by S. M. West
“Go out with him—or don’t you like him?” Ry chimes in.
I’m surprised I didn’t notice him. He’s been sitting on the counter the whole time. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Whenever Evan is near, I’m oblivious to everything else. This has to stop.
Evan and I are close, but things have shifted, are changing between us. My feelings are morphing into more, something deeper. We still have our friendship and his loyalty to me is unrivaled, but like an iceberg, beneath the placid blue surface, there’s this gigantic mass of formidable emotions lying in wait.
As I struggle to make sense of it all, I have no clue where he stands. Since he’s hit his teens, he doesn’t look at me the same way anymore. His gazes are more intense, yet indiscernible.
We used to be in sync, and words weren’t necessary. Now, we’re hardly ever on the same page. Some days, we’re worlds apart.
When his parents died, he became a ward of the state, while Ma legally petitioned to be his guardian. Fortunately, after less than two months, he came to live with us permanently. We got lucky. Ma came across his parents’ will, which named my parents guardians for their only son, Evan. He was back in our lives sooner rather than later. It was still longer than I would have wanted, but it could have been worse.
“I never said he asked me out.”
“Oh, my God, yes he did. He asked you out!” Lauren shrieks.
“L, can you stop? You’re not helping.”
She giggles, giddy like a child overdosing on sugar. She is going to be a disaster in high school. I have my work cut out for me. Evan’s heated stare and clenched jaw cause me to fidget. I hate how easily he makes me squirm. I look away, and Ry’s blue eyes nab mine. He smirks.
“Give the guy a break. Either cut him loose or say yes,” Ry says.
“Don’t you think you’re too young to be into boys?” Evan says slowly, his eyes locked with mine.
He’s challenging me. He’s infuriating. Who does he think he is to have a say? I’m almost twelve, and besides, he’s going out with Stacie Holmes. The thought of her is a rock sinking to the pit of my stomach.
My heart seized at the sight of them holding hands last week. I knew he was seeing girls, I just wish I didn’t have to witness it. Besides wishing they weren’t together, I also wish I could erase the image from my mind.
“You know, L, I’m going to say yes to Jon. I’d love to go to Sara’s party with him.” My eyes never waver from Evan’s as I ignore his comment and make my own statement. His darken by the second.
“Hey, sis, we need to talk,” Ry starts in with his imitation of a father.
“Ry.” I break our staring contest, swinging my gaze to my brother. “I don’t need you to big brother me all the time—I don’t need either of you.” I cut back to Evan. “If I need your help, I’ll ask. Otherwise, back off.”
Without another word, I go into our living quarters, with Lauren on my heels. After Pops died, we sold our home and moved into the three-bedroom apartment above the bar.
“I’m going to shower,” I say to Lauren.
“I’m going to call Tyler and make plans for the four of us.”
“Okay,” I say halfheartedly, shutting the bathroom door.
Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I try to see what it is that Jon, Ben, and other boys see in me. I’m not hung up on looks, but still I’m human. I’m pretty, although I’m not feeling it right now, and it has everything to do with the dark-haired boy downstairs.
I undo my bun and my long hair falls in messy tresses down my back, not too far from my typical wild, loose waves. Thanks to my Irish heritage, my pale skin is now cherry red from practice and the heat.
My aquamarine eyes shine, more blue than green today, changing color with my mood. My only small facial feature is my nose; everything else is too big, too wide. My square jaw is most prominent, and almost as noticeable are my big heart-shaped lips. Each trait isn’t necessarily attractive by itself, but together, they work. I’ve been told by many, including strangers, that my eyes and smile are magnetic. I got lucky.
Slipping out of my clothes, I further examine my body in the mirror. My breasts are developing, although barely a handful. Even so, boys notice appreciatively. My waist and flat stomach flare out into decent curvy hips, making my waist appear smaller than it is.
My legs are muscular, but not too big, and they’re long. I’m almost five feet seven inches and I may not be done growing. It’s sometimes awkward how I tower over most of the boys my age.
