Closer (Closer #1)

by Mary Elizabeth

  One last wave of fever and shivers stretches through my body before it slows, leaving me breathless and reset, unmoving in his arms.

  “Here you go.” Leo places our refills on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “Just the check,” Teller replies, kissing my forehead, my nose, and my cheeks. He holds me in his arms, as if he’s trying to hide me from the rest of the world and keep me to himself.

  “Yes, sir. My pleasure,” Leo responds before he turns and leaves, shuffling away so that coins in his apron jingle.

  “I shouldn’t have done that to you,” Teller straightens my dress, making sure I’m decent the next time our server comes around.

  “Don’t apologize to me,” I say, smiling, feeling lighter than I have in a long time. “I knew what I was doing when I wore this dress.”

  Now

  “What do you mean you got married?”

  I sit up from the chaise lounge, glistening in suntan oil, and lift my sunglasses to the top of my head. Emerson sits across from me with his forearms resting on his knees and his hands laced together, blinking thoughtfully under long lashes I wasn’t blessed with. My heart hammers inside my chest, beating so hard my hands tremble, and my eyes immediately burn with tears.

  Teller woke up early this morning to play a round of golf with Husher. My plans were to tag along since we had an early night, electing movies in bed over booze and a hangover, but I woke up this morning knowing I needed time to unwind. With a stomach full of pins that gradually spread through my limbs, I changed into my bikini, ordered food, and haven’t left our private pool in the sky all day, decompressing.

  “We didn’t plan it, Gabriella. We were there, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.” Em drops his head between his shoulders, and my heart falls with it.

  “And it doesn’t now?” I ask, wiping my eyes dry. “I don’t understand.”

  “I wanted to marry her,” he answers in a low tone, lifting his dark eyes to mine. In times like these, when his expression is void of anything but the struggle, he looks so much like our father it takes my breath away. “I want to be married to her. It’s something I’ve thought about for a while, but I can’t give her the wedding she deserves. Her family…”

  He doesn’t need to finish the sentence for me to understand. Nicolette’s family is wealthy, and we’re not.

  “Sell the house,” I reply without hesitation.

  I’ve watched this person give up his entire life to shoulder my burden and his. Dreams, hopes, and his future went cold on the backburner in order to guarantee I was taken care of, happy, and more than a girl with no parents. To watch him sacrifice something so momentous turns pins to rusty nails, and it’s killing me.

  My brother shakes his head with the hint of happiness at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not selling the house to pay for a wedding, Ella. We should give Nic more credit than that. She’s not that kind of girl.”

  Bullshit.

  “It’s just sitting there, and you deserve it, Em. After everything you’ve given up—”

  “No,” he replies, sitting straight. “I never did anything I didn’t want to. You’re my baby sister, and taking care of you has been a gift.”

  “A gift that keeps on giving.” I scoff, licking salty tears from my lips.

  “Like herpes,” Em mumbles playfully. I threaten him with a knuckle sandwich, and he holds his hands up defensively.

  I toss Emerson a beer, and we toast and take a long, much needed swig that eases regret and burns our eyes. The sun reflects from the gold band around his ring finger, and I recognize the scratched surface right away: my dad’s wedding ring.

  “I didn’t even know you had that,” I cry, unable to stop the flood of emotion that jumps me like ninjas in a street fight. “You didn’t even invite me to your wedding.”

  Big brother laughs, closing the space between us to embrace me in his reassuring hug. I cling to him, not with the urgency I do with Teller, but with honest regard, unashamed of the tears that soak into his shirt, happy, and terrified, and unsure of what’s to come for either one of us. For the first time since we lost our parents, Emerson and I are at a point in our lives where we don’t need each other to survive. We have our own lives to live now.

  “There wasn’t time to call anyone, sissy. It wasn’t planned, and when she said yes, I knew we had to hurry before she changed her mind.”

  “She wouldn’t have changed her mind, Em,” I say with a small smile, holding my hand to the side of his face. “She’s lucky to have you.”

