Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series

by Gemini Jensen

  “That dress looks good on you,” he mutters.

  “Thanks.” My face turns pink, but I’m somehow able to get the words out even through the shock of what he just said.

  He just stares at me with a blasé expression, so I clear my throat.

  “Let’s go.”

  “That’s my girl.” Tilting his head, he throws me the lopsided smile he usually reserves for girls he wants to hook up with—the smile he’s never in his life given me, and my head begins to spin. Does that mean he wants to hook up with—me?

  There’s no way.

  We head down stairs and out my front door, and I throw my hand up at a less-than-thrilled looking Hayes, who’s behind the wheel of their mom’s Camry.

  “I take it he’s been forced into the chauffer position?” I arch a questioning brow at Nash, who simply responds with a shrug of the shoulders.

  “He’ll be okay.” He pats his brother on the shoulder as he slides in beside me in the backseat.

  “Oh,” he turns to me. “Almost forgot. We still have to pick up Amy, but her parents are picking her up from the dance. They were just going on a date or something and wouldn’t be back ‘til after it starts.”

  My lips flatten for an instant before I force a smile. “That’s cool with me.”

  So not cool. So not fucking cool.

  Hayes puts the car in gear and takes off as I pull out my phone to shoot a text to my dad in case he wakes up and finds I’m missing. He might disappoint me from time to time, but I don’t want him to worry.

  “This is such fucking bullshit,” Hayes grumbles. “I have to meet my fucking date there, but my little brother, the player, gets to show up with not one, but two chicks.” He shakes his head, chuckling to himself.

  “Hey, I’m not a player.” Nash holds up both hands as I scowl at him.

  “Yeah, yeah. Nothing says ‘I’m not a player’ like making your date wait on you, so you can pick up another girl first. It just goes to show who’s number one out of the two of them, though.”

  I blush at his point of view regarding the situation.

  If only…

  Nash turns to me once again, not even caring to correct his brother or to provide a comeback to the out-there comment. He just studies me with an intensity so penetrating, it almost makes me believe he wants to see how I’ll react to the statement. When I stare right back, attempting to remain closed off, he finally responds to Hayes.

  “Hell. I guess it does look bad. Asking the same girl over and over again to be my date, and finally facing the fact she didn’t want to go with me, and asking someone else the day before. All to show up with the girl I wanted to take, when I go to pick up my date.”

  For once, he doesn’t seem to be teasing, and although he directs the words to his brother, he never breaks eye-contact with me during their delivery. Not until we pull into Amy’s driveway and he’s forced to get out and head to the door. Maybe he wanted to take me as his date, and maybe he’s disappointed to have to play the part with Amy, but he’s still going to do what’s expected of him and be a gentleman. It’s just how he is.

  Hayes and I both sit in the car waiting as Nash knocks on the door and greets Amy. Since her parents are apparently not home, they don’t get roped into taking any photos or other nonsense. Thank the lord for that, otherwise I might have a nuclear meltdown from the jealousy brewing inside me.

  Just before they reach the car, Hayes blurts out a sentence so hasty and strung together, I almost don’t catch it.

  “You know, he really did want to take you. Said he asked you over a passed note in class because he was afraid of how you’d react…”

  My mouth pops open to say something, but Nash is already walking to the opposite side of the car, pulling open the front passenger door and holding it so that Amy can get in. She pauses in confusion—until her eyes land on me, and an instant frown settles onto her face. The thought of switching seats after he got out didn’t even occur to me, and he sure as Hell didn’t ask me to.

  She says nothing, but the look she throws my way is enough to convey her feelings over my unwelcome presence.

  Hey, don’t mind me. I’m just the third-wheel crashing my best friend’s date…

  I’m just as surprised at to our seating arrangements as she is about my being here. Nash could’ve chosen to have me sit in the front so that he could sit with his date, but he didn’t. He slides back in beside me and we’re on our way. I’m stiff as a board now that I’m forced into this awkward scenario, and it doesn’t seem to get past him.

