December (The Oliver Brothers Book 1)

by Watson, Q. M.

  I smile, though my eyes drip. They drip like a leaky faucet, so much that they don’t stop. I’m all waterworks. “Daddy, I forgive you. Come home.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE PRESENT

  “This is really good.” I peel the crispy skin off my fried chicken and dunk it in thick maple syrup.

  “Heaven,” Josh agrees, piercing fries from my plate with the tines of his fork and adding it to his eggs on his plate.

  Josh and I are at a little diner outside of town. The mint-green and beige restaurant is off to the side of a gas station and directly across from the highway. We’re surrounded by truckers. It’s one in the morning. We couldn’t choose between ordering breakfast or dinner, so we got both. He ordered a cheddar and spinach omelet, waffles, and bacon. I got fried chicken and fries, and we split our plates in half, sharing with each other.

  “We have to leave a big tip,” I say into my mug. “This coffee is superb.”

  He nods absently, stuffing waffles and chicken into his mouth. “Are you getting sober?”

  “For the most part.”

  “You love me, December?”

  “Yes.”

  He gives me a look on the edge of vague skepticism. “Or do you love that I love you?”

  “I love you,” I assure him, picking up a strip of bacon from his plate. “I love that you love me, too.”

  He gives me a mournful smile. “Did you fuck him?”

  “At the park?”

  “Period,” he says unequivocally, his gaze sharp on mine.

  Did I fuck Danny period?

  I chomp down the morsel of bacon and nod, my gaze drifting to a booth ahead of ours. A younger woman in a frilly peach-colored dress is cuddled up to a severely gruff trucker with a long beard and a red baseball cap lowered on his head. I wonder what their story is. Is she a hired hooker? Or did her older boyfriend who happens to look like a badass trucker take her to prom?

  “December,” Josh says irritably, his patience thinning.

  I wince and look back to him, wishing I hadn’t. Josh’s eyes are frantic as he forcefully works the muscles in his jaw. He has an intensely obsessive need to know all the hurtful things I don’t want to tell him, all the things that make me hate myself more and more. “Yes?”

  He’s edgy now, emitting anxious energy that causes me to jitter and shift in my seat. “I know you . . .” He trails off and blows out a breath. He stops himself as if he’s trying to keep himself in check or from saying anything insulting. Josh grips his fork harder, his hand trembling. “Was it tonight? Tell me.”

  Guilt heavy as stone sits on my chest when I look into his pained crystal-blue eyes. It’s difficult to breathe. I don’t enjoy doing this to him. “No. It wasn’t tonight.”

  He releases a pent-up breath, relieved somewhat. “Can you spend the weekend with me?”

  “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want,” he declares firmly like what I just said is ludicrous.

  “I’m yours, then.” We’re both quietly eating, pondering things until I break the silence. “Do you think I act like a teenager?"

  "Sometimes," he replies honestly. “But it isn't a bad thing. I like the way you see the world.”

  “How do I do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Grow up? How do I become an adult?”

  His gaze is steady on mine for a long moment. “The child inside you dies.”

  “But I don't want to kill the child inside of me. The child inside of all of us so-called adults represents hope and innocence. God, that's so fucked up that our beacon of light and purity has to die, Josh.”

  He reaches for my hand across the table, giving it a squeeze. “You don't have to change anything about who you are. I love everything about you, December. Where is all this coming from?”

  “Danny said I have the mentality of a sixteen-year-old.”

  Josh's expression is suddenly annoyed. “Well, fuck him.”

  “I know, right? I said the same thing,” I agree, sighing in relief.

  He looks concerned, like there is something on his mind, and then he mutters, “Figuratively, December. Not literally.”

  “You're such a dick.” I groan, laughing. “It's a little too late for that.”

  He laughs too. It's a somber laugh laced with regret. We're both quiet as we eat and pick over our plates. Josh seems thoughtful, scraping over his eggs. I don't know where his head is at, but I know where mine is.

