid I’m going to fall in love with you.”
“No.” That’d be easy to deal with. The alternative, however, is harder. “I’m afraid I’m going to fall in love with you.”
“I am pretty irresistible.”
“Completely irresistible.” I shake my head, not wanting to take this conversation any further than this point. “So you wanted to know about Michele?”
She’s silent for a moment, leaning forward and uncrossing her legs. I lean in so I’m between them. My cock strains against the seam of my jeans, and I close my eyes, trying and failing to convince myself that it wouldn’t do either of us any good to act on this attraction.
“Yes. Give it to me.”
The need rushing through me at those four words stops my heart and chokes off my air supply.
“Please, stop it.”
Through long, dark lashes, she glances up at me. “Why?”
Why? That’s the million dollar question. I just wish she wouldn’t have asked it. I don’t want to answer it, any more than I want to keep standing here with her looking at me like she wants to devour me and fuck the consequences.
A week living in the same house and already she’s taken to me. I never wanted this to happen. I know what I feel for her, but I hate that she appears to be feeling it back. She doesn’t know what I am, doesn’t know that I’m destined to live out the remainder of my days as poison, a stain upon humanity. I bring pain and heartache to whomever gets close to me. I am not alone because I don’t want to commit. I am alone because I literally can’t. Whoever gets too close is at risk, and I can’t…I can’t add anyone else to the list. I especially can’t add Sabrina to it. It would kill what little bit of humanity I have left.
She doesn’t know, and she can’t know. Because if she ever finds out, she’ll only try to fix me.
And I’m unfixable.
“Brody—”
“Because! I’m no good for you! I’m no good for anyone! It’s best if you stay as far away from me as possible, because if you don’t, I’m only going to hurt you! And I don’t want to do that!”
Her hands come up from their spot on her lap and extend to touch my face at the same time as I look down. At that movement, my heart splits completely in two. Half of it is screaming at me to run as far away as I can. The other half is begging me to stay, to let her touch me, to let her see the real me so that maybe I can become some semblance of a man rather than just the shell of one. It’s a constant battle within myself. Keep her at arm’s length? Let her get close enough to hurt the both of us? Is there any way to walk away from this unscathed? I’m not sure, but I’ve never needed anything in this world like I need her touch right now.
She places both her hands on either side of my neck and her thumbs graze my cheek as she says softly, “What happened to you?”
I look up just in time to see her eyes mist over.
Beyond the obvious emotions—pain, pity, confusion, I see something else. Something much deeper.
Something that will either make or break us both.
There’s a yearning in her gaze. I see it. I feel it. I want it. I want her to want me, and I know she does. As wrong as all of this is, as much
as I know this is going to end badly, I know I can’t walk away now. It’s gone too far, we’re in too deep, and we haven’t even scratched the surface of whatever is brewing between us.
She’s a Latin spitfire, a firecracker. Her beauty is unmatched, her mere presence shedding light on the impenetrable darkness that’s surrounded me.
She’s my anchor. When my world is spinning on its axis, she keeps me centered.
And I know without even thinking about it that I’ve fallen for her. Hook, line, and sinker.
There’s a tether between us, and each time we encounter each other, every time we spend a night in each other’s arms, it pulls us closer together. And although I should want it to sever and fall to the ground, I don’t.
I feel the pull between us. I hear her siren’s call. And I decide, in this moment, that I no longer want to merely want to give in. I’m going to just do it, and damn all the rest of it to Hell.
Hands at the small of her back, I pull her toward me. Her legs wrap around my waist willingly as our eyes lock, and everything changes in this instant.
The spark ignites.
And fire erupts.
And we both melt against each other the moment our lips touch. The soft, smooth curves of her body affix themselves to the hard, sharp angles of mine until we fit perfectly, once and for all, never knowing all along that we were the piece that the other was missing. I drink her in, knowing full well that I’ll never have my fill of her. Whatever she chooses to give me will never be enough because I’ll always want more. I’ll always crave more. Agonized gasps erupt from both of us. I’ve wanted this for what feels like so long, it physically hurts to be this close to her. She’s everything I could ever want and so much more. She’s everything I never even knew I needed.
She scoots closer to me, grabbing my hair and latching on. Flames of desire consume us both, lapping us up with a fire that scorches every inch of our bodies. My hand comes around to rest at the nape of her neck and she tilts her head backward, giving me better access to her succulent lips. I gain entrance to her mouth without asking for permission, and the flames rise. I drop my free hand between our bodies, grasping at the apex of her thighs. A half-whimper, half-moan of pleasure escapes her and she grinds into my hand, the heat between her legs a clear as day indication of how much she wants me.
Shit. This is all wrong.
I snatch my hands away from their places on her body and I retreat as far away from her as possible without actually leaving the room. She draws in a deep breath the minute we’re separated, and her fingers come up to graze over her lips as if she’s trying to figure out if what happened really just happened.
With a shake of my head, I continue to retreat.
I can’t believe I let things get so far, knowing what I know. Knowing the dangers awaiting her—awaiting both of us—if we get involved with each other. I shouldn’t be afraid, because I’m the only one who has the power to end all of this, but I am. I’ve had a single taste of her, one small taste of what things could be like with her, and after that, the thought of losing her, the thought of any harm coming to her is unbearable to me.
The best thing for both of us would be for this to end before it even has the chance to start.
“Brody,” she whispers, “what’s the matter?”
