32. Hendrix #5
Saint’s mouth opens, then closes, and opens again to say something but bright lights in the distance force him to shield his eyes.
What comes next happens too fast for me to register anything.
“NYPD nobody move!” a cop heading straight for the dock shouts through a megaphone. Several others appear with flashlights through the trees, leaving drunk teens to scatter like mice away from Annalie still weeping in the position I left her.
Shit, shit, shit .
“Fuck. We gotta go.” Saint yanks me by the arm, but my heels digging into the dirt halts his attempt after a few steps.
His yelling gets drowned out by panic as my eyes dart to Carlo, who’s escaping with my bag into the darkness not far from us. The relief of it is short lived, though, when I find a cop chasing Archer into the woods.
“No!” I cry out, already barreling toward him, but Saint practically tackles me into a tree.
“Hendrix, Good Guy’s fine!” He grunts as I wail on him.
A sense of dread I didn’t think could get worse than seeing Archer in danger hits me like a jab to the face.
“Oh my God, Theory!”
Saint looks over his shoulder, quickly scouring the beach before yanking me again. “Levi’s got her. Now let’s go. I need to get you the fuck out of here.”
The trees around us are huge, but really hard to see in the dark as Saint tears me through the woods. He pushes, he pulls, and my forearm burns from how tight his hold is on me.
“Move your ass, Jimi. You can’t get arrested.”
“I…am not…an athlete…” I gasp on my words. “Like…you.”
My screaming lungs can vouch for that.
Flashlights dance to our left, and Saint pulls me behind the nearest tree, his front crushing mine as we hide. It’s tense and awkward at first for us both, being so close after so long, but as the moments pass, weeks turn into as though no time has been lost.
We remain silent, Saint busy surveying the area, and me with my cheek flush against his heaving chest. It allows me to not only hear but feel the thumps of his racing heart.
“You okay?” he asks quietly as footsteps and chatter taper off. “Am I hurting you?”
Trying to mask a wince, I respond quietly, “Nope, I’m good.”
It’s a big fat cap, everything hurts and I want to cry.
“We should hang tight for a bit longer.” He guides me to the ground until our knees are to our chests and backs are against the tree. Where, once again, we practice painful silence under moonlight.
After several long minutes of Saint switching from playing lookout and staring off into the night, I have enough.
“You think the cops are still out here?” I ask as he ruffles his hair, sparking the ache around my eye from when his hat flew off his head and hit me.
“Probably returning to the beach by now.”
Another painful reminder.
“I can’t believe we left Theory…”
With this, Saint rests the back of his head on the tree, closing his eyes, dragging in a long breath, holding, then releasing it slowly. When his eyes open again, they’re on the night sky, and I can feel the weight of his absence growing the further he withdraws into himself.
“Motherfucker.” He throws a tree branch.
“What’s wrong?”
Through a cynical laugh, he replies, “I don’t know, Jimi, How long you got for the world’s worst fucking brother?”
That’s when the truth really hits me.
Saint saved me instead of Theory.
“I mean, you said it yourself…Levi was taking care of her.”
“It’s not his fucking job.”
The bite in his tone is harsh but directed at himself more than me.
Doesn’t help the guilt creeping up, though.
“Try calling him, maybe knowing she’s safe will make you feel better.”
Saint tsks. “No need. I know she is.”
Should I add to his remorse by asking how he could know this? Probably not. Will I? Yes. Because I need to know she’s safe too.
I twist my neck slightly to face him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because Levi would die before letting anything happen to her.”
My mouth falls agape. “Wow…uhm…okay. That’s deep.”
And abundantly obvious why.
Except, Saint doesn’t seem to be implying his friend’s loyalty to his sister, more like Levi’s loyalty to him.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” He looks straight ahead.
“No, I do. The bond between you guys, albeit a bit morbid, is pretty admirable.”
Saint scrubs a hand down his face, chuckling with exhaustion. “Fuck, Jimi. I’m not talking about the Royal Heathens.”
“Then who—?”
“You!” he exclaims, shooting to his feet. “I’m talking about you.”
When I lift off the ground, the aches in my legs shoot throughout my whole body, making me hiss. I hide it, but not well, because Saint is helping me up the rest of the way, taking it upon himself to adjust the bottom of my dress when I’m steady.
Not in a possessive way, but a concerned way.
Then, he starts pacing back and forth.
“But you told Theory I was a nobody,” I repeat once again.
Saint treks over to me, and his palms squeeze my cheeks.
