“You okay?” he asks. “You look weird.”
I shake my head, thinking . . . about a boy with white hair.
The accent.
That devil-may-care shrug.
A distant memory reaches out and tugs me into the past. There I am, at the back of the Quickie Mart. I swallow, my head burdened by things I locked in a coffin with Mama years ago.
I see my mother on the floor, dark bruises on her neck.
I see . . . a beautiful boy.
HIM.
Sebastian and Spider are both eyeing me and then each other, but I ignore them as I pull my cell phone out of my purse and dial a number, one emblazoned on my brain and on my body.
I push in the digits, but like it always did before, the call goes to a disconnected line.
Even so, it must be him.
It must be.
Years may have blurred his face in my childlike memory, but it’s all coming back now. “What’s going on?” Sebastian looks confused. “Are you trying to call someone?”
I come to a decision and focus on Sebastian. “I don’t know you, and I hate to be rude, but can you please leave us alone for a bit?”
Spider sends him a quick nod and Sebastian straightens his tall form, his gaze reading me. Whatever he sees makes him act. “Gotcha. I’m outie. Call me later Spider.” He walks out of the apartment, the door shutting softly behind him.
“Is everything okay?” Spider asks me.
I shake my head as I shrug out of my sweater. I pull my silk tank up and over my head, tossing it on the hardwood floor. He inhales sharply, his gaze going straight to my white lace bra.
“Rose, put your shirt back on.” His voice is steady, but his eyes—oh God—those eyes are burning.
“No.” I march over toward him and he backs up against the wall.
“Rose?” His chest expands, and I know he’s breathing me in.
“I know you.” My voice is soft, aching with memories, wanting him to see. “From Tin Town . . . when I was eleven and you were sixteen. You were at the Quickie Mart and you gave me three hundred dollars. It was the morning after Mama died. You . . . you gave me your cell phone number and told me to call you if I ever needed you.”
There’s a dawning in his eyes.
Lifting my hair up with my hands, I turn around to show him my back. I know what he sees: the butterfly tattoo on my upper back, inked in orange, green, and purple. Although small, his cell number is etched inside the swirls of the right wing.
“The butterfly . . . it’s in memory of you, a reminder of the boy who flitted by for an instant and gave me hope and then was gone, flying away somewhere else. I-I got it done in New York. Your old cell is inside the wings.”
I can’t see his face, but I hear him inhale as he traces the numbers with light fingers. My body shivers as goose bumps rise at his touch.
There is a deep silence as he processes this.
I don’t mind it.
His voice is filled with awe. “That’s my old number. My father disconnected it when I didn’t go to college. How do you—” His voice stops. “I remember you. You were hungry.”
I turn back around and face him, gazing up into those fathomless eyes, the ones I carried in my heart for years. I repeated those digits over and over in my head when I was faced with mean foster siblings, hungry nights, or just plain loneliness.
His eyes meet mine and we stare at each other.
My brain knows he’s going to be a rock star. It’s plain as the nose on my face that he’s going to break my heart.
But I can’t let him go.
I take a deep inhale, my eyes still clinging to his. “Staring at someone for longer than six seconds signals that you either want to have sex with them or murder them. Which one is it?”
He closes his eyes, and I weave my hands into his white hair, tugging on the ends as our lips come together.
He hesitates slightly and then groans, his hands going to my ass and pulling me against him.
With a swift movement, he flips me around until I’m the one against the wall and he’s in control. He kisses me back hard with a desperation that says he’s afraid I might disappear in the space of a heartbeat. There’s scruff on his jaw and it rubs my face and throat as his lips work me over, devouring me.
He wrenches himself from me, his breathing ragged, his shoulders quivering as if he’s holding himself back with the utmost restraint.
“Don’t stop,” I say.
My body gravitates toward his, my breathing shallow as a swell of emotions flies at me. I go in to take his lips again but he holds me at bay, leaning his forehead against the wall behind us.
He finally speaks, his voice rough as if it’s been dragged over rocks. “I told Father I’d leave you alone, but I can’t.”
“Thank God.”
He raises his head and looks at me, and I feel like I’ve ensnared him, captured him. I feel like a siren that calls sailors to jump from their ships and worship them forever.
“You’re too good for me,” he says, his hand lightly touching my shoulder before dipping down to caress my arm. His lips hover over mine . . . waiting.
“I’m not. I want you just the way you are. I don’t care about anything else.” I trace the outline of his lips, pulling on the bottom one until he groans. I take his mouth, my tongue nipping at his, inhaling his scent of spice and leather. I’m rough with him because I want it rough back. I want his desperation. I want his need.
He groans my name and pushes down the straps of my bra until my breasts spring free. His mouth encircles one of my nipples and tugs as his hand cups the other, tweaking it with his thumb. “You’re so beautiful. I want to touch you everywhere.”
“Yes,” I moan.
He kisses the side of my neck and sucks the skin. “I want to fuck you, Rose. I have since the moment I saw you.” His voice is guttural and harsh, and his dirty word makes my core clench.
“I’m not stopping you.”
