Daisy opened her mouth to say something. Anything. But she couldn’t breathe. Everything left her in a strangled gasp. One hand scrabbled to grip the back of Chelsea’s neck; the other was pressed against the wall beneath a strange painting of a black bird.
Oh, Daisy thought, this is what it’s like.
Chelsea sank her teeth into Daisy’s thigh.
“Oh,” Daisy said out loud, wishing she hadn’t, “I might…”
Love you.
“That’s the point, sugar,” Chelsea mumbled.
It is, isn’t it?
20
Something about the light coming in through the sliding glass door made Chelsea think of church, despite her saying otherwise hours ago. It wasn’t religious in any way, shape, or form, but she felt a litany stir on her tongue.
The almost-morning light that glowed on the balcony became Sunday morning sunlight against stained glass. Aiden’s wall of treasures morphed into burning white candles and intricate drapery, gold crosses and painted saints. The empty bottle of cheap bourbon on the coffee table became a porcelain bowl filled with holy water.
Their clothes scattered around the living room were rows of pews. Daisy’s naked body was every knee that hit the wooden floor for Hail Marys, every eyes-squeezed-shut plea and hushed confession behind velvet curtains.
Chelsea shifted to lie on her side. A foot away from her Daisy slept. She looked at the bottom of Daisy’s lip, her chest rising and falling, eyes moving behind their lids, and put to memory every bit of her in this moment, this now, this morning that wasn’t even a morning yet. This was religious, Chelsea decided.
Last night lingered on her skin. Bruises dusted the bottom of her neck, the top of her collarbones, the arc of her hipbones.
Daisy’s lips had grazed ribcage and sternum and belly button and hips and everywhere, everywhere.
Laguna stirred awake. Chelsea heard birds sing, waves crash, and car doors open and close. But everything fell behind Daisy’s soft breath, the delicacy of her fingers stretched on the carpet, how her legs shifted as if her body felt Chelsea’s gaze and wanted to wake up.
The morning that wasn’t quite morning was comprised of the ridges between Daisy’s breasts, her toes curling as she opened her eyes, and Chelsea finally understanding what it felt like to worship a false idol.
Daisy opened her mouth, but said nothing. Her gaze traversed all of Chelsea in one swoop, face, chest, waist, and thighs. She looked at herself and her legs shifted, pressing tighter together. “Did you just wake up?”
“Yes,” Chelsea lied, watching a pretty blush darken Daisy’s cheeks. “What’s wrong? Are you embarrassed?”
“No, of course not,” Daisy snapped. Her teeth came down hard, but her ferocity wavered. She ran a hand through her hair, pushed her bangs this way and that. “We’re just… on the floor without our clothes on, we didn’t… there was a bed and we didn’t—”
“Make it there,” Chelsea finished, arching a thin brow.
Daisy swallowed hard. “Yeah, no, we didn’t make it there. What time is it?”
“Maybe five, six at the latest. Earliest Aiden will get here is eight-thirty.” Chelsea touched the soft skin beneath Daisy’s belly button. “I have to be at the hospital at ten.” She slipped her hand lower. “Do you have work today?”
Daisy’s lashes were so dark they looked like an oil spill against her eyelids. “No.” Her breath hitched. “Chels…”
“What happened to all that confidence from last night, Miss Daisy?” Chelsea grinned. Her hand dipped lower, sliding between Daisy’s legs.
Daisy chewed on her lip. Her lashes fluttered and she said something in Mandarin. “What? Getting off in the middle of the floor before I’ve brushed my teeth isn’t confident enough for you?” She pulled on Chelsea’s elbow until their bodies were pressing, and their breath was dancing on shoulders and necks.
Chelsea took a moment to thank the god she’d abandoned for the words getting off and how they sounded as they rushed past Daisy’s teeth. She hummed in response, because if she tried to reply she’d ruin what they’d started. Daisy’s hand stayed wrapped around Chelsea’s wrist, feeling veins roll, ligaments stretch and flex. She didn’t move, just stared up at Chelsea, helpless and strong and vulnerable. Her breath came short; her fingernails dug in.