  I stare down at our hands. “Josh?”

  He doesn't lift his eyes, too occupied with messing over his cold food. “Hmm?”

  “Were you ever going to tell me about us?”

  His gaze gradually rises to mine, and he swallows loudly. “I wanted to, December. I didn't know how. The morning came and you didn't say anything. You didn't act any differently. I figured you either wanted to avoid the awkwardness of the entire situation or you didn't remember. I was soon aware that you didn't remember a single thing we did.” He stares at me with those big blue eyes, his expression pleading. I already feel like I’m turning into goo from looking into his eyes for too long. “I was terrified, December. Scared out of my mind shitless. How the hell do I tell my best friend whom I love that I went down on her? How do I tell her that the moment she forgot was the best moment of my life?”

  “Josh—”

  “No,” he protests angrily. “Please don’t use that pitying tone with me. If anything, you should be pissed, not feeling sorry for me. I was wrong not to say anything. And I'm sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” I bring our joined hands to my lips and kiss his knuckles. He kisses my fingers.

  “I love you, December. You do know that, right?”

  “I know.” I nod. “I love you. Can we go back to your place and sleep? I'm dead tired.”

  Josh and I arrive at his tiny one-bedroom apartment. His apartment is bare, only a small kitchen, a big bed, an oversized black couch, and a TV. He doesn’t even own a microwave. He has the basics and necessities. That's about it. He says he never really thought of this apartment as his home. I don't think home is just one place for him. I don't think home is any place for him. I think he finds home in people.

  Josh leads the way to his bedroom effortlessly through the dark like he's walked this maze of furniture and corners and walls many, many nights. I fumble after him, leaving a trail of clothes behind me. I'm in my shirt and panties when we get to his room. There's enough light from the silvery moon beams filtering through the thin green drapes to make out his dresser. I swap my shirt for one of his. His T-shirts are longer, less provocative than mine, and I love the smell of him. I like wearing his tees to bed.

  Josh sits on the edge of his mattress, unlacing his boots. He glances at me over his shoulder just as I pull his cotton white shirt over my bra. It falls down to my thighs. I pull my hair from under the shirt, combing my fingers through it. We stare at each other in the dimness. His gaze is as direct as mine and unwavering. I wait. I’m curiously open to whatever he has to say.

  “I'm not going to try anything tonight," he pledges solemnly. “You're still drunk, and I’m me. I don’t want you to feel awkward or freaked out around me.”

  Nodding, I rock back on my heels. “Understood. And I do not feel awkward or freaked out around you.”

  He gives me a gentle smile. “Good, because I didn’t want to sleep on the couch. I like sharing a bed with you. I like sharing my bed with you.”

  “Well, scoot,” I say, getting in next to him. “I'm a little drunk, and I'm very tired. I've been on my feet all day. I just want to sleep now.”

  Josh doesn't say much of anything as he undresses. He changes into his pajama pants and loose cotton shirt. My eyelids get heavy as I watch Josh move easily and silently around the room. I don't fight sleep when I begin to nod off.

  Warm arms close tightly around me. I snuggle closer, and we hug each other. We both are comforted when we hold one another like this, as if we both ne
ed affection to keep from falling apart. This is the way we fall asleep whenever we’re cuddled and tangled with each other.

  His fingers lightly stroke up and down my spine, lulling me into inevitable slumber.

  “Josh?” I whisper, half out of it.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think I'm a leech?”

  His fingertips draw tiny languid circles under my shirt and on my back. It feels good, warm, and pleasant. “No.”

  “Do you think I have a vendetta toward men because my father wasn't there for me?”

  “I don't think you trust us very much. I believe you love men. I believe you want men to love you. You’re just wary around us. You’re cautious. You make sure we don’t get too close to cut too deep.”

  I bury my face in his throat and inhale. He knows me well. Very well. “Do you know my greatest fear?”

