Ren and Della: Boxed Set (Ribbon Duet Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  He knew.

  And there was no going back.

  * * * * *

  I wish there was more to the tale.

  But I’ve sat here for a while thinking what to write, and honestly, there isn’t anything else.

  I wished I could say that Ren came stalking from the mismatch dressed up crowds, yanked me out of Tom’s arms, and planted his mouth on mine in punishment for ever kissing another boy when I’d always been his.

  But it didn’t happen.

  Tom went to get us more drinks, this time with alcohol laced in its sugary depths, and Tina and I continued to dance, but my smiles were brittle and my laugh hollow.

  Tom stayed close, but things had changed—awareness had been shown, harboured secrets blown wide apart. His touches were just habit, and that night, we agreed that it was fun and all, but it was better if we went our separate ways.

  I wasn’t sad. I was relieved. And that was yet another nail in my otherwise rotten coffin.

  Meanwhile, as I was getting dumped for hurting two people in one, my heart constantly zeroed in on where Ren was.

  Occasionally, he’d appear in the crowd, arms crossed and leg cocked over the other as he leaned against the perimeter, an outsider to the party, a watcher on the wall, close enough to protect me from harm but willing to let me make my own stupid mistakes.

  I didn’t know if he’d seen me kiss Tom.

  I didn’t know if he’d been hurt or didn’t care—perhaps he was relieved that I was manhandling someone else for a change.

  I didn’t know.

  But when it was time to go home, he walked with me.

  He carried my high heels and gave me a pair of flip-flops he’d thoughtfully stashed in his back pocket, and guided me through streets filled with ghosts and demons back to an apartment where he went to his bed and I went to mine, and through the thin walls, I heard him tear apart the meagre furniture we had, howling at the moon.

  All the while, I cried into my pillow.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2016

  WE DIDN’T EVEN make it to Christmas before another catastrophe found us.

  For weeks, I kept the fact that I’d seen Della kissing Tom hidden. When she looked at me over breakfast of toast and cereal on the weekends, I tasted the question she wanted to ask. When I arrived home from a long day at the milking yards and she had a home-cooked meal for two, I heard the query she wanted to know.

  And I ignored each look and stare.

  Not because I still didn’t know how it made me feel—sick to my stomach mainly—but because I worried about her. I worried what sort of person kissed another with that much heat and desire—practically making love on the damn dance floor—and then broke up with them that same evening.

  I knew the feeling of not wanting to get close to someone, but she’d taken it to a whole new level. She’d used him, and as much as I loved the fact that she’d broken up with him, I couldn’t get over the way she’d kissed him.

  Over and over, I replayed it, ripping my heart out little by little until I was more lost and more afraid than I’d ever been.

  I hadn’t hugged her in weeks.

  I hadn’t snuggled with her on the couch.

  I barely touched her.

  And she didn’t call me out on it or demand to know what was wrong.

  We both knew what was wrong.

  Lines had been crossed again, and I desperately wanted to draw more in the sand and ensure they stayed steadfast and true.

  Regardless of how I felt about watching her stick her tongue down another boy’s throat, she seemed to shut everything down and act normal—if we even had a normal anymore.

  She never once mentioned Tom again, and I couldn’t think about the kiss she’d given him without getting hot and angry and hard, and not necessarily in that order.

  I hated that she’d kissed someone, but that was my own selfish reasons wanting to keep her protected. I was hot because all the men in that place watching that kiss had felt the passion dripping off Della. And I was hard because, goddammit, it reminded me how long it’d been since I’d felt the delicious friction of kissing and I was obscenely jealous.

  Jealous of Della’s freedom.

  Jealous of Della’s courage.

  Jealous of Della being with anyone when all I wanted to do was lock her in a tower.

  It made me sick that I couldn’t entangle proper and improper thoughts anymore. I hated that I couldn’t trust myself around her, when before, she was everything I ever needed.

  I didn’t know if that was her first proper kiss, or if she’d been practicing a while, but holy fuck me, she knew how to do it.

  The way her leg came up to hook over his hip. The angle her head tilted to give unfettered access to her mouth, and the way her hands roamed and nails dug as if she’d drown if she didn’t get more.

  I could understand the awe on student faces who’d watched such a thing. Even the girls had parted their lips and wanted what Della was having, but for some reason, I didn’t think it was Tom who was the excellent kisser.

  It was all her, and that was what screwed me up even more.

  Why was she so talented at something I wanted to shield her from for years?

  And why had I only just noticed what a sexual creature she’d turned out to be?

  It made my own needs spring loud and cruel to the surface, and I often thought about my experiences with Cassie. Of our kisses and thrusts; of hands in dark places and tongues wet and dancing.

  I’d enjoyed sleeping with Cassie, but I hadn’t felt a tenth of violent hunger as Della had shown on the dance floor that night. Perhaps, she was right and I was wrong. Some people were just more sexual than others, and I was hurting her by not letting her be free with whatever she needed to find.

  Maybe she’d outgrown me in more ways than I’d ever imagined.

