Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FIONA
“Such a handsome boy,” I coo at Captain Jack as I finish pouring his feed. He struts over to the little bowl and pecks at it happily. I have to admit that B set up a pretty cute little cozy nest for him.
I leave the shed, wiping my hands on my pants and walk back toward the cabin when something silver on the ground catches my eye—a gum wrapper. I stare it at, my stomach turning and glance around.
Nothing in the forest moves.
I pick it up, and the smell of cinnamon makes my mouth water. Dennis used to chew cinnamon gum. I gag, ball it up, and toss it into the fire pit. I hate that something so small is so triggering. It’s like the bastard is always following me. Haunting me.
I shudder, walk inside, and remove my coat and shoes.
The guys are still in the kitchen talking quietly.
I take a seat at the counter to finish my food, but my appetite is gone.
I push away the barely eaten sandwich, and Seb frowns.
B looks at me hopefully, and I nod. He grabs it, takes a huge bite, and finishes it off quickly.
Seb shakes his head, stacks our plates, and takes them to the sink. He starts to warm water, but B stops him with a gentle hand on his forearm.
“We’ll do that. You cooked.”
Seb’s eyes soften, and he acquiesces, stepping back and handing B the dish towel. My heart flutters at their interaction.
Seb wanders over to his laptop and sits down with an audible sigh.
I roll up my sleeves and start washing plates while B dries them.
Seb’s clacking keyboard is the only sound for a while, and my intrusive thoughts about my psycho stepdad start bouncing around in my head again, making my heart race erratically.
He’s coming. He’ll always find you.
His heavy footfalls. The smell of old food in his mustache. His bony fingers gripping my skin. The drawl of his accent.
Fuck. Stop thinking about him.
B looks at my shaking hands, which have been scrubbing the same spot on the last plate incessantly.
His fingers graze my hip as he walks toward the tape deck and punches the Play button.
He gives me a lopsided grin and turns the volume knob.
Brantley was over the moon when we found the soundtrack from Romeo + Juliet earlier this week, so I’m not surprised when Garbage’s “#1 Crush” sounds over the staticky speaker, filling the space with a gritty riff.
My thoughts snap back to the present and I breathe out a shaky sigh of relief.
I place the last plate on the counter, turning to face B as he waltzes toward me and grabs my hand, spinning me into his chest. His hips sway seductively as he grinds into my lower back, and it reminds me of college when dirty dancing at parties was a form of foreplay.
I giggle and melt into him, matching his rhythm. The distraction feels good. B guides my body in a circle until we’re facing Seb. He’s leaning back in his chair with his legs thrown wide as he watches us with hooded eyes, his work clearly forgotten.
I give him a sly smirk and hold out my hand.
Seb shakes his head. “I’m not really a dancer.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself.”
One of B’s hands skates down my side, grazing the curve of my breast. I shiver, running my hands through my hair, which is starting to stick to my neck as sweat erupts all over my skin.
I turn in Brantley’s arms, my taut nipples grazing the planes of his chest through the thin cotton of our shirts. I twist my hips, my core pressing into B’s quickly hardening erection, and he groans, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Jesus, this is hot. It’s so intense—like the old days, before…
As the song fades, it’s like a bubble bursts. We stop, panting heavily, our eyes dilated as we stare at each other.
“Sorry,” Brantley says with an easy smile. “I was just trying to distract you.”
“It worked,” I croak. “I need some water.” I stumble away from B, grab a cup, fill it, and chug down the cool liquid. B stops the tape, and in the awkward silence, my swallowing sounds so loud.
Seb clears his throat, and I catch him adjusting himself under the table. “What was the book from earlier? I could hear you reading it through the door.” I feel like he’s trying to break the tension. “It was a good distraction. For me, at least.”
“The Sword of Shannara.” B walks over to the bathroom door where the book still sits with our bowl of discarded cereal and picks it up.
I’m a few more chapters in, sitting next to B on the soft shag carpet in front of the fireplace with our backs to one of the love seats.
Seb is lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, his arm bent behind his head and his legs thrown across our laps.
Every so often, his soft wool socks graze the underside of my tricep.
When B starts rubbing his foot with mine, I slam the book shut.
I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my hormones, which are already on high alert, thanks to B’s impromptu dance party earlier. I take a sip of my tea.
