by Anne Malcom
“Um, DC,” I replied, not liking the smiles they exchanged when they looked from me to him.
“DC, sweet. You’re going to find it pretty boring here in Amber. There’s a lot less to do than in the big city,” he informed me, directing us into the classroom.
“Boring’s good,” I told him.
He gave me a strange look, then sat us down amidst people who I didn’t know, but he exchanged greetings with. I desperately wanted to sit off in the corner on my own where I could labor over equations in silence, but I didn’t have much of a choice.
“Everyone, this is Lexie. She’s new. Lexie, this is… everyone.” He grinned stupidly as I felt various probing eyes on me.
I’d had it initially. This was a small town and I was new. People, especially high school kids, took notice. When I started here, people stared, making me feel slightly self-conscious. Hardly anyone actually came up and actively tried to make friends. Some were nice enough, chatty even, but I didn’t come home with a huge handful of party invitations either. People didn’t fawn over the new girl like they did in movies. I was quickly forgotten, in a way only teenagers could do. I was thankful for that.
Now it looked like I was suddenly remembered and I got a chorus of hellos, nice to meet yous, and various other questions from the two boys and girl who had surrounded us.
I hated it.
I was a social person, sure. My mom and I thrived off company, and we had a huge group of friends back in DC. I didn’t have many from my school. Lydia, my best friend, was someone who I missed like crazy. There were a couple of others, but I didn’t feel the need to collect friends like accessories. I didn’t want that.
Now it seemed, I was the newest accessory.
****
“So, what’s the deal with you and Killian?” Jordan asked, tossing a ball that had appeared from nowhere as we filtered out of class.
“Killian?” Stacy, a dark-haired girl who was one of Jordan’s friends, repeated, her eyes darting to me. They were not kind.
I was somehow being bustled to the cafeteria with a growing group of Jordan’s friends and all of the attention was on me.
“Yeah, he had her books and he looked like he was going to fight me for them when I was showing Lexie to class,” Jordan explained.
“He was carrying your books?” a girl I didn’t know asked in disbelief. She was small, wearing a cheerleading uniform, and her chocolate-brown ringlets were separated into pigtails.
“He was probably trying to steal them. He’d steal anything that wasn’t nailed down,” Stacy shot in snidely.
I did not like her. I usually reserved judgment on people, a quality my mom instilled in me, but my mom would gladly have my back with a girl like this. There were girls like this in every school, it seemed. They made themselves appear bigger by making others smaller.
Anger crept up my throat at the way she was referring to Killian.
“He was just carrying,” I emphasized that word, looking pointedly at Stacy before I continued, “them to be friendly.”
She smiled cruelly. “You’re new, and you seem... trusting,” she began, using the word as an insult. “Killian doesn’t have a friendly bone in his body, trust me,” she said sweetly like she was looking out for me.
I had an almost uncontrollable urge to yank her gold hoop earrings out of her ears. I swallowed it, just in time for us to reach the cafeteria and for me to be ushered to a huge table.
Once more, introductions were made and I spent the rest of lunch fielding questions about my last school, and everything else that could possibly be interesting about me. I answered on autopilot, my gaze darting around the cafeteria for Killian.
I didn’t find him. And I found myself immensely disappointed.
The next Wednesday, I had commenced my plan to get Mom and Zane together. It was perfectly executed with a chocolate cake and an excuse to get Mom to deliver it. She just happened to be at home when I finished it, and I just happened to be on my way to meet a girl from English class, which meant I was unable to deliver it.
I felt very tempted to rub my hands together and laugh like an evil genius at my brilliance. Though, that would give me away. So, instead, I rushed out the door with English books in tow, giving my mom no choice in the matter.
I made it to the café in town feeling rather pleased with myself. I was actually looking forward to my study date also. I loved any chance to discuss Shakespeare, but I was also happy with the girl in my English class who had been assigned my partner.
