Love Triangle: Six Books of Torn Desire

by Willow Winters

  I glance around my bedroom. Nothing has changed since I left this place almost a decade ago. A few framed photos still litter my dresser, and all of them are from high school. I pick one up and look at four friends with arms linked around one another. I remember this picture—it was at Jill’s house before we left for a concert. It was our senior year, and Vail was opening for some other band I can’t even remember now. Jill and I were obsessed with Mark Ashton, as were our friends.

  Out of the three faces in the photo aside from mine, I only still talk to Jill. One of the other girls and I aren’t even Facebook friends.

  I toss the photo—frame and all—into the trashcan. Life goes on. I have plenty of newer pictures and memories with Jill. She’ll always be my best friend, but Becky and Holly are from another lifetime. I wonder what they’d think of my predicament, of the fact that I slept with Mark and now I’m sleeping with his brother.

  It doesn’t matter what they think. I don’t even know what I think.

  I clear some more high school memories off the top of my dresser as I think about Brian’s empty dresser in his bedroom. Is he that detached from mementos, or is everything just packed away, waiting for their permanent spots in his new home?

  Even as I think to myself that these memories are from another lifetime, I don’t throw away the picture of Jill and me in the Best Friends Forever frame. I don’t throw away my class ring or the trinket box filled with notes—different ones from friends or boys I had crushes on. Someday I’ll let those things go, but right now these mementos offer a calming oasis in the arid desert where I’ve been residing for the past two months.

  I sit on my bed, the same twin my parents bought me when I outgrew my toddler bed. The springs squeak when I sit, and I giggle to myself as I think about the time Eric, the boy I was dating in high school, came over and we made out. My parents were just downstairs. We were in my room “studying,” and we were supposed to keep the door open—which we did, desperately listening for footsteps so we could jump apart. We were trying to be as quiet as possible, and then the bed let out a huge squeal, totally giving us away. Eric froze, and I giggled hysterically because I was so nervous to be making out with a boy in my bed, but we were never caught. He jumped up and then we got some real studying done. We didn’t make out in my bed again—well, we didn’t make out in my bed again when my parents were home to hear us.

  I lost my virginity in this bed, to a different high school boyfriend a year later, this one named Zach. The bed moaned under our weight. It wasn’t traumatic as some first times go, but I’ve definitely learned a lot since then.

  The last boy I had in this bed was Justin, my ex. I brought him home with me to meet my parents, and when they went out to dinner, we had a fuck fest. I smile as I remember each of us tearing our clothes off the second the garage closed behind my parents, as soon as we were sure they were gone. We’d been teasing each other mercilessly behind my parents’ backs, and it was like some sort of hot foreplay. We attacked each other, and it was the best sex during our entire relationship—probably because it was naughty and illicit.

  I’m just about to leave the memories behind me and head back down to my eager mother when my phone buzzes with a text notification—and a new memory that’ll burn into my reflections of this room.

  Jill: Don’t be mad at me, but I gave Mark your number.

  My heart races with those words.

  Me: Why would you do that?

  Jill: Because when he looks at me with those green eyes of his, I’d pretty much do anything he asked me to do.

  I giggle.

  Me: I get it. Can you give me more details?

  Jill: He got my number from Becker and texted me.

  Me: So he didn’t actually look at you with those eyes of his?

  Jill: You’d be good at investigative journalism.

  Me: So is he going to call me?

  Jill: He didn’t say.

  Me: When did you give him my number?

  Jill: I texted it to him and then texted you to let you know.

  My phone starts ringing with a number I don’t recognize with a 310 area code and the words Los Angeles, California.

  Holy fucking shit. Mark Ashton is calling me.

  I have Mark fucking Ashton’s phone number.

  What is this life?

  My heart pounds and my stomach drops out all the way to my toes.

  Another text flashes from Jill, but I answer the call instead of checking it. “Hello?” I say tentatively, my heartbeat rushing up to my ears.

  “Reese,” he says softly, and even if I hadn’t gotten Jill’s warning, I would recognize that voice anywhere.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi.”

  We’re both quiet as I wait for him to say why he’s calling me. Nerves knot my stomach.

  “I came by your place again today but no one was home.”

  “I drove home to Phoenix.”

  “Phoenix? Isn’t it hot there now?”

  “Incredibly, but I’m in the air conditioning. And it’s not that much hotter than Vegas right now. Did you get my phone number from my best friend to ask me about the weather?”

  He chuckles. “No.”

  I let silence settle clumsily between us for a few beats as I wait for him to talk.

  “I just…I don’t know, Reese. I’m a fucking disaster right now and it’s your fault.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That one night with you. Goddammit, I can’t get you out of my head. And now you’re with Brian and it’s all so fucking wrong.” His voice is laden with passion and my heart breaks in my chest. I want this—I want this so, so badly, and I want it to be real and true. I want him to want to be with me. I want to believe what he’s saying because I felt it, too.