Daisy kissed her hard, a mess of trembling lips and soft gasps and clicking teeth.
What could be better than loving a woman like Daisy Yuen?
“Stop, fuck, stop,” Daisy whined. She tugged on Chelsea’s wrist, slammed it against the floor, and tried to catch her breath. “First off, good morning,” Daisy snapped.
“Mornin’,” Chelsea purred, attempting and failing to hide a wide grin.
“Second.” Daisy shoved Chelsea’s shoulders down, forcing her to lie on her back. “I get a turn.”
Chelsea lifted a brow, amused, but her expression fell away. The witty comment behind her teeth was blown back when she sucked in a deep breath. Daisy’s lips were on her hips, her thighs, everywhere, everywhere.
00:00
Aiden strained a light green drink over ice. “Did the club work?”
The night before last played over and over again in Daisy’s mind. The bite of the bar against her lower back when Chelsea pressed her against it, the look in Aiden’s eye when he winked at her with his smile hidden in Shannon’s throat, and the taste of tequila and ginger beer when Chelsea kissed her. Her memories were a mess of how and when, bouncing between the club—Chelsea bathed in neon lights, her hands under Daisy’s dress, tell me where I can touch you—and the apartment—barely having time to breathe, her spine pressed against the wall, fingernails digging into the nape of Chelsea’s neck.
Daisy had been stuck in her head and hadn’t heard Aiden, leaning across the bar, with his palms flat against it and his razor-grin inches from her face.
“Tell me,” he said.
“Tell you what?” She did her best to avoid eye contact.
He snorted a laugh and shook his head. “Fine, don’t be any fun. You going to the gym tonight?”
“I was planning on it. When do you get off?”
“In an hour. Speaking of getting off, did you get off?”
Daisy opened her mouth, but Aiden’s laughter interjected. She realized what he’d said and clawed at the air trying to get to him. “Yes, actually,” she admitted, hissing the words, “and it was great, if you have to know. Really, great. Wonderful. I could wax poetic about it for days.”
He took a step back to avoid Daisy’s fingernails. “I’m listening—I’m too curious not to care about this. If Chelsea hadn’t dated Shannon, I’d assume she was one of those celibacy advocates who only buys underwear in multi-packs from the old lady section at Nordstrom.”
“Wrong,” Daisy stressed, gritting the word between her teeth. “You’re actually wrong for once. She wears lingerie that’s more expensive than my car.” That was an exaggeration, but still. “Her underwear always matches her bra,” Daisy counted on her fingers, making a list, “she’s secretly insatiable, she has absolutely no shame, and she’s like,” Daisy fumbled trying to find the right words, “experienced? I think that’s what I’m trying to say? She actually knows what she’s doing.”
Aiden arched a brow; a smile perched on his mouth. “Guess they didn’t just study and host mixers at that sorority house.”
Daisy couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Guess not.”
Aiden rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and chewed on it. He set the glass down and walked away to help the only two customers in the bar, who were asking for whatever cheap beer was on tap. Daisy watched him move about, filling mugs, running credit cards. She clutched her phone in one hand, appletini in the other. He was thinking about something—she could see it in his eyes, the way he wouldn’t look at her or anyone else.
“What’s wro
ng?” Daisy mumbled when he returned.
“I hope it wasn’t disappointing for Shannon,” he admitted, painfully so.
Daisy knew what he was referencing, but she didn’t let him know that. “What are you talking about?”
Aiden’s mouth twitched. He looked at her from under his lashes—the same look from high school, after every party, every night out, every time someone called him an asshole or a prude. “You know what I’m talking about,” he said gently.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Aiden.”
“I know that,” he said, blush crawling slowly across the bridge of his nose.
“You never told me…” her words fell away, chased by secrets and truths and memories.
“You were gone.”
It came out like a blood splatter—quick and vibrant.
