by Kylie Scott
"Of course," I said, pasting on a grin. It wasn't a rejection, it was just a "think about it." And anyway, I had more important things to worry about.
"Right. Shower." He stepped over, kissing me on the forehead. "I won't be long. Read a skating magazine or a textbook or something."
"Thanks." I laughed.
Across the hall, the bathroom door clicked quietly shut. The minute it did, I got busy unlacing my Doc boots. Off went the socks, the whole lot pushed to the side. Then up I stood and off came my denim dress. Nerves hit me and holy hell, old me would have stopped right there and then. But no. Who would wash John's back if I didn't get naked and go in there? Sacrifices must be made. It was time to get brave.
The door creaked ominously as I opened it, the room already filling with steam.
"Edie?" he asked, sounding surprised. Fair enough. My fearlessness kind of impressed me too.
Carefully, I closed the door and locked it. "Hi."
He pulled back the shower curtain, eyes widening, gaze flitting down my body before returning to my face. "You want to come in?"
"Hygiene is important."
"It is."
He moved over, making room for me before drawing me into the small space. Then he kissed me over and over, brushing his lips on the mine, making me crazy with his mouth. Taking it easy and taking his time. The boy made my stomach dip and my head spin. It was out of control, the way he affected me. I slid my hands over his wet skin, up his chest and onto his shoulders. Fingers digging in just a little.
The ugly stress from earlier in the evening was gone at last, replaced by a wholly different feeling.
"Another first," I said. "Showering with a member of the opposite sex."
"I like being part of your firsts."
"Yeah?" I slid my fingers down over his flat belly, getting closer to my target. "I've never actually touched your bare penis. Only through your clothes. Do you realize that?"
"No?"
"No."
Dark, intense eyes stared straight into mine. "Edie, you can touch whatever you want."
I didn't need to be told twice. The skin was so incredibly soft. But the flesh beneath had started hardening, thickening in the loose grip of my fingers. A real live dick. Wow.
"You have this little frown of concentration," he mumbled, lips brushing over my forehead.
"Well, I find this very interesting," I said.
"You make me sound like a science project."
"Do I?"
My fingers strayed lower, discovering the even-softer feel of his sac. Stomach muscles tightening, he widened his feet a little, giving me room to play. Honestly, though, it was his actual penis and getting a good reaction from it that had me really curious. I gripped him more firmly, blinking the water out of my eyes to better see the veins standing out. Over and around, my thumb brushed the smooth crown or the head or whatever the hell it was called. Such a fascinating shape, especially with the little tuck-in bit interrupting the flare. Guess my fumbling ministrations didn't feel too bad, because it wasn't long before he swore under his breath.
"You okay?" I asked, pushing back my wet hair and giving his cock a small squeeze. "Is this okay?"
John's breath hitched. "It definitely is."
"I want to make you come."
"Okay. Soap up your hand," he instructed.
I did, then stroked him experimentally, fingers firmer than before. "Like this?"
"Mind if I show you?"
"No."
"Here." His hand covered mind, gripping tighter, pulling a little harder. "That's it. That feels damn good."
Together we worked him toward release. He grew larger, skin hot and flushed by all the blood beneath. The feel of him in my hand was magnificent. And the way his whole body hardened, muscles tensing, lungs and heart pumping so fast. It was intoxicating. Touching John, getting him off, got me all worked up as well.
"Edie," he bit out. "Fuck."
Semen striped my belly, coated our combined hands. He shook, panting, face tipped up to heaven. Then his arms slipped around me, pulling me in tight. There wasn't an inch of space between us. Honestly, it was a little tough to breathe. But there wouldn't be a word of complaint from me.
"Thank you," he said, the words muffled against my wet hair.
"Anytime. That was fun."
I couldn't hear him laugh, but his chest vibrated against mine. A minute later he said, "Tell me."
"Hmm? Tell you what?"
His mouth moved to my neck, making everything low in my belly seize up in ecstasy. To be alone with him, skin to skin. Absolute bliss. Also, giving him pleasure turned me on.
"Say it again," he said.
