I looked away quickly, and sat on my chair.
This was going to be fucking torture.
Chapter Eight
Sam set the cups down and I avoided looking at him even as Ames engaged him in conversation about football. Mila wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in briefly, but long enough to ask, “Are you okay?”
I exchanged looks with her, wondering if she could tell how I felt, or if she was simply inquiring.
Because I desperately needed someone, anyone, I shook my head. Her eyes turned sad, she touched my arm, and I clenched my jaw, shaking my head, hoping she would leave it. For now, at least.
Gently, she squeezed my arm and gave me a reassuring smile. “You look beautiful,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Hungry?”
I didn’t think I had it in me to eat, but I knew this brunch was in my honor. “Looks delicious,” I said, deflecting.
“I’m here!” rang a voice from the front door. The last person I expected or even wanted to see: Bianca. She strolled in, makeup perfectly applied and clothes right out of a magazine. She gave a casual hello to Bronwen, kissed Sam and Ames on their cheeks, hugged my dad, Mila, and then nearly yanked me out of my chair to give me a hug. “You didn’t think I was coming, did you?”
“Well,” I began, feeling extremely uncomfortable that she was here, “you said you couldn’t come … so no, I didn’t think you were coming.” It’d have been different if she was running late, but she had actually said she wasn’t coming, so I’d taken her at her word.
“Like I’m going to miss my bestie’s farewell.” She dragged a chair over to the table, interrupting the quiet chatter between Ames and Sam, and plopped down in it beside me, causing Bronwen to scoot further to her son.
“Let me just get another plate,” Ames said, shoving back from the table and dipping behind the bar. He wasn’t Bianca’s biggest fan, but he knew she was just about my only friend. He came back to the table and served French toast on her plate before handing it to her.
“Oh, just one piece, please. I can’t gain any more weight.” She rolled her eyes at me like I could somehow commiserate. Bianca was slender, without the tiniest bit of fat on her. But I turned away as Mila nudged me, a bowl of fruit in her hand for me to pass along the table.
“Oh,” my dad said, gently slapping the table. “We meant to do the gifts first, didn’t we?”
“We can do them while we eat,” Mila said, and reached under the table, producing a square box, the diameter of a dinner plate.
“We don’t need to do gifts,” I protested as everyone leaned over and grabbed the gifts they’d concealed under the table. “Really, it’s—”
“Shush,” Ames said, his eyes alight with amusement. “We wanted to send you away with little pieces of us, so you wouldn’t forget us while you’re off, adventuring in the deserts and mountains.”
I crinkled my brow, and felt my lips turn downward. “As if I would be able to forget the lot of you,” I muttered as my father, eager and amused, reached across Mila to hand me his gift. A soft metal sound in the box told me it was most likely some kind of Catholic hero of the faith. He’d embraced faith again after mum and Mal had died, and I knew it gave him comfort to provide me with something that meant more to him than it did to me.
I slid the ribbon away and lifted the lid on the box. Sure enough, in the cotton lay a Saint Christopher pendant on a gold chain.
“Saint Christopher, to protect you in your travels.”
“Regarde St Christophe et va-t-en rassuré,” Ames said. “What the French say.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I gave him an easy smile and opened the gift from Ames and Mila, which was a bit larger.
“Now, I know this is it a bit large, and I hope you can make room for it,” Mila said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. The smile on her face was so brilliant that I felt a flood of love for her, for the love she brought Ames and my father, too. Before I even opened the gift, I leaned over and hugged her closer. Probably closer than I’d ever hugged her.
It felt so good to hug her. It felt like I was someone else, someone different than the day earlier. I’d made myself numb in Sam’s presence again, but hugging Mila was like hugging my sister again—but a different sister.
“Thank you,” I whispered in her ear and when she pulled back she had the littlest bit of tears on her lashes.
“You might hate it,” she said through a watery chuckle. “But every good traveler needs one of these.” She tapped on the box, nudging it closer to me.
