“Is Lala causing trouble again?” she asks, her voice even and unsurprised.
“It would appear that way.” Mrs. Youngblood’s cooking is award-deserving, but I’m having a hard time managing to work up an appetite.
“Let the girls figure it out, Cormac.” She cups the mug in her hands. “It’s strange. When my children were born, I held my sons in my arms and thought, ‘All will be fine with the family now. I am holding the end of our troubles in my arms.’ And, after two rambunctious little boys, I cannot express how happy I was when I finally had a beautiful little girl.” She stares down into the creamy drink and smiles. “But it’s Benelli who’s going to make this family fine, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” I ask, not certain what, exactly, needs healing in this clan. I know all isn’t well, but Benelli doesn’t share much when it comes to her family.
“If not, I don’t think there’s any hope.” She says the words with as much cautious cheer as she told her story about Benelli’s birth, but implications are jarring.
She gets up and clucks around me, cleaning my plate, encouraging me to go out and meet with the Youngblood men and Evan, who are target shooting. But I’m in no mood for overbearing in-laws and guns. I want…quiet.
I head on a back path behind the town, hike through the forest, and wade out to our rock where I lie back, falling asleep in the muted sun. When I wake up, Benelli is next to me, and clouds have covered the sunshine.
I search her face for any signs of anger or upset, but she looks calm as a Buddha. Eerily calm, maybe.
“About Lala,” I begin, and she tries to stop me, but I hold a hand up to quiet her. “I realize you gathered the fact that she was drunk, and I assumed she texted you first and me out of desperation. I have never cheated and never will cheat. Ever. I want you to know that, right now.” Saying the words makes me feel like an immense anvil has been lifted from my chest.
“I know that.” Benelli’s smile is forced. “I do. I’m more worried about Lala, that she’d be willing to do that. Because, no offense, babe; you’re super hot and all, but that kiss was about hurting me. Why?”
“Jealousy,” I offer, still burning over the fact that Benelli’s charming friend would put everything that means anything to me into precarious jeopardy with such careless disregard.
“Jealous?” Benelli leans her head back and looks at the clouds speckling the sky. “Of what? She never neglects to tell me how batshit crazy she thinks my family is. She’s gorgeous. So Winchester didn’t want to be with her. So what? She could snap her fingers and fifty guys would come running.”
I belt my arms around her. “You’re happy. There’s no single thing that brings on more jealousy than pure happiness, and you’re swimming in it. We are. And Lala wants that. I’m just sorry she thinks the key to getting it is ripping what we have apart.”
Benelli wraps her arms around me like a snare. “It was Ithaca who told me. She hasn’t looked me in the eye and talked to me since everything that happened with Andre, but she defended you.” She puts a hand up to my face and her voice goes low, her eyes dark and hungry. “You’re amazing, you know that? You heal things. You make things better even when it seems like they’re impossibly bad.”
When I kiss her, I can taste her worry melt like a sugarcube, leaving the sweet tinge of regret that no amount of kissing will wash away. “Nothing is impossibly bad, Benelli. And we’re pretty damn amazing. There’s not a problem we’ll come up against we can’t solve together.”
Her smile is too tiny. I try again.
“Maybe we might get thwarted by some of the bigger stuff. Like world hunger or time travel. Maybe. Other than those two, I think we’re solid.” I kiss her lips. “C’mon, something else is bugging you. Tell me.” She shakes her head and I kiss her again. “Tell me. That’s what I’m here for. That and your sexual satisfaction, of course.”
Finally, she laughs, and my heart feels free and open. “It was Ithaca. I didn’t realize until she actually talked to me how much I’d been missing her. We used to be inseparable. We used to have such an amazing relationship, and then it was gone.”
“Was it Andre?” I ask. It’s strange because, as intimately as I feel I know Benelli, there are so many tiny details of her life that are still hidden from me.
