It’s totally reasonable—we can stay here forever. We can forget the world and live off each other and room service.
Totally fucking reasonable.
"You ready?" she asks, smiling.
I lick my lips and stand up, taking the two steps that it takes me to reach her. I tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear and smile as her eyes dilate. "You’re gorgeous," I murmur.
Her smile widens, turns a little bashful, and a blush rises in her cheeks. "Thanks."
"Come on. If we don't go, we'll miss the boat, and you should see this. Even if I just want to throw you back on that bed and tie you up there."
A low, husky laugh makes me groan, and she goes up on tiptoes, whispering, "Promises, promises."
I close my eyes as she turns to snag her purse, and then we leave the room. Pull my phone from my pocket as we walk to the elevator. She glances at me, curiosity bright in her eyes, and I smile at her, kissing her cheek quickly, before typing out the message quickly.
Me: Screw that. I'm not giving Avery up.
I hit send as the elevator doors open and I begin plotting how to keep her.
The jazz band is playing softly in one corner of the dining room, and couples are dancing. Avery glances over at them then me, a clear invitation. I grab her hand. "Walk with me?"
"You are not going to feel me up on this boat, Atticus," she warns, her tone playful.
"Is that a challenge, babe?"
She laughs. The wind is a warm kiss off the river, the water gleaming in the moonlight.
"I've always wanted to take one of these cruises," I confess, and Avery looks over at me.
"My mom and dad used to take them every year, for their anniversary. They'd leave me and Scout at home and go off for a weekend in the city, and they always took one of these cruises. It was one of the highlights of the year for Mom. She loved telling Scout about it. I always acted like I didn't care. But I guess I thought it was really sweet—that Dad did this for her every year, despite the shitty food and the bad music."
She glances over her shoulder. "The music isn't that bad."
I laugh. "It's not good."
We're quiet for a minute, walking hand in hand. "Did you bring her here?"
I look at Avery sharply. She's staring at the water, refusing to look at me, and I tighten my grip on her hand. She drags her gaze up to mine, and I touch her face, a soft caress. She leans into without seeming to realize she's moved.
"No. I never brought Nik to New Orleans. We came with friends, a few times. But she never liked the city. It was too dirty for Nik. She liked New York and LA. Paris. We went there, for our honeymoon. Her parents paid for it."
She cocks her head, hearing something in my tone. "You didn't like it."
It's not a question. I feel the sting of that long ago trip—five years, and it still hurts.
"I didn't mind Paris. I guess, when I'm on my honeymoon, I want my wife more interested in me than where we are and what kind of shopping the city offers."
I don't add that we've spent more time in our hotel room in the past two days than Nik and I did in almost a week. Some things Avery doesn't need to know.
"I wanted to go to a cabin in the middle of nowhere."
Her words draw my attention to her, away from my memories. There's something about them that bothers me, but she shrugs. "If I could plan a honeymoon. That's what it'd be—a cabin in the woods. Stop on the way up for food and shit, and then a week alone with nothing but each other and maybe some books."
I come up behind her, circling her waist and pulling her against me. The dark water rushes by, and I can hear the soft noise of it, under the laughter of the other dinner guests and the music.
I can understand why my father brought mom here so often. Wrapped like this, I can almost believe that we're alone. The future is ours to make what we want of it.
So I say what I'm thinking.
"We should go. Maybe in the fall—when it's starting to get cold and we can actually have a fire."
She stiffens in my embrace and pushes at my hands on her abdomen. I let her go, and she twists to face me. She's angry—I can see it in her eyes, fury making her hands and voice shake. "Don't do that," she snarls.
I force my temper down. "Do what?"
"Talk about us like we have a future. We don't. I know that—quit acting like that's what you want."
"Did you ever bother to ask me what I want, Avery? Did you ask me if I wanted a relationship, or did you just assume that I'd toss you aside when this weekend was over? Because if we had that conversation, I sure as fuck missed it."
"Don't you dare put this on me,” she whispers, her eyes wide. "You’re a professor. I'm a student, and I will not let you screw up my last year. I've worked too hard to get where I am. I'm going to finish my damn degree and move on with my life. This is fun—I think we can both admit that we've had a great time. But there is an expiration date. We both knew what we are, and we went to bed with our eyes open. So don't you act like this is all on me and I'm making presumptions."
She starts to walk away, and I catch her arm, jerking her around to face me. "I don't care, Avery. I don't care what you are or what I am. I'm not giving you up after one weekend. We have another eight weeks before the semester starts, and no one can say a damn thing until then."
Her eyes fill with something like panic before she closes them, takes a deep breath. "Let me go," she says, her voice cool.
I drop her arm like it's a hot brand. She meets my gaze, and I don't stop her as she hurries away.
Avery
Oh fuck, fuck fuckity fuck. My fingers are shaking, and I almost fumble my phone in the damn toilet. I dial and the phone rings once before Jason picks up. "Jeff is putting Sydney to bed. What's up, sweetcheeks?"
"I slept with Atticus," I blurt out without preamble.
"Oh, shit, really? Is he as yummy as he looks? Was the sex good? You used protection, right?"
