by Keilan Shea
“This is my house. You said that yourself.”
Earnshaw doesn’t limp when he emerges from the bathroom. He rolls his feet evenly across another white rug, staining it with red dots. He rests his hands on the foot of the bed and leans forward. “I’m calling a ceasefire.”
“Declined. Unless you and your greedy father get the fuck out of Raindrop.”
“The video apology I uploaded isn’t enough for you?”
“No. Maybe you should try apologizing to my face.”
I expect a smirk, a taunt, but Earnshaw does neither. The chiseled muscles in his chest, stomach, and arms quiver. Something inside me burns. It’s rage, but it’s something else too.
At last, he says, “Move.”
“No.”
His eyes darken. “Fine.” He walks around the bed for the head, where the neatly placed pillows lie. Then he throws himself on top of them, back-first and with his arms reeled in so that he doesn’t touch me. The bed is barely long enough for him when he’s lying the wrong way, but he doesn’t care about that or the uneven base supporting him. He closes his eyes and relaxes as if I’m not there.
“Did your father force you to make that video?” I say. “We both know it’s bullshit.”
He says nothing.
“What happened to making my life hell?” I ask.
“Your life is already hell.”
“Don’t pity me now, asshole.”
“I don’t.”
A thin trickle of blood drips off his heel. “Your foot is bleeding.”
“Shut up and leave me alone.”
I glance at the bandage near my right ankle. “Why did you clean and dress this cut for me?”
Earnshaw groans and covers his eyes with his arm. I try not to stare at the way his muscles move underneath his flawless skin. I definitely don’t notice how his proximity turns up the heat. “So that it wouldn’t get infected. Why else?”
“Why would you care about that? We’re enemies.” I swallow and repeat that statement in my head: we’re enemies. He’s gorgeous and still a prick. Maybe he would … but I’m ugly and don’t deserve to forget what I’ve done. God, I want to, though. Just for a moment.
I clutch Dad’s jacket to stop myself from reaching out to Earnshaw. When he had Eve up against that tree trunk, I wanted it to be me. When he kissed me and I felt him wanting, needing … I’ve felt his skin on mine. I was too drunk to appreciate it, but recollecting all of it now, it’s beyond vivid.
Earnshaw turns his head, lifts his arm so that his eyes can peek through the shadowy slit, and says, “If you want answers to your questions, they cost a kiss apiece.”
I get on my knees and shift forward. Earnshaw tenses. He sits up and twists to meet me. I cup his smooth cheeks. He winces when I put pressure on his bruise, but I have no intention of being gentle. I press my lips to his and lick when he doesn’t part them for me. His hand snakes up and down my side, searching for the perfect place to hold me; Dad’s bulky jacket makes that place difficult to find.
Dad.
Mom.
Corey.
What am I doing? And with an Earnshaw? But it doesn’t mean anything. I—
I shove Earnshaw, but he catches my wrists and pulls me closer to nibble on my earlobe. I shiver, gasp, no longer in control of my body. Suddenly, I’m lying on the bed and Earnshaw has me pinned. I can’t wriggle out of his grasp, kick, bite, anything.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I blink rapidly. “Isn’t that what I should be asking?”
“You kissed me. Then you tried to push me away as if you just remembered everything I say is a lie. So, I repeat, what are you doing?”
I don’t know. I can’t think. “It’s hot.” It’s not horrible, but sweat trickles down my brow anyway.
Earnshaw lets one of my hands go to unzip Dad’s jacket. I place my hand on top of his, a silent plea for him to stop and continue. He continues and flips it open, revealing my scar and the sports bra that announces my hideous shape. He doesn’t freeze the way Johan did. He acts as if nothing is amiss. I know he’s seen it before, but all he does is say, “Better?”
My hand is still on top of his. I feel the movement more than see it as his fingers drift to my shoulders to pull off Dad’s jacket. It should be painful, like stripping away layers of my skin, but it is better. The suffocating heat disappears when Earnshaw has my jacket. My heart lurches for a second when I think he’ll crumple it and toss it, but he folds it neatly and sets it on the nightstand.
