by Shandi Boyes
Hearing the water heater kick in, I trudge further into the kitchen. “Who’s in the shower?” I ask at the same time the smell of smoke lingers into my nostrils.
Lexi waits a beat before answering, “Jackson.” She rocks to and fro on her heels, her mood a stark contradiction to the raging, hormonal woman I was dealing with last night.
Not wanting to know the reason for her sudden shift in demeanor, I continue our conversation like I haven't noticed her change in decorum. “I thought Jackson had a morning shift?”
Lexi tries to hold in her smile, but the twitching of her lips give away her deceit. “He did; he called in sick.”
I arch a brow, shocked by her reply. “Is he unwell?”
Lexi throws her head back and laughs. It's rough and curt—just like its owner. "No, Cleo. He is more than fine—believe me!" She suggestively waggles her brows.
Like a light bulb switching on, the reasoning behind Jackson playing hooky clicks in my spent brain. I gag, faking repulsion. Although I'd prefer for Lexi to keep her sex life to herself, I’m also grateful her relationship with Jackson is blossoming nicely. They have grown very close the past three months. So close, I’m beginning to wonder if my I’m-never-going-to-fall-in-love sister has bitten off more than she can chew.
Giggling at my repulsed expression, Lexi returns her focus to the toaster billowing out thick black smoke. I increase my sluggish strides. With our home insurance not the best it can be, the last thing I need is a fire breaking out in our kitchen.
“Don’t do that,” I scold when Lexi spears a butter knife into the toaster.
Lexi’s beauty may be the epitome of Hollywood glamor, but she has the cooking skills of a twenty-one-year-old bachelor. Something as simple as browning a few slices of bread is above her culinary skills.
“The bread is stuck and burning,” Lexi informs me, like I’m unaware why the room is filling with ghastly smoke.
Leaning over her shoulder, I push the release button on the toaster before switching it off at the wall. Lexi jumps in fright when two pieces of charcoal toast pop out of the machine.
“There’s a button for that?” she murmurs, more to herself than me. “When did that happen?”
That's all it takes for laughter to rumble up my chest and spill from my lips. My god, I love my sister, but there are days when her ditzy personality surprises even me. Don't get me wrong, Lexi is as smart as she is beautiful, but like a lot of modern-age young adults, common sense is not her strong point.
“Ouch,” Lexi whimpers when she grabs the toast out of the toaster and places the slices on a bread plate. The bread is so burnt, it disintegrates from her faint touch. My brow arches when a breathtakingly exquisite smile stretches across her face before she hands the plate to me.
“For me?” I ask, peering at the plate like it's a contagious virus.
Lexi nods a little overeagerly. “I figured you could use the boost in energy.” Her voice is as quirky as her perked lips. “I don’t want you to waste a minute of Chains’ stamina.”
My lips twitch, attempting to negate her claim, but not a syllable escapes my mouth.
For the quickest second, her cheeky mask falters, exposing a rare emotion she rarely holds: concern. "I'm also trying to make amends for last night. Jackson is buying a new door to be installed, and I’ll patch the bullet hole in the hallway." She says her last sentence with a grimace.
Endorphins pump through my veins, beyond thrilled with her sudden maturity. Jackson’s personality must be rubbing off on her.
Her new-found maturity doesn’t last for long. “My god, Cleo, did you get any sleep last night?” she mumbles.
Not the slightest bit deterred by my bug-eyed expression, she continues, “I was exhausted just listening to you two going at it.”
Hoping to dodge the awkwardness that she heard me in a compromising position, I force a smile on my face before accepting the plate from her grasp. Her brows tack when I set the plate down on the kitchen counter and head for the refrigerator.
“You can’t eat toast without peanut butter,” I mutter, issuing any excuse I can to prevent me eating the equivalent of coals for breakfast. “And that,” I add on, pointing to the mug of steamy hot chocolate sitting at her right.
What Lexi lacks in culinary talent, she makes up for with barista skills. During her three-month stint working at Crazy Mocha Café last winter, she perfected the most delicious, gooey-to-the-soles-of-your-shoes hot chocolate. Seriously, I’ve never tasted anything better. Well, except one thing. But considering I’m mortified my little sister heard me in the throes of ecstasy, calorie-laced hot chocolate will have to curb my insatiable sweet-tooth cravings. For now.
