by Ivy Fox
I shuffle on my feet and ditch my cup, pretending to change my mind for one of the Corona’s stacked in a cooler on the other side of the kitchen. Ideal since this gives me back my space.
“So why are you still here? Why didn’t you go like you wanted to?” he asks.
“Go where?” I ask, confused at what he’s on about.
“I don’t know. Anywhere. You were always reading those traveling brochures and books, I always assumed you would ditch this town and see the world as soon as you received your diploma,” he confesses, still excited in seeing me here.
“You were very observant,” I awkwardly reply.
“I observe only what I like.” He grins, emerald eyes sparkling with innuendo.
I feel a bit put off by his comment, but continue the conversation anyway. It’s not his fault I’m a nut job. He is the only person who’s been nice to me in days. Although his compliment falls on deaf ears, as far as I’m concerned, it’s still nice that someone took notice of me back in high school. Even if it was for me having my nose stuck in a book.
“So why are you still here?”
I didn’t have anywhere I wanted to go. I used to. Before I wanted to travel the world and see different cultures, experience exquisite food, dance to exotic music. I wanted a lot of things, but when I picture doing them without the boys beside me, my dreams lose their color. So, I stayed. Of course, I don’t tell Brad that. All I do is shrug.
“Still haven’t made up my mind where to go.” I lie.
“Go where?” I hear the smooth velvet voice behind me, which makes goosebumps rise out of my skin. I shut my eyes for a split second just to relish the silky tone haunting my nights, with my drumming heart anxious to set eyes on its owner.
Mason leans into the counter grabbing a Corona of his own and opening the lid like he’s done it a million times before. He gives me his trademark panty-melting smile and the world around me tilts on its axis with this one gesture.
Mason Perry.
The eldest of the five brothers and the first one to break my heart.
Chapter 5
Mason
I lean against the counter, gripping a beer bottle with one hand and the other on the marble top behind me. My hands have to be occupied; otherwise, they might just ring Brad’s pasty little neck. The moment I stepped foot in this house, my mind had only one objective.
See Freya.
Talk to Freya.
Touch Freya.
But when I encountered my Princess trying every trick in the book to uphold her sacred space from this horny motherfucker, I plowed my way to get to her as quickly as I could. Just a few feet away from her, and I’m now having a hard time keeping my cool in check.
“Freya here was just about to tell me why she used to walk around school with all sorts of books about different countries. Books with pictures of Paris, London, and I think I even saw you have a little brochure of China,” he continues on, trying to impress her with his stalkerish tendencies. The book he’s talking about was a book of Tokyo, but whatever. The douche was paying far too much attention to her then, and he’s paying too much attention to her now. Too much for my liking.
“Is that so?” I questioned, not really caring for Brad’s reply one way or the other. My eyes are on Freya and the way she’s shrinking with embarrassment to Brad’s observances of her past time, tells me his attention is also something she isn’t too keen on having.
“Yep. Our girl here is a real travel buff,” he remarks, offering her the best flirty smile.
“Our girl, you say?” I ask, revealing my annoyance with his choice of words. My tone doesn’t go unnoticed either, as the fucker straightens like a peacock in defiance.
“Since when do you think you have a right to stake claim to something so far from your league?” I grunt, taking another pull of my beer and getting the surprised reaction I wanted to see on Brad’s face.
“Are you his, Freya?” I ask, not taking my eyes off her for one moment. The question is answered with a shy head shake, but it’s not enough for a rejection of Brad’s intentions in my book. I need it to be made clear to Brad and every other guy in this house, they should move on to someone else and leave Freya to her rightful owners.
“Use your words, Princess,” I say gruffly. She lifts her eyes off the floor, finally locking them with mine, and I see both embarrassment and resentment embedded in them. Those bright green eyes should never hold such ugly feelings, and I hate myself a little bit for putting them there.
