Chapter 18 #2
Oh my god, it’s like listening to Vinnie Jones in a Guy Ritchie movie. I’m going to be hearing the F word in my sleep at this rate. Although it might be a welcome change from the dreams I’ve been having lately.
Suddenly the crowd shifts, and I see who Benny is playing cards with.
My mother.
Of course, how could I be so stupid? I completely forgot she was staying here with Tristan and Danny while all that weird stuff was going on in her shop.
My heart starts to pound, my hands clenching unconsciously. Brandy and Ari are having a conversation which doesn’t seem to include me so I edge away, making sure to position myself where my mother can’t see me.
But I can see her.
Now that I have the chance, I study her face.
She looks a bit like Constance, the Crawshanks sister we’re descended from, although her expression has none of the steady calmness of Constance, from what I remember from my dreams. Vivienne’s face is harder, wary, like she expects the world to cheat her or take advantage.
When she looks at Benny, though, she gives him a smile, a genuine one, and the care she has for him softens her.
A small part of me yearns to talk to her, to ask why she didn’t want me, but a part of me just as equally doesn’t want to know.
Either way, this is not the time and place.
“Anyone for a game of Twister?” Ruby lifts a game box over her head and cackles loudly. She’ll probably take several people out with those sequinned epaulettes. The crowd shifts again, no doubt to get out of her way and avoid being volunteered for a possible chiropractic injury.
As the guests move, Vivienne looks my way. I turn away abruptly but collide with a solid chest.
“Fancy a go, Prickles?” A now familiar sexy northern accent says.
“What?” I squeak. When I look up, Sam nods in the direction of Ruby, who is now unfolding a giant plastic sheet decorated with multi-coloured spots.
I glare at Sam, not really sure why I’m irritated by him. Slipping past him, I head towards the kitchen and just avoid a collision with Maddie, Danny’s work partner. Opening the kitchen door, I stalk inside, aware that Sam is following me.
“Is that a no?” Sam asks. I can hear the grin in his voice.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I snap.
I sail into the room, vaguely aware that Chan, Dusty, Tristan, and Danny are in there, along with several other people, but I don’t stop to figure out who. I focus on the fridge.
“Oh, come on, Prickles.”
“No, absolutely not.” Scowling, I open the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
“Come on, you might like it,” Sam cajoles. At this point, I finally glance at him. He’s smiling so much that it crinkles the scar at the side of his face and reveals a dimple in his other cheek.
“I am not playing Twister…at all. But especially not in a room full of strangers.”
“I’ll bet I could bend you into some interesting positions.” Sam’s gaze does an appreciative slide over me, and I feel my body flush.
I roll my eyes, trying to project an air of nonchalance, but it feels like everyone is watching me.
My heart pounds and there’s a buzzing in my ears.
My chest feels too tight and I’m about ten seconds away from a really embarrassing panic attack in front of a flat full of mostly strangers at a party I didn’t want to attend.
I hurry out of the room and stop dead when I see Ruby has convinced my mother to join in her game. Vivienne’s quite happily flicking the spinner and calling out colours and body parts while swilling from a bottle of gin.
It only takes a second for my control to slip and everyone’s emotions to slam into me with all the force of a high-speed train.
The unopened water bottle falls from my hands and hits the carpet in front of me.
I press my hands to my ears for all the good it does me.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to block it all out, but it’s too much.
I suddenly feel gentle hands at my waist, and I can tell it’s Sam. The roar of emotion dulls to a muted thud, like someone closing a door.
And through it all, I hear his voice, low and comforting in my ear.
“I’ve got you, Prickles.”
He leads me out of the room and into the hallway, grabbing our jackets on the way. I don’t say a word as we enter the lift and head down to the ground level, then out into the blessedly fresh air.
We walk across the road to the small park opposite the block of flats. It’s evening now, but still light, and the park is empty. We sit side by side on the swings. After putting our jackets down on the ground, he hands me the bottle of water I dropped earlier.
“Thanks,” I croak. Twisting the lid off and breaking the seal with a quiet crack, I take a sip.
“Are you okay?” When I turn my head to look at him, it’s to find him watching me, his brow furrowed in concern. “Is it the headaches again?”
I shake my head.
“What’s wrong?” he asks softly. “Talk to me, Prickles.”
The crazy thing is, I want to tell him. It’s right there on the tip of my tongue.
I want so badly to have someone to talk to, someone to confide in.
Someone who isn’t either of my dads. I don’t know Tristan and the others well enough yet.
I don’t even know Sam all that well, but everything in my gut says to trust him.
I still can’t force the words past my lips. I can’t tell him about Vivienne being my mother, about my connection to the Whitechapel bookshop, to the Crawshanks family. I can’t tell him about the dreams.
But he did open himself up to me the other day in the backroom of my shop. He trusted me with something personal and painful. The least I can do is reciprocate, and there is one thing I can share.
I blow out a breath, staring out at the block of flats opposite us. “I was two years old when my dads began to realise I was different.”
I glance over to Sam, who is watching me intently, the swing he’s sitting on creaking slightly as he shifts more towards me.
“I don’t mean the magic. It took them a few more years to figure it out, they had to wait until I was more verbal, but eventually they realised I could feel the emotions of everyone around me. For a small child who’d not yet learned to manage his own thoughts and feelings, it was terrifying.”
“Jesus,” Sam mutters. “You’re an empath?”
I look at him in surprise, but then again, perhaps I shouldn’t. He already said the other day that he did a lot of research when he first started manifesting his abilities, so of course he’d know what an empath is.
