Bad Boys Break Hearts

by Smeltzer, Micalea

“Of course.” She lowers her head, trying to hide her blush.

  She grabs the kitchen sink looking bowl they use for the specialty dessert and starts adding in all the different ice cream flavors and toppings. Rory licks her lips in anticipation. I don’t think she even realizes she’s done it.

  After The Kitchen Sink is perfectly prepared it’s my turn.

  “A banana shake?” Rory protests incredulously when I tell the lady what I want. “That’s all? Live a little, Norman Bates.”

  “I am living, I’m having a milkshake.”

  “But it’s banana,” she gasps like this is the most blasphemous things ever. “Everyone knows chocolate is the best milkshake flavor.”

  “No, banana.”

  The woman finishes mixing my shake and moves everything down to the antique register. Passing over my debit card she rings everything up and I sign the slip. Rory licks her lips in anticipation and picks up her sink, carrying it to one of the booths.

  Elvis Presley’s voice croons from the antique jukebox about a hound dog

  Sliding in across from her I wrap my lips around the wide yellow straw. “Delicious.”

  “Mine’s better.” She digs into the vanilla ice cream portion coming out with a spoonful covered in fudge, sprinkles, and whipped cream. The moan she makes when she licks the spoon clean should be illegal.

  “I’d argue mine is better, Princess.”

  She narrows her eyes and I’m so busy looking in her eyes, enjoying the impromptu staring contest, that I completely miss what she’s doing with her hands.

  I jolt in surprise when cold sticky ice cream splatters on my face.

  Rory doesn’t make a move, waiting for me to react, but after only a few seconds she can’t hold her laughter in any longer.

  “That was cold.” The words are monotone. I purposely don’t want her to know whether I’m pissed off or amused.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She pretends to frown. “Want me to get that for you?”

  She reaches across like she’s going to wipe it from my face with her finger.

  Dipping my finger in her bowl where she can’t see I scoop up some of the ice cream and wipe it down her cheek. She jerks back in surprise, her delectable lips parting.

  “You. Didn’t.”

  I pick up my shake taking a sip. “You started it, Princess.”

  “This is war.”

  “Shit!” I curse, earning me a glare from a nearby family with their two kids. But Rory pelted me in the chest with a glob of ice cream. “Are you kidding me?”

  She giggles, lobbing me with more.

  I pick up my shake dumping the contents over her head.

  “Ahh!” She screams. “It’s so sticky and all over me!”

  “That’s what she said,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Ugh!” She throws more ice cream at me. She might be trying to sound irritated, but her grin and laughter says otherwise.

  It isn’t long, maybe thirty more seconds before our fun is ruined by the squawking employee who served us. “What are you doing? Stop that! You’re making a huge mess!” Around us the table, booth, and floor is covered in gooey ice cream, not to mention ourselves. “This is such a disaster! It’s going to take forever to clean up! I’m so sorry for the disturbance.” She quiets her voice turning to the others seated in the dining area.

  “You don’t have to worry,” Rory speaks up, raising a reassuring hand. “We’ll clean it up.”

  My head swings back in her direction. “We will?”

  “Of course,” she bites out.

  The woman pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’ll get you everything you need.”

  “We’re not cleaning.” I make to slide out of the booth and she kicks my shin. “Ow, Princess. Watch yourself.”

  “We made the mess, we’re cleaning up.”

  “You started it.”

  “And you participated.”

  I blow out a breath, the ice cream already drying in a sticky layer on my skin.

  The woman, Lorelai according to her name tag, returns with a bucket, mop, and a pile of rags. “Get started.”

  Her voice is nothing less than pissed off. I know we made a giant mess but let us have our fun.

  “Come on, Pretty Boy.” Rory slides out of the booth and grabs the mop, passing it to me. “Let’s get started.”

  * * *

  “I can’t believe we got banned for life. What a load of bullshit,” I grumble, walking through the garage.

  We’re both still covered in ice cream and I’m kind of sad I dumped my ice cream on her head. I wanted that milkshake.

  Rory closes the door leading into the house behind her and follows me down the hall into the open entry.

  “Oh my God.” My mom’s hand flies to her chest at the sight of us as she’s walking out of the kitchen. “What happened to you guys?”

  “The ice cream exploded,” I deadpan.

  “Food fight,” Rory answers.

  “She started it,” I add quickly, lest my mother think this disaster is my fault. I’m an angel.

  Her eyes flicker between us, one of those sighs only mothers seem capable of pulling off emanating from her. You know the one that says she wants to know more but isn’t about to ask.

  “Just clean yourselves up.” Shaking her head and muttering to herself she heads into the den.

  Leading the way upstairs and down the hall the two of us pause outside the bathroom.

  Rory takes a step back, eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

  “We can’t share a shower sweetheart?”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of others you can use in this house.”

  “There’s my sister’s and my parents, but this is mine.”

  “You don’t have one up there?” She points at the ceiling.

  “Nope. This one’s mine and the guest bath. It’s an old house, Princess, not a lot of bathrooms.”

  She works her jaw back and forth.

