19. Live with Your Choices
LIVE WITH YOUR CHOICES
Kodiak
Present day
“HOLY FUCK, MAN, check out that ass,” says some freshman jerk-off, who’s had one too many beers, to the guy beside him.
I knew this was a bad idea, but I still let it happen. Maverick wanted one last party before we close up the pool, and then he went and disappeared upstairs to his room with his girl of the month, leaving me to manage things.
It was only supposed to be a few of the guys, but then a few people told a few more people, and it snowballed from there.
I’d have to say there are more than fifty people out here.
And it’s only eight o’clock. I’m sure Mav will be back down in an hour, but until then, I have to deal with people, and that’s pretty much my least favorite thing to do.
If my house weren’t currently under construction thanks to some faulty wiring that shorted out the toaster oven, and the kitchen weren’t completely gutted, I could leave him with this mess.
But since I live here for the foreseeable future, I don’t have much of a choice.
On the upside, we’ll have a sweet new kitchen whenever it’s done.
Fortunately, River is out for the night, so I don’t have to manage him glaring holes through me. And Lavender is likely hiding in her room, which is pretty much all she’s done since I moved in after the fire. Her room is directly above mine.
Her bedframe squeaks at night when she’s restless.
The hum of her sewing machine is a relentless drone in the wee hours of the morning when she can’t sleep.
She sings in the shower all the time. But the worst are the nights when I mutter some heinous comment to her, meant to remind us both what a horrible fucking person I am.
And later, I get the confirmation I’m looking for when I hear her fighting for breath.
I used to be the one to save her. Now I’m the reason she falls apart.
Those are the nights she sews for hours.
As the party rages, I distract myself by scrolling through my messages. My mom called an hour ago to check in on me. I lied and told her I was studying at the library, but that I would call her tomorrow.
“Oh shit.” BJ sets down his beer, which he’s been nursing for the past hour. It has to be piss warm by now. I glance at him, but my phone pings again; IG this time. I’m bored. I wish Lavender would stop hiding so I’d have something to occupy my brain.
“Someone distract Clarke so I can introduce myself.” Freshman Jerk-off knocks back the rest of his beer and slams the plastic cup down on the railing, causing it to crumple.
“I’m on it,” another freshman says. “But it means I get your sloppy seconds.”
“Maybe she’ll be down with tag-team action.”
“Fuck, yeah.” They fist bump each other.
“I would seriously consider shutting the fuck up,” BJ says.
Freshman Jerk-off’s brow furrows. “Why? Look at her—that bathing suit screams bend me over and slap my ass while you ride me from behind.”
“Because that’s my cousin, and if you so much as breathe in her direction, I’ll use your nuts as a bow tie at my next formal event.”
That gets my attention. I follow Freshman Jerk-off’s gaze toward the pool and nearly ram my fist into his face when I realize who he’s talking about. “What in the actual fuck?”
Standing at the edge of the pool, smiling at Clarke—a senior and one of the dirtiest players on the team—as he hands her a shot, is Lavender.
It’s bad enough that she’s way underage—although more than half the people here fall into that category—and that she’s wearing a goddamn white bikini, the top of which barely covers her nipples.
The bottoms are a thong. Her entire ass is on display, including the strawberry birthmark that very much resembles a heart.
I saw it once, by accident, when we were kids.
Her butt had been eating her bathing suit at the time.
Obviously I never fucking forgot.
Is she the only girl out here in a thong? Nope. But she should know better than to put herself on display like this. If Maverick and River were here to see, they would lose their goddamn minds. And clearly the responsibility is going to fall on me, considering the way BJ is smirking.
“Lavender, get over here!” I shout.
Her smile widens, but she doesn’t look away from Clarke. Instead, she raises her hand in the air and fires the bird in my direction.
BJ barks out a laugh.
“Fuck this bullshit.” I slam my beer down on the closest surface, and because it’s mostly full, it acts like a geyser, splashing me and everyone within a three-foot radius, including a few bunnies who are standing close by, eavesdropping on our conversation—or waiting for the right moment to rub their tits on whoever they’re interested in hooking up with tonight.
Three girls have done that to me already tonight, including that chick who came into my room in August and offered me her sloppy seconds.
