My Rose

9. Rose

Chapter 9

Rose

“A sure friend is known in unsure circumstances.” ― Quintus Ennius

W armth evaded my body. The huge bonfire in front of me, along with August’s arm around my shoulder, should have kept me warm. He’d even lent me a jacket this time. I shrugged deeper into it, trying to get warm and missing the smell of citrus as the scent of cigarettes filled my throat in all the wrong ways .

August’s finger tapped my shoulder. “Thanks for coming, Ro. I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah. Same.” I fought the urge to lace my words with all the sarcasm possible because August was finally holding me in a way that others might assume we were something more. I reached up to hook my finger on his…and felt nothing—no warmth, no heat between my thighs. Even my chest felt cold, and I felt awkward and more out of place than I usually did around him and at these stupid parties I kept going to.

“Are you okay? You’ve been acting weird lately and barely talk to me.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I—” I shouldn’t have felt the need to apologize for something that wasn’t even my fault. Didn’t I try to see him and he turned me down?

“You…what?” His finger squeezed mine as I remained silent, holding back on what I really wanted to say. It wouldn’t do me any good, anyway. “I guess some alone time is good for us both, Rosie. Really, don’t feel so bad. It’s made me realize a few—” One of August’s friends ran up and ended whatever nonsense was going to spew from his mouth this time. He removed his arm immediately and reached for his guitar, not that the bonfire party around us needed any more noise added to the mix. When had I started disliking hearing him play?

The strings rang out, cutting through the conversation of the people around us, and I hid the cringe, the recoiling of my shoulders as he started to sing along. His voice was normally soothing, metaphorically melting my panties from my body at times. But beyond not liking his voice, I was perfectly fine with how our conversation had ended. I stood up, searching for one of the coolers his friends brought along, needing more beer before listening to his lack of musical talent. The bottle of whiskey I pulled from the cooler had a quarter left, the warm amber color reflecting the firelight behind me.

Fuck the beer .

I needed something to take my mind off whatever had just happened between us, the strings blaring in my ears, and that voice—what the hell was he even singing about? The whiskey bottle was emptied faster than I could find my spot on the log again. The second my ass hit the wood, a jaw-dropping redhead with the most perfect shape under her tight jeans and coat came rushing by. Clarissa jumped into August’s lap, effectively kicking the bottle away from my mouth as I scavenged for the remaining drops at the bottom.

Bitch.

I was more jealous of the dirt as the last few drops of whiskey fell to the ground than I was of the girl sitting next to me. She may have been beautiful, but August wouldn’t last long with her. He moved on too quickly.

But then another thought struck me. I set the bottle down and my eyes trailed beyond the trees and a roaring fire that still made me anxious if I stared at it too long. A set of headlights beamed in the distance, where a shadowy, broad figure stood. I was probably smiling more than I should have been, but no one was paying any attention to me. No one besides the babysitter standing over by his car, whose gaze was unmistakably set on me .

Just. Me.

I pulled another bottle from the cooler, this one at least half-full of whiskey, and made my way casually toward Briggs, who didn’t appear to have any intention of joining the bonfire party. I couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t like August’s voice was going to pull him in to join the rest of us. Well, the rest of them. Even with the time August spent focusing on me, I still didn’t feel like I should’ve been there.

“Hey.” I stepped closer to him until I could see the fire dancing at the edges of his green eyes. “You want some?” I lifted the bottle toward him, a smile still stuck to my face as I took another step closer.

“Don’t do that.” I winced back, liquor sloshing in the bottle. I was a bit unsteady on my feet, the whiskey quickly warming its way through my limbs. Or maybe that was Briggs. It couldn’t be him. I don’t know him enough to feel—

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“Do, what, exactly?” I folded my arms and a whiff of lingering cigarette smoke along the cotton jacket made me choke on my breath.

“You hide your teeth when you smile. You shouldn’t.” Oh?

“And why shouldn’t I?” I took another step, now understanding he wasn’t denying drinking with me or getting physically close to him. He took the bottle and downed a few long sips as if he needed the liquid encouragement. Or he was thirsty, and not in the way my mind jumped to back at Jim’s store.

