7. Rose
Chapter 7
Rose
“Anything cracked will shatter at a touch.” ― Ovid
S omething shifted the moment I slid into the passenger seat of Briggs’ car. Or maybe it was before that, right when his ex almost interrupted… something . There was something between us, or at least there had been. For a small fraction of time, I thought he was going to do more than talk. But then it was like he flipped a switch and remained quiet and distant ever since.
My palms raked up and down my thighs, the shortness of my dress causing me more discomfort by the second. “Is everything alright?”
He gave a single nod, then turned the heat on in his car. More silence dragged on, and it was gnawing at me. I didn’t think I was insecure, but I was feeling that creeping sensation all the way down my leather-covered arms.
My agitation flared. I took his jacket off hastily, then tossed it into his lap, refraining from balling it up and throwing it in his face while he was driving. “Thanks, but I don’t need your jacket anymore.” It came out more childish than I intended, but whatever.
His fingers curled around the steering wheel and a muscle worked over the sharp curve of his jaw. Several times.
“Did I do something? Like, I don’t understand what happened. You were nice back there, and—”
“I’m not nice. Don’t call me that,” he snapped back.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, kind. Thoughtful. Whatever word you prefer, I don’t care.”
“You don’t know me, Rose.” His finger tapped along the shifter knob while his eyes stayed glued to the road.
“Was it your ex? Are you jealous she wanted to stay behind with someone else?”
And then he stopped the car. Full-on stopped, in the middle of the road we’d been slowly coasting down. The one car behind us laid on the horn and then drove around while screaming profanities from their open window. He ignored it completely .
“Jealous?” He kept his eyes forward, but it was impossible to miss the curl of his lip as if he were disgusted by that.
“You know what? Just take me home.” I scoffed and edged my elbow against the car door, propping my head on my hand.
“Gladly.” The jacket fell back into my lap as his jaw set. “Keep it.” The rumble of the engine kicked up a notch as he started moving the car again. He seemed to change at the drop of a hat, kind of like when he decided to leave Jim’s without saying a word.
Which reminded me—
“Why did you leave?”
“What?”
“Jim’s store. Why. Did. You. Leave?” I punctuated each word, abandoning all credence that he’d meant no harm by not saying bye, and then left me his— “And the number. Why give me your number on a bag?”
He gripped the wheel so tightly that I thought it would rip from the dashboard. “You’re being ridiculous.”
I laughed. “Me? Ridiculous?”
He ignored that, instead answering the first and second questions I asked him. I think. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” I laughed again, feeling no humor. “You don’t know. Great.”
“Girls like you end up needing someone to save them. I thought you might need someone like—”
“Someone, what, like you? To save me?” The night was going to shit faster than I could stop it. I wanted to believe he was a good guy, but maybe it was a good thing we hardly talked in history class, or beyond wherever he went after that. “What does that even mean, girls like me? What kind of girl am I, Briggs?”
“Just forget it. Delete my number,” he murmured low, almost like a growl.
No, that was definitely a growl.
“Gladly.” I spat his words back at him with the same abrasiveness he used. “You know, I was starting to think we could be friends.”
He looked at me through the corner of his eye. “You don’t want me to be your friend,” he replied firmly, his voice hard as stone. One minute he was being nice, the next he was…whatever the hell this was.
I lolled my head against the door, staring up at the stars through the window, trying to imagine I was anywhere else but there. Then it dawned on me. I didn’t need to be there. In his car. Taking his crap.
“Just let me out here.” We were maybe ten more minutes from my house, I could walk there easily.
“No,” he replied almost as fast as I’d said it.
I shifted from my position against the car door. Turning to face him, I repeated, “Let. Me. Out.”
He didn’t flinch like I hoped he would. I wanted to have some kind of effect on him like he was having on me. I was apparently weak around attractive men.
He groaned. “I’m not letting you walk alone in the dark.”
