The Guilt of a Sparrow

by Jess B. Moore

“Can we do this again?” Vincent edged closer, the toes of his skater shoes bumping into the toes of my ballet flats.

  I nodded. There wasn't enough air in my lungs to respond properly, the anticipation burning it off. He slipped one hand behind my back and put a gentle pressure there, while he lowered his head. I lifted on my toes to meet him. Vin's lips were full and soft, he tasted like dark beer and marinara sauce, and after a brief lip-to-lip encounter he pressed in again to extend the kiss. I kissed him right back. I felt when his lips moved into that little smile right against my lips before he pulled away.

  All the way home I replayed the kiss in my head. It was sweet. Vincent was sweet. He was smart and interesting, and I liked the way he looked at me. I would go out with him again - which would make Alyssa extremely happy - and I had no reason to think it wouldn't go well.

  I climbed in bed, played screaming music through my headphones, and I cursed myself for being a terrible bad no good person. Because no matter how I tried not to think about it, the fact was I kept comparing my most recent kisses, and kept firmly landing in Team Cotton. He was bad for me, he wasn't even interested in going out with me, he was a big stupid boy that I wanted to hate. The feel of his hands on my body, his lips on my lips, his breath stealing mine, it consumed me. I silently screamed out my frustration and willed those memories to vanish from my mind. The problem was his touch had become known to my body, and it wasn't only my mind that wanted him. In fact, that was the problem, after having tasted him, my body definitely wanted him. My mind, it knew better. All the smart rational thinking parts of me were excited about going out with Vincent again. I would just have to show my body that it was wrong, and that it didn't need Cotton MacKenna, that he wasn't the only boy around. A little making out and heavy petting with Vincent, and all of me would be on Team Vincent.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cotton

  Denver had read me the riot act. Which was odd coming from him. Five years older than me was just enough that we weren't in the same circles. He was gone all the time doing little tours or going to teach fiddle workshops. We got along peaceably because we were both too quiet to bother with unnecessary conversation, and too much inside our own heads to worry what anyone else was doing. Except with him, it wasn't that he didn't care, it was more that he didn't know how to show it. We all knew - and discussed it behind his back - that once he fell for someone, it would be life altering. He did nothing half way. He did nothing even ninety percent. Whatever he was into, it was a total fixation. After he had told me off for being an asshole to Maggie, I asked him how to get over her. He was useless, had no advice, and told me if I insisted on being awful to her again he'd kick my ass.

  I was beating myself up enough for both of us, thanks. Knowing Denver was disappointed in me hurt more than I would've thought. I hadn't come face to face with my oldest brother that way in a whole lot of years. Not since I used to pick fights, get suspended, and make our mama worry. Denver was the first one to pull me aside and tell me knock it off back in the day. He didn't like to get physical, and he hated confrontation, but he had taken me out a few times and punched some sense into me.

  Thankfully the next brother in line, Joseph, had his head too far up his own ass to know what was going on. I loved all my brothers, and if it came down to it I would do anything for them, including Joe. But he had taken it on himself at an early age to try and be our dad. His sense of right and wrong was infallible, and his sense of duty to our family was his guiding light. For years we all ganged up on him and made it hard for him to try and point us in the right direction. We weren't interested in a big brother playing daddy and bossing us around. He met Missy and they got married right away, they had children, and he had an outlet for all his bossy father figure tendencies. I got along with him a helluva lot better after he moved out and stopped telling me what a screw up I was, and how much I embarrassed the family. If he had known how I treated Magnolia Porter, he wouldn't have taken it easy on me.

  Beau and Elliot didn't say a damn word to me. Not after I trudged back to the house, looking like the puppy Denver had kicked and drug up the lawn. Not after we went inside and helped Dominic clean up from dinner. Only when they took off for Elliot's place and left with a parting reminder that I was house sitting the next few days. I answered with a curt nod. Their silence was worse than if they'd yelled at me.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dominic rounded on me as soon as our brother and his boyfriend closed the front door.

