Kye
She looks so fucking peaceful when she’s reading. She’s been curled into a ball in the corner of the sofa with her face stuck against the screen of her Kindle for hours now. She’s moved only for a bathroom break and chips and salsa. Even then, she took the Kindle.
I have no idea if the current media frenzy is affecting her at all. The only words she’s said since we finally got the girls out of their laughing fits are “Oh,” “Thank you,” and “I’m fine.”
And we all know that when a female says, “I’m fine,” she sure as fuck isn’t.
Not that her solemn mood makes any sense. Sure I know she’s tired—she made that abundantly clear when I had to call her this morning and she chewed my ass out for waking her—but she knew this was going to happen. She took the damn wig off her head. She knew we were being followed by at least one photographer, and she knew that they’d automatically run a “they’re dating” story if they recognized her.
By their rules, one outing is worthy of speculation, but two is a sure thing and we’re practically getting married.
The one thing she hasn’t done that the others did—in the end—is surrender her social media to Ella and Leila. When the girls had all calmed down and Chelsey resumed the search of her name on Twitter, she batted away every suggestion to stop. In her words, she’d “Ridden this bitch of a dragon more than enough before” and “They’re just keyboard warriors. What are they gonna do if they ever see me in real life? Beat me over the head with their laptops?”
At that point, I decided she’d won. There’s no arguing with that flawless kinda logic. It’s also true. Aside from the time Jessie’s car was egged and flour-bombed, nothing physical has ever happened. (Even then, we reckon it was her sister’s friends being assholes.)
But Chelsey’s silence is unnerving. She isn’t typically a quiet person—apparently contradicted by her refusal to leave her house without her Kindle and its charger—nor is she a particularly still person. Whenever I’ve seen her she’s always been doing something. . . . Whether it’s cleaning her kitchen counter, tying her hair up, organizing the photos on her windowsill, it’s always something.
This quiet is actually pretty damn scary.
Times like this it’d be real fucking useful if mind reading could even be a learned skill. I’d totally pay for those lessons. Can you imagine how much easier it’d make life? There’d be no more of this female “I’m fine,” “Whatever” bullshit. It’d be the knowledge that “Oh shit, I left the toilet seat up,” or “Crap, it’s that time. Better buy chocolate, cupcakes, and aspirin,” or “Well, it’s good to know I didn’t do anything, but she’s pissed at me anyway.”
See? So. Fucking. Simple.
Instead, I’m sitting here trying to figure out what could be wrong with her. If anything even is. Maybe it’s the latter option and I’m just imagining it because it’s out of character. I mean, we haven’t spent enough time together that I could possibly have seen all her moods.
“You’re startin’ to freak me out.”
Her voice makes me look up from the mindless, time-wasting game I’ve been playing on my phone and meet Chelsey’s blue eyes. She’s peering at me from over her Kindle, one eyebrow curved upward in question. “Why?”
“Because you’ve been staring at me on and off for, like, twenty minutes now. Do I have something on my face or in my hair or something?” She wipes her forehead then pats her hair. “Or am I just so amazing you can’t take your eyes off me?”
“No comment. That’s a trap.”
She grins, confirming my suspicions. “Ding ding ding. That’s the correct answer. You know if you’d picked the last option I would have thrown something at you for blowing smoke.”
I don’t doubt that for a second. “You’re just quiet. Keep looking to make sure you’re all right, that’s all.”
“Oh.” She looks slightly taken aback. “I’m fine.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat slowly, hitting the next level on Candy Crush. “Fine.”
She lowers her Kindle. Her dark lashes cast shadows over her gaze as she narrows her eyes skeptically. She’s focused on me entirely, and I look down at my phone to make my next move. “What does that mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“ ‘Fine.’ ”
“I don’t know. You’re the one that said it, babe.”
“I know what it meant when I said it.” There’s a clunk, and I glance up to see her Kindle on the coffee table. “What did it mean when you said it?”
