With a dish in one hand, I push the door further open with the other. “Yeah, but you probably wouldn’t have let me in,” I say jovially, but the mood turns very serious when I am face to face with a half exposed Jameson Brock lying in his bed alone.
“Don’t act bashful now,” he says. “You stroll into a man’s home unannounced, you have to suffer the consequences.”
He is lying down, his head propped up by two pillows. His bare chest is on full display. He’s only a few years older than me but he is all man. Thick muscle under tanned skin that’s sprinkled with hair that leads down his stomach and under the thin sheet that is showing another muscle beneath the surface.
“Throw me that blanket,” he motions behind me and it takes a second for me to avert my eyes from his waist.
I throw him the blanket. His biceps are corded, the veins running drown his forearms. I’m watching those arms as he covers his lower body fully with the blanket.
I hold the plate up to him. “I brought you cake.”
He cocks a brow.
Taking a seat on the bed, I uncover the foil and show him a piece of chocolate fudge cake and a fork. “It’s my birthday.”
“And you’re bringing me cake?”
“There was an extra piece.” I push it toward him and he takes it. I watch as he forks a piece. His tongue darts out in anticipation as he slides that sinfully delicious piece of chocolate into his mouth and lets out a groan at the heaven that is melting in his mouth. “Good, huh?”
“Perfect,” he says and takes another bite. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Way to ring in your birthday,” he says. “Your boyfriend’s a real asshole.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I say to him for the second time this week.
“Then why do you hang out with him?”
“I don’t. I just,” I start and then stop, wondering why I even went to that stupid party. “I thought it would make my dad happy.”
“You have a lot of growing up to do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He puts the plate on his stomach and looks up at me. “You’re naïve.”
“And you’re an assuming jerk.” I rise from the bed and turn around for a moment before looking back at him with a pointed glare. “For your information, that’s the first party I’ve ever been to. I don’t drink, don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs and I certainly don’t screw around with asshole boys. I knew enough to call Randall to come get me. If I knew he was sending you, I would have told him to leave me there with the wolves.”
A small smirk creeps over his face. “You’re feisty when you’re angry. Didn’t know you had it in you to curse.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
His gaze turns from me, down to the ground. “I haven’t been very nice to you, have I?”
“So far I’ve had two conversations with you and you’ve called me a kid and naïve. I may be sixteen but you’re only a few years older than me so stop acting like you’re so worldly. I bet you’ve never left the state.” My voice rises toward the end and by the way his brows rise slightly, and his mouth downturns, I know I hit the nail on the head. “Sorry. That was mean.”
“It was honest.”
“Honesty can be cruel.” I bite my lip and fiddle with the hem of my shirt when I hear a noise coming from the other side of the room. Craning my neck, I look over as a long-haired retriever slowly hobbles over.
“Buddy!” I fall to the floor and nearly burst into tears. Rubbing behind his ears I nuzzle the old dog, a huge smile on my face. “I was so worried about you. You were here the whole time?” I give him a good scratch, his head falling into my hands. He’s been on my mind for the last few days. I wondered if he was safe and here he was sleeping on the floor of the carriage house.
I look over to Jameson who is staring at me and Buddy with a look of melancholy. It takes me too long to realize that if Buddy is here then, “You carried me to my room.”
His quiet response is answer enough. We stare at each other, me kneeling by the dog, him from the bed.
“You were freezing. I . . .” He starts and trails off, “I know what it’s like to be out in the cold.”
I nod in understanding. “Thank you,” I say. “For me and for taking care of Buddy.” I rise and walk to the small bathroom to wash my hands. When I come back in, I take a seat on the bed and place my hand by the blanket. With my eyes, I ask him if it’s okay for me to pull it back to look at his injury. He pulls it down for me.
On his side is a large bandage made of gauze and medical tape. “It’s soaked through.” On the end table is a first aid kit. I grab it and open an alcohol wipe and more supplies to make a bandage.
When I brought him back last night, I found the kit in the carriage house. I did the best I could to clean him up. Looks like the patient hasn’t been doing a good job at taking care of himself.
I clean the wound causing Jameson to curse through his teeth.
“You need stitches,” I say as I apply the fresh bandaging. “You want to tell me why you won’t go to the hospital?” He looks reluctant to say anything. I lower my gaze and give him an answer honestly, “I can keep your secrets.”
His chest rises and falls. The deep hue of his eyes take me in, reading me to see if I am worthy of his truth. “I ran away a long time ago and I don’t want to be found.”
I want to say so many things, ask many more questions but I don’t. I know I should be honored with that little bit of honesty. He seems to appreciate it.
“Jules,” he whispers and I look up to him. “Thank you, for saving my life.”
“Looks like we’re here to save each other.”
He smiles and it’s absolutely beautiful.
When he’s all cleaned up, I look around the room. “There’s not much to do in here. Father didn’t even give you a television?”
“It is pretty lonely. Well, not so much since I got the dog.”
“His name is Buddy and, let’s be honest, he’s not much company.” The dog’s ears perk up when I say that. “No offense, Buddy.”
