“Yes, you are,” I leaned over, kissing the top of her head.
“Row! Row! The water!” Tristan pointed enthusiastically at the water beginning to boil.
I opened the box of macaroni and removed the packet of powdered cheese. I handed him the box and lifted him onto my hip so he could pour the noodles into the water.
He watched in fascination as the bubbles hid the noodles from sight.
“How long till it’s ready? I’m hungry,” he pouted as I sat him back on the counter.
“Not long,” I assured him. “We’ll eat and then I’ll give you a bath and you can take a shower, Ivy.”
“I don’t want to,” Tristan groaned. “Baths suck.”
“You don’t want to be dirty, do you?” I tweaked his nose.
“I’d rather be dirty than wet,” he grumbled, crossing his small arms over his chest. His too small shirt rode up, exposing his stomach. I was going to have to start picking up some new clothes for him whenever I had some extra money.
“Stop whining, Tristan. You know it doesn’t work with me,” I warned him with a steely gaze.
His arms lowered and he let out a pent up breath. “Fine. Will you read me a story tonight?”
“Don’t I read you a story every night?” I countered with a raised brow.
“Yeah, but sometimes you fall asleep,” he giggled.
“Sorry about that,” I hung my head shamefully. I tried my best to be a parent for my siblings, but it was hard. I had school and work. When I got home it was late and I was exhausted. I wished I could afford for a babysitter to watch them, but I didn’t have the money…not if I wanted to buy food. I already had to pay for Tristan to stay in after school care since he was only there for half a day. My stepfather was just as bad, if not worse than my mom. He didn’t drink, but he constantly smoked in the house, had a lousy job, and was just plain creepy.
“It’s okay, Row,” Tristan opened his arms for a hug.
I held him close. It amazed me that two kids that had nothing could be as sweet as Tristan and Ivy.
I let him go and stirred the macaroni. When it was done, I strained it and put it in a bowl. I dumped the ingredients in the bowl and handed Ivy a spoon. “Stir, sweetie.”
She mixed it as thoroughly as she could, but in the end I had to help her.
“Ivy, why don’t you get the plates?” I nodded my head at the cabinet that housed them.
“Sure,” she smiled, eager to please me.
She grabbed three plates, hopped off the counter, and scurried over to the card table that served as our only eating surface.
I helped Tristan down and carried the pot over to the table where I loaded our plates with macaroni.
“Wash your hands before you eat,” I warned them.
With heads bowed, they did as I said. I cleaned the pot and washed my hands before joining them at the table.
“It’s good, Row,” Tristan smiled at me with trusting eyes. It broke my heart every time I saw that look in his eyes. He and Ivy trusted me completely…to love them…to protect them…but how could I ever do those things when I wasn’t a whole person? I was shattered…broken…unimportant.
“Thanks, Tristan,” I ruffled his hair, hoping the innocent little boy couldn’t see the darkness inside me.
“You’re the best sister,” he leaned into my touch, like a dog begging to be petted.
“Hardly,” I laughed.
They helped me wash the dishes and then it was time to give Tristan his bath. After a lot of grumbling I finally got him into the warm water. I really wished I’d had time to change my clothes. Giving Tristan a bath in a pencil skirt wasn’t practical. Damn Trenton Wentworth.
I let Tristan splash around for a few minutes before I washed and shampooed his hair.
“Pull the drain plug,” I pointed to the stopper. He pulled it and the water began to whoosh out.
He stood and I helped him out. I wrapped a towel around his small frame, drying his body, and then his hair so it stuck up around his head like a bird’s feathers.
I led him down the hall to the room he shared with Ivy.
Ivy was reclined on her bed, playing with her dolls. “Shower, Ivy.”
“I wanna play,” she whined.
“Ivy. Shower. Now.” I snapped. “I’m tired and I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”
“Fine,” she slipped out of the bed, grabbing pajamas to take with her to the bathroom.
“Hurry back and I’ll read you both a story,” I said in a softer tone. I hated snapping at the kids, knowing they got enough of that from our mom—on the rare occasions she was awake—and step-dad.
“Okay,” I heard her say as the bathroom door closed.
I grabbed the lotion and rubbed it into Tristan’s body. “Which pajamas do you want to wear?”
“The dinosaurs!”
I shook my head. I should’ve known.
I pulled out the pajamas with different colored dinosaurs on them. “Lift your arms,” I instructed.
Once he was in his pajamas, he climbed into his bed.
“Which story do you want tonight? It’s your turn to pick,” I rubbed my eyes.
“Um…” He thought, placing a small finger against his lips. “The Lion King!”
I grabbed the Disney book and climbed into his bed, leaving room for Ivy on my other side.
She came into the room a few minutes later.
“Ivy,” I groaned at the wet stringy pieces of hair framing her face. “You didn’t brush your hair!”
“But it hurts!” She argued.
I sighed, slipping out of the bed even though it felt so good to rest my tired body. I grabbed the detangler and a comb from the bathroom.
Sitting down on the floor of the bedroom, I motioned with my hand for Ivy to sit in front of me.