“Just rolling it around on my tongue,” I respond. I hit a candy crush and win the level. So much for level . . . seventy . . . being hard.
“It’s not a fucking candy cane, Kye,” she snaps, sitting up straight. “What did it mean?”
“Fuck.” I put my phone down and look at her. “If I asked you that question every time you said ‘fine’ I wouldn’t be able to have children anymore, but you can ask me?”
“Well, yeah. See, my sex is smart enough to protect my reproductive organs by carrying them safely inside my body.” She glances at my lap. “You, however . . .”
I press my hand against my crotch. “Not the point of this conversation.”
“Oh, please. You have a sister. You should know that every time a woman says she’s fine she’s so not okay, that she’s conversing with Satan on murder methods,” Chelsey hisses. “Which is why when you mock me for saying ‘fine,’ I’m figuring out the quickest way to kill you in my head.”
“Are you on your period? You’re real bitchy today.”
Aaaand I probably should not have said that.
“Because I’m a bitch, I must be on my period?”
Definitely should not have said that.
“That’s another trap I’m not going to fall into.”
She takes a deep breath, glaring at me. Whatever calming method she was trying obviously didn’t work, because she punches the sofa as she stands. “You should know that I’m a bitch for a whole five days before my period starts. So if it is getting close, Merry Fucking Christmas.”
That sounds an awful lot like a threat. I grab a pillow and cover my dick with it when she gives my manhood a scary glance and storms into the kitchen.
This is another instance where I could use mind-reading skills. Do I go after her? Do I stay here? Do I ask?
Fuck, man. I didn’t sign up for this complicated shit. I signed up for blow jobs and sex peppered with a bit of romance.
“Uh . . .” Leila skirts into the room, looking shadily into the kitchen. “Your girlfriend is pretty pissed off.”
“Thanks, Sherlock. I had no idea.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing! She said she’s fine.”
My sister grimaces. “Oh. Yeah. You’re in trouble.”
I throw my hands in the air. “The fuck did I do?”
“Well, obviously something to make her ‘fine,’ ” she retorts. “Don’t you remember Easter when I was around nine? Dad forgot to pick up stuff for the egg hunt and Mom didn’t find out until late the night before?”
Ah. Yeah. That was the year she hid his guns, he knifed the piñata, and Mom proceeded to try and pawn his beloved weapons as payback.
“Fine” is definitely not good.
“How do I make her not fine again? I mean, the good fine. Is there a good fine? Fuck, help me out, Lei.”
My sister purses her lips and meets my eyes. A long moment passes with only the sound of Chelsey running the tap in the kitchen to break the silence between me and Leila. “You know how you’re the nice one out of all of us?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t be the nice guy right now. She won’t come to you.”
In other words, go after her, piss her off, then kiss her until she sees sense.
Dear balls: I’m gonna miss you like fuck.
I drag my hand down my face in resignation. If “fine” Chelsey wasn’t bad enough, angry Chelsey is like walking through the fires of hell. I should know. I’ve seen it. I’ve been at the end of her wrath, and I feel like I’m about to be again.
Scratch that. I know I’m about to be again.
I scratch the back of my neck as I walk into the kitchen. A cold breeze is filtering in through the sliver of a gap between the door and the frame, and she’s obviously sneaked out. She’s running again—figures. She should sign up for the fucking Olympics. She’d win gold by a mile. Just have me chase her ass around the track.
Stepping onto the back porch and scanning the yard, I see that the sky is pale blue, and a mixture of light gray and white clouds are fighting for airspace above the beach. If I didn’t have this strange pull toward my girl, I’d have missed her standing in the shadows at the edge of the grass.
I pull off my socks and dump them on the steps. The grass is cold and a little damp against the soles of my feet, and goose bumps run up and down my arms, but I keep walking toward her. She’s wearing the long yoga pants she had on when she arrived this morning, plus the dark pink sweater, but I can see her shivering. She has her arms wrapped around herself and her socks are rolled into a ball, sitting next to the tree trunk she’s leaning against.