  The light in his eyes fades, and his grin wavers. A look of concern that creases the skin between his brows and stops my heart from beating veils his face, and I know exactly what’s on his mind.

  It’s on mine, too.

  “What’s going on with you and Teller?” he asks in his I-am-your-guardian-you-will-respect-my-authority voice, reading my mind.

  Exhaling, I drop my sunglasses over my eyes and lie back. “The last thing I need is a lecture.”

  He shakes his head, spinning the ring on his finger. “That’s not what I’m here for, Gabriella. You’re twenty-five years old and can make your own decisions, but I know better than anyone what it’s like when things get bad between the two of you. I want you to think about it before you jump back into a relationship with him.”

  “We were never in a relationship, Em. We’re not in one now.” Weak but not entirely a lie, it’s second nature to excuse dysfunction with semantics. Our behavior should be dismissed because it’s without a label, nothing permanent, nothing lasting.

  But here we are, seven years later, at square one.

  “You and I know better than anyone how hard it is to lose someone, and I hate that it’s happened to you again. I wish I could bring him back, Ella. I wish I could bring them back, because then maybe you wouldn’t feel the need to hold on to Teller like he’s going to leave you one day.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I whisper, knowing it’s the absolute truth.

  “He’s the only person you talk to. He’s the only person you ever talk to. You haven’t said two words about Joe since he passed, and now we’re in Las Vegas, in these absurd rooms, acting like none of it happened. Don’t let vulnerability cloud your judgment. Remember what you said after Teller was arrested. Remember why you ended it with him.” Emerson places his hand on top of mine, but I shake it off.

  “Don’t judge me. I’m doing the best I can, Emerson,” I say defensively. “Despite what you think, I’m not totally messed up, and Teller lost someone, too.”

  “I know that.” He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “But you don’t see what I see when you’re with him. It’s like you disappear.”

  “Stop,” I say before I push him over the side of the MGM Grand. “Why are we talking about this when you just told me you got married? Shouldn’t we be celebrating?”

  The groom smacks his hands on the top of his thighs and stands up. He stretches his arms above his head, and the ring once again gleams in the Nevada sun. “Yes. VIP at Hakkasan. Some DJ’s spinning tonight.”

  “The DJ whose face is on the side of the hotel? The entire side?” I ask, laughing.

  “Yeah, apparently he’s a big deal, but I’ve never heard of him.”

  “He’s only the biggest DJ in the world, Em. You can’t be that out of touch.”

  My brother shrugs, walking toward the door back into the loft. “Hey, I’m only here for the booze.”

  “Do you want a drink?” Teller appears behind me with a bottle of champagne and a flute hanging between his tattooed fingers. He drops his hands and lowers his eyes to my bottom, smirking. “Please tell me that’s what you’re wearing.”

  On tiptoes in front of the bathroom mirror, I lean over the counter and straighten my eyelid, applying liquid eyeliner in one smooth, practiced motion. “I didn’t plan on wearing just my underwear, but we are in Vegas.”

  He places a glass of stars beside my makeup bag and lea
ns against the wall. Black denim hangs low on his hips, loosely held up by a spiked belt, and ink shows through his thin undershirt. Teller’s clean-shaven, kissed by the right amount of sun, and staring at me like he’s never seen a woman’s body before.

  “Those aren’t underwear, baby. Those are a dream come true. You’re stunning.”

  I don’t know why I packed the sheer lace panty and bra set, but I’m wearing it because I’m tired of other people trying to dictate what I do with my life. After my conversation with Emerson, the truth has never been more apparent: Joe never made me disappear.

  I never talked to him. I never let him truly know me. What I did was give him yes and no answers when questioned, filled silence with what I thought he wanted to hear, and avoided deep conversation whenever it came up. And he let me.

