by W Winters
“It smells delicious,” Bastian comments and then looks at me pointedly to inform me, “Lasagna.”
“The guys all love it when I make pasta, so … I hope you like carbs,” she says with another one of those laughs I heard before I walked in. A nervous kind of laugh which has me wondering what she has to be nervous about.
“The guys?” I prod.
“Carter and his brothers,” she clarifies as I absently open the gift and mentally try to place her from back when we lived here, but I don’t remember an Aria. A single sheet of tissue paper’s already out before I realize she’s intently watching me open the gift bag as she chews the inside of her cheek.
I don’t have to pull out the rest of the tissue paper to see it’s a frame I can easily remove from the bag.
With the empty bag cradled in my right, and the frame in my left hand, I turn it over to see a beautiful drawing of Sebastian and me. It’s a sketch of a photo I remember from years ago when we first got together.
It’s all done in a deep blue charcoal, but so finely sketched and on a thick cream canvas. The multiple shades of blue add dimension and capture the details perfectly. I’m awestruck for a moment at how thoughtful the gift is. And how breathtakingly beautiful it is.
We were only two kids really, barely out of high school and trying to find our way through the shit life we were born into.
Sebastian’s holding me on his sofa, and I’m nestled in his lap with my knees pulled into my chest, looking at the camera while he’s looking at me. I remember when Carter took this picture, only days before we ran away. Bastian asked him to. I remember it like it was yesterday.
“Do you like it?” she asks nervously, and her voice brings me back to the present.
“It’s beautiful.” I have to clear my throat as I set it down on the round beechwood table in the center of the room. “I love it,” I admit honestly. “Thank you.”
“Let me see,” Bastian asks and even though I move to hand it to him, he stands behind me, both of his hands on my hips as he peers at it over my shoulder.
Watching his reaction, I see how his expression softens. I can tell he remembers too. Some memories here weren’t the worst. Some of them are the best.
“Carter showed me the picture a couple of days ago when he was telling me about how him and Sebastian were so close growing up.” Aria’s voice grabs my attention. “He told me all about how you stole Sebastian’s heart. It was such a sweet story,” she says, and her voice is nearly singsongy.
I wonder which version of the tale she got, because I don’t remember it being “sweet” exactly.
“You drew it?” Bastian asks, and my mouth drops open when she nods.
“You’re so talented,” I comment.
“I’m so happy you love it,” she says cheerily, more at ease than she was a moment ago. “Carter thought you’d like it but … you know, he’s a guy and I think he likes to make me feel like I’m good at drawing, so he’d say just about anything to make me smile.”
“Is Carter your…?” I don’t finish, not sure if Carter’s married or dating. The least Sebastian could have done is told me that much.
“Oh,” her eyes widen and her gaze moves from me to Sebastian, then back to me. “I’m with Carter. I’m his … fiancée,” she tells me and when she says the last word, she smiles, a kind of sweet, innocent smile and then looks down at her hand. Her ring finger is barren. “No ring yet, it’s been a little crazy recently.”
“Let me take this to the kitchen. I’ve got to make a quick call and I’ll be right back,” Bastian says and without waiting for a response, he leaves the two of us. The kitchen is in the back of the house and I listen carefully as his footsteps disappear.
“Crazy, huh?” I prod, not wasting a moment to get details on what happened this past week while Sebastian was here and I wasn’t.
“We found out we’re expecting,” she says and lifting her voice a little higher, immediately tells me, “Congratulations, by the way.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “I meant to say that first thing, but I swear my head isn’t on right.”
“First, thank you. And second, you can blame that on the baby now and for probably the next eighteen years or so I’ve heard.”
My comment makes her laugh again, and any bit of jealousy I had vanishes knowing she’s with Carter.
“Congratulations to you too,” I tell her and prod again, my left hand resting on the table, “I haven’t seen Carter in … gosh,” I blow a strand of hair from my face, remembering him as a sixteen-year-old kid, “in years.”
“Really?” she asks, seeming surprised. “Well, he has a lot of respect for you and for Sebastian. He speaks really highly of you two. And he seems really happy to have you two back.”
Guilt is what makes my smile slip the way it does. I feel it falter and I can’t stop it.
I know why we left, even though Sebastian doesn’t know that I know.
I know what happened when we took off too. What happened to Carter specifically.
“He’s a good guy,” I tell her and try to ignore the regret. If I’d known everything he’d go through at only sixteen and have to face alone because his best friend left, I would have made Sebastian come back. It’s ironic that I can admit that, yet coming back now, the thought never occurred to me.
“So, how far along are you?” I ask her, trying to hide everything I’m feeling, but she sees it just like Sebastian does, if her wary expression is anything to go by.
“Not far at all,” she tells me and offers a small smile as she touches her lower stomach. “We only just found out.”
With a nod, I acknowledge what she said, but new words fail me.
“You okay?” she asks with hesitancy.
“I just wish Sebastian would tell me why we’re here,” I blurt out the truth. “Why now?” I don’t bother keeping my voice low as I spill the truth to a perfect stranger.
