by Dee C. May
“You two imbeciles,” she muttered, trying desperately to knock him off his feet.
“Sara—” I started, wondering where my explanation was headed. “It’s not like Lilly. She’s not crazy.”
She broke her attention from Quinn then and glared over her shoulder at me. “Am I supposed to trust your judgment?”
“Yes.”
“Well, excuse me if I don’t. Your judgment sucks. She’s named after a season, Beck. Shoot a little higher. “
“You’re a real bitch sometimes.” I bit my tongue after the words spilled out. Sara sidestepped Quinn then sent him sprawling and cursing, the lamp clattering off the end table as he connected with it.
“Better that than stupid. Where’d you even find that girl? What future do you have?” I felt like divulging the truth. In my unconscious state. Of course, that wouldn’t help matters. Besides, her question on the future was valid, one I had asked myself plenty. Quinn got up, advancing toward Sara. His eyes sparkled, and I could tell the night was almost over. Fighting for them was foreplay. They’d be downstairs in no time.
“Well, fuck my judgment and my stupidity.” I said it forcefully, hoping to hide the overwhelming number of doubts Sara had stirred up. Sara shook her head in disgust.
“Remember who and what you are, Beck.” Her words fell at my back as I went up the stairs, looking back once to confirm my suspicions. Quinn had Sara in a headlock, and I could hear him whispering things better left unheard on my part.
Sara started to laugh, pressing her tiny body back into his as they backed toward the basement. I didn’t understand her and never had. Quinn did, and that was enough. She was dark and beautiful with a temper unmatched by few—and even greater power. Quinn had a way of softening her, making her laugh. And when she did, she was mesmerizing. She was fiercely loyal, and I knew she would not divulge my secret about Wynter to the Forum. She would also never hurt her, even as she joked. We had been friends too long.
Wynter’s door was closed. I pressed my ear to it. I could hear her breathing, heavy and hitched, and the covers rustling. For an instant, I imagined her body in bed and felt my throat close up. I raised my hand to knock on her door. “Wyn?” I called softly.
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice sounded pinched and hoarse. I waited a minute, contemplating whether I should leave, when the knob turned and the door swung slowly open. She stood in the doorway, dressed for bed—hair twisted into a knot and face washed. Her eyes were red and swollen, but there were no tears.
“Do you want to go for a walk? It’s still nice out. Our tree awaits.” We almost always wound up under the beech tree. It had become our spot, sitting under the canopy created by its limbs, watching the sky through the swaying branches. She shook her head and moved away to the other side of the bed.
“Wynter?”
She turned toward me, placing a knee on the bed and staring at me. “What was she talking about downstairs?”
I jammed my hands in my pockets and leaned back a bit, wishing to be anywhere else. But I couldn’t lie to her, not about this. “I found a girl, years ago, when I was eighteen, who had similar powers as us. I brought her into the fold but she went crazy, tried to blow everyone up. They institutionalized her. People blame me. I went to bat for her and it … was a mistake.”
She nodded as if that made sense. I didn’t know what to say or do. For the first time, the distance I had been trying so hard to keep between us had truly arrived. I hated it.
“Has that happened before?”
I had fallen in love once before with Maggie. But that was more of a teenage thing. “No.”
She silently contemplated this.
“Are you mad?” I asked. I couldn’t tell what was going through her head.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that you have this whole life, or lives, I know nothing about. I never know when the sand is going to shift with you. It’s like I’m standing on the beach, and the water comes in and then, when it goes back out, I’m left teetering on the edge.”
I couldn’t argue with her. She didn’t know me—not really—nor the powers that could overtake me. Make me forget who I was. I couldn’t tell her that I loved her because I didn’t know if I could stay. As much as I hated what I was, the further I got away from the memories of Colombia, the more I missed the work. I craved the hunt, the fight, the missions. I felt alive in that world. The only other time I felt so good was with her, but that wasn’t fair to pin my mental well-being on her. A part of me wanted that risky, violent life, and she didn’t need that—someone who would leave repeatedly and come back fucked up.
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded at my words and gazed out the window again. What did she see? I wondered. When she turned back, her face looked different—quieter, less animated, as if she had resigned herself to something, as if some thought she had been carrying with her was gone.
“I should go to sleep,” she answered shortly and stared at me. I wanted to fight her, urge her to let me sit on the bed and talk late into the night as we sometimes did, watching her fall asleep in my arms. Instead, I nodded in response, backing up and retreating to my room across the hall. I didn’t try to sleep. I knew it was pointless. I spent the night thinking of my dream on the beach, of people meeting in alternate states, of Sara’s feelings and harsh words, of the truth I knew yet hated to admit.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Wynter—Leaving
I wanted to tell him it was okay, that I wasn’t hurt and lonely, but my pride won out. I sat on the small, upholstered bench next to the window and watched the ocean waves crash below. I’d waited weeks, wondering if he felt what I felt, if there was a reason he didn’t want me or if he was just too polite. But after spending all summer together, night after night exploring the woods around my parents’ house and trekking through his property, too, I’d thought he must feel something more for me. I’d divulged my secret worries and desires, plans for the future. All those thoughts and fears I kept hidden from others I’d told him and listened to his advice, seen his sympathetic nods, shared jokes and stories, listened to his laughter.