“No, I’m not,” she replies inimically, showing me how she doesn’t appreciate my little show of authority over Brad. Tough. She might not like it, but her rebuke is all Brad needs to hear to understand he should take his flattering ways elsewhere, and not in my fucking kitchen. I don’t even acknowledge him leaving since I only have eyes for one person in the room.
Freya shifts from one foot to the other looking more uncomfortable by the second, but to my hungry sight, I memorize every movement her body makes. She has always been a small little dainty thing compared to my brothers and I. While we’re all in the six feet range, she’s five feet nothing. She’s always been small in height, but her body is anything but demure. Curves going for days on end, begging for its due attention. Holding my beer is almost painful since my hands would rather be occupied discovering her every soft angle, valley, and curve.
“You didn’t have to embarrass him like that,” she whispers, and I hate she’s still hung up on Brad’s hurt ego.
“He’ll survive,” I murmur, taking a small sip of my beer. “And don’t act like you care either way how I treated him. Both of us know you’re not the sensitive type.” I scold. Her brow lifts in confusion to my dry observation.
“You think I’m insensitive?” she asks, facing me head-on, making it hard to stand frozen in place and not taking the three little steps I would need to touch her.
“Maybe insensitive isn’t the right word I would use to describe you, Freya. More like indifferent.” I add smugly.
“Indifferent?” she mimics the word back to me as if I’ve just offended her profusely. I start to open my mouth to explain, or more importantly, to continue getting a rise from her when I see Tyler standing behind Freya. His whole body goes stiff, save for his eyes that take all of her in from head to toe. He might not want to admit it, but her mere presence is just the drug of choice we would take every time. It’s the biggest high and the most alluring rush.
Tyler and I are real adrenaline junkies. We do any sport or take any risk just so we can feel our hearts drumming wildly in our ears with the ecstasy of it all. But no wild ride even comes close to having her this near. She is the ultimate trip. Right now, I’m two seconds from picking a fight with her just so I can see the fire in her eyes. A sweet laughing Freya would warm any man’s heart, but a fiery guns-blazing one would make their mouth water with lust.
Tyler hasn’t said a word, and she is too flustered with our conversation to even notice he’s a hair’s breadth away.
“What are we talking about?” Tyler asks, startling Freya in front of him. She jumps to the side, and I see her eyes roam over Tyler’s bulky frame. He might just be a year younger than me, but size wise, we’re pretty much the same.
Back in high school, football coaches would foam at the mouth to have any of us two on their team, but to their disappointment, we only had waves and sand in mind. A pretty impressive feat for two guys as big as houses. But size doesn’t matter in the water. Agility and grace, now that’s what keeps you on your board. Tyler and I have that in spades. It’s out on the ocean that we lose our earthly vibe and incarnate the caveman beasts we resemble.
“Freya and I were just talking about her apathetic nature,” I explain, taking another pull of my beer, but keeping my eyes on the porcelain doll before me.
“Apathetic?” she repeats as if the word tastes sour in her honey-glazed tongue. “Why would you think that? Give me one reason I would ever come across as apathetic,” she yelps and h
er frazzled cheeks heat up. I much rather see them redden for a different reason, but this will have to do. The temptation to grab her over my shoulder and give her a better reason to blush is too strong, so I move away and grab another beer to cool my libido.
“I think what Mase is trying to say is that you were too good for the kids back in school. You acted like you were above it all and cared very little for the lesser people,” Tyler spits out, more aggressively than I would want him to be.
“Is that true, Mason? Is that truly what you believe? That I’m some heartless stuck up teenage girl, who feels she’s better than everyone else?” she asks, not masking the hurt in her voice. My heart is ripping itself in two when her pain reaches her eyes.
“It’s what we all believe. I’m just glad to know my brothers and I weren’t special in that regard,” Tyler said, with a snarky tone, sipping on a red cup he picked off the counter. He places it back with an acrid look on his face.
“Don’t do that,” she mumbles.
