Splintered Hearts

Six

Jamie

I need a smoke.

Bri didn’t bring me any, either on purpose for being a dick to her this morning when I asked—fair—or because she’s getting tired of helping me out.

Also fair.

I watch the crowd around me, just wanting this to end. Drinking was never my thing, but here I am, perched on top of my deck railing, nursing a fucking White Claw. I hate beer—the smell, the taste, everything. So does Bri, and while she didn’t bring me weed, she brought drinks she could stomach.

And I’m stealing one.

Hunter and Xavi laugh with their friends. I’m happy they’re having a good time, and I’m definitely not watching to make sure they use my coasters. My fingers twitch to clean up the empties. I put out extra wastebaskets for a damn reason.

Everything’s too noisy.

My chest aches and I rub it, easing the tension in my lungs, then take another sip, just begging for this weak shit to calm some of the noise, maybe even help me enjoy it. I just need to relax.

I could grab my sketchbook.

I push that thought aside for now. It’s not that I don’t want to—I really do. My problem is that nothing happens when I put a pencil or pen on paper. My mind goes blank. It’s like there’s this void in my brain where creativity used to be. It’s like...

It's like my talent died the same night she did.

My brain’s bullshit, my body’s trash, and I just need something inside me to work right for once. I just need a place to start. A cloud. A bird. Hell, I could draw Brianna. She’d be a willing model. I’d make her a sci-fi alien, and she would love that shit. Her makeup is always incredible—putting that on paper would be cool.

Maybe I’ll ask her later.

After I apologize.

Painting one of my four black walls white is the closest I’ve been to art supplies in nearly five years.

My fingers pause with my drink at my lips, watching Mark’s friend step onto the porch with the menace himself behind him. Fucking hell . When I’d seen them all standing together in my living room I was confused, then stunned.

Then freaked out a little. Just a little.

Bri beams in his direction, no doubt excited for another victim she can strap to a chair and experiment on. Mark is talking, and so is Bri, but my attention is all on him.

Noah.

What Hunter failed to mention in all his bitching about the guy was that he looks like a fairy-garden prince straight from a fantasy movie. He’s white, dark brown hair that looks messy but in a way that’s on purpose. Fuck, I bet it feels so soft. The pink sweater he’s wearing hugs all the right places and looks so good against his pale skin. My eyes travel down, seeing a sliver of belly. He’s a little shorter than Hunter and wears glasses.

Xavier says something, and it makes his soft pink mouth break out into a laugh that lights me up from the inside. Something spiders across my chest, the tightness I felt earlier gone. Noah turns to Mark and I can’t help looking down. Those jeans he’s wearing mold to his ass and thighs in a way that should be illegal —or at the very least, come with a caution sign.

Warning: contents may cause extreme boners and drooling.

Just beautiful.

Looking back up I freeze when our eyes collide. I’m unable to breathe or look away, and Noah’s lips quirk slightly before he turns back to Bri.

Shit.

Squeezing my legs together, I stare at the drink in my hand. It’s been a long time since I hooked up with anyone, and remembering the last time I tried sobers me fast. I swallow the memory, and the shame that comes with it. I was twenty-fucking-four at the time and tried an app. It’s too fucking mortifying to even think about.

Coming back down to earth and reality, my hand tightens around the can. “Hey.”

“Jesus!” I glare at Hunter as he takes the seat beside me. “What?”

“Not a very nice way to treat your roommate.”

“You’re not my roommate. You’re moving in with that psychopath.”

“Leaving one to live with another. I never learn,” Hunter teases. “Why are you still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad.” I’m not. I’m happy for him. I am. Hunter’s moving on with his life. He has a new job, and a place with the man who loves him. Xavier’s going back to school after taking a couple of years off. Bri’s attending beautician classes while working at a salon several towns over. Everyone’s working on their dreams, and I... well, I’m here.

In the same house.

Dealing with the same bullshit.

Day in. Day out.

“I am happy for you.” Hunter deserves everything good in his life.

“Careful, you may burst a blood vessel.”

“Fuck off.

“Serious talk.” Hunter loops his arm through mine. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just ten minutes away if you need anything. I mean it.”

“Touching.”

“You’re a jackass.” Hunter bumps me. “Anytime. I mean that. You need me, you need to talk, and I’m here.”

“Sure your boyfriend would love that.”

While draining the rest of my drink, my eyes drift to Noah talking with Mark. Gorgeous doesn’t even touch it. Noah hands him a drink, turns, and bends at the waist to tie his shoe.

Fuck.