Despite what Evan may or may not see, my body is changing and so are my feelings for him. I’m growing into a woman. My heart has always recognized Evan as its other half.
It sounds silly, but he’s always gotten me in a way no one else has. We’ve never needed words to understand each other. I fear now, as we grow older, we’ll grow apart, and that connection will change, fade, or die. I can’t imagine a world where I don’t have Evan.
§
Evan ~ 15 years old
“MOVE THOSE TABLES OVER there,” Ma says before going back into the kitchen.
The bar is closed for a private party this evening and we’re rearranging the tables.
“How do you feel about Carys seeing guys?”
Ma’s not in earshot, but I keep my voice low as I wait for Ry’s response.
“Not wild about it. She’s almost twelve but looks like she’s fifteen. Guys talk about her and it drives me crazy.” He wipes the back of his hand across this brow. “And you?”
I could play ignorant and question why Ry would ask me, but we both know why. Carys is my sweetness, has been from the day I first laid eyes on her. It’s always been pure and innocent between us, but almost overnight, it’s changed, grown into this nameless, wild, desperate thing. It scares the shit out of me because I can’t act on it. She’s too young.
I’ll have to bide my time, but even with that and not fully understanding it, this thing between us feels natural, like it was always meant to be.
“What are the guys saying?”
I’m struggling to keep my anger buried before it gets the better of me. I wasn’t aware of any talk about Carys, but it doesn’t surprise me. Most of the guys know she’s mine, without me having to say a word. It also helps that I’ve got Ry and Tripp reinforcing that she’s off limits.
“Not bad shit.” He smirks, enjoying my frayed control. “You know, saying she’s hot and shit like that. Look, I’d rather not talk about this, it’s my sister we’re talking about.”
Unease slithers down my spine, leaving a heavy restlessness in my stomach. The urge to smash something or lock Carys away is overpowering, and neither is smart or possible.
The door to the bar opens and in comes Stacie. Damn, her timing sucks. She’s a girl I hang out with, definitely not my girlfriend, although she likes to think she is. Sure, we go out and we’ve kissed, but it’s casual.
“Hey, guys,” she says, with one of her bubbly smiles.
“Hey,” we answer in unison, putting down the last table.
She skips over to me and plants her lips on mine at the same moment Carys and Lauren enter the room. Carys stops, her mouth slightly open before it shifts into a frown. Our gazes clash as I abruptly pull away from Stacie.
Carys is pretty, freshly showered with her wet hair hanging loose down her back. Her tank top and jean shorts show off her healthy glow.
“Hey, Stacie,” Lauren says, pushing Carys into the room.
Stacie’s long blonde hair lightly whips my chest as she glances over at them.
“Hi! And you are?”
“Hi, I’m Lauren, and this is Carys, my best friend and Ry’s sister.”
“Hey… Care-iss? What a weird name.”
“Actually, it’s KA-riss,” Carys says snottily.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
Carys rolls her eyes, obviously gearing up for a rebuttal as Tripp and Griff bound through the door. Tripp flicks his blond hair out of his eyes, striding purpos
efully for Carys. In one quick move, he grabs her hips and flings her over his shoulder. The poor girl squeals as Tripp jogs around the bar with her in his arms. Show-off.
“Tripp, put me down!” She laughs.
Planting her firmly on her feet, he twirls her around and tweaks her nose with the tip of his finger. “That was fun. Let’s do that again, real soon.”
“Let’s not and say we did!” She’s still laughing, beaming at both guys, and Stacie’s completely forgotten.
Leaving Stacie, I greet Tripp and Griff, ruffling the younger one’s shoulder-length blond hair. Carys stands in the middle of the four of us, the way it usually is.
She may be a girl, but she’s the core of our group. Each of us look to her as the final decision-maker and we’re quick to protect her, although she’d be the first to say she doesn’t need protecting.
“Of course you slackers arrive after all the work’s done.” I bump shoulders with Tripp. He grins, fully aware of his timing.
“Are you ready?” Griff asks Carys, running his hand through his hair. She nods.