  He nods. “It's the same as mine—abandonment. You fear the one you love will vanish, will leave you for something or someone else, for someone better, and the love of your life won’t think twice about you or care even a little bit that you loved them fully with everything inside of you. And that you did your best to love them how you would want to be loved and it still isn’t enough.”

  “Oh my God, Josh.”

  “I know,” he whispers into my hair, realizing the gravity of his confession. “We are alike in so many ways.”

  “Do you think I'm fucking with your head?”

  His fingers pause on the skin of my back briefly. “No. Not on purpose.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, absently pressing my face closer to his neck.

  “We go back and forth a lot. We love each other and then despise each other and then love each other again. I have never had a girlfriend before, and you have never had a boyfriend. We haven't been in a real relationship. We are beginners. We are learning how to navigate through the complexities of how a relationship works. We just don’t know how a healthy relationship works between two people who love each other because we never let anyone except one another get close enough. Though we aren't in an official romantic relationship, I have the part of the incredibly jealous boyfriend down perfectly and you have the part of the infuriating girlfriend role down to an art form. My mom left me. Your dad left you. We both have abandonment issues.” He buries his face in my hair, holding me firmer. “We both aren’t going to let each other go, no matter how much we bicker and fight. We aren’t going to give up on each other like our parents did. We love each other way too much.”

  “I'm sorry,” I mumble.

  He kisses my hair. “Me too.”

  “I love you, Josh.”

  “I love you more, December.”

  He whispers something to me, but it’s too low to hear. I don’t catch it. My eyelids close, and I plummet into dreams where Josh and I aren't hindered by anything.

  ***

  The yellow sun is high in the sky when I rise, casting warm light on our skin. It is late afternoon. We slept through most of the day. I love when I wake before Josh because I get to watch him sleep. His longish golden locks rest splayed across his face. His fair lashes are thick and long. His lips are unbelievably red, as if he bit into a ripe cherry one day and his lips were forever stained by the juicy fruit.

  I lean in and kiss each of his closed eyelids. I’ve been doing this a lot lately. I think I do it to replace the bad memories of his mom with good ones of me. It's like I’m trying to erase her one eyelid kiss at a time. No one should have a right to hurt him like that, not even his mother.

  Josh’s eyes slowly flutter open. I reach up, lacing my hands in his soft waves, and press our noses together. I love witnessing those sea-blue irises come alive. It's a show all in itself. He blinks away the grogginess, smiling at me.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi. You know you’re way too pretty for a man. I was sitting here, trying not to take advantage.”

  “You always have my permission.”

  My fingers massage his scalp. He leans into my touch, groaning in pleasure. “Good to know.” Josh rests his head on my chest and lets me play with his hair until we both get our fill of each other.

  We get breakfast after awhile. We’re both still in bed, wearing our pajamas and eating bowls of cornflakes. I asked him once why he never got the frosted kind, the kind that didn’t need sugar. He looked me in the eye and told me it was his comfort food. Josh told me when his sister was forced to take care of them, she couldn’t afford the frosted kind of cereal. She would buy a huge box of cornflakes and cans of chicken noodle soup. They would survive off that for an entire week.

  Knowing that about him, about Piper, makes my heart hurt. She is a strong woman. I can see her appeal. She’s smart, driven, beautiful, and loyal. She made sure her and Josh never got separated. She sacrificed her teenage years by working small jobs and paying rent for her and her brother. They grew up in poverty, but Piper provided a roof over their heads and nourishment for their bellies. Piper always put Josh first in everything she did, and still does. She was his mother when they both needed one.

  I sprinkle tons of sugar over the cereal now. My eyes water as I stuff a spoonful of cornflakes in my mouth.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “It's nothing.”

  He regards me with intelligent eyes that see through my dismissive façade. “It was a long time ago.”

  “I know,” I whisper, tasting salt on my tongue.

  He sets both of our bowls down on the bedside table and then hauls me into his lap. He holds me to his chest, gently rocking me back and forward. “I’m all right. I promise.”

