Chapter 8
The sound of the door closing still echoed in my ears, even hours later as I popped in and out of shops on Oxford Street.
I should’ve been focused on not spending all my graduation money on a new wardrobe or what I was going to do in London for the six days, alone. But neither were enough to distract me from the hollow sound of Saint’s cold exit or how it matched the sunken ache in my chest.
He could barely look at me after the phone call with my brother.
I didn’t feel guilty like Saint did. He didn’t need to say it for me to know that was going through his head when he left.
But I had no idea what he was thinking now that he was on a plane home. He was going to have to look my brother in the face, knowing what I tasted like between my legs.
Should I feel bad about that?
I couldn’t. Maybe that made me a horrible person. But Saint was a grown man. He was in control of his actions as much as I was.
And I wasn’t going to be sorry over something I’d wanted for more years than I could remember.
God, I still felt him wrapped around my body as I walked from clothing store to clothing store.
Still felt him between my legs as I tried on outfit after outfit, the different fabrics sensitive on my skin.
Was this what drug addicts felt when they came down from a high? This nervous, twitchy feeling that resided inside me, consuming my thoughts. Every fiber of my being.
If so, I understood why they called it an addiction. Why a person would need hit after hit to get by.
One night. That was all it took for me to get hooked on Saint.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to come down.
The door closing echoed in my thoughts, again.
I had always been gluttonous when it came to Saint. This time was no different.
I wanted more.
I would always want more.
Maybe it was better that he left. Gave me time to start the detox early, to cleanse him out of my system.
Except, I didn’t want to.
I was standing in a dressing room now, looking at myself in the mirror with the reminders of our night on my body. Nothing like having the same skin as a Georgia peach.
But for once I didn’t mind, instead I remained transfixed as I studied my reflection.
They started at my neck—thankfully, Saint was a little considerate and left marks where my just-past-my-shoulder-length hair could hide it—and traveled down my chest, peeking out from the cups of my bra, down to my thighs.
I traced them with a gentle touch, enjoying the sting that quickly followed.
I was still stunned we did that. Even with all the reminders, it still felt like a dream.
A dream I wanted to get back to, but wasn’t sure I’d ever find again.
He marked me.
The man that taught me how to skateboard marked me.
I followed the trail.
So many things in my life were irrevocably tied to Saint.
My tastes in music—alternative punk music that played for hours through the wall I shared with my brother.
My style and love of mixing soft pieces with hard.
My love of action movies, the bloodier the better. Archer and Saint never let me pick movies to watch on the Friday nights they were stuck at home because Dad grounded Archer. No rom-coms, no musicals. No princess movies. Ever.
Saint shaped me as much as my siblings growing up.
But the biggest, aside from last night, were the months he spent teaching me how to skateboard.
A passion I discovered through spite.
As the shadow of my brother and his best friend, I followed them everywhere, including to the Bowl, our local skate park. I had no desire to skate, was just desperate to not be in the house alone, so I’d beg for them to bring me along.
Out of boredom one day, I hopped on Saint’s board when he came to check on where I sat in the shade, reading The Lightning Thief for the hundredth time. He got off his board and crouched in front of me with a mischievous smile.
He was always stirring up trouble when he was younger, and the sight of his smile sent my dreamer heart into a frenzy.
“Is today the day?”
Peering at him from the top of my book, I asked, “Is today what day?”
“The day I get you on a skateboard.”
I hid my smile in the book. He had been determined to get me on one ever since I told him that was never going to happen.
He took it as a dare, and if there was one thing about Saint, it was that he never backed down from a challenge.
Every time I came here with him, he’d ask. Every time he’d come over to our house, he’d ask. He asked and asked and asked until finally I broke down and told him, “Sure is.”
The words were barely out of my mouth before the book was taken from my hands and he plucked a piece of grass from the ground to use as a bookmark before closing it.
Then he was pulling me up so fast my feet left the ground, and I grinned at going airborne for a few seconds.
Once I was standing and got on the board, I braced with my hands on my hips. “Happy?”
“Immensely.” He grinned. “Your brother now owes me a hundred bucks.”
My mouth popped open. “You guys bet on me?”
“He didn’t think you’d do it.” Saint shrugged, unapologetic. “I knew you would.”
Before I could ask, I heard the wheels of another board approaching. Expecting it to be my brother, I turned around to call him out on the bet, only for a small frown to form.
It wasn’t my brother.
But a stranger. A teenage boy who glared at me. “Girls don’t belong on boards.”
“Excuse me?” I said at the same time Saint stepped close, snarling, “The fuck?”
“Girls don’t belong on boards. Especially little ones like you in fairy skirts.”
My hands ran down my tulle skirt self-consciously. The frown deepened. I looked around the park and there were no other girls here. Just boys.
I went to step off the board when Saint’s hand gripped my shoulder, holding me in place. He shot me a look that dared me to move before turning back to the intruder.
“Leave.”