After placing two pieces of toast in the toaster, Lexi hands me a mug of hot chocolate. Beaming with excitement, I tiptoe to the pantry to add the mandatory two marshmallows every hot chocolate needs. A groan that should only be expressed in the midst of ecstasy seeps from my lips when the aromatic flavor hits my taste buds.
“Sounds like the noises I heard coming out of your room last night,” Lexi mumbles with her brow cocked.
My drink traps halfway in my throat, causing me to cough and sputter. My wheezy response replicates the gasping Lexi usually does when she struggles to fill her lungs with air.
Once I’ve forcefully swallowed the sugary liquid, I stumble out, “Sorry.”
Although my apology is short, the sincerity in my tone relays everything I want to express but am too embarrassed to articulate.
Lexi laughs while mumbling, “Don’t apologize. If anything, I should be thanking you. Jackson has never worked so hard in his life. His feathers were already ruffled sleeping under the same roof as a rock star, much less competing against him. I came so many times I lost count!”
It's lucky my stomach is void of any nutrients or I may have barfed by now.
“I don’t need to hear anymore,” I assure Lexi, sickened at the thought of her sharing any more than she already has. “I’m glad your. . . needs were taken care of, but can we save the details for a later date? A much, much, later date.”
The cheeky gleam in Lexi’s eyes explodes. “Sure. . . on one condition,” she barters, her manicured brows waggling.
I slant my head to the side and bow my brow, demanding further information. I don't know why I am continuing this conversation, but try as I may, I can't leash my curiosity.
Lexi paces closer to me, her steps dramatic. “You’ve got to tell me what vitamins Chains is taking. I’m going to get a special batch ordered for Jackson for Christmas.”
Hearing the playfulness in her rile, my dainty laugh jingles around our stuffy kitchen. “From what I’ve heard the past few months, I doubt Jackson needs help in the bedroom.”
Lexi’s teeth graze over her bottom lip as hankering sparks in her eyes “No, he doesn’t, but I’ll never tell him that. Jealousy never felt as good as it did last night.”
Mortified by the sexually sated look on her face, I pick up a slice of charcoaled toast and peg it at her head. It slaps the tiled backsplash behind the hotplates before flopping to the kitchen counter. I pout when it leaves a big black smear on the tiles. With Lexi’s cleaning skills as lagging as her cooking capabilities, there is only one way that mark will be removed—by me scrubbing it.
The sulking expression on my face changes to shock when Lexi retaliates by throwing the toast back across the room. Unlike me, her throw has perfect aim. It sails through the air like a Frisbee before smacking me on my left cheek. Lexi’s boisterous laughter shrills into my ears when a black cloud puffs off my face from her perfectly placed hit.
My mouth gapes as my Garcia fighting spirit emerges. Bobbing down, I snag the crumbling piece of toast in my hand. My quick movements enhance the dizziness still plaguing me from Marcus’s breathtaking kiss, but I push it aside, relishing the playful energy bouncing between Lexi and me. We haven’t acted this reckless in years, not since we were kids.
Lexi spreads her hands across her cock
ed hip. Her eyes egg me on, daring me to step out of my comfort zone. Hoping to catch her off guard, I push off my feet and charge for her. The saggy piece of toast is mushed into her face before a single gripe leaves her lips. My childish giggles are barely contained when I notice the huge smear of soot running down her right cheek.
Happy I’ve exacted my revenge I spin on my heels and race to the other side of the room. My whole body is shuddering with laughter, my mind void of any concern.
“That’s it; you’re going down,” Lexi warms, snatching the loaf of bread off the kitchen counter. Her movements are so rough, she tears open the flimsy packaging.
Squealing, I dodge slices of bread left, right and center while slaying my hands through the air, chopping away at the bread like a ninja in training. The rapturous laughter bellowing out of Lexi and me increases with every childish strike.
When Lexi runs out of bread, she turns her attention to the half-empty bag of marshmallows hanging out of the pantry.
“Not the marshmallows.”