"Oh." Duh. "I love you."
And the slow smile that spread across his face, it was everything.
"I can't get the zip up, could you . . ." I said, walking down the stairs. Still trying to wrestle the stupid thing on the back of my dress into submission. It must have caught on something. "John?"
Everything in the living room was eerie silence and shadows, still only the small lamp on the side table glowing. But this much I could see: John stood close to someone, another male. A horribly familiar one. Face covered in darkness, clothes hanging off his body. Also, the other person, he had something shiny in his hand pointed straight at my boyfriend. A gun.
"Baby, go back upstairs," said John in a voice that was too calm.
I froze.
"Baby," spat the stranger. "Since when do you call your sluts 'baby'?"
Oh, shit. Dillon.
My brain crashed, not wanting to make sense of the scene. "What is this?"
"Go back up," John repeated. "Wait for me in my room."
"This isn't even your real home," said Dillon.
"Get upstairs!"
My whole body jolted at the tone of John's voice, the volume. And this . . .
Shoving his gun under John's chin, Dillon snarled, "She's not going anywhere. Get your ass down here, bitch."
I made my way down the rest of the stairs, one step at a time. Part of me was screaming in panic, making even putting one foot in front of the other a frantic challenge.
But another part of me was quiet, insulated from the fear. Truth was, I knew what was happening downstairs even before I saw the gunmetal glint in Dillon's hand. Danger had a smell. A taste. I recognized it in an instant. It was all just as it had been. I was back at the Drop Stop all over again. Beer and blood. Cigarettes and lies.
Except some crazy part of me said that was a lie; that I had never escaped from the Drop Stop. All this time, we had always been here. There had just been me, and John, and a gun with bullets.
I stopped at the bottom of the steps, torn between getting to John's side and getting away from the violence.
"Introduce me properly, little brother."
"This doesn't involve her."
A fist flew, smashing into John's face, once, twice, three times. Then fingers grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging hard. "I'm in charge. You'll both do as you're fucking told."
John's breath hitched in pain. "Dillon, let her go. Just let her go and I'll do whatever the fuck you want. I'll start selling again."
"It's too fucking late for that," said his older brother, still pulling at his hair. "You little shit. This is all your fault, getting out of the business, leaving me on my own."
"I know."
"Get over here," his brother said to me, waving the gun in my general direction.
It wasn't fear that made my hands shake. It was anger. I walked toward him. "You're the asshole who messed with his car and beat him up."
Dillon chuckled, the sick bastard. "I like her. Too fat, but I bet she sucks cock real good. All hungry-like, right?"
John hissed in fury, blood dripping down his chin, onto the ground. My heart stuttered, hurting. The asshole was going to pay for that.
"What do you want, Dillon?" I asked, voice almost calm. "Why are you here?"
"Come to see my little brother." He gave
John a shake via the fistful of hair. God, I wanted to kill him. "We've got different business to attend to now. I need your money, all the cash you saved the last few years. I know you've fucking got it."
"You can have it. But she walks out the door unharmed," said John. "Now."
"You're not giving the fucking orders here. How many times do I have to tell you?"
"I won't do shit for you so long as she's here." With the back of his hand, he wiped blood from his mouth.
"Jesus."
"Now, Dillon!"
At this, the man flew into a rage, swinging the gun. It crashed into John's already-battered face as he coldcocked his brother. Bone crunched; I could hear it. John fell to his knees.
"What have you done?" I dropped down at John's side, trying to wipe away the blood, feel for a pulse. Trying to do something.
"Just returning the favor," drawled Dillon. "He broke my nose, so I broke his."
Curled up on the floor, John remained still. I gritted my teeth and tried to calm myself down, tried to find some sign of life. Slowly, his chest moved in and out. Yes. Thank God. And there stood Dillon, towering over us, all smiles. So damn happy with himself, the bastard. Brother or not, I'd kill him.
"You did more than break his nose, you asshole," I said. "He's out cold."
Dillon frowned.
"How do you think you're going to get your money now, huh?" I sneered, more pissed off in my life than I could ever remember being. Hadn't we been through enough already? No. This wasn't happening. I would not do this again.