  Lowering my head, I twist a lock of her hair around my finger, my lips millimeters from her cheek. “I’ll let you off the hook this time.” I tug her hair lightly. “Enjoy your shower, Princess.” I swipe my tongue over a spot of dried vanilla ice cream on her face. “I know I will.”

  Turning my back on her I walk away.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Rory

  “Morning.” Emma smiles at me when I walk into the kitchen the next morning. “Muffin?” She points to a smorgasbord of muffins spread on the counter, some already organized beautifully on a two-tiered display I’d expect to see in a fancy café. “There’s blueberry, cranberry and orange, chocolate chip, and banana nut.”

  My eyes widen. “You made all of these? Like from scratch?”

  She laughs. “I know I went a bit overboard. Sometimes I can’t help myself. I honestly never thought I’d be this mom.” She waves her hands at the muffins littering the countertop. “But here we are.”

  I reach for a chocolate chip one. I pull a small part off and pop it into my mouth. It’s still warm, the chocolate gooey. “Mmm, this is delicious. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She finishes pulling some of the cranberry orange ones from a pan.

  “I … um … I’m going for a walk.” It was the reason I came down here in the first place. I was going to tell Mascen, but he doesn’t seem to be down here which means more than likely he’s still in his tower as I’ve dubbed the attic space I’ve yet to see.

  Emma nods, her face softening in a way that’s too close to pity for me. She knows without saying that I want to walk by my old home. It’s a couple miles down the road and I know she’d probably let me borrow a vehicle, but I’m hoping the walk will help prepare me. I know someone else will live there now, it’s bound to look different, but it will still be the place I lived for the first eight years of my life. That home signifies the last time I knew stability.

  “Bundle up,” she calls after me.

  “I will.”

  In the mudroom area
I grab my coat and walk out the side door. The driveway is long and by the time I get to the end of it there’s no sign of my muffin left. Turning left I keep walking, wrapping my arms around myself.

  This hurts and I’m not even to the house yet. I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but it’s necessary. I can’t be here and not go.

  The miles pass slowly and it’s forty-five minutes before I stand at the end of the driveway of the massive colonial style mansion.

  Tears spring to my eyes and I crumble to the ground.

  Inside those walls four people’s lives changed forever.

  One ended.

  One gave up.

  One did what was necessary.

  One is trying to atone for the sins of her family.

  But nothing I do will ever be enough. I have to let go. The past is just that, the past. I have to move on, be the best version of myself I can be. I can still make a difference, but for me, not for anyone else.

  Sniffling, I wipe my tears off my damp cheeks, startling when I hear a car pulling up. I nearly roll into a bush to hide, thinking it’s whoever lives here getting home from somewhere, but the color catches my eyes and I freeze. Just like that first day on campus I’m nearly face to face with the bumper on the SUV. I can’t see Mascen behind the tinted windows, but I know it’s him. It wouldn’t be anyone else. He rolls the window down, sticking his head out the side. He squints at me on the ground.

  He hops out in only a pair of gray sweatpants and a wifebeater. I expect him to berate me, but he surprises me completely by doing no such thing.

  He bends down, scooping me into his arms like an infant. With a small grunt he stands, carrying me to the passenger side. Somehow managing to keep a hold on me he opens the door and gently places me on the seat. Grabbing the seatbelt he leans across my body, snapping me in. He starts to straighten and I grab his shirt. I look at the fabric in my hand in surprise, not having meant to grab him, but here we are.

  Push. Pull. That’s us.

  “How did you know where I went?” My voice is barely audible.

  His eyes pulse with something that both excites and scares me. What’s happening to us?

  “Let’s say it was an educated guess.” He touches my cheek with the back of his fingers like he’s reminding himself I’m real.

  “It’s ghosts,” I confess brokenly. “That’s all that’s left. Of them. Me.”

  He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re not a ghost, Aurora.”

  “How do you know?”

  He licks his lips, his eyes flicking down to mine. “Because you’re real to me.”

  Grabbing the back of his neck I crash my lips to his like if I don’t kiss him I might die. It certainly feels that way. I didn’t know it could feel so good to kiss someone I hate, but I’m beginning to think hate and love or at least like are synonymous. Such passionate feelings can’t be reduced to one simple thing.

  He kisses me back, his tongue softly stroking mine as he tries to slow the kiss. We’ve always been wild about it when we get to this point, but I follow his lead, my touch gentle against his cheek as I stroke the slightly stubbled skin with my thumb.

  Pulling away he rests his forehead against mine slightly out of breath. “Let’s get you home.”

  “Home?” My brows furrow.

  He cracks the smallest of smiles. “I still hate you, Princess, but you always have a home with me.”

  Suddenly the word hate feels different. It feels a lot like…

  “I hate you too, Mascen.”

  * * *

  Somehow, in a blink, it’s Thanksgiving, which means my stay with the Wade’s is close to winding down.

  In the bathroom I go about my usual morning routine, but take extra time to curl my hair and apply makeup. I even spray perfume on. Back across the hall in the guestroom I dress in the nicest clothes I brought with me.

  When I open the door I’m not surprised to find Mascen there. In the past couple of days it’s become a hangout of sorts for him. I told him to stop being a lurker, but clearly my criticism had no effect.

