by Lily White
Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for a black Lexus to roll up, the windows heavily tinted and the chrome accents gleaming. The car comes to a stop, and the driver steps out, my skin bristling the instant I see him.
That son of a bitch moves like he’s snapped a neck or two and enjoys doing it. I don’t miss his guns for arms or the way he narrows his eyes on Damon and me while rounding the car to the back passenger door.
Keeping my eyes locked on the obvious threat of Ivy’s driver, I lean against the side of the van with my arms crossed over my chest to watch as the driver rips the door open, leans inside to cover Gabe’s head and then jerks him out by both ankles to drop him on the ground.
I have to admit the speed in which he accomplished it is impressive. Gabe is not a small guy, but the driver just tossed him around like a small child.
When Gabe starts to immediately fight, Damon and I rush forward, careful to stay quiet as we help pin him down.
I look over to see Ivy step out of the car, an evil grin on her face, which makes me wonder what the hell she’s planning.
On the subject of Ivy, I’ll say this:
We’ve gotten along once in the entire time we’ve known each other. But I have always respected her style.
Like Emily, Ivy backs down to no one, except where Em will shoot off at the mouth and clench her little fists with the promise of tearing down walls, Ivy will fuck up your world with the pranks she pulls, which has always made her insanely entertaining.
Gabe is struggling like a motherfucker, and it takes coordinated effort between Damon, me and Ivy’s driver to hold him in place.
Stepping up to us, Ivy shakes her head and says, “I honestly thought you would see past that.”
Gabe fights again, and it’s a struggle not to laugh. But we have to stay quiet to keep him from knowing we helped.
“I’m going to kill you for this,” he mumbles from inside the bag over his head.
“Oh, Gabe, I know. Which is why I have to make this as enjoyable as possible.”
They continue their verbal jabs back and forth as Ivy begins to strip him down. I look away because the last thing I need to see is Gabe’s cock.
After he’s naked, Ivy has us flip him to his stomach so we can tie him up and she can write a message on his back.
“Take him to the van.”
Fucking gladly. Carrying him isn’t easy, but eventually we toss him in back and climb in, Damon and I remaining as quiet as possible while Emily talks to Ivy near the Lexus.
When Em comes running over, she rounds the front and opens my door to yank me down and whisper against my ear.
“She said to dump him at Tanner’s.”
It’s a simple sentence. Seven words that are anything but sexual, yet just the brush of her lips against my ear and the heat of her breath on my skin sparks a need inside me to a point of pain.
I groan and nod my head, willing her to let me go and place distance between us as quickly as possible.
Thankfully, she does, but she stops before I can shut the door, her eyes meeting mine with the same spark of need behind them.
Touching each other is dangerous. And this friendship is testing every bit of self-restraint I have.
For a few seconds, our eyes remain locked together, our anger from earlier wiped away and replaced with so much regret that I’m being sliced open right in front of her.
When I hear Gabe start struggling against the ropes keeping him in place, I blink away that feeling and tilt my head to silently tell her to get in so we can go.
It’s a quiet ride to Tanner’s house, all of us fighting not to laugh every time Gabe makes a sound.
After Damon and I dump him in the yard, we lose the ability to stay silent, our laughter a burst of sound against the quiet night as we haul ass out of there.
We have tears in our eyes by the time we’re on the road again heading out of Tanner’s neighborhood.
“Ah, fuck,” Damon says from the back. “Gabe is going to kick our asses if he ever finds out we helped in that.”
“Which is why he won’t find out,” I answer. “Just keep your mouth shut if it’s ever brought up.”
“No problem there. So what are we doing for the rest of the night?”
Fuck.
I was hoping to drop Emily off before we’re fighting again.
She glances at me as if thinking the same thing, but when she tries to suggest we take her back to her car, Damon won’t hear it.
“Hell no. It’s been ten years, Red. We’re not letting you go yet. Why don’t we head to our house and watch a movie?”
“I really need to get to my car,” she argues, but Damon climbs up to kneel between our seats.
Staring up at her, that son of a bitch turns on the guilt.
“We haven’t seen each other in years. Give us a few more hours. Please.”
Her eyes flick over to me for a second before she looks back at him.
“Maybe another night. We have six weeks.”
Damon’s brows crash together, probably because I haven’t mentioned that part of the arrangement.
I know he’ll be questioning me relentlessly now.
“Fine,” he finally says and pushes up to kiss her cheek. “But next time we get together, you’re giving us more time.”
I’m back to wanting to rip his lips off, but I grip the wheel instead.
We drive Em back to her car at the diner, and Damon takes way too long giving her a hug.
I lean against the van watching them, not surprised when Emily pulls away from him and gives me only a weak wave in goodbye before walking to her car.
A muscle in my jaw jumps to watch her leave, thoughts and memories spinning and colliding in my head.
Anger races through me that she treats Damon better, that they have an easy friendship when it’s a struggle for me to act reasonably human around her.