That was what she’d been waiting for. The words were flying out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I’m sor—”
Aiden snapped them in half. “Don’t.” His voice turned over like a tall wave breaking against the shore and dissipating. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Daisy. You were at college, getting an education, making friends, being a normal fucking person. Don’t be sorry for that. I was fine.”
He didn’t sound hurt, he didn’t sound bitter, but Daisy knew that there was a place inside him that held onto it, like a dog gnawing aimlessly at a hotspot.
“I am sorry, Aiden,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said, just as soft. “You know that, right?”
Every secret she’d held onto was suddenly illuminated. Her strange, unrequited jealousy fell onto the bar in front of them. She wanted to cry. She wanted to let it go, and let it go, and let it go, because she had Chelsea, and Vance had been nothing but a fucked-up detour that led to her final destination.
“Of course I know that, you idiot,” she hissed, forcing the sting in her eyes to subside.
“I know I never told you; I just didn’t know how to,” Aiden said. He wouldn’t look at her, and it hurt. “It wasn’t—we never—it was twice, maybe. He kissed me twice, and I should’ve told you, but I was so fucked up, I didn’t know left from right and I know that’s not an excuse. I know that, but you graduated, that party happened. And—”
Daisy reached across the bar and slapped her palm across his mouth, silencing him.
He looked like a deer caught in headlights.
“That was never the point,” she said. “I needed you. You needed me. We didn’t come through for each other, did we?”
He exhaled and gave a short nod, dipping his chin as he looked at the jar he kept drying though it was dry already. Daisy removed her hand. Aiden lifted his gaze and said, “You came through for me, Daisy. Every fucking time.”
“I was jealous. Vance knew what he was doing. and I let my messed-up perception of things skew the situation. The party happened, and I left, and I didn’t even…” She inhaled a deep breath. “I didn’t talk about what happened at 101 because you’ve been through it and I left you to deal with it on your own, and it was shitty, it was, but I need you now, okay? I need you to tell me I’m in control of myself. I need you to tell me that I’ve got this.”
Aiden placed the mason jar on the table and set his palms on the bar. He jutted his chin at her. “You’ve got this, Daisy Yuen. It hurts. And it fucking sucks for a long time, but you’re still in control. This is your life. and no one’s taking it from you. You’re here and you’re a fighter and you’re free.”
“I’ve got this,” she echoed.
Aiden nodded.
Daisy exhaled a sharp breath.
There, she thought. It’s finished.
“Meet me at the gym, all right?” Daisy slid a couple crumpled bills across the bar, but Aiden shoved them back at her.
“All right,” he said, sounding like himself and not.
She didn’t want to leave, but they needed space, they needed to breathe, to put the memories of who they were with Vance where they belonged—in the past. Aiden wasn’t a boy who wouldn’t mind if he died, and Daisy wasn’t a girl who accepted being possessed. They were strong, and they were different, and Daisy loved him, and Aiden loved her, and everything that had happened, happened.
They had so much more to look forward to.
She stood next to her car and sent a quick text.
Chelsea Cavanaugh 8/15 4:03 p.m.
Dinner tonight?
Daisy Yuen 8/15 4:04 p.m.
At the apartment?
Chelsea Cavanaugh 8/15 4:06 p.m.
Yes. We’re cooking. I told the boys they could come over for dessert.
Daisy Yuen 8/15 4:07 p.m.
Oh good
Her thumbs hovered over Chelsea’s text bubble.
The boys. Shannon and Aiden. Their boys.
Daisy Yuen 8/15 4:08 p.m.
Weird question: How much water builds under a bridge before it becomes unswimmable, unpassable, unanything?
Chelsea Cavanaugh 8/15 4:09 p.m.
Just talk to him.
Daisy spun on her heels and headed back into 101. Aiden looked startled and glanced around, expecting her to have brought others—ghosts or onlookers or anger. She climbed onto a bar stool, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him against her, scrambling to get her arms around his shoulders without falling over the wooden bar top.
“Never again,” she said quickly, “don’t ever let us be apart for that long again, you hear me? No matter what. Never again.”