After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly took the spot.
“You have to brush your hair or it will only get more knotted,” I told her, spraying her damp hair with the detangling solution. “I hate brushing my hair too,” I worked the comb through the ends.
“You do?” She sounded surprised. “But your hair is so pretty and long, Row.”
“I like it long,” I shrugged, trying not to pull her hair, “but brushing it is a pain.”
“Ow!” She grabbed her head when I brushed through a knotted strand.
“Sorry,” I told her, kissing the spot in apology. “Better now?”
“A little.”
“There,” I patted her back when I was done. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly.
I returned the comb and detangler to their spots in the bathroom, before climbing back into the bed to read their story.
When I finished reading the story, Tristan looked up at me with wide eyes and Ivy snuggled closer to my side.
“Row,” Tristan started, “I wish you were my mommy.”
His words turned my stomach inside out. Both he and Ivy deserved better than my deadbeat mom, but they also deserved more than me.
“Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Because,” he shrugged his small shoulders, “you do everything for me.”
Even at five years old, Tristan was aware that our mother did nothing. It broke my heart that he and Ivy had to grow up with this. But I had too, and I didn’t have anyone to look after me. That’s why I did what I could for them.
“I love you, Tristan,” I kissed his forehead. “Love you, Ivy,” I kissed hers as well. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Row,” Ivy scurried over to her bed on the other side of the room.
I hugged Tristan and I slipped out of the bed. I hugged Ivy too and closed their bedroom door behind me.
I leaned my head against the closed door. I was so exhausted, but I needed to shower and I had homework to finish since I hadn’t done it at the library. Trent had ruined my whole evening. Why couldn’t he leave me alone?
Choosing not to wa
ste my energy dwelling on it, I pushed myself forward and into my room. It wasn’t much of a room to be honest. It was more like a closet. My full size bed took up most of the space and the closet door was always open because it was impossible to close it. The walls were painted a bright aqua blue and the bedspread was purple. It was nothing special, but it was mine and that’s what mattered to me. I grabbed a pair of loose sweatpants and a sleep shirt.
I showered as quickly as I could, but took more time than I meant to because the hot water felt so good on my tense muscles. I never seemed to relax.
Before I headed into my room for the night I checked on my mom. She was still passed out on the couch. I hated her so much, but she was my mom, and nothing could change that. I watched her for a few minutes, noticing the steady rise and fall of her chest. I wondered how someone that drank so much was able to breathe like a normal person. It seemed like her breaths should falter or something. I wanted to yell and scream at her to get off her lazy ass and be a mom. But I knew that was pointless. I’d yelled and screamed at her more times than I could count and it never did any good. It usually resulted in me getting slapped in the face.
With a scowl, I pushed myself away from the wall.
I closed my bedroom door, locking it behind me.
I slipped beneath the covers, glaring at the textbook laying on the bed.
I wanted to put off my homework till tomorrow, but it would only bug me and result in even more lost sleep.
I pulled the textbook onto my lap and began to read the assigned pages.
Thirty minutes later, when I finished reading, I had to write a short essay to summarize what I’d read. Honestly, you’d think professors would have better things to do than grade stupid papers like this.
We were supposed to type this, but I didn’t have a computer, so I had to hand write it. I always did my typed assignments at the library before I went home. Hopefully I’d have time to type this up tomorrow, but tomorrow also meant even more homework. It was a vicious cycle.
Once the short paper was written, I tucked it into the pages of the book and dropped the book beside my bed on the thin strip of floor that served as the walking space in my room.
I reached over and turned the light off, bathing the room in darkness.
I lay in bed, unable to go to sleep even though I was exhausted.
I heard the front door slam closed and jumped.
My step-dad Jim was home.
I hated Jim with every fiber of my being, maybe even more than I hated my mom.
I listened to his heavy footsteps echo through the small house. When they started down the hall, I closed my eyes for a moment to ground myself.
Turning on my side, I forced them open, staring at the darkened shadow stopped outside my door.
I held my breath, counting in my head.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
Jim smacked me around some, but nothing too bad. What I couldn’t handle was when his eyes roamed up and down my body like I was piece of meat he wanted to devour. Even worse than that was when he touched me. Sometimes, when I was wearing a skirt, if I passed by him while he was sitting his hand would skim under the fabric and up my thigh. Other times his fingers would graze my butt or my breasts. He liked to play with my hair too. I’d thought about cutting it more than once, but my hair was the only thing I liked about myself and I refused to let him take that piece of me.
I held my breath, waiting for him to leave. When he finally did I was red in the face and black spots floated across my eyes.
I wondered how much longer he’d be satisfied with simple touches and standing outside my door.
I rolled onto my side, away from the door, and squished my eyes shut.
Behind my lids, Trent’s image filled my mind. I couldn’t escape him no matter how hard I tried. He was always there.
Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes I let out a groan. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Didn’t he see that I was no good for him? I would never be able to love him when I couldn’t even love myself.
chapter two
I had the same dream that night that I’d had at least once a month since I was sixteen.