“Go away, Kye,” she says, her voice carrying on the wind.
“No. I want to talk to you.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Her shoulders rise and fall. “I’m just tired. Sorry.”
An inexplicable burst of anger jolts through me. How the fuck can she think there’s nothing to talk about? Tired or not, there’s a fuck ton of stuff we need to talk about—stuff I haven’t tried to bring up, or have let drop when she said to. Stuff I’ve ignored and lived with for the last couple of weeks, even though it’s killed me to.
Time to drop the nice-guy act. It’s about time we got answers—both of us.
I step in front of her and ignore the way she jumps. “No, we’re gonna fuckin’ talk, Chelsey. I don’t care what bullshit excuse you throw at me. Your apology doesn’t wash with me. I’m done playin’ around.”
She narrows her eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to talk.” She moves to grab her socks, but I close my fingers around her wrist, stopping her. She freezes and, slowly, moves her head around to face me once more.
“We’re gonna talk,” I repeat, staring her down. “We’re gonna lay out right now exactly who we are to each other, what we’re gonna do about it, and why you’re so fuckin’ tangled up in yourself today.”
“We’re two people that fucked a few times. We’re doin’ nothin’ about it, and I’m ‘tangled up’ in myself because I’ve realized that, okay?” She snatches her arm from me and takes a couple of steps back. “Not that it matters. Not really.”
Vulnerability flashes in her eyes. I see it—the lie. The shadows that almost eclipse the usual brightness of her gaze are simple deceit.
“Why doesn’t it matter, Chels? Because you said so? Because it doesn’t matter to you?”
“I can’t even remember the first time! So no, it doesn’t matter. Sex is sex. It’s just a thing that people do.”
“You . . .” I stop as the realization of what she just said flashes in her eyes. “You can’t remember?”
“I’m a bad drunk. I remember bits and pieces sometimes, but most of the time I forget. I can’t remember our first night together.”
“And the other time? The power outage?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She takes a few steps back.
My stomach twists. Those words. Those fucking words. “Doesn’t matter? It does to me!”
“Oh, I remember! I couldn’t forget.” She swallows. “It would have been easier if you’d just never reminded me! So it doesn’t matter. None of this”—she sweeps her arms through the air—“matters. Not a damn bit.”
“To you. It matters to me. All of it. Every single bit. How can it not to you?”
“Because you’re leaving!” she yells the words, then covers her mouth with her hand. It trembles when she lowers it, and she wets her lower lip before she says anything else. “Because you’re leaving, Kye. That’s why it doesn’t matter. You’ll be in Los Angeles, and I’ll be here.”
“You think that really makes a difference?” I shake my head. It physically hurts to keep our secret inside; we might not be leaving, but I can’t say for sure, and if we end up going, it’ll only break her heart again in the end. “You honestly fuckin’ think that me being there and you being here affects the way I do and will feel about you?”
“Yes!” She runs both hands through her hair and turns, only to spin back around to me immediately, like she can’t not look. “Yes,” she repeats, this time more desperately. Her voice is growing hoarse with emotion, but it keeps rising in volume. “I think it’ll change everything you think you feel! I think you’ll go there and remember how fucking simple your life is when you aren’t trying to catch a girl who bounces off you more times than a yo-yo bounces on its string. I think you’ll go and see just how difficult I am.”
“Are you seriously tellin’ me you’re in this mood because of stories and reasons you’re makin’ up in your head?” Unreal. Un-fucking-real. “Why don’t you just talk to me, babe? Why don’t you just fucking say the words instead of letting them eat at you?”
“Because they don’t matter!” She looks away before I can confirm the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
I can’t believe that after everything I’ve done and said and proved to her she’d still fucking think she isn’t everything to me. That she can’t believe she’s at least something.
“Look at me,” I demand.
She doesn’t.
