Twisted Hearts: The Complete Duet

by Max Henry

  In an odd way, it made me glad to go to work today. I needed the distraction, the mind-numbing state of nothingness that accompanies being on the end of a shovel for a few hours. I needed to put myself to work and replace emotional pain with physical pain—something more tangible to focus on.

  I succeeded.

  My back hurts, my feet hurt, and I swear to God I’ve even managed to get wind burnt. Welcome to your new permanent job, motherfucker. My boots leave dirt halos where I kick them off at the front step, my clothes still filthy despite the fact I spent what felt like the better part of an hour brushing myself off before I got in the car.

  Roadwork is fucking dirty work, especially on days we finish early because of the rain.

  Drawing a deep breath, I hesitate before opening the front door. I did my best to keep up Belle’s bullshit story yesterday about her food poisoning, flat-out lying to my best friend when he asked me if she told me anything different to what she told him. “Look after her tomorrow, okay?” he’d remarked as he headed off to catch a few hours rest before his next shift.

  Yeah—I’m pretty sure he’s got no idea exactly how I’d like to look after his daughter.

  Quit it, dickhead. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shift her from my thoughts. The more I replay the sight of her sitting there on her bed, ashamed at what I noticed, the more the memory shows me a young woman seated across from me. A young woman who may have made a stupid fucking decision, but a woman nonetheless.

  She’s eighteen, but fuck me, I can’t wrap my mind around why that doesn’t seem to matter. It should. Her age should be the reason why I back away before things get even more complicated.

  But if I’ve ever been one thing, it’s a selfish son of a bitch, and I’m not ready to give up Belle just yet. Not when being around her leaves me feeling better than I have in years… as though I’m worth somebody’s love.

  It’s just your divorce playing games with you. The only logical explanation to the way I feel. Yet as I finally twist the handle and push, I know a fragile heart is the last thing that’s got me the way I am.

  She sees me, just like she said. She sees me and that makes her happy. Nobody is happy when they find out the truth about who I am. Only her.

  “How was your day?” Belle pauses in the hallway, presumably on her way back to her room with a bowl of what looks to be muesli.

  Seems the appetite has returned.

  “Long.” Fuck it, I give in and smile at her, because why not when the sight of her immediately lessens my aches?

  She squares her stance, and then runs her gaze the length of me. A small frown pulls at her brow. “You’re going to track dirt all through Dad’s house.”

  Dust and mud are caked around the legs of my work pants. “Yeah, but how else do I get to the laundry?” Let alone to a clean change of clothes. If I were at my own place, I would have stripped in the doorway and walked through the house in nothing but my boxers.

  But… Belle.

  “Hold on.” She disappears for a moment, returning without the bowl in her hands. Instead she carries an armful of towels.

  “What are you going to do with those?” I chuckle.

  “Lay them down like a path for you to walk over so you at least save the carpet.” She drops the stack, then picks up the top towel and shakes it out.

  “And you’re going to greet me at the door to do this every time it rains?” I tease.

  The corners of her mouth turn down in thought. “You have a point.”

  “What we need is a better plan.” I look around as though the house itself will provide me with the answer.

  I have nothing. No ideas that don’t involve me at least partially undressed anyway. Fuck. They’re just boxers. How different would it be to her seeing me in swimmers? It’ll only be this one time; I’ll take a change of clothes from now on, be more prepared.

  “Honestly, go do whatever you were doing when I walked in,” I tell her. “I’ll sort myself out.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Positive.” One hundred per cent positive I want her to fuck off so I can shed my clothes without things getting awkward.

  I wait until the rustle of her moving around in her bedroom filters to where I stand, and then unbutton the cotton work shirt with quick fingers. Dust falls to the floor as I slide the sleeves down my arms, but at least on the entry tiles I can sweep the mess up. My belt buckle clangs as I whip it open, and then shove my work pants down my legs and over my feet. With the filthy clothing balled in my hands, I head for the laundry, hoping like hell Belle stays in her fucking room.