His eyes drank me in slowly behind the bottle until he ripped it from his mouth and pushed it into my jacket, his knuckle grazing down one of the strings as his fingers lingered right above my chest. His eyes narrowed as I wrapped my fingers around the glass. When I looked up at him, his features had turned hard. “Whose jacket are you wearing?”

“Why are you answering my question with a question?”

“Whose jacket is that?” His authoritative tone made its way back at full force. It wasn’t a question this time. “Rose.”

I sighed audibly. “August’s. Why can’t I hide my—” I hadn’t even noticed that’s what I was doing, but I was admitting the fault of the gesture by asking him why I couldn’t. Was I hiding the gap in my teeth? Was it that obvious, like watching August the other night had been? Maybe I wasn’t the best at hiding things. Not from Briggs, at least.

“Your teeth. They’re perfect. But every time you smile, you pull your lips d—”

I was smiling again, and hadn’t noticed I pushed my lips closed over my teeth until they were fully hidden, making my smile flat. He groaned deeply, then yanked the bottle from my hands again and took another few sips. He thought my smile was…perfect? He did say perfect, right?

The idea sent a flutter throughout my stomach like something I hadn’t felt since I first laid eyes on August. Because before August even spoke to me, I’d been smitten. Maybe that was wrong of me, falling for someone based on their image alone. But ever since I’d gotten to know him, those flutters had lessened to next to nothing. I’d forgotten how intense that feeling could be.

Until now .

He walked around to the back of his car, popped the trunk open, and took out a duffle bag. “Put this on, and give me that one.” Another jacket? Seriously?

“This one is fi—”

“That’s a lie. You keep wrinkling your nose up every time you move. I can smell the smoke from here, Rose, and it isn’t the kind that’s from being near a bonfire.” He was maybe a foot away from me, holding out yet another jacket that smelled exactly like his other one. Suspicion spread over my face, but I did as he said and took the jacket off, passing it to him as I accepted the one he held out for me.

He examined me when I finished zipping it up. “Better,” he said as he tossed the other jacket behind him, leaving it in the dirt.

“Someone is going to run over that, maybe I should go back and give it to him?”

“If that someone is me, then, yes. I planned on it.” He hated August. I saw it in the way they played pool together the other night, and I saw it now. Whatever their history was, it wasn’t good. It also wasn’t the type of thing I wanted to pry into…yet. I was still trying to wrap my head around Briggs being a newsworthy heir to a billion-dollar business.

“So you don’t want to go up to the bonfire, then?” I asked, angling my head back to the fire while keeping my eyes on him.

“Do you?” I bit down on my lip, contemplating. Did I want August to see me in Briggs’ jacket? Did I want him to ask where his other one was? Would he even notice I’d left at this point?

I turned and looked back at them—the several dozens of people all drinking around a fire. It was stifling up close—the ash, the smoke, the fire itself. I didn’t notice how overwhelming it all was until I stood back away from it. Even the alcohol couldn’t suppress my fear of fire, and as two guys tossed more debris into the flames, I couldn’t hide the wince or the shudder that rolled through me. I didn’t notice I’d physically recoiled back until my ass hit Briggs’ thigh.

His voice lowered. “That’s a no. Let’s get out of here.”

I peered at him just over my shoulder. “You really are the worst babysitter, aren’t you?”

“Honestly, Rose. Do you think she needs any more attention on her right now?” As if on cue, Clarissa burst into laughter, her arms wrapping around August’s arm as he continued playing. She didn’t really look taken by him. If anything, she looked like she was just here for fun, which was possibly the brunt of her entire personality—all fun and games. Briggs didn’t look like the games type. Perhaps their relationship was purely an obligation. An obligation he didn’t seem to want to act on at that moment. No, in that moment—the only obligation, the only person he seemed to show any interest in—was me.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to watch me, either. I’m a big girl.” I hadn’t realized I was still pressed to his thigh until his warm breath rolled over my neck, his head cocked down at me. He let out a chuckle full of mischief as I turned and stepped backward. Two full, broad steps away.

“You are, huh?” He looked amused, his thumb rubbing along his bottom lip, his heated gaze never leaving my body.

“Yes. I am. ”

He leaned back along the hood of his car, his leg crossing over the other. “I’m not going to point out all the ways I’ve helped you recently. But that isn’t why I was suggesting we leave.”

“You’re starting to sound more like my babysitter. And I never asked to be watched over.”