My hands go to his jeans and unsnap them, reaching in to wrap my hands around his hard cock, my fingers sliding up his velvet skin.
He hisses, his mouth claiming mine once again.
Amidst our heavy breathing, his shirt disappears as he whips it over his head. I kiss my way down the hollow of his throat while he slips his hand inside my pants and underneath my underwear. I’m wet as he touches me, sliding in and out.
Everything moves in a blur as we melt into each other, grasping and kissing.
In a blink we are in a bedroom, our clothes gone, our skin touching in places that makes me moan and arch my hips toward him with need.
We lie on top of a white feather comforter and he hovers over me. I wiggle closer, needing him inside me. Part of me wants to rush, to get the painful part over.
“Are you a virgin?” he asks, his brown eyes hot yet hesitant.
I nod, and he lets out an exhale. “I want to say I’m sorry for taking it from you, but I’m glad it’s me and not Tren—”
I put a finger to his lips. “It’s you. Always you.”
He runs a long finger down my cheek, his brown eyes holding mine, an anxiousness there that makes my heart flutter even more. “Before we do this . . . will you come to LA with me?” he whispers. “I want you with me, Rose. All the time.”
What about New York? I think for half a second, but then he kisses me.
I want to be with him. He’s my butterfly.
“I’ll follow you anywhere,” I say.
He kisses me again, his lips hot, his hands hotter as he touches my center, preparing me for him. I writhe and beg him to hurry.
Neither of us hears our parents walk into the room.
Spider
“YOU SAID YOU’D LEAVE HER alone,” my father yells as we face off against each other in the kitchen of the flat. He glares at me as he paces around the penthouse. I sit on a barstool with no shirt on, drinking the watery Jack and Coke Sebastian left out for me before everything went to hell.
I set th
e glass down and rake a shaking hand through my hair, tugging on the ends. Fuck. I really screwed things up now.
Rose has already left, whisked away by Anne as soon as she threw her clothes on.
God, her face.
It was white as a sheet.
She was mortified . . . and calling my name.
What a cluster fuck.
“You’re a bloody liar who can’t keep his hands to himself,” Father tosses out as I take another drink and slam my glass on the counter.
“You can leave any time,” I grind out.
“This is my penthouse.” His lips tighten. “Whether it’s women or drugs or booze, you always take too much.” He shakes his head. “By the way, the housekeeper found the coke you left in the bathroom upstairs. You go too far, Clarence. Too far.”
“Piss off.” I scrub my face.
Rose.
That’s all I can see.
Her face. Those eyes that look at me like I am a fucking hero.
Far from it—I am a goddamn mess.
I’m not fit for anyone—not like this, not really.
I clench my fists. What have I gotten her into?
I need a bump.
I need a hit.
I need anything.
I need Rose.
My heart cracks, fucking breaks in my chest, and I want to rip open my body and yank it out. Instead, I jerk up and pace around the room, opting to make myself another drink and suck it down. Father watches me warily, his lips flat.
Sebastian walks in the door and comes to an abrupt halt, a look of confusion on his face as he takes in the scene. His gaze sweeps the place, looking for Rose. He showed up here yesterday to check on me and convince me to pack my bags and come to LA with him now instead of later.
Father turns his gaze to him, his voice lower than when he spoke to me. “This is a private conversation, Sebastian.”
Sebastian takes one look at my face and stands his ground. “I understand, but I think I’ll stay, sir. Spider may need me.”
I exhale. Sebastian is the best mate I have. He’s always been right here with me since prep school days, picking up the pieces. I don’t deserve him either. I don’t deserve shit.
“He walked in on us.”
Sebastian’s face pales. “Shit.” Ignoring my father, he comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You good?”
I nod my head.
Then I shake it. “No.” My stomach hurts, and the look on Rose’s face when she walked out wrecked me. I clench my fists together and rub my eyes. “I fucked up. I need to go find Rose.”
A long breath comes from Sebastian. “Spider . . . dude . . . think long and hard about that. She’s a kid, and you’re on your way out of town. Maybe . . . maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.”
My father chimes in. “Do you have any idea what this could do to Anne . . . to our relationship?”
I look at him and there’s worry mingled with anger etched on his face.
“I’m just bad luck for you, aren’t I?” I say.
Cate, my eyes say. Mum.
He exhales and holds his hands up. “It’s not like that, Spider. This is just a fresh start for me. For us—if you want it to be.”
I shrug and look away from him. I don’t want to think about fresh starts.
He tugs on his tie, loosening it. “I wasn’t around when you were young, but this thing with Anne . . . I love her . . .” He trails off.
What about me?
Ignoring him, I stalk past him and outside to the balcony where I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it up, sucking in the nicotine.
I hear Father and Sebastian talking quietly inside, but I tune them out.
I’ve smoked five cigarettes when I feel my father join me even though I don’t look at him. He’s made his own drink and is sipping on a Scotch, a visible tremor in his hand. He lets out a deep exhale. “I can tell you think highly of Rose, and maybe this is more than just one of your usual—”
I send him a withering look. “Don’t. You don’t know anything about me,” I bite out.