“Don’t do what?” my brother asks, signaling me to throw him a Corona instead of whatever toxic beverage was in the discarded cup.
“Treat me like I’m a stranger. Or worse, the enemy. We all used to be friends,” she shyly remarks, and I almost swear I hear in her voice a timber of longing mixed with regret.
“Used to, being the operative words, Princess,” I add sullenly. Tyler raises his brow, already castigating me for showing an ounce of sadness to the girl he blames for his torn up insides.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Tyler says, staring into Freya’s watery eyes.
“Carter invited me,” she replies, attempting her best to keep her tears at bay.
“Well then, it seems my kid brothers didn’t do what they should. Never send boys to do a man’s job. If I’m the one that needs to put you in your place, then so be it. Don’t think for a minute you’ll fool us with those innocent eyes of yours. You’re a shark. Far worse than anything I’ve ever encountered in the water, or dry land for that matter,” Tyler continues, not swayed in any way with the small stubborn tear that drops on her cheek. But it’s all for show. Freya’s tears have the same effect on Tyler as they have on me. The urge to lick them along with her worries is our default setting. Years of living with her absence haven’t changed that. But Tyler is stronger than I am, as his conviction in hurting her, the same way she hurt us, prevail on his natural instinct.
“You’ll stay here for the month as a favor to your parents, but that’s as far as it goes. Don’t talk to us, don’t look at us. Keep yourself well-guarded in your tower, Princess, ‘cause right now, the dragons on your doorstep will burn you the fuck down.”
I flinch at Tyler’s crude and unkind warning. I know he’s just saying what he needs to say to keep himself whole, but it breaks my heart watching Freya’s eyes glisten more at his blatant dismissal of her. He moves to stand in front of her and places one finger under her chin, making sure she sees his distaste engraved in his ocean-blue eyes.
“And don’t delude yourself. To us, you are the enemy,” he grunts out at a morose-looking Freya. He takes one look at me before leaving us alone in the kitchen. I know he wants me to follow, and not stay a second longer to wallow in the light of the person who has caused so much suffering to my brothers and I. But what Tyler doesn’t know is I can’t blame our misery on her alone. I played my own part in our shared misery.
“Why, Mason? Please, tell me why I’m the enemy?” she chokes out, a stream of tears menacing to make their full appearance.
“If you don’t know the answer to that question then I’m not the one who is going to give it to you,” I tell her, and it’s the nail that finally does her in. Her threatening tears fall free from her face now, as she nods her understanding and slowly backs away from me. I watch her walk up the stairs, heading back to her room, unlikely to leave for the remaining of the night. Maybe not even for the rest of her stay, if she can help it.
From the corner of my eye, I see Tyler having words with the twins. Carter doesn’t look too happy, but Chaz’s eyes are lighting up like it’s the Fourth of July. That doesn’t bode well for Freya. I won’t waste my time in cooling Tyler down. After all the years that have passed, Tyler is still as raw as ever. Like an open wound that will only heal after he has put enough salt into it to withstand the pain.
After whatever new order Tyler imposed on the twins, he returns to the kitchen. His face is looking pleased with her defeated flight, but he’s full of shit. Even Drew, who is smirking in the shadows after watching all this go down, is full of shit too. We all are. We’re just playing the part of the villains in her story. Playing it to perfection, if her hasty retreat is any indication of it.
I know sweet Freya will lock herself tight in her room the rest of the night and cry herself to sleep. I know because I’ll be guarding her door the whole night through, so no random asshole even attempts to knock on her door. I’ll know all of this and still act the part of an uninterested party of all things Freya the next morning. Why? Because it’s safer this way. Pretending to hate her is less painful than admitting the truth. To spill those words is something neither one of us will easily do. No coercion or torture would make any of us say what we truly feel.