He shrugged. “I never said I wanted to be your babysitter.”

I rubbed my sweating palms along my jeans, ignoring the intense shiver that rolled down my spine. “I don’t need your eyes on me to feel safe. I can take care of myself.”

I was starting to come off as a brat a lot more than I intended to, and even as I said what I did, I knew I shouldn’t have. His eyes being on me had made me feel rather safe lately. Admittedly, the day I awkwardly hugged him in the graveyard had changed something in me. Perhaps it was a coincidence, but it was the first night in years that I didn’t dream of flames engulfing my body, of my parents yelling my name, of them telling me to run.

I looked back up at him from where my eyes had fallen to my sneakers again. Instead of an empty void, he was still standing there. The hard lines of his jaw softened along with his posture up against his car. His voice was deeper like the set of his gaze on me as he said, “My eyes being on you isn’t a need for me, Rose. It’s a want.”

All words abandoned me as we walked through the woods. His idea of leaving the party wasn’t where I pictured he meant, but I was kind of happy it was where we’d ended up.

The bottle was emptying quickly between the two of us in mostly silence, and when I giggled and took off my shoes right when the snow started to fall, I think we both knew I had reached a certain limit.

“You should take your shoes off! The snow feels great!”

“It just started snowing, Rose. Your feet are submerged in dirt.” He pointed at the ground.

I blew a raspberry at him as I skipped ahead, the bottle clinking against the zipper of the jacket he made me put on. I slowed and wrapped my arms around myself, smiling as I took in a loud whiff along the sleeves. He definitely saw that. I was too drunk for this, but the citrus smell, goddamn—it was too good to resist. It paired so well with the whiskey.

“Maybe I should take you home.” His tone was all boss and no play. No fun. Not like the cocky grin that spread across his face making his dimple pop as I took another deep inhale against his jacket.

“What scent is this? Seriously? Like, really, Briggs. Do you shower with oranges?” I was spinning with my arms wide under a parting of trees where the snow was falling more heavily—a bottle of mostly gone whiskey in one hand and my shoes in the other. Maybe the ground didn’t have snow on it to warrant taking my shoes off, but it was so freeing.

Until I tripped backward .

Everything happened in slow motion, and I fully blamed the liquor. Possibly aloud. All I knew was that one minute I was spinning and the next I heard a smash and crackling sound as I met the ground. Briggs was over me in seconds, lifting my head, then my arms, and when his hand slid in the space between my back and the ground I jolted up, sending my forehead smack into his chest. Which was hard. And warm. And making my hands stay on the ground became too hard—

“Rose.” He groaned, the sound so unlike the one that came from him before when I was taunting him in his car. My drunken thighs quaked, my eyes falling slowly to where my hands were pressed flat on his chest.

I blinked a few times at my fingers. “Rose, are you hurt? Damnit.” I finally fully registered the sounds of crackling glass and looked beside me at the bottle, shards scattered like the snow around me. I’d fallen on flat dirt, or most of me had. My hand with the bottle in it had managed to find the one raised root of a tree, and just like that, the whiskey was gone. Along with most of my inhibitions because I didn’t pull my hands from Briggs’ chest.

He brushed away some of my hair that had fallen over my nose and our eyes locked briefly before I ripped mine away. “I’m okay, Briggs.” If it weren’t for the parting in the trees, there would be no way to see him. It was too dark and we were too far from the light of the bonfire. Yet, the moonlight that broke through the trees found him, just like my hands had.

“I’m okay,” I repeated, waiting for his hand to drop .

His arm around my waist shifted, drawing me closer to him. “You’re so different than I expected.”

I flexed my fingers out, my attention falling back to him. “W-what?”

“Nothing.” His careful thumb rubbed along my cheek and I heard him curse under his breath. “You’re bleeding.”

A glimmer of blood along his palm flashed through my haze as he pulled away. “Me? What about you?” Sure, I was inebriated and it was dark, but the amount of blood in his palm illuminated by the silvery halo of light above him was clear as day—red mixed with a thin patch of white as it dripped to the ground, spreading like ink on paper.

“It’s just a scratch.” He looked me over completely once more, and when he was certain I was fine besides whatever mark I had on my cheek, he took my hands with one of his and helped me up.

I looked down at the blood dripping onto the snow, drawing his gaze there with mine. “That’s more than a scratch.”

