Chapter 9 Luke
Luke
My heart squeezes tightly. One or more chambers appear to be seriously malfunctioning.
A cold sense of dread flows through my veins and settles in my extremities.
Izzy gets to her feet and shrugs her shirt off, easing it slowly down one shoulder and then the other.
She lets it flap in the breeze for a moment and then drops it onto the sand.
She tugs at her headband and shakes her hair loose.
Her neck arches back gracefully and her hips start moving in time with the music playing from Gould’s tinny phone speaker.
Jessie watches her with an intensity that feels heavy and dark.
“Turn the volume down,” I hiss at Gould.
Being Gould, he turns it up.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, have I just spent the entire day talking the hottest girl I know up to the guy I want for myself?
Who the hell does that?
I feel sick. I look at Izzy again, critically this time, hoping against hope she’s not as gorgeous as I’ve always thought she is.
Her hair whips around her face, dark lashes against alabaster.
Long arms and legs sway to the music. I notice she’s not wearing a bra.
I usually don’t notice things like that, as I’m immune to boobs, but I remember that Gould, who is far from immune, sometimes makes comments about her ‘perfect tits’.
Christ above.
It’s official. Isabel Bradford is the hottest girl I’ve seen in real life.
I fight the urge to clamp my hand to my mouth.
I sit as still as I can. I watch in horror as she leans down and whispers something to Jessie who’s still sitting on one of those stupid chairs Gould brought.
He glances over at Chase and then gives Izzy the worst smile I’ve seen.
All it is is a slight twist of one side of his mouth.
His eyes dance as he nods, and he looks up at her like they’re sharing a secret.
As I watch them I realize Izzy is basically the female version of him.
She’s unmanageable and wild just like him.
She even looks like him, for Christ’s sake.
Dark hair, piercing pale eyes, impeccable bone structure and an excess of devil-may-care attitude.
I know for a fact I read somewhere once that the number one quality people look for in a romantic partner is familiarity.
I can’t remember where I read it, but I know I did.
Familiarity.
How gross is that?
What’s wrong with people?
“Wanna go for a swim?” says Gould.
“No.”
“I’ll come,” says Chase. He’s up on his feet right away which is odd as he seems more morose than usual.
If I wasn’t currently watching my own personal nightmare coming to life in slow motion, I might be inclined to feel a little concerned about him.
Things being what they are, I decide to check up on him in the morning.
“Jessie,” I say a little louder than necessary, “we need to go. I just got a message from my mom. Your dad wants you home.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Dunno, but it sounded important so we better get going. Iz, do you mind asking Chase to take my stuff home when you guys are done? He can bring it round when he comes over tomorrow.”
“Sure. Hope everything’s okay. It was nice to meet you, Jess.”
I love Izzy. She’s been one of my best friends since the eighth grade, but if she keeps calling Jessie Jess, I have a feeling we’re going to fall out.
“You too.”
He doesn’t look back as he follows me. He’s too busy checking his phone to see if he has a message from Greg. We’re well out of earshot by the time he starts talking.
“Did your mom say what was wrong? I don’t have any messages from my dad. Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” I snap.
“Is it my mom?” His eyes flash and his voice is suddenly breathless with fear.
“Nothing’s wrong. I didn’t get a message, I just wanted to go.”
“What?”
I give him a pointed, unapologetic shrug.
“Wait, did you just lie to me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I spin round to face him. Confusion is etched around his eyes.
“I don’t want you talking to Izzy like that, that’s why.”
Confusion rapidly tightens into rage. “I’m not sure that’s up to you, Luke.”
“Yes, it is.”
“How’d you figure?” His voice is like ice and if he was a cartoon character there would be heat waves vibrating around his head.
It takes a hell of a lot to anger me. It really does, but I haven’t slept well in days, I’m barely eating four meals per day, and I haven’t been able to think straight since the second he walked into our house two weeks ago.
My heart is thumping and blood is rushing around my head so hard I swear I can hear it.
Feels like I’m all set to have one of my twice per decade meltdowns.
“How’d I figure? I’ll tell you how I figure. I know my value, that’s how. And you’re not going to talk to her like that,” I point furiously back to where we’ve just been, “and talk to me the way you talk to me through the wall.”
His mouth gapes open and he blinks several times.
I wait for him to say something, but his eyes have gone dull and the conversation has ground to a dead halt.
I turn back around and head to the car, leaving him with no choice but to follow.
When we get to the car, I take my time turning the music down and making sure the air vents are pointed exactly how I like them before I start driving.
I’m buying time to cool down and get my heart rate down to normal, or to give Jessie another opportunity to talk, I’m not completely sure which.
Neither of us say a word the whole way home, nor do we utter a sound when we get to the guest house. He showers first and takes his goddamn time about it. When I finally get into bed I put my AirPods in and listen to white noise until I fall asleep.
He’s up before me. I find him in the kitchen, desperately punching buttons on the coffee machine.
I fully intend to continue the treatment I gave him last night, but he’s wearing checked pajama pants with a white tank that’s stretched out at the hem and he’s slept a crease into his left arm.
I force my eyes up to his face, not allowing myself to pause to see if I can see his piercings through his top.
My gaze lands on his jugular. I see it pulsing once, then twice.
His hair is a mess and his eyes are bleary.
I bet if I put my lips against the skin on his neck he’d still feel warm from sleep.
His face doesn’t change when he sees me.
It’s completely neutral. There’s no hint of emotion.
I give him a tentative smile because that’s how I’m made.
I can’t help it and even if I could, I don’t think I’d want to.
His face stays neutral, but the deepest, darkest shadows in his eyes flicker briefly.
It’s not much. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it.
I do, and it’s enough for me to abandon my anger and lapse back into a state that can best be described as simping – my default setting when it comes to Jessie Lewis, it seems.
The rest of the day drags by. I find it physically painful to pretend things are normal between us.
I feel like I’m playing a part; Luke Bennet, happy-go-lucky small-town boy who loves his mom and thinks people are inherently good.
Even though I have years of experience living this very role, it feels foreign to me now.
I’m clutching at straws, constantly trying to think what my normal reactions and responses would be.
I try to keep talking to Jessie, asking him questions and telling him about this and that.
He suffers through it like always, trying not to roll his eyes.
I can’t tell if he notices that I’m off, or if he thinks everything’s A-okay.
It's a relief when the weekend ends. I find myself looking forward to my mom and Greg going to work on Monday, which isn’t like me.
My mom felt my forehead twice yesterday and I can feel a trip to the GP coming my way if I don’t snap out of it soon.
The second they leave, the place feels echoey and too quiet.
The careful dance Jessie and I have been doing around each other changes from feeling fake to fraught.
It’s awful. It feels worse than it felt when my parents were around.
I drag him out for a run. We swim. Chase drops in with the things I left at the beach.
Dinner with my parents is hellish. I’m exhausted from impersonating myself.
I leave the table first, heading to the guest house and throwing myself onto the sofa.
He follows not long after. He calls his mom and they talk for a while and then he joins me on the sofa, wordless like always.