by Ivy Fox
Ash takes a hard look at me, his sneer still prominent on his face, as he walks over to fill the empty space Holland left next to me. The smell of booze tells me he’s not only high as a kite but also drank a little too much while celebrating his win.
Tonight, I not only witnessed Ash battling it out with the other swimmers, doing everything in his power to come out of each race victorious, but I also saw a man at war with himself. Every move he made, every flip of the hand, push of the limbs, each hard intake of air, wasn’t to defeat his competitors but to silence the demons in his head—the ones who won’t stop haunting him, taunting him. While the audience cheered in praise of his mind-boggling skills, all I saw was my brother drowning in isolation—taking the chlorine poison into his lungs, allowing the ghouls he’s burdened with to pull his head further into the depths of madness.
“Made a new friend, huh? She wasn’t good enough for us to play with, but apparently you’re not as picky, is that right?” he slurs, and it’s only because he’s not in his best frame of mind that I don’t knock his teeth in. “Oh, come on, Rome. You’ve never been one to hold your tongue. Just tell me. What was that all about?”
“Nothing. She just needed to talk.”
“She talks to Elle, that’s enough.”
I grind my teeth and count to ten since his belligerence and jealousy is fraying on my last nerve.
“She needed to talk to someone else,” I insinuate, making it clear there are just some things that Holland won’t be able to confide in our sister.
“So she picked you. Why?”
“We share the same enemy. ‘Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.’ Shakespeare wrote that,” I retort, my own insolence shining through.
Ash scoffs at that and adds, “He also wrote, ‘violent delights have violent ends.’”
“I thought you didn’t pay attention in Lit class.”
“I don’t. But Elle made me repeatedly watch the Leonardo DiCaprio version of Romeo and Juliet when she was thirteen. I picked up a few things.”
“So I see.”
“But I’ve never been much of a guy for pretty words. I’ve always thought actions spoke louder anyway,” Ash adds with a sly smile, eating up the remaining space between us.
“I agree.”
“Good, then you’ll see this coming,” he cautions, right before his left fist connects with my jaw, making my teeth slice through my lower lip from the impact.
I’m more surprised that he’s lucid enough to strike me with such force and efficiency than I am with the punch itself. After all, wouldn’t I do the same if I caught the girl I loved showing her vulnerable underbelly to any fucker that wasn’t me? You better believe I would. I’m becoming more and more familiar to this territorial feeling Asher has been plagued with for the last two years.
“Stay the fuck away from Snow. This is your only warning, brother.”
I give him my own shark grin, wiping the trickling blood splatter from my lip.
Easier said than done, brother.
Chapter 11
Holland
My birthday has come and gone, and I’m still here.
Why?
I’m not sure.
I feel like there is unfinished business in this house. Some sort of closure that I still need to find. Running away, back to the safety of my grandmother’s home, wouldn’t give me the answers I need to make myself whole again and move on from what haunts me, especially since that nightmare is still alive and fighting for his life.
Or maybe that’s not it.
Maybe it’s the idea that, if I do leave—if I finally take the plunge and turn my back on this house once and for all—I’ll also be forever leaving behind the people inside it. Perhaps they are the real reason I’m rooted in this city and haven’t packed my stuff up to move back to Brookhaven. I find it ironic how my reasons to stay and to leave all bear the last name Grayson.
Elle.
Ollie.
Ash.
Rome.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
The past couple of months have been a jumbled mess, but this family has, somehow, made too strong of an impression on me to just turn my back on them. They’ve all managed to worm their way into my heart, leaving me unprepared to lose them, no matter if some hurt me more than others.
Elle has become the sister I never had or even thought I wanted. Loyally fierce and dedicated to seeing me happy. She even took me to a Broadway show on my birthday, thinking it would brighten my spirits. But instead of bringing me joy, all it did was remind me that I haven’t written a song or touched an instrument since that night.