But then again, Emily never broke a promise to Damon.
He has no reason to be angry at her, and she has no reason to feel guilty around him.
What Damon doesn’t know is that Emily was never supposed to be his at all.
She was supposed to be mine.
But she couldn’t trust me enough to give me that.
She never believed in me, and she never gave me the chance to try.
I think it’s her lack of faith in me that stings the most, a silent message spelled out when she left that I was never good enough, never strong enough, to keep her.
Damon doesn’t say a word until we’re back on the road and almost to Priest’s shop to pick up the Jeep.
“What did she mean by six weeks?”
I don’t look at him.
“That’s how much time I asked her to give us to try this friendship thing out.”
“Try?”
Pulling the van into its spot at the shop, I throw it in park and kill the engine. The back of my head rolls so I can eye Damon.
“You were a little handsy with her, don’t you think?”
He grins.
“Can you blame me? She’s Red. We’ve always been handsy.”
“She’s off limits,” I remind him. “For both of us. That’s the only way this shit is going to work.”
Anger rolls behind his eyes, and I know his temper is about to snap.
“Yeah, well it doesn’t help when you keep fighting with her. And if you think I didn’t notice that shit, you’re blind. What the fuck was your problem tonight?”
It’s not like I can tell him I was constantly three seconds away from ripping his head off for even looking at her.
Instead, I tuck that shit down and try not to think that I need to end this problem before it goes too far.
“I’m still pissed that she deserted us.”
“Get the fuck over it, Ezra. Just give her another chance.”
He doesn’t give me time to respond before letting himself out of the van and marching to the Jeep. We spend the rest of the ride home quietly seething.
&nbs
p; As soon as we’re inside the house, he runs upstairs. I lean against the front door wondering what the hell I’m going to do about this.
Already, Damon and I are fighting. No, it hasn’t gone to fists yet, but it’s gone there before.
This is bad.
This is bad.
This is bad.
But still I find myself leaving the house again and jumping in the Jeep. I haul ass out of our driveway without thinking about where I’m going and why I’m doing it.
I just know I need something.
Someone.
Some woman.
A fucking firestorm that burns me and blinds me all at the same time.
We haven’t tried this thing for a full twenty-four hours yet, and I’m already snapping my leash and losing my fucking mind.
Emily
I’m in trouble.
More than the twins realize.
More than my friends realize.
More than I want to admit.
Being around Damon and Ezra tonight was harder than I’d imagined it would be, the thoughts inside my head fighting to free themselves from my tongue, but I had to keep swallowing them back.
I have to stay quiet.
By the time I get home, I’m broken.
Fucking defeated.
So torn and twisted that I can barely keep my eyes open as I walk inside the house and through a crowd of people.
Dylan’s having another party, and I don’t have the energy to bitch about it or care.
All I want is to crawl in bed and forget the pain of the past, the complications of the present and the fear I have for the future.
A few of his friends catcall me as I pass, the hallway filled with kids and pot smoke. I have no idea where Dylan even is in all of this mess.
Letting myself into my room, I’m thankful for thick walls that mute most of the noise, the shadows welcoming me as I walk across the room to strip off my jeans, shirt and bra.
Grabbing a thin sleep shirt from a drawer in my credenza, I tug it on and drop my weight onto the bed, pull the pillow up to my body and wrap my arms around it.
The first thought in my head is how slimy William Cross is, but I force that one out of mind since he’s the last face I want to see right now.
I can’t stand him, and the two hours I spent in his house left me feeling just as slimy as him.
Unfortunately, that just leaves me open for new thoughts to roll in, mostly of the twins, specifically of Ezra.
I can’t look at him without tears burning at the back of my eyes, can’t talk to him without fighting, can’t touch him and hold on to my sanity.
It only makes it worse to have Damon looking at me like I’m his world, the playful parts of him coming out while he hides the anger I know is inside him. I want all his playful parts, want all his smiles and all his energy. But not in the way he wants to give them to me.
Judging by the way Ezra kept flicking quick glances at his brother, he knows what Damon is thinking as well, and he doesn’t like it.
Which leaves me stuck in place.
How do you friendzone one brother while doing your best not to cling to the other?
How do you forget that you were the person who created such a fucked-up situation to begin with?
I was only having fun. I was following the rules and the agreement, yet somehow I still ended up royally screwing them both over without ever meaning to.
Those are the memories assaulting me now while tears stream down my face, and my body curls into a ball. I left them to protect them. To keep them together. To ensure their relationship didn’t suffer the consequences of my bad decisions and stupid behavior.
I must have cried myself to sleep at some point, or maybe into some halfway state where I’m only partially aware of my door pushing open, a thin stream of light rushing into the darkness before I’m bathed in shadow again.
It isn’t until the mattress dips down behind me and a familiar heat impacts my back that I fully wake up.