“It’s nothing.” He put his shoe over the red-stained ground. “I’m more concerned about you.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

His fist tightened at his side. “Let me carry you back to my car.”

I stared back at him incredulously as I found my shoes and slipped them back on. “You’re more hurt than I am, are you serious?”

“So you admit it—you’re hurt.” He smirked, then jerked his head. “You either let me carry you, or you scream at me while I’m carrying you, anyway. ”

I gawked at him, my tipsy mind unsure if I heard him correctly. “You wouldn’t.”

His smirk twisted. “Oh, I would.”

I stood and crossed my arms over my chest. “I guess you’re going to have to—” I gasped as he scooped me up, bridal style. “Briggs!”

“I told you I would. And you lied. You’re clearly hurt.”

“I’m not the one dripping blood all over the place.” I pushed against his chest to get away. Briggs didn’t budge.

“It’s hardly anything,” he growled low, the sound vibrating along my side.

I rolled my eyes and surrendered. “Do you at least have bandages in your car?” I asked, fixating again on the blood coming from his hand as he walked, holding me like I weighed nothing. It was a long shot, but for some reason, I knew the answer was yes. He was the kind of person who would totally keep a First Aid Kit in his car.

“Yeah. I do.”

Knew it . In mostly silence, we made our way back to his car, where he set me down and then pulled out a kit from his trunk that had enough in it to suture someone up from several open wounds. I glanced past the trunk door at the bonfire in the distance, realizing no one had seen him carry me back here. Still, my body felt like I was on fire, and it wasn’t from embarrassment.

I adjusted my clothes. “You just take the E.R. with you, huh?”

“I box a lot.” Briggs started digging through his kit, squeezing his palm between searching for what he needed. He was too stubborn to ask for help, so I didn’t bother waiting for him to ask. I jutted my hip into his thigh, hoping it would edge him over, but he was every bit the immovable force that he appeared to be.

“Let me help you,” I ordered. He examined me, then stepped to the side, keeping his palm covered with his other hand. Blood was still dripping from it, but he seemed rather unaffected. If anything, it seemed more like a nuisance to him.

“Can you wrap it?” He glanced at the bag, then at me.

“ Pshh , can I wrap it. Men. “ I dug out a bandage, sterilized gauze, and the butterfly band-aids. When I pulled out the smaller bag to possibly suture his hand, he cleared his throat behind me.

“You won’t need that,” he said. “The wrap should be fine for now.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.” He didn’t question whether I was sober enough, but I wasn’t stumbling anymore, and my shoes were back on, tied laces and all. “How did you get cut?”

He leaned against his car beside me as I started opening the packets of gauze. “A shard of glass was next to you, and when you…jerked yourself up, I moved it away from you.” When I put my hands on his chest.

“Hmm. Well, thank you.” I held out my hand. “Ready?” He shuffled closer to me before giving me his hand. The cut was deep and it took several minutes of dabbing and pressing into it with the gauze before the blood relented enough to continue.

“Where did you learn to do this?” He motioned at the bag of sutures that I kept nearby because I was still torn between needing to use them or not .

“What, use a bandage and some gauze?” I laughed and his eyes narrowed on me.

“No, Rose. The sutures you’re thinking about using.”

I shrugged. “My grandfather works on cars a lot, and his hands aren’t always steady. He taught me how to treat his injuries because my grandmother hates the sight of blood, and my grandfather hates going to the doctor.” I started placing the butterflies along the cut, and he hissed through his teeth. There were surely more bottles of some kind of liquor back at the bonfire, something that would numb the pain he was finally showing signs of having.

I glanced over his shoulder. “If you want to go back, you can.” Briggs’ emerald eyes darkened under his furrowed brows, the light of the moon still pooling around him like it was aware my only interest was him. His hand rocked slightly against where my hand was cradling it when I didn’t reply right away.

“No, it's not that. I was just thinking—well…”

“What?” His voice was softer this time, less demanding.

“I was wondering if you’d want more liquor to distract you from…I might…”

“Rose. Tell me.” Even the way he said my name made tingles spread along my arms that effused sweet, tangy citrus. I swallowed as I remembered asking if he showered with oranges, and a heat spread across my cheeks at the thought of him in the shower. With oranges, of course.