  A warm sensation wraps around my pinky as I press my palm into the seat, and I glance down to find he’s intertwined his pinky with mine. I side-eye him, but he continues to face forward, a blank expression on his handsome face like there’s nothing going on at all—even though every part of my body is alive and tingling all over. One small graze, one simple touch, yet it’s like he’s kissing me passionately.

  We stay that way until Hayes pulls into a parking place at school, then he retracts his hand from mine, and he’s gone—playing his role like it’s nothing at all.

  ~XoXo~

  It’s the middle of December, and despite the school having the heat on, our huge auditorium is still pretty chilly. I keep my white faux-fur wrap around my shoulders, taking a seat with some of my friends once inside.

  “Wow. Amy looks really pretty tonight,” Marsha, the girl sitting across from me, comments.

  I try to control my emotions but can’t help but glare over at Amy as soon as her name is mentioned, hating the fact Marsha is right. Her sherbet orange sequined dress is skin tight, the front more revealing than should even be allowed for a high-school dance.

  My eyes slide over to Nash, and I’m pleased to observe the way he’s holding her—arms wrapped loosely around her waist with several inches between them. It’s so much unlike every other guy out on the dancefloor, that I can’t help but grin in elated amusement.

  “Amy looks pretty? Have you seen what Lyra’s wearing? She’s like The Snow Queen and Snow White rolled into one with her dark hair and her all-white ensemble,” my friend, Sara, scoffs.

  She’s never been an Amy fan, but she’s typically reserved. The outspoken comment comes completely out of left field.

  “Well you both look super gorgeous,” I point out, hoping neither of them are feeling self-conscious tonight as I keep up the whole women-empowerment obligation us females tend to partake in, complimenting each other and arguing over who’s the prettiest. It’s a never-ending exchange once started.

  Marsha picks up where I left off, and Sara volleys the next comment back, complimenting everyone else’s hair and how she wishes hers weren’t too curly for an updo. I tune them out, my hand sliding into my purse and feeling around the contents until it finally lands on what I’m searching for. With careful eyes, I survey the room, taking note of all the teachers and chaperones and their distances from where I’m sitting.

  Everyone seems to be preoccupied so I unscrew the lid off my tiny airplane bottle of Wild Turkey, taking two long pulls until it’s empty. My face involuntarily scrunches in on itself when the burn slides down my throat, filling up my chest, then settling in my gut.

  Maybe it’s hypocritical to criticize my Dad for drinking when I sometimes take a sip here and there myself, but this isn’t enough to get me drunk—only buzzed enough to relax and enjoy myself, ensuring I don’t get hung up on what Nash’s doing and why things are suddenly so complicated between the two of us.

  I glance over my shoulder toward the refreshment table where I last saw our principal, quickly re-screwing the lid so that I can easily discard of all the paraphernalia at once, when someone suddenly leans over me and jerks it out of my hand before I can even react.

  Oh. Shit.

  I cringe, afraid to turn around and face the consequences of my actions. I’m going to be grounded until graduation.

  “What. The. Fuck?” Nash snarls in my ear, his hot breath hitting my neck like the fire-br
eathing-dragon he’s suddenly become.

  I jerk around to meet his eyes, irritated by being chastised, and anxious over the fact he’s causing a scene when I was being relatively stealthy.

  As if his sudden appearance isn’t enough to contend with, Hugh appears out of nowhere, right in front of me.

  “Hey, Lyra. You want to dance?”

  I swear I hear Nash growl as he stands up a little taller, glaring at Hugh like he’s about to leap over my chair and tear him to shreds. Hugh seems to shrink back, no words needing to be said. He veers to the left, and strides away as quickly as his legs can take him.

  My eyes roll at the ridiculous show of possessiveness. Nash thinks because he’s my best friend he knows what’s best for me. It’s kind of endearing, but more often than not, exceedingly annoying. Tonight, I’m definitely not in the mood—even if he did save the day earlier.

