KISMET

by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  His swift exhale hits me in the face, smelling of spearmint and beer. His shaking shoulders jostle my body, and it’s contagious. I laugh with him. I don’t know what we’re laughing at, but I’m feeling a bit off my rocker . . . hysterical. I wonder if my straight jacket will be sparkly. I’ll put in a request for them to refrain from giving me a pink one. I don’t like pink. Oh.My.God. Reality slaps me in the face and that bitch packs more power than Avery. It took a week for him to make me fall for him the first time. In the three years he disappeared, I haven’t been successful in purging him from my heart. It took hours for him to make me throw caution to the wind and mount him like I was ready for my rodeo debut and wanted longer than eight seconds.

  I do need to be committed.

  His fingers snapping in my vision clear my mind. “What?”

  “Did you lose it?”

  “I think I’m gone. So far gone.”

  “Good. Maybe you’ll sit here and listen to me.” I yawn. I want to, but I’m too tired to process shit. It’s been a whirlwind of a day, and I was the ringleader at the circus. I created the chaos, a force hurricane shutters couldn’t stop.

  “Can we do this when I get back?”

  “No.” My mouth falls open. “I let you leave here, and you’ll avoid me.”

  “You seem to find a way to get my attention.”

  “Ten minutes. Let me tell you where I went and what happened, and if you still want to . . . you can walk out of here.”

  “Deal. Nine minutes and fifty nine seconds remain.” I sit back disinterested, but if he knew how piqued I was, he’d use it to his advantage.

  “You threw me off kilter the night I met you. At first, it was your looks.” I roll my eyes. “But that was the instant attraction. I felt like I could see you, Emberlee. You hide this passion, this side of you that’s beautiful. You’ve placed yourself in this bubble, but you want to fight to break free. It’s raw. It’s real. That’s who I fell for.” He sips my coffee— help your self, asshole. “The night I learned you were sixteen and still in high school, I wanted to get the fuck out of dodge. I told myself a million times I would. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t break the hold you had on me. So I conceded. With stipulations.”

  I take my drink back and raise my eyebrows. His stipulations are in another realm if what we did doesn’t constitute crossing a line.

  “I broke those.” He smirks. “I had every intention of coming home, telling your dad and praying like hell he’d let me prove to him I’d be worthy of you.” I swallow, if he knew how much I prayed that would happen. “Three weeks into the mission, I got an emergency message. My sister went to a fraternity party and someone drugged her drink.” I cover my mouth in shock. I know how much he loves her. “She got lucky. She was woozy but coherent. She got the shit beat out of her by the guy, but a passerby saved her. She landed herself in the hospital, and you have no idea what that did to me.”

  I can’t help myself. I reach for his hand. “Why didn’t you call? I would have been there.”

  “That’s just it. You’re a few months older than her. I looked at her bruised face, the fear in her eyes, and I was no better than the guy who did that. She was fifteen and innocent.”

  “Don’t compare what happened to Brecklynn with what we shared. I willingly gave you my virginity. I wanted you. I was falling in love with you. Violence and what we did are opposite ends of the spectrum. Don’t fucking do that.” He brings me to the brink of violence.

  “Quit interrupting, Spitfire.” He strokes my cheek, and it’s a balm. My blood pressure lowers, and I relax into his touch. “Melody came to the hospital. She was the one person I trusted to look after my family and tell me what was happening while I was in basic and here.” I bristle at his choice of words. I was stupid to believe I’d be the one he trusted, the one he turned to. “I struggled. I don’t know another way to say it. I saw your face morphed with hers, and it killed me. It wasn’t the same thing, I know that now— but put yourself in my shoes.” I can’t. All I hear is I remind him of his little sister, and while creepy, it breaks my heart. Looking into his face, my instinct is to soothe the furrows in his forehead, soothe him as he does me. My second thought is punching. Marking his pretty face with my fist.

  “Permission to talk?” Please don’t say yes. I’m exposed, torn open, and I know my mouth will run away.

  Nodding, he swallows. “Go for it.”