  But Brian’s words are stuck in my mind, haunting me as they twist around the grey matter.

  This is what Mark does. He manipulates women, sleeps with them, steals them from his brother.

  “I made him tell me about Kendra.” I avoid saying his name.

  Mark bites out a laugh. “What did he tell you?”

  “That she cheated on him. With you.” I pause. “Is this some sort of pattern?”

  “No, it’s not. Is it serious with you two?”

  “Why don’t you ask your brother that?”

  “I don’t want to hear it from him. I want to hear it from you.”

  I pick at a loose thread on a fifteen-year-old pink comforter. “I don’t know.”

  “If he wasn’t in the picture, would you give me a chance?”

  “You’re Mark Ashton. That’s not a fair question.”

  “Something’s there, Reese. Something is between us. This shit doesn’t happen to me. I lost my shit during the middle of our opening song last night. I stared out at that crowd, scanning every face there for yours. You weren’t there, and I lost the words. Fucking Steve had to step in and finish the second verse while I acted like I was focused on a guitar solo.”

  His anger and confusion are palpable even over the phone. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if he’s throwing more lines at me or if this is real.

  “Come back, Reese. Let me see you again. Come to my place and we’ll talk like we did that night we met. I just…I need to talk to you, to figure out what the hell it is that’s got me so fucked in the head. Please give me a chance.”

  Tears heat behind my eyes. If I didn’t know his voice so well, I’d have a hard time believing the womanizing Mark Ashton I read about in the magazines is the same man as the sweet, almost desperate Mark Ashton on the phone.

  He nearly has me convinced. Like Jill, I’d do pretty much anything just because he asked me to.

  I have to decide which brother to trust. Mark’s public image precedes him, and Brian doesn’t have a reason to lie to me.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand,” he says, his voice broken. “When will you be back?”

  “It’s sort
of open-ended for now. Probably before the weekend.”

  “Can I see you when you get back?”

  “I don’t know, Mark. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He sighs.

  “Why me?” I whisper.

  “I wish I knew,” he whispers back.

  He ends the call with that, and I’m left a fucking disaster as he so eloquently put it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rachel doesn’t make it over after her dinner, and I slip into bed a little after eleven, spent from the emotional conversation with Mark. I managed to fend off my mom’s incessant grilling about the new boy in my life, instead getting her to talk about my aunt and my cousins. She can go on a bender when I get her started, so I faked listening while I continued to sort through my very confusing feelings for two men who happen to be brothers.

  I text Brian to say goodnight, and my phone tells me he’s calling a minute later.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Hi.”

  “How has your day been?”

  “Busy. I’m coming home tomorrow.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah. I miss you.”

  My heart ripples with some mixture of excitement and fear.

  I shouldn’t fear seeing the guy I’m dating, but things have been weird between us since I asked him about his ex. Oh, and I kissed his brother while he was out of town.

  The guilt I’d easily pushed away with the old cliché out of sight, out of mind pours back over me.

  “I miss you, too,” I say automatically. I do. I’m just not sure how much.

  “I can’t wait to hold you in my arms, to kiss you…to fuck you.” His voice slurs a little on the s sound in the word kiss, and I realize he’s a little drunk. In the fairly short span of time we’ve been together, I’ve never seen him drunk.

  “What are you going to do to me?” I ask.

  “Mm,” he moans, and a jolt of lust spears my stomach. “I’m going to make up for lost time.”

  I giggle. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re gonna be walking funny for a few days.”

  I don’t doubt it. I try to brush away the sinking feeling that I can’t quite identify in the pit of my stomach.

  “I’m…uh…in Phoenix right now.”

  “You are? Why?”

  “I came home to visit my family.”

  “I get in at five tomorrow. Go back to Vegas.”

  “I want to, but I just got here today. I haven’t even seen my sister yet.”

  “Invite her to Vegas, then. I need to see you.”

  The rasp in his voice is pretty damn convincing. I have all this pent-up sexual energy, and my boyfriend seems like the right person to be the recipient of it.

  “Fine. I’ll head home after lunch.”

  “Come straight to my place.”

  Mark’s place, you mean? “Are you sure?”

  He’s never willingly invited me to his place knowing his brother might be around.

  “Yeah. I miss being home, you know? Sleeping in my own bed. I need to unpack and get some work done, anyway.”

  “Okay. I’ll text you when I’m on my way. Fly safe and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  We hang up without another sign of affection—no I miss you or I love you.

  I fall into a sleep filled with strange, confused dreams. In one scenario, I’m with Brian, and in the next, I’m with Mark. It feels like my subconscious is trying to tell me something—trying to warn me of some impending doom, but I can’t quite decipher the real meaning.

  I wake feeling guilty, horny, and hungry when the smell of bacon wafts to my nose. I don’t do anything to alleviate the horny situation, though, because Brian will be there to take care of my needs tonight.

  I do, however, head down for some of that bacon after a quick shower, and I find my dad in the kitchen flipping pancakes as bacon sizzles and pops in another pan. “You smell the bacon?” he asks.