I rub my chest. That tight feeling’s back, only this time it’s in my pants. Those jeans fit his ass in a way that needs to be documented, for science. But it’s stupid even to fantasize, though hard—in more ways than one—not to picture it.

Soft, pretty lips. Opening just for me. My tongue painting a picture over all that soft skin. Fuck.

Hunter bumps me, hard. “What!”

“I was talking, asshole.” He laughs, taking a sip of his gross beer. It’s the one from earlier, and I feel terrible for being a dick about it, but I don’t fuck around with drinking and driving. Not even a sip.

“Sorry.”

“At least I know there’s a warm-blooded person in there somewhere. Even if it’s all in your dick.” Squeezing my legs closed even tighter, I can barely find the energy to be embarrassed. Noah straightens, turning a little and catching my eyes, and a naughty little smirk plays on his lips. He turns back to face Mark, and Hunter knocks into me. “He’s single.”

“Good for him.” But also, how? Ignoring my stupid, nosy friend, I put my can in a wastebasket like every other person at my house right now should! I can feel the sweat beading off Xavi’s can as it rests on my table—without a coaster! “Like I give a fuck.”

“Tell that to the chub you’re sporting.”

“Fuck off—”

“Annnd I’m going to introduce you.”

“What—”

Hunter hops down, pleased with himself and ignoring my protest. Bri says something that makes Noah laugh. The sound is light and rich, and a wide, pretty smile spreads across his face. Leaning into him, Hunter says something in his ear. Noah looks up, and our eyes collide for the third time tonight. My heart can’t take much more of this.

Fuck, he’s coming over.

Hopping down, I look at my clothes. Shit, I shouldn’t have worn these sweats. They’re worn in some places, and so old I’m not sure what decade they were bought in. Nineteen something, most likely. They’re my comfort pants. I hate wearing pants.

When I’m alone, I wear boxers with sweaters or shirts. There’s no reason to dress up, and absolutely no reason to wear pants in my own damn home because unlike the rest of my body, my legs were pretty much spared a lot of the damage. Wearing these pants tonight is a tiny consolation prize for having to be around so many people.

All these years, and I still can’t handle simple shit. It isn’t fair. At what point will I be able to go out and not think about every horrible thing that has happened to me? Or every horrible thing that could happen.

Not tonight.

So I wore the sweats because fuck it. No one’s here for me.

So in my head, I’m startled a bit when Noah appears in front of me. “Jamie.” Hunter smiles up at me. “This is Noah.”

Up close, he’s even more devastating to look at, with his eyes crinkled at the corners and a smile on his face. He smiles with his whole fucking body. Here, in front of me, I notice the dimples in his cheeks, the freckles that scatter his nose, and ears that are a bit too big but look fucking cute. Noah’s tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip which is already shiny with lip gloss.

Lip gloss? Fuck. The pink shine pops against his lips, and fuck do I want to taste it.

“This is Noah, Mark’s best friend.”

“Hi.” His voice is soft, his eyes like a lush forest. Deep and bright. Kind. His features are sharp and confident. Pretty and handsome rolled into one. His lips quirk in a smile, and... shit. He was talking, wasn’t he?

“Jamie.” Reaching out my hand, his melts into mine.

Soft hands.

“Nice to meet you.” Mischief dances in those green eyes.

“Same.”

“Noah is staying with us for a bit.” No shit. I know that. But maybe there are some things I know about Noah’s situation I’m not supposed to.

“Just for a bit,” Noah corrects. “I don’t have anywhere else right now. It won’t be for long.” Something flashes over Hunter’s face. “It also depends on how loud these two get.” Noah leans in, cupping his hand and whispering, “Mark’s a screamer.”

A laugh bubbles out of me from god knows where. “You’ll be looking to move out soon, then.” Noah laughs back, and it’s like a balm for my chest.

“And with that, I’m leaving you two dickheads alone.” Hunter claps me on the back. “Fuck you both.” Hunter shoots me a look that says , “Don’t fuck this up,” then leaves. As if that even matters. There’s nothing to fuck up. There is zero possibility he’s interested.

Am I even interested? And interested in what?

The silence stretches between us, making me feel itchy, but instead of wanting to run away, I want to try. “How long have you lived here?” It takes me a moment to realize Noah has filled the silence for me.

“Like uh, five years, uh—” Fuck, take a breath. “Five years.”

“Wow. Hunter’s been here that long?”

Only because she never got to, and Hunter was forced to. “How long have you been friends with Mark?” It’s crazy to think we’ve never met, but why would we? Mark hates me, and I don’t like having people over. While his name has come up a few times, I’ve never seen a picture.