  When our eyes meet again, we just glare at one another, neither of us willing to back down. We stay locked like this for what seems like a lifetime, both of our infinitely stubborn personalities at war. Finally, I’ve had enough.

  “Calm down.” My lip curls aggressively. “I was just having a little fun. Now go piss off to Amy.” The jealousy I thought was sealed deep inside, leaks into my voice, making me seem like a petulant child.

  His eyes narrow. He pulls me from my seat, leading me by the elbow toward the dimmed area off to the side of the dancefloor setup. The bottle lands in the trashcan as we pass, and he’s so hasty about it, no one else catches the movement.

  When we’re out of earshot of anyone else, he backs me against the wall, blocking me in between both his arms.

  “Why you sneaking alcohol in—besides the fact you want to ‘have fun’?” he mocks, using his right hand to make air-quotes.

  My lips press together in a thin line as I shrug my shoulders, my skin erupting in goosebumps because the action has the bare tops of my shoulders brushing against Nash’s wrist, which rests just above. That one movement seems to affect him too, because he suddenly lowers his hand, skimming it over my shoulder, then along my collarbone until it comes to a stop at my brooch. He fiddles with it mindlessly, still looking to me for an answer.

  “I just wanted to let loose and stop worrying…” I finally admit, wincing when I realize how it sounds.

  “Worrying about what?”

  “Everything. Me. You. Us. I don’t know what’s going on, but things just seem to be…changing.”

  I barely get the words out, before he blurts, “Can I try something?” His brows are lowered in worrisome contemplation, and the air around us seems to shift. The intent in his eyes is puzzling, and I fear I’m reading it wrong, so I don’t move or speak.

  He seems to take my inaction as permission, leaning forward, his lips drawing nearer to mine—and I pray this is real. But just as his skin is about to touch mine, panic jolts through me, and my palms land at his chest, shoving him back.

  “Don’t make things more confusing,” I shriek. “God, what are you thinking? You’re here with someone else, and you’re going to ruin everything. You’re just horny and apparently wanting to bone anything that moves.”

  His face is falls, hardening after a moment as I duck underneath his arm and storm toward the front entrance, ignoring the protests of the parent-chaperone who’s posted up at the ticket booth as I burst through the doors leading outside to the courtyard.

  My high-heels clomp against the pavement as I head toward the fountain, but I refuse to sit and risk my dress getting picked. Instead, I pace back and forth, finally tossing my head back and howling out my frustrations.

  “Hey, moonlit goddess,” Nash’s voice envelops me with affection as soon as it reaches my ears, and I still before twisting back around with eyes wide—embarrassed to be caught acting so immaturely. “You’re spellbinding tonight, in case I didn’t tell you already.”

  “I didn’t hear you follow me out…” I explain away my temper tantrum before narrowing my eyes in suspicion. “What’s with all the compliments lately? You’re confusing the Hell out of me.” I stomp my foot in another show of immaturity. “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t like being complimented?” He arches a brow, his mouth quirking in amusement.

  “Not when it’s coming from my best friend in the entire world and it makes me feel stupid things I shouldn’t be feeling…” I blurt, slapping my hand over my mouth in disbelief as if the action might push the words back inside and force him to unhear them.

  A full-on grin breaks across his handsome features, and he closes the distance between us, grabbing both my hands as he pulls me near.

  “Look at me,” he orders. I tilt my head back and follow his command blindly. “I ditched Amy halfway through the first dance. She got mad because I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you, called you a few choice names out of jealousy, and I told her to go to Hell.”

  I gasp, eyes widening in shock.

  “Truth is,” he continues, “I wanted to be here with you, and no one else. And when you continually turned me down, I hoped to make you jealous with Amy knowing how much you hate her. It’s fucked up and I’m sorry.”