“Gina!” I greeted with a grin as I breezed through the door. “Sorry I’m late.” I sank down into the chair, heaving my bag onto the table.
She smiled shyly at me. “No problem.”
Gina was quiet and definitely a fellow bookworm. She hardly said much, which was all right since I was happy to do most of the talking. I didn’t make friends easy, but when I felt comfortable with someone, I engaged in word vomit like I did with my mom on a regular basis.
I felt comfortable around Gina. She was real, unlike Jordan and his friends, who I’d had to suffer two lunches with before I’d escaped them. I’d escaped them by sitting with Gina on the third day. Stacy had breezed past us like we were invisible. Jordan and a couple of the other boys and pigtail girl smiled hello, but no one stopped.
It was sad really, the way they clung to social hierarchy. Gina was pretty. She had long, coppery hair that was thick and shiny. Her green eyes were striking and took up most of her face, and she had beautiful clear skin. She was slightly overweight, and I thought she carried it well. She also wore glasses and didn’t have a conventional fashion sense.
Therefore, she wasn’t considered “cool.”
As someone with less than conventional fashion sense—I was wearing high-waisted, patterned gypsy pants, a crocheted crop top, and had a feather hanging from a braid in my hair—and absolutely no desire to be chained to a way of acting or dressing in pursuit of “cool,” I didn’t give a damn at how Gina dressed. Nor how she stuttered over her words. Especially not the fact she carried a couple of extra pounds. She was friendly, sweet, and although she didn’t say much, we got on.
“Okay then, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty,” I declared, yanking out a book. “But first, I need about a gallon of coffee, how about you?” I asked.
Gina nodded. “Make that two gallons.”
I put my hand over hers. “Your love of Shakespeare cemented our friendship. Your love of coffee has made us soul mates,” I said seriously with a grin.
****
“Killian Decesare is staring at you,” Gina hissed as we gathered our books, getting ready to leave.
It was two hours of intense study and thirty minutes of comfortable conversation later; we had agreed to call it a day.
I didn’t have a chance to answer because her eyes bulged and her face turned pink. “He’s coming over here,” she declared in horror, quickly shoving things in her bag.
I felt him before I saw him, his heat stopping close to my shoulder.
“Hey, Freckles,” he murmured almost in my ear. His eyes moved to the girl who looked like she might go into cardiac arrest. “Gina.” He nodded with a smile.
Gina’s jaw dropped open at the fact he said her name and she quickly hurried out of the booth. “H-hey, um, I’ve got to...” She pointed at the door. “Bye,” she blurted before almost running out the door.
I followed her with my eyes before turning my attention back to Killian. I drank him in greedily. I hadn’t seen him around school the past few days, and I hated to say it, but I looked for him around every corner. He looked as good as he did the last time I saw him. He was wearing dark jeans, a white tee, and a motorcycle jacket.
I saw his eyes touch the small sliver of skin showing at my stomach as I straightened after putting all my books in my bag.
“You scared off my study partner,” I accused.
He shrugged. “It seems I have,” he agreed. “You need someone to help you study, Freckles?”
he asked, voice teasing.
I swallowed a grin. “No thank you, I’m done. I was just leaving, in fact.” It was true, but there was nothing I wanted less in this world than to leave his presence.
Killian’s eyes bore into me. “Where you goin’?”
“Home.” Though I really wanted to say “Wherever you’re going.” I was afraid that might sound a trifle tragic considering this was the third—yes, I was counting—time I’d been in his presence.
He nodded out to the window. “I’ll take you.”
I followed his gaze out the window and let out a small laugh. I did it partly to hide the way my stomach dipped the moment I set eyes on the motorcycle he had nodded to. An image of me riding on the back of that, pressed up against him, came to my mind. My spine tingled at that thought.
Killian tugged on the braid in my hair. “Somethin’ funny about my bike, Freckles?” he asked softly.
I shook my head slowly. “No, your bike is... awesome, for lack of a more eloquent word,” I replied honestly. “The possibility of me riding it... not so awesome,” I explained.