She pushes her hands through her thick hair and sighs. “Yeah. I thought it was puppy love, you know? They were so young, and they didn’t make any sense together.” She chuckles when I bump her shoulder with mine. “I know, I know…people who make no sense fall in love all the time. But it was more than that. I didn’t just disapprove of him. I guess…I didn’t say anything when my family packed together and got this whole plan in motion to alienate him. To make sure, no questions, that he’d be out of her life permanently.”
“I’m sure you thought you were protecting her.” I rub circles on her back with my hand, and she stares into the rushing water below.
“We do a lot…my family does a lot that’s pretty damn shady in the name of protecting the people we love. And when someone is brave enough to stand up to them, like Winch was, we make it hard. Sometimes it’s like we turn our backs on each other just when things get tough.” She hangs her head between her knees. “Are we monsters?”
“No.” I don’t know about her father for certain, but I can answer the question in regards to her without an iota of doubt. “You’re nothing but love, Benelli. And if your family needs a lesson from you in that particular kind of love, don’t be afraid to give it. Maybe it’s time for that.”
The sky gets darker as the sun lowers on the horizon. Benelli is looking at me with eyes that want, that need and won’t be denied.
“Come here,” she whispers, untying her dress and letting the cloth fall open.
I swallow hard. “It was a good pep talk, then?”
Her laugh shakes her tits, so exquisite in their lacy cups. “It was an amazing pep talk. And I want to thank you for believing in me. When no one else does, when no one else sees me or understands who I really am or what I’m really like, you see me. You know. And I love you for that.” The dress slides back off her arms, and she opens the clasp of her bra.
My mouth goes dry. “I love you…for everything. Don’t give me too much credit. Just because I can see how amazing you are doesn’t make me so awesome. It makes me lucky.” I pull her close, her soft skin filling my hands and mouth, the smell of her and the feel of her everywhere around me.
She sheds the little thong that was barely covering anything anyway, and climbs on my lap. “I’m lucky. I’m lucky to have found you. My perfect match.”
I unbutton my shirt and shake it off while she makes short work of my pants. She’s glued to me, her kisses hard and sweet, her hands roving up and down my body like they’re possessing me, branding every inch they touch as theirs, and I approve their every possession. Her fingers circle my dick and run up and down, over and over as her hips inch closer.
By the time the condom is snugly on and she’s lowered herself onto me, I’m sure I’ll lose everything I attempted to hold still and tight for, because she’s setting a crazy rhythm, pumping against me hard and fast, clawing her fingers over my shoulders and back, sucking at my neck, licking along my jaw.
It’s all a gorgeous blur of her dark hair and her smooth caramel skin, her long limbs, firm around my chest and waist, the press of her, so hot and tight, I attempt to think about any and every undesirable thing I can to keep this from ending.
Nothing, not zombie feeding frenzies, not puppies being kicked off cliffs, not reams of geometry theorems, or any the thought of any number of my sneering, nasty teachers going at it like mad can help me now.
Benelli’s pure sexiness trumps an entire legion of anti-sex thoughts, and I can’t hold on a minute more. I kiss her hard, I fill my hands with her, and I pump, a long, sweet, completed thrust as deep into her as I can go before I drag her close to me and groan with the satisfaction of my release.
I fall back onto the rock, Ben
elli, still glorious, naked, sexually proud, looming over me.
“Did you say you hid some merlot here the other day?” she asks, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.
“Don’t we have to get back to your family? Your parents will worry.” I have no idea why I’m turning down the opportunity to drink wine, naked, in the moonlight with this girl, but, apparently, responsibility has overtaken my brain.
She leans close to me. “The time for my parents’ rules is ending, Cormac. I’m about to pull that damn bow back like nobody’s business and things are changing. Things are going to change. Now, where’s the wine? Because I want to celebrate, and then I want to have sex with you a few more times before we head back home. Can you help me with that?”
I nod because any word I may have wanted to say is currently mangled in my throat and tied up in her remarkably attractive authority. I do manage to point to the place in the rocks where the merlot was forgotten when I picked up the rest of our engagement feast and accepted her parents’ lavish entertainment instead.