Yep, weak. That stupid heat crept up, this time between my thighs. I, once again, blamed the alcohol and turned my thoughts back to anger. “Who said anything about caring about what you want to let me do? Let me out. ”
“No.” He shifted gears and sped up as if the speed would deter me from flinging myself from his car when in reality it would be the stupid way his doors opened that would make me think twice. I couldn’t even find the button as I searched along the door.
I gave up and glared over at him. “Because you’re such a good friend,” I replied sarcastically and the car stopped. Again. But the doors remained closed. He turned in his seat to face me, his green eyes darkening to unprecedented levels.
I straightened. “I can’t be your friend, Rose. You don’t know me, and if you did, you wouldn’t want to. I’m no good. So, let me take you home. You can delete my number, and you won’t ever have to see me again. Deal?” He looked like he desperately wanted to prove what he said was true, but that glimmer of sadness in his eyes made me believe otherwise. He was a good person, he just didn’t believe it himself. Yet he’d already proven it the times we’d been together. And I was willing to bet he’d prove it more once he got over whatever was going on in his head.
“Fine.” My phone vibrated on the floor in the small clutch I’d taken to the party. I shuffled and picked it up. Relief should have surged through me at seeing August’s name pop up, but it didn’t. It only made me more angry. He wanted to know where I went, finally noticing my absence after over an hour. And for once, I didn’t feel like telling him where I was.
“Does August need you to come back?” Briggs’ tone was mocking, but he looked full of the same rage that was boiling in me.
“As you said, we aren’t friends. So I don’t have to justify that with a response. ”
“That’s a yes.” Smug. So damn smug.
I checked my phone again as it vibrated, and sure enough, it was August again, asking me to come back and bring more beer because the keg was almost out. I sighed and rubbed my fingertips along my cheekbones until my head fell into my palms. I muttered under my breath about them both going to hell and a low chuckle came from Briggs that had my head springing back up from my hands. “You’re such an ass.”
“If that’s the worst you think of me, I’m doing pretty good.”
Before I could ask what that meant, we were pulling up to my driveway, porch light on, guiding my way in. The car door didn’t open like before, and when I looked over at Briggs, his finger was tapping lightly on top of a button.
“Don’t go back over there.” His tone was infuriating, his demands seeping under my skin like irritation at the same time it seemed to turn my stomach into a fluttering mess—just as conflicting as Briggs himself was.
I snapped. “You don’t want to act like a friend, but you’ll take up the position of being my parent? I don’t think so.”
He moved quickly, leaning over the middle console and tucking his index finger under my chin. My eyes widened and my breath stilled, those butterflies exploding with furious wingbeats. “Don’t. Go. Back. Understood?”
I was still tipsy, too tipsy to have a gorgeous asshole touching my face and leaning in as close as he was.
Just an inch, maybe two, and —
“Understood?” I bit down on my lip and his gaze flicked down. As angry as he was making me, there was something between us that I wanted to act on. No, I wanted him to act on—like I was sure he was close to doing before we were interrupted. I replied with a noise, something between a moan and an agreement that I wouldn’t go back. He dropped his finger and I reached up to gently touch the warmth that escaped along my jaw as he pushed back into his seat.
“Goodnight, Rose,” he said while staring through the windshield at my garage door. The car door opened without another word, gull wings flying into the air, similar to my lapse in judgment.
He was such an ass.
“Goodbye, Briggs.” I tucked my clutch under my arm and got out, and right before he could press that damn button again, I reached up and slammed his car door down. I didn’t care how expensive his car was. He deserved it. And when I saw the curve of his mouth tilt up to one side as the light inside his car faded off, I wished I had another door I could slam in his face. I stormed up the porch steps and refrained from slamming the front door shut, because it wasn’t my grandparents’ fault, and they were more than likely asleep. The second I flipped off the switch, Briggs’ engine roared, then faded away.
A part of me wanted to run back out the door and ask him what the fuck I did wrong. What my part was in his sudden change. Another part of me was sickly intrigued. Which is exactly why I spent about an hour thinking about the tattoos that spread along his body, the way his dimple popped when his true smile came out to play, and the stupid smell of his jacket that I fell asleep wearing.