“Dad would bring out the shotgun?” he guessed.
“Mom would bring out the mullet photo, then murder me slowly,” I corrected.
His brows furrowed together. “Mullet photo?” he asked with a small grin.
Crap.
He did not need to know about the existence of a photo showing a baby me with a mullet that Mom promised to show the world if I ever got on the back of a motorcycle.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Nothing at all.” I slung the bag over my shoulder. “It’s a no to the ride,” I said with disappointment.
Killian fell into stride beside me as I walked toward the door. I expected him to suggest not telling my mom; he had a ‘screw the establishment and all authority figures’ vibe about him, but he stayed silent.
“What are you doing?” I asked when I realized that we had left the coffee shop and walked straight past his amazing bike. I had let myself fall into yet another daydream being in his presence.
“Walking you home,” he responded immediately, brushing his shoulder against mine.
I glanced at him. “But you’ll have to walk all the way back here to get your bike. That’s silly. I can walk home alone,” I informed him, stopping on the sidewalk.
He stopped too, and he moved to face me, standing so close our bodies almost touched. Every part of me seemed to zing with electricity at the proximity. “I don’t want you to be alone,” he murmured. “I don’t much want to be alone either, not when I’ve got the opportunity to walk with you.”
I stared at him, stunned. I wanted to stay like that forever, this close to him. I also wanted more. I stared at his lips, licking my own.
His eyes hardened and he stepped back. He nodded his head down the street. “This way?” His voice was hard, the words flat. I noticed the cords in his neck pulsing, and his hands were balled into fists.
I idly wondered at his reaction. Was it my fault? Did I do something? I cursed my lack of experience. My lack of knowledge.
I nodded when I realized he was waiting for a response.
He started walking at my nod and I automatically did the same, not wanting to leave his side.
We were silent for a long while, long enough to leave the main street behind, and go into the neighborhood where my house was. For once, I cursed how small this town was. I wanted my house to be hours away, not minutes that seemed to be passing far too quickly.
“Your dad, where’s he?” Killian asked suddenly.
I glanced at him; he was watching me intently as he walked. Not many people asked straight out about my dad when I alluded to the fact he wasn’t around. They danced around the subject, asking vague questions, trying to probe the answer out of me so they didn’t look nosy. I liked how Killian asked straight up, no bullshit.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Never met him.”
Killian’s eyes darkened, and he grasped my hand, squeezing it. “I’m sorry, Freckles,” he said softly.
I focused on my breathing, on not doing something stupid like passing out at his hand clutching mine.
“Don’t be sorry,” I said finally, slightly breathless. “My mom, she’s amazing. She’s more than I could have ever asked for. I don’t even notice that I’m meant to have two parents. She’s crazy enough to be both the mom and the dad. Plus, I’ve got Steve and Ava.”
I wasn’t lying; weirdly, I didn’t have a gaping hole where I thought a father should go. Maybe it was because I’d never known any different, maybe it was because I’d never felt like I was missing out on anything. Our home never felt incomplete. Mom filled it up. Steve and Ava filled it up.
“Though,” I whispered, “sometimes I do wonder about him. About why he left us. Sometimes I have stupid dreams about him coming home and declaring he’d been held hostage for sixteen years or some other equally ridiculous reason for being absent from our lives.” I paused. “Sometimes I do wish I knew why,” I said softly. “I’ve never told anyone that.” I’d never voice that particular dream to Mom; she clammed up whenever I even broached the topic of my father. I had seen the hurt on her face, even when I was too young to properly understand, so I stopped mentioning it. Now I was older, I wasn’t quite as satisfied with vague answers.
I needed more. At some point, I’d demand it.
Killian’s hand squeezed mine. “I’m glad, Freckles,” he replied, voice hard, “that I’m the first person to get a piece of you no one’s ever got.”
My heart jumped at the statement, the feeling behind it.