“Since college. Before he and Hunter met we were, ya know ... that type of friends. Not my finest moment. We became good friends through it, though. I mean, not... I mean despite...” Noah bites his bottom lip and my eyes snap to the gesture like a magnet. “Sorry. I’m nervous.”

With those three words, he eases my mind.

Noah’s nervous. “Me too.”

“I like your tattoos.”

“Oh, uh, I—”

“On your arms, silly.” Noah’s manicured brows rise. Could a person look expensive? “Unless you have others you’d like to share?” He winks. “Show and tell was always my favorite subject in school.”

“I don’t think that’s a subject.” I can’t drop my pants and show him the ones on my legs, the ones I’m most proud of, so instead, I roll my sleeves up, just to my biceps—that’s enough—and as I expose the ink on my arms, Noah’s eyes brighten with delight. He steps closer. Vanilla and something masculine fills the space between us. Whatever he’s wearing smells so damn good. Reaching out to touch me, his fingers brush my arms, tracing the snake, dragging his fingers over the designs. My breath quickens with his closeness.

Why the fuck did I wear sweatpants?

I try to shift and not show off the problem growing in my pants, while Noah searches the art on my arms as if he’s deciphering a code. My other arm is filled with random art, here and there. It’s all my best friend Madd’s work, as he practiced on me when he was an apprentice. I didn’t mind being a test dummy. He’s one of the most talented artists I know.

Was. Was and knew.

“This is beautiful.” Noah looks up, focused on the black and gray snake winding up my arm. Cherry blossoms weave in and around the snake in pops of red and pink—the only color I have. I don’t like colored tattoos, but she insisted it was needed. Now, nearly six years later, I have to agree, and I’m grateful I did it. It’s like having a little piece of her, always.

Jesus. Blinking, I focus on Noah who’s still inspecting the work. “Thank you.”

“Why the snake?”

“I love snakes.” It’s as simple as that. Snakes are fascinating. People fear them, but that’s mainly due to their scary-looking nature. Some are pretty docile, and some only strike when provoked.

“And the cherry blossoms?”

Well, that answer is a bit more complicated. “My birth mom is Japanese. We visited her mother in the spring, when I was a toddler.” Or rather, she did, not me, because she couldn’t let her mother know I existed. I was an abomination—the result of my mother’s reckless behavior. “She loved to see the cherry blossoms.” And she hated me. Tattooing something she loved so much on my body may seem fucked up, but there’s some sick sort of satisfaction that hits me knowing they’re there. Something so beautiful she loved on someone she hated more than anything.

“There’s so much detail in this snake. It’s like you can touch it. How does it look so wet like that? It’s insane. It looks like it’s in water.”

Landing on a black mamba took time, and to this day, I can’t tell anyone why I picked that particular snake. It seemed fitting at the time—the world’s deadliest snake—and there was something about it I liked.

“Where did you get it done?” The question is innocent but hits like a gunshot.

“A friend did it for me.”

“Your friend is very talented.”

He was. “So, apartment hunting?”

I look beyond Noah, maybe needing a breather. Everything feels a little too tight—a little too suffocating. “Yeah, this all happened kind of fast. Hunter’s being nice about it, but I’m realistic. I know he doesn’t want me there. Starting from scratch is kind of new for me, though, so I’m just doing what I can to survive.”

My eyes drop away from him. Fuck, I know that feeling a little too well. What a piece of shit, kicking your child out because they’re gay. “Well.” The words spill from my lips before I can catch them. “If you need a place to stay, I have a room available.” Why is my mouth moving? Stupid fucking brain. “Rent is cheap.” What the hell! Stop making words! “Hunter and I split utilities, and he bought his own food.”

“Really?”

“I mean if—”

“Hey, sorry.” Xavier grins, but I see it for what it is. He wants something. “Can you help me out? The attic door is stuck—”

“Why are you going up there?” Noah looks between us but it’s as if I’ve plunged into water. Noise dulls around me. Everything sounds muffled. “There’s nothing in there for you.”

“I just want to—”

“No, there is nothing.” This isn’t his house. Why does he always have to mess with my shit?

“I just want to see if—”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to babysit me. I won’t—” Ignoring him, I look to Noah, both sad and happy this conversation has ended. But I need a little bit of space anyway. From Noah. From the crowd. From my friends. And there is no way he’s going up there without me. What if he breaks something? Takes something he’s not supposed to? Then that would be it. Gone. There’d be no way to replace it. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

Not waiting for Noah’s goodbye, I stalk to the back door, barely noticing the looks around me. It’s like a neon sign blaring ahead. Xavier is not taking her shit.

No one is.