“I’ll never get my sisters home, Salinger. I can’t do this. The first win was a fluke. He’s too good.”
I wrapped my hands around my arms and turned around. He had closed the door and had leaned on it, both hands in his pockets.
“You’re letting Bernard and the procedures get into your head,” he said.
“No. It’s him. He’s too good.”
“He’s a brilliant player, Lily, but so are you.”
“I’ll lose the tournament if that Aurek guy is any good.”
“He’s a phenom as well, Lily, but so are you.” He shifted his weight. “Bernard is a lot to take in, and you’re letting him overpower you.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You can help it. You’re powerful.” He eyed me, starting at my feet and worked his way up. “You have no idea how powerful.”
I swallowed, tamped down the sliver of heat his gaze gave me, and shivered. A small smile found the corner of his mouth but fell.
“Stop letting him and the rules cloud your head. He’s autistic, Lily. He’s smart as hell but has slight issues with boundaries. When you go back in there, you set those for him. Once you have that down, disregard the rules. Just let yourself play the way you’d always play. We’ll explain the rules as we go so you’re not so overwhelmed. Just play the game because you love to play. We’ll figure the rest out.”
I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled through my mouth.
“Come on,” Salinger said and stood from his leaning position.
He opened the door and yelled inside. “I’m taking Lily on a walk. Clear her head.”
“I’m starting to wonder if she won on accident!” Bernard answered, but I heard him, and the truth of it made my chest constrict.
“She didn’t and you know it!” Salinger called back. “Stop messing with her head. It’s cruel, Bernard!”
Bernard grumbled, “Aurek will be no different. I thought you wanted me to prepare her.”
Salinger didn’t answer him. Instead, he closed the front door and jumped off the stoop onto the sidewalk, grabbing me by the upper arm, and leading me away from the house.
“Let’s clear your head and let’s be honest, I need to cool off.”
When we reached the end of Bernard’s block, he let go of my arm.
“Let’s walk around the French Quarter.”
“Okay,” I said.
The buildings were gorgeous. I’d never seen anything like them. You could tell they were built in a time when art was appreciated and each building was just that, a work of art. They took pride in the architecture and obviously built them to last. They were fascinating to look at with their ornate wrought iron railings, their painted shutters, their patina bricks, and inviting doors.
“My sisters would love it here,” I told him.
“That’s sweet, Lily.” He paused for a moment. “I always wanted a sister. I was a pretty lonely kid. Since I was an army brat, we didn’t have any real roots. I thought having a sister or even a little brother would have helped fill that insecurity for me.”
“Did your mom and dad not give that to you?” I asked him.
He smiled at nothing. “Not really. Dad was always working, and my mom was always drinking because of that. I barely know either of my parents. They ignored me for much of my childhood. Dad tried a little harder than Mom, though.”
“I’m sorry,” I told him.
He shrugged. “I don’t drink because of her.”
The memory of him refusing a drink at Ashleigh’s made sense to me then.
“I get that.” I looked at him. “You and I are opposites.”
He looked offended and I tried not to laugh. “Why do you think that?” he asked.
“No, I just meant that your parents’ struggles guided you in a way my parents’ struggles never guided me. There’s only one common denominator in those equations, and that’s us. You’re obviously smarter than I am. You learned from it. I didn’t.”
“Not true,” he said. “My dad never laid a hand on me. Neither did my mom. I can’t imagine being in that same situation and not being desperate to find an escape from that.”
I swallowed. “I don’t think you would have done what I’ve done. Besides, abuse comes in many forms, Salinger. My stepdad hit me—” I shook my head. “It’s so weird to say that out loud now he’s gone. A bit freeing to say it out loud, actually, like I’m starting to let the hurt go with the words.” I shook my head again. “Anyway, abuse comes in many forms.”
“That may be true, but I would never presume I endured anything close to the hell you lived. I can’t know what I would have done.”
“We all have our personal hells,” I told him. “What does it matter if one is hotter than the other? I’m not in denial. I knew there were better choices. I just didn’t care. I didn’t have a purpose. I chose what I knew, what was easy.”
“You care now?” he asked me.
“Maybe.”
He didn’t respond. He smiled, though he tempered it by biting his bottom lip.
“Thank you,” I told him.
“For what?”
“For many things. All of it.”
“No need. I don’t help people because it yields me something, Little. I helped you for the good of helping. It’s its own reward.”
“Thank you anyway.”
He smiled to himself and my stomach flipped on itself. “It’s not entirely selfless, actually,” he added, staring ahead.
“It’s not?” I asked him, my heart beating hard in my chest.
“No,” he admitted, looking at me briefly then back ahead of him. “I want to be your friend.”