  “I don't want to talk.”

  “I'm sorry, did you think I was giving you a choice?” Dom's eyes flashed with anger like I had never seen directed at me; not from him.

  “What I meant to say is, I will not fight with you over a girl.” I clarified it for him. It wasn't an argument that would hold up, seeing as how we had gotten into a fight over her just a week prior.

  The kitchen was clean. The house was still. We faced off in the front room, Dom with a towel still in his hands, and me shaking with the need to let him hit me. I wanted the release of fighting him, but more than that I wanted the punishment he would rain down on me.

  “What the hell ever, Cotton. We are too far past that. I will not stand by and let you toy with her.”

  “I'm not toying with her.” I ground out the words, and he gave me a wide-eyed stare. I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Or, that's not my intention.”

  “I didn't say you were doing it on purpose. I know that you aren't trying to hurt her. But the thing is, you are.” The fight hadn't drained out of him exactly, but it was taking a backseat to his need to move in close and lay it on the line. “If she comes to me crying over you again, I will not show restraint.”

  I chuckled, a dark sound that bubbled up from deep in my chest. The laugh was for his threat. The laugh was to cover the stabbing pain at hearing him say that Maggie had been crying. She went to him, my brother, when she was sad. Worse still, I had caused her tears.

  I wanted to protect her, and instead I'd hurt her. I wanted to be the reason for her smiles, not her tears. Only how would she know how much I wanted to make her happy, when all I'd ever done was hold up my end of the bargain to hurt her?

  “You will apologize.” Dominic laid the order out before me. His face stony, resolute. “Then you will go back to avoiding her. No kissing that girl unless you are ready and willing to be with her.”

  “What, like that's an option?” He wasn't going to hit me. I relaxed my stance and moved to lean on the back of a fancy wingback chair our mama had liked and we had kept because none of us could bear to get rid of it.

  “She likes you, Cotton.” His admission was barely audible.

  I watched him not know what to do with his hands as he told me something he maybe shouldn't have. His eyes moved around the room, and his voice dipped. I tried to swallow and found my throat unwilling.

  “Maybe more than like,” he continued. My heart sped, the flapping of wings in my chest. “If you want to be with her, yeah, it's an option.”

  “I'll apologize.” I was not sure I could be near her and not pull her body into mine, not claim her mouth and body as mine. She would never be mine, and I severely lacked self-control when it came to Maggie, therefore I couldn't be near her again. “Give me her number. I'll text her.”

  “That's a good idea. I don't trust you to do it in person. You'd just kiss her again.”

  “Shut up.”

  He laughed, and I knew we would be okay. For now. If I followed through. I tried out a laugh but it lodged in my throat, so that I sounded like I was choking.

  I worked a few hours before I went to Elliot's place and checked on the plants and Jango. The upside was Elliot's house itself. It was gracefully old and tucked behind a mass of hickory trees boasting a three acre fenced back yard. The down side was Elliot's house. It was my big brother's boyfriend's house, and as such not ideal for complete abandon. Everywhere I looked I thought of Beau and Elliot, and while I loved them both, I was in no mood for their
love and devotion.

  I brought work with me, to occupy my errant mind, and to keep from falling farther behind. I bumped a couple other shoots to edit a newborn shoot first. The idea had been to give it priority in order to bring joy to the family. Babies grow and change so fast I didn't want a month to go by before they had their pictures. It was a mistake because when I looked at the parents and the images of the sleeping peaceful baby, it was with a pang low in my gut that couldn't be explained away. Not unless I was willing to look at my life choices which did not include getting married or having babies, and why my gut wanted me to make changes.

  Elliot had orchids and African violets, he had a dozen green plants with names I didn't know off hand. I wandered through the meticulous and eccentric house and took care of each one. If nothing else, I could follow the simple instructions, and tend to his thriving plant life. Jango, the monstrous orange cat, was too big in a way that made me think he was part something other than house cat. He followed me when I moved from one room to another, he sat at my feet when I worked on my laptop, and he kept me company when I came around to doing the task I'd put off long enough.