This whole business of her staying here is a bad idea. Probably one of my mother’s less inspired moments. The thing was, Mom thought Freya pulling away from us was only natural. We were five boys who roughed house all the time. Fights and adrenaline rushes were the norm, but it was all in good fun.
Mom thought Freya was a gentle soul and eventually she would grow weary of our boastful and aggressive natures. We played hard, and Freya was just too sweet to enter into our shenanigans. But to us, Freya’s sudden coldness and absence was a bucket of ice water to our hearts. People thought we cared for her like a sister. The female sibling my mother always wanted. But she was never a sister to us. She was just ours. Shit like that couldn’t be said out loud. People just wouldn’t understand it. But she was so much more than family. We lived for her smiles. Yearned for every laugh. We took her everywhere with us and protected her with everything we had. She was our Princess in our minds and in our hearts. Ruling our every thought, every breath.
So when she ditched us, that shit hurt like a mother. I know for a fact the twins cried like babies at night for months on end, not understanding why their best friend no longer cared for them. Drew built walls around himself, making sure pain like that would never touch him again. Tyler and I took more and more to the waves, seeking the silence of the water to ease our thunderous thoughts of longing.
Freya outgrowing us was Mom’s interpretation of why she no longer came around, and my brothers ate that shit up to fuel their anger as a replacement for their suffering. I wasn’t so sure Mom was on the mark though. One feeling my brothers and I didn’t share was guilt. I ached as much as they did at her loss, but my indiscretion kept me up at night. Maybe Freya would still be a part of our lives if I didn’t have that one moment of weakness.
Chapter 6
Freya
After the confrontation I had with Tyler and Mason, I stay locked in my room for the remainder of Saturday. I feel like I’m a prisoner in this house and not just because of my constant view of these four bare walls around me. It’s been a few days since I arrived, and I’ve spent the majority of it in this room, looking up at the ceiling, cursing my luck, and counting down the days I’ve been stuck here. But it’s not the room holding me prisoner, it’s the longing. There is an insistent craving to be brave enough to open the door and stroll downstairs to see just one face. Any cherished face would do. But that’s out of the question.
Every interaction I’ve had with the boys has ended dramatically. Their disdain at having me here is clear as day, and it’s taking its toll on my destitute state. How was I so blind to their seeping hatred of me? I’m haunted by the glare I received from Tyler the other night. Every word he expelled from his full lips, was laced with the venom he wanted me to choke on.
>
Even Mason’s words seemed to plague my existence. He had called me insensitive and apathetic. Indifferent to everyone around me. I wanted to yell out at both of them how wrong they were. Yell at the top of my lungs how little they knew me. Shout out how I wished their cruel words were true. Because then I wouldn’t have to feel the pain – of their contempt for me – in my chest. An indifferent person doesn’t feel at all, right? They don’t care about anyone but themselves. Maybe Mason was right in a way. I did do one thing out of self-perseveration. One thing only to keep the outside world from recognizing my shame.
They might hate me now, but if they only knew how sick and twisted I was, they would be disgusted with me. How else would they feel for a girl who loves five brothers at once? They wouldn’t understand. No one would. So even though their hatred of me is something I would never wish upon myself, it’s what I need to focus on. In a weird distorted way, they’re clearing a path for me to move on from my lovesick ways. Every vile word that comes out of their mouths should fuel me to be free from their enchantment. I should seek their resentment and bathe myself in their anger. But I’m a coward at heart, so instead, I stay locked away. Like the Princess I am, in her tower of solitude and shame.
I’m sitting on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, when a faint knock on the door startles my melancholic state. I don’t even have time to ask who it is when Carter creaks the door open and takes in my disheveled state. It’s five in the afternoon, and I’m still wearing my pajamas, which consist of an off-the-shoulder t-shirt with the Eiffel Tower printed on the front, and boy shorts. I don’t even remember brushing my hair today, only twisting it up in a bun on top of my head. He stops a few feet away from me and huffs out a beaten sigh.