All I can see is red as Clarke reaches out and fingers the end of Lavender’s ponytail, conveniently resting about two inches away from her right boob. Which is what he’s staring at. And so is every other guy out here. Or her ass.
Obviously this is payback for the art class.
The major difference is the presence of alcohol and a lot of testosterone-fueled jocks.
I’m not sure she really, truly thought it through before she came out here dressed the way she is.
Because as much as she’s smiling and laughing, her skin is turning red.
It goes blotchy at her chest first and works its way up her shoulders and neck, slowly moving down her torso.
It’s not something most people would notice right away. But I do. Because it’s Lavender. And as much as she doesn’t want me to know all of her deep, dark, painful secrets, I still do.
“Touch her again and you’ll be minus more than just your front teeth,” I call out as I approach.
I’m making a scene—one I’ll probably regret because it’s going to get back to Mav and River. But if they were here, this wouldn’t be happening.
Lavender finally looks my way. “You can go back to your bunnies, Kodiak. I don’t need a bodyguard or a babysitter.”
Clarke laughs and smirks at me. “You heard her. We’re good.” He slings his arm over her shoulder and pulls her into his side. I’m pretty sure her ass cheek is pressed up against his leg, and his fingers dangle perilously close to her boob.
My control slips. The frustration over not being able to have what I want is wearing me down.
Everyone has an opinion on what’s good for me—how I have to manage all the impulses, how I can’t let the obsessions rule me the way they often do.
But this is more than I can take. It’s been weeks and weeks of fighting the need, of being an asshole because the alternative is to dive right back into that fixation—and if I do, I’m very worried it’s going to consume me. And her.
But we’re living in the same house. And she’s right above me every night. Close enough to hear and too far away to touch.
All the rational parts of my brain short out. I slam my palms into Clarke’s chest, and he stumbles back. Losing his footing, he lands in the pool with a massive splash.
Lavender throws her hands in the air, her anger nowhere near as vicious as mine. Not yet anyway. “What is your goddamn problem, Kodiak?”
“You are my fucking problem. You’re always the problem,” I snap.
A flash of hurt crosses her face, but she rolls her shoulders back. “You could solve your problem pretty easily by leaving, since this is my house, not yours.”
She’s right. Of course. I could have stayed in a million different places while my house is getting a new, uncharred kitchen, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to be here so I could torture her the way she’s tortured me for years without even realizing it. Turns out, I’m a bit of a masochist.
Clarke pulls himself out of the pool, spluttering and fuming. “What the hell is up your ass, Bowman?”
I point a finger at him. “Stay out of this. It’s not your business, and she’s not for you.”
Lavender’s mouth opens, but no words come out. A sick feeling makes my stomach twist. I’m doing this in a public place, something she hates so much. All this attention on her, and she’s mostly naked.
I’m done with the audience. I try to take her hand, but she swats me away.
I slip an arm around her waist and haul her up against me.
She kicks and flails, making it difficult to avoid her thrashing limbs.
I drop down on one knee, wrap my arm around her legs, and toss her over my shoulder.
She shrieks, high-pitched and clearly shocked.
I stalk toward the house, gripping her thighs tightly, because the last thing I want to do is drop her on her face.
She sucks in a gasping breath and wheezes my name, “Kodiak!”
Her tits bounce against my back as I jog up the stairs, past Freshman Jerk-off, the desperate bunnies, and BJ, whose brow is raised like he’s in on a secret.
“BJ!” Lavender shrieks, extending her hand, but he’s way too far away to reach.
He grins, shakes his head, and raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry, Lav, I can’t help you now.”
She grabs the edge of the doorframe as we pass through the French doors. I have to give it to her; she puts up a decent fight—not like when she was a scared little kid.
“Down!” she says, loud and squeaky and pissed.
I turn, not to acknowledge her, but to pry her fingers free. When I hit the first step on the way to the second floor, she slaps my ass, hard. And then she does it several more times, so I do it back.
She shrieks, obviously not expecting my retaliation.
“You might want to think twice before you do that again,” I warn.
“You’re an asshole, Kodiak!”
“You’re just figuring that out now?” My skin prickles as I pass the second floor bedrooms and head for the attic, where we keep Princess Lavender.