  “I don’t know where to start with this. None of it is okay with me. The woman you were fucking off and on, shows up at the hospital and what you concocted a story to tell the naïve high school girl you’d just left? A simple, hey, I’m not interested would have sufficed. You took it up a notch. You sent her to my house, the one I shared so many times with you, and had her eradicate everything good. Because I remind you of your sister? That makes perfect fucking sense. In fucking Narnia.”

  “Em—”

  “No, I’m not done. I let down my guard. You think I wanted to fall for you? Hell, no. You represented everything I was running from. The uniform. The control. The times you’d be taken from me. Difference is— I didn’t fight it. I embraced it. I cherished it. You tarnished it. All of it. My entire life’s decisions have been made for me. What to wear. What classes to take. Where I’m allowed to go. What school to attend. Every. Fucking. Thing. You did the same thing. You decided what I could handle, what kind of partner I could be, and I’m pissed you rated me so low on the scale. I’m stronger than you think, and I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.” Looking for an escape route where I don’t have to go through him, I realize I’ve drawn an audience.

  I stand.

  He follows.

  I take a step.

  He follows.

  Chest to chest. Toe to toe. Breathing erratic.

  I bring my knee up.

  He crumbles.

  I run.

  He doesn’t follow.

  The house is dark as I pull into the driveway. I’m sure they all wish I’d bail on vacation, but fuck ‘em all. I’m tired of people deciding what they want from me. I chuck my purse to the couch, ignoring the incessant beeping; I strip my clothes off as I make my way to the bathroom. I turn the shower as hot as it will go, bypassing the cold-water knob. Staring in the mirror, I take in the disheveled look. Hair loose from the knot I tied it in, tendrils framing my flushed face. Eyes glassy and rimmed in pink. Eyes a pale chartreuse color—lifeless.

  I don’t look like the same girl. Enough pieces have been broken through the years, this is what remains. What’s left still standing? Meet the new Emberlee Abigail Winchester. Buckle up, it’s about to get bumpy.

  The night plays on replay, constantly looping in my head as I stand under the shower letting it scald my skin. Praying I can shed this layer and in its place armor appears. Another superhero power I’d rock. Lasers. Armor. Invisibility . . . less human. I’ve become numb to the burning and pelting of the spray, but I remain. Enduring the torturous pain of scorching skin.

  Avery slapping me, tears flooding her eyes.

  Deacon’s rigid body as he informed me I chose the wrong side.

  Mason’s disgust as he told me we were done.

  Caden’s silence.

  Saylor’s crumbling pain.

  Adriane’s absenteeism when I needed her the most.

  Brody’s confessions.

  All bullshit. Nothing I did came from malice. I didn’t set out to hurt anyone. I was fixing it. For all of us.

  Especially my dad. If I could bring Adriane into the fold, make her see reason— he’d be proud of the daughter he raised and the one he sired. I can’t give up. If only he’d see me, realize how hard I’m working, and it’s all for him. All of it.

  I’ll do better.

  I’ll try different tactics.

  I’ll make them all see reason.

  I’ll make them all love me.

  One more text and I’ll pass stalker status and slide into the spot of psycho. It’s four in the morning, and she’s hurt an
d alone. I know she got home fine because I rode by her house after I was done vomiting and prior to me placing an icepack against my nuts. For a tiny thing she can brandish a knee to the groin that brought this man to his knees. I’m still sore and moving isn’t high on my priority list . . . but I do grin when I remind myself she’ll be kissing my wound all better— soon. And with that thought, I’m glad the pleasure pickle isn’t broken . . . she gets a rise from each of my body parts.

  She leaves in a few hours, and I want her to know she isn’t alone. I’ll be available when or if she needs me.

  Me: Let me know you’re good or you’ll have a visitor at the airport.

  Delivered. That’s all I get. I’m gonna fix that shit. I’ll turn her read receipt on next time she’s in my vicinity and there won’t be any bullshit excuses why she didn’t respond to me. Gingerly, I swing my legs over the couch so I can hit the shower and head to the airport. She’s forced my hand, and she’ll know I keep my promises. Threats— if you’re getting technical, but that’s semantics. My word is my word, and I need her to know I’ll stand by what I say.