“It’s funny how they keep things from us,” she says a bit lower, a bit more serious than she’s been, “as if we aren’t going to find out.” The small eye roll and shake of the head are meant to add humor, but I can see how she really feels in her eyes, in the way her smile struggles to stay where it is.
“Carter too, then?” I ask her, feeling the race in my pulse.
“He tried; I think he knows better now.” The moment the words leave her, she bites down on her lower lip and peeks over her shoulder at the door, as if he could come in any second. For a moment I think she’s worried he’d come here, worried he’d see her talking to me about him. But then she mutters, “He better know better now,” in a tone not meant to be negotiated.
“He’s an asshole sometimes,” she tells me, playing with the nonexistent ring missing from her finger. “He’s rough around the edges and difficult at times. But he loves me, and I told him I want to know what’s going on. Even if he thinks I shouldn’t know, not knowing makes it harder on me, you know? Which makes it harder on us.”
She’s saying every single thing that I could say right back to her.
“I told him, I’d let him know if I didn’t want to hear.” Again she looks over her shoulder, this time as if summoning him, but the man doesn’t show himself. “And if I want to know something, he answers. And I do the same for him.”
“Right.” I nod in agreement.
Her last sentence is spoken with finality. “Being raw and open is scary as fuck, especially in this life, but it’s the only way I know how to survive.”
Those words, each and every one, settle into the very marrow of my bones. “I don’t think I can stay here if Sebastian doesn’t tell me what’s going on,” I confess to her. Bastian isn’t anywhere to be seen or heard; I have no idea what he’s doing, but he needs to hear those words. “I’m afraid he’s going to choose this place over me, to be honest.” There’s the truth. The heart of the matter. He’s wanted to come back since the day we left, and now he’s done it, without my permission. If I say I don’t want this, I am certain he
’s not going to choose me.
“Why would you say that? You’re all he talks about.”
“Because he’s been waiting for me to leave him for years. He’d let me walk away if he thought it was the right thing to do by me.”
“Do you want to walk away?” she asks.
“No,” I say, and the answer is easy. “I don’t even mind this place. It’s not what I was thinking when I told him I’d never come back. This isn’t Crescent Hills and I could be happy here. The only thing I really care about is that he’s not telling me what’s going on. And with the history of what happened before, I want to know. I don’t want to go crazy worrying.”
“I know that feeling,” she mutters beneath her breath. “What did he tell you?” she asks me, and I shake my head along with giving her a shrug.
Swallowing and feeling my dry throat tighten, I answer, “He said he wanted to come home. He said Carter needed him.” Every word feels drier and drier in the back of my throat. Like it’s suffocating me to tell this woman and admit how little he tells me. “I know something’s wrong,” I confess to her.
She only nods her head in response, her eyes darting behind me, but when I look she finally speaks. “He’s not there, I was just checking.”
Feeling an oncoming chill from the draft of the front door, my right hand absently rubs my opposite forearm.
“Do you know why he came back now?” I ask her and again, she nods and answers, “Yes.”
“Is it bad?” I question.
“The bad just passed, now it’s just waiting for things to settle, I think. There are some loose ends, but they’ll be tied up shortly.”
A beat passes, and the ticking in my chest speeds up, feeling each second slip by me faster and faster.
“I’m sorry, I’m a little guilty. Carter asked Sebastian to come back because of things with me, I would think. Things were the worst…” She trails off as her bottom lip wobbles, but she catches it between her teeth and swallows her words.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, feeling for the first time that she’s more like me than I could have ever known.
“I am. I am now,” she adds.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Maybe one day, but I don’t think today is a good time. I’m grateful Bastian came back. I’ll tell you that much. And if you’re worried, I wouldn’t be. But I really think you two should talk.” Her gaze again moves behind me, and this time I know he’s there. She lets her gaze linger and the floor softly creaks behind me.
“We should,” I answer and hear the floors protest once again, but still far behind me, maybe in the doorway. As if he’s stopped there and doesn’t dare to move any closer.
“Sorry to intrude… I just wanted to say ‘hi.’” She gives me a small smile and an odd wave before tucking her hair behind her ear and turning to leave.
“Thank you so much for the gifts.” My response is nothing but polite, even though inwardly I’m prepared for confrontation with the man standing behind me.
“If you ever want to hang out or just talk, I’m right there or happy to come over even.”
“I’m going to take you up on that,” I answer her and then watch her leave.
4
Sebastian
“What did you two talk about?” I ask her before Aria’s even through the doorway. Anxiety spreads along my skin. I thought the two of them would hit it off. But the atmosphere in the foyer reminds me of a funeral home.
“About what’s going on.”
My pulse picks up. “And what is going on?” I ask her, swallowing thickly and refusing to believe Aria told her anything specific. Chloe’s pregnant, for fuck’s sake. She doesn’t need the stress or the fear. The last thing she needs to do is worry. I’ve got her.