  His eyes burn down into me, and I feel like he’s setting fire to my soul, engulfing me from the inside out. Is someone you consider to be just your friend supposed to make you feel this way?

  “But why would you want to make me jealous?” I ask in breathless confusion.

  “I don’t know…” He scratches the back of his neck anxiously. “I just know what you said back there was right. The way I feel about you, it’s changing. And it’s just as confusing for me as it is for you…” He trails off, not exactly giving me the response I was aching for, yet not crushing my hope either.

  A shy smile tugs at my lips as I gaze up at him, and right about that time something ice-cold hits my nose. His finger brushes it away, only for it to be replaced by another.

  “It’s snowing.” He states the obvious, glancing about in the same look of amazement I’m sure is on my face at the moment. Giant, half-dollar flakes have begun to fall all around us, shimmying and twirling like ballerinas on a stage.

  “Ah,” I gush. “Isn’t it lovely?” My tongue flicks out to catch one, and I slurp it back in like a lizard, causing Nash to laugh.

  “Mm. Lovely,” he agrees, pulling me flush against him suddenly. “But not as lovely as you…listen.”

  I strain my ears, finally making out the soothing vocals of Fade into You, by Mazzy Star pouring out into the night air that surrounds us.

  “Dance with me?” He looks at me seriously, cautiously, like he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve. He’s vulnerable, and he’s allowing me to see him this way.

  I smile at him reassuringly.

  We fall into a slow, back-and-forth sway before he spins me around several times like a breakout ballroom professional, and I giggle. Then, he’s pulling me close all over again.

  I press my face into his into his shirt, smiling contentedly when I get a whiff of the familiar D&G Light Blue cologne he loves to wear.

  Tonight is the best night I’ve had since Mom died. I feel beautiful, and even more important, cared for. All the anger and helplessness I’ve been drowning in over Mom’s death seems to be fading, being replaced by something new—something worth holding onto. Just like the name of the song, I wish for nothing more to fade into Nash and let nothing but our relationship consume me, because even if I’m terrified things won’t work out, I know one thing for certain…

  What me and Nash have, it’s love, and it’s forever. It doesn’t matter the form it comes in—doesn’t matter if tomorrow we go back to acting like tonight never happened.

  For the first time in a year, I feel that budding sense of hope for the future. And as if all that weren’t enough, Nash seals it with a kiss—pressing his lips lightly to mine in a confounding mixture of promise and respect. It lasts only a few seconds, not pushing any boundaries like kisses I’ve endured in the past, yet it’s meaningful.

/>   A kiss I know will rival all others from here on out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ransom has the patience of a saint; I’ve probably stepped on his toes at least ten times as we sway back and forth. There’s not even much skill required, but I still can’t dance for shit. Especially not when my head is drowning in memories I thought were buried, all the while Nash and I are honed in on each other, neither one of us daring to look away.

  What are you thinking when you look at me, Nash?

  Does he regret anything regarding us; wish he had handled things differently? That’s exactly one of the defining things that strengthened me as a person—the fact I stayed up late at night, lying in bed as I stared at the darkened ceiling and obsessing over all the things I would go back and change if given the opportunity.

  I should have spoken to him first instead of waiting for him to come to me, should have been strong enough to make the first move. Then, if he didn’t want to be around me, I should have pushed him. I should have forced him to see reason, especially knowing how stubborn he was. The demise of our friendship was as much my fault as it was his in that aspect.

  I sometimes wonder about all the things that could have been, had the stars aligned differently—if our tale were written as an epic love story instead of marked a tragedy. Instead, like our namesakes, we’re stuck. Held in the same place forever, millions of lightyears apart—each of us knowing of the other’s existence, maybe even taking the time to enjoy the sight of them, but always destined to remain locked in place. Separate. Isolated. Connected in some improbable way, and at the same time disconnected.

  We went from friends to an unrequited love, to strangers. We weren’t even the star-crossed lovers; we never had the opportunity to make it to that point.