Chapter 6
Damn, I slept like a fucken baby last night.
Ever since the accident, I’ve been waking up at midnight every single night, like clockwork.
I’d struggle to get back to sleep for hours, usually only getting a couple extra hours of sleep, but even then it was never a deep restful sleep.
Not only will my mind not shut off, but every movement pulls at the tight scarring on the side of my torso.
My leg is usually the worst though, just having the blanket sitting on it hurts.
Last night, though, I slept like the dead.
I can’t remember ever sleeping that hard, even before the accident.
Stretching my arms over my head then reaching over to the other side of the bed to grab my phone on the small side table, I’m hit with the soft smell of peaches and caramel.
Taking a deeper breath, I realize I’m smelling Sloane.
Her smell gets everywhere—always has. For as long as I can remember, she’s always smelled like peaches and caramel, almost like peach cobbler on a summer night—my favorite dessert.
The last time I took a deep breath of that smell was forever ago.
She had barely been eighteen and I was well into adulthood at twenty-eight.
Her brother was out of town with Cassie, and Sloane had decided to go out to a party with some of her new friends that Ronan and I did not approve of and have too much to drink.
At least after having had too much to drink she had the sense to call me to come pick her up.
That was the last time she called me, or even talked to me really.
Taking another deep breath of peaches and caramel, I’m brought back to that night . . .
Seven years ago. . .
The ringing phone pulls me out of my sleep. Who’s calling me at—I look at the alarm clock sitting on my nightstand—one twenty-seven in the morning? Not looking at the caller ID, I just pick up the phone.
“What?”
“Liam?” I hear the soft, scared voice of my little Rosie on the other end, making me sit up in bed.
“Rosie? What’s wrong?”
“Can you come pick me up?” she asks. I can hear her shaking through the phone, as if she’s trying not to cry, making my stomach drop as I get up and throw on a T-shirt and sweater, jogging to my front door.
“Where are you?”
She rattles off an address as I get into my car. I have no idea where it is.
“Text it to me, Sloane,” I tell her in a hoarse voice. What the fuck did she get herself into? She’s not one to be out past 10 p.m. The girl always has her nose in a book, and the only people she hangs out with are me, Ronan, and Cassie.
Fuck. She’d better be okay.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling up to the address she gave me and I see her standing on the side of the road.
What the fuck is she wearing? The girl can’t even wear a bikini at the beach without blushing, but right now I’m seeing more skin reflecting in my high beams than I’ve ever seen from Sloane.
Involuntarily, my eyes wander down her mile-long legs.
She’s always been a tall girl, meeting my six-one frame almost eye to eye.
Slowly, my eyes wander back up her body.
She’s definitely grown up over the years.
She’s gorgeous, with long, almost-black hair that you just want to wrap around your fist as she chokes on and—No!
I can’t believe I just pictured my best friend’s little sister on her knees for me.
Never has a thought like that crossed my mind about Sloane, and now is not the time to figure out why the hell my thoughts are going there.
Shaking my head, I pull up to her and she quickly gets in without saying anything.
“Are you okay?” I ask, trying to control my voice because what I really want to do is scream at her and ask what the hell she was thinking. She’s wearing white sneakers with her skirt, but she wobbled getting into the car, so clearly she’s more than tipsy.
Not looking at me, she says, “Yeah, thanks for picking me up,” as we hit a red light.
“Look at me,” I order her. Good Girl almost slips out at how fast she listens to me. No! I need to stop having these thoughts with her around.
Once I’ve taken in her face, I see that she’s drank more than I thought. A lot more than I thought. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not much.”
“Give me a number.”
“A beer and three shots . . . I think.”
Jesus. What has gotten into her? Ronan and I have tried offering her a beer here and there when she’s with us but always pulls a face at the first sip.
And that’s when I lose it.
“What the fuck were you thinking? Since when do you drink? Who the hell were you with?” At my tone, her lower lip starts to shake as she turns her head, but not before I see a few big tears trail down her cheek.
Fuck. Taking a deep breath, I say, “Come on, Rosie,” using her childhood nickname because I know it always softens her up to me when I’ve messed up. “Tell me what happened. You know I could never actually be mad at you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing if you called me on the verge of crying at one thirty in the morning asking me to come pick you up, drunk, when I know you don’t drink or party. You know you can tell me anything. I promise I won’t tell Ronan. It’ll go in the vault.”
Peeking at her, I can see she’s contemplating what to tell me. She’s still curled up on herself but at least she’s stopped crying. Seeing her cry always sends me into panic mode, even more so than when my own little sister cries.
She doesn’t say anything even as we pull into the parking lot of my apartment building, which just makes my worry grow. What the hell happened at that party?
“Don’t move,” I say, getting out of the car and taking off my sweater as I make my way to the passenger side. I open her door and see that she’s already unbuckled her seatbelt.
“Here, put this on,” I tell her as I pass her my sweatshirt.
Without question, she slips it on, thankfully covering the ridiculous amount of cleavage she has on display.
“Let’s go.” I grab her hand and lead her to my apartment.
Once inside, I sit her on the couch before grabbing a water bottle and some Tylenol, and quickly slapping a peanut butter and jelly sandwich together.
“Drink half of that, take these, and tell me what the fuck had you calling me crying at one in the morning, while you’re eating that.”
Doing as I say, and after taking a few bites of the sandwich, she finally says, “Nothing happened, Liam. I wasn’t invited to any of the graduation parties in June, so when I was invited to this one, I didn’t even think twice before going.
Figured I couldn’t go to university without ever having been to at least one party.