“Look. The fuck. Around us, Hendrix. Do you really believe you’re nobody to me?”
Saint’s touch. His words. They’re making me feel too much. More and less than I was prepared for walking into tonight.
I’m supposed to look into his eyes and see a traitor.
Not the fucking stars.
My ability to keep hiding behind walls of anger crumbles with every bit of pain etching across his face. My ability to breathe along with his silent pleas for me to believe him.
I do. God, I fucking do. In fact, a part of me never stopped.
And up until now, I hated myself for not trying harder.
“Then why’d you do what you did? You know how much I care about Theory. How hard I was making up for what I said about her.”
Saint drops his hands, and although his touch lingers, it’s not enough to ease the pang from their absence. “I was scared.”
“Of what? Fucking tell me already.”
I’ve been needing so. Damn. Long for us to have this conversation.
Replayed our last one over and over until I was exhausted with regret for all the things I wish I said. Did.
I imagined Saint apologizing.
I imagined him laughing in my face.
Two of us throwing hands. Ripping the clothes off each other after.
So many made up scenarios, so many made up outcomes.
Just for me to end up here.
Unsure if I can hold it together long enough to go through the real one.
I owe it myself, though, just as much as he owes it to me.
“Of a lot of shit. My monster. Him hurting you. The feelings for you I can’t control. The situation with…my dad.” There’s a brief, but intense pause before he adds, “You and Theory getting hurt because of it.”
“How do any of these things justify ruining my relationship with her?”
“Because look what just happened! I did the one thing I never thought fucking possible when it came to my sister.” His eyes glaze over, what he says next being somewhere between devastation and surrender. “I chose someone else over her.”
Regardless of my heart exploding to pieces from the declaration, my only instinct is to help defend his actions.
“Theory was too far away for you to even help her.”
“Where she was wouldn’t have mattered.”
“How could you say that?”
“Because…”
“Because… why ?”
Saint’s outburst comes moments after.
“Because, Jimi, I waited a long fucking time to see what your eyes look like when they smile at me!” He tones it down with a defeated shrug. “And now that I have, I know I would’ve chosen you regardless.”
“You can’t possibly…” My words trail off from the stinging in my throat.
Saint’s tortured expression proves otherwise.
“I don’t know how to do this…”
“Neither do I, Saint. But I thought our lack of experience was something we could build on.”
“I tried really fucking hard. You have to know that. Even if you can’t forgive me for the shit I’ve done.” He presses his forehead against mine, the words spilling from his lips like a useless prayer. “But I need you to forgive me, Jimi.”
“I don’t understand…why the sudden urgency?”
“’Cause I know I won’t be selfish enough to ask again.”
Holy mother of non-apology-apologies…
What are you doing to me?
If there was any doubt left before this of Saint ruining me for anyone else, it’s been dead and buried with those final words.
“Damn it, Letterman,” I whine, shaking him. “You can’t say shit like that when I have to stay mad at you.”
“I know, I know. I fucked up. I should’ve told you why I was scared to have you around Theory.”
With a step back, I admit, “I’d have understood, you know? Wanting it to be easier to keep us safe from your family’s drama.”
This has Saint blinking several times, lost again in thought.
“Did I say something wrong?”
More blinking.
“Saint?”
“Huh?” He finally snaps out of it. “What’d you say?”
“I asked if I said something wrong.”
“No, fuck no.” He shakes his head. “Everything you said is right.”
With intent to lighten the mood, I insert one of his corny jokes.
“Submission, huh? I can get used to this.”
Of course it’s an epic failure, because Saint remains all business as he cups my cheek. “It was me who hurt you first, Jimi.” His statement comes through non-negotiable. “So I promise to never let anyone else hurt you ever again.”
An odd vow, given Saint’s dragging other people into his mistakes. But it’s honest so I’ll take it, then add it to the only end of this conversation I never imagined.
“Are you done?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Good.” I drape my arms over his shoulders. “Now kiss me, you idiot.”
Saint’s smile takes up half his face as he walks me backwards into the nearest tree, resting a hand above my head and another under my chin. He stares down at me, eyes not only adoring, but speaking to me with relief.
I use mine to speak too.
On how much I care for him in spite of his transgressions.
Forgive him in spite of my pride.
Maybe even...
The insane thought, along with my breath, gets stripped away by Saint’s lips pressing against mine. Tentative at first, allowing me time to familiarize. By time, I mean maybe two seconds, because once I open for him his fingers are squeezing desperately around the nape of my neck.