The twigs snap beneath my bare feet and my heart races in my chest as I try not to make a sound. It’s pointless though. My heavy breathing is bound to give my location away to the teachers. If they catch me sneaking over to the boys’ tents, they’ll send me home, and home is the last place I want to be right now. For one night I want to be a normal teenager. I don’t want to have take care of Ivy.
I push all thoughts of my crappy home life away—for the night at least—and stop outside the tent I know is Trent’s.
I swallow thickly, counting to ten.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
And then again.
I know that behind the fibers of the tent Trent is waiting for me.
Wetting my lips with a flick of my tongue, I reach out, grabbing the zipper between my thumb and index finger.
I slowly pull it up, easing the zipper open. I’m positive my heart is about to beat out of my chest. I count its beats, but not even the counting can calm me tonight.
When there’s a hole large enough for me to fit through, I slip inside.
A hand reaches out and grabs my arm. I shriek as I begin to fall but the hand holding my arm releases me and comes across my mouth to stifle the sound.
“Shhh, Row,” Trent whispers and the sound of his voice makes me shiver.
“Sorry,” I mouth when he moves his hand.
He eases his weight off me and closes the tent. “I didn’t think you would come,” he admits, biting his lips adorably. His teeth are slightly crooked and there is a space between the front ones, but I think it only makes him more handsome. I’d never been attracted to a guy before I laid eyes on Trenton. He turned my insides to mush, but more than that, he was my best friend. When I moved here earlier this year, I’d been so scared. I’d never been the new girl before and I was shy. Making friends had never been easy for me. But Trent had taken me under his wing. I’d questioned his motives at first. After all, why would a guy as gorgeous as Trent want to be my friend? I quickly learned though, he didn’t have any friends. He was a loner…an outcast like me…and we clicked. Since I transferred to this high school in November, we’d grown closer every day. Our friendship blossoming into more…he wasn’t my boyfriend…that was too simple of a word. He was my everything…my air…my gravity…he kept me centered. It was spring now, and with the blossoming of the first flowers, we’d decided to take our relationship to the next level.
His home wasn’t an option for what we had planned and neither was mine. In fact, I’d only been to his house once, and he’d never been to mine. I didn’t want anyone to know what I had to deal with at home. Some things were better left in the dark.
“Row,” he flicks his finger against the end of my nose, “what are you thinking about?”
“You,” I whisper.
“Me?” He grins crookedly. “Good things, I hope.” His blue eyes sparkle when he talks. I like that he’s always so animated. He’s not like other guys that try to hide their feelings. He’s real.
“Always,” I reach up, cupping his face in my hands. A light dusting of stubble covers his cheeks.
“Are you scared?” He asks.
“Yes,” I admit. I have no secrets with Trent.
“We don’t have to,” he assures me, pulling away.
“I know that,” I grab onto his blue sweatshirt, holding on tight. “I want to. I promise.”
He stares at me, unsure of if I’m lying or not.
“If you want me to stop what I’m doing at any time,” he closes his eyes as if his words pain him, “tell me and I’ll stop, Row. I mean it. I don’t want to pressure you.”
“I want this,” I tell him, wondering how many times I’ll need to say it before he believes me.
He swallows thickly as a slow smile
spreads across his face. Normally, the darkness would make it hard to see him, but his face is so close to mine that I see him perfectly.
“Here,” he reaches for a pillow and lifts my head up to place it beneath me. “Is that better?”
“I was fine before,” I giggle quietly from nervousness.
“I want this to be perfect for you, Row.”
“It will be perfect,” I grasp his arms, “because I’m with you. I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach up and undo the zipper on his jacket. His eyes close as his breath falters.
Once the jacket is unzipped, I push it off his wide shoulders. He’s left in a thin black t-shirt and my fingers greedily trace the lines of the tattoo on his arm. I’ve seen him without his shirt so I know that it starts at his shoulder and stops at his elbow. If you see it from a distance, it looks like an ocean scape, but up close you see that it’s really different shades of blue in a water color design so it looks like it’s dripping off his arm. I think it’s beautiful, just like him.
“Row,” his eyes open and his voice is shaky.
“Yeah?” I blink up at him.
“You’re beautiful,” he traces a finger over my rosy cheek.
I smile, knowing I’d been thinking the same thing about him.
I push my hands beneath the edge of his t-shirt and place my hands flat against his warm stomach. He’s muscular, but not overly so.
I ease my hands back out and grasp the fabric in my hands, pulling it over his head. His baseball cap falls off his head and we both laugh.
“I feel like you’re excited to get me naked,” he chuckles.
“Maybe,” I squirm at his gaze. I hate being stared at.
“I want to kiss you,” he warns, his mouth lowering.
“Then do it,” I challenge.
A quiet moan escapes me when his soft lips touch mine. I’m positive that no other guy out there is as good of a kisser as Trent is. It’s just not possible. His tongue presses against my closed mouth and I open to let him plunge inside. My fingers pull at his hair, drawing him closer so his whole body is pressed against mine.
Tempting Rowan Page 2