“Pass the salt please, sweetie,” my grandmother said in a sweet, low voice. I slid the salt across the table to her as she yawned. My grandfather was standing at the stove, cooking the hash browns that he could never quite brown—one side always ended up mushy and light, but I didn’t mind.
“Any plans this week?” My grandmother pushed her wire-framed glasses up her nose as she salted her scrambled eggs. My grandfather never seasoned anything he cooked, so while his back was turned, she loaded up on every seasoning she could reach that was left out. The gesture was cute—her, trying to make sure grandfather didn’t feel like he somehow failed, even though the green flakes in her food made it rather obvious what she’d done. It was always overlooked and didn’t stop him from trying to cook whenever he felt up to it.
“Besides studying for finals and working?” I shifted in my seat. “No. I was thinking of visiting sometime this week, though.” She knew who I was visiting. I never needed to say ‘my dead parents’ or ‘your dead daughter’ to them. I’d spent so long relearning how to talk, yet some thoughts I still struggled to get from my mind and out of my mouth.
My grandmother chewed her food and nodded as she looked me over. I twirled the fork in my hand, avoiding meeting her eyes. “Who was that who dropped you off the other night?”
“What? ”
“You know, that fancy black car with the flappy doors.” She flapped her arms up as my grandfather turned around.
He let out a sigh as he glanced at her plate, then said, “Those are called gull wings, dear.” Then he pointed to me with the spatula in his hand. “That’s a pricey car.”
I rolled my eyes because I knew that. I’d sat inside it, and the leather was the smoothest thing I’d ever felt. I pushed my face into my palms. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”
“Oh dear, we weren’t. But we heard your voice and then saw you try to slam the—” My grandfather cleared his throat and turned back to flip the hash browns. “Right, well. The point is, we live in a small town. And your grandfather says that car can only be from one family in this area. It’s worth almost a million dollars.”
I choked on my eggs and started slapping my hand to my chest. “Umm…what?”
My grandfather nodded. “Haven’t you learned anything about cars hanging out with your old man?” The old man being him, because he was essentially my father figure.
“Yes, but I don’t know every car. I know enough to change a tire and fix a radiator hose, but you mostly work on older cars. Nothing like what Briggs—”
“Briggs, huh? That’s the young man’s name?” My grandmother’s cheeks pinked over as she smiled knowingly, blending in with her blush that spread up to her temples. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“You don’t know him,” I replied quickly, pointing to her with my fork. And, apparently, neither do I. Her blush faded as I turned to face my grandfather. “Why do you say it can only be from one family?”
My grandmother answered for him, “Well, sweet pea, no one has that kind of money around here unless you’re an Andrews.”
I pushed a small bite of eggs into my mouth. “How is it you know about his family, but I don’t?”
My grandfather piped up, spinning his spatula toward me in circles. “How many times do we suggest you watch the news with us, Rose?”
“His family is in the news?” I hated the news. The news always had stories about death, fires, and child neglect or abandonment. No, thank you.
They both nodded. “Not all the time, and mostly only when the business talk starts. But yes, their company is one of the Fortune 500 and, now that you mention his name, I slightly recall him being named as a…what was it again, dear?” my grandmother asked, then took a sip of coffee.
“He is the sole inheritor to half the company.” Well, that sounds like a lot of pressure. “An heir apparent.”
“Isn’t that mostly for royalty?” I asked.
“Honey, with that kind of money and the control they have over the market, they might as well be royalty.” I swallowed the thick lump in my throat. It was shocking that I somehow never knew that about him, being that we lived in Shuster Springs—where the gossip was plenty, and the streets were small. But no amount of money would change how he changed after acting like a friend. I wasn’t raised to value money over personality, and that wasn’t about to start now. He could have been the Prince of England for all I cared. He was still an asshole, and I didn’t regret slamming his car door even if it did cost a million dollars.
“Are you feeling okay, Rose? You look a little pale,” my grandmother pointed out as she pushed the salt to me. “Maybe more salt?”