  I hear my phone alert as I step from the shower and how I wish I could rush to get it, but she halted that action for a few days. I’m thinking I should ask for a cup for Christmas because pissing Emberlee off seems to be my specialty, and I don’t want a repeat performance from the coffee shop. Ever.

  Embe: I’m good. Taking off. Quit bothering me.

  I chuckle at her tantrum.

  Me: I don’t call this bothering. I call it concern. Caring. Speaking of, my balls need some TLC.

  Embe: We weren’t ‘speaking of’ your balls and sucks to be you. I suggest you find someone to give you TLC because that isn’t a job I want on my resume.

  Even in text the girl is full of piss and vinegar.

  Me: Let me know when you land. I’ll be thinking of you. I wouldn’t consider it a job. A full-time career is what I’m thinking.

  I get the finger emoji. Her favorite I’m sure.

  Me: I leave in the morning for the holidays. Heading home. Don’t forget I’m here if you need to talk and let me know when your plane lands.

  Embe: You’re not my boss. Tell Brecklynn I said hello. Maybe Melody too if you’re gonna see her. I’m sure her TLC skills are up to muster.

  She thinks she’s coy, but she’s an open book with her words . . . her jealousy comes through loud and clear— I see straight through that shit.

  Me: I’ll tell Brecklynn you’ll see her soon, and I’m sure Melody’s husband agrees with your TLC assessment. I may see her, but since she had triplets a few months ago, she’s kind of busy. Nice to know you care.

  Embe: I don’t

  Me: Whatever helps you sleep at night.

  That pesky finger again.

  Now that I’m awake I should head to the gym and get a workout in, but my balls scream otherwise. Hobbling to the couch, I refill my ice pack and settle back in my bed for a few hours of sleep. A certain stubborn girl robbed me of any last night.

  Home. Stepping off the plane and searching the faces for my mom and sister is proving to be difficult. It’s crowded as hell at the holidays, and toddlers, strollers, and luggage all block my way. “Brody.” I’d recognize that voice anywhere. Until I turn in its direction and halt my movement. The voice I recognize— the girl, or young woman attached, I don’t.

  “What the fuck, Brecklynn. Did you forget the rest of your clothes before leaving the house?” I’m tugging her shirt down so it’ll stop showing her stomach. Don’t get me started on the length of her non-existent shorts— maybe they’re underwear. Whatever they are, I’m burning them when we get home.

  Her hands bat mine as they’re trying to cover her skin. “Stop it.”

  “Where’s Mom?” No way in hell she approved this ensemble.

  “At home. She’s wrapping gifts and sent me to pick you up.”

  “It’s damned December. You could have dressed appropriately.”

  “It’s damned Texas. I am. Come on grumpy. Or shall I call you grampy with the way you’re bitching and moaning?” Whoa. I’ve had my fill of sass the last few weeks.

  “Brecklynn.” My voice warning her I’m not playing.

  “Brody,” she imitates me. What is it with crazy ass challenging women? I must attract them.

  “Wear some clothes that cover you,” I growl in frustration.

  “I’m a big girl, brother. These clothes do cover me,” she twirls, and I bite the inside of my cheek. “Ass covered— check. Tits not hanging out— check. Girl bits hidden— check.”

  “Enough. I get it.”

  “You’re pleasant this visit. What’s got a burr up your butt?”

  “Emberlee.”

  Her smile lights up her face. “You’ve seen her?”

  “Yeah,” I drag my hands down my face. “You could say that.”

  “I don’t need deets. I think I can figure it out. But that’s good, right?”

  “She hates me.”

  “She’s stupid. Nobody could hate you.”

  “I hurt her.”

  “Life’s a bitch at times. We all get hurt.”

  “Breck, I hurt her.” I meet my sister’s eyes, and I’m sure mine reflect shame.