I tried to fake my delight for her after the show, but she saw right through my pitiable facade. Thankfully, I didn’t have to explain since Elle still believes my melancholy is a result of me nursing my broken heart.
It kills me that I’m keeping such a huge secret from her, but Rome’s warning still whispers in my ear, preventing my loose lips from spilling secrets she should be kept safe from. I’ll never endanger her in that way. She’s become my family, and I would never dream of making her an accomplice to my chaos. I have plenty of those already—three to be precise.
Sigh.
My mind was already a screwed-up place to live in, and then these three brothers had to add confusion and turmoil to it.
Rome inspires me to be strong and fearless when I know he’s the last person who should make me feel this way. My self-preservation keeps my brick walls in place, always cautioning me that he’s not to be trusted. Yet as each day passes by, I feel him carving at my stone shield. I worry what will happen when he’s made his way through, and the boundary which separates us crumbles to dust.
While Rome makes me acknowledge the rage and anger I have inside me—and how entitled I am to it—Ollie makes me feel like a fragile bird with clipped wings. His belief in my inner strength suddenly vanished into thin air, making me doubt my own capabilities, whereas before he was the first to remind me of their existence. But in the veil of darkness, I let him hold me, console me, as I bite back the tears I refuse to shed—even for him.
And Ash.
Ash just makes me feel lost.
He’s my mirror—one I go to great pains to avoid. As I hide behind timid smiles and half-cast eyes, hoping that no one can see how fake I am, Ash spills my truth. He doesn’t hide. He shows the world how broken he is. How ugly his insides look. Unapologetic. Real. Honest. And watching from afar, seeing how raw he is, how damaged we both have become, hurts me the most. He’s losing his boyish, cocky ways, turning into a bitter, resentful man who can’t stand the sight of himself.
Blaming me for the person he’s become.
Hating me for the person he’ll never be again.
Yes. Each of the Grayson siblings has managed to get a piece of me. What they do with it, though, tends to differ. Some want to embolden its power and make the faint flicker within return to its former glory. While others are afraid the edges are just too sharp, too dangerous, and will cut them too deep with no hopes for repair.
The funny thing is, I don’t know which one is right. Maybe all of them. Maybe none. All I know is, I need them to find out. Then maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to put the pieces that still exist inside my own, shattered soul back together myself.
“You’re late,” he chides as I walk into the kitchen.
“If I knew you’d be staring at the clock waiting for me, I would have taken longer to get here,” I rebuke with a teasing simper.
“Cute. Sit your ass down and eat your bear claw.” Rome chuckles, pushing my plate of goodies toward me.
My smirk is still in place as I pull out the chair, taking my seat at the table as I’ve done most nights for the past month. Since we had our first late-night snack together, Rome has waited on me with some new dessert. He says I’m late, but I’ve never arrived at the same hour. It all depends on how long my previous test of endurance lasted.
However, knowing he’s here, waiting for me after I’ve tried to battle against my fears on my own, is oddly comforting. Of course, I keep this piece of information to myself, in the same way that I would never divulge how the sugar in most of his treats makes my joints ache, which results in me spending the majority of the next day in pain. I never utter a word, because the physical pain of chocolate chip cookies or double fudge brownies numbs the persistent agony in my chest that threatens to swallow me whole.
I also don’t tell him that these late-night meetings have become the highlight of my day, nor that the sweetness these moments provide have nothing to do with the various desserts he brings to the table. It’s what he allows me to do when I’m with him that gives me the most pleasure.
Roman Grayson lets me take out on him every frustration, every angry thought, and all the rancor I hold inside and throw it his way, for him to carry. I abuse him as I was abused, taunt him as I was taunted, and chastise him as I was chastised. He lets me throw my verbal punches, making sure he takes each one in the chest. He’s become my favorite punching bag, allowing me to finally release the hate I feel inside. It’s become a cathartic experience for me. I slice him up with my sharp words, and he takes it all in stride, goading me to do my worst.
