by Monica Cole
“I think we might be the only sober people left.”
I glance up to see Canyon making his way towards me, one hand stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans. His white t-shirt is slightly damp, clinging to his body in a way that makes it insanely difficult not to stare. Yet…it’s all I can do. Without waiting for a response, he takes a seat beside me, far enough so we aren’t touching but close enough I can still feel him as if we were.
“Is that right Mr. Red Solo cup?” I poke my hand through the blanket I’m wrapped up in and playfully flick the side of his cup. “How many is this? Or can you not remember?”
“For your information Ms. Smartass, I’m drinking Root Beer.”
I snort a laugh. “Okay, sure,” I say, yelping when he reaches over to pinch my arm. He shakes his head but it does nothing to hide his smile.
For a few minutes we both sit quietly. The only noise is the country music drifting from someone’s truck and the faint crackle of the fire before us. Occasionally, I steal a glance at him, captivated with how the firelight casts shadows across his face. He’s breathtaking. Devastatingly so, and I’d be lying if I said part of me wasn’t attracted to him. But I feel like that attraction runs so much deeper. Like an invisible string connecting us emotionally. I noticed it the first night we met, a subtle tug. Now that we’ve spent more time together, it feels more like that string is tangled up between the two of us, binding us together.
I must end up staring because he turns unexpectedly, and I’m captured in his impossibly dark gaze. For a minute, I almost think I can see the reflection of the fire in his pupils, but the longer I look I realize it’s a completely different flame burning behind his eyes.
“What?” he asks, his voice deeper than usual.
I shrug, causing the blanket to slip off one shoulder. “Nothing. I was just zoning out.”
Canyon brings his eyes up from my shoulder, the tip of his tongue resting between his lips. “You’re easier to read than an open book, you know that?”
I frown, fairly certain that wasn’t a compliment. “What is that supposed to mean?” I snap. I let the blanket fall around my waist and snatch the cup from his hand. Ew. Root Beer.
“It means I know when you’re lying,” he explains, finishing off his drink after I pass it back.
I roll my eyes, which I’m starting to notice is a bad habit of mine when he’s around.
“Don’t roll your eyes,” he scolds, but there’s amusement in his tone.
I roll them again out of spite. “Don’t call me a liar.”
He chuckles under his breath and shifts his body so that we’re facing, knees touching. Suddenly, the world stops turning. At least that’s what it feels like. He leans closer and I swear my heart is defying gravity. Bouncing around the cavity of my lungs.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
Oh no. I know what happened the last time we tried this.
He leans even closer, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I promise to stop calling you a liar if you can promise one thing. You have to promise to always be completely, one hundred percent honest with me. No bullshit.”
I push my lips to the side, contemplating his offer. It seems like a lot to ask of someone you barely know. Like we’re making some life binding pact without all the blood and spit. Maybe some part of that should terrify me only it doesn’t. In fact, it does the exact opposite.
Finally I nod. “Okay. But only if the same rule applies for you.”
He rolls his eyes theatrically, clearly making fun of me. I go to punch him in the arm but before my fist can make contact, he grabs me by the wrist and pins it down on his leg. His thumb sweeps across my skin, making my entire body flare like an electrical wire. I feel…elated. Like I’m tripping on some high I never knew existed. A feeling I’ve only felt with Canyon and in that moment, a feeling I know I’ll probably only ever feel with him. And that is definitely a thought that terrifies me.
“Elle.”
Canyon’s low voice seeps through my thoughts. I peek up from under my lashes, suddenly nervous. The world isn’t standing still anymore. Now it’s moving in a whirlwind.
“In all seriousness, if you want me to be honest with you, I will.” He’s looking straight at me. Brown eyes into my gray ones. Like he’s reciting to my soul. “I think I speak for the both of us when I say we could both use someone like that in our lives. Someone we can talk about anything with.”
I look down at our hands, grasping for words. What Canyon is asking, I’ve never shared with anyone before. Not Whitney or even Parker. Sure, we’re close but that doesn’t mean I want my brother to know everything. Especially things that are better left in the dark. I guess that’s the difference with Canyon though. He’s already seen my darkness. Hell, that night on the cliff, he was the light that penetrated it.
Keeping our eyes locked, I slide my hand away and hold my pinky out. “Promise?”
He wraps his pinky tightly around mine and squeezes, “Promise.”
Chapter Eight
Canyon has been here every morning for the past week. He arrives at exactly nine o’clock. Never early. Never late. I know this because I’m always awake to hear the front door creak open and the faint sound of their voices drifting through the paper thin walls. He spends the next thirty minutes helping Parker get ready for the day, his footsteps padding back and forth through the hall. Sometimes he’ll pause outside my door as if he’s contemplating knocking. But in the end he walks away, burdened with the same notion that avoiding each other is for the best. And it is. I’ve given it a lot of thought since the party.