I was all prepared to bare my heart, as Brian and Julia had told me to, take a chance and see where it went. Now, in some weird twist of fate, instead of ending up in some romantic love scene, rolling around under the limbs of our beech tree as I’d pictured, I was alone. I thought of the way he stood there after she had shown up, dumbfounded and embarrassed. I heard her making fun of my name. My name sucked. I knew it, but only I could make fun of it.
Maybe we really were from two different worlds, and I was just deceiving myself. I glanced at my bag, half-unpacked, waiting in the corner. It was stupid to cry, I told myself. He hadn’t lied to me. Hadn’t told me he wanted more. He was always upfront. Told me he didn’t like love, couldn’t love. But the truth was, despite all my pretending to only want to be friends, I wanted more, wanted him to come tell me he loved me—grab me and kiss me—not stand in the doorway a world away.
I waited until almost dawn, gambling that everyone else was asleep, and packed the rest of my things as quiet as possible. Now, at six, with the sun clearly on its way, I headed downstairs. I grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge then nearly dropped it when I turned and saw Quinn sitting at the kitchen table.
“Hi, luv.” He grinned at me, popping the remaining bit of a waffle into his mouth. My stomach growled.
“Hi. What are you doing up?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“Just going to bed.” He grinned at me. “Where are you sneaking off to?”
“I’m going home.”
Surprise crossed his face. “Why? Is this because of Sara?”
I shrugged. “A little. She’s kind of scary, and, well, I don’t think Beck wants me here.”
He scraped back the chair, unfolding his long body, and came toward me slowly, shaking his head. “Listen, Wynter. Sara is just tough, s
he’s tough on everybody and, well, she wasn’t expecting to find Beck and I doing what we were doing with you, but she’ll get over it.” He frowned, which wasn’t like him. “And Beck just doesn’t handle situations well, or feelings.”
I snapped open the can. “What does that mean? Feelings?” The anger I was trying to conceal broke through.
He hesitated, drumming his fingers on the counter and tilting his head back and forth as if weighing something. “It means he sucks at the whole talking bit, especially if it has to do with him. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I sucked in a breath. “Well, maybe not, but it didn’t feel great. I just want to get out of here before we start a whole other day of him fumbling around words and Sara throwing nasty looks at me.”
He raised his eyebrows at me. “I can see your point. But why don’t you stay and talk to Beck? I can keep Sara downstairs.” He smirked, obviously entertaining himself with his idea of keeping her busy.
I shook my head and took a swallow. “No. Just tell him I said bye. He can call.” I picked up my bag and headed toward the door before I could have second thoughts. I didn’t want to see Beck in his rumpled shirt and worn jeans, hair all messed up, hear his damn sexy accent. It would be enough to make me stay, and I needed space. The whole feeling like an ass sucked.
Beck caught me in the front hall, spinning me around to face him. I shrieked, and he dropped my arm like it was a hot iron. “Where are you going?” His hair was mussed, and he was dressed just as I’d imagined, giving him a sexy outdoorsy look.
“Home, like I said last night and which you agreed with, and what the hell is everybody doing up so early here?” My voice reached a new pitch.
He smiled ruefully. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Well, neither could I,” I snapped. I’d spent all night tossing and turning, wishing I hadn’t kicked him out of my room.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” I wanted to forgive him and stay, but I was pissed. Why couldn’t he just fucking like me?
“Don’t go yet. At least let me make you breakfast.”
I could feel myself weaken, which only ticked me off more.
“I don’t want you to leave angry. Or hungry.” He wasn’t talking me out of it, just giving me sustenance. I glared at him and wanted to hit him and then push him against the wall and kiss him. What was wrong with him?
I felt ridiculous standing there. I let my pride take over. “Well, I want to get back. I have a date with the guy from the other night.”
Something flickered across his face, but I couldn’t tell what, and then he stepped back a foot. “Oh. I didn’t know you had plans.”
“I do,” I lied. He turned away then back, running his hand through his hair. I loved that rumpled, sexy look. I felt bad.
“Maybe it’s for the best.”
“What did you say?” I asked, my anger immediately rising again.
“Maybe that’s good. Maybe we’ve been spending too much time together.”
“You think?” I asked sarcastically. “Well, this is a first. Most guys don’t ditch me until they get some.”
“I’m not breaking up with you.”
“Feels like it. Except we’re not dating.”
“All I said was maybe your date is a good thing.”
“Fine. I’m going. Call me when you feel up to it. If you think I’m good enough for your mom and all that.”
I left him standing there with a perplexed look on his face. I would have slammed the door for emphasis, but the jamb was still broken. I stomped to my car, throwing it into reverse and pealing out of the drive. I felt instantly guilty. We had never truly fought, and it filled me with a bitter taste. I had the sick feeling I’d regret this fight for a long time.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Beck—Space
I wandered back into the kitchen.