I rise to the occasion every time, and instead of him being annoyed with the way I treat him so vehemently, he smiles at me like he’s never been prouder of anyone in his life. As if each curse word and ugly accusation brings him joy, as much as it lifts the weight off my shoulders.
When I first met him, I hated him. Hated how easy it was for him to destroy my life without giving me a second thought. But now it seems he won’t rest until he’s rectified the destruction that was done to me. It’s maddening and confusing. Still, I yearn for our private time together to continue. And lately, I’ve found that in the midst of every opportunity he gives me to berate him, I also find ways of getting to know him, and wanting these little insights, is even more puzzling.
“What do you do all day?” I ask, between bites of the sugary, almond pastry.
“School,” he answers flatly, ripping his Danish to shreds and popping a piece into his mouth like popcorn.
“No, you don’t.”
“You calling me a liar?” He laughs, amused, licking the icing off his thumb.
“Yes.”
His trademark, wolfish grin crests his lips, and I wonder when it became endearing to me instead of annoying.
“Well, I guess it takes one to know one. Isn’t that right, little liar?”
The way he pronounces the little nickname doesn’t irk me as much, either. Perhaps because his tone has changed as well. Before, each syllable was tainted with pure animosity—cold and malicious. Now, it almost sounds like a song, a sweet lullaby—melodic and tender.
“So what do you do all day?” I question again.
“Honestly? Not much. I spend my mornings shuffling through reports, seeing that my mother’s foundations are being looked after. On the rare occasion that Dr. Nasir calls, I’ll make a quick trip to the hospital, but then come back to have lunch with Henrietta and Carmen.”
“And afterward?”
“I try to sleep,” he hushes as if confiding in me a secret that he’s not comfortable in sharing.
“And do you?”
“Sometimes. If I’m lucky, I can usually nap for an hour or two.”
“But you don’t like to sleep, do you?” I probe, intrigued, feeling there is something he’s holding back.
“No.” He leans against his chair, ruffling his fingers through his wavy, raven hair.
“Why?”
“You’re too curious today,” he mumbles, rubbing his hands over the light scruff covering his jaw and cheeks.
“Indulge me.”
“I thought I already was.” He scoffs.
“Indulge me more.”
“God, you’re a pain in my ass. Fine. No, I don’t like to sleep. It takes me ages to do it, and then I never sleep well,” he explains gruffly.
“You have nightmares,” I state in surprise. Rome doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who is intimidated by anything, let alone bad dreams. It piques my interest at what is trapped in his subconscious that could make him wary of closing his eyes. “What are they about?”
“Nah, little liar. You’ve had your fun for tonight,” he says, getting up from his seat and creating a roadblock on my curiosity.
“That bad, huh?” I continue to probe, crossing my arms over my chest, showing him I’m not budging.
He places his palms flat on the table, bending down inches away from my face, and stares me in the eye, the intensity in them making goosebumps rise on my skin. The air crackles around us, warning there is a thunderstorm on the way, ready to set fires with just one, luminous bolt.
“Okay. Do you really want to know? I’ll tell you about my nightmares if you tell me about yours,” he croaks huskily, knowing full well I won’t part with mine.
“Is that what you want? To share war stories? Sorry to disappoint you, Roman, but I don’t think I trust you enough to show you my battle scars.” My sneer is arctic and cold, battling the heat he’s intent in showering me with. The liquid gold in his eyes continues to penetrate mine, melting my insides with the way they burn. He leans even closer to me, his breath fanning over my skin, and I watch, mesmerized, as his tongue sweeps over his lower lip, showing how he’s apparently just as parched as I suddenly am.
“Shame. They look so beautiful on you,” he hushes, his tone smooth, molten lava increasing the temperature around us.
“You’re an asshole,” I declare, lowering my face to conceal the warm, crimson blush he was successful in causing.