“Okay,” Aiden said, pressing his face against her neck. He squeezed her and squeezed her. “Never again.”
“It’s me and you, you get that? Daisy and Aiden, always.”
“Daisy to the rescue.”
“Aiden to the rescue,” she whispered.
It was the middle of summer, but everything felt like winter, sore and secure and finished. Everyone she had, Chelsea and Aiden and Shannon, felt like bruises.
They stayed.
The world turned. Daisy felt it.
21
Marcus Maar turned twenty-eight on August twenty-seventh.
Everyone was invited and everyone consisted of Karman, her daughter, Shannon and Aiden, Chelsea, and the owner of a gallery uptown whom Marcus had become friends with through work.
Daisy crouched to adjust the tongue sticking out of her chunky Doc Martens. A pair of feet clad in strappy white sandals appeared next to her, perfectly manicured red toes twitching. She followed the sandal up a pair of bare calves to cut-off jeans with holes torn precisely over each knee. Head tilted, Chelsea looked at her.
“What is this place?” Chelsea asked. Her brows furrowed as she set her elbow against her hip and gestured down the hallway. “I saw it when we came to lunch here, but I didn’t know what it was. Isn’t this place for kids?”
Dave and Busters was not for children. It could be for children, it was child-friendly, but the circular bar in the middle of the game room screamed adult. They were waiting for the others in the wide hallway between the restaurant and the pool hall. Fae bounced excitedly next to Shannon while Aiden grabbed Marcus by the arm and dragged him toward the game room.
“Is there a big enough table for all of us?” Daisy asked.
Aiden shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”
Marcus was still talking to Karman over his shoulder; his white teeth were a stark contrast to his rich, dark skin. He stumbled along with his brother, nudging Aiden with his elbow as they disappeared into the game room. Dark purple walls stretched up into a high ceiling. It sounded like a casino, but smelled like a diner. Lights flashed, bright greens and yellows clashing with blues and reds. People wandered around, holding cocktails or beers, munching on snacks, with buckets of tickets shoved under their arms.
Racing games lined the right wall; interactive strategy games were scattered o
n the left. A few closed-in simulation shooters were placed in the middle, next to the players card distribution stand. In the back corner, toys and goodies waited to be exchanged for tickets that had been won.
Daisy didn’t care about the tickets, but she did care about the games, especially the old school arcade-style fighting games in the vintage section behind the bar.
“This place is gigantic,” Chelsea said, keeping close to Daisy as they walked toward the bar. “I didn’t know they made places like this for grown-ups.”
“We’re allowed to have fun too,” Daisy said. She laughed and slid into the oversized booth Aiden and Marcus had found.
A waitress wiped down the table and took their orders. Marcus wanted potato skins, so they got those. Aiden wanted buffalo wings, Chelsea curly fries, Shannon mozzarella sticks. Daisy skimmed the appetizer section and decided on fried macaroni and cheese, which was the most disgustingly non-diet food on the menu.
“Not gonna lie,” Aiden said, “I wanted to order those, but I didn’t know if anyone else would eat any, so thanks.”
Daisy grinned, closing one eye in a wink. “It’s Marcus’s birthday! Of course I ordered them. Fried everything, cake later, no reason to pretend we didn’t want them.”
“We did,” Marcus said.
“Agreed,” Karman piped.
Shannon nodded. Chelsea lifted her brows and smiled.
“Drinks?” Marcus asked, gesturing to the bar. Aiden had his cheek pressed against Marcus’ shoulder, leaning on him. He shrugged, forcing Aiden to lift his head. “Should we get a couple pitchers of beer? Does everybody like beer?”
Daisy nodded. The tips of Chelsea’s fingers played on her kneecap under the table, drifting back and forth from the outside of her leg to her inner thigh. It shouldn’t have been distracting, but it was. The tiny, tentative motion pulled Daisy’s gaze to the table and caused one side of her mouth to quirk. She set her open hand on the top of her thigh and let Chelsea trace the lines across her palm with the tip of her index finger.
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