  Safe as houses. I make it to the washer and let out the breath I didn’t realise I’d held. After taking the wet clothes in the machine out to hang up later, I throw my things in and set the load to heavy. My skin prickles at her sudden intake of breath.

  Shit.

  “I… um, I remembered there was stuff in the machine, so I was coming to get it.” Belle’s gaze stays stuck on my chest.

  I clear my throat.

  That deep rose blush shows itself as she steps forward, careful not to bump into where I stand in nothing but my boxer briefs, and reaches for the basket of clothes. “I’ll just take this,” she whispers, backing out of the room in a hurry.

  Fuck my life. Night shift. John had to go and take fucking night shift.

  How the fuck am I going to survive this another day? More to the point, how the fuck is Belle going to survive me?

  I take a step forward and then freeze as she reappears at the door. “I forgot that.” Her hand lifts and she points to the clothes airer tucked down the side of the machine.

  Twisting to my right, I slide it out and lift the metal frame to pass it over. Her gaze flicks off my arms as I face her, meeting mine with nothing short of guilt. Be the adult, Zeus.

  “It’s okay,” I tease. “I know for a fact I’m not the first half-naked guy you’ve seen, so no need to act shy.”

  Her face falls and those soft lips turn down. I didn’t intend the reference to her first fuck on Friday night to be so harsh. What a jackass thing to say, Z.

  “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  She clutches the airer in her grasp, swallowing before answering. “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t be so stupid about it. What’s a bit of skin, right?” She laughs awkwardly before backing out of the room.

  I throw my head back, hands over my face, and groan. Well played, Zeus. Fucking tool. I’m supposed to be making her feel better, letting her know that we all fuck up sometimes, mostly at her age when the world is still so new and there’s still so much to learn.

  But instead, here I am making her feel even worse for what happened. Fuck. She said it was her decision to take the guy bare, but I’m not stupid, and I’ve fucking known Belle long enough to know she isn’t either.

  She didn’t choose to be so careless. She wouldn’t roll the dice on a risk that great. It just doesn’t add up. Not to mention the fact she said she was punked when I picked her up.

  Still, I have to take her word on it, because thinking of what the alternative implies has the blood in my veins charged and ready to take down whatever ignorant fuck thought he could take advantage of her like that.

  And for a man who’s out on good behaviour? Yeah, revenge isn’t exactly on the cards if I want to stay on the outside of the razor wire-topped fences and in Belle’s life.

  Not yet, anyway.

  FIFTEEN

  Belle

  My hands shake as I set the airer up in the living room; the rain has set in for the afternoon, stealing any chance of drying my stuff outdoors. My heart still pounds in my chest, my body alive, my nerves shot. I walked in on Zeus in nothing but his damn underwear. Holy hell, that man is fine.

  He acted embarrassed, but if he’s convinced that anything between us would be a giant mistake, why would he care what I thought? Why would it matter? I expected that he’d get frustrated with the need to deal with my stupid girly crush. But he didn’t, and
my afflicted mind can’t shake the minuscule chance that implies as I return the empty basket to where it belongs.

  “So, um, dinner.”

  I jolt at Zeus’s words as he stands in the doorway, trapping me in the laundry room. He’s pulled on a pair of rugby shorts and a T-shirt that hugs his huge frame across the chest and through the shoulders.

  I set the basket down and place my clammy hands on the legs of my denim shorts. “Dinner.”

  “You want me to cook again?”

  Fuck, he’s beautiful. I mean, men can be handsome, gorgeous, even stunning at times. But it’s not often a guy can truly be beautiful in his masculinity. Soft lips, a hard jaw, firm brow, and the most intense eyes I’ve ever known.

  “I don’t mind cooking this time,” I say. “We should do turn-about.” I put my chin down and avoid eye contact as I squeeze past him.

  He moves, but not by much, meaning I still brush my arm against his hard midsection as I pass by. I’m going to die. This tension will surely kill me if I have to endure this for however much longer he’ll stay with us.