For a moment, the meth-head just looked confused, blinking over and over again. "Well, we wait for him to wake up."
"No," I said simply. "God, you're so fucking stupid. You didn't think this through at all, did you?"
"Don't talk to me like that."
The gun got shoved in my face, barrel staring me down between the eyes. And there I stayed, on my knees, the perfect target. Didn't matter. One mistake, I just needed him to make one mistake so I could bring the asshole down. If I could get the jump on him . . .
"Smart people put their money in banks, Dillon. What did you think?" I asked. "That he'd have it stashed in his mattress or something?"
"It's drug money. No, there's no way it isn't here somewhere."
"It's in the bank," I singsonged.
"You're lying!"
I was lying. It was easy. Just like John with Chris, trying to get through this alive. If Dillon thought the money wasn't here, he'd just have to go. "We did different deposits at different places. I helped him set it up, to make sure it was safe."
Dillon snarled. "Shut up."
"Fact is, he didn't trust you. I mean, come on, you've been practically stalking him, for fuck's sake." My smile was all teeth. "Hello."
"No!"
"Run, Dillon. Leave. Now. There's nothing for you here."
Just like he had with his brother, he grabbed a handful of my wet hair. The gun pressed hard into my forehead. Bet he thought he'd make me cry or piss myself or beg for my life. Not happening.
"It's just past ten," I said, cool as can be. "We've got friends from the field party coming over soon. Anders and Hang and some of the other guys from the basketball team."
Nervous, his gaze darted to the door.
"Yeah, a whole bunch of them are coming over to smoke some weed and drink a few beers."
"You're lying," he repeated. Though not sounding quite so sure of himself now.
"Why do you think we were upstairs having a quickie? It's Saturday night. Party time, duh. We've got things to do."
The gun shook in his hands, his thin lips drawn wide. "No. No one's coming. Uncle Levi--"
"Can't stand you," I finished for him. "But John he just loves. Drives you nuts, doesn't it?"
"You talk too fucking much." He yanked at my hair, tearing some loose. Tears of pain filled my eyes, but I didn't make a noise. I was done playing victim. And still his hand kept jittering, finger caressing the trigger. "Johnny'll wake up soon. Until then, keep your trap shut."
"If you haven't caused him any permanent brain damage. There could be swelling, internal bleeding." I stopped, saying a quick prayer that this really was all lies. "Is that what you wanted for your brother?"
"I didn't hit him that hard."
"Yes you did."
"Well, I didn't mean to!"
"Oh, I think you did," I said. "He needs an ambulance, Dillon. Medical attention."
Gaze torn, agonized, he stared at John still lying so frighteningly quiet on the floor. That's when I made my move, smacking the gun, trying to knock it out of his hand. I grabbed at his wrist, putting my whole body weight behind it, knocking him off balance. He was taller than me but sickly and rake thin. At least I had weight on him. A startled sort of sound left his throat. We wrestled over the weapon, me trying to drag his hand down and pry his fingers open. It went off. The clap of the noise like a shock wave, weapon discharging. Nothing I hadn't heard before. Pain flashed through me, but adrenaline drowned it out.
His hands were slickened with sweat, but it wasn't enough. I wasn't strong enough.
Eventually, Dillon threw me off, kicking me in the stomach for good measure. Blood dampened my side and I sunk to my knees. Shit. So this was what it felt like to get shot. It sucked, big time.
He backhanded me.
Still I smiled up at him. "Gunshot," I said, a note of triumph in my voice. "Someone's calling the cops right now."
Nose wrinkled, his gaze was incredulous. "You're fucking crazy."
"And you're not the first dickhead to pull a gun on me." I managed a shrug.
Poor Dillon. The frown worsened as he looked between me and John. Down the street, a car honked. Dillon jumped.
"Shit," he muttered. "You're that girl. The one who was at the Drop Stop with him, right?"
"Yep." I grinned, blood dribbling from my lip. "And if you think there's anything I wouldn't do to protect your brother, then you're the one that's fucking crazy."