He doesn’t stop there. He watches me closely as he touches the back of my neck. He catches the gold chain holding Mom’s locket the same way he did on our first day of school. I shiver when he asks, “Is this real gold?”
“You would know,” I say.
The first smirk I’ve seen on his face today turns his eyes sinister; they glint green and blue and sharp. My heart palpitates because he grabs my locket and opens it before I can do a thing about it. I squeeze his wrist, bury my nails into his skin. “Please,” I say, voice cracking.
He looks at me from underneath thick eyelashes. “Nice picture.” He uses his free hand to pry off one of mine and places the locket in my palm. The picture that stares back is of the last Christmas I shared with my entire family. It’s glossy, the colors bright; it doesn’t have a drop of water damage. How? Is this a miracle?
I start sniffling and can’t stop. “Enough of that,” Earnshaw says and swipes the tears from my cheeks, forbidding them from doing what Bloom Lake couldn’t.
Suddenly, the mattress squeaks a protest. Earnshaw’s on his feet and headed for the door. I reflexively grab his forearm and cling to him like a damn cat. “Wait.”
“Let go.”
I tug him down with all my might. He jerks backward, but I put all of my weight into it—I’ve still got enough to throw around a little, which maybe he underestimates. He loses his footing. His thighs hit the bed and he buckles, crashing into me. He grits his teeth and pulls away, but I wrap my arms around his neck. His eyes flicker and he huffs as if he’s trying to contain something.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask. I didn’t think so—barring his foot.
“I’m going to hurt you.” His lips smash into mine. I let him in when he swipes his tongue across sensitive skin because this is what I want. And he tastes vaguely of cinnamon. He bites my lower lip nearly hard enough to draw blood and grabs hold of the back of my head to unravel my messy ponytail. Then he gathers a fistful of my golden hair, allowing no retreat. I welcome the heat of his skin when he pins me to the bed and moves his sweet lips to my jaw. He palms my lopsided boob through my sports bra and flicks his thumb across my perky, sensitive nipple.
“You drive me crazy, Hackett.” His hot breath and the almost-painful pressure of his fist in my hair undoes me. I moan and roll my hips toward his, but they aren’t close. He’s on his knees. He can’t hide what he’s feeling, though. I finger the band of his boxer briefs and dip inside. Hardness meets my fingertips. He wants ugly me. I’m about to expose him, but he yanks my hair so hard that my vision flashes white. My nails hook into his thick shoulders, searching for a lifeline.
“What are you hoping to get out of this?” Earnshaw hisses.
I bite back, “I’m not Eve.”
“No? It looks like you’re trying to get a piece of Blake Earnshaw to me.”
“I don’t care about that. I want you to fuck me, no strings attached. I know you won’t tell anyone about this because of your YouTube confession, and I’m sure as hell not going to tell.”
“Is that true?”
“Yeah. It is. Now it’s your turn. Why the show? Why drag your name in the dirt? Do you give a damn about Chloe? Who is Ricky? What were you fighting with your father about on the phone? Your little rebellion didn’t last long, so you must have lost. Or did you get what you want?”
Earnshaw makes a sound in the back of his throat like a growl. He tugs harder. Pain-induced tears roll down my cheeks.
I
squint through the salty water and say, “I want to forget, okay? About everything.”
Earnshaw lets me go. I think it’s because of what I said, but then he drops my vibrating phone onto my stomach and says, “It won’t stop.”
Because it’s Harvey. Cringing, I sit and accept his call while massaging my scalp with my free hand.
“Teagan, if you don’t drive your ass here right now, I’m coming to get you.” Harvey’s never talked to me like this.
“I’m driving,” I say. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t cancel dinner.”
Harvey huffs. “Drive safe, but don’t make any detours. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” That’s something I’ve only ever said to my dad. I mean to say something else, but there’s no sound. Harvey hung up on me.
Earnshaw hops off the bed and stands at the door, arm spread open in a very obvious gesture for me to leave. I grab my things, and when I’m about to pass the threshold, he says, “Good riddance, Hackett. Good fucking riddance.” And he slams the door shut behind me.
