Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Alexia
Six Years Ago
The music from Freya's house party makes my ears ring before I've even gotten through the front door, and I've only come because staying home means another night of hoping Zachary isn't going to come over, and then being devastated when he doesn't.
Three months since Leon's birthday. Three months of wondering if I'd imagined what had happened that night, and wishing that I had.
"Bedrooms are upstairs," Freya announces to the kitchen at large, waggling her eyebrows over the top of a jug of something that is an unnatural shade of blue. "You know...for whatever shenanigans you might be thinking up."
Someone cheers. I roll my eyes and go looking for something to drink that doesn't look like it'll stain my tongue for a month.
I'm five minutes deep into my exploration of Freya's fridge when someone says, "I think you can tell a lot about a person by their condiments drawer, don't you?"
I straighten from my hideout spot and meet the voice head on. "Absolutely. Condiments are the new medicine cabinet."
"Exactly." He smirks. "Or are you just trying to avoid conversation by pretending you've been assigned the important task of sorting those bottles by"—he leans in and scans the bottles—"piquancy?"
I bite back a smile. "Good eye. And yes. Is it working?"
"Not on me." He leans back, one hand holding a beer, the other casually resting on the counter. "Hi. I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I'm Marcus Shaw," he says, dead serious, like we're at a work function and not standing in front of Freya's crisper drawer.
"Alexia."
"Pretty name." He holds out his hand as if offering me to shake it. "But I don't get your last name?"
I fold my arms and refuse to take it. "You've heard it. Multiple times. We went camping together, remember? That time when you set your own tent on fire."
"Hmm, I don't recall."
"That's because you were drunk. You cried like a baby as we watched it burn down in flame."
His eyes narrow. "I did not cry. I was emoting about the loss of a cherished childhood memento."
I snort. "Leon and you found it at Goodwill on the way to the camping grounds because you decided to go on a camping trip without a tent."
"I didn't say it was my childhood memento, Lexi," he says, practically stomping his foot. "I was lamenting the loss of childhood as a general concept."
I nod, laying a hand on my chest in mock emotion. "I forgot what a proponent of childhood you are. It's why you act as if you're still entrenched in your own," I say with a grin.
He drops his hand and moves it to his hip, glaring at me. "Okay, well, now I know why you were standing here by yourself. Sheesh. Was just trying to keep things interesting." He takes a long swig of his beer and continues to glare at me.
I let out a cough to hide my laugh. "I mean, I was entertained. Does every conversation you have end up with memories of you crying?"
He's not impressed. "And here I thought I was doing a good deed, coming over to keep my best bro's little sister company while she was looking lonely."
I cock an eyebrow and gesture to the fridge shelf. "Does it honestly look like I was lonely? I mean, Freya's gonna be holding next weekend's party in my honour, for all the time I've saved her when she's looking for the perfect spiciness for her chicken tenders."
His beer bottle hovers halfway to his mouth as his eyes travel down the length of my body and then he says, "No. Far from it."
I frown. "Who's far from what?"
"You. Look far from lonely. In fact, you're looking smoking hot today, Lexi." His eyes flare hot for a second, and then he takes another drink, finishing it off in one gulp.
Huh? I look down at my outfit — still in the denim skirt and black halter top I came from uni in. I don't look hot. I look like I made zero effort. Which was the exact look I was going for.
"Shut up. I know I look like a bridge troll compared to everyone else here. But you don't have to make fun of me because of it."
He puts the bottle down and tucks both hands into his pockets, looking up at me, eyes dark and earnest. "Why the fuck would I be making fun of you?"
"Because I'm Leon's sister and it's what you guys—" I swallow. "—it's what you do."
He clears his throat, and takes two steps closer to me, and suddenly I can't breathe. He leans down. "And what if I'm sick of what I've always done when it comes to you."
Is this when I tell him that all I've wanted from him is for him to see me as someone other than Leon's sister? Do I tell him that anything he might've thought about doing differently with me, I've already imagined a hundred times over?
I don't get a chance to ponder what other utterly stupid thing I could say to him, because someone bangs into us as they stumble to the fridge.
