What Lies Beneath The Flowerbed

by D. M. Thornton

  A cold jolt runs up my neck, making me shiver. I glance over at the flowers sitting next to me in the passenger seat.

  What the fuck?

  Chapter 27

  Gray

  I call Andi and Jaz over to my house for dinner. The more I thought about Mr. Baker and his handout of condolences, the more the whole thing just rubbed me the wrong way. I have a horrible feeling that our demise is among us—that or I’m as paranoid as a whore on crack.

  Jaz sets the table and Andi pours the wine while I add the finishing touches on our pasta with pancetta and prosciutto. We sit down at the table, but before we can take the first bite, I burst out, “We got a problem.”

  Jaz drops her fork back onto her plate and falls back into her chair. “What the fuck is it now?”

  I snarl at her. “Something’s not right. I got flowers from Jett today.” Both Andi and Jaz gasp in mock horror, which deepens my scowl. “Oh, shut the hell up. You two are such bitches. I’m serious, it’s not the flowers, but what happened upon their delivery.”

  “Ooh, he had them delivered?” Andi asks, overly excited.

  “My principal, Mr. Baker, dropped the flowers off in my room. When he handed them to me, he said he was sorry to hear about my loss then asked me to meet him in his office after the last bell. Though when I went to his office, he extended his condolences again and then added that he didn’t even know I had a brother.”

  Jaz raises an eyebrow. “So?”

  “So, he said the person who delivered the flowers said he was sorry for my loss, but Baker himself mentioned my brother. How would he have known that it was my brother? Why not my mother, or a sister? No one at that school knows anything about my personal life.”

  “Maybe Jett himself delivered them and told your principal that Blue had passed over the weekend,” Andi suggest.

  I shake my head. “Then why wouldn’t he tell me it was Jett who dropped them off? And if it was Jett, why wouldn’t he just bring them to my room on his own? Something isn’t adding up. I don’t like it.”

  Jaz rolls her eyes at me with a heavy sigh. “Why can’t you just accept that the guy likes you and was trying to do something nice by sending you a bouquet of flowers? Jesus, Gray, stop overthinking everything. You’re gonna fuck it all up.”

  “Fuck what up?” I ask.

  “A chance at a real relationship, that’s what. For someone so smart, you’re fucking stupid sometimes,” Jaz barks.

  “Whatever,” I mumble on my breath.

  I can hardly eat. My stomach is in knots, but apparently, I am the only one that thinks we’re in danger. I glance up from my plate from time to time, watching Andi and Jaz exchange stories about Drew and Cole...laughing and giggling. Maybe I am crazy. But if the flowers and Mr. Baker were all just an innocent attempt to give me sympathy, then why can’t I shake this feeling of being under a microscope, ready to be dissected and exposed? I’m stuffed in a bubble that’s ready to pop.

  Only time will tell, I suppose. But the long and the short of it is that we’re trekking a dangerous road, and these two horny bitches are too worried about getting laid instead of saving their heads. I can’t say that I blame them; however, the moment you let your guard down is the moment that everything goes to shit.

  “Why the long face?” I hear Andi ask.

  I lift my eyes away from my plate and place the fork that I’m pushing my food around with on top of my napkin. “Nothing. I’m fine. Everything is fine.” There’s no point in repeating myself. They have their heads so far up their butts that shit’s drowning their brains.

  “Oh come on, Gray. Lighten up, will ya?”

  I glare at Andi, all niceness to the side. “Lighten up? Don’t fucking tell me to lighten up. You two nitwits are letting some stupid puppy love cloud your judgement, and you know what? It’s going to get us caught.”

  I scoot my chair back with a loud scrape against the floor and take my plate into the kitchen, scraping the contents into the trash. I don’t care if they’re done eating or not. I begin to clear off the table, including their plates. They both toss their forks on top of the plates as I swipe them out from under them and set them in the sink. By the time I have the whole table cleared, they’re putting their coats on and heading for the door. No one bothers to say goodbye. I wouldn’t respond even if they did. I let them leave, not even following them to the door to slam it behind them.

