Authors: Liz Reinhardt
A dangerous edge of hope juts against my brain. One word pulses through my mind:
maybe.
"I said
your
stupid brother seemed to be messing things up for you. If I wanted you to fuck off, I would have said, 'Fuck off
, Winch
.'"
Her smile is probably a little forced, but mine sure as hell isn't.
Here's the chance I was praying for. I held my breath and r
olled the dice, and my luck stayed
; I came up with an eleven first go.
"What are you smiling about?" she asks.
I tuck her into my arms and rub my face in the soft mass of her hair.
"You.
Me.
That big old bed and your grandparents all the way in South Carolina."
She sits back on the mattress, and I sit with her. She leans back and I follow. Now that we've said enough sour truths for one day, we give ourselves a break and put our mouths to much better use. Her lips are quick and eager, and I'm so tempted a dozen different times to follow her lead like some poor sailor chasing a siren's call right into the jagged ocean rocks.
But I can't.
This deserves taking our time, so, tonight, it's all about her.
She's attempting to wiggle out of her clothes for the third time when my phone rings. I crush my teeth together so tight my jaw aches.
She catches her sigh and staples it back.
"Go ahead. It's been the ruin of many a fantastic
makeout
session," she mutters, thumping a pillow over her face so she can muffle the line of obscenities I can still hear.
I zip my pants back up and walk to the balcony, figuring I can go back in for my shirt and shoes if I need to leave. I really hope to hell I don't need to leave.
"This is Winchester."
The bugs make a wild buzz in the dark garden below and the moon is low and more than half full with a yellow tinge. I want to go back in, switch off Evan's light, and not face whatever it is that needs my attention on the other end of the line.
"
Win'hester
," Remy slurs.
"Where are you?"
I should be putting my shirt back on. I should have my feet in my shoes and be jumping down the balcony to find him, now, before he breaks more unfixable shit.
A low, keening whine breaks over the phone line, leaving me half deaf.
"
Phine
!" he screams. "
Phine
, I know you're there!"
I hear what sounds like my idiot fucking brother stumbling over garbage cans, doors opening and slamming shut, and yelling.
I click the phone off and grab my shirt and shoes. Evan is shaking her head. I have no time, but I stop anyway.
"I'm so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. He's at his ex's house r
ight now. I don't want her and
my niece to get caught in this." I take her hands and she nods at me.
"Can I come?"
I shake my head. "You don't need to see this. It's
gonna
get ugly."
"Sometime can I come with you when the phone rings?" She chews on her bottom lip. "Or is the phone like your personal Bat Signal? Do you fight this fight alone?" She pulls her voice low and throaty.
It's not a time for jokes, but that doesn't stop me from laughing.
"Your Dark Knight impression is damn sexy." I kiss her, and the minute our
lips brush, I want more. "Wow. Yeah.
This fucking blows. Can I make it up to you?"
"Breakfast tomorrow?"
She raises her eyebrows eagerly.
Shit.
"Can't."
I finish tying my shoes and kiss her again. She's intoxicating. "I have mass."
"I'll come," she offers, and I immediately imagine her in the old church where my entire family and
Lala's
goes for hours every Sunday
,
and
I
panic.
"No! I mean, it's so boring. And the service is in Hungarian. I do it for my mom, you know?" I can s
ee she's trying to hide how
my string of stupid rejections
is crushing her
by playing it tough. "Can I get you for a late breakfast?
Just you and me."
"And the phone?"
She crosses her arms.
I hesitate. "I can't really turn it off, but--"
"Promise you'll take me if it rings," she cuts in.
Her blue eyes narrow when I open my mouth to turn her down one more time.
I can't.
I'm swimming with a laceration in shark-infested waters.
No reason to panic. I can manage this. I've managed way bigger shit than this. I'll just have to make sure my goddamn phone doesn't ring.
"Okay. It's a deal."
I lean in and kiss her one more time, trying to trap the sweet, hot smell and feel of her that's already getting addictive, and I have to go. I rip myself away, run to the balcony, and jump down the way I came, landing hard on my feet. I scale the wall fast, and take one second to glance back in the yellow-mooned night.
She's standing on the balcony, leaning on her elbows, long, dark hair falli
ng over her shoulders, her
skin bright in the moonlight, and the pang of my regret is knee-weakening.
Maybe I really won't have to worry about my fucking phone tomorrow. Because there's a
damn good chance I'll wind up beating Remy to a bloody, unconscious pulp tonight.
"And then?" Brenna's like a little kid drooling over her favorite candy in the bright store window.
I'm like the dentist randomly showing up with a drill to remind her she has a mouthful of cavities.
"And then his phone rang."
"No!" And just like a sugar-deprived kiddo, I wonder if she's going to tantrum over this devastating development. "Was it 'House of the Rising Sun'? Did he leave? Are you seeing him again?"
Her questions pummel my tired brain.
"Yes," I sigh. "And yes. And yes."
I try to make the last one sound as reluctant as the first two, but there's no sneaking anything past my best friend when it comes to feelings and romance. She's the Sherlock Holmes
and
Watson of love.
"What are the rules? You can't just let him show up after he leaves and waltz right back out
with him
." She gives me time to answer.