  It fucking gutted me, but the very next day, I headed to the pharmacy while she was still in bed and bought a packet of condoms. Afterward, I booked in a doctor’s appointment for her to arrange a better in-depth sex talk than I was capable of and to discuss birth control arrangements.

  Thanks to Cassie, I knew about the pill and STIs and the minefield of what sex entailed. It was time Della did too, so at least I didn’t have to worry about her getting pregnant or sick.

  I assumed Della found the condoms with the note I’d left on her bedside table.

  Simple and to the point: If you’re going to do things outside my control, please be safe. Use these. At all times. With a big black arrow pointing at the twelve pack of condoms.

  My heart hadn’t stopped pounding in agony every time I thought about her using them. But my job wasn’t to prevent her from living. My job was to keep her safe while she did.

  It didn’t matter how I felt.

  It was all about her.

  And that was what I tried to remind myself when the phone call came.

  * * * * *

  Normally, I was the one who screwed things up. I took the blame. I shouldered the consequences. But more and more, Della was the reason things turned ugly.

  Two unconnected events made one very nasty conclusion.

  I came home a few nights after I’d given her the condoms to find the bathroom door wide open and steam curling down the corridor.

  The scents of liquorice body wash and melon shampoo—her current favourite scents—gave me a clear path to her bedroom where she sat in the middle of her bed, dressed in innocent pink pyjamas, reading a textbook and doing science homework.

  Everything was right with that picture apart from her hair.

  Her gorgeous, golden hair was now a rich blue to match her ribbon.

  The same ribbon tied at the end of her plait, draped over her shoulder in a vicious shade of cobalt.

  “What the hell did you do?” I stormed into her room, barging past the door, and not caring that it slammed against the wall. She’d transformed from angel to nothing
but trouble.

  Trouble that I no longer knew how to handle…in so many complicated ways.

  She looked up, blue eyes even brighter thanks to her new hair.

  She winced at my temper. “I knew you’d be mad—”

  “Of course, I’d be mad. Your hair is goddamn blue! What were you thinking?”

  “It’s not permanent.”

  “I don’t care. Wash it out. Right now.”

  She shrugged, her pen in one hand and the end of her plait in the other. “It…um, it’ll wash out in twenty-four showers or so.”

  “Twenty-four! You have school tomorrow.”

  “They won’t mind.”

  I laughed, full of exasperation and annoyance at how stupid she could be. “Oh, they’ll mind. There’s nothing natural about that, Della. The dress code states no makeup, offensive jewellery, or embellishments of any kind.”

  “Why the hell do you remember the dress code?” She pouted. “Can’t I have a little expression?”

  “I remember because I remember everything.” My eyes burned, sending their own message that I’d seen her kiss, and I remembered every mortal detail about it. Before she could read that stupidly sent information, I growled. “And no, expression is for after school. School is about learning to follow rules and—”

  “It’s stifling me, Ren! I can’t be who I want to be there anymore. I can’t talk to anyone about…things. I’m sick of telling lies about who we are and where we come from. They don’t understand. No one understands—”

  I shook my head. “I never thought you’d become one of those self-obsessed whiners like those stupid TV shows. This is life, Della. You need an education. You’re not there to find out who you are. You’re there to learn skills you’ll need for when you do.”

  Her shoulders slouched. She had no rebuttal, and my temper stalled.

  We waited in a room heavy with argument, slowly fading the more we breathed.

  Finally, she murmured, “I’m sorry, okay? I just…I needed to do something. It’s been a tough couple of weeks.”

  I did my best to relax, backing up and leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed. “Why? What’s going on?” There was no surer way to make my anger dissipate than thinking she was hurt or sad. “Tell me, Little Ribbon.”

  She glanced up with an unhappy smile. “Do you know you hardly ever call me that anymore?”

  I opened my mouth to argue, racking my brains for a time when I last used it. Sadness filled my heart when I found none recently. “You’re right. I haven’t.”

  “Why?” Her question ached with so much more than just that one request. My bones physically throbbed to cut across the distance and sit beside her on the bed. I wanted nothing more than to gather her in my arms and crush her close. To hug like we used to. To kiss like we used to. To promise her that this might be hard for both of us, but we would never drift apart the way we seemed to be drifting right now.

  The silence stretched, this time scratching my skin and drawing blood.

  I forced myself to stay in the doorway, no longer comfortable to enter her bedroom with all the strangeness flowing between us. “You know why,” I murmured.

  I hadn’t meant to say that.

  I hadn’t meant to say anything.

  She stiffened, her lips smashed together as her eyes glowed with something that took an axe to my chest, cleaving me in two.

  We stared.

  And stared.

  And when my body prickled and blood boiled, and I was so close to doing something I really shouldn’t do, I cleared my throat and the moment was gone.

  I smirked, going for light-hearted, when really, I ought to scold her for such a reckless colour. “I should probably march you to a hairdresser and get that colour stripped out, but…it suits you.”

  And it did. It suited her too much. It made her skin pop white and lips burn red. It made her look older, which was not a good thing.