For a moment, all I hear is the fire crackling mingling with a lazy Counting Crows tune.
Seb lifts his head. “Why did you stop?”
I purse my lips and finally just say it because holding back is not my style. “You guys are driving me fucking crazy. The way you both keep touching me.” I set the book down next to Seb’s leg and look between them. “I’m so horny I could scream. Are you guys trying to edge me?”
Seb pushes himself up to sit next to me. B doesn’t say a word. He’s busy playing with a fidget spinner that makes a soft whirring noise.
“Can you please stop playing with that fucking thing?” Seb demands.
B looks up in surprise. “Sorry, I forget that I’m doing it.”
“Can’t you ever sit still?”
“Undiagnosed ADHD, remember? So nope.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Seb mutters, and B sticks out his tongue.
“Look,” I cut in, nerves kicking up the acid in my stomach, “the chemistry between us is just unbearable, no matter what we seem to do. So can we just talk? Please? Get everything out in the open?”
The guys avoid my gaze.
“This whole sharing thing was Michaels’s idea, so make him go first,” Seb says petulantly, picking at a loose thread on his jeans.
B narrows his eyes. “I only suggested it because you freaked out this morning.”
Seb leans across my lap, putting himself practically nose to nose with Brantley. “We pretty much had a threesome. Did you expect me to just act like everything is normal?” He air quotes the word normal. “Because it’s not, okay? Nothing about us is normal.”
“You, of all people, should get it,” B snarls.
“Why? Because of my stepsister? Lincoln and Trey are best friends. It makes sense for them. You and I? We’re not even close.”
B flinches, hurt registering on his face.
“Jesus, guys, get a room,” I growl, and they turn to look at me in confusion, clearly oblivious to the sexual tension radiating between them.
Or maybe it’s just me. I press my hands to their chests, forcing them apart.
Then, I give Sebastian a pointed look. “Sebastian, that was too mean.” Seb looks the other way with a childish huff.
“B, you want this to work; I know you do.” Seb stiffens next to me.
“So please try not to take Seb so seriously. He gets defensive when he’s uncomfortable. ”
There’s a break in the music, and all I hear is the the old grandfather wall clock ticking purposefully until B finally clears his throat. “I…I don’t know where to start.” He scoots back so that he can face us, then pulls his legs to his chest.
A chill sweeps through my body.
He looks like he did the night we broke up: eyes dark and swimming with guilt and indecision. And not for the first time, I wonder if I should have let him back in so easily. But did I? This isn’t a relationship, right? Giving each other pleasure for comfort is hardly forgiveness.
My mouth thins as I watch him expectantly.
“I told you,” B says. “My dad controlled everything. He has since I was a kid, and I didn’t know how to stand up to him.
I was terrified of letting him down, and I let it ruin everything.
” He drops the fidget spinner as his hands start to shake.
“Around him, I felt like this helpless little kid. I don’t know how to explain it, but he had so much power over me.
It was like I was brainwashed, and I just—” B’s voice cracks, and Seb shifts uncomfortably at my side. “I just wanted him to love me.”
I shake my head. “You could have told me, Brantley.” My heart stutters with that familiar ache.
The same ache I’ve tried to suppress for years.
“We could have helped each other. It’s not like I don’t know what it’s like to have a manipulative parent.
” My voice comes out a pleading whisper, and Brantley hangs his head, his shoulders slumping forward.
“You think I didn’t want to? I struggled to keep everything separate because what we had—you—changed my perspective on everything.”
There’s a roaring in my ears, and I look away because all I can feel is my heart shattering all over again, splintering and breaking apart as I relive that moment.
Three years ago, Whitmore University
I walk into B’s dorm building, waving at a few hockey guys I recognize lounging in the common area as I approach the elevator.
Being that all the athletes are housed here, the faint smell of sports gear and sweat always lingers in the air, and I wrinkle my nose as I enter the elevator and ride it up to the fifth floor.
I walk down the hallway, stepping around beer cans and empty liquor bottles.
It isn’t always like this, but it’s the end of the year, and this school is full of rich kids who love to do whatever the fuck they want.
Case in point, I pass a dorm room with the door wide open.
Inside are two guys railing each other while a pair of girls watch.
I shake my head and continue to B’s suite at the end of the hall.