My heart skipped a beat then immediately flatlined. I’m ashamed to admit I felt disappointed by his answer. I felt dumb for feeling it, too, but I won’t lie and say it didn’t disenchant me. I scolded myself for feeling as much because he was being honest in every way you could possibly be honest and he was a good friend to me, a very good friend. So I decided not to be selfish. I decided I could hope all day long, but I couldn’t get mad when he wanted to be my friend and only my friend. I couldn’t get mad because he deserved someone better than me. I couldn’t get mad because I didn’t deserve to get mad. I had amends to make and I didn’t have the time or the right to think of anything else, even if that anything, or rather that anyone, was Salinger.
Salinger with his perfect heart. Salinger with his perfect face. A face the sun seemed to find whenever it woke enough to search. It found him and bathed him in its warmth because he gave it meaning.
I wanna be just like him.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Not really. I am thirsty, though.”
We came upon a small cafe and Salinger led us inside. We ordered a couple of smoothies and headed back onto the street. We caught a street musician’s performance before heading back toward Bernard’s.
“I have to ask you something,” I said, feeling a little nervous.
“What’s that?”
“What did you and Lyric talk about after I left that night?”
Salinger cocked his head back slightly, exposing his strong jaw and long neck, and stared down toward me, a small smile on his face.
“What does it matter, Lily?”
I felt my face heat up. I was embarrassed because I felt like asking made my crush obvious. I tried to deflect. “She hates me; I can tell.”
His head dropped forward, his smile fell. “She’s jealous of you.”
I swallowed. “Impossible. Does she even know my family situation?”
“She’s jealous of what you’re capable of.”
“I’m not capable of anything, Salinger.”
“Wrong,” he said and his fingers found my forearm, wrapping around the skin there. He stopped me and I stared up at him. “You’re smart, smarter than her, and you’re talented, and that eats at her.”
“Why? Does she play?”
“She does.”
“Is she any goo
d?”
“She’s okay, but that’s not what eats at her.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me,” he said, letting go of my arm and we continued on. “You have my attention, so that night she told me she didn’t want me to be around you.” My heart beat in my chest. “I asked her why and she explained she felt threatened. I told her to chill. She exclaimed she was in love with me and asked if I felt anything for her. For the fifth time this year, I told her no. She promised to calm down and we could go back to being friends. I don’t believe her anymore and told her we should both cool off for a couple of months.”
“Did she take it well?”
He looked at me like I was crazy and barked a laugh. “Uh, no.”
“I see.”
“I don’t understand how hard it is to take a hint,” he said, dragging a hand across the stone facade of a building. “She just couldn’t be cool.” This sobered me. I won’t be making the same mistake. “Anyway, let’s forget all about it.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
Take the hint, Lily.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WE PRACTICED WITH BERNARD until late into the night. We decided to stay and played the entire next day as well. By Sunday evening, I’d gotten a lot of my confidence back and beat Bernard several times while still applying tournament rules and procedures.
Pulling up to my house after not seeing it for two days felt strange. I hardly recognized it. It was actually pretty, something I’d never really experienced, even when we first moved in. It looked like someone loved it, and I guess that someone was me. It reminded me of the girls and why I was working as hard as I was.
“See the neighbors around you?” Salinger asked when we pulled into my gravel drive.
I looked around and saw that during the weekend several people had started to take pride in their homes. A few had mowed their lawns, fixed broken windows and doors, and ridden their yards of trash. Two neighbors down, the Garsides, had actually painted their house.
“Weird,” I said.
“It’s cool, actually,” he said. “You did that.”
“I definitely did not.”
“You did,” he insisted.
He brought my bag inside for me then stretched out on our old couch. I’d covered it with a couple of crochet throws since it didn’t seem to match the house anymore. I turned the stereo on.
I brought my phone out and texted Ansen and Katie that I’d made it home all right.
“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he told me.
“I promise.” I paused. “I’m going to beat Aurek,” I told him.
“I know,” he spoke into the cushion.
He was too tall for the couch and his legs extended onto the perpendicular love seat. He was a gorgeous boy. I didn’t want to think that about him, but I couldn’t help it. It was too obvious to ignore. I didn’t blame Lyric the least bit. I started to imagine running my fingers along the skin on the back of his neck but stopped myself.
“Not because I’m better than him or anything,” I continued, “because winning is my only option.” He leaned up, rested on his elbows, and looked at me. “Winning is the only option.”
“I agree.”
“Then it’s settled,” I told him and he laid back down.
I went into the kitchen and raided the fridge for anything of substance. All I found were a few beers Salinger had left over the other day.
“Salinger, do you want a beer?” I asked him. He didn’t answer. “Salinger?”
I walked back into the living room and saw him still on the couch, but his breaths had evened out.
Salinger Park was asleep on my couch. He’d nodded off.
My heart raced.
I debated waking him up or risk him getting upset I’d let him sleep, though I’d promised. I thought I could suffer his wrath because I wanted him there. The house felt empty without him, so empty it made my skin crawl. I’d been the one to empty it.
Him being there brought me peace, though, more than life to the lifeless house. It was more than his mere presence there that motivated me to keep quiet. I wanted him there with me. I wanted him. For him I had tunnel vision and he was the light at the end of that tunnel.