  Way I see it I’ve got two options: die a slow torturous death, or bear the pain all in one blunt blow by facing the problem head-on. I’ve spent years at school trying to avoid my problems the first way, letting them eat me from the inside out while I slowly become a shell of the girl I once was. If anything, I’d like to think I took that lesson away from my years at Longdale High: bravery is recognising what hurts you and doing it anyway, aware that your soul will heal quicker if you don’t prolong the inevitable.

  Zeus follows me into the kitchen as I pull the freezer open to check what’s available to eat. My mind is only half on the task and it takes me a moment to focus on what exactly I look at. I cast a quick glance his way as he settles his butt against the edge of the counter and folds his huge arms over his chest. “Am I imagining it?” I ask, my grip tightening on the freezer door. “Tell me right now, Zeus. Is this as one-sided as I try convincing myself it is?”

  His steely gaze gives nothing away while he silently studies me. The points of his jaw bulge as he clenches and unclenches, the thoughts tumbling around inside his head almost visible in the stormy depth of his eyes.

  “I’m fucking sick.” He shakes his head in disgust.

  I can’t keep looking at him; keep seeing my own turmoil mirrored back at me. So I study the contents of the freezer, although nothing registers. The alarm sounds to tell me the door has been open too long.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Belle.” Zeus rubs a hand over his face in my periphery. “You’re not stupid. You know there’s tension between us when we’re alone—now.”

  I nod, unable to form coherent words as I pull a tray of sausages out and shut the door. It dawns on me as Zeus’s gaze flicks to my chest that the cold air has had a predictable effect on my nipples. Seriously, kill me now. I slam my free arm over the offending pair and take the sausages to the counter adjacent to Zeus.

  “Maybe you’re looking to me for guidance,” he says, his voice low and so damn filled with guilt that it makes my chest ache. “But I can’t give it to you when I can’t work things out for myself. What do you want me to say that would make things okay? I mean, do we pretend this shit ain’t happening?” He chuckles bitterly, tossing his hands briefly in the air.

  “I don’t think we can do that, can we?” I murmur. “That’s why I asked you what the hell is going on here.”

  He sighs heavily out his nose, his gaze burning a hole in the side of my head as I focus on the damn tray of frozen meat before me. “I can’t speak for you,” he says softly, “but I can tell you what’s going on in here.” He taps the side of his head with a thick finger, swallowing hard yet again. “I see you, I see a beautiful young woman. I see somebody who wants to be independent but doesn’t know how. I don’t see a kid, and I sure as fuck don’t see an age, and that’s what the problem is.” He inches closer, trying to get me to look at him. “I should look at you and see John’s eighteen-year-old daughter. I should see the kid I watched grow up, the little girl who used to make me mud cupcakes in her plastic tea set.”

  “But you don’t.” I turn my head and hold his gaze despite the incessant beat of my heart, despite the fact my feet want to run.

  “I don’t,” he confirms. “I left that little girl behind when I went inside. When I got out, she was all grown up. All I see now is the young woman you are, Belle, and she’s fucking beautiful, inside and out.”

  I don’t know what was worse: wishing he’d say those words, tell me he sees me as more than his best friend’s daughter? Or hearing them and knowing this is as far as we’ll likely ever get.

  Which rejection hurts worse? Right now they both burn, both at the same time, equally as much.

  “Belle,” he murmurs. “Say something, because I feel like a right fucking creep after telling you all that.”

  I relax my stance, which means I lean closer to Zeus. He shifts the same distance, bringing his chest to my arm, his leg against the back of mine. God, I just want to crawl up in this man and feel at home.

  “I wish things were different. I wish I was older. Most of all, I was wish I was more your type.”

  “You are my type.” A bitter laugh edges his words. “That’s what sucks the most.” His frown deepens as his jaw ticks.

  “But?” I twist to face him, snug against his front.

  “But, what would your father do if he walked in right now and caught us like this?” He nods down at our proximity.

  Shoving my inhibitions aside, knowing that this is probably the only chance I’ll ever get to live out this fantasy of us, I lift both hands and place my palms on his stomach as I lean into him.