  Drinking on a school night is not something I do, and I’ve already had one glass. I like to be as clearheaded as possible, the majority of the time. Even when we go out on the weekends, in search of our next boy toy, I typically only drink one just to blend in with the rest of the bar hoppers. Yeah, yeah...the night at the bar with Jett was the exception. The guy makes me crazy nervous...in a good way, I guess. But I quickly learned that night that a bunch of shots only creates paranoia when you have something to hide. Well, we all need a reminder from time to time that alcohol is liquid courage, as well as truth serum. Anyway, regardless of tonight being a school night, I crack open another bottle of wine and take a swig straight from the bottle. Eh, who needs a wine glass? Am I right?

  I’m cleaning and gulping, loading the dishwasher and gulping, listening to some classical music and still gulping, letting the alcohol erase any of my constant sexual thoughts of Jett, and whatever worry that’s lurking for me between some flower stems. I fold the dish rag in a neat square, wipe my hands off on the hand towel, and grab the butcher knife from the counter. I spin around and take a step toward the counter holding the knife block when movement catches my eye. Now see, this is exactly why I shouldn’t be drinking. You don’t think as clearly when alcohol runs through your veins, and when you don’t think clearly, you forget to go lock your front door after your friends that piss you off leave, which then results in some stranger standing in the entryway of your kitchen.

  Except he’s not a stranger. It’s Jett, and he’s poised against the wall with his arms crossed over his muscled chest, which accentuates the thick veins that protrude throughout his taut skin. He’s grinning and gawking, and I have no idea how long he’s been standing there...watching me.

  Freakin’ weirdo.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask with a gasp. I bite my lower lip when Jett’s grin turns into a full-fledge smile. Generally, I don’t like to cuss around other people, only to Jaz and Andi...and to any of the assholes we’re about to kill. I have a potty mouth, that’s for sure, but when I’m attempting to play along in the role of sweet and innocent school teacher, I strictly keep my mouth clean. But like I said, alcohol makes you do some questionable things. “Sorry. I mean, what on earth are you doing in my kitchen?” I don’t know if that sounds any better, but I try to backpedal nonetheless. When Jett drops his arms and takes a step toward me, my hand that’s holding the knife rises, and I point the tip in his direction. “Wait,” I say with a sharp tongue. “How did you know where I lived?”

  Jett throws up his hands in a truce, taking two more steady steps until his palm is almost touching the tip of the blade. “I found your address in our system at work.” When I stare at him blankly, he adds, “The night you came to pick up Blue, you filled out some papers that included your address and phone number. I didn’t mean to drop by unannounced, but I tried calling the number you left on the sheet at the station, and when you didn’t answer or call me back, I got worried.”

  “You got worried?” I asked. It’s a weird concept for me, someone being worried about me. “Why?”

  Jett’s head tilts to the side, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say his face resembles that of someone who’s sad.

  Oh shit, he’s sad for me.

  “I wanted to make sure you’re all right. I know how hard it is to lose somebody you love, and when you didn’t return my calls...well, I wasn’t sure what to think. I needed to see that you were okay. When I got here, I knocked, but you didn’t open the door. I heard your piano music, so I tested the door, and when it opened, I kinda just let
myself in.”

  I nod my head slowly, still in shock. “I can see that.” I’m not sure how to respond to this. If I’m being honest, Jett has been continuously on my mind. Drinking didn’t help the cause either. Here I tried to wash him away from my brain with booze, and that only made me horny and more confused.

  Jett remains silent, holding my gaze as his hand moves cautiously, reaching around my wrist to take the knife from my hand. For a moment, I forgot I had it pointed at his chest. I guess you can chalk it up to my comfort with holding a knife at someone. He’s lucky I didn’t slash his jugular in a knee-jerk reaction to protect myself. He swivels around and slips the knife into its designated slot in the wooden block then brings my palm up to his mouth where he presses his lips into the center of my hand in a kiss. “That’s better.” He gives my hand a little tug, pulling me into him and closing the gap between us. Our faces are almost touching. He whispers, “How you holding up, love?”