Being “friends” with Canyon might be the most reasonable solution, but I’ve never been one to listen to reason, which is why I’ve stayed in my room every morning from nine until the front door shuts at nine forty five. Maye it’s immature. But despite what I told Canyon at the party, I’m just not ready to face him, to be friends, or see him on a daily basis. That’s like quitting smoking for an extended period of time then going back to a pack a day. You’re body has to have time to readjust, only in this case, it’s more than just my body. It’s my heart.
This morning is no different than the rest. I think it’s Tuesday, but I’ve lost track of the days. Canyon arrived ten minutes ago, but I haven’t heard any noise since the door shut. I imagine he’s in the kitchen talking with Parker, but I can usually hear their voices. Right now, the house is absolutely silent. Even my room feels like a tomb. Rolling over on my side, I flip the radio on, tuning the dial to my favorite rock station. Then I turn up the volume and climb out of bed. The sun shining through the blinds feels warm as I rifle through my unpacked bag for something to wear.
I really need to do laundry. I’m down to my last pair of cutoffs and a few shirts. I pull out a baggy t-shirt that hangs off my shoulder when I slip it on then grab a brush off the dresser and attempt to detangle my hair. "American Idiot" by Green Day comes on, and I start singing along, bobbing my head up and down as I yank the brush through a knot. I pull harder, but it’s like cutting through steel and when I look up at my reflection, the brush is dangling from the side of my head. Great. I tug harder but it’s no use. Normally I can fix it with detangling spray but there’s no way I’m leaving the room with Canyon here. A quick glance at my phone tells me he’ll be here for at least another twenty minutes, so I decide now would be a good time to straighten my room. I hate cleaning, but it’s always more enjoyable with music. I dance around the room, picking up dirty clothes and when I start on trash, I jump up on the bed, shooting it into the trashcan beside the door. Ten minutes later my room is mostly clean. I crush the last wad of paper in my hands and jump on my bed before taking the shot. It sails across the room and I bounce down, but catch my foot on a pillow and tumble to the floor, banging my head so the brush digs into my scalp.
“Stupid brush,” I groan, rolling onto my back. I give it another tug but only inflict more pain on my part. Without warning, my bedroom door swings open, and I’m close enoug
h that I have to roll out of the way to keep from getting hit. Canyon is standing there, his look of concern morphing into one of confusion when he sees me lying on the ground. He eyes the brush in my hair, cocking an eyebrow.
“Are you okay?” He asks the question slowly and there’s something about his voice that sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.
“I’m fine,” I answer. I climb to my feet and sit on the edge of the bed, avoiding eye contact, but my eyes keep roaming back to where he is, one hand on the knob, the other braced above him on the door frame. He looks so natural standing there, eyes flitting around the room as if he’s seeing it for the first time. And then I realize he hasn’t been in here in almost as long as I have. His brown eyes settle back on me, and I avert my gaze to the floor, embarrassed that he caught me staring.
“Can I come in?”
He’s still lingering in the hall and hearing him ask for permission to enter my room is something I never thought I’d witness. I’m used to him barging in, making himself comfortable, but right now he looks hesitant and uncertain, and I find myself nodding my head. He walks in, leaving the door open. He stops in front of the bed, nodding his head to ask me if it’s okay if he sits down. Again, I nod, feeling stupid that we have to communicate with our heads instead of our words. Words aren’t safe though and right now, that’s how I need to play things.
The mattress dips as he sits beside me, close, but not enough to make me uncomfortable. He stretches his legs out in front of him, hands resting on his lap.
“So, not sure if you know this, but there’s a brush stuck to the side of your head.”
I sigh and touch the stupid thing attached to my hair. “Really? I haven’t noticed.”
He laughs under his breath and before I can stop him, reaches up, giving it a gentle tug.
“Shit. You really got it stuck in there, didn’t you?” He tugs again, harder, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from howling in pain.
“Sorry.” He apologizes, seeing the discomfort on my face then gives me a serious look. “You want me to get the scissors?”
My eyes get huge before I lean away. “No I don’t want you to get the scissors,” I say, using this as an excuse to scoot to the end of the bed. “All I need is some detangling spray.”
“So what are you waiting for?”
I pull at the sleeve of my shirt so that it’s no longer hanging off my shoulder. “Nothing,” I answer lamely because what else am I supposed to say? That I don’t have the balls to face you so I’m hanging out in my room with a brush stuck to the side of my head until you leave my house, so I can go to the bathroom to get detangling spray? Yea. No.
Canyon smiles, just a small tilt of his lips, but it makes my head dizzy. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.” He rolls his lips together with a satisfied look and leans back on his hands. He looks entirely too smug right now, and while I’d like to punch him in that smug face of his, there are plenty of other things I’d like to do to his smug face that shouldn’t even be a thought in my mind.
I shrug nonchalantly as his assumption. “Maybe I am.”
“There’s no maybe about it,” he argues. “You, Elle Reynolds, are most definitely, undeniably avoiding me.” He shakes his head as if wounded. “And right after you agreed we could be friends.”