“Look at me!”
She inhales and snaps her head around. Her eyes collide with mine with the force of a bullet exploding from a gun, and the raw emotion in her gaze hits me right in the gut. It makes me pause for a moment, because I’m damned if I’ve ever seen someone look at me with as much passion as she is right now.
“Look at me and tell me you think anything, anyone, could change my feelings for you.” I brush my thumb across her rosy, cold cheek. “Look at me, and if you believe that’s true, then you don’t believe in me. Not a fucking bit. And after everything I’ve done to prove to you that you can trust me, if you don’t, then go. Fucking leave.”
Indecision flits across her face like a cruel trick.
“And don’t you dare lie.” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard to steady it. “Don’t you dare tell me somethin’ that ain’t true, because I’ll know. I know you.”
Chelsey sucks her bottom lip into her mouth. The way she scrapes her teeth over it makes it turn white, and my eyes follow the way her lip plumps back out as she releases it. Her tongue flicks over it almost immediately, and I force my eyes back up to hers.
I put everything into this look. Every ounce of reassurance, of honesty, of rawness, of emotion. Desperation. Pleading. Determination. Resilience.
Love.
I pack every fucking heartbeat of love into this one look in the hope that’ll she see it for what it is and think about what she’s gonna say.
I don’t think it works.
“You have a life, Kye,” Chelsey whispers. She takes my hand and lowers it slowly. “You have this whole life that I don’t know if I can accept. It doesn’t matter what I think you are—but if you doubt yourself . . .” Her breath catches, and she drops my hand, taking another step back so I can’t touch her. “If you doubt it, you’re amazin’. Shit,” she breathes. “You’re something else, Kye Burke. You are sexy and sweet and so many things. One day you’re gonna make someone so damn happy it’ll hurt me to see it. One day you’ll find the girl worth crying for, worth fighting for, but she isn’t me. I’m sorry.” She covers her mouth with her hand again, like she can’t believe what she’s saying. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re lying,” I yell after her as she takes several steps back from me.
With her hand still hugging her mouth, she shakes her head.
Tightness builds in my chest, and my heart pounds. Fuck, it pounds. Every beat is a desperate plea for her to stay right here and stop fucking walking right now, because I don’t know if I can take her disappearing from my view.
“You’re wrong.” My voice cracks, and this time, I’m the one to run my fingers through my hair. She’s looking at me, but she’s hesitant in the way she’s backing away. “You are so fuckin’ wrong it’s unreal, Chels. Have you listened to yourself? Do you know how fuckin’ crazy you are?”
“Yes!” she chokes. “I’m crazy, but so are you!” She jabs her finger in my direction. “You’re crazy!”
“Fuck yes I am!” I swipe away the branches that hinder my path to her. “I’m fuckin’ crazy, and babe, it’s for you.”
“Stop,” she gasps, shaking her head. “Don’t, Kye.”
“No.” I grab her hands and hold her still. A tear falls over her lower eyelid, and even as the guilt punches me, I ignore it as it trails its way down her cheek. “I won’t stop. You wanna know, Chels? You want proof that I won’t go to L.A. and forget you? You wanna know how I’m so fuckin’ sure that no one there will compare to you?”
“No.” She yanks her hands from mine. “No. I don’t care.”
“Liar,” I growl. “You know what? You won’t lay it down, you won’t be honest, then fuck you, Chelsey. But I will be, even though I know this will break my heart.”
Her harsh inhale in the growing darkness is a sting to my heart.
“It doesn’t matter, babe. It doesn’t matter how many goddamn fuckin’ miles are between us, because I’m gonna love you across every single one of them. I will love you for every mile I travel away from you and toward you. I’m so in love with you right now that you could be hopping on a rocket to Mars One and I’d still love you for every second of my life that’s left.” My heart clenches, and it takes everything I have to fight back the emotion that’s bubbling inside me. “I love you. Doesn’t fuckin’ matter how far away from you I am. I’m gonna love the hell outta you anyway.”