“I might have to stitch you up next. Just like, one or two stitches, right—” I let my finger slide down next to the length of his cut, to the spot where it dipped between two of his fingers. “Here. ”

“Okay. Do it.”

I hesitated. “Seriously? You trust me?”

He looked me over. “You said you knew what you were doing.”

I straightened. “I do.”

Briggs’ rigid shoulders relaxed. “Then I don’t see what the problem is. And no, I don’t need the liquor. I’m a big boy,” he taunted, throwing my phrase back at me. But I wasn’t as focused on the taunt as much as I was on the words. I was just thinking of him in the shower, and hearing he was a big boy, well, it wasn’t exactly helping the situation.

I pushed the thoughts away—or tried to—as I got the needle ready. “You don’t need…umm…any distractions?”

“You’re starting to sound rather unsure of your talents,” he said pointedly.

“I’m not. But normally, this part kind of hurts.”

His eyes fell to my lips, then flashed just over my shoulder. “Well, you can talk to me, if you’d like.”

And because I suck at keeping my thoughts as just that, I said, “You’re pretty.” Right as the needle dipped into his flesh.

His body went rigid instead of flinching back. I looked him over, letting the needle sit still for a moment before I tugged it through. Still, no flinch. Not even a hint of pain.

“Pretty?” He smirked, the moonlight playing games with the shadows casting over his dimpled cheek. Pretty wasn’t the right word. But I settled on it and nodded. “There’s not a single pretty thing about me, Rose.” My name came out like a purr as it vibrated from his throat and I felt like a kitten wanton for pats along my back .

I shrugged as a faint, distant laugh erupted from the area where the bonfire was turning into a drunken dance party. But that was all too easily ignored. “From where I’m standing, you are.”

“We should move, then.” He started rising from his propped position against the opened trunk. I pushed him back down gently, placing my unencumbered hand over his chest while my other hand supported his hand, the needle still buried in his wound. He settled back against the car and I wedged myself between his spread legs, preventing him from trying to move again.

“I’m busy, and you shouldn’t be moving, no matter how beautiful you are.” I pulled the needle up, arching a brow at him while showing him just how busy I was.

“Don’t call me that.” His voice was husky and low and full of warning. I liked it.

“What, pretty? Or beautiful?” The needle sunk back in, completing the first stitch of several that were needed. I had to keep distracting him, or maybe I just wanted to do that for myself. Either way, I wasn’t done fixing his hand.

My eyes being on you isn’t a need for me, Rose. It’s a want.

“What about hot? Sexy?”

A noise came from low in his throat, and I didn’t think it was from the needle. “Especially not that.” It was almost more intoxicating to admit these things to him under the guise of alcohol and the need to distract him. The things I believed I felt for only one other person were muddling down like the faint snow that fell from the night sky above us as it hit the dirt and seeped further beneath the surface .

I frowned. “Why can’t I say that? Would something bad happen to me?” It was a silly question, one I already knew the answer to. But words were just that—words. I was keeping his mind from the needle and blood with whatever I could think of. When this was all done, I could play it off as doing just that. Right?

His eyes cut to me, sharper than the glass that had cut him. “I would never let anything bad happen to you.”

Briggs’ free hand moved to my cheek, his thumb grazing over the cut. Then it fell to the bag, where his hand sifted through without him tearing his eyes from mine. Because we were staring at each other now as I held the needle loosely where it pierced through his skin. He lifted a packet to his teeth, and in one quick motion, he ripped it open and took the alcohol wipe from inside. The empty packet fell away from his lips as he wiped my cheek with the swab. I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth, which I must’ve exposed fully because his smile grew wicked like he was pleased with himself over the demand he gave earlier and his admission that followed.

They’re perfect.

My eyes darted between his lips and the fallen empty packet. “So, if I said it again…”

His smile fell, but his thumb remained pressed to my cheek. “Rose.” His fingers cupped under my jaw and his thumb moved in slow circles along my cut. “Don’t.”

My eyes fell to his hand. “You’re.” Stitch. “Kind of.” Stitch. “Beautiful.” Stitch. I finished the last stitch and didn’t look up to see his reaction. I kept my thumb pressed into the finished suture, but when I bent over his leg for one more butterfly bandage for the rest of the cut that didn’t need stitches, I felt his fingers wrap around mine.