Salinger was a very bright, beautiful light. I could admit it openly to myself, at least. I thought if I could admit it, maybe I could also live within those parameters.
So I sat there, silent and still, in my pitch-black house, nursing one of his bottles of beer, the low base of a song playing on the stereo rumbling through my chest, and watched his own rise and fall with each breath he took, feeling more and more like who I was supposed to become, because Salinger didn’t just fill my house or paint the walls. He filled me, painted my insides with a purposeful life.
He was a burning lantern guiding me home.
I’m falling in love with him.
I suddenly remembered myself. I got up, poured the beer down the sink, and paced the kitchen floor. Focus on your list. Finish the house, get visitation, get the girls, mourn Mom, and deal with Trace. Stop looking at Salinger. Stop thinking about Salinger. Stop wanting Salinger.
I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve him. I don’t de—
“Lily?” I heard and startled to a stop.
Salinger was leaning on the jamb of the open doorway into the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” he asked me.
“Thinking,” I explained and stuck my hands in the back of my jeans to keep them busy.
He fought a smile. “You let me fall asleep. You know what the penalty for that is?”
I tamped down the heat that pooled in my belly when he said that. “What?” I whispered.
“A quick game of chess.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” he said, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, “but there’s a handicap.”
My heart beat wildly behind my rib cage. “What’s the handicap?”
“You have to be blindfolded.”
I swallowed. “Blindfolded,” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said, standing upright and walking backward toward the living room and the little chess table we’d set up.
I followed after him.
“Take a seat,” he told me.
I sat down, my heart beating a million miles a minute; for some reason as he left for the kitchen. I could hear him rummage through the drawers there then he returned with a thin, worn cheesecloth. He folded it over and over until it made an appropriate blindfold. He smiled at me.
“You ready?”
I nodded and he placed the cloth over my eyes. I felt him carefully brush my hair aside and I stifled a shiver. He tied the knot.
I felt him lean into my ear. “Too tight?”
“N-no,” I stuttered.
I heard him take the seat opposite mine.
“Ladies first,” he said.
I carefully brought my hands up and felt for the edges of the table. I lightly ran my fingers over the tops of the pieces and chose my play. I moved my piece, placing it where I thought it should go.
“Is this close?” I asked him.
His hand found mine and he guided it to its correct spot. “There,” he whispered.
When he let go of my fingers, I brought the hand he’d touched to my lap and with my other tried to wipe away the maddening drug he seemed to leave behind.
“Your turn,” I said.
“Let me have your hand,” he said.
“Why?” I asked, desperate for him not to touch me again.
He laughed off my question. “So you can know which piece I’ve played.”
I swallowed nothing. “Oh.”
I offered my hand to him and he took it in his, moved his piece, then let it go. I felt my breaths coming faster and I tried to steady them.
“You going to be able to remember every move?” he asked.
“Not sure,” I whispered.
If I’d played this way with anyone else, I’d be able to know the table
and the position of each piece at any given play easily, but with Salinger? He did things to me. He distracted me.
“This is good practice, I think,” he said.
“How’s that?” I asked, delicately feeling for my next piece and placing it.
He grabbed my hand softly once more and placed it perfectly. Instead of dropping my hand, he held on to it and showed me his next play.
“Because you always play the game in your head. It’s your MO, Lily. I want to see you return to that, but with tournament rules in place.”
“I see,” I said, keeping his fingers with mine. Absently, I ran my thumb over the top of his hand while I felt with my other hand for my next move. I didn’t know why I did it. I only realized I was doing it when I heard a hitch in his breath. I stopped, grateful I couldn’t see him.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It was a reaction. So sorry.”
He cleared his throat. “No big deal,” he said, but I knew it was a lie because his fingers began to tremble. I heard him let out a slow breath. “I, uh, I think if, uh, you were to, um—” he stuttered.
“If I were to?” I asked, desperate to change move on.
“If you were to, uh, get back into that habit, you’d, um, feel more comfortable.”
“Salinger?”
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?” I asked.
His hands began to shake more and he pulled his fingers from mine. I sat back in my chair and lifted one side of my blindfold to look at him. He didn’t answer, only stared at me. I lifted the rest of the blindfold, pushed it to the top of my forehead. His hands gripped the edges of the little table our chessboard sat on. His knuckles were white.
“Lily, I—” he began, but there was a knock on the door. He opened his mouth, closed it, turned toward the door, and shook his head. “I’ll get it,” he said, standing up.
I stood up as he was swung the door open.
“What’s up?” Ansen asked casually, opening the screen door and walking in. Katie followed him inside.
“Hey, guys,” I said.
Ansen narrowed his eyes at me, cocked his head to the side. Katie smiled at me. She pointed at her own head, silently asking what the blindfold was all about. I pushed it off my head and laid it on top of our game.
“We interrupting something?” Katie teased.
IDLE: Book Four of The Seven Deadly Series Page 15