Once I’d removed the wrapping, I saw the branding along the box. It was a fancy black camera, boasting removable lenses.
“I already set it up with a memory card,” Mila explained, popping the top of the box open. She peered inside with me. “You’ve got a portrait lens in there.” She touched the top of the squat lens that was attached to the camera. “And a wide-angle lens here, which will be great for scenery.” She dug a hand to the bottom of the box, producing gray batteries. “I bought a few extra, and a charger here. I know it looks intimidating, but I’ll show you a few things before you leave.”
I didn’t even think about bringing a camera with me, which I realized now was totally silly for me not to think about. “I love it,” I told her earnestly. “I’ll send you all the photos I take.”
Mila beamed, and looked across the table at Ames. “She loves it!”
Ames gave her an indulgent smile, and I felt a small ache in my chest. I was so glad for Ames, to have Mila, but if I looked at the person who sat across from me, I was sure the look in my eyes would have been the exact opposite of Mila’s.
“My turn, Lotte love.” Bronwen handed me a wrapped u-shaped package that was soft when I pressed on it. Inside was a neck pillow for travel and a handful of my favorite Cadbury chocolates. “Our chocolate is just better here,” she joked. “And transatlantic flights are hell on the neck.”
“Thank you,” I gave her a genuine smile, “and you even got my favorite bars.” I stood up, going around Bianca to give her a hug. She was warm, homey, and reminded me of my own mother. I squeezed her tight and when I pulled away, I started to feel a little shaky, knowing I was hours away from leaving all of this, everyone.
“I suppose it’s time for me.” Sam stood and reached behind himself, and panic fluttered tight around my throat. What gift could he possibly give me? I didn’t want anything from him.
“Here,” he said slowly, handing me a sealed envelope. He took a step away from me, and from his demeanor, I could tell he was nervous. I didn’t know if it was the envelope or what we’d done last night that forced this separation between us, but I ignored that, sliding my thumb over the open flap of the envelope.
“I just thought, after what you said, about mountains and deserts…” his voice trailed off as I stared at the gift certificate in my hands.
“What is it?” Mila asked.
“Two tickets for a hot air balloon ride.” I looked up at Sam through my eyelashes.
“You can see a lot from that high up.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I think you’ll like it.” His face was almost pleading. Pleading for what? To forgive him for what he’d said upstairs this morning? I wasn’t ready for that. I needed several thousand miles away from him, in a place that didn’t remind me of him, until I could even consider getting over what had happened this morning.
“Well, that’s brilliant, Sam,” Ames said, totally fucking completely clueless, and stood and slapped him on the back. “I didn’t even think about experiences.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, but he sounded unsure.
“Thank you,” I said, but couldn’t make it sound natural. The gift was a thoughtful one, but I didn’t want thoughtful Sam—not at that moment. “I’ll let you know when I cash these in.”
“Okay,” he said, and neither of us reached to hug the other.
Which was for the best.
Chapter Nine
“Oh, Sam, that’s lovely,” my mum said,
grasping my arm with her hand and squeezing. “A hot air balloon ride. Never done that myself.”
“Yes, it is, Bronwen,” Mila added.
I clenched my jaw and nodded, looking at Lotte who was staring at the floor.
She had every right to be angry with me. Fuck, I was a bloody idiot. I rubbed the back of my neck, wanting to reach forward and pull her in for a hug. Why?
I shouldn’t have come to this brunch. It was too personal, when I’d been completely impersonal with her. I should have never touched her. Not once.
“Yeah,” I finally said, replying to my mum. “I haven’t either, that pesky afraid of heights thing.” It didn’t matter what kind of blathering I’d do; I’d severely disappointed Lotte. I had my reasons, but standing in front of her, all that pale skin and head bent down, obscuring her face from my view—the last thing on my mind were those reasons. I couldn’t even recall one.
There was this punishing dichotomy playing out behind my eyelids: Lotte’s skin, Lotte’s sighs, her smiles—which was then rudely interrupted with Lotte’s eyes when I’d told her I shouldn’t have touched her. Her deep, passion-filled eyes, filled with hurt.