  Joseph didn’t push when I said I didn’t want to talk about my mom or why she left. He knew my father died of cancer, but not that I was the one who found him in his bed after he passed during the night. Joe never dug deeper or demanded my undivided attention. We made generic plans, and expressed generic feelings, fueled by a generic need for normalcy.

  Our relationship was a thing of convenience, and I wish he were here so I could apologize for not needing him like he deserved.

  “Thank you,” I say shyly, extending my lashes with expensive mascara. “But my dress is on the bed.”

  “Wear the red lipstick,” he says, standing back with the green bottle of champagne in his hand. The steady rise and fall of his chest and easy grin on his lips go right to the spot between my legs, and I pick up the tube of red rouge. Teller watches me apply it to my bottom lip, advancing my backside as I fill in the top and press them together. “Every time you wear that color on your lips I think about how they’ll look around my cock.”

  Our eyes meet in the mirror, and he drops the champagne bottle, releasing a chorus of hisses and pops as it coats the bathroom floor. Cool liquid touches my bare foot as Teller presses his chest against my back, trapping my curled hair between us. He moves the dark brown tresses over my shoulder at the same time the aroma of wine and roses assaults my senses.

  “What’s bothering you?” he asks, dragging down the cup of my bra on his way lower. “What’s on your pretty mind, baby?”

  His hand sinks into my panties.

  Teller cups my heat, slipping four fingers between my folds.

  “Joseph,” I breathe, holding on to the counter. I can’t breathe. I can hardly stand on my own two feet. “Do you wonder about Kristi?”

  “Yes,” he answers easily, gripping me harder. “But she’s not you. She never was. We didn’t know them like we thought we did.”

  It would be so easy to drop to my knees and show him exactly what it’ll look like to have these red lips around his dick. Our absence wouldn’t surprise anyone. They expect it. We’re supposed to meet in ten minutes, so they might have written us off already—counted us out. But I want them to see what we see. They should know, so far, it’s different between Teller and me.

  We’re not moving too fast.

  We’re right on pace.

  “You’re going to make us leave again, aren’t you?” disappointed asks, removing his hand from the lace to correct my bra.

  “We can’t miss this, Tell. My brother and Nic would never forgive us.”

  Teller drops his head and groans playfully, conceding to my commands. He carries me away from the champagne puddle, setting me on my feet at the end of the bed where my dress awaits. The black mini dress hugs my bust, squeezes my waist, supports my full bottom, and highlights every curve in my body. Cut out at the side, it shows enough skin while leaving some to the imagination.

  “You’re killing me, girl.” Teller buttons his light denim shirt to the very top button and cuffs the sleeves.

  “Ditto,” I say, loving the color against his eyes.

  While I strap on my shoes, magnificence pulls up his pants, tightens his belt, and puts on a pair of brown boots. I respray my hair, wipe smeared lipstick from the corner of my mouth, and reemerge as Teller’s straightening the gold watch around his wrist.

  Our family’s catching the elevator when we step out of our room, and they do a terrible job at hiding their surprise at the sight of us. We say our hellos, offer congratulations to the newlyweds, and share a concerned look with Maby.

  “I’m fine,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I needed to catch up on some sleep. That’s all.”

  Teller leans against the rail in the elevator, holding me against his lap between his legs on the ride to the fourth floor. Maby talks a million miles a minute, asking Nicolette about the impromptu wedding.

  “What did you wear? What did you say? Have you told your parents?”

  Included in our insanely price-per-night rooms is VIP service at the club, complete with private entrance, bottle service, and prime view of the stage over the sea of bodies moving to the beat on the dance floor, broken by strobe lights, topped by misters, and screaming when confetti rains from the ceiling as the entertainment approaches the turntables.

  Emerson didn’t give Nic the wedding he thinks she deserves, but he gives her a night she’ll never forget. They cut a three-tier cake shooting sparklers from the top while the entire dance club watches, cheering from below. He’s polite, careful not to ruin her makeup, but Nicolette shoves vanilla buttercream into her husband’s mouth and smears it across his face.