Our one-sided food fight turns into a food catching contest when my grumbling tummy kicks up a stink about its lack of nutrients. Marshmallows bounce off my nose, cheek, and chin before tumbling to the floor. When I finally catch one in my mouth, I throw my hands in the air and do a little jig on the spot. My dance moves are an embarrassment to anyone in the profession, but nothing can dampen my eagerness. After spending the night wrapped up in Marcus’s warmth, the traumatic ten hours I endured yesterday are nothing more than a forgotten memory.
The marshmallow traps halfway to my stomach when the hairs on my arms bristle, and my breathing pans out. My hideous dance moves stop, closely followed by the beat of my heart. I don’t need to turn around to know Marcus is standing in the entranceway of our kitchen; the shit-eating grin stretched across Lexi’s face is all the indication I need to know he witnessed my less-than-stellar dance moves.
Glaring at Lexi for not warning me of his arrival, I spin on my heels to face Marcus. He is standing in the entrance to our kitchen. His lips are curled in a panty-drenching smirk, and his eyes are void of the guilt they harbored last night. The happiness warming my chest fades when I notice he is wearing his suit jacket and shoes. I don’t need to ask if he is leaving; the expression on his face tells the entire story.
Spotting the disappointment marring my face, Marcus pushes off his feet and moves to stand in front of me. "I have a couple of things I need to take care of," he informs me, lifting his hand to caress my cheek. "I won't be gone long. Only an hour or two at the most."
“Okay,” I reply, my brain incapable of a more confident reply after witnessing a snip of deceit brewing in his eyes. His eyes are so forthright, even something as small as a white lie can’t be concealed by them.
While peering into my eyes, his gaze intense, his hands cup my jaw so his thumb can stroke my crimson cheeks. The callus on his fingers from playing the bass guitar for years adds a scratchy feeling to his gentle touch. I nuzzle into his hand, wanting to capture enough of his scent on my skin to last me until his return. A primal glint flares in his eyes, no doubt shocked by my loving gesture. My clinginess even surprises me. I'm generally not so needy, but all my inhibitions are null and void when it comes to this man.
“I’ll be back soon, Cleo,” he murmurs as his exquisite green irises lift to peer past my shoulder.
In less than a nanosecond, the snip of deceit in his eyes switches to panic. The change in his persona is swift and resolute, completed in under a second. My attention diverts from working out the fear flaring in his eyes when a gasp seeps through my ears. It sounds like someone is choking. . . or struggling to breathe. My breath snags halfway in my lungs when reality dawns. Snapping my head to the side, I spot Lexi clutching the kitchen counter. Her face is a vibrant pink color, her eyes wide and panicked.
“Breathe, Lexi,” I demand, racing to stand at her side.
Grasping the top of her arm, I gently whack her back, hoping to ease some of the mucus blocking her airways. I hit hard enough that she gasps in the occasional wheezy breath, but not one strong enough to entirely clear her airways.
“I need her inhaler,” I advise, lifting my panicked eyes to Marcus.
He stands frozen in place, unsure how to react in a situation like this.
“Where is it?” he asks when his astute brain finally kicks in.
I point to the hall. “There is one in the top drawer of my dresser.”
Marcus spins on his heels and is halfway down the hall before the entire sentence leaves my mouth. When the pink hue on Lexi’s cheeks inflames to a dark red coloring, my panic reaches an all-time high.
“Breathe, Lexi, breathe,” I plead, my words as breathless as her heaving lungs.
I can’t believe I acted so reckless. I know the benefits of a good dose of laughter to a damaged soul, but for a CF sufferer, too much laughter can be catastrophic. It doesn’t matter if it's a faint chuckle or a full-hearted laugh, it almost always triggers a severe coughing attack.
“Jackson,” Lexi wheezes out, her words barely audible. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”
“Shh. It’s okay,” I assure her, knowing Jackson is mindful of her condition. Our families have been friends for years. They grew up around Lexi’s condition. He is also studying to be a surgeon, so he witnesses stuff like this every day.
Lexi’s windedness grows right alongside the plea in her eyes. “Please. . . Cleo.” Her two words are separated by long, gasping breaths. “I don’t. . . want him. . . to see me. . . like this.”