  My heart is beating fast in my chest, making the blood that’s being pumped throughout my body flush my ears in a forceful swoosh. The warmth of our bodies hovers between us, setting my skin ablaze. There’s no way to cool down when I’m next to Jett. He sends me into all sorts of heat to where I’m flushed and tingly all over. Most women would love to have their flesh prickled with goosebumps and their extremities throbbing with desire. Me? Well, I’m still trying to get used to this so-called lust feeling. It’s welcomed, yet the unknown has me scared like I have never been scared before.

  You might think that I should be living a life of being constantly scared. True, I used to when I was a child, but the moment I got my hands dirty with my mother’s molesting boyfriend’s blood, everything changed. I stabbed that guy thirty times then watched him bleed out, gurgling and choking on his own blood. I watch the life drain from his eyes and held my breath just to listen to him take his last. A sense of empowerment flooded over me that day, and from that day forward, I was no longer scared because I knew that no one could touch me. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m not invincible, but I have taken charge of my life. I am no longer the victim.

  But with Jett staring into my eyes, waiting for me to give him some kind of signal to give him the okay to lean in the rest of the way so he can rest his lips on mine...well, it scares the bejesus out of me. If I allow him to brush my lips with his, then what happens next? Will it escalate into touching...fondling? Will it lead to him settling between my thighs in an attempt to release an orgasm from my rigid body? A part of me wants him to try, not that I think that he’d be successful. But then there’s the sensible part of me that knows we can never work. If I let him take control over my body, there’s a chance he could crack me open...the parts that I want to keep hidden. I don’t trust myself when I’m around him. The closer he stands to me, the longer his touch lingers on my skin, the way his eyes bore into my soul...it’s only a matter of time before he breaks my walls. And I can’t let them fall.

  And so, I take a step back and let my head drop forward, closing my eyes so I don’t have to see the look of rejection across Jett’s face. But he doesn’t feel rejected, I guess. When I think he’s going to be upset that I’m not giving him the green light for a make out session, he follows my step and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug.

  Guzzling more than half a bottle of wine wasn’t the best choice as now I’m swaying in Jett’s embrace. And dammit all to hell, I can’t stop the tears when they break free from my eyes. I’m not certain why I’m crying to begin with, but when Jett’s lips press into the side of my head, I fully collapse into his arms, folding my arms under his, and grab hold of his shoulders as I sob into his neck.

  Without releasing me, Jett leads me to the couch where he sits and pulls me down to lay my head in his lap. He strokes my hair and tickles my back with his fingertips, trying to soothe me as he calmly says, “It’s okay. Let it out, I got you.”

  I’m not sure how long I cry, but Jett waits it out, doing what he can to relax me. I force the tears to stop when my chest begins to hurt from the hyperventilating sobs. This is ridonkulous...fucking wine. I sit up and cross my legs as I wipe my eyes dry. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “I do,” Jett says. He cups my cheek with his palm and swipes his thumb under my right eye, catching the last tear that slips free. I hold my breath, afraid to know why he thinks I’m crying. Hell, I don’t even know why I’m crying. He pulls my head forward and pecks the corner of my mouth with a kiss before saying, “I don’t care how well you try to hide it, Gray. Losing your brother was traumatic, especially after trying to save him. It takes time to heal, and you need to give yourself that time to grieve.”

  I let my shoulders fall and release the breath that I’ve been holding. I hate to admit it, but he’s right. Blue’s death has me stuck in a weird spot, cramped in a corner of my own darkness. I don’t want to feel the pain. I don’t want to feel the guilt. I don’t want to feel...period. But it’s no use. No matter how hard I try to stuff the memory back into a cave in my brain, or how hard I try to drown the sorrow with a bottle of wine, the fact of the matter is, I’m devastated by the death of my brother.

  Yes, Blue and I didn’t have the best of relationships. And yes, we went eight years without talking because I couldn’t stand the sight of him abusing his body the way he did, but those three weeks he was here...well, I secretly enjoyed them, even though he did annoy me. I’d give anything to have him back here, being a slob and scratching his nuts while lounging on my couch for hours. I would love nothing more than to hear him tell me how uptight I’m being and how he loves my cooking and to have him tease me when I yell at him about putting the toilet seat down after taking a piss. “Why do I need to put it down when you never put it up?” He’d laugh. I want to hear that laugh one more time. Funny, when he was here, I wanted him out. I took those three weeks for granted. I refused to let my guard down, even for my own brother, and I missed out on really reconnecting with him before he died. I never told him that I loved him. But I do. I really do love him.