“Here, let me get you more juice,” I said to no one in particular as I walked away from an increasingly awkward position. Surely, someone at the table would need some juice.
I was given the brief reprieve of being in the back, in the kitchen, and I braced my hands on the counter, letting my head hang.
I’d had way too much alcohol the night before. And it’d been hours since I’d taken any of my pills. I’d needed one upon waking, but trying to come to grips with the mistakes I’d made had taken precedence.
There was nothing more singularly frustrating than being in the presence of someone who you wanted to push and pull simultaneously. Lotte had crept up on me, starting from the kiss I’d never admitted to remembering and culminating with last night—a perfect night—a night that reminded me just how much better than me she was, and what she deserved.
I dug the bottle from my pocket and shook one white pill into my hand. I rolled it with my thumb for a moment, the markings on the pill engraved in my brain. Back to the first time I’d swallowed one. Which had been years ago, back when they’d been prescription and not purchased off of friends. Off of Della.
Della. She’d texted me that morning, asking when I’d be coming ‘round. I gritted my teeth at the thought of enduring her insufferable presence for more than an hour. Because it wasn’t enough for me to give her cash for the pills, she wanted more of my time, more of my company.
Running my hand down my face, I tried to retrace my steps to how I’d gotten here, to this point. Hiding in my best mate’s pub just to take a pill that I couldn’t explain the need for.
I swallowed it dry—the bitter coating no longer a problem for me. If anything, I’d developed a conditional response to that bitterness. For all I knew, these pills were merely placebo—but the psychological reasoning was stronger than the pill itself. I needed to numb myself from everything else around me. All those cheery faces—except for the one person who should’ve been cheery.
Without a thought, I slammed my palm flat to the table. The level of idiocy I possessed was truly unmatched. I shouldn’t have been alone with her. She just looked so happy—so light. Part of me wanted to know what it felt like to hold her in my hands, as if she belonged to me. I was selfish—nothing new. I wanted a bit of that light, to let it pour over me. And I’d realized too late what I’d done.
And, ah, to hold her. She was so … small. Like holding a bird. Her blue eyes had looked at me with trust, and perhaps a bit of longing, and I’d taken horrible advantage of that. Of her. The night before she was to leave.
I’d kept my distance from her for the last few years, ever since that kiss. I didn’t know how to bring it up to her again, without talking about the night her sister died. But she was the person I always sought out when I came into the bar. And until last night, I’d kept myself in check.
Withdrawal sweats prickled my brow and I swiped my sleeve over it, knowing soon I’d be back to normal. Or, whatever could pass as normal for me.
Suddenly remembering why I’d ventured into the kitchen, I spun around and grabbed the carafe of juice.
I was close to the door when she walked through.
“Fuck,” I mumbled, backing up. “Sorry.”
She eyed me for a moment before abruptly looking away. “I just…” she wrung her hands together, “thanks. That was really kind of you.”
I swallowed. “It was nothing. Just thought if you were going all that way to look at some sand and rocks, you could view it from up high. Maybe with a friend, so you’re not alone.”
A small smile flitted through her lips, and once again I cursed myself for the part I had in removing it in the first place. She was so small, so conditioned to lowering her head in my presence. I hated that I could stand to breathe in the same air as her and know I couldn’t touch her again. Couldn’t taint her. “I know. I’m looking forward to that.” She was still looking at the floor, and part of me wanted to leave this conversation and part of me wanted to look her in the eyes, to see how much I’d hurt her.
Because I was a total arse, I did the second.
“Lotte, why won’t you look at me?”
A wrinkle formed in her perfect ivory skin, right between her eyebrows. “It’s fine. I’m just hungover a bit, and tired.”
“You’re mad.”
She sighed, turning so her back was to me. I shouldn’t have looked at her the way I was looking at her. Her clothes were simple, but their fit was not. I turned my head away so I wouldn’t stare at her, remembering how … exquisite she’d looked without all that clothing.