I snort at his theatrics. “Despite what you might think, I’m not avoiding you.”
“Right. So you just happened to lock yourself in your room for the past week, coincidently right after we had the discussion of not making this awkward by being friends.”
I nod, picking at the purple nail polish on my fingers. “Basically.”
He makes a groaning noise in the back of his throat, raking both hands through his hair in frustration. Then he collapses on his back and sprawls out across the bed. It’s that one small move that lets me know he’s let his guard down. This is no longer the cautious, nodding his head and asking permission Canyon. This is the old Canyon. The one who’s comfortable enough to lay out on my bed and argue with me like we’re still the same people we used to be. The Canyon I have to be even more careful around.
He lays there for a few minutes, eyes closed, one hand above his head and the other caught in his hair. The bottom of his shirt has ridden up enough that my eyes keep darting to the small patch of skin above his jeans. He could open his eyes at any minute and catch me staring but as much as that thought unnerves me, I can’t look away.
Finally he stirs, blinking his eyes open and even though I’m now staring at the dresser, I can feel his eyes searing into the side of my face.
“I wish you’d give this a chance, Elle.”
My eyes flick up, catching our reflections in the mirror. He stares back at me. Unblinking. Saying a thousand different things with that one look, and I can read every single one as clear as if the words were scribbled on the glass in red ink.
“It’s not that easy,” I say, dropping my gaze, unable to hold his any longer. “You make this all sound so simple, but it’s not. It’s complicated, Canyon. We’re complicated. What happened between us is complicated. Pretending to be friends for the summer isn’t going to magically make the past disappear.”
“I’m not expecting it to.” He sits up, somehow ending up closer to me than before. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m not asking for you to forget the past. But I genuinely want things between us to be easier for you. You don’t deserve to spend all summer cooped up in this room because you’d rather avoid me. I’m going to be here, Elle, and I’m sorry if that’s an inconvenience, but your mom and Parker need my help which means we’re going to be around each other. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
He motions between us, hand falling to his lap. As he made perfectly clear the night of the party, he has a point. I know he’s honestly trying to make this easier for me but he’s on the complete opposite end of this situation. He hurt me. He lied. He let me walk away. He doesn’t have to deal with this from my perspective and I wish he could see that for me, it’s so much different. But he’s right. Always freaking right. We are going to be around each other and I’ve got to find a way to make this work. I can’t stay holed up in my room all summer, even though part of me wouldn’t mind that at all.
“Okay,” I breathe, turning slightly to face him. He’s right beside me, and when I glance up, we’re face to face. His brown eyes consuming my vision. “I’ll try to make this work but I’m not making any promises.”
“I’m not asking you to,” he says and then climbs off the bed. He stands in front of me, hair disheveled, eyebrows drawn tightly together as he stares down at me. “Thank you,” he says, and I don’t have to ask what for. He’s thankful for a second chance and I’m…I’m not so sure if I am.
He leaves the room, and I hurry down the hall, locking myself in the bathroom. I spend the next five minutes detangling the brush from my hair, then pull it back into a messy ponytail. I apply the barest amount of make-up then reluctantly head to the kitchen where Parker is sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone.
“Look who finally decided to get up.”
I narrow my eyes at him as I pour myself a cup of coffee then take a seat across from him. He’s munching on a piece of toast, his glass of orange juice untouched.
“Is Canyon still here?” I ask curiously.
Parker nods, reaching for his glass. “He is. A client called so he took it outside.” He chugs down half his juice, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “So, how are things between you two?”
Considering I’ve been in my room all week, I thought he’d be able to tell things aren’t going so well, but I don’t say that. Instead I say, “Has Canyon not talked to you about it?”
He shrugs a shoulder and tosses the toast on his plate. “He told me ya’ll talked at the party but that’s about it. He hasn’t flat out told me, but I can tell he’s upset you’ve been avoiding him.”
I drop my head in my hand, dragging my finger over th
e edge of my coffee mug. “It’s awkward, Parker. Being here is awkward. Being around him again. Around you and mom…” I trail off, taking a deep breath.
“It shouldn’t be.” He leans forward, hands folded together. “We’re all glad you’re home. There’s nothing to feel awkward about.”
I shake my head but don’t say anything. The words get caught in my throat, so I force them back down where they sit heavy and yearning in the middle of my chest. The kitchen is too quiet and I can feel him watching me. I quickly change the subject.
“So, you and Canyon are pretty close now, huh?”
Parker finishes off his juice, spinning the glass on the table. “Yea, I guess you could say that.” He looks up at me, amusement in his eyes. “Why? Are you jealous?”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “No. I’m not jealous but it’s impossible not to notice the apparent bromance you two have going on.”
Parker chuckles at the word ‘bromance’. Probably because he knows it’s true.
“He’s been over here almost every day since you left, Elaine. It just happened.” His gray eyes settle on me as he leans back in his chair. “You make it sound like we’re dating or something.”