"I...I just want to be with him, Bren."
"Evan!" she wails, only she takes the two syllables of my name and pulls them into twenty-two. "You can't do this to yourself again. You got so wrapped around Rabin and his games, and look where that wound up, sweetie."
I prop the phone on my vanity and plop down, beginning my long, involved makeup routine.
"Winch is nothing like Rabin.
Nothing.
Seriously, there are no games. It's just who he is,
what he has to do. And I have to compromise a little because of that. But he's definitely not another Rabin."
I want to list all the differences between the two of them, but that smacks of desperation. Instead I focus on blending my foundation.
I can hear Brenna deep-breathing to de
-
stress before she pours her warning out.
"Listen to me, because I'm going to tell you what you need to hear, alright?
Here we go.
Rabin and Winch.
Similarities?
Both rich.
Both in trouble with the law.
Both have a shady past with girls. Both come in and out of your life without explaining why they keep disappearing. Both have you sad, waiting in your room for them to show up. Both lack commitment, work ethic--"
"He's nothing like that," I interrupt in a blaze of fury that shocks me into gulped silence.
This is
Brenna
, my best friend, the person who I trust to be purely honest with me.
If she won't tell me the bald
truth, who will? So why am I on the defensive? I wait a few beats, but the line is so quiet, I'm nervous she hung up on my stupid ass.
"Bren?"
"I'm here." Her words are clipped and strained with hurt.
"D
idn't mean to snap."
I keep my voice
tiny
in an attempt
to control the emotion welling up in the back of my throat.
I can practically feel her sigh move my curtains through the phone.
"I love you.
So much.
And I want you to be careful with yourself because, sweetie, can we face it? You're not. You're so not! You let guys in before you should. And I don't know anything about this guy, but what I do know, I really don't like. I could be wrong."
Her
last four words come out with so little
conviction,
I know she's not even trying to trick me into believing she means them.
"I know." I pick up my mascara wand and begin my neat, precise eighteen-coat application for luck. "I know you love me, and I love you right back. But loosen the strings, mama.
I promise, this guy is different.
I know what he seems like, but it's just that he's--"
I bite the word back.
"Evan? I think the connection dropped." Brenna's voice trembles over the phone line with anxious worry.
"No, I'm here. I was just saying that Winch is a little...complicated. But I promise you, I'll keep my eyes open this time."
I suck my cheeks in and sweep blush over my apples
and tell myself to keep calm.
Keep calm
.
Brenna's little snort is fueled by the sting of my earlier jab, and I see my cheeks go pink under my blush i
n the mirror.
"There's nothing
like thinking you're in love to glue your eyes shut." She clears her throat. "Well, have fun, but be careful." Her strict mom-voice wavers. "Seriously, take care of yourself. I...it was super hard to watch you go through all that pain with Rabin. You're doing so much better. Just look out for yourself, okay?"
It's like the lump in her throat has a direct switch to the lump in mine.
"Okay," I croak, batting back tears. "Love you!"
"Love you more," she warbles before she clicks off.
I know Bren loves me. I know she said what she did because it matters to her if I'm happy, safe, and sane. And no guy has ever made me snap at her before. But there's something about Winch. Something that makes me
feel
specifically protective.
And protected.
And open. And ready.
And sure.
So I keep her warning in my head, but I decide to dress like I don't have a doubt in the world when it comes to love and Winch.
I pull out a gorgeous white poplin strapless sundress and gold sandals that lace up my calves. The outfit makes me feel very Greek goddess, and when I hear Winch's car pull up, I have to force my knees to lock under me and wait. It feels like hours before the doorbell chimes.
I put both feet on each stair as I descend, convince myself to check my reflection in the hallway mirror, and leave my hand on the cool glass doorknob for a few extra beats, but it's all just stupid games. My heart is driving me to whip the door open quickly so I can see him again.
It's exactly like the feeling I get every single time I see the ocean; no matter how many times I take that sprint over the dunes, the first sight of the crashing waves always knocks my heart back in my chest. No one ever made me feel that way before I met Winch.
He's holding an armful of pink tulips and wearing a hungry, focused expression. His blue eyes travel up and down over my body, and I feel almost shy under his gaze.
"You're a goddess."
He says it like a normal person would say, "Your dress is white."
A lazy-afternoon-sunshine glow unfurls low down between my hips and blooms up my spine, climbing fast and high as a magic beanstalk to my heart.
"That's exactly what I was thinking," I toss out so he won't sense how pathetica
lly giggly I am, and I reach for the flowers
, leaving his arms tulip-empty,
pressing my face to the petals
possessively.
"For me?"
"Of course."
His smile is sweet, but tired.
He stays outside the door while I find a vase in the hall cabinet and fill it with water from the powder room. "You can come in if you want," I tell him, but he just leans one shoulder on the
doorframe and watches me set the pink blossoms out. "How was last night?"
"Long and aggravating."
He must have just shaved this morning, and I catch sight of a tiny nick on his jaw from the razor. His white button down is pressed and cuffed to the elbows, allowing the tattoo he shares with Remington to peek out. His grey pants are also pressed and neat.