CHAPTER 23
It’s almost 6:00 p.m. by the time I’m driving through Harvey’s neighborhood. It’s a pleasant evening, warm but not hot, and almost every house I pass has someone outside enjoying it. We’re doing the same for dinner. Harvey prepped the pork cubes for souvlaki last night so that today he could make the lemon rice after work and then chop up the veggies and start grilling when Jane arrives. Unless he’s changed his mind. I spy him in the front yard, throwing a tennis ball for Rex. The big lumbering dog gets distracted when I pull into the driveway. He wags his tail like a maniac and paws at the ground by my door. His front legs are on my lap when I open it.
“Did you miss me, boy?” I scratch his floppy ears as a shadow eclipses both of us. Tension radiates off Harvey, and I’m reluctant to look at him, so I stare at his sunset T-shirt.
“An explanation, please,” he says. “I ended up calling Blake soon after I called you, but I want to hear your side of the story.”
Oh, good. I wonder what Earnshaw told him and if I’ll get caught in a lie—not that I think Harvey would believe him over me. Harvey is going to compare our stories, though, because he knows he can’t trust me anymore. I cringe.
“Can I get out of the car first?” I ask. I don’t want to leave without grabbing Dad’s jacket, but I stuffed it with Corey’s slingshot under the passenger seat five minutes ago at a stop sign so Harvey wouldn’t see them.
Harvey steps aside and calls Rex to him. He lets me lead the way to the porch, but he stops me from going inside. He sits on one of the porch steps and pats the space next to him. I sit beside him and throw the tennis ball for Rex.
“It’s what I texted you,” I say. “I had to see inside.”
“Did it make you feel better?”
I shake my head and fiddle with Mom’s locket. “It’s not even my home anymore.”
“Did you take out your frustration on Blake?” Harvey doesn’t give me any facial cues, so I have no idea if he’s insinuating something or if Blake told him something or if he’s worried about me and Blake in general.
I risk saying this: “I didn’t. We don’t have to be enemies, right?”
Harvey pats my knee. “Right, but I don’t want you alone with him again.”
“I thought you wanted us to be friends.”
Harvey runs his hand through his short hair. “I said I wanted you out of Raindrop, but I did give you the choice to stay. So, all right, you chose to stay, but you’re officially grounded. You go to school, to cheer practice, and you come straight back. I set up an appointment with a new therapist for you this Friday, too.”
“What about the psychiatrist?” I ask.
“That appointment is in three weeks.”
Rex barks. He brought the ball back ages ago and he’s waited patiently for someone to throw it, but no one has. Harvey snatches the ball, but he doesn’t throw it. Rex whines.
“You’re loading up skewers after you take a quick shower,” Harvey says. “Jane should be here soon.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply.
***
I pierce a slice of green pepper and then a chunk of pork to finish arranging the last skewer. I’m about to hand it off to Harvey, but he steps away from the grill to open the plain wood gate leading into the backyard. A gorgeous woman, who must be Jane, enters.
I know she’s around Harvey’s age, but she could pass for younger, early thirties maybe. She’s slender and taller than Harvey. Her lace top, straight-cut slacks, and high heels accentuate her figure. The prominent violet color woven throughout her outfit complements her brown eyes and skin. Her hair is what blows me away, though. It’s silky black, straight, and so long; it reaches down to her butt and doesn’t have a single snarl.
She kisses Harvey on the lips after he closes the gate. The kiss would linger, but Rex insists on introducing himself. He doesn’t jump on her, because he is a good boy, but he stands there and stares with his puppy-dog eyes.
“This is Rex,” Harvey says and shakes his head. “Rex, this is Jane.”
Jane pats Rex’s head. He melts, dropping and rolling onto his back for tummy tickles. Suck-up.
Harvey cuts through the lush grass, the quickest route to the patio, to resume supervising the grill. I hand him the last skewer and sneak inside the house to wash my hands. Washing my hands is only half the reason. I stare at myself in the mirror, run a brush through my golden hair—since it’s not snarl-free—and give myself a pep talk. “You are going to win Jane over. Harvey is madly in love with her. You want them to get married and live happily ever after. You will act normal, the way you would have before the”—I swallow—“accident.”