  “Shit. You didn’t go to her?” I shake my head, hanging it in embarrassment. “Damn it, Brody. Three years.”

  “And the bombshell I let Melody drop.”

  “She’s believed that this whole time?”

  “Yes.”

  “She hates you.” I narrow my eyes at her. “What? I speak the truth.”

  “Thanks for the sibling support.”

  “I support you, but you’re also a dumbass.”

  I throw my arm over her shoulder and lead her to the exit. “Let’s get home. Mom will coddle me.”

  “Not when she learns the truth.”

  “I need to reevaluate the women in my life.”

  “Or maybe just reevaluate the dickhead moves you pull.”

  “Ouch. You wound me.”

  “Not as much as I want to. I can’t believe you.”

  “Yeah, well you’ll be pleased— she kneed me in the nuts the other night.”

  “I didn’t think I could like her more.”

  “You don’t even know her.”

  She stops and turns to me. “I know her through you. Your eyes light up and crinkle when you mention her. The tone in your voice could thaw an igloo. Your smile— it’s genuine. Anyone who can do that to you, make you feel that strongly you can convey it in your voice, your expression— I like her. A lot. You? Not so much right now.”

  “Love you, Breck.” I kiss her forehead and pull her tight.

  “Love you. I’m sorry I fucked up everything for you.”

  “You didn’t. Stop apologizing. I made the decision to be a coward.”

  “I’m still sorry.” Her voice is wavering.

  “I know. Water under the bridge.” Sure, she shouldn’t have been at a college party at fifteen, but what fifteen-year-old knows that? It’s part of growing up, learning life, and its repercussions. I can’t fault her, but I can be thankful it didn’t end worse.

  We continue to baggage in silence, and she tosses me the keys when we enter the garage. “It’ll work out.” She’s staring at me, like she can will me to believe it.

  “I’m hoping. I’m doing what I can.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  I listen to her babble about her senior year, and I grin knowing she’ll be with me in six short months. I hope we can convince Mom to move. “Have you been working Mom on Kansas?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know if it’s gonna happen.” She’s working her bottom lip, and that’s her tell that she’s hiding something.

  “Spill it.”

  “She’s dating.”

  “As in one guy or multiple?”

  “That sounds wrong, Brody. One guy. My old English teacher, Mr. Thatcher.”

  “Awkward.”

  “You’re telling me. I w
onder if I actually earned my GPA in his class.”

  “Now, that sounds wrong. I don’t need that visual, Breck.”

  “I heard them having sex. You can at least suffer with your imagination. I have the real thing here.” She’s tapping her forehead, and I start laughing through the need to puke. “It’s not funny, asshole.”

  “Your face is.”

  “Well, he sounded like he had game.” She giggles. “Now, your face is classic.” I swallow the bile and want to pop my sister for going there.

  “You had to.”

  “I expected sympathy, instead you antagonized me. Mess with the bull—”

  “You’ll get the horns.” I finish. We hold our fingers up in the ‘hook ‘em horns’ tradition. “It’s good to be home, but I’ll be glad when you’re with me.”

  “I can’t wait. But I’m gonna let you know— you aren’t the boss of me. I don’t have a curfew, I’m gonna live the experience, and you aren’t following me keeping tabs on my whereabouts.”

  “Simmer down, I’ll always look out for you.”

  “Don’t make me implement the sock rule,” she threatens. I raise my eyebrows in question because surely my baby sister isn’t implying what I think. “When I’m getting busy I’ll cover the doorknob with a sock. You’ll know to scram.” She was. She is trying to raise my blood pressure.

  “Brecklynn Collier, don’t. Stop those thoughts and don’t speak of you and getting busy in the same sentence again. Ever. You’re still twelve in my mind. And we have a two-bedroom apartment. It’s not like the dorms.”

  “You play the protective older brother, I’ll move in to the dorm.” I’ll call her bluff.

  “Okay, I hope your roommate isn’t a serial killer and has good hygiene. Toenail clippings in the bottom of your foot are as bad as stepping on glass.”