I laugh at his barrage of questions, but it dies on a sob, and Jason softens. "Oh, sweetheart, what did he do?"
"It was only supposed to be the weekend, Jace. We weren't supposed to be anything more than that."
"But?"
"He wants more." I hiccup.
"Did he try to force you?" Jason demands, his voice sharp and dangerous.
"God, no! He just—he wants more. He keeps talking about the future, what he wants to do and show me, and it's just—it’s not gonna happen. And we just got in a fight, and I'm hiding in the damn bathroom and I just—I don't even know what to do."
"Why did you fight?"
I hesitate. Why did we fight? Because Atticus wants more, or because I'm terrified to give it? "I can't. I can't do more than this weekend. It's supposed to be sex—and it’s damn good sex. But I can't get involved with him. I can't care about him. It hurts too much."
Jason sighs, and I hear Jeff's soft murmur. I sniffle, and then Jason says, "Avery, if you don't want more than meaningless sex, that's okay. It's your choice, and he had better fucking respect it. But if you’re just scared, I want you to think about why Atticus scares you. He isn't Josh. Don't throw away someone good for you because you’re afraid, Avery."
Is that what I'm doing? Josh swims in my memory. Of course that's what I'm doing. It's what I've been doing since that day in the fall, almost four years ago.
"I don't know how to let him in," I whisper.
"First, clean up your face," Jason says, his voice warm but no nonsense, "then go talk to him. Decide what you want together. It's a relationship, Avery. Neither of you gets to make all the decisions."
"Josh would disagree with you."
"Josh is a twat. And Atticus isn't Josh."
That's what it comes down to, isn't it?
I come out of the bathroom, and I'm not terribly surprised to see Atticus leaning against the rail of the ship. He's gorgeous, so beautiful gilded in starlight that it literally takes my breath away.
His arms come around me, painfully tight, and I clin
g to him. I don't want him to let go. That's the problem—I don't want to ever let go, but that’s not an option. When the fall semester starts and Atticus walks away, I'm going to be broken. He will shatter me, like Josh did, and I will be left picking up the pieces, trying to put myself back together.
I don't know if I can do that again.
But I do know I can't walk away from him right now. I don't want to.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs against my hair, and I make a small, wounded noise. "I'm not ready to be over."
"Will you be ready in eight weeks?" I ask him, and try to look up. He lets me go reluctantly, twisting his fingers through mine. "Because we both have lives that don't include this." I motion at us, and a pained look crosses his face.
"That's eight weeks from now. How do you know that in eight weeks you won't be tired of me?" he asks.
It's teasing, but I can hear the undercurrent of hurt and uncertainty.
I can hear it because for so long it's been in my voice.
"How do we do this, then?"
He looks startled, and I clarify. "We're going home tomorrow. How do we be together in Branton? Everyone knows you there, and it won't be good for your reputation to be seen with a student."
Even though we've already been seen—several times. But that was before we slept together.
"You want to keep seeing me?" he asks, his voice startled and pleased.
"Atticus, even if I didn't, I can't work with you and keep my hands to myself. It's just not gonna happen.”
He smirks at me, that self-satisfied little smile he gets after her makes me come. “Is that right?”
"Cocky ass."
He pulls me into a one armed hug, leading me back to the dining room. Back to bad music and shitty food, and I'm unreasonably excited. "You, little girl, like my ass."
Chapter 17—July
Atticus
I glance at my watch as I jog on the twisting trails behind the complex. It's almost ten—she'll be waking up soon. I turn, headed back to my apartment. The air is stifling, even this early. I love my hometown, couldn't picture myself anywhere else. But the summers just about convince me to try.
Avery is still asleep when I slip into the apartment, curled in a sheet and very little else in the middle of my bed. I lean down and brush a kiss over her forehead before I head to the shower.
It still never fails to amaze me when I find her in my room. In my bed. The trip to New Orleans was two weeks ago, and she's spending more nights at my place than not. There's been a softening in her that I love. She hasn't given up all her secrets, but she's definitely not shutting me out. She hasn't since that night on the river cruise.
I hear the door open and her sleepy voice. "Coffee?"
"Go back to bed, babe. I'll go get it."
She laughs a little at that and shuts the door. Silly girl. I could make her coffee, but she claims it's not the same.
I sometimes wonder if the coffee is just an excuse for some breathing room.
I'm dressed and sitting down with my laptop to answer some emails when my phone vibrates.
Dane: Have you talked to your sister?
Me: Why?
I scroll through the texts and pull up the one from last night—it'd gone off while I was in bed with Avery, and I hadn't thought of it again.
Scout: Headed home for a few weeks. You still at D's?
Oh.
Dane: Because I have a half drunk college co-ed in my living room, and sister or not, if you don't come deal with her, I'll toss her back out on her ass. I have to be in court in thirty minutes.
Me: Settle the fuck down. Put Scout in the spare room and go on. I'm on my way.
Dane: I'm not leaving her like this, dude. She's trashed.
That didn't sound good. I shove my feet into some sandals and grab my keys, headed out the door.
Trashed doesn't begin to describe Scout. Dane is standing in his kitchen, barking orders into his phone, and I feel a moment of sympathy for his poor paralegal.
