Present
It’s Christmas Eve, a little over a month since I’ve been home, since Cass and I had the conversation about where we stand with one another through the window of her bedroom. It should’ve stopped me from even putting us in this position. I said things could be different. I said we could try to be friends. This little stunt will not help my cause, but I just can’t bring myself to give a damn at this moment.
We’ve been here before, in this same position, the same look and the same unspoken challenge. The only difference is we aren’t seventeen and almost nineteen any longer. We aren’t young kids. We are two adults fighting the same war we seem to have been fighting for years, and this time we’re alone in the room. Our families gather in the kitchen, laughing and chatting in celebration of the holiday as we’ve done for years.
Our gazes lift to the traditional greenish plant with white berries hanging above our head then back to one another. A shared memory is flashing between us with a simple look.
I wish I could remember the day the lines were drawn between Cassandra and me, putting us on different sides, because the gleam of loathing I see in her eyes seems to be preparing for war. My grip on her wrist tightens and she doesn’t even try to pull away; she knows it’s no use, but the look in her eyes sharpens. She’s throwing down the gauntlet.
Oh, Cass, you really should stop with the silent dares. It only makes me want to win this game, the game we just can’t seem to stop playing with one another, both of us dancing around the other, waiting for the other to make a move first but not understanding what kind of move to make, never making our move.
Never say never.
I breathe out her name. “Cassandra.” She takes a step away from me, her back hitting the wall behind her. I stalk her, matching her steps, her eyes widening until I move my lips to hover just above hers. Then Cass’s eyes close as if she might be surrendering. I whisper her name again, wanting her to open her eyes so I know she’s present for this moment, but when her eyes flash open, I don’t see what I hoped to see. I can’t even explain why I’m doing this, but the moment presented itself and the memory of a shared kiss tempted me.
Her hand rises between us, rests on my chest, and gives me a little push.
“Not this time, Pax. I’m saying no, and I mean it. You don’t get to do what you want because you want to feel like you’re in charge. You’ve always controlled every situation when it comes to me, like you own me, but you don’t always get to be in control. I won’t let you. Why do you do this? I just don’t get you,” she states assertively.
Control her? Her perception of our relationship over the years is completely different than mine—rational thinking has always been a struggle for her. I wish I could control her in some ways. There’s a part of me that would like to dictate how this situation will go right now and spank that tight little ass of hers until she begs me for more—but it’s not the right time or the right place. Hell, it’s not even the right person, but contrary to her belief, I’ve never felt in control of much when I’m around Cassandra Porter. It’s the reason I’ve kept my distance. I’ve wanted one thing for as long as I could remember—to be an architect. It’s something I knew the first time my dad bought me a book about architecture around the world. He thought I would like it because of my eight-year-old self’s obsession with Legos and building things.
Then one day, I noticed her too. Her long blonde hair. Her pretty eyes and the vulnerable way she looked at me. I thought of her more than I thought about building things. It made me mad and I felt funny. I didn’t like it so I vowed to stop. She wouldn’t win.
Maybe that’s the game. I’ve never let her get the best of me, and I’m not about to start now.
A quiet, harsh, devil-may-care laugh slips through my lips. I step toward her with my shoulders back and antagonizing mischief fueling my next words. “Cassandra Porter, if I wanted to control you, I would. Don’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise.”
With that, I leave her standing under the mistletoe, kissless and no doubt feeling downright indignant while I feel utterly bereft.
When I walk into the kitchen, laughter rings through the room. I instantly school my features, hiding my frustration, and put a smile on my face. Delaney turns at that moment and walks over, looping her arm with mine.
“Pax, please back me up and tell Dad we knew he was lying when he said Bambi went to a farm to run free and be happy. Tell him we are aware Bambi was hit by a car while we were at school,” she demands, giggling.
Bambi was our annoying but cute little terrier when we were kids. She was run over by a car, and our dad tried to convince us it was unfair to keep her cooped up in the house all day and so she went to a farm with other dogs.
Smiling, I glance at our dad and shrug. “Sorry Pops, but we knew. I mean, let’s face it, the cover story was awful. Laney and Cass cried for days and made me promise not to let you know we knew.”
“What did I cry for days over?” Cass’s voice echoes through the kitchen and Delaney smiles brightly at her friend. I don’t turn around to watch her enter the room.
“My dad doesn’t believe we knew he lied to us about sweet Bambi’s fate,” Delaney explains, glancing over to him and rolling her eyes. He folds his arms across his chest, giving her a look I assume is supposed to make her feel scolded, but he’s failing completely.
“Oh, Mr. Luke, really?” Cass giggles while wrapping her arms around Delaney and squeezing. “We did cry for days. Laney and I annoyed Pax so badly, I think he wanted to strangle us.”
“I didn’t,” I say so indignantly everyone turns to look at me, but the only gaze I return belongs to Cassandra. Her bright blue eyes connect with mine, daring me to explain why I suddenly changed the tone of the conversation with two simple words.
My mother pulls my attention to her when she clears her throat. “Honey, you were always either ready to kill these two or to kill someone else because of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if their crying annoyed you. I know your patience with Laney often ran thin.”
“Yeah, you were such a mean and bossy brother!” Delaney chimes in, winking at me as she speaks. I catch a glimpse of Cass’s expression, one that makes it clear she agrees.
I laugh. “Well, you were such an annoying little brat,” I respond. Everyone laughs, our parents’ and Cass’s heads nodding in agreement. I glance over to Cassandra again; she’s beaming with happiness, looking lovingly at my sister. A burning sensation begins filling my chest, but I quickly push it away and turn my attention back to my parents. “So is it time for dessert yet?”
Mrs. Porter smiles, shaking her head. “Paxton Luke, I see your appetite hasn’t changed a bit in the last ten years.”
Mrs. Porter takes a pie from the refrigerator, grabs a knife, and begins slicing it. My dad and Mr. Porter grab the plates while my mom pulls forks from the drawer. Delaney and Cass give everyone a slice.
My family—my parents, Laney, even Mr. and Mrs. Porter and Cass—the people who were the happy constant in my childhood, they’re the people I missed.
Everyone is chatting, smiling, and enjoying the tradition of being together. Time has passed—a lot of time—but as I look around the kitchen, it’s like nothing has changed. Mom and Mrs. Porter talk to one another with fondness and familiarity. Dad and Mr. Porter are still happy to remain in the shadows, watching everyone. Delaney and Cass still whisper to one another while they stuff their faces with pie and whipped cream.
Cassandra.
Once again, she turns her gaze in my direction, and our eyes meet. What I see in them tells me not everything is the same. Some things have changed.