"Sorry," he murmurs as he grabs a water, slamming the fridge, and looks over at me. "Oh hey, you're cute, I've been watching you all night. You wanna have a dance?"
Marcus steps in front of me, his arm coming up to shield me. "No, she doesn't."
The guy frowns, too many drinks deep to realise that arguing with a six-foot-two tradie is a bad idea even sober. "Mate, could you give us a minute? I'm trying to talk to the babe."
"Yeah, babe, and I'm trying to tell you, that that's not going to happen."
"And why's that, tough guy?" Drunkard Dimwit reaches out and gives Marcus a playful little punch on his arm.
I groan and rub my forehead. Well, this isn't going to end well.
My relationship with Leon's friends may be complicated and, apparently, in a state of confusion, but one thing that has always been abundantly clear, is how protective they are of me.
I brace myself, waiting for Marcus to tell this jerk that I'm his little sister and send him on his way.
But then Marcus utterly surprises me by moving his arm so that it snakes around my waist, he yanks me in against him.
My air wooshes out of my lungs. But I can't tell if it's from the impact or from the sheer thrill of feeling Marcus's toned, hard body against mine.
And it only gets worse when I hear him say, "Because she's taken. "
My mouth drops open. But before I can say anything, the guy lifts his hands up and backs off. "Say no more." And then he turns away mumbling under his breath to his friend. "She wasn't worth the trouble anyway."
My cheeks blaze red in embarrassment, and I step out of Marcus's hold. "I could've taken care of that myself."
But he's still staring after him, as if he wants to follow. I tug on his arm, trying to get his attention.
"What?" he says, as if he just noticed me there.
I frown. "I said, 'I could've taken care of that myself.'"
He blinks a few times, and then shakes off whatever thought has him in a trance.
And then he's just Marcus again. "Of course you could.
Never doubted it for a second." He grins, unrepentant, and instead of looking like a cocky dick, he just looks charming.
It's exactly why Marcus has a never-ending revolving door to his bedroom, and why I've secretly wished I'd been through it, even just once.
"Wanted to handle it for you, though. Sue me," he finishes, utterly oblivious to the thoughts in my head.
There's a loud cheer as a game of beer pong starts and the noise kicks it up ten decibels. I rub my head. Coming here after being in the library all day was a bad idea.
"Hey," Marcus says, cocking his head towards the back door. "Come outside with me for a few minutes. Grab some fresh air."
I don't think about refusing him, even for a second.
On the back porch, the cool late spring air is a relief against my skin after the heat of the crowded house. I sit down on the step, and he drops down beside me close enough that our shoulders touch.
"So," he says. "Fake boyfriend privileges. What do they come with?"
I bite back the urge to grin like an idiot. "Nothing. That's why they're fake."
He adopts a look of mock surprise. "That's unfair. I just defended your honour against a man named, I'm guessing, Brad or Chad or..."
I giggle, he's not wrong. "I wonder if it's a coincidence that they rhyme with 'sad' and 'bad'. For a moment there, I was worried he was going to get 'mad'."
Marcus leans over, pressing his shoulder to mine. "You had nothing to worry about. I was there."
"Yeah? And what would you have done?"
He turns, so he's facing me. "Anything it took to keep you safe. You know that right? That I'll always take care of you. I would never let anyone hurt you."
Suddenly the night air has taken a stifling grip on my breath. How hard would it be just to grab the front of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss right now?
But instead, I gently push him away, his chest hard under my palm. "Stop playing with me, Marcus."
He lets me push him away, but he holds my gaze for another moment. "Fine, if you don't want to talk about how you look fucking amazing tonight and how glad I am I blew off the guys tonight and came here instead, then tell me, how's uni going? Leon said you're loving it."
I take a moment to try to forget the first part of what he said before I reply.
"It's great. I'm still deciding what I'm going to do next year, though. I'm applying to a few different programs," I say. And swallow before I tell him something I've only told one other person. "A couple are interstate."
In the dark I can make out a frown fixing to his forehead. "Interstate? You're thinking of moving out of Adelaide?"