Jameson laughs and it’s even more beautiful than his smile. “I was enjoying a book but its a little difficult now. I can’t get into the right position to hold it open with one hand.”
On the other side of the bed is a paperback that is lying open, about halfway through. I lift it and see he’s reading Beauty and the Beast, the original version. It’s an interesting selection but I don’t tease him about it. Instead I ask, “May I read it to you?”
“Don’t you have other things you’d rather do on your sixteenth birthday?”
It doesn’t take me more than a second to answer, “No.”
He surprises me when he grins and replies, “Then, yes. Read to me.”
☽
“Hey Jameson.” As soon as I step out of the town car, I practically skip over to where he is inside the carriage house.
He startles as I walk in, obviously surprised by my stopping by. He glances down at my uniform, from the bow around my neck, down to my kneehighs and black flats.
“How was school?” he asks, and then clenches his teeth while gripping his side.
I drop my backpack on the floor and take the wrench out of his hand.
“You need to sit down.” I try to guide him toward a chair but he doesn’t budge.
“I can’t. If your dad sees me like this I’ll be fired.”
“You saved me from those guys. I’m not ashamed to tell him what happened.”
Jameson bites down, his jowls protruding. “You have to promise never to say anything. If you think for one second he’ll take my side over theirs you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Why wouldn’t he believe you?”
“Look at me?” he practically growls, so I look at him. From the mangled dark hair at the top of his head, to the beard that grows along his face. He’s built like a tank and he holds himself like he’s always on the defensive; an a
nimal on guard. Yet, behind this hardened exterior, the oversized clothes and the facial hair, is a beautiful man with high cheekbones and a handsome nose. He has a full mouth and a strong jaw, not to mention the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen.
I take his hand. It’s rough and calloused. Running my thumb over his palm, I look up into his eyes and say, “I am.”
I lift the wrench that’s in my other hand. “Show me what you are trying to do. I’ll help you until your side heals.”
He’s looking at me but something shifts in his gaze. His face softens and those blue-green eyes simmer. His chest relaxes and a tiny smile tugs on his mouth.
“I’m going to teach you how to repair a carburetor.”
☽
“Tell me about Paris.”
Jameson’s question nearly causes me to fall off the chair. I’m sitting at the desk inside the carriage house watching him work. I’ve been coming straight in here every day after school for two weeks. At first it was because he needed the extra hand. Now I just come here because I like it.
Usually, I am the one telling him all about my day. Whether it’s exams, practice or even some school gossip, something I usually don’t care for, but it gives me something to tell him. If I ask him a question he always answers but this is the first time he’s instigated the conversation.
I close my history book and swivel the chair toward him.
“It’s romantic, not that I know anything about romance.” I can’t help but get a little starry-eyed when I think of the city I adore. “You have this city with incredible old world architecture and a history that’s still very much alive. You can sit in a café while reading a book and gaze up at the Eiffel Tower or take a walk across the bridge over the Seine and look over at Notre Dame Cathedral. There are neighborhoods packed with impoverished artists and writers and there are others lined with high-end fashion boutiques. You can spend the night at a shadowy jazz club and let’s not forget about the food. The cheese. The wine—”
“The wine?” he says with a smirk.
I hate when he says things that remind me I’m younger than him. But I know what he means. “My mother lets me have wine when we visit.”
“You travel a lot?”
“Three times a year. All over the world really. This year we went to Vail to ski and in a few weeks we’ll be headed to Barcelona. Hopefully, we’ll be in Paris for Christmas.” I can feel my face brighten with the memory. “What about you? Where have you been?”
A flush creeps across his cheeks. “I’ve never left the state.”
I suddenly feel like the biggest fool. A pretentious fool. Even though I live at the Manor and he resides in a small room with no kitchen, I try my hardest not to appear above him. Because I’m not. Yet, I don’t know how to show him. I ruminate, trying to think of something interesting to say.
“The Northern Lights,” he says, causing me to look up at him with an interested expression. “If I could go anywhere it would be to see the Northern Lights.” He leans his hip against the side of the car and crosses his arms. He looks so sexy when he does that.
Wait. Did I really just say that to myself?
He continues, “They have these igloos you can sleep in. You sleep under a fur blanket and look out the glass roof at night. Talk about romantic. I can’t think of anything more alluring than gazing at the night sky filled with enchanting lights.”
He’s staring off in a dreamy state as I just stare at him. The way his ankles are crossed and how his teeth graze his lower lip. He does it when he’s concentrating while working or right before he eats. Now I know he does it when he thinks about something he really wants.
“Can I show you something?” he asks and I nearly jump out of my seat.
“Yes,” I say too eagerly. “I mean, of course. What is it?”
He rises and takes a step toward me. His face turns serious. “You have to promise not to tell a soul.”
I practically sigh. “I promise.”
He grabs my hand and walks me through the carriage house and up to his room. My heart races at the thought. I’ve been in here before. Only that one time when I brought him cake and read to him in bed, but this time it seems more thrilling.