The pain in her begging eyes cripples me. Like many CF sufferers, this is the part she finds the hardest—the sympathy. Other than when she is undergoing CF therapy, you’d be none the wiser to Lexi's condition. It's indeed a silent disease.
“Come on. You can hide in my room,” I mumble, the hammering of my heart notable in my tone.
Placing my arm around her shoulders, I guide her out of the kitchen. Her lungs wheeze and sputter with every step we take. When we are halfway down the hall, Marcus sprints out of my room. He looks more rattled now than when Lexi had a gun pointed at him last night. His brow is beaded with sweat, and his cheeks are ashen.
Remaining quiet, he hands me one of the many Ventolin inhalers I have hidden around my house. Snubbing the shake encroaching my hands, I place the inhaler against Lexi’s pale lips and press down on the pump. It takes three full pumps for her pupils to constrict to a safe range. Although the inhaler aids in opening her airways, she continues to cough, not stopping until the mucus blocking them clears so her lungs secure adequate oxygen.
Happy she is over the worst, we recommence our journey to my room. Lexi’s steps are slow, drained by the fight her body just endured. That's one thing a lot of people don’t understand about CF; it's an exhausting disease. It can take hours to recover from a bad coughing fit.
Just before we enter my room, Jackson emerges from the steam-filled bathroom. He has a small towel wrapped around his wet hips and another one drying his shaggy hair. My eyes follow a bead of water rolling down his hairless torso before it glides over the bumps in his abdomen. For a man who spends most of his days indoors, he has a fit and tight body. Not overly large, but the perfect smattering of muscles in all the right places.
The cheeky gleam in his eyes from catching my perverted gaze switches to panic when he spots a frail Lexi cowering at my side. She is hunched down low, using my curvy frame to shelter herself from Jackson’s eagle eye. Her endeavors are utterly pointless. Even if we were surrounded by a sea of millions, I have no doubt Jackson would be able to spot Lexi. When he is with her, his eyes inflame with the same spark mine do every time I am in Marcus’s presence. Much to Lexi’s dismay, he has met his match.
“Lex, are you alright?” Jackson asks, his tone indicating he is already aware of her answer.
The narrow corridor becomes overcrowded when Jackson moves to stand in front of me. My house has always had a cramped feeling, but it's even more not
iceable with so many strong personalities in the one space. The smell of shampoo streams into my nose when Jackson crouches in front of Lexi and lifts her low-hanging head. I can tell the instant recognition for Lexi’s rattled state dawns on him. He sucks in a sharp breath as panic clouds his usually bright eyes.
“How bad was it this time?”
Lexi’s throat works hard to swallow before she forces out, “It wasn’t too bad.”
A manic tick impinges Jackson’s jaw. “Don’t lie to me, Lexi!” he yells, his angry voice ricocheting off the stark bland walls and bellowing into my ears. “I can see the pain on your face!”
Tears prick my eyes from the devastation in his tone.
“I’m calling Dr. Spencer. That’s your third attack this week,” Jackson continues before pivoting on his heels and storming into Lexi’s room.
I balk, utterly shocked. As far as I was aware, Lexi hasn’t had a coughing fit this bad in months. Not since I started talking to Marcus. She has daily appointments with a CF specialist to ensure episodes like this are as irregular as possible. If it isn’t working, why wouldn’t she tell me?
When my confused eyes drop to Lexi, she weakly shakes her head. “Please don’t. I’ve had enough lectures from Jackson the past week. I don’t need them from you too.”
Stealing my chance to reply, she pulls away from me and paces to her room. I stand frozen for a beat, unsure how to respond. This is the first time she's not been upfront about her condition. Typically, she keeps nothing from me, so I am utterly flabbergasted by her concealment.
Seeking answers, I push off my feet and go after her. Marcus foils my attempt.
“He loves her, Cleo. Give him the chance to show her that.”
20
Over two hours pass before the creak of Lexi's door booms down the hall. Placing my Kindle on the coffee table, I stand from my lumpy couch and pace towards the hall. The two slices of toast I ate for lunch threatens to resurface when I see the desolate look on Jackson's face as he slowly strides down the hall. His shoulders are deflated, and his eyes have red rims circling them.