  Her shoulders fell, her tension rippling away to settle on the bedding beneath her lotus-crossed legs. “Thanks.” She tugged on the end of her cobalt plait. “I know you don’t understand, but sometimes…well, sometimes it feels like we’re still alone in the forest, you know? Surrounded but with no one to talk to. At least, in the forest, the trees can’t repeat your secrets.”

  “I miss it, too. But you know why we can’t go back…not yet, at least.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “But it’s hard when I feel so…” She shrugged. “Look, I know I can’t tell people the truth about where we came from or mention my real last name or tell people that we aren’t truly related, but sometimes, I just wish I could blurt out everything.” Liquid glossed her eyes for a second before she swallowed and smiled bright. “Sorry, like I said. One of those weeks.”

  My hands clenched into fists, holding myself in place not to go to her. “What do you want to talk about that you can’t discuss with me?”

  She barked a laugh as if I’d said something hilarious. Rolling her eyes at the ceiling, she chuckled in a tortured-exasperated way. “Gosh, everything.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up, hating that she felt trapped and alone. “I’m always here, Della. If it’s girl stuff or periods or whatever. I can handle it.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “If it’s not that, then tell me what’s bugging you.”

  She dropped her gaze to her bedspread, her fingers plucking the pages of her text book. “I can’t.”

  “Why?” Despite myself, my feet stepped into her bedroom, needing to go to her when she seemed so forlorn. “What’s wrong?”

  Her blue hair shivered as she shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Something’s wrong.”

  Her eyes flashed with warning not to push her. “Like I said, I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”

  My legs locked in the centre of her carpet. “Don’t get mad at me. I’m only trying to help.”

  “Yes, and look at the great job you’re doing!” She launched upright, kneeling on her bed. “Just…I can’t do this right now. I need to study and you—you just—”

  “I just what?”

  “You make it worse, okay?”

  I froze. I had no reply. Only the pain she’d caused and the knowledge that I’d somehow failed her. Nodding curtly, I backed toward the door. “Fine. Study. You know where I am if you need me.”

  I turned around and left before the argument could fall into trickier territory.

  * * * * *

  The very next day, our lives changed once again. The catastrophe hit with lashing accusations and howling consequences.

  I was commanded to visit the high school where Della attended. When the phone call came, I was herding seven hundred plus cattle into the milking shed and could barely hear the snippy tone of the principal’s assistant ordering me to pop in for a ‘chat.’

  I’d barked back, asking if Della was hurt or lost or missing. Did I need to save her from yet more Social Service agents or was it not as dire as that? The urge to run and vanish into the protection of the forest sprang into an undeniable urge.

  All the woman would give me was Della had been served detention for her blue hair, and they wanted to discuss the matter.

  My need to grab Della and disappear faded a little. I’d told her she’d get in trouble for such a ridiculous colour, and it turned out, I was right. Frankly, she deserved a bit of punishment, and if being detained after class and earning a stern talking-to by the principal was the price, then hopefully she’d learn her lesson.

  For the rest of the day, I lived with a recipe of uncertainty and curiosity, and by the time I sped my way on a beaten-up motorbike that needed new parts and some serious care, I was wired and ready to kill someone.

  I didn’t care I had grass stains on my work jeans or my plaid shirt was covered in dirt. I made an honest living, and the scents of earth and cow were more acceptable to me than asphalt and metal.

  Striding through the school cor
ridors, I peeked into classrooms full of posters with correct etiquette and current assignments. A science lab smelled of sulphur. A lecture room still hummed with a projector someone had left on even though no students were there to learn.

  The place was foreign, but I wondered what it would be like to attend. What did Della think when she arrived early in the morning and soaked up knowledge in different environments?

  I got lost in the labyrinth of corridors and cut across the wrong campus forecourt until I found the admin building where the principal’s office was housed.

  The moment I stepped into the stuffy, low-ceiling building, a woman with spectacles and greying hair looked up from typing something on a computer. “Ah, you must be Mr. Wild?” She said it as a question, but with a knowing gaze that unsettled me.

  “I am.” My eyes drifted over the space, instinctually seeking exits and keeping a safe distance from myself and this new stranger.

  “Great. Della’s detention is almost over. She’ll head here accordingly. Please.” She nodded at a closed pine door where a bronze plaque announced a Marnie Sapture was in command of this establishment. “Ms. Sapture is expecting you.”

  Gritting my teeth, I strode to the door and opened it without knocking. The principal would’ve been pretty once upon a time, before she let stress pile on the pounds and too much makeup try to hide the heavy lines on her forehead. “Mr. Wild?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. We need to talk.”

  “As I’ve been told.”

  “Please, sit.” She waved at the chair in front of her. A moment of déjà vu hit me of entering another principal’s office and hearing a tale of how Della informed a bunch of five-year-olds how to skin and gut a rabbit.

  The memory gave me mixed feelings of amusement and terror. She was so different to everyone else, but her differences meant we never seemed to stay in one place for too long.

  Sitting down but with all my weight in my feet ready to leap up and run, I waited for Marnie Sapture to tell me why exactly I’d been summoned. The familiar weight of my goat hide knife that Cassie gave me whispered to be used.

  To unholster the blade and threaten this woman the same way she was threatening me.