She leaps down from the rock before I can offer to go instead, and I’m left with the ravishing vision of her naked self prancing along the rocks, her sun-kissed skin completely naked and making my weak, sex-crazed mind and body more than ready to have her back in my arms again, as soon as possible. I can’t tear my eyes off of her.
My little Naiad, my gorgeous warrior, my perfect match and always love.
My Benelli.
Benelli 8
I let a few days go by before I approach my father.
Because I’m a huge, bokking chicken.
Bok bok bok.
Cormac says it’s because I needed time to let things sink in, time to really collect my feelings and figure out what it is I want to say and how and why.
But he’s the most amazing, generous, loving person in the world, and he always assumes the best when it comes to me. He doesn’t think I’m a giant chicken.
Lala isn’t afraid to tell me the truth.
After the drunken kiss she laid on Cormac, I was ready to kick her ass to the curb in a permanent and real way. But something Ithaca said to me stopped all that drama from going down.
“Don’t hate her too much. Hard as it is to be around you when you’re your usual perfect self, now that you’re perfect and have an awesome love life, even a saint would want to take you down a peg. And Lala’s no saint.”
My little sister’s cold green eyes, so barren and still, choked all the hate I was holding out of me. Because I didn’t want my eyes to look like hers; empty and bitter. And I planned to see life back in those eyes as soon as possible. As soon as I figured things out.
It’s not the Youngblood way to forgive. We’re about fists and destruction, not olive branches and rebuilding. Reaching out and changing goes against my blood. But if the last few months has taught me anything, it’s that nothing will bring you to your knees and tear your heart out faster than letting down the people who love you.
Love is hard. It’s forgiving your best friend when you want to shove her away. It’s admitting that you played a hand in ruining your sister’s relationship, then accepting her cold shoulder even after you’ve poured your heart out over and over in tearful apologies. It’s fighting to make sure the person you love gets to do the weird thing he loves, even if you know he could have unbelievable power and success doing other things. It’s being generous to your brother’s girlfriend because you’ve been forced to admit you laid blame at her feet and his when there was no reason to.
Humble pie is mouth-twistingly bitter, but I never back down from what I know I have to do, and I’ve got a buffet of it to eat.
And, though Lala makes it even more bitter sometimes, she’s ready to stay by my side and cheer me to the last, disgusting mouthful.
“Just talk to him.” Her skin is pale, but she looks good. We’re out at the lake, and she has no makeup on, is wearing a huge cover-up over her tiny bikini, and is squeezing a stress ball in short, quick pumps in an attempt to give her nails a chance to grow back and to edge off her nicotine rages. It’s a Lala I almost don’t recognize, but that may not be such a bad thing.
We’re all changing. And that feels good. It feels right.
“You don’t get it. My dad is—”
“Please don’t drag me into your daddy/daughter drama. I get it, I’ll never understand because my daddy ran out on us—”
“That’s not what I said,” I object, desperate to backpedal away from the nastiness I’ve been trying so hard to keep myself away from.
“You didn’t have to, and you don’t have to apologize.” She whips her sunglasses off, those hazel eyes bloodshot and small-looking without the pounds of mascara. But they’re also starkly clear and honest. “I don’t want you to apologize. I want to be honest. And I know that you love me. I know that. Even if you’re a self-centered bitch sometimes, that’s okay. Because I’m an out-of-control psycho asshole, and you put up with me, right?” Her small smile is nervous, undoing the bravado of her words.
“Okay.” I sit for another long minute. “I know. I know I have to talk to him. The family is falling apart, and the more rules he and Mama set up, the worse things get. We’re lucky Winch came back. We’re lucky Colt and Ithaca are just slamming their doors and pouting. It could be so much worse.”
I bite my lip and look at her sideways, knowing that she just told me that she didn’t mind my being honest, but the mention of Winch has to hurt. I know that.