  Maggie's number programmed into my phone was a drug. A dangerous and compelling temptation. I carried her number with me, as if it equaled a real connection to her, and postponed the inevitable. If I waited too long, it would get back to Dominic I hadn't apologized.

  I held out until Friday evening. Then I could no longer stand knowing that I could text her but that I hadn't. I could no longer pretend that I shouldn't have apologized already. I wasn't sorry I had kissed her. Regret for tasting her mouth and letting my hands memorize her curves didn't exist in me. The only thing I could regret was that I was wrong for her, and that I had hurt her feelings. Her shedding tears over me was powerful as much as it was devastating.

  I meant to say, This is Cotton. Sorry I'm an asshole. That wasn't what came out when given the chance to communicate with her.

  I tapped out a message. Then another. She didn't respond. There were no blinking dots indicating she was currently responding. I sent another.

  Me: Hi Sweet Maggie. This is Cotton. I got your number from Dom.

  Because she's the sweetest thing, and it was one of the reasons I craved her. Because she wouldn't know who I was. And likely she'd be alarmed that I had her number if I didn't say that her super amazing best friend Dominic passed it along to me.

  I was angry. I was hopeful, for what I couldn't say, except that it had something to do with waiting for her response.

  Me: I am trying very hard to stay away from you.

  Me: I want to apologize. For my behavior last night.

  Couldn't say, I'm sorry. Instead, I want to apologize. God, I didn't even apologize correctly. It wasn't just the night before either; there had been the first kiss outside Prissy Polly's.

  Me: And last week.

  Finally, she texted me back. Not a lot of time had passed, but enough that it seemed likely she'd put some thought into her answer.

  Maggie: No need.

  Maggie: You were right. About hurting me. I just didn't listen.

  And just like that I was wrecked. The first message, her blowing off my need to apologize, came as no surprise. It would be like her to tell me I didn't need to say sorry. I had certainly told her not to say it to me. Then the next blurb came and I squeezed my eyes shut against her words. I threw my phone across the room, only aware enough to aim for the floor so I didn't break anything in Elliot's house. I couldn't erase her response from my memory, the words etched on the backs of my eyelids.

  I should be glad. That she was finally listening to me, believing me, and telling me to fuck off. It was the right thing.

  The pain that expanded outward inside me until I was consumed, quickly turned to anger. Proof that I had been right, that all my warnings to myself as well as to Maggie were warranted, blazed a trail of fury through my system. I had hurt her. Not that I hadn't already known it, but seeing it come from her made it so much worse. She didn't want my apology because she was writing me off and accepting that I could do nothing other than hurt her.

  When I could see something other than red that pulsed in time to my hammering heart, I gathered up my phone. The case had split and come away in pieces. The phone was perfectly fine.

  Me: Where is she?

  Dom: I assume you mean Maggie.

  Me: Obviously.

  Dom: I don't know.

  Me: Liar.

  Dom: Come to the jam. We can talk then.

  Dom: She won't be there.

  What was I doing?

  I needed to see her.

  I had to stay away from her.

  God damn it, I was going to destroy this phone before the night was through. Or else text her again, track her down, and take her. The want for her had transformed into need. It was so much more than kissing her, than holding her body in my hands - it was knowing her and falling for the depth in her eyes, the sweetness in her smile, the hidden secrets behind her mask. Maggie was a fragile thing with a spine of steel; only she didn't seem to know she had that strength deep within her. I wanted to show her, to be there when she finally saw her own worth and took a stand. I wanted nothing more than to feel the wind from her wings when she learned she could fly.

  You were right. About hurting me. All the fantasies that played out in my mind were dashed by the truth. Her words obliterating any possibilities.

