by Eden Butler
But he had loved me.
At least, I’d sworn he had.
I couldn’t look at him. Not when he kept staring. Not when that music went on, sinking inside me, ripping away the humor and sweetness of the night and the buzz that kept me from remembering what came after that last dance.
It was only Ed’s hand stretched out in front of me that kept me from bolting.
Slipping my gaze up at him, to the crooked smile on the right side of his mouth and the slow movement of his shrugging shoulder, I started to shake my head again. “Come on, yázhí,” he said the word without a hint of flirtation. Friendly, honest. “You can’t let the bad stuff ruin a perfectly good song. Especially not Mrs. Dolly’s.”
No. I couldn’t do that to my fairy godmother.
“Alright then.”
He smelled like liquor but still sweet, with the softest hint of honey and lavender on his neck. It reminded me of nights on his sofa, curled up watching Rocky Horror and Freddy Krueger. It reminded me of the dried lavender Velma sprinkled into the homemade honey soap she’d left in Ed’s bathroom. Evie made it for Alex now, but that smell would always remind me of Ed.
We moved around the room barely touching; his fingers lightly skimming my waist, my palms against his shoulders, our bodies half a foot apart. But the music still spun a spell over me. It still shot memory after memory into my clouded, alcohol-muddled head.
That had been our last dance. Our last kiss. The last time I let anyone inside me.
The thought had a shiver working up my spine, and Ed seemed to notice. He frowned, eyebrows slipping together. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“It’s Dolly,” I said simply, not wanting the song or the moment to end and Ed seemed to understand. He gave me a nod, moved a bit closer, taking my hand in his, pushing us together so that I fit under his chin.
The crowd thickened around us and the noise began to drown out Dolly’s voice. Ed’s grip on my waist loosened, his attention shifting around the room, to the small group at the bar who muttered under their breath and the ones seated near the bathroom who didn’t whisper when they spoke his name.
“I should…go…” he tried, looking down at me when I grabbed his face.
“I never cared what anyone in this damn town thought when I was with you.”
It wasn’t a lie. They’d treated him bad his whole life. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he still did, but right then, in that moment, I didn’t care.
“That…was before—”
My arms around his neck, thumb against his cheek shut him up. “Hush. Mrs. Dolly’s singing.”
“Shh…”
“I didn’t say anything, drunk ass.”
“Owww…”
“Give me the key.” It fell to the floor, twice, before Ed grunted, bumping his head on the doorframe. “This is a bad idea. This whole night was a bad idea. Why the hell did I let you talk me into drinking?” He let out a sigh, leaning against the wall.
“Oh, stop it,” I said, snorting at his whining. “I didn’t force you to drink a thing.”
His laugh was loud, came out in a snort, but he still waved at me like I was the one making a ruckus. “We’re gonna get in trouble for making too much noise.”
“Hey, goofball, I own this place, remember? Besides, we can’t drive and…” he pushed the door open and we moved through it at the same time, both of us landing in a heap on the fainting couch near the front of the room. “Shit. And…” I continued, “No Uber in town is going to take you to Alex and Evie’s.”
“I forgot how stupid Midland is about their high school football. Shouldn’t have called that QB a twerp.”
“He is a twerp.”
“Here, let me help you.” Ed helped me stand, though it was likely the room spinning just as quickly for him as it was for me. We both made it to the large canopy bed, falling onto the mattress and turning toward each other at the same time, close enough to bump our foreheads. “Son of a…”
“Shit…”
I’d laugh if my forehead wasn’t throbbing.
Ed held up his hand; a small surrender and I lay still watching him. “I got an idea.”
“Shoot, bucko.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me, eyes squinted like he didn’t know what to make of that nickname, head shaking when I shrugged.
“I’m drunk,” I admitted, the room spinning double time now. “I have no idea what I’m saying.”
“Anyway…the plan, I think, since we’re both…what did Chance call it? Munted?”