“They moved out of the village and into a farmhouse with plenty of land around it to give me a safe space away from too many people. Gradually, through trial and error, they taught me how to control it, homeschooling me as we figured it all out. When I reached eleven, they thought I was ready to try school. They wanted me to make friends and have a little normalcy in a life that would be anything but, thanks to the things I can do.”
“Did it work?” Sam asks. “Did you go to school? Make friends?”
“I wouldn’t say I made friends. I had no experience relating to other kids. I excelled academically.”
“Of course you did.” Sam smiles.
I sigh. “I managed for a couple of years.”
“Then what happened?”
“Puberty.”
He winces.
“Not just mine, but every kid around me. Can you imagine being constantly bombarded with all those hormones and that teenage angst?”
“I’m trying really hard not to.” Sam grimaces. “Christ, that must’ve been–”
“Excruciating is the word,” I reply ruefully. “So there I was, back at home again, being homeschooled. My dads were great, and over the years, I’ve learned to block out a lot of it so I can at least function out in the world, but it’s left me socially inept and…” I glance away. “Prickly.”
He swears under his breath. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop calling you that. I shouldn’t have–”
“No.” I turn back to him, shaking my head. “Don’t. I know you don’t mean it in a derogatory way, and it makes me feel…I don’t know.” I shrug. “Included?”
“Harrison.” He cups my jaw with one hand.
“Don’t do that.” I frown. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not telling you this because I want pity. I just—I want you to understand why I’m the way I am, and you giving me a nickname and teasing me is probably the closest I’ve ever come to being normal. I like it.”
“Thank you for telling me, for trusting me,” he mutters, his thumb lazily stroking my cheek.
“I don’t know what it is about you, Sam, but you’re not like everyone else.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I don’t know. Both?” I exhale. “I can’t read you.”
“At all?” His brows rise in surprise.
I shake my head. “You’re like a blank space.”
He chuckles. “I’m trying really hard not to take that the wrong way, Prickles.”
“It’s soothing,” I elaborate. “It’s like, when you touch me or stand close, it quiets all the noise in my head.”
He smiles at me slowly.
“I really like you, Sam,” I admit. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”
“What would you like to do?” His dark gaze dips to my lips.
“I…” I draw in a slow breath. “I really want you to kiss me.”
He pushes himself up from the swing. I look up as he steps in front of me and offers his hand. Setting my water bottle on the ground, I take his hand and stand up. There are butterflies in my stomach as he slides his free hand around the back of my neck, which sends shivers down my spine.
He leans in, his gaze locked on mine, and I don’t realise I’m holding my breath until he pauses, his lips hovering above mine.
“Breathe,” he whispers. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes.” I close the gap between us, pressing my mouth to his. His lips are soft and a little dry, but it feels nice.
My first kiss.
For a second, we stay there, lips pressed together, and don’t move, just absorbing the moment, the change in our dynamic, the unspoken agreement that there is something between us. Something worth exploring.
Squeezing the back of my neck with a gentle pulse, he tilts my head and his lips slide gloriously over mine.
We kiss as if we have all the time in the world, and it feels like we do, like time has stopped.
He presses soft kisses to my mouth as we learn the shape of each other’s lips.
Then he teases along the seam, and I open up to let him slide his tongue in.
I feel like I’m burning up from the inside out, my skin all hot and flushed. I lift my hands to cup his face and his hands find my waist, pulling me in close so our bodies are aligned, and I feel the firm strength of him.
A groan escapes as I kiss him back, my tongue chasing his hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as my need builds. I had no idea just kissing could feel this good, this intimate. For once I’m not being crowded by someone else’s emotions, it’s just me.
My want. My desire.
He tastes so good—a hint of the beer he’d obviously drunk earlier and something else, something uniquely him. My whole body is filled with heat and light, my skin tingling and my head buzzing.
Fuck, it’s like I’m drunk from the taste and feel of him. He expertly devours my mouth, and my mind can’t help but wonder what else he’s good at. I can feel his cock hard against me, my own responding as we press against each other, and a little thrill runs through me.
I don’t know how long we kiss for. But as I pull back, I’m breathless and my eyes must mirror the shock my soul feels.
Kissing Sam felt a little too right, but this is all happening a bit fast. I just need to stop and recalibrate.
Torn between the desire to run away and simultaneously cling on, to pull him close and maul him with my mouth, I swallow hard and take a step back. His hands fall away from my waist.
“I’m going to catch the train home.”
Obviously sensing I need some time to process, he nods. “I’ll give you a lift—”
“Can’t.” My mouth twitches. “No car, remember?”
“Shit.”
“I’ll be fine, honestly. Go back to the party, Sam. Your friends are waiting for you.”
He frowns. “They’re your friends too.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. Their emotions are too much for me right now, and I need some space.”
“I could—”
“What? Come with me? Hold my hand and keep me safe?”
He studies my face like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“I’m not a child, Sam.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he replies. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be there for you if you’re having a bad day.”
It would be so easy to say yes, to let him come home with me. But I can’t.
I shake my head. “Go back to the party, Sam,” I repeat. “There will be other days.”
He looks torn between what he really wants to do and respecting my wishes. “Will you at least message to let me know you’re home safe?”
I nod slowly, staring at him for a long moment. On impulse, I lift my face up to his and press a soft kiss to his lips. “Goodnight, Sam,” I whisper, bending to retrieve my jacket.
“Goodnight,” he murmurs, his dark eyes filled with something I’m not sure I can name.
I turn and head in the direction of the station, not looking back.
No matter how much I want to.