He just looked at me.
The inside of my mouth tasted like blood. Gross, I must have bitten my tongue. I spat onto the ground and made a mental note to apologize to Levi later. If I was still alive. At this rate, who knew? But at least I'd go out fighting. John remained still and silent. My heart felt swollen at the sight. Like it was somehow at two or three times its capacity. Thank God I'd told him I loved him.
If it had to end, at least he knew. To think, Hang and I had joked about it just the other night. Shit.
I didn't want to die.
The thought hit me out of nowhere. All of the crazy, risky, wild, dangerous, irrational things I'd been doing, like rushing through my firsts. I'd been wrong, desperate. Just waiting for the end. Waiting for the man with the gun.
Now here he was, and I wanted more time. Not just a bunch of quick thrills. But time.
Time with John and time with Mom, too. Time to graduate and move out. Time to travel and grow. I wanted more of everything, but the choice was out of my hands.
I pulled myself to my feet, legs trembling.
The gun barrel was suspended in space, mere inches from my head.
It was shaking. Dillon's hand was shaking. I looked past the gun, fixing my eyes on him. The arm holding the gun was outstretched, the man's weight leaning back away from me, as if the gun was his shield. His confidence had fled.
"Shoot me, and they put you in jail and throw away the key," I said. "You'll be cuffed and locked up in a cell before John even comes to. And you'll be out of his life. Forever."
No matter how this turned out for me, John would live. He would be free. He would have time.
"There's nothing here for you anymore," I said. "And there never will be."
Without a word, Dillon turned and staggered out of the house. The front door banging shut as he disappeared into the darkness.
Gone. Holy shit, he was gone.
Relief swamped me. Hope. I didn't even realize tears were flowing down my face for a while. Panic had held
the pain in check. With Dillon gone, the bullet wound in my side sang with agony. I'd been shot. Holy shit. Thankfully my brain kicked in. I needed a phone. But moving was out since I suddenly felt like I'd been hit by a truck.
"Think," I ordered myself.
John's back pocket. It was where he kept his cell. I crawled closer to him, feeling up his ass without any of the usual euphoria associated with the act.
"Edie . . ." he mumbled.
I held my face close to his, trying to smile but not quite managing. "It's okay--I'm getting help."
"My brother. Where is he?"
"He's gone. Everything's going to be all right." God, I hoped it would be.
The cell's screen was cracked, but it lit up. Blood smeared the screen and I held it to my ear, listening to the ringing. It didn't take long. I squeezed my eyelids shut, gulping as the tears of pain and relief flowed.
"H-hello? We need help . . ."
"We had such a weird beginning, you and me."
John glanced up from his textbook and smiled. "We've had a weird everything."
"True."
Christmas Eve and we were sitting at the dining table at my house, pretending to study. It was basically the only way to make Mom feel safe. After all, we couldn't be getting into gunfights with drug addicts if we were studying. Surely.
It had taken her a while to calm down after the Dillon incident. I couldn't really blame her. Almost having your child killed twice in one year seemed excessive, even to me. She'd tried to ban John from my life. There'd been tears and tantrums, and not only on my side. First she'd threatened me with Arizona, then with returning to my old school. Even Grandma flew out to yell at me, Mom, and anyone else who'd listen. Luckily, Matt put on the charm and calmed her down. Some of the time, at least.
For a month or so, John and I had only been allowed to see each other at school. But we'd waited her out. I had a newfound appreciation for having at least a little patience, and John had been understanding about the whole thing. After all, I had gotten shot. We were both alive, however, and he told me he wasn't going anywhere without me.
There'd been no major internal injuries, thank God. Though there had been surgery to retrieve the bullet. Come summer, the scar wouldn't stop me from wearing a bikini, and John's broken nose gave him a kind of rough look that I liked. If anything, Dillon's attack had only brought us closer. It was us against the world, forever and ever.
The local reporters used the same shitty old photo from last time when they reported on the attack, bless them. I continued to avoid any news or social media. Maybe I'd start new accounts next year, give being normal a chance once all of the crazy calmed down.