“I don’t want to not address these things anymore. We need to talk about it.” Her words echo off the walls of the foyer as the door closes and the biting chill of the bitter weather joins us.
“What things do we need to talk about?” I ask her, as if I don’t know. There’s so much shit she doesn’t know. And if she learns the truth, how could I ever keep her?
The thought sends a prick down my neck that doesn’t stop until it reaches the base of my spine.
The uneasy feeling stays where it is when she turns around, staring into my eyes and swallowing thickly. “I want to know everything.”
The hell with that. “No.”
Her baby blues widen, the shock apparent. Even I’m surprised by the way the single word sounded so harsh. “You don’t need to know this shit.” I give her the simple explanation, and a light sparks in her eyes.
“It’s not about need, Bastian. It’s about want,” she grits out. “I love you and I’ll never stop loving you, but I hate how you think I’m so delicate and easily broken.” Her tone is severe and unrefined. “I deserve to know the truth.”
“The truth about what?” I ask again, knowing the one truth I will never tell her. Never.
“Everything,” she demands.
I was her savior. That’s how she looked at me. Like I was one of the good guys, and it did something to me. It made me a better man. I will never let her take that back, because I don’t know what will happen to me if she does.
My lips part, ready to give her a partial truth, enough to keep her at a distance. Something to satisfy her curiosity, but her bottom lip quivers and her arms cross, showing me her swollen stomach. She’s only just started to show.
“Tell me why you needed to come back right now,” she asks when I hesitate.
I question if Aria told her something I’ll have a hard time explaining, or if she told her anything. Fuck, what was I thinking leaving the two of them alone? “Carter was in trouble,” I start and she cuts me off.
“What kind of trouble?”
“The kind that wound up with a lot of people going to funerals this week,” I answer her sharply and wait for her reaction. I get none. Nothing. The blunt answer doesn’t faze her in the least.
“Why now?” she asks and when I feel a deep crease settling in my forehead, she elaborates. “Why didn’t you come back before? It’s obvious…” she hesitates, but doesn’t hold back when she continues, “It’s obvious he’s been putting people in the ground for a while now… yes?”
I nod, and my heart hammers. The skin across my knuckles draws tight as I flex my hands into fists and then relax them, thinking about all the shit that’s happened since we’ve been gone.
“He didn’t need me, but this time, it was important to him that he did everything he could…” I almost tell her how it was the first time he was fighting for something that mattered, but I don’t have to.
“Because of Aria?” she questions and again I nod.
It’s silent for a moment and I watch as the tension in her shoulders lessens. The hope that she’s been given just enough to drop it toys with me until she asks, “Did he need you to do what you used to do?”
I can barely nod in confirmation. Every muscle in my body is tight, waiting for her to run, to cower, to be afraid or angry or disgusted. I never liked the man I was without her, but it doesn’t change the fact that’s who I am. I can run away for years, but I’ll always be a murderer. I don’t want her to look at me that way. I don’t even know if she knows the extent of what I’ve done, both years ago and just last week. And what I’m willing to continue to do.
“Did you want to hurt them?” she asks quietly.
I answer her with questions of my own. “Why would I want to do this? Why would I want to hurt people?”
Another question is all I get. “Why wouldn’t you? That’s what you did before, and living out there, away from all this… nothing made you happy. You moved from job to job and you hated them all.”
“I was happy with you and bored with work… that’s life.”
“No,” she responds sharply, “you lost your passion.”
“I lost my family,” I correct her, raising my voice and stressing the statement. I fee
l the harsh words linger between us. The room feels colder than it ever has before. Anger simmers, although not for her; anger at my past, anger at this shit life I was dealt.
“You are my family, we are family. But Carter was too.”
She starts to speak, but her words turn to ghosts of thoughts as she stares back at me and starts to cry. “I wish we’d never left him behind,” she croaks and I swallow my confession that I wish we’d never left at all.
“Come here,” I say and hold her close, forcing her body to mold with mine. “I love you and I don’t want to see you like this.”
A shudder runs along her shoulders as she tries to calm herself down. Can’t she see this is the exact reason I don’t want to tell her these things? I don’t want her to live with the pain. I can bear it for the both of us.
As if reading my mind and finding fault in my conviction, she whispers against my chest, “I don’t want you to lie to me.” Her hot breath sends goosebumps down my skin in a wave.
“I don’t lie to you. I’ve never lied. I just keep some of this shit from you, so you don’t have to deal with it.” It’s a half truth. It’s always only a half truth.
“You don’t think I know? Or that I wouldn’t find out?” she questions as she lifts her gaze to me. Staring back at me are worry, sadness, and desperation even. And it stuns me.
“I know more than you think,” she says in my silence.
“I would never bring you into danger,” is all I can say, because it’s the only truth that matters to me anymore.
“Is that why you came up here before me? Because it was too dangerous?”
I almost lie, I almost hide it from her so she doesn’t have to know, but I can’t. “Yes.”
“Why not tell me?” she asks as if it’s that simple. As if I could risk her knowing who I am at my core and leaving me.