He nods, that cool English exterior of his in full force. “Indeed. You’re right, I don’t know you, because we never spent much time together. I barely had time for you when you were a baby. Your sister died, your mum left, and I carried on like nothing had changed. I dumped you at a boarding school in a foreign country and went to work. It was terribly wrong of me, and my only excuse is . . . well, I didn’t know how to be what you needed. I’m sorry for it. I feel partly responsible for the situation you currently find yourself in—using drugs and thinking you’re in love with an underage girl.”
I clench the railing of the balcony. I can’t believe he just said all that. I spear him with a look, glad he said it. It makes it real. “I think that just about covers it.” I pause. “After Mum left, I saw you six times in four years. That’s fucked up.”
He nods. “I can do better. I want to.”
We stand there in the wind, watching the cars move below. I think about the past, about how unhappy my father has probably been since Cate and Mum.
I exhale a deep breath. “Believe it or not, I’m . . . glad for you.” I wave my hands at him. “Anne and the baby. You deserve a second chance.”
A strained, pensive look flits across his face as he sticks his hands in his pockets and stares out at the skyline. “Every day is a second chance, son. All you have to do is take it.”
I slide my eyes to his, gauging his reaction. “Maybe Rose is what I need.”
A firmness settles on his face. “There’s only one thing that’s certain in this situation, and it’s that you need to get out of her life.”
I know he’s right.
There’s a side of me that also feels disappointed in myself, in my inability to leave her alone. I rub my forehead.
“Can I bum a cig?” he asks.
He hasn’t smoked since I was in diapers, at least not that I’ve seen. I pass one to him and he lights it like a pro, cupping the flame against the wind.
“I don’t think I really know you at all,” I say, watching him.
He nods as his eyes study me. “Same.”
I’m suddenly overwhelmingly tired. “What do you want from me?”
He takes a long drag, his brows knitting together as if he’s thinking hard. “I have a proposition for you,” he says, leaning over the balcony and staring off into the horizon. “I’ve been talking to Sebastian about something, and I think I have a plan, one that will work out well for everyone involved.”
I pause. “Including Rose?”
He nods. “Especially Rose.”
I nod. He tells me his idea, and before he’s even finished, I know it’s the right thing to do.
Rose
“YOUR BEHAVIOR IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE,” Anne says from the counter in the kitchen as she pours herself a glass of iced tea. “I won’t let you throw yourself away on some thug.” Even though she’s clearly rattled, her words are spoken without drama. That’s just her.
Don’t respond, I tell myself. You’ll only make it worse. She’s a judgmental person; you can’t change her mind.
I sit at the breakfast table, my hands clenched under the table, holding myself together. We’ve been sitting here for half an hour and my head throbs. Apparently, Anne used an app on my phone to track where I went after I left her house and saw that I was at the penthouse. She and Robert came over to see why.
“You were in bed with him.” She inhales a sharp breath.
Shame colors my face and I stare down at the table. “We didn’t have sex.”
I flick my eyes over to check my phone to see if he’s texted me.
“Put your phone away, Rose.”
I turn it facedown. “Sorry.”
She sits down across from me, her face pale. “You will not see him again.” Her words are little bells that can’t be un-rung . . . clear, cold, and final.
“That’s going to be hard since you’re married to his dad. I wil
l see him,” I say, gripping the edge of my seat.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but the housekeeper found drugs in his room from the night he was here.”
I’m surprised but not shocked. “I don’t care,” I say. He and I will figure it out.
Her lips part. “You don’t know what you’re saying. If you get caught up with him . . . well, you’ll get messed up too . . . like your mother.”
I am nothing like my mother.
I’m almost damn perfect considering where I came from.
“I’m not like her. I’m like Granny.”
“You can’t act like anyone from Tin Town, even your Granny,” she says sharply.
I can’t let her put Granny in her category of people from Tin Town.
I stand, the storm that’s been whipping in me sweeping to the surface. “It doesn’t matter where I’m from. All that matters is where I’m going.”
I snatch my phone off the table and text him. My heart is racing. I need to get out of here.
Please come get me. I need you. I’m at the house.
Anne sighs and stands to take her glass to the sink, where she washes it out then sets it on the drying rack. A sad grimace is on her face when she looks at me. “He isn’t going to reply.”
My head snaps toward her. “How do you know? What’s going on?”
She stares at her nails. “Robert texted me a while ago. Spider is leaving for LA. He doesn’t want you.”
I sit down. No, that can’t be right. He asked me to come to LA with him. He wants me as much as I want him.
“When?”
She shrugs. “Soon.”
An incoming text vibrates my phone and I pick it up, my heart soaring when I see it’s from him.
I read it, and my heart drops.
I can’t. Goodbye.
Rose
BY MONDAY, IT’S BEEN THREE days, and I haven’t heard from Spider again. Somehow I’ve managed to keep myself from texting him or going by the penthouse. I’m angry with him for the cryptic goodbye and I’m still livid over Anne’s interference. She’s called me and texted me numerous times, but I refuse to answer.
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