  Fucktard, I’m crying again.

  This time, I let Jett wipe the tears from my face. Both of his hands are holding my face and his thumbs are brushing away the tears that spill down my cheeks. He doesn’t ask for permission, and I don’t stop him when he kisses me. I part my lips and allow him in, letting our tongues dance around each other. There’s no urge to fight him off this time, even when one of his hands falls from my face and lands open-palmed on my chest. Maybe he’s testing the waters to see if I’ll freak out again, but I don’t. Instead, I take his hand and move it over and further down so it’s resting over my breast. We both moan at the same time, though I’m sure mine is because I’m shocked that I’m actually letting him cop-a-feel, while he’s turned on by palming my full breast. Just when I’m getting comfortable with his hand groping me, he brings his hand back up to my face. The warmth of his skin on my mine is gone, but not for long. He pushes me back onto the couch and hovers over me, pressing his tongue further into my mouth.

  I gulp back as much as air as I can between kisses, but the panic is starting to surface. With Jett on top of me, I’m having a hard time catching my breath and my chest is starting to seize. I try to remain focused on Jett’s lips, how they mold over mine in a perfect fit, and how his tongue delicately massages mine. I press my hands into his chest and concentrate on how his chest heaves in heavy breaths. I’m trying to keep my knee from coming up and slamming into Jett’s crotch, but it’s starting to feel like I’m suffocating. As if he can sense it, Jett backs off, breaking the seal on our lips in a loud smack. We’re both panting and gasping for breath.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, staring down at me.

  “Yes. No. I’m not sure,” I ramble. I cover my face with the crook of my arm, embarrassed.

  Jett takes my arm and removes it from my face. He’s all smiles when I brave a peek at him. My heart melts at how gorgeous he is. It’s unreal really, and I’m forced to l
ook away, for I don’t think I’m worthy of being in his presence. Amongst every other guy, I’m inferior to them and their bullshit, but not with Jett. With Jett, I’m just a meek li’l girl who’s crumpled to mush when he looks at me with his blue eyes.

  “Look at me,” Jett says.

  Damn, if I’m this easy to read, I’m in even bigger trouble than I thought.

  I open my eyes and glance up at him with a sheepish grin. I’m a complete dork, I swear.

  “We can work through this, Gray. I don’t want to push you. You just have to be honest with me, and we’ll take it slow.”

  Jesus, if this is slow, then what the hell is moving fast? I say, “Okay,” though I’m not quite sure what I’m saying okay to. Okay to being honest? Maybe we’ll skim the surface of honesty. Okay to working through it? It’s a possibility, but I’m not holding my breath. Okay to taking it slowly? I believe we’ve already hit second base, so if we go any slower, we’ll be sitting on separate sides of the couch, looking at the wall. I have two choices right now. I can hide under my arm and continue to be scared by the unknown, or I can say fuck it and see where this can go.

  For crying out loud, I’ve never had this much difficulty in giving it up. It’s not like I’m a novice at having sex, but this time it’s different. This time, the man that’s hovering over me is one that I care about. I’ve never had a connection with a man, which probably explains why I used to be able to dole out my pussy like tokens at Chuck E. Cheese’s. But Jett, he makes me...

  Nope. Not gonna say it.

  What I am going to say is, fuck it. Let’s throw caution to the wind for once. Let’s put to rest all the nerves and anxiety. That’s right. I say, it’s on like Donkey Kong.

  I take the collar of Jett’s shirt between my palms and yank him down, slamming our mouths together in a desperate kiss. I ignore the growing need to slip out from beneath him and run out the front door of my own house. I can do this, and for Chrissakes, I’m going to fucking do this. And Jett wastes no time, taking full advantage of my forward offering. His hands push up my shirt. His lips leave mine long enough for him to pull my shirt over my head and toss it onto the floor. He growls as he crashes his lips against mine once more and palms my breast through my bra. I arch my back, pushing into his hand, and moan when he tugs my bra down, exposing my breasts, and begins to roll my left nipple into a tight bud.