  “I know,” I mumble, biting the rugged flesh on my quivering bottom lip. “It’s sad. That’s all.”

  “You have to stop feeling sorry for me. Yeah, I went through some tough years. We all have. It’s life. It’s what forms us, what makes us. And I’m stronger today than I was yesterday.”

  “I believe you.”

  He pauses from rocking me and tilts his head to look at me. He stares at my mouth before lifting his gaze up to mine. “Start acting like it, then.”

  “I will.”

  Josh reaches up to hold my chin. His thumb presses down under my bottom lip to pull the soft flesh from my busy teeth. He swipes at my lip and looks at his thumb. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I bit my lip. It’s nothing.”

  He holds my gaze captive as he brings the pad of his thumb to his mouth and licks my blood off. I stare, fascinated by an act I’m sure should gross me out or concern me, but it doesn’t. My heart is hammering, and I have a pleasant flutter low in my belly. Josh slowly leans forward, allowing me enough time to pull away if I want. I don’t. I watch him kiss me, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth. He sucks at my lip until it tingles and pulses, like he’s trying to draw me into him. The sensation is almost too much.

  “Josh.” I whimper, squirming in his lap.

  His eyes are fierce and wild when he pulls back to look at me. “You taste fantastic.” His finger glides down the curve of my ear, and I shiver. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  Reaching up, I touch his handsome face. I use my thumbs to brush his pretty eyelashes. “We have to stop this.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” He presses a soft kiss inside my wrist.

  “We have to.”

  “You love me, December. You said it yourself. And I love you. So why should we stop?”

  My hands are curious, and I simply like touching Josh. I touch his face, stroking his cheeks and hair. “Because you shouldn’t love me. I’m not good for you. I’m not good for anyone.”

  He smiles, laughing. “You have to stop saying that, or I might give you a ring next.”

  I hide my smile in his neck and shake my head. “You’re funny.”

  His hand travels down my neck and touches the thin gold rope. His fingers tap the band that hangs from it. “I guess I am funny. You already have a ring. He’s always here with us, even when he isn’t. I’ve never seen you take his
ring off, not once since we were kids or adults. We both know what he did. And it’s fucked up. I don’t see how you wear it, much less look at it every day.”

  I stare down at the plain, shiny gold band, feeling many mixed emotions. I can’t say they’re all pleasant. “I don’t think I can take it off. He gave this to me when I turned sixteen. I’d never wanted anything so badly. I love this ring, not everything it represents. But I love it. It feels permanent, you know? Like a tattoo.”

  He wraps his hand around the band, closing his fist tightly. Josh stares down at his hand, his mouth set in a deep frown. He looks upset. I’ve made him angry again with my big mouth. Why can’t I shut up?

  “Don’t be mad.”

  The trembling in his hand ripples up the chain around my neck. If he pulls any harder, he can snap the thin necklace in two. “It’s like a tattoo of his name, December. He’s branded you. So forgive me if I’m more than a little annoyed.”

  “I’m taking you out tonight.” I change the subject. “You want to go out?”

  Josh drops his hand and nods, his expression tight.

  “Okay. Good. We can go to your favorite club, drink ourselves into oblivion, and come back here and pass out until late, late Sunday.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE PRESENT

  Aquarius, the night club we’re in, is crammed with sweaty bodies. Aquarius is a club inspired by water. We’re surrounded by water. It’s trickling off stones, flowing down translucent walls.

  The only requirement is that everyone has to wear white to get in. They have people with huge water guns spray on the crowd with glow-in-the-dark paint. At the end of the night, everyone is covered in glowing paint and dripping with foam.

  The ice-blue-colored smoke and fast-paced laser lights make it difficult to spot a quality girl for Josh. We’re seated at the top level of the club in our half-moon black velvet booths, overlooking the translucent dance floor. The dance floor has water and fish underneath it. It’s the first time people can say they walked on water.