  “You look horrible.” His tone is flat but at this point I know the dance with him, and it’s become a compliment.

  “You do too.” My eyes drop to the bulge his sweatpants lie against, teasing me.

  He chuckles, the sound silky and rich like my favorite coffee. “My eyes are up here, Princess.” I blush at being caught. “My uncle and aunt are coming for the day. My cousin and his girl too, just so you know. Didn’t want you to be surprised.”

  “Oh, um, thanks for letting me know.” I start to walk away, but pause, turning around. “Liam? He used to be over with Willow a lot, right?”

  “Didn’t think you’d remember him, but yeah. Those two have always been thick as thieves. They drifted apart for a bit there, Liam kinda cut everyone off, he wasn’t in a good place, but now he’s coming around. I think he knows Uncle Mathias will choke him out if he doesn’t.”

  Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear I ease backward down the hall. “I’m going to go see if your mom needs any help in the kitchen.”

  He watches me with an amused expression until I finally force myself to turn away from him.

  Downstairs, I find the front dining room in a state of chaos. Maddox smiles when he sees me, putting in one of the extender leaves for the table. All the chairs are spread throughout the open dining room and into the foyer.

  “Morning, Rory.”

  “Good morning,” I reply. “Do you need any help?”

  “Nah.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I’m almost done here. Emma might need some in the kitchen. Lylah was supposed to wake up early and help, but…” He trails off, laughing a bit. “She likes sleep more.”

  “I know how that is.”

  Heading into the kitchen at the end of the house, I find poor Emma running around trying to make sure everything is taken care of.

  Picking up an apron from the rack I tie it around me so I won’t dirty my outfit.

  “Let me know what I can help with.”

  She lets out a squeak of surprise. “You scared me. I wasn’t paying attention.” She gives a laugh with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. I’ve got it covered and you’re our guest.”

  Rolling up my sleeves, I place my hands on my hips. “I’m volunteering and more than happy to pitch in. Just point me in the direction you need me most.”

  She hesitates, looking around at the smorgasbord of food in the middle of being prepared. “Have you ever made a pie before?”

  “All the time.” Even though I waitressed at the diner I used to work at the owner’s wife used to have me help with the homemade pies. Eventually I got the hang of it and could do it on my own.

  “Okay, would you mind taking over with those?” She points to the counter she has the pie ingredients on.

  “Not at all.”

  “Thank you.” She exhales in relief.

  I get to work on them—the ingredients are set out for apple and pumpkin pie—and get lost in my head as I go about the familiar routine.

  I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear Mascen say, “Hey, Momma. What can I help you with?”

  I look over my shoulder in time to see him drop a kiss on her cheek.

  She puts him to work on the macaroni and cheese. He rearranges things so he ends up working beside me.

  Whenever we catch the other looking our way we exchange a secretive smile. I don’t really understand what’s happening between us, but it both excites and terrifies me.

  Lylah eventually comes down and joins us in the kitchen and an hour after that Willow and Dean arrive. The parade plays in the background on the TV and with the conversation and laughter filling the kitchen I can’t help but be appreciative that Mascen basically forced me to come. This is what family should be—spending time together, poking fun at each other, just … having fun.

  Once we’ve done all we can in the kitchen Emma sends us on our way.

 
; “Want to go to the treehouse?” Mascen asks me, hesitating by the back door.

  “Sure,” I agree. He holds out his hand for mine but quickly drops it, his face shadowed in surprise.

  I can’t help but be amused. “I don’t have cooties. You can hold my hand if you want,” I joke, lightly bumping his shoulder.

  “Shut up,” he grumbles, opening the French doors.

  We head down the deck and around the fenced in portion of the yard.

  We don’t speak the entire trek to the treehouse. Mascen pauses at the bottom of the tree letting me up first.

  Sitting on the outside of the deck I let my legs dangle over the edge as he settles beside me.

  He sticks his hand in the front of his hoodie and passes me a juice pouch.

  “Are we five?” I ask, holding up the kid’s drink.

  He rips the plastic off his straw. “It seemed fitting. Like old times.”

  I take the straw off the back and remove the covering, stabbing it into the pouch. “Cheers.”

  He grins. “Cheers.” We knock the pouches together and take a sip. Mascen’s face screws up in disgust at first but then settles like it’s really not so bad after all. “It isn’t whiskey, but it’ll do.”

  Chewing on the straw like I always used to do I watch him from the corner of my eye.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “You.”

  “Why?” He narrows his eyes.

  “Because I want to.” His jaw pulses and he looks straight ahead. “Tell me about your cousin. How’s he been?”

  He looks relieved at the subject change. Neither one of us knows what to do about the change coming between us and I guess ignoring it seems like the most practical route.

  “He’s doing good now. Married with a baby on the way which is fucking mind-blowing. Better him than my sister. I couldn’t handle mini Dean and Willow’s running around.” Despite his words he smiles like he doesn’t actually mind the idea of it so much. I have to admit the idea of Mascen playing with a niece or nephew is a bit too much for my heart to handle. “He lives in Malibu, but the past couple of years he’s come for every holiday and usually makes a longer trip at some point in the year.”