  The jam. I wasn't in the right headspace to play music. It would be a good distraction. I would surround myself with people, I would go someplace Maggie was guaranteed not to be, and I would resist finding her. Gathering up my banjo, I made sure Jango had food and water, then headed to the weekly bluegrass jam.

  ***

  It was hot, which matched my foul mood. Within ten minutes I was sweating through my t-shirt. Denver didn't speak to me, but he shot a hostile glare my way more than once. I flipped him the bird, then intercepted a severe frown from Mr. Wakefield. I was clearly determined to fuck up no matter what. Rather than make things worse, I stolidly ignored my eldest brother while he fiddled and unassumingly led the jam circle.

  “What's your deal?” Dominic demanded in a low voice between songs.

  “No deal.” I claimed, the falsehood a stupid attempt at ignoring my problems.

  “I thought we were talking about this.”

  “I changed my mind.” Talking was the last thing I wanted to do now faced with the prospect.

  “Liar.”

  Dominic had traded seats with Grover Abbot, pretending that I hadn't sat far away from him on purpose, with the intent to interrogate me. Grover was happy enough to put distance between us because I was being a jerk to anyone within a ten-mile radius. Add him to the list of people needing an apology from me.

  “You texted me, brother.” Dom chopped on his mandolin, as Red Wing made its way around the circle. He wasn't paying any attention to the song, but he didn't need to. We'd been playing that song since we were about eight and ten years old. “What would you have done if I'd told you where she was?”

  I would have gone to her. I would've done more stupid things. It was better I stay firmly seated at the jam.

  “Do you know where she is?” Yet, I couldn't resist asking. The need to know coursed through me.

  “Yes.” His smile was unmistakable and unashamed.

  I'd known he was lying when he'd claimed to not know her whereabouts. I also recognized the lie had been for my own good.

  Knowing he knew; I wanted to know. That clawing need resurfaced and demanded I go to her. I turned away from my brother and focused on the song. I played it with too many notes, coming up with complicated improvs as I went, and garnering a few odd looks from the group. I could hear Dom's laughter thread through the sound of my banjo, weaving maniacally into the melody.

  At the end of the night, Dominic caught up to me at my truck and stopped me before I could escape. He was as damp with sweat as me, sticky from the late June heat. It wasn't even the ho
ttest part of summer yet, and the remainder of the season promised to be brutal.

  “I've gone back and forth about what to tell you.” He admitted, his smile wavering, and his eyes piercing.

  I stared at him and waited him out. I was tired of games, especially with myself. I didn't want to guess what he was talking about or whether he'd tell me.

  “Hell, I can't even decide what I hope you'll do when I tell you.” When, not if. There was that. But his words hinted at something I would find unpleasant and my pulse spiked.

  “Spill it already. I'm tired.” It was nine o'clock on a Friday night and all I wanted to do was go back to Elliot's and sleep on his guest bed. Maybe a beer first. I kept myself from making guesses as to Dominic's hints by considering the beer I would drink and the bad TV I could watch.

  “She's out on a date.” Dominic put a hand up palm out, fast and firm, knowing I would potentially lose it. “You can leave her alone, and let her be with ... this guy.”

  This guy. He purposely withheld the name of her date. A date. Assuming Alyssa had her way in setting Maggie up, she was out with Vincent Berry. My mind was a string of swear words, they tangled together into a complicated mass.

  “Or you can go to her and the both of you can stop pretending you don't want to be together.” He shrugged, like it was simple. “Either way is fine by me. So long as you pick one and see it through.”

  Smart boy that he was, walked away before I could react.

  What the hell? Leave her alone? Leave her to date some guy? So that he could kiss her, he could lay hands on her? No effing way.

  Go to her? Ruin her date for what purpose? So I could come to my senses and walk away again? No.

  I got in my truck and I drove. I drove until I was out of Fox River. Dominic had said, either or, handing me two options, and fully aware neither was an option. I was torn apart. Torn between my jealousy of her with another guy, and a lifetime of telling myself I wasn't good enough for Maggie Porter.