Chapter 20 #2
I hate that I can't tell whether she's lying or not. London could be actively bleeding to death and I'm not sure anyone would notice. She might be annoying as hell at times but she refuses to let on that anything ever bothers her. It's a quality I respect and know all too well.
Rising to my feet, I help guide London off the counter and onto the floor, gently setting her down to get her footing. "You sure you're okay?" I study her so intensely that I accidentally spot a freckle I've never seen on her cheek.
"Stop looking at me like that," she says, her green eyes meeting mine.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm about to fall apart. We've been over this before, Archer."
"How do you want me to look at you?"
I stare into her unwavering gaze and hate the desire that overwhelms me. I shouldn't want her the way I do and yet nothing could compare to how badly I want to grab her face and kiss her. She infuriates me—why can't that be all that it is?
A smirk forms on her face like she can hear my fucking thoughts, making me break eye contact first. I release a breath and busy myself with picking up the discarded pieces of her cast, piling them in my arms and doing what I can to put anything between us.
"We should have a drink," London suggests. "To celebrate."
"Okay," I say while leaving the room so she can put her pants on or do whatever it is she needs to do. But once I'm at the trash can, I find myself unable to throw the casts away. They serve no purpose, they have no use, why can't I just toss them?
"You have no idea how much better I feel," London says while coming into the kitchen.
I drop the pile behind the trash and shut the pantry door.
"I bet," I tell her and avoid eye contact as I make my way over to the cabinet where I keep my liquor.
"What kind of drink did you want?" I open the door and scan the options.
Tequila, vodka, whiskey, and rum are at the front, concealing pretty much everything else needed to make just about any mixed drink.
Even a few bottles of wine I had picked up here and there and tucked in along the side.
I glance over my shoulder. "Or did you want to go out for a drink? "
"Staying in is fine." London settles on a stool at the island. "Let's start with tequila."
I grab the bottle, put a few ice cubes into two small glasses, and make my way over to her.
She takes them from me, pouring some of the liquid into both, more in one than the other. She pushes the fuller one toward me.
"Trying to get me drunk?" I ask her and take it anyway.
"Maybe." London raises her glass. "To starting over."
"I can cheers to that." I clink my glass against hers and we down the tequila, the warmth of it flowing down my chest.
"We should play a drinking game," London says.
I lick the remains of the tequila off my lips. "That sounds dangerous."
"Are you afraid?" London refills our drinks, making sure to fill mine a bit higher.
"No. Are you?"
"I'm the one who suggested it." London crosses her legs and teeters a bit like she isn't quite used to not having that bulky cast off yet.
"What are the rules?"
"Truth or drink," she says. "A question is asked. You can either answer it or drink."
"What happened to dare?"
"That usually follows." She winks at me and it's everything I can do not to react. "So what do you say, will you play with me?"
I down the tequila in my cup and wipe my mouth. "Why not?"
London smiles and I hate the way it warms my chest more than the tequila. How is it possible to both not be able to stand someone and want them at the same time?
"But," I interject. "We need sustenance. What do you want to eat?"
"What do you think I want to eat?"
I stare at her for a long moment. "Do you think I can read your mind?"
"Can you?"
"You want lo mein and veggie egg rolls."
Her smile widens. "See, you can!"
I shake my head, pull out my phone, and place an order for entirely too much food, but when drinking is involved, it's better safe than sorry. Once I'm finished, I get us both large glasses of water and slide onto a chair at the island, one between us.
"You are so boring," London says while taking a sip of her water.
"You'll thank me tomorrow when your head isn't violently pounding."
"Who said my head isn't always violently pounding?" London turns toward me. "Okay, I'll go first. Hmm. Oh, I've got it. Why are you so grumpy?"
I scowl. "I'm not grumpy."
"Do you want me to get a mirror out for you, big boy? I mean, the wrinkles between your brows. You're going to need Botox if you keep that up."
I do what I can to relax my face.
"Were you always this uptight?" London persists.
"That was two questions," I inform her. "Were you always this nosey?"
London shrugs. "Yeah, probably." She pauses and adds, "See how easy that was?"
"What?"
"To answer a question."
"Oh." I twirl the glass of tequila before putting it to my lips and downing it in one swallow.
"There. Now it's my turn." But the moment the opportunity presents itself, I realize I have no idea what I want to ask her.
Sure, there are a million burning questions, but none of them are appropriate.
Like who she really is, and what actually brought her here?
How did she get involved with Joe Vito, and what is her connection to Silver?