“So you keep saying,” he replies, straightening his stance and allowing me my breathing room, calming my erratic heartbeat.
“Just thought you needed reminding,” I can’t help but add.
This gains me another one of his rare laughs, and the thick richness of it warms my belly better than the hot cocoa he just prepared. He picks up our plates, turning his back to me to place them in the sink, and begins to tidy the kitchen. A routine I’ve seen him do ever since we started whatever this is. Always careful not to leave any traces of cookies or crumbs, guaranteeing that his beloved Avó will have nothing to clean up once she wakes up.
I get up from my seat, taking the mugs with me so I can hand them over to him. I must have stood too close because when he turns around, his chest hits my own. I hear his breath hitch, his Adam’s apple bobbing madly. The urge to taste his skin flashes in my mind. My stomach drops, violently churning away at his piercing gaze and my lustful thoughts.
“Sorry.” I choke, taking two large steps back, stretching my arms out and offering him the mugs to wash. He takes them from me, placing them on the counter behind him without taking his eyes off of me.
“Go to bed, Snow,” he hushes, finally lowering his eyes to the floor, giving me a reprieve from his hypnotic stare.
Without hesitation, I do as he commands, silently treasuring the way my real nickname sounded coming out of his lips.
When I get to my room, the nervous energy is still blistering away at me, and I’m at a loss as to what I should do with it.
Ollie is on his back, his forearm over his head. He looks so peaceful while sleeping that I can’t help but admire him, even though the darkness of the room hides away his best features from my hungry eyes.
Thinking sleep is the best course of action to take, I crawl onto my side of the bed, hoping I can temper my mood enough for slumber to creep in. I’m still trying to find a comfortable spot, without waking Ollie up, when I feel his strong arm reach out, finding and pulling me closer to him. His nose rubs the sensitive spot on my neck, and I feel his hard cock press against my thigh. I shut my eyes, mauling my lower lip in order to keep quiet. Every nerve ending in me is ready to snap at the slightest touch, and Ollie’s familiar scent picks up the erratic hea
rtbeat Rome had created downstairs.
“Snow,” Ollie hushes in my ear, the word heavy with longing, mimicking my own desire and sending a delicious shudder through me.
His nose trails up and down the hidden length behind my ear, his fingers digging into my hip bone, igniting further my craving for touch, caress, and intimacy. I turn to my side, hating the dark that continues to conceal his face. I press our bodies together, my hand traveling down his chiseled chest until it finds his cock pulsing beneath my fingertips.
“God, I missed you,” he moans out unabashedly, his hand moving from my hip to my ass cheek, grabbing a handful and pulling us closer together.
He gives us just enough space for me to keep the hold I have on him, using it to rub himself into a frenzy. His other hand grabs the nape of my neck, tilting my head to the side so his tongue can begin to lavish the sweet spot on my neck that always curls my toes and sends heat to my core. I let out a long sigh, reveling in this feeling, wanting to prolong the sensation for as long as I can sustain it.
“You smell so good,” he growls, sounding pained and ravenous as he bites my shoulder, only to kiss the sweet torture away with his eager lips. I gasp at how good the small nicks his teeth make on my skin feels, only to be replaced with a loving, worshipping tongue.
Give me more.
Please, Ollie.
I need you so much.
I miss us so much.
I continue to stroke his cock over his pants, rubbing my chest against his to create a friction that my tender breasts ache for. However, all these layers between us only remind me of how many boundaries are still keeping us apart. I push his bottoms down, and he hisses into the crook of my neck the minute his naked flesh meets my fingers.
“I need to feel you,” he begs, and I’m not strong enough to push him away.
Nor do I want to. I need him too much.
I take off my shirt, pushing my boy shorts down in one fell swoop, and lean my naked body against his clothed chest. Not content with being unable to feel his warmth against mine, I pull his shirt up to his neck, and straddle him, rubbing my wet core on his engorged shaft.