“That sucked,” I admitted, frowning and opening the fridge as if there was something in there I needed. My eyes fell on the birthday cake I had bought for Wynter. I had planned to surprise her with it tonight, that and tickets to a Coldplay concert I knew she wanted. Her birthday was in two weeks.
Quinn studied the newspaper, a crystal goblet filled with scotch halfway to his lips. It made a strange picture at this early hour. I scowled at him. “Why are you reading the paper? And why in God’s name are you drinking out of that glass?”
“It’s the only clean one I could find. You forgot to run the dishwasher.”
The door to the basement opened slowly, and Sara stepped into the kitchen, her long dark hair in disarray, eyes half closed. “What are you two morons doing?” Her voice was husky with sleep.
Quinn stood up, folding the paper and glancing at me briefly. “Watching Beck make a mess of his life and discussing the lack of dishes in this house.”
Sara wore a black Stones t-shirt which fell almost to her knees, obviously absconded from Quinn. She crossed to him, pulling the glass from his hand and tilting the remains into her mouth. She scrutinized me as she swallowed. “You like her?” Surprise, and maybe disdain, colored her voice.
I watched a squirrel scurrying around the yard, gathering fallen seeds then darting up the closest tree. Running my hands up my neck, I clasped them together and, leaning back, stretched out my back. Sara waited patiently. I turned back to her, meeting her dark eyes. Quinn, Sara, and I had shared a lifetime of memories squeezed into ten years. Some of those under very intense situations. Maybe that was why she had been so mad last night. She had found Quinn and I enjoying a moment that normally would have been reserved for her. It had been the three of us raising hell for a long time.
“Yes,” I said simply.
She nodded but stared at me intently. I didn’t shrink from her gaze as I had last night. “She left?”
I blew my breath out, thinking of Wynter’s anger. She had looked hot all puffed up and annoyed. “Yes. She was ticked.”
Sara laughed. “I bet she was. You basically ignored her after I showed up. You didn’t even introduce her to me.”
“Well…”
“Well what? She thinks you were embarrassed by her.” She narrowed her eyes into slits. “Though I’m infuriated to be referred to as your mother. I may be thirty but I hardly look a day over twenty-five.”
“I wasn’t—” I answered defensively.
“Are you sure?”
“Hell, Sara. I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
She turned to Quinn, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the exchange, reading the folded paper as he stood next to Sara. “Good God, you weren’t kidding.”
Quinn smiled, not raising his eyes. “Told you.”
“What are you going to do?” Sara asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Let it lie. She has that date.”
Sara laughed again. “She has no date, just injured pride.”
Quinn paused in his reading, voicing his opinion. “The best thing you could do is show up with those tickets and a very long apology. Then she might, just might, forgive you.”
“I’m not good at groveling,” I answered.
“You suck at picking people to fall in love with, too, but that hasn’t stopped you.” Sara sounded exasperated. “Why can’t you just fall in love with Fiona?”
Quinn laughed. “She’s got a point. But too late now. As to groveling, get used to it. I spend night and day doing it. And still I barely get any.” The words had scarcely made it out of his mouth when Sara’s hand connected with his head.
Sara knocked away Quinn’s answering punch, pushing him backward toward the basement floor. “Groveling, my ass. You wouldn’t know groveling if it bit you there.” She didn’t even lose stride as Quinn swiped her legs out from under her. “Beck, you’re so pathetic, I actually feel bad for you. My sensitive side is kicking in.”
“You have a sensitive side?” Quinn asked sarcastically. She flipped back up and side kicked him in answer, sending him tumbling out of view and down
the basement stairs.
“I don’t get any of you women,” I called after them.
“See what I’ve had to put up with all these years?” Quinn called back. A loud crash resonated, which I hoped was not the flat screen. I slammed the door after them, hoping to block out any more broken furniture, and wandered back through the house.
Wynter’s scent clung to the air. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs and closing my eyes. With Wynter, I felt peace. When she wasn’t with me there was a hole in my life and I just wanted to see her. Yet, at the same time, there were moments I felt unhinged, unable to figure out the right path to take, my desire for her overwhelming me. My body barely under my control. If only I could go back to when things were simpler, when I was alone and didn’t want more. I hadn’t been happy, but at least I knew where I stood.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Memories
Lilly stared into the darkness, listening to the wind whip through the tree branches. They scraped against the building like a cat scratching at the door to come in. She shoved the window open, and it creaked then buckled in the rotted frame. Damn decrepit building. Thunder rumbled faintly. She breathed deeply. The air, already thick with the promise of water, reminded her of another time—a time when she still loved.
***
He had been a good-looking mark. One of the only persons braving the cold and wet weather. Strolling down the block, long black rain duster, with one-day stubble gracing his face that made him almost rough looking. She had been living on the streets for months at that point surviving off of tourists. From the looks of it, he wasn’t one, but with the wet windy weather, she had no choice. She bumped him gently as she passed, lifting his wallet in one quick motion. He didn’t seem to see her or even notice. She kept her pace the same for another block, before darting across the street and ducking into the first alley. She made sure she was alone before pulling it out. Fifty pounds. Not a bad score for one minute of work.