“Ridiculous.” The man and his wife were just as munted as we were.
“Agreed,” he said, “but since we’re both lit as hell, shamed as I am to admit it, and I know the room is spinning for you like it is for me…” I shot him a thumbs up and Ed gave me a quick two finger salute, landing his index finger somewhere near his ear. “I think we should just lay here…perfectly still, and I bet the world will stop spinning.” I opened my mouth, ready to offer a suggestion, leaning up, but Ed held up his palm. “Be still. No movements. No chance of more headbutting.”
“Okay. That’s smart. I like that…but I have to…”
“Still, woman!” His voice was loud, but amused and I joined in on his laughing.
“You have zero bite to your bark, mister.”
“Right now, that’s very true, Miss Warren.”
He heaved a sigh, relaxing deep against the pillow and in my fuzzy-headed mind, I could feel every inch of his body next to me—the curve of his thigh when he pushed off his boots, the brush of his forearm when he lifted his hand to rub his palms into his eyes. But what stuck in my mind was the small joke he made, had kept making since he been back, calling me Miss Warren. It shouldn’t bother me, but I was drunk enough to let him know it did.
“Ed?”
“Hmm?”
Damn his “be still” rule. I turned on my side, watching him lower his hand and roll his head in my direction. “I don’t like it when you call me that.”
His expression changed, shifting between frown and grin, softening into a twitch that could have signaled his irritation with me or his level of drunkenness. I wasn’t sure which. Then he let a soft, amused noise move out of his mouth. “Well, that’s why I do it.”
“So you’re purposely trying to be mean?” I rolled over staring at the ceiling, my buzz dimming.
“You really wanna talk about who is mean?”
I was too drunk for this conversation. “We had a fun night. Don’t kill my buzz.”
He sat up, steadying himself with his hands on the mattress, those braids frizzing at the ends from lying against the soft duvet. “I’ll…walk home…”
“Ed, don’t…”
“It’s fine.”
He leaned forward, using the bedpost to help himself up, but I rolled, looping my leg over his waist to pull on him. Ed fell back, not fighting me, his arms up as he hit the pillow.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, tugging on his arm so he’d face me.
“Mean. Ridiculous. Anything else you wanna call me?” When I shook my head, worried that anything else I’d say would have the damn fool walking into the middle of traffic at two a.m., Ed glanced at me before he touched my forehead, slipping a fingertip down the slope of my nose. “You don’t have as many freckles.” His tone was distant, like he didn’t expect me to respond, like that was a thought he hadn’t meant to speak out loud.
He went on looking me over, and I let him, doing some exploring of my own, noticing the small lines along his eyes that hadn’t been there before and how the hairs at his temples weren’t as black as they had once been. I reached for his scalp, meaning to brush the flyaways off his forehead, but caught myself, remembering that it wasn’t my place anymore.
“I got old in there,” he said, holding my wrist, directing my hand away from his face before he held my fingers between his. “It was bound to happen.” He tugged on the ends of his braids with his free hand, pushing them off his shoulders and I couldn’t help but lo
ok at them, my head shaking when I thought of what had happened to him. Who had done it? Why? Did he get to retaliate? Ed must have seen something in my expression. He pushed up my chin, holding my face still, and I hated the burn in my eyes, how my vision had gone blurry. “You…aren’t somebody I tell my worries to anymore. You know that, right?”
If he wanted to hurt me, he hit the mark, but Ed’s voice was soft, his expression was kind. He wasn’t being cruel. He was being honest.
“I was happy tonight, with you,” he said. “Laughing. It was good to be like we were when we were kids. Before…”
“I liked it, too.”
There were tears burning the back of my throat and I squeezed my eyes, hating that I couldn’t keep myself together, kicking myself for all the tequila and forgetting what lay between us.
“But, Piper…you know, I can’t…you and me…” He didn’t finish. Whatever he wanted to say froze on his tongue.