I see the hope residing in her expression, and I hate that it’s there. Because I have to rip it away. There’s no hope for someone like me. I have to show her how broken I am, so she’ll know once and for all there can never be an us.
Happy ever after is not in the cards for me. And it never will be.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” I say with a downward glance.
I can’t bear to look at her any longer, because if I do, all my defenses will crumble. Stupidly, because I rarely do the smart thing, I risk a glance at her.
Confusion, then understanding flickers across her face and she shakes her head. She’s shaking it frantically but makes no move to come after me. A whispered ‘no’ emerges, as if her objections will change anything. As if she has any say in this. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll steer clear from me. In the long run, she’ll thank me, because I’m doing for her what I should have done with Michele.
I’m walking away before her heart’s involved.
Mine is already beyond repair.
“Brody, I wanted that to happen. Hell, I wanted more. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do.” There’s a pleading tone to her voice, and I can hear the hysteria building beneath her plea. “Please don’t beat yourself up over this. It’s okay.”
I hate what she’s saying, hate that she’s trying to excuse everything that just happened. None of this is okay. I raise a hand to silence her, because if I let her keep trying to convince herself that everything is okay, eventually I’ll start to believe it.
“No, it’s not okay. It shouldn’t have happened.” Her eyes widen and I gather my wits. “It’ll never happen again.”
Tears pool in her eyes and she draws her lower lip between her teeth. She grasps at her chest and her hair falls forward, a curtain separating us, when mere moments ago, we were closer than we ever could have hoped to be. I watch her crumble, watch her retreat within herself, watch the girl I’ve fallen for fade into oblivion.
I don’t want to watch this. It’s hard enough knowing what I’m doing to her, but having to see it with my own eyes is another situation entirely. My chest aches and I struggle for air, like some vital piece of me is missing. Stopping that kiss before it went any further was the equivalent of ripping my heart out with my own two hands. There’s a gaping hole where my heart used to be, and I cannot breathe for the life of me.
She buries her face in her hands and starts openly sobbing right before my eyes. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that I have two options here.
I can stay here, comfort her, kiss her again, and come what may. Or I can walk away, further breaking us both, and sever the ties that have only just begun to bind us. It kills me to think of leaving her this way, crying and hurting because of something I’ve done. It kills me to watch her this way.
But what kills me even more is the thought of what might happen if I don’t walk away right now. It flashes through my mind like a neon sign and it helps me to think straight. I have the control, and only I can make this right when I’ve done so much wrong.
So I walk away. And I don’t look back.
And I leave my heart there lying at her feet.
THIRTEEN
I HAD NO IDEA HEARTS could hurt like this.
I had no idea hearts could break like this.
I had no idea my heart belonged to Brody until he ripped it out of me, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it.
I’m not normally the type of girl to cry over a guy. Hell, the only reason I cried over my breakup with Maddox was because it affected more people than just the two of us. The only times someone will see me cry is while watching a movie, or that episode of One Tree Hill where Jimmy Edwards shot himself and Keith was murdered. Other than that, my heart usually operates like that of the Tin Man. Most people would assume it doesn’t exist, but only the people who truly know me know how big it really is.
Today, however, it appears as though my heart has changed its ways, because tears are flowing from my eyes like Niagara Falls. Curled up on my bed, half my face buried in the pillow I have clutched to my chest, I can’t control the sobs coming from somewhere deep inside. That boy touched something in me I hadn’t known existed.
The thing is, though, I’m not just crying for me, for the heart that’s surely breaking into a million pieces.
I’m crying for him, too. Because I could see how much it pained him to pull away from me, to watch me break down, and subsequently walk away. Because something huge has happened—or is still happening—to him that has him believing he’s truly no good. Someone or something in his past has convinced him that he’s unlovable.
And that hurts the most.
; Because he’s not.
I know that because I think I love him.
God only knows how long I’ve been lying here, trying to connect all the dots and figure out what exactly went wrong here. All I do know is that Brody’s not here. I heard the front door close a while ago and nothing after that. So he’s gone.
And something tells me he won’t be coming back any time soon.
That thought alone breaks my heart a little more.
I lean over my bed, reaching for my cell phone. I slide it unlocked and stare at the time.
It’s only 8:48. Tomorrow’s Saturday, which means neither of us have school or work and we won’t be able to avoid each other. What’s worse is, tomorrow’s my cousin Cynthia’s wedding, and we’re all going. Well, minus Brody now. I get to watch someone else validate their love while I accept the fact that mine can never be.
I don’t know how or when or why I started to fall for Brody.
I don’t know if it was the laughs over him trying and failing to pronounce Grecia’s name. Or maybe it was the solemn silence we shared after our second sibling movie night, during which we watched The Perks of Being a Wallflower and I watched him pinch the bridge of his nose. Or maybe it was the nights we spend in each other’s arms, telling stories and jokes to ward off each other’s pain. Or maybe it was the way I felt a change in my heart whenever I watched him interact with one of his siblings, or one of mine.
Maybe it was a million little things. Like when he comes home from work all greasy, sweaty, and dirty, and the first thing he does, without fail, is hug his siblings. Like how I came home from my daily run with Henry the other day, and I found him cooking and laughing with my mom like he’d known her for years. Like how he insists on giving Mila her bottle every night to put her to bed. Like how he never yells at his brother, no matter how frustrated he gets with him.
He’s so busy looking at all the cracks in the mirror that he doesn’t see the most important part. There’s still a mirror in the first place. He’s here. He’s whole. He’s breathing.
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