“Where are you going?” Ry and I ask at the same time.
Carys looks between the two of us. Her brows knit, lips pursed in frustration or something close to it.
“None of your business,” she responds, as Griffin says at the same time, “We’re going for pizza, want to come?”
“No,” Carys states emphatically.
We eye her like she’s slapped us.
Her outburst makes it crystal clear: we’re not welcome. She’s never excluded us before. I catch her eyes surreptitiously glance at Stacie, her upper lip curling into a snarl. Scratch that—more accurately, she doesn’t want me and my companion around.
“Griff, I’d love to, I’m starving. Who’s in for pizza?” Ry says, taunting his sister.
She lowers her eyes to the floor, folding her arms across her chest. There’s a resounding chorus of “I am” from all except Carys. Griff moves in closer, cups her chin, and raises it to face him. He examines her face, and my guess is he’s apologizing for opening his mouth and inviting us. Also, he’s likely wondering why she’s acting the way she is.
Subtly shaking her head, she pulls her chin from his hold. Taking his hand in hers, she gives him a small squeeze and a shy smile. It’s only meant for him. Things are fine between them. Like I thought, it’s me she’s got a problem with.
“Hey, Stace.” I pull her away from the group. “I’m going to go with these guys. I’ll talk to you later.”
Each word out of my mouth confirms how much of a dick I am, but I refuse to make Carys uncomfortable. These are her friends, and I won’t do something that makes her bow out or hate every minute of it. Fuck, girls are so complicated.
“What? I can’t come?” Her disappointment evident.
“These guys made plans and you’re not going to crash ’em.”
“I’m sure they won’t mind if I come. Carys has her friend coming,” she protests, eyes on the group, ready to ask them if she can tag along.
“Stace, no. I’ll talk to you later.” My response is firm.
“Fine,” she says, sounding anything but as she leaves without a goodbye.
I don’t give her a second thought. If we’re done, fine. She’s a fun girl and I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but she’s not my concern.
“Let’s go, I could eat a horse.” I return to my small group of friends.
With nods and yeses, we head for the door. Purposely staying behind, I nab Carys’s belt loop, pulling her to me. Her shoulder bumps my chest and I hook my arm around her neck.
“We good?” I peer into her soulful eyes.
“Yeah.” The corners of her mouth turn up and my heart jerks at her dazzling, genuine smile. Finally, one for me. I’ll never get enough of her smile.
“Good.” I kiss the top of her head.
I draw her closer and her arm snakes around my waist, her hand flat on my stomach. A feeling akin to electricity jolts through my belly, and heat spreads from the warmth of her palm throughout my body. She’s right where I want her to be: in my arms.
Now
Carys
I PLACE THE LAST glass on the shelf when it hits me, or rather he does. It’s that sixth sense, the unmistakable prickling you get when someone’s watching you or when you know something’s about to happen. He’s here, and the adrenaline of being close buzzes through my veins.
Reluctantly, I turn, hoping I’m wrong, while knowing I’m right. Sure enough, Evan’s headed straight for me. His long strides quickly eat up the distance between us.
His body oozes confidence with his relaxed swagger, sexy smirk, and twinkling eyes on me. Low in my belly, there’s a vise-like tightening as I fight his undeniable appeal.
Some things never change. He’s the type of guy you notice, and several women follow his every move. In his well-worn blue jeans and tight-fitting black t-shirt, every defined muscle and every hard line is panty-melting. Yes, he is that impressive.
Attempting indifference, I nod and head to the far end of the bar, away from him. I drag the wet rag across the bar top I cleaned no more than thirty minutes ago, but he doesn’t know that.
Joe and Marty, two of my regulars, stop their chatter to watch me complete my task. They must think I’m wacko.
“Marty, do you want a refill?” I motion to his almost empty beer.
“Sure, honey, I’d love one.”
With the intensity of his eyes on me, an uncomfortable warmth ignites within me. “Hey, Sweetness.” Evan’s deep, smooth voice sends a shiver up my spine as I place Marty’s beer on the bar.