I nod. "I think I've nailed it down to Sydney." I pick at a splinter on the step. "I haven't decided anything. I've only just put in the applications. I won't find out for a few months."
"Lexi, you can't move." He says it like he actually has an opinion on it either.
I shrug. "I might have to. I'll miss my family, but Leon and mum will figure it out. They have each other."
He doesn't say anything else for a few minutes. "Fuck," he finally says. "You really might be leaving?"
I drop my head down onto my knees, chin resting between them.
"Who knows? It might be the best thing I'll have ever done for my life.
" I close my eyes, enjoying the ease of our talk, the comfort of sharing with him.
"Or I might be back in three months, with my failing tail between my legs, never wanting to set foot in another school ever again.
" There's a fleeting touch on my arm, but when I look down, there's nothing there.
Just Marcus's hand resting on the step between us.
We listen to a whole song from beginning to end. The bass vibrating in the air, moving it against our skin.
A few times I think he's going to say something, a hitch in his breathing, but then nothing. I know because I do the same.
Finally, he breaks the silence. "I'll miss you, if you go, Lexi," he breathes into the night. "And it's making me think things I shouldn't."
"Like what?" I turn to face him to see him already looking at me.
"Like if I don't take the chance now...I'll never know what it could've been." His hand reaches out to touch my chin, tipping it up so my eyes meet him. "Do you know what I'm talking about?"
"No," I exhale.
A breath huffs out of his nose. "Then I've been an idiot. Because how could you not know how I feel about you."
And then he leans in slowly, giving me every chance to change my mind, his eyes dropping to my mouth and back up like he's checking, and when I don't pull away he closes the last of the distance, one hand coming up to my jaw, careful.
And then his lips are on mine.
His mouth is warm and a little uncertain at first, like he's still making sure I'm okay with it, and then I kiss him back.
Something in him seems to give way completely, his hand sliding back into my hair.
He tastes like the cheap beer everyone's drinking and yet still utterly delectable, and when he finally pulls back he looks as thrown as I feel, chest rising fast, staring at me like I’m new and old to him all at once.
"Right," he says, a little rough, in contrast to his thumb, soft on my jaw.
"Marcus..." I whisper, not sure what else to say. Not sure how I can move on from this moment.
He pulls his hand away and turns to face the dark of the backyard, the step still thudding with the EDM pounding through the whole neighbourhood. Then he drops his head, both hands gripping his hair, and I hear him say something to himself.
Then he leans back to me, kissing me again. Slower this time, deeper, both of us a little drunk on more than the drinks. Minutes go by, heartbeats, lifetimes. His forehead is dropping to mine between kisses like he needs a second to catch up with himself.
Finally he swallows and pulls away, his hand cupping my blazing cheek. "You're a perfect angel." The words come out whisper quiet. Reverent.
I try to say something back but my throat's too dry, or maybe there are just no words. I cough.
"I'll grab us something," he says eventually, breath still uneven, thumb brushing my cheekbone like he doesn't quite want to stop touching me even to stand up. "Don't go anywhere."
"I won't," I say.
He jumps to his feet, staring down at me. "I'll be right back," he promises.
"I'll be here," I promise right back.
But neither of us keep those promises.
He doesn't come back.
Not in five minutes, not in ten, and I tell myself he's got waylaid by someone he knows, the way that happens at parties, and I stay exactly where he left me because I said I would.
But half an hour later, and my dreams scattered like ashes at my feet, I get up and go inside just to make sure that he's okay.
I find him in the kitchen and I wish, more than almost anything else, that I hadn't gone looking.
He's got a different girl's back against the fridge, her hands fisted in his shirt, and he's kissing her. The same hand that had cupped my cheek is sliding up the hem of her shirt, slow, exploring, like he's got all night and nowhere better to be.
One hand comes up to grab my stomach, twisting and churning, like it's trying to purge the last hour from my body. The other comes up to my mouth, trying to wipe the memories away.
I don't make a sound. I don't think either of them even clock me standing there.
He says something against her mouth and she laughs, and he takes her hand and leads her toward the stairs.
I don't wait to see which room they choose. I just know that I will never again be anywhere waiting for Marcus Shaw.