  “I need to use the ladies’ room,” I say into Teller’s ear. His skin is warm, intensifying the spice in his cologne.

  We haven’t left each other’s side since we arrived. While watching the show, taking shots, and dancing, uncertainty dissolves when I’m safely in his arms, and the past is easy to forget when it’s this good. I watch the lights reflect from his eyes and like the way his lips curve when he looks at me, and I’m sure this is what I want.

  I’m sure we’ll be okay.

  He holds his palm to my lower back and bends at the knee to place his lips right over my ear. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Shaking my head, I point in the direction of the restrooms. They’re not far from the VIP area, and there’s not a line as if we were downstairs with the masses. Lifting to the tips of my heels, I press my lips to his jaw and turn to walk away. I haven’t traveled three steps when Teller, with my lip print on his skin, reaches for my wrist and pulls me against him.

  His breath smells like spearmint and vodka, and his eyes are on my mouth.

  “Come with me.” Maby pulls my arm, and Teller lets me slip from his grasp. “I need some air. It’s so hot in here.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I mouth to my man, following Maby toward the exit.

  It takes a moment for my senses to adjust to the normal lighting and lower volume in the restroom. Stepping in front of the mirror to freshen my makeup, my ears rings, and I feel like I’m speaking too loudly when I ask, “How are you feeling, Maby?”

  “Better,” she answers right away. Not that I expected her to admit differently. She pushes open a stall door, lowering her underwear to her ankles when she says, “It was just one of those days. I know Husher called you, but it wasn’t that serious this time. I’m good.”

  She emerges a minute later, tugging her blue dress down her short legs and coercing an unconvincing smile for my benefit. As strong and as bossy as she normally is, her pale complexion and the dark circles under her green-like-his eyes are a dead giveaway to the madness that plagues her mind.

  “So, you and my brother.” She meddles in true Maby form, washing her small, trembling hands. “I want it to work out this time, Ella. But if it doesn’t—”

  “It will,” I say, opening the door back to the nightclub. Decibels move in immediately, drowning out any sort of response she has.

  The last thing I want is to upset her during an episode, but if she’s well enough to impose, she’s well enough to handle my indifference. Two years ago I might have overreacted and argued, ruining everyone’s night.
But right now, I want to get back to Teller. This is my life, my choice, and I’m the one who has to live with the consequences if it goes bad, so I hope brushing her concern under the rug is one more move in the right direction.

  Maby takes my hand, and I tighten my grip, settling depression’s quiver. The sister I never had works hard to put on a brave face for our sake, having missed important events before because of the unexplainable sadness that lingers within her, a true Jekyll and Hyde story.

  But when we exit the hallway, swallowed by lights, noise, and heat from thousands of moving bodies, Maby tightens her grip on me … with both hands. Not that she can or has to hold me back, because I’m stuck, unable to comprehend the scene playing out in front of us. My heart doesn’t drop, tears don’t burn my eyes, and I don’t get angry.

  I just stop.

  I stop.

  Amanda, the cocktail waitress from the pool, has Teller pushed against the wall with her hands on his chest and her body pressed to his. I can’t make out what they’re saying to each other, but the smile on her face is telling enough.

  My brother and Nicolette are nowhere in sight, and Husher’s sitting at our booth with his face in his cell phone, oblivious to the avalanche of emotion I’m about to wreck this place with. Disappointment breaks my heart into a million little pieces that cut veins from the inside, flooding my lungs with misery. Resentment tap, tap, taps on my bones, looking for soft spots bitterness can splinter and stab my soul with. And a tiny little voice inside my head whispers, it was too good to be true, as deceit breaks the light inside me.

  “Gabriella, don’t!” Maby shrieks as I brush past her, loud enough to catch everyone’s attention, unsuccessfully holding me back. It’s advice I almost consider until Amanda lifts her finger to Teller’s mouth and places a white tablet on his tongue.