  I grin. “You know it.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  I pour a couple of glasses of orange juice and then I hear a knock at the front door. My forehead wrinkles in confusion as I look at my dad, but he just smiles.

  I go to get the door, and when I see who’s standing on the other side, my face breaks out into a wide smile. I throw my arms around my sister. “Rachel!” I squeal.

  She giggles. “Reese!”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Dad invited me to breakfast since I missed out on dinner. I can’t stay long because I have to get to work, but I thought a family breakfast sounded fun.”

  “It’s so good to see you!”

  “You, too,” she says, squeezing my arm.

  We walk toward the kitchen. “You should come visit me soon.”

  “You know what, I have a flex holiday I need to use in the next two months or I lose it.”

  “Yes! Come stay with me.”

  “And meet the boyfriend?”

  “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, by the way?” I glare at her, and her brows draw in.

  “What?”

  “You told Mom?”

  She giggles. “Of course I did. She was badgering me for Reese news.”

  “Who was badgering you for Reese news?” my mom asks.

  “You,” we say together. Rachel and I glance at each other and burst into giggles.

  My mom rolls her eyes. “So I care about my girls. Big deal.”

  “You could just ask me, Mom.” I give her a hug.

  “Like I tried to yesterday when you got me all riled up about Aunt Janice and her children that run around like little monsters?”

  I lift my shoulders in mock innocence. “I have no idea what you mean!”

  “Food’s ready, girls!” my dad interrupts, and we all sit at the table.

  It’s like a scene from a picture-perfect movie, the whole family sitting together at the table, glasses clinking and silverware scraping against plates amidst the sound of conversation, recollections, and laughter. Part of me feels like I’m on the outside looking in as I try to categorize my feelings—as I try to interpret the dreams I had last night versus the reality of my situation, whether I’m in love with Brian or if my feelings for Mark will never allow me to fully give myself to Brian. As I wonder if my feelings for Mark are real or if they’re based on some fantasy I’ve held for ten years.

  I try to participate and let go of the internal struggle I’m facing, because I miss this. I miss being with my family. I love Vegas, love my job, love the life I’ve built there, and I certainly don’t want to move back home, but nothing beats family.

  I don’t get a chance to talk to my sister privately about the boy they keep referring to. I don’t get a chance to talk about my confusing feelings or the fact that I slept with the lead singer of her favorite band, too. I don’t get a chance to mention Brian’s warnings and pit them against Mark’s sincerity. I don’t get the chance to admit that I’ve slept with a pair of brothers.

  I will get the chance to share all of that with my sister at some point, but breakfast with my parents isn’t the right time. So for now, I pretend like everything’s fine. I laugh at the right parts and interject my own familiar brand of sarcasm where it fits as if I’m not facing absolute turmoil at the hands of brothers.

  * * *

  I toss my overnight bag in my car and head inside to give my mom one last hug before I take off. My dad is off to work, but I said goodbye to him this morning along with my sister.

  “You sure you have to go?” my mom asks.

  I nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry it was such a quick visit.”

  She gives me a hug. “You know you’re welcome any time for however long you want to stay.”

  “I know. Thanks, Mom.”

  “You sure you don’t want to talk about the boy?”

  I giggle. “Not yet. Maybe soon.”

  She smiles. “I’m just on the other side of the phone when
ever you’re ready.”

  We walk to the front door. “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, too.” She kisses my cheek. “Drive safe and text me when you’re home.”

  “I will.” I open the door and say one last goodbye, and then she waves a final time and closes the door before she bursts into tears because I’m leaving again. Just as I take my first step toward my car, a huge black Yukon screeches to a stop right in front of the driveway.

  My mouth goes dry and my heart thuds as a nervous energy zips down my spine.

  I know who it is before the door even opens, before the feet wearing black Nikes and the legs clad in black jeans step out of the vehicle.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  This is extreme, even for him.

  Mark strides up the driveway toward me, looking every bit like the rock star he is—black shirt to match his black pants, tattoos snaking down his arms, sunglasses perched on his nose, dark stubble peppering his jaw—and looking completely out of place in the quiet suburban driveway of my parents’ house. He stops a few feet in front of me in the shade provided by the garage. He flips his sunglasses up on top of his head, and his green eyes search mine. “I had to see you.”

  “Why?”

  He pauses and looks around. “It’s really fucking hot here.”

  I can’t help my laugh despite the gravity of the situation. “Yeah, it is. Why are you here?”

  “I’m not sure. I just spent five fucking hours in a car trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing, but I came up short.”

  “I’m headed back to Vegas now.”

  “You are?”

  His eyes look hopeful for a second, and I hate what comes out of my mouth next.

  “Yeah. Brian’s…um…coming back tonight.”

  The hope disappears and is replaced with a hardness that physically hurts my heart. “Oh.” He looks away from me.

  “Don’t you, like, have a concert or something? Why are you wasting your time with me?”