There was so much we never got to say. So many questions we never asked and the anger…I knew it was there. For me. Probably for him. But all that betrayal, all that hurt, the thick feel of it that had kept me warm for five years, the same heat of rage and loss that I’d bet had hardened Ed too, felt like a dying ember in that moment. Still there, able to burn, but not stoked into the inferno it could be.
I hated myself for still loving him.
I hated Ed for not loving me enough.
The tears burned in my eyes, collected in my lashes and I didn’t stop them when they slipped out.
“Please don’t. I can’t watch you cry.”
“I’m…sorry…” I tried to pull out of his touch. I tried to roll over, away from him, but Ed had always been useless around crying women. He followed, turning me on my back, his thumbs against my cheeks, wiping them dry. “I don’t know why I can’t…I’m sorry. I’m just still so mad…”
“So am I, nizhóní…” Ed leaned over me, his palm against my face.
We might not know what to do with our anger, but we couldn’t help what came next. We were drunk and the past was a wedge neither one of us knew how to loosen, but that didn’t mean we didn’t want each other.
“Ed…” There might have been a warning in my tone, but I didn’t speak it. There wasn’t time.
He moved close, taking my lips, soft at first, like the brush of a feather, then I reacted, pushing against him, my hands at his waistband, my teeth along his bottom lip. Then he was kissing me, holding me still. Wedging me against the mattress. His hips against mine. His breath coming out hot. Hard. Desperate.
Ed dug his fingers into my shoulders, down my arms, and I gripped him tighter, wanted him closer. Loved his mouth and tongue against the curve of my breast when he popped the first button of my shirt and the guttural noise he lay against my skin when I scraped my nails into his back.
“Piper…God…why the hell did I miss you so damn much?”
He moved over me, holding my knee in his hand, opening me, and there he was after so long. Hard and thick. Right there. I only had to lower his zipper, take him.
My body felt electrified when Ed moved his hips, fingers away from my face, his breath coming out hard against my cheek, like it took all the effort he had to keep himself calm and in control. When I pulled on his neck, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth and brushed my hand over the front of his jeans he groaned, his breaths harder. He went still, pressing his forehead to mine, eyes squeezed shut.
“What’s wrong?”
But his expression told me enough. That frozen frown. The wrinkle between his eyebrows. The anger that slipped over his features and how it mixed with frustration and fear, worry and want.
Then Ed relaxed the muscles in his face, blinking down at me, his expression softening into something that looked like realization and I held my breath waiting for him to speak. Waiting for a dismissal, hoping it would never come.
“This isn’t…” He moved up, eyes heated as he watched me. “We were always good at this. Always. And I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want you right now…” Ed shot a look down my body, chewing on his bottom lip before he twisted his head to the side, muttering under his breath. “But…we’re drunk and things are…”
“They always will be,” I reminded him, hating the frown he gave me.
“No. They won’t.” He moved to my side, still touching me, kissing me one last time.
“I—I’m not sure how I feel about you anymore.” When I only looked back at him, unable to speak, feeling a million things, none I knew how to identify, Ed went on. “I was ready to keep hating you. The day I went in, I thought I’d hate you forever.” He wouldn’t let me move away from him when I sat up. Instead, he pulled on my hand, lacing our fingers together, moving closer. “That stopped pretty quick. I was still mad. I stayed mad. Part of me is still mad but I know, just being around you, hearing your voice, seeing your smile, kissing you, remembering everything good, how we were together, how…maybe we could be again, Piper…I can’t keep it up. I can’t stay mad at you.”
“It’s all I’ve known for a long time,” I admitted, relaxing against the pillow, not sure if I’d ever be able to explain myself enough to make sense to either of us. But Ed’s nod was automatic and when he moved closer, holding my face again, I figured he’d understand me better than anyone. “Do you think, one day we can—”
His smile was slow, but sure, and instead of answering, Ed inched closer, tugging on my fingers, smoothing his thumb across my nails as he watched them. “I could have gone anywhere in the world. I still can.”