My heart is shattering as a set of strong arms wrap around me, my eyes burning with more tears as a large body presses against me. My breath leaks out on one slow, shuddering exhale as a warm cheek presses against mine, and I can feel the heat of Ezra’s breath.
Don’t ask me how I know it’s him. I just do. You always know when the person you belong to is in close proximity. Always know when the person who destroys you is holding you tight.
We’re both still and silent for several minutes, the tension from being together warring against the relief we feel for the exact same thing.
It’s like a rubber band that has been stretched for almost a decade, tight and burdensome, threatening to break and snap back at any second from the miles that existed between us. And now it’s relaxed, the threat of damage gone because the distance is absent.
Only what new damage are we facing by being like this?
I want to tell him to leave.
I should tell him to leave.
But I can’t find the willpower to do it.
Instead, I state the obvious.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, my voice cracking as I fight back more tears.
“I know.”
Ezra’s voice is just as soft, but it’s so deep that it sinks inside me to weave through my veins, knotting up until I’m nothing but a tangled mess.
Everything he says, every look he gives me, every touch I’m lucky enough to feel is absorbed so deep that I’m practically drowning in this man when we’re together and empty when we’re apart.
Even now, my body is trembling, and so is his, both of us desperate to continue clinging on while knowing we’ll walk away again.
Because we have to walk away, only he does so angry and hurt and betrayed, while I do it to protect him.
It’s torture.
Pure, painful and never-ending.
It’s hell, with my heart being torn out and my soul ripped apart.
It’s why this can’t be happening, why I need to get out of this bed and stay as far away from Ezra as possible.
I wiggle in place to pull away from him, my butt tight against his hips when he reaches down to grip my waist and hold me still.
“Don’t move, Em. Just stay still a little longer.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I know,” he growls, so much pain in that sound that I bleed to hear it. “Just do it anyway.”
“Why?”
“So I can breathe for once,” he whispers, his voice a jagged shard that slices me bone deep. “Please. Just let me breathe.”
I can’t say yes immediately, can’t feel the restraint and tension in his body and not remember what it felt like when they left, the nights I spent crying until I dried out, the sound of my phone ringing that I left unanswered.
He killed me when he wouldn’t give up, and he destroyed me when he finally did.
Worse than the ringing was the silence that followed. And I spent the next nine years fighting to forget him.
All for Ezra.
All for Damon.
All because I refused to come between them.
The twins needed each other more than they needed me, and I would break my own heart a million times over before I would ever threaten their bond.
It appears nothing has changed. One night in and I know they are already fighting. Not in a way most would expect it. I just happen to know them well enough that I can recognize the looks they give each other and the unspoken warnings.
Still, I give in.
Only because I’m selfish and want this as much as him.
“Okay,” I finally say, and I feel every muscle in his body relax, hear the long sigh as he releases a breath, melt when his arms hold me tighter and his heart pounds against my back.
There’s no telling how long we lay together without moving, without speaking, without acknowledging that what we we’re doing goes against everything we agreed to. But we do it anyway. Somehow together, but somehow apart.
<
br /> “What do you want to know?” he finally asks, the soft, deep note of his voice breaking into the silence.
He doesn’t have to explain what he means. What Ezra is offering is something I’ve always wanted.
My mind races back to a dark room, an opened door, the small amount of light that bled through to show me the first clue that the twins were in trouble.
“The handprint,” I whisper back, an old thread of fury unraveling inside me to remember how angry that mark had been.
His arms tighten even more, and I fight to breathe. Not that he’s choking off my ability, but because I know he’s holding onto me to keep from sliding into the memory.
Minutes pass, tense and thick, but I wait patiently for Ezra to find a way to tell me his story without betraying Damon by telling his.
He speaks slowly when he explains, “I was being held back. Being forced to watch-“
Not finishing the thought, his voice trails off, the rage inside me rolling and expanding until my flames flicker out to lick at the memory he can’t bear to admit.
Patience...
It’s what I have to give him.
Even if I want to tear him open and examine every thought just so I know how bad it was.
A deep breath pours out of him.
“I was being forced to watch something. And I fought so hard that the person holding me caused that bruise. I was screaming until my throat was burning, but they wouldn’t let me go. It took four of them to hold me in place. That’s how hard I fought. I was on my knees, trying to push to my feet. Trying to crawl forward. Trying to do anything I could to make it stop.”
I die a little more with each word he speaks, bite my tongue to keep from demanding more, and close my eyes to stand with him in whatever room he was being held in when that hand left a mark on his skin.
And then I’m crying.
With only that small piece.
The tiny amount of information.
I’m sobbing as he holds me in place.
I guess that’s what happens when you hold a person so deep in your heart. You consume them and make them part of you. You share their pain. You experience their trauma. You choke on their truth because it’s impossible to swallow.
I’m standing in that room with him, watching, and the entire time, he’s kissing my cheek, his lips chasing each tear that falls, his soft voice comforting me when it should be the other way around.