“Wasn’t planning on sticking around, man. Just thought I should inform your sister here she’s in above her head.” He went to skate away, going back to the group of boys who were watching us with laughter, but Saint reached out and snatched the guy by the back of his shirt collar. Pulling him off the board.
“I didn’t mean go back to your friends. I meant, leave as in get the hell out of the park.” Saint tossed him to the ground in disgust.
The boy scrambled up with a glare, only to cower from the frigid one Saint sent him back. He left the park with his board tucked between his legs, but even having him gone didn’t ease the wound he inflicted.
“Hey.” Saint gripped my shoulders. “Don’t let him do that. Don’t let him get in your head and win.”
He wasn’t. What was in my head was fire, fury. A desire to prove how wrong he was.
So I looked at Saint and asked him if he could teach me to skateboard.
He agreed with that same smile of mischief from earlier.
That was how he spent his summer before moving to London, teaching me the fundamentals and slowly working me up to tricks.
We practiced every day, sometimes for hours while others lasted thirty minutes.
Sometimes Archer would join us, but more often than not he was busy with his football clinic, so it was just Saint and me.
And when it came time to go back to the park to show the sexist boy that girls could skate, that I could shred better than them in one of my “fairy skirts,” it was Saint that supported the idea.
Saint always supported my ideas, even when everyone else put them down.
I always loved being around Saint, always had a hero worship for him. He always listened to me when I talked, treated me like I was an equal instead of a child. But it was during those hot summer days where it was just us that the worship took a turn into Crushville.
A crush that would last for years, growing with my age. I had a candle lit for him deep within my soul. It never went out, only grew stronger when we were around each other.
As I redressed, and the markings Saint left around my nipples brushed against my bra, I bit my lip in worry.
Sleeping together didn’t feel wrong to me. But what about Saint?
It was a different arena for him.
He didn’t just sleep with me.
He betrayed his best friend.
As I walked out of the shop, I couldn’t help but wonder if I might’ve just lost the best person to ever come into my life.
When I got back to the hotel room, I dropped my shopping spoils on the ground. Housekeeping never came by, thanks to the Do Not Disturb tag that hung from the door, so the room still contained everything from the night before.
Sex and depravity and unleashed emotions.
The disarray of the sheets, rumpled with our indentations, wrinkled from our movements, greeted me.
I could practically feel the sheets sliding against my skin as Saint pressed his body into mine, into the mattress.
The room felt like an itch I couldn’t reach. An unnecessary nuisance.
Only, unlike an itch, I could get rid of this problem.
The remnants in the room were a reminder of what I couldn’t have. And maybe…of the person I lost.
Picking up the hotel phone, I called the front desk to request housekeeping. With a time frame of twenty minutes before they showed up, I started to get ready for dinner.
I was about to rifle through my purchases of the day, to find a cute outfit to wear, when something on top of my backpack caught my eye.
A small box with a black bow.
A present.
One that wasn’t there when I got ready for dinner the night before.
Saint.
Had to be.
He got me a gift.
When…when did he do this?
Why had he done this? He had never gotten me presents before.
Aside from his skateboard he gifted me, the only other time he gave me anything was at my high school graduation a couple of months ago, where he gave me roses that I had kept on my dresser until they were so dead they disintegrated across my carpet on their journey to the trash.
With trembling fingers, I picked up the box and thumbed the ribbon. It was silky to the touch.
Slowly, I pulled at the end of the bow and let it fall to my feet as a knock sounded at the door.
Housekeeping.
I absently went to answer the door while clutching the box, wondering what could be inside. My mind was blank of possibilities.
I was still staring at the box as I opened the door and a throat cleared to get my attention.
Snapping my head up, my eyes went wide in disbelief.
“What’re you doing here?” I blinked a couple of vigorous times to make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me.
“I didn’t like the thought of you here all alone.” His deep rumble was a familiar balm.
“You’re supposed to be on a plane.”
“Flights can be rescheduled.” Saint shrugged, no cares left to give.
He was here. Really here. My chest swelled as I took him in.
His hair was a mess, like he spent countless hours running frustrated fingers through it, while his suit was freshly pressed. He looked normal, like Saint.
And he was staring at me like nothing else existed.
A new wave of emotions slammed into me.
He stayed. “You stayed.”
“I stayed.”
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
He’s here.
“Why?” I pushed past the lump building in my throat.
He didn’t give me an answer right away, just glanced down at what I was holding before shouldering his way into the room. “Like I said, I didn’t want you to be here alone.”
“So you rearranged all your travel plans for me? What about work?”
He shrugged. “I can work from here.”
“Saint.” My voice broke, overcome with emotion. For no other reason than the facts:
Saint was here.
He stayed.
He was here with me.
He stayed because of me.
In all my life, no one had ever picked me first.
And Saint just did.
“Madelayne.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his chest, his present cradled between us. “We promised each other only one night, but give me another. Give me all of them until we head back to America. Give me this.”
I answered him with a kiss. A kiss I never wanted to end.
And for a short while, it wouldn’t.