  Zeus hisses his next breath between his teeth, before repeating his question. “What would he do, Belle?”

  “He’s not here, though.”

  “And if he was?” He tips his head back, exposing his thick neck as his chest rises and falls with shaky, deep breaths.

  “But,” I repeat, firmer, “he’s not.”

  “What if he walked in?” Zeus grinds out through a clenched jaw. “Right this second?”

  “Then I wouldn’t tell myself fuck it, you only live once, and do this.” I reach up and take his face between my hands, coaxing him to look back down at me. My palms are on fire, the awareness of the connection making my touch ultrasensitive.

  Zeus’s eyes are dark; the pupils large as I push up on my tiptoes and slowly bring my mouth to his. He closes his eyes and stiffens, his entire body rigid against mine as I gently drag my lips over his and do my best to change his mind. His mouth is warm, his breath hot on my face as he breathes deep and slow out his nose. I pinch his bottom lip between mine and relish the taste of him on my tongue as I let the flesh go.

  Zeus stares at me, his brow pinched hard, as I lower myself to the soles of my feet—his face still in my hands—and wait.

  Please… I’m such a fool. Why I ever thought his would wor—

  “Fuck it,” Zeus growls as his upper lip crinkles with a snarl.

  My next breath is ripped from my lungs as he places a strong arm around my lower back and scoops me off my feet so that we’re face-to-face, my body pressed flushed against his. He holds my head in place with his free hand, his thumb and fingers punishing on either side of my jaw as he tilts my head the opposite way to his and kisses me deep, hard, and like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

  This is how a real man kisses. This is what real passion feels like.

  This is what I’ve wanted for so long.

  It’s everything.

  My feet hit the floor so suddenly that I lose my balance for a split second, so lost in his kiss that I didn’t expect him to stop.

  “What have you done?” he whispers with such venom that I instantly feel filthy in my skin. “What did you do, Belle?”

  “What did I do?” I murmur, so damn quiet that I have my doubts he even heard me.

  Zeus sidesteps to get away from wher
e I stand in shock, backing along the counter until he’s frozen on the far side of the kitchen. A frown mars his beautiful face as he looks me over, head to toe, and shakes his head. “Your father can’t know that happened.”

  Because I was so going to tell him. I mentally roll my eyes at the guy. “Really?” I lift my top lip in disdain, yet mostly to cling to any emotion other than the one that fights most to surface: shame.

  What have I done? He’s right. I instigated that. He resisted at first, and I pushed him to continue. Selfishly, might I add, because who has the most to lose in this scenario?

  Not me.

  “I—I’m sorry.”

  He says nothing, instead lunging for where his keys sit on the end of the counter and snatching them in his grasp. My heart pounds painfully hard as his heavy footfalls track down the hallway, and then out the door before Zeus slams it so hard it rattles.

  I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to rewind and fix what I’ve done. Mostly, I don’t know how things go from here on out. How do I spend evenings at home with this guy without losing my mind?

  Maybe that’s why he left? He doesn’t know either?

  I tune my ears for the sound of his car, for the squeal of tyres as he peels away, yet they never come. My stomach turns with nerves when the soft click of the door as it opens again leaves me even more confused about what I should do.

  Does he expect me to still be here in the kitchen, perhaps making dinner as though nothing happened? Or does he expect me to be crying in my bedroom like any normal teenager would be after being humiliated like that?

  I’m not normal though. There’s nothing normal about lusting after a man twice your age.

  “Belle?”

  Shoot. What do I say? What do I do?

  I don’t need to turn around to know he re-enters the kitchen behind me. My entire body is alive with anticipation as the keys make a soft clink where he sets them on the counter. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand…. Breathe, Belle.

  I wait for his next words, hanging on by a thread. Will he apologise? Blame me again? What?

  Gentle fingers brush against my skin. He slowly sets a hand on my shoulder and coaxes me to turn around. I can’t breathe. I wasn’t this nervous before when I threw myself at him, but at least with that, the reaction was predictable. I knew it was wrong, that he’d worry, that I’d push boundaries and most likely make him angry.