“Hey yourself.” I’m going for casual, although I’m anything but. I’ve got a million questions I want to ask, but I won’t give in and show him that I care. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d have lunch with my girl and catch up.”
His mischievous grin reveals his intent to poke the bear. I’d like nothing better than to ignore him, but I can’t. I can’t let his comment slide.
Standing in front of him, I cock my hip and straighten my spine. Our gazes clash. His captivating eyes cut through my defensive thoughts.
His irises are a kaleidoscope of earth tones, predominantly amber with flecks of green and gold. With a gulp, I internally shake myself. Carys, snap out of it. They’re merely incredible peepers. Focus.
“First, let’s get something straight: I’m not your girl.” His smile widens as he leans in. I subtly move back, not wanting to give the impression that I’m weak, moments away from being a hot puddle of desire. “What can I get you?”
“The usual.” His tone is like an intimate caress between lovers.
Narrowing my eyes, I glare at him as heat creeps into my cheeks. Yes, I do know what his usual is, and I hate how he’s using our past, our familiarity, to manipulate me and weaken my resolve. That’s the problem with trying to protect my heart, or the bit of it I have left—he knows exactly how to get at it.
“Van.” I lob back my own well-aimed shot and he grimaces, like he’s tasted something sour. “Cut it out. Your burger will be up in fifteen, go find a table.”
“I want to sit here.”
“Seriously?”
“You said we could be friends, so I want to get reacquainted with my friend. Besides, we need to talk.”
“Fine, but I can’t talk now.”
“Then when?”
“I don’t know.”
I do want to hear what he has to say, but now is not the time or the place. I take up residence at the other end of the bar, chatting with customers until his lunch is ready. All the while, he watches me with a lazy grin and a playful glint in his eye. Whenever our eyes meet, he waves or chuckles, thoroughly enjoying this.
“Here you go.” I place his plate in front of him, then turn to leave.
He grabs my wrist and I freeze, goosebumps erupting along my arm.
“What?” I glare over my shoulder at where his hand is snuggly wrapped around my
skin. His thumb softly strokes my hand and messes with my insides.
“Please stay, talk to me.” His voice is needy.
“Van, now is not the time.”
“Please, stop calling me Van.”
“Why? It’s what your friends call you. Aren’t I your friend?”
Chuckling, he releases me and nods. “Yeah, but you and I both know that until now, you’ve never called me Van. I’m Evan to you, and I like it that way.”
“I don’t care what you like.”
A part of me is filled with unease at my barb, but I’m also hurt and angry. He left me, broke my heart.
“Fair enough.” His voice is low, resigned.
I turn away, sinking into the dark memory of the fateful day we ended. A phone call was all it took, ending it all without any real explanation.
My phone rings, and I glance at the screen: the number’s blocked. Without hesitation, I answer. With Evan on assignment, he could call at any time of day or night, and the numbers are almost always blocked or unknown.
“Hello?” Hopeful anticipation laces my voice. We haven’t spoken in weeks and when he left, something felt wrong. His departure was abrupt and his explanation more vague than usual. I’ve been anxiously awaiting his call or some contact, or even better, his return.
“Carys.” His tone is flat and there’s no sweetness in it.
It’s not unusual that he says Carys; while he rarely uses my given name, he has on occasion. What’s weird is the coldness in his voice.
“Hi.” I push past the alarm, just happy that it’s him. “How are you?”
“Listen, things have changed. It’s over.”
“Really? That’s great. When are you coming home?”
“No.” His voice is hard and short, and I realize I misunderstood. He wasn’t talking about the assignment. “We’re over. Know that you deserve only the best in the world, and I’m not the guy to give that to you. I’m not coming back, and don’t wait.”
“What?” The shrieking pitch of my voice startles me; my heart stutters. Each word out of his mouth is like a kick to my sternum and a vicious stomp on my heart. “You can’t do this. We love each other. I’ll wait for you. I don’t care how long it will take.”