She squeezes the stress ball with more vicious intensity. “You are lucky. And, you know, what Winch said about you being the bridge is right. Okay? Don’t look so shocked. I can say his name without breaking down. He made a great point. You know, he made a lot of great points, and I ignored him more than I should have. He and I were never going to work. I know I’m sad about it, but the Winch I really want is the Winch who’s with…her. And she has something with him…I didn’t have it. God, it fucking kills me to say that. But I didn’t have it. And things would have been bad with him and me.”
“You deserve someone amazing,” I say, taking her hand and grabbing it over the rapid stress-ball squeezing.
“Damn straight,” she says, but her voice wobbles. “Now, what are you going to say to your father?”
I shake my head and she and I stare at the lake, the pebbled sand, the screaming kids splashing each other, laughing and crying in the waves. “I have no idea.”
It’s half a lie, because, the next day, when I go to find my father, there’s this whole long speech I run over. I’ve had it locked in my head for days on end. I know what I have to say to him. I’ve known for a long time. It’s almost like I have too much to say right now, too much to think through and make him understand.
“Papa?” I catch him out in the garage where he keeps his gun collection and the fridge full of beer, the shelves of homemade vodka, and the cigarettes and cigars he thinks Mama doesn’t know about.
“C’mere, princess. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
I stand next to my father and rub my fingers over the smooth metal of the rifle’s barrel. “Beautiful.”
He turns his blue eyes to me, and they well up with love that undoes my heart. “You know, your mother wanted to only name the boys after guns. When you were born, she looked into your face, all squished after that hellish birth, and she said, ‘No more guns. I’m naming her Angelique, because she’s an angel.’”
I’ve actually heard this story before. I pull up a stool and sit on it, smiling at my father. “And what did you say again?” I love the image of the two of them arguing over a baby me. It’s a testament to my mother’s total love for my father that she agreed to my name. And it took a long time. His first choice was Bersa, and he was pretty adamant that it was the perfect name for his little girl. My poor mother.
“I said, ‘That kid’s no angel. She’s strong and beautiful, like a gun.’” He grins at me. “Did Cormac tell you about the meeting? With the guys from Spain? Did you know yo
ur boy speaks Spanish? They were eating out of the palm of his hand. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I swear, I never would have picked that one for you, but maybe my smart daughter knows better than her stupid old pop now and then, right?”
“I need to talk to you, Pop.” He puts the rifle in its safe and locks it up. My father has a love affair with guns, but he also respects them. It was always safety first with all of us growing up in a house full of violent weapons. “It’s about Cormac.”
He looks at me and smiles, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Anything you need.”
“Cormac is completing his internship—”
“I’m sorry about that. Hear me out. I just saw the stress he was under, and I know how sometimes, especially for a guy who’s a little, you know, a little less assertive, it can be a hard thing to say no. But I should have asked. That’s on me. I’m glad he’ll finish that book thing. And it should be done in time for him to travel to Sweden with me this winter? I’m looking at taking over a factory there. Do you think he speaks Swedish by any chance?” My father’s face is free of lines, relaxed and sure for the first time in such a long time.
There’s a huge temptation to let this ride, to let Cormac do the work he’s not even complaining about, to let Ithaca and Colt bite their tongues for one more short year.
But I can’t.
I can’t do it. I pick up the bow and pull back.
“Cormac won’t go to Sweden,” I say firmly. “He’ll be accepting a temporary assignment at Stanford. I’ll travel back and forth between California and Georgia while he’s there.”
My father’s smile melts and hardens. “What’s this all about? California? You can’t spend your first year of marriage jetting back and forth like that. And he needs a real job so you can have a home like you need. It will be time for the two of you to have kids before you know it.”
“Papa, listen.” But just those two words open up a vat of indignant fury. My father isn’t good at ‘listening’ to anyone. “Cormac and I are going to have a longer engagement. We want to wedding to accommodate his family, too, and they need time to make arrangements—”
Perfectly Unmatched (A Youngblood Book) Page 22