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I slide open the glass patio door and repeat my conscious breaths to tame my wild heart. Jane and Harvey are seated at the round hardwood table to my right. The food is piled onto big ceramic plates and centered on the table for easy access. There’s a new addition too: a glass pitcher filled with a vibrant yellow and purplish liquid, topped with lemons and lavender. Harvey didn’t make that. Jane must have brought it.
“Where’s Rex?” I ask, but then I see that he’s content in the yard; Harvey gave him a rawhide bone, which he’s working on in the grass.
“You must be Teagan,” Jane says.
“That’s me.” I give her my best smile. “And you must be Jane.”
She holds out her hand, so I offer mine in return. Her skin is as smooth as silk. “I’m glad I finally get to meet you. Harvey’s told me so much about you.”
“Only good things, I hope.”
“I wasn’t aware you had any bad in you,” Harvey waggles his eyebrows. He does that for me alone. When Jane lets go of my hand to look at him, he stops.
“Did you make this?” I point at the glass pitcher.
“Yes,” Jane says. “It’s lavender lemonade. Have you ever tried it?”
“Nope, but it looks and sounds good.”
“She grew the lemons and lavender herself,” Harvey says.
“Really?”
“I do love my plants,” Jane says. “I have a little greenhouse in my backyard.”
My chest twinges. Mom never had a greenhouse or anything, but this would have given them something to talk about. If she were here.
“Let’s dig in,” Harvey says and takes the initiative to fill up his plate first—and douse his souvlaki with extra spicy chili sauce.
I pour lavender lemonade into my glass and sip it. It’s delicious, sweet and soothing. That floral taste is a bonus. It’s nothing like that teeth-clenching sugar high you get from instant lemonade.
“What’s your verdict?” Jane asks.
“Delicious.”
“I feel the same way about your souvlaki and lemon rice.”
“That’s all Harvey. He’s the perfect catch, you know.”
“Teagan,” Harvey says through a mouthful of pork.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Jane and I sa
y in unison, which then makes us laugh. It’s as natural as if we’ve known each other for years.
My heart aches. I miss my mom, my dad, my little brother. They should be here. Mom and Jane would become best friends. Dad would embarrass the hell out of Harvey but make him out to be the best guy in the world at the same time. Corey would sneak Rex pieces of pork, but he’d watch, and then he’d smile when Jane gave him a moment of her undivided attention.
My eyes sting.
No. I can’t cry. I won’t ruin this dinner.
Jane reaches for Harvey’s hand, which is lying on the table, palm-up, as if he’s been waiting for her. Their eyes meet and soften with matching genuine smiles. They aren’t posing for a picture. Their bodies are manifesting the love they feel, and it’s as if they’re glowing. My parents had that same glow. Johan often did too, when he was with me.
I pick at my rice and nibble my souvlaki. My sense of taste flees and the textures merge into one. It’s like chewing on cardboard. I should be hungry, at least, but I’m not. I’ll get most of it down if I’m given enough time, so that’s what I focus on. Eating this meal is a requirement. It’s also torture.
“How was school?” Harvey asks.
“Good,” I say.
“And cheer practice?”
“I almost died, but Coach Brown seems set on putting me back on the team in time for the first competition of the season. She’s not going easy on me.”
“Is it too much?”
Sweat trickles down my back when I glimpse Jane’s pinched expression. I was trying to be funny. “No, it’s great. I’m flattered she thinks I’m that good, you know?”
Harvey lightly knocks his knuckles against my arm. “You are.”
“How was work?” I ask to change the subject.
“Also good. I didn’t have any appointments after school hours, so we played basketball in the gym with the kids and teens.”
“I was terrible,” Jane says.
“That’s not fair to say when it was your first time,” Harvey defends. “You did well.”
“How did you avoid playing basketball your entire life?” I ask. “Didn’t you take PE in school?”