This was decidedly not the time for me to be having these thoughts.
“I’m not mad, Sam. I’m fine.”
She wasn’t. And once again, I debated—pathetically briefly—whether or not to push her. And, once again, I did the arsehole thing.
“Why can’t you look at me then?”
She wrapped her arms around herself like armor, and I mentally kicked my shins for making her feel like she needed it. But then she turned, scoffed, and I realized I’d misinterpreted her body language.
“Because I don’t feel like it, Sam. Because I don’t like looking people in the eye.” She frowned and looked to the side, like a woman who was used to feeling the way I’d clearly made her feel. “I’m shy. In case you haven’t noticed. Why would you?” She laughed, but there was no humor in her face.
It was pure instinct. That’s how I rationalized it to myself. Pulling her into my arms, wrapping myself around her—again—when I shouldn’t have even continued speaking to her.
To her credit, it took several long seconds before she released the tension wracking her body and half-hugged me back.
In the dim lighting of the kitchen, with one bulb blinking its last bits of life above us, I wished I could take back my actions the night before.
I’d laid in bed with her in my arms, my ear pressed against her back, and just listened to her heart beating for what must have been an hour before I’d drifted off to sleep myself. It held such a unique beat, something that echoed in my head even now, as I felt her pulse in where I pressed my lips to the top of her head.
Something I realized the night before was that I couldn’t get close enough to her. I’d kissed her, I’d touched her, I’d slid inside her, and still, I felt like it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted to be closer, always.
I ached to rub my hand down her back, soothingly, but I figured that was not what she wanted from me right now. Instead, I ran just the side of my thumb against her shoulder blade.
When she pulled away, she gave me a smile that was somehow sadder than before. “Thanks. Probably should get back.”
She turned, her white blonde hair fluttering out of my vision along with the moment I shouldn’t have taken but definitely had.
When I returned to the table, I
felt Bianca’s eyes on me. Had Lotte said anything to her? That was the last thing I needed. Bianca knowing my business. That girl was something else, someone not to be trusted. Why in the hell had Lotte stayed her friend?
As if to challenge her measured stare, I met Bianca’s eyes slowly. Her lids narrowed into slats and a smile curved her lips. There was nothing good about the way she looked at me.
I handed the juice to Mila, who looked like she’d just downed her juice as if she was the undesignated recipient in need of a refill. She gave me a contrite look and my lips flattened in confusion.
Quickly, Mila skirted her eyes to Lotte and then back to me. Had Lotte told her? Shit. This wasn’t a possibility I’d considered.
If my best mate’s fiancée knew I had shagged his sister, it wouldn’t be long until he knew. And he’d rightfully bash me up aside the head.
As if she possessed clairvoyance, she quickly nodded her head. I’d been around her for nearly a year now, and I knew she was sending me a message in just a couple subtle gestures.
Lotte’s father made a toast to her, and everyone clinked glasses—except Lotte bypassed my glass entirely in favor of everyone else’s. When she took a sip, she looked quickly at me over the rim before downing the rest of it.
Her blue eyes had a bit of bruising under them, and in the lighting of the pub, it just made the shadows more pronounced. I had a brief, desperate moment where I wanted to swipe my finger over the skin, as if my touch—which had likely caused the dark circles—could erase them. I could imagine all the colors I’d use to paint her. Blues and roses and golds, striking across a white canvas. She’d been best captured in a blur, because that’s the mark she’d have upon my life. Because that was what was best. For her.
I was such a bloody idiot. I wanted to hang my head here at the table. Whatever punishment Ames would dole out upon learning of my transgression would be just.
I couldn’t stop looking at her. Sure, the attention of the table was on her because it was her farewell. But—as cliché as it sounds—it was as if I was seeing her in a new light. When she lifted her fork, the most slender little gold bracelet traveled down the pale skin of her arm, coming to rest right against a collection of birthmarks that resembled a constellation. But which one was it?
The Sounds of Secrets Page 8