“Why don’t you?” A chill ran over my arms and Ed pulled the cover over us, tucking the bulk of it around me.
“My family gave me a good name. They are good people, and a long time ago this town believed in me. You did too.” I couldn’t deny it, but wouldn’t say anything. Ed nodded, taking my silence for agreement. “You can go on believing what you want, for now. But one day soon, you’re going to see the truth.” When I opened my mouth, ready to ask about the money in his truck, Ed moved closer, his hand resting on my hip. “When you do, yázhí, you’ll have to be ready.”
“For what?”
He learned forward, smoothing his thumb over my mouth. “For all the time we have to make up.”
Ed
She’d planted purple nightshade in the window boxes.
I hadn’t noticed them when I worked on the trim or walked the grounds with Chance. But as the sun hit me square in the eyes through the thin bedroom curtains, I spotted the round purple petals. She’d loved them, always. Drew them when she doodled and planted them along the patio at my old place at the back of my grandparents’ property.
Piper’s eyes moved behind her closed lids. Whatever she dreamed had her in deep and curving a flicking smile over her mouth. I hadn’t been wrong last night. The freckles had faded, weren’t as prominent, and as I watched her, there were other things I noticed that had changed since the last time I’d been this close to her—the darker hair that was wavy now, not curly. The small scar along the top of her left hand. The hint of a line between her eyebrows, like she’d spent too much time worrying the past five years and not nearly enough smiling.
The window lifted with a small squeak when I opened it and I glanced down at her, making sure I hadn’t woken her. But Piper’s eyes were still moving and a soft, satisfied snore started to leave her nose as I leaned through the open window and grabbed a handful of those flowers.
Leaning on my elbow I gave myself a few seconds to watch her. Still sweet. Still beautiful. I’d kissed her. She’d done the same. We should hate each other. Maybe some part of us did. But there was no ignoring what moved between us. Whatever pull that had always had us moving back together, like two magnets who couldn’t shake loose of each other, Piper and I seemed incapable of staying apart.
She let out a low sigh, snuggling deeper into her pillow and I bent down, kissing her forehead, reminding myself I had to go. “See you later, nizhóní,” I said, then left the flowers on th
e pillow next to her.
The Victorian was silent and dark, with only the low movement overhead of whoever had taken the second floor rooms. They seemed busy already, and I grinned, head shaking as I tucked in my shirt and pulled back my hair, walking down the hallway toward the lobby, hoping Tasso wouldn’t complain too much about picking me up this early when I called him.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I heard halfway to the front entrance. Then, Sam stepped up to me, his ruddy face going that same purple color it got anytime somebody pissed him off. That seemed to be me the past week or so. “You have absolutely got to be shitting me.”
“Man…” Shoulders dipping, I shook my head, depleted of the energy to even care that the idiot curled his hands into fists. “And I say this with all the sincerity in the world, but, please shut the fuck up. It’s too early.”
“A week. A damn week and you’re slinking out of her room?”
“How did you know…”
“This town is small, asshole. Don’t you remember?” If his top lip curled any higher, it would disappear. “You don’t think everyone doesn’t already know you two were all over each other last night at that bar? I come in this morning and the night clerk tells me Piper and some guy are in room six?”
“Are you going to get to a point soon because I got an aspirin at home with my name on it.”
“The point,” Sam said, pointing a finger in my chest, “is this. Stay the fuck away from Piper. You’re no good for her. You proved that shit a long damn time ago.”
“Did I?” He stepped back when crowded I him, dropping his hand. “Or maybe, someone else just made me look like I was no good.”
Mouth dropping open, Sam forced out a laugh, not at all convincing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You tell me, Travis.”
When the man’s eyes narrowed, the bottom lids curling like he didn’t know what to make of me, I laughed once, giving him my back as I headed for the door.