“I’m not hungry anymore.” I went to push out of my seat, but my grandmother’s hand came flying toward my arm.
“You know, more friends could be good for you, dear. Maybe he isn’t the friend you were looking for, but someone would be better than what you have now.”
I narrowed my eyes. My grandparents never liked August. Every time he came over, they made themselves scarce. My grandmother once confided rather loudly to my grandfather that August gave her the ‘heebie-jeebies,’ which I chose to block out of my memories until just now. “August is a good friend. You guys should give him a chance.”
My grandfather pushed my seat closer to the table and slid not-so-browned hashbrowns onto my plate. “Finish eating first, Rose. I’d rather hear how Minnie is doing. She was always such a wonderful girl.”
So I sat. I talked about my friend they did approve of, how she messaged me whenever she could, but lately she’d been busy so she seemed kind of distant. I couldn’t blame her, but I did miss her.
After breakfast, my grandfather went to work on one of his cars while my grandmother gardened in the backyard and I went to my bedroom to call August before leaving for work. He answered on the fourth ring .
“Hey.” Fabric shuffled as the sounds of a girl’s voice in the background came in quietly through the phone.
I sucked in a breath, trying to ease the slight ache in my chest. “Hey. Sorry for bothering you, if you’re busy. But, can you come to the graveyard with me sometime this week? I can walk or take the bus if you can’t give me a ride, but I’d like you there.”
“Why?” He asked, his tone clipped.
I rubbed my jaw as it hung open. He’d known me for how long, and…you know what? Of course, he didn’t remember. How stupid of me. “It’s the anniversary of their death soon.”
“Oh. Right. That’s all, right? Nothing new?”
I scoffed. “Nope.” It was hard for dead people to have anything new to begin with.
“Okay.” Silence stretched uncomfortably and the girl’s voice faded as if he moved to talk elsewhere. “Look, I can’t. I’m sort of really busy this week.”
Yep. The whole week he was magically busy. He didn’t even have a job, or classes, because he was against starting college until he found himself. It shouldn’t have felt like the slap in the face that it did, because maybe he really was busy. But it did.
I breathed out my frustration, trying to reel in his words as truthful, though I knew they weren’t. “Okay. It’s okay. I’d like to hang out sometime soon, though.” The girl giggled in the background and the swishing sounds of what I assumed were blankets or clothing only made my chest tighten. He must've walked back to the girl—who could’ve been Briggs’ ex for all I knew—after turning me down .
I sat on the floor, lifting the edge of the area rug to trace the initials carved into the floorboards. “Sure,” he replied finally. “Maybe next week sometime after the bonfire?” The only thing on his agenda would be maybe Thanksgiving, but his family never did much beyond the few staple menu items in a small family setting, just like mine did.
“Yeah, sure. I’m free.”
The silence stretched, my fingers moving over the fading M+V. “Oh, I wanted to play a new song for you. See what you think. Do you think your grandparents will mind if you ask them to make that shepherd’s pie stuff again when I come? Shit is fire.”
“Um…” I thought about asking my grandmother to cook a special meal for the friend she didn’t approve of but shrugged my shoulders as if August could see my reaction. “Yeah, that would be great, I’d love to hear it. I’ll ask my grandmother, but she might be at one of her mahjong games.” And if she wasn’t, I’d be pushing her out the door because there was no way in hell I was going to ask her to make a special dinner for August after she just voiced her opinion so clearly. It would be disrespectful.
“Awesome, see you soon Rosebud.” I cringed as I said goodbye. It was bad enough being called ‘Rosie’ by almost everyone who didn’t know me. August’s occasional nickname used to sound cute for the first few years when we were younger. But those years had come and gone. I couldn’t recall how many times I told him to stop, but he never listened. At least he saved the more embarrassing nicknames for phone calls or whenever we managed to be alone. I wondered if that was because it would make us seem more like a couple— the very thing he tried to avoid when he refused to lend me a jacket and stood me up for people he thought were better than me.