54. Dollie—present day #2
Shrugging, Ambrose fails to give me an answer.
It should have been expected. I am asking the wrong man, after all.
Pushing myself up, Bubbles stands with me and taps her way to the door before I move.
I can’t move.
Lowering my gaze, I stare down at our joined hands and Ambrose staring up at me. My eyes flick between the two, taking in the melancholy look embedded in all of his features.
What would he look like without all that paint?
Devastating.
He’d look devastating. In that baby pink hoodie he’s wearing.
God…
The image fills my head, washing away the diamond eyes, red lips, and the ghostly complexion that hides his golden skin tone. I picture him with a smile that isn’t made any less perfect by a missing premolar.
The more time we spend staring at each other, the more I think he doesn’t wear any of that makeup to frighten me, but more so, to face his own demons.
A soft thumb brushes over my hand, calling my attention down. My chest rises and falls, each breath so hard and deep that he must think I’m close to hyperventilating, and that’s why he’s trying to comfort me.
Our scars do that, somehow, lining up so perfectly, they no longer seem like a flaw.
His thumb slows down before ceasing to move on my skin.
God, why did he stop.
His other hand points to a word in the book when I gaze at him. I sink down to get a better look, my sad eyes making it difficult to see from this height.
My favorite seat takes my weight again.
“You.” His finger moves to another word. “Are.” Then another. “Beautiful,” I read them aloud.
A blush heats my cheeks, and his fingers stop me from looking away from him.
“You didn’t see the other girls.”
Side to side, his head shakes again—a smile forms, just wide enough for me to see a hint of missing teeth.
I see you, he signs.
Taking my hands to his lips, he places the softest kiss on my knuckles.
A million memories I’m trying to suppress come flooding into my mind, and I feel phantasmic platonic touches that I’d hoped would one day be more.
Kisses on my forehead that made my insides squeal with excitement, because one day, he might kiss my lips.
My ears ring out with the flutter of pages from every book, including the one he holds now, that he used to tell me I’m beautiful.
And my heart races.
Snapping my eyes shut, I edge forward. My free hand lands on his face, brushing gently over the scars, over the paint.
Opening my eyes, I’m closer to him. My head tilts as I stare up. The clown makeup doesn’t seem scary—just beautiful.
But only on him would clown makeup be beautiful.
My lips part slightly as we share breathing space.
That long-awaited kiss feels too close. His lips land on mine, and just as I’m about to fall into him, the door handle turns, and I jump back. My eyes immediately flick in that direction as Bubbles rushes out around Shane, who stands with an accusatory look.
Squinted eyes stare back as his name barges out of my mouth, “Shane.”
The heavy judgment of all the house’s previous occupants weighs down on me as I try to stand. My legs shake, and I can’t be sure of the reason.
“Can I have a word?”
“Sure.” I nod. Twisting to Ambrose, I add, “Enjoy your book.”
I continue to the kitchen, the long walk through the reading room lets me clear my senses.
What was I thinking?
Low moods and too many memories had gotten the best of me.
“What’s up?” I ask as I unlock the back door for Bubbles.
“What were you doing with him?”
“I didn’t know he was in there. He showed me passages from his book. It was my favorite growing up.” I potter around the kitchen, pulling out a cup and filling it with water.
Nerves bring a smile to my lips as I wonder how much Shane saw.
“You looked close?”
“We’re trying not to be enemies,” I say, leaning back against the counter, cup in hand. I shake as I take a sip, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“Really? You do remember he killed your parents, right?”
“Why do you always go back to that?” I place the cup on the tabletop and check it for cracks when I realize I slammed it down.
“Because it’s like you’ve fucking forgotten.”
No, I just block it out.
I take a breath, it’s deep and just as jittery as my movements. “He did his time.”
“And now, he’s out, but they’re still gone forever.”
“Because of Colin Bannadosi.”
“Because your brother took a knife from this kitchen and dragged it across their throats and stomachs.” Shane steps up to me, his body wedging mine to the counter.
Stretching around me, he pulls two knives from the stand that holds them. He chips the pink color I’d recently painted it with his careless movements.
“Which of these knives would you rather be stabbed with?”
My terrified reflection stares at me in the shiny blades. My bulging eyes catch my attention before my gaping mouth.
“Can’t choose, can you?” Shane tosses both knives into the kitchen sink, clattering against the dishes already in there, waiting to be washed. “Well, if you keep hanging around with him, you won’t have to choose anything, and yet, you don’t want to be his enemy.”
Shane leaves me, moving to the refrigerator to get a snack, like he didn’t just terrify me in the middle of the day.
He bites into a chocolate bar on the other side of the room.
“Has your opinion changed?” he asks, his mouth full and crumbs dropping to the floor.
Taking a dustpan and broom from a hook near the back door, I sweep them away, not wanting Bubbles to eat anything that might harm her.
“He had a psychotic break. I’ve told you before, I don’t blame him for their deaths,” I tell him, still down on the floor sweeping dust from around his trainers because I know it’ll bother Ambrose if he sees it.
“How do you know he had a psychotic break? You didn’t wanna go to his trial.”
“It was in every single newspaper, Shane. I didn’t need to go to his trial.”
“But you couldn’t anyway, right?”
No , I shake my head.
“Why?”
Standing, I take the dirt to the trash can and rehang the pan and broom. Looking out at Bubbles and away from Shane, I answer, “I didn’t wanna see the last of my family get taken from me.”
“And now you get to live happily ever after together.”
“I just think it’s better if we aren’t at each other’s throats.”
“Forgive me, Lancie.” Shane steps up to me, his fingers around my biceps. It’s hard to stop my skin from crawling, and that’s probably down to his nickname for me. “This all just seems odd to me. I mean, while in prison, he wanted to slit your throat just for keeping in contact.”
Turning to face Shane, I keep my eyes low, but I straighten my spine to talk. “That was early into his sentence. Annabelle thinks?—”
“Don’t risk your life based on what Annabelle thinks. She doesn’t really know him. No one ever knows people like him.”
I know him.
“I just don’t want you getting hurt. I don’t want him pretending to be a friend—a brother—and that costing you your life.”
Shane’s words sink into my head, and I find myself nodding.
“I have therapy soon. So, I’d best get moving. Try to keep some space between you two, please? For me?”
He takes a step away from me, giving me the space to form some courage and answer him.
“I don’t think he’ll hurt me. I don’t know what they were, but he must have had his reasons for doing the things he has.”
“Or he’s just manipulative and evil, and you don’t see it, but I hope you’re right. For your sake.”
“I am.”
Shane nods, reluctantly. “Regardless, will you keep your distance? Given the rumors, I find you two hanging around together a little disrespectful.”
“He’s my brother, Shane. Nothing like what you’re thinking has ever happened.”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean he never wanted it to. I don’t trust him,” says the man who just held knives to my face. He steps back up to me and asks for a kiss on his chocolate-covered lips.
I give him my cheek, and his stubble stabs me, reminding me again of those blades.
“You gonna be okay here?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. I finished off the skirting boards. You don’t have any money left over, right? We need more paint for upstairs.”
“I have another job this weekend. I can get some then.”
“Okay, great. We’ll start upstairs this Sunday. Hopefully, I won’t be too hungover after drinks at Liam’s.”
“Hopefully, not.”
“Your room isn’t too bad, but I bet your parents’ room needs lot of work. Your mother had an acquired taste. Best to start as soon as we can.”
He places another kiss.
The pain I feel is unbearable and has nothing to do with his whiskers.
I’m not ready to go into my parents’ room.
To get rid of their stuff.