His eyes are furious, and I raise one eyebrow in question. He points toward the back of the house and goes back to his work crisis.
I find her in the bathroom, draped over the toilet, her long black hair falling around her in limp, dirty tangles. She moans a little, and I gag at the scent of vomit and piss in the air.
Not how I want to find my baby sister. Ever.
Dane appears in the doorway behind me, his nose wrinkling a little at the foul smell. "She okay?"
"What happened?" I demand, my voice shaking.
"I don't know. Some guy dropped her off about an hour ago. I guess she didn't get a hold of you—she thought you were still staying here. Jesus, dude. Don't you talk to her?"
A spear of guilt and regret hits me. How long since I'd called Scout? Weeks—probably closer to months.
Fuck.
"I'm sorry, Dane. I'll get her out of here and clean up."
"Don't apologize, Atti. She's family. But I'm worried about her."
"Stop fucking talking about me," Scout slurs, her voice echoing off the porcelain of the toilet.
"Watch your mouth, little girl," Dane says without any real force. She flips him off, and he laughs, a wide smile easing the tension on his face. "She'll be fine," he pronounces. "Lock up before you leave."
Without any other fanfare, he's out the door. I hear the purr of the Viper before he's gone.
"God, he's still a pretentious ass."
"Big words for a girl with her head in the toilet."
"I'm in no mood for older brothering," she snaps, then winces.
My phone rings, and I mutter a curse. "Hello?"
"Where'd you go?" Avery sounds vaguely amused and baffled, but there's no worry or real concern in her voice.
"Sorry, babe. Family emergency. I'll be home soon."
"You want me to stay? I can work on the journal, or meet you if you need some help?"
I try to picture that—my volatile, strung-out sister meeting quiet, focused Avery.
No. Not even gonna happen.
"Who the hell are you talking to, Atti?" Scout mumbles.
"Not now. Just hush and go get in bed," I murmur to her. "No, wash your face first."
Avery is quiet, and it takes me a second to remember her question. "You can take the day off, if you want. I think this is gonna keep me busy most of the day."
"Sure," she says, her voice tight and strange. "I'll see you later."
She's upset. Fucking awesome. "I'll call and explain all of this in just a little while."
"The hell you will," Scout snaps. "It's not your story to explain."
She's making it worse—I can almost feel Avery pulling away, all the progress we've made over the past few weeks disintegrating under the words from my sister.
"Please, Avery. Trust me."
She hesitates, and then: "Call and make sure it's a damn good explanation."
She hangs up before I can form a response, and I close my eyes as relief swamps me.
Then I look down at my sister.
Scout is six years younger than me. She had a rough time in high school, between me being at UB and then leaving for grad school. There were a lot of parties, a lot of nights when she'd crash on my bed at the frat house. A lot of nights she ended up there, even when I was with Nik.
It wasn't the best place for an impressionable girl with a serious case of hero worship for her only brother.
None of us realized the drugs were a problem until she was so deep in we couldn't drag her out.
"Come on," I say, dragging her up. She's lost more weight, and I can scoop her into my arms with frightening ease. "Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed."
After Scout showers—and curses me the entire time—I tuck her into the bed I so rarely slept in. Her eyes are beginning to show signs of lucidity, and she peers up at me. "When did you get here?"
I smooth her damp hair. "What do you remember?"
She frowns, and my stomach sinks. Black outs are normal for Scout,
but they still scare the shit out of me.
"I think Kyle was dropping me off....I remember being in the car with him." She looks at me for verification, but I don't know who the hell dropped her off.
I'm so tired of this. So tired of the stupid fucking cycle, but I can't turn away from her—she's my baby sister.
"Why did you come home?" I ask.
She shrugs, her eyes dropping, and it clicks. She's out of money. Of course. She only drags herself home when she needs access to her trust fund.
"Scout," I groan, and she makes a pouty face.
"Don't lecture now, Atti," she begs. "My head hurts. Besides, you might as well save it till Mom gets here."
"I’m not calling her. I want you in rehab."
"You know how much I don't like that place," she answers, but her words are slurring. The drugs and the alcohol are pulling her down. And because I'm a fucking coward, I let it. I sit by her bed until her breathing settles into an even rhythm. When she's like this, I can see the girl my sister was, when I was going off to college and she was a gangly, awkward teenager. Before my life got a hold of her and she became this hot mess.
She snores, a soft little sound that she'd die rather than admit she makes, and I smile.
Avery
The day is dragging out. I'm not sure what to even think—he said it was a family emergency, but that was a girl he was telling to go to bed.
He was putting another woman to bed, and I was pacing my apartment, waiting for his call. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I glare at my grad school application. It's my last one, the one that is the most important to me. I could ask him for help. He went to Duke. He could pull strings, help me get in.
Still, asking my lover-slash-boss to get me into my grad school of choice seems a little mercenary.
It makes me feel dirty.
My head hurts—it's throbbing in the silence that's plaguing the loft. I want coffee—pretty damn desperately—but not so much I'm willing to go face Jeffery. One look and he'd know something is wrong.
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