"I'm waiting, big boy." London leans against the counter and keeps her eyes glued to me.
"I…I pass."
London sighs. "You're so boring."
"Thanks."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I have a question," I admit. "Why are you always trying to pick a fight?"
London blinks a few times like she's taken aback. "I do not."
"You're lying and you know it."
"Fine," London huffs. "I mean, it's not necessarily on purpose, but you're fun to mess with. You get flustered easily." She fidgets with her glass. "You're going to have to ask me harder questions, otherwise I'm never going to drink."
"Maybe I'm not trying to get you drunk."
She shifts right into her next train of thought. "What was your longest relationship?"
I have half a mind to drink the tequila she pours into my glass, almost as if she's expecting me not to answer, but realize I have nothing to lose by giving her this information. "Six years."
"Damn. I don't know what's more surprising, the fact that you answered or that you were in a relationship for six years."
I force a laugh. "Yeah."
"What happened? Did she break up with you?"
My gaze lowers and the memory of what happened comes rushing in. I open my mouth, unsure why I'm admitting the truth right now when I've done everything I can to bury it for the past few years. "She died."
London's lips part, her expression softening and her hand reaching forward to rest on mine. "I'm so sorry, I never would have asked if I knew."
I pull my hand away, the reaction so quick and aggressive. "It's fine. You didn't know. It was in the past, anyway."
"Still, Archer, I'm sorry." My name on her tongue and the tequila coursing through me almost numb the loss.
"What about you?" I ask her, both to deflect the pitiful look on her face and to derail this from being all about me. "What was your longest relationship?"
"Six months."
"What happened?" I ask, unsure if follow-up questions are part of the rules.
London stays quiet for a long moment before drinking the tequila in her glass. Her face pinches slightly and she licks her lips. "Good job, you made me drink."
"That bad, huh?"
"Yep," she says while pouring herself more tequila. "Let's talk families. Tell me about your parents."
"Never knew them," I admit easier than I expected.
"Wait, what's the age gap between the twins and August? How did you not know them?"
"That's a lot of questions, little tornado."
"Help me make it make sense," London pleads.
"We're not blood-related," I confess. "Well, Ivy and Seven are. They are twins. But the rest of us, there's no blood relation."
"But you call each other brother and sister."
I run my hand through my hair, unsure of how much of this I want to share with her.
Any other time, I'd clam up and not say a word, but the back-to-back shots have my inhibitions and my lips feeling a bit loose.
"We grew up in foster care together. We bounced from house to house but would always end up back together in the group home.
We were the only constants in each other's lives, and after a while, we started looking out for one another.
I guess a sort of unspoken bond formed, and it turned into something stronger than a blood connection.
We made a pact to be there for each other and the rest is history. "
"Interesting," is all London responds and I hate that I can't read her mind to fully grasp what she's thinking about my admission.
I grow uncomfortable in my skin at having told her all that information and shift in my seat. "What about you? Tell me about your parents."
"They're both dead."
It's not that I expected that to be her answer, but I don't find myself at all surprised. I guess neither one of us is a stranger to losing someone.
"What happened?" I ask even though I know damn well it isn't my place to. It must be the alcohol talking at this point.
"My father killed my mother when I was three years old."
My mouth goes dry and I'm not sure what to do with my hands other than reach out and place them around London's, cupping them in a way that begs for her to understand that I'm here.
She stares blankly, her eyes shifting back and forth, lost in a memory. "Most people, when something traumatic happens to them, their mind blocks it out, files it away as it tries to protect itself. Me? I remember everything bad that's ever happened. Starting with that day."
"You don't have to—"
"There was blood everywhere," she whispers.
"I walked right in it. It was warm and sticky and I remember being so confused, and so worried, because my dad hated messes.
I was three and knew that. Knew that he would be so furious when he found it.
I grabbed a rag, followed the trail of red, and thought if I could find the source, maybe I could stop it from getting worse.
"It wasn't until I stumbled over her lifeless leg that I realized she was where it came from.
" London blinks stiffly. "Her eyes were open, her mouth parted.
She wasn't moving and I couldn't understand why.
I put my arms around her, hugged her, and laid there for I don't know how long, thinking maybe if I stayed with her, it would fix things.
Shortly after, that's when the maid found me, covered in my mother's blood from head to toe. She had to pry me from my dead mother."
The buzzer to the apartment dings, loud and intrusive.
London seems to snap out of her trance and hops from the stool. "Food’s here."