I expected him to say more, but Killian was silent, looking down the street, though I guessed it wasn’t the street he was truly looking at.
“What about your folks?” I asked, needing to know more about the elusive boy who had taken my mind hostage.
He kept staring for a long moment, long enough to make me think he wasn’t going to answer me.
“My old man died when I was a kid,” he declared flatly. “Mom’s a junkie. Mom isn’t exactly the title I’d give her, but I’m mindful of not corrupting the gentle ears around me.” He gave me a soft, teasing look.
I stopped walking at his words, causing him to stop too. It was either that or let go of my hand. He didn’t seem too keen on doing that, so he stopped a couple of paces in front of me. He turned and moved back so his body faced mine.
My heart bled right there in my chest; his words had actually opened it up, the pain for him was so real. It was unexplainable really. I barely knew him, but I hurt for him.
His brows furrowed as he bent his head to meet my eyes. “What, Freckles?” he asked, eyes guarded like he was expecting something, something bad.
“I’m so sorry,” I choked up, feeling tears filling my eyes. “I can’t even imagine that. Having no one,” I whispered, feeling a tear drop from my eyes.
His body jolted at my words and his face gentled. It was an amazing, mind-blowing transition. No one, no boy had ever looked at me the way he was looking at me right then. I didn’t know people actually looked at other people like that.
He stroked my cheek, his touch featherlight, but it caused tingles to erupt from every inch he touched. “I’ve got people,” he told me. “Got the club. They’re my family. Wouldn’t trade them for anything. Plus, I’m not alone right now.” His thumb brushed away the tear rolling down my cheek. “You’re too pretty to be sad,” he murmured. “’Specially don’t want you shedding any tears over me.”
I quickly blinked away any residual wetness, suddenly embarrassed at my emotional display. It was my downfall. I’d been emotional ever since I was younger. I felt things deep in my soul. Books stayed with me for months after the pages were gone, and I heard the feeling in songs long after silence had descended. I was a creative person; I never truly lived in silence. It had never really bothered me. I’d just accepted it as part of who I was. Now I realized how stupid it seemed. I wanted to pull away from his touch. I also wanted to live
the rest of my life in it.
I couldn’t do anything though. I was paralyzed staring at him, drinking in every moment of... whatever this was. I didn’t understand it, the thing between us. This tingling at the bottom of my belly at his every touch. This sort of yearning. The impossible need to kiss him.
Killian managed to shake himself out of it and stepped back, pulling on my arm gently so we were walking once more.
“The club,” I said finally, after getting my emotions together. “That’s the same one Zane’s in?” I asked. Though it seemed like a stupid question because he had been at the garage that also served as their clubhouse. I was infinitely curious about the motorcycle club that everyone in town seemed to know about. My knowledge of motorcycle clubs was pretty lackluster, apart from what I saw in the media. I didn’t get the feeling these were the bad guys the news painted out most motorcycle clubs as. The men Mom and I had met at the garage certainly seemed scary at first, but they were friendly, and I felt weirdly at ease with them.
Especially Zane. I knew he was a good person. Something inside me just knew.
Killian gave me a sideways look. “Zane?” He paused. “Bull,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Yeah. Grew up in it, Freckles. They’re good people, despite what anyone says.” He sounded almost defensive.
I gazed up at him. “I know they’re good people,” I stated with a small smile. “You’re in the club. So is Zane. They’re good people.”
Killian stopped once more, and I was glad because we had reached the end of my street and I really didn’t want to stop talking to him or let go of his hand.
“You don’t judge anyone on first glance, do you?” he asked, amazement dancing in his icy eyes.
I smiled again. “No, not until I’ve had the chance to get to know them and had a chance to make up my own mind, and not let other people make it up for me.”
He gazed at me for a long moment. “Christ,” he whispered. “You’re so far from a normal sixteen-year-old girl. You’re a different species than most of those airheads at school,” he pointed out in disbelief.