“Stop,” she whispers, both hands over her mouth. “Stop, Kye. Don’t.”
“And you love me,” I challenge her, my whole body tense. I can feel my heart pounding through every single vein. “I can see it in your eyes. Say it, Chelsey. Admit it. Say that you fucking love me. You know you do.”
She shakes her head, but the tears spilling out of her eyes are enough.
“Say it!” I yell, walking toward her. “Stop fuckin’ lyin’ to yourself!”
“I’m in love with you!” She gasps as if she can’t believe she actually said it, but the words only close her off from me. “Fuck, you weren’t my plan.” Tears cascade down her cheeks. “You weren’t supposed to be so perfect. You shouldn’t have been so sweet and amazing and perfect. You shouldn’t have made me laugh the way you do. ’Cause you’re only gonna break my heart, Kye. Don’t you get that? You’re only gonna hurt me. I don’t want that. I can’t do it.”
“I’m not your father,” I growl. “I’m more than that, better than that. Stop the comparison, babe, because I’m not goin’ fuckin’ anywhere.”
“You don’t know that.” She breathes harshly. “You could. You will. I don’t . . . I love you and I can’t be so hurt. I’m so afraid.”
She’s backing farther and farther away from me, and my heart is clenching tighter and tighter.
“Go. Go to Los Angeles. Go find the reason for you to breathe.”
“I did. She’s right in front of me.” I walk to her, stalk to her, but she runs back.
“Kye, stop chasing me, please.”
“No. I won’t. I won’t stop until you realize just how much you’re inside me, Chelsey. Do you get that? Chels, I won’t stop chasing until you stop running.”
Her arms are crossed over her chest now, and the tears are still streaming down her cheeks.
I shake my head again, and my long legs enable me to close the distance between us. I grab her hands and pull her against me. She’s cold, but her shaking isn’t from the temperature. The frantic way her teeth chatter isn’t from the weather. It’s from the fucking tears that are still paving their way across her gorgeous face, down her sweet cheeks.
“I love you,” I rasp, dipping my head so she hears it. “You get that? I love you, Chelsey. Difficulties and insecurities and all. I love you, Jack Daniel’s obsession and all. Every fuckin’ thing about you, I love the shit outta it, and a couple thousand miles ain’t gonna make the tiniest bit of difference. I’m gonna love you no matter how many miles are between us.”
Her fingers tighten on mine, then in the barest of whispers, she says, “You won’t.”
My mouth slams down onto hers.
There’s nothing gentle or even loving about this kiss. It’s raw and primal. It’s instinctive. Even if she walks away from me right now, she’s going with my touch branding her skin and the taste of me on her lips.
If she walks away from me right now, she will have no doubt that every single part of me loves every single part of her.
Every. Single. Fucking. Piece.
Her fingers dig into my sides and grasp my T-shirt, tugging it harshly into her. She leans her head back and takes every single assault my mouth unleashes on her. Shit, if she only knew how much she belongs to me. If she stopped for a second and realized how her body responds to me just minutes after admitting she loves me . . . well, then I’d bet she’d be a whole lot nicer to me.
I didn’t ask her to fall in love with me. I didn’t ask to fall in love with her. It just happened—like a fucking shooting star, we fell in love. Brightly, hotly, and so damn quickly that you’d miss it if you blinked.
Chelsey pulls away from me, her hands going to her throat. More tears spill from her eyes, and just now I notice the salty taste on my lips. Her lips part, and she walks backward. It takes only a few steps for her to almost trip over the porch and turn.
Here, I watch as she turns her back to me and disappears inside the house. I close my eyes as the sound of doors slamming rings out over the angry sea and the forceful wind.
I let her go. I sink down to my butt, noticing her socks on the ground, and lean back against the tree trunk.
Didn’t see that coming. I let her walk away, her touch branding me, and her taste on my lips.