He releases my hand and walks though the room, to the back window, opens it and steps out onto the ledge. Looking back in, he holds out a hand out.
I take it and follow him outside. The ledge is very wide and big enough for the two of us. Against the side of the building is an iron ladder. He guides me to go first, so I do. Taking the ladder slowly, I ascend the building and climb on shaking legs. When I reach the top, I climb over the railing and onto the roof.
The view is stunning. The ocean stretches for miles before us. Salt and brine permeates the air and the crashing waves sound magnificent.
Jameson climbs over the rail and walks to the middle of the roof where an old telescope stands. I follow and take a look in the scope. All I see right now is graying sky.
“Why did you bring me up here?” I ask, my hair blowing in my face.
He takes the stray hair and tucks it behind my ear. The smell of peppermint and musk is thick. “I wanted to share with you something I love.” With his hand still on my face, he looks up. “The stars. They’re all I have. At night, when the stars light up the sky, I feel at home.”
His hand falls and he pinches his lips, his brows crease. I stand and wait because I know that Jameson doesn’t open up to anyone. I had hoped it would be me.
“I don’t remember my parents. I was raised in foster care since I was three. I wasn’t one of those kids who sat by the window and waited for my parents to claim me. I knew that was never going to happen. I lived many places. There were many good families along the way, but no one was able to keep me for too long. The last family to have me, they weren’t very good to me. That’s when I ran away and don’t care to be found. My childhood was erratic but there was one constant. The stars. I learned to map them and follow them as the years passed. I talk to them sometimes.” He seems embarrassed by this last admission, but I just smile.
“That’s no different than wishing on them.”
He blushes. “Anyway, I just thought you’d like to see what’s up here.”
“It’s perfect,” I say and I mean it. “Jameson?”
“Yes, Jules.”
“Does this mean we’re friends?”
He smiles, and I find myself smiling as well.
“Yes. You’re my only friend.”
I’d be lying if it didn’t make my heart nearly burst.
The Fire
THE CLOCK ON my nightstand says it’s after two in the morning. With heavy lidded eyes, I blink and try to figure out why in God’s name I am up in the middle of the night. I roll over and bury my head under my pillow and lull myself back to sleep.
“Over here.”
I bolt up in bed. The sound of someone talking outside my window has me pushing the covers off and rushing toward the window. At first, I see nothing but blackness as I peer down toward the side of the house. I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and continue to look out the window. Nothing is out of the ordinary.
Turning around, I walk toward my bed then stop at the foot of it. Biting my nail I try to decide if I am hearing things in my sleep or if there really was a voice outside. I walk back to the window, open it and look out again. There’s a breeze in the air that is making the trees whistle. That’s probably what it was. Just a case of whistling trees.
I put my hands on the frame to close the window when I see a shadow running toward the carriage house. I lean out further to get a good look. There’s another shadow. The blue and gold of a Prep School crew jacket comes into view. On the back, the name LeGume.
My feet move quickly across the room. I’m down the hallway and on the stairs as fast as I can. I don’t know why Gavin and his friends would be at the carriage house but it can’t be good.
I have to warn Jameson.
My sockless feet pound against the cob
blestone of the driveway. The air is cold but my sleeveless arms don’t feel a thing because my adrenaline is raging.
With a racing heart I run toward the carriage house and slam into someone running in the opposite direction.
I fall, hard, on my ass and before I can even register the pain, I look up and see Gavin staring down at me. His eyes are wide, frightened. His mouth opens and he looks like he’s about to piss himself when someone yells, “Let’s get out of here!”
Gavin falters for just a second before running as fast as he can down my driveway and away from my house. I watch him run, no idea what in the world he could be running from.
Suddenly, a bright light appears from inside the carriage house. I look over and see the glow of orange coming from the garage area.
Fire.
I’m on feet and rushing toward the flames. As soon as I open the door, I see the fire that was ignited on the far end of the room. I do a quick look for an extinguisher, following the opposite walls looking for the telltale red canister. I check the back locker, on the desk and near the bathroom. I even look under one of Father’s cars. I pull at the ends of my hair unsure of what to do. The fire is growing, climbing the sidewall of the building.
The air is getting thick and the smell of burnt matter is strong. I run up the stairs and toward Jameson’s room. I bang on the door.
“Jameson!”
I don’t give him a chance to answer. I open the door and practically fall in. The lights are off, the bed is made. He’s not here.
The roof.
I sprint across the room, out the back window and up the ladder, scaling the side of the building. When I reach the top, I let out a breath, not out of relief but because I realize I’ve been holding it. Now, my lungs can’t seem to get enough air. My breathing is erratic. My chest burns.
He’s not up here.
I turn around and climb down the ladder. My hands are so shaky, I talk to myself the whole way down, making sure I keep a steady grip.
When I’m through the window, I can feel the heat from the fire traveling up here. The glow of flames growing from the other side of the door. The air is thickening with black smoke. It’s getting harder to breathe. Walking back through the garage is no longer an option. It’s two stories high, but I’m going to have to jump out the window.
Beast: An Anthology Page 15