” She releases a cute snort. “I went, had a few drinks, and then just didn’t want to be there anymore.
” She finishes as she goes back to eating her sandwich.
Not completely believing that nothing happened, I sit next to her on the couch and throw my arm around her to pull her in close to my side, where she fits perfectly.
“Are you sure, Rosie?” I ask in a soft voice I reserve just for her.
“I promise, Liam. I don’t know why I was crying. I guess I just thought that I’d have fun for once. Do something outside my comfort zone, you know? But if anything, I just felt weird and awkward. Plus, no one was really talking to me so I called you.”
She leans in tighter to me once she’s finished her sandwich and I automatically tighten my arm around her.
“I’m happy you called me. You know I’ll always come pick you up no matter what,” I tell her, pulling back a bit so I can look into her eyes to make sure she really is okay.
How no one in her class has seen how sweet and loyal this girl is, is beyond me.
“You’ll find your stride, Rosie. You’ll see university is a lot bigger and you’ll find your spot, your people.
You’ll find the people who see you for the smart, funny, gorgeous girl you are, I promise.
And if not, you’ll always have me, okay? ”
A look I’d never seen crosses her face after that, but I don’t have time to figure out what it means before her lips are against mine and her fingers are threading themselves into the hair at the nape of my neck.
The minute her lips touch mine, I know it’s wrong.
I know I should pull away, but I’m a total goner when her tongue shyly sneaks out to take a tentative swipe against my lower lip.
Unable to stop myself, I let my tongue chase hers, letting her taste invade my senses.
My hand travels to the side of her neck, fireworks erupt behind my eyelids, and I swear my brain short circuits for a few seconds before I’m brought back down to reality.
My tongue is in my best friend’s little sister’s mouth.
I abruptly pull away and stand up, running a hand through my hair.
Unable to stop myself, I say the first thing that crosses my mind.
“What the fuck was that?” I hear the anger in my voice, but I can’t help it.
I am pissed at myself. I took advantage of a drunk and lonely eighteen year old.
Not just any eighteen year old, but one I’ve known her entire life.
Without missing a beat, and in a tone I’ve never heard coming from her—getting me harder than I’ve ever been—she says,“What the fuck was that? That was your tongue down my throat and your fingers knotted in my hair, so don’t you look at me like that.”
Looking at her, really looking at her for the first time, I’m taken aback by how she looks.
She’s always been beautiful, but now, standing in front of me with her swollen lips, red cheeks, and a fire in her eyes I’ve never seen before, I can’t help the words that are about to leave my mouth.
So, I do what I do best. I’m a dick to the one girl I promised to never be mean to—to never hurt.
“What the hell was I supposed to do? You just threw yourself at me. Look, I know you’ve had a little childhood crush on me, but that was pushing it, Sloane.
You can’t just go around kissing people like that.
You’re my best friend’s little sister. I look out for you like I do Summer and Hannah, but that’s it.
That was a mistake—the biggest mistake that is never happening again. Got it?”
Right before my eyes, I see all the fire leave her.
For a split second, I think she’s going to cry.
In hindsight, I think her crying would have been better than what I did get from her.
Her movements turn mechanical as she sits back down on the couch, not looking at me.
Again, in a cold, harsh tone I never thought could come from my little Rosie, she says, “You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She completely dismisses me, which is what I want. But for some reason, my stomach turns to stone and a small part of me can’t help but think that I just ruined the best thing in my life.
Not knowing what else to do or say, I leave her sitting on my couch and go close myself off in my bedroom.
I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up she isn’t there.
My sweater is carefully folded on the counter with a note saying not to worry, she got a cab home, and she didn’t want to put me out anymore than she already had.
Present. . .
That was the last time I was ever surrounded by my favorite smell .
. . until now. I still have that sweater—it’s sitting at the bottom of my bag.
Ronan had gone to my house and FaceTimed me so I could tell him what to pack for me.
After he had gotten the basics of loose clothes, my laptop, a couple of books, and my sketch pad, I made him go back to the bottom of my dresser to get the sweater.
For years I kept it tucked away in a drawer of its own.
An unknown urge kept me from washing it, or even wearing it.
At first, I would take it out just to take a hit of her smell that still lingered.
I didn’t understand the pull I felt toward it.
The last few years, I refused to take it out at all. Telling myself it was because I was tired of feeling like a creep. But the truth is, it stopped smelling of Sloane, so I shoved it in the back of my closet. It was the one reminder that I hurt her more than I ever expected. And that I missed her.
I hadn’t realized how much I looked forward to seeing her, or the comfort I felt from just having her in my space.
She was shy, but always quick with a joke.
Then she went and kissed me. I wasn’t expecting it.
I had never thought of her as anything other than my best friend’s younger sister.
As a kid, I looked out for her. But that kiss .
. . The minute her lips landed on mine, something changed.
It’s like my soul finally knew where it belonged—with her.
From that point on, there hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of her, wondered what she was doing—if she was safe, if she was happy, and worse, if she found someone to love her like she deserved.
A week after that night, I finally got the balls to ask Ronan what was going on with Sloane.
I told him that I hadn’t heard from her in a week, which earned me a funny look.
He told me she was busy moving into her dorm and stuff.
That I should know that since she had told him she’d already said goodbye to me.
To say I was confused was an understatement.
For all I knew, she was going to university here, in Vancouver, and going to be living at home with her dad.
I was happy to be sitting when he told me that she decided, at the last minute, to accept her offer from a university in Quebec.
She left.
She never spoke to me after that.
Not until I moved into her house five days ago.