“This shouldn’t have happened like this, Ella. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.” I drop the bloodstained towel to the champagne coated floor and unbuckle her shoes, slipping them from her feet.
I press my kiss to every lesion, mixing blood with tears, coating my lips in her life source. There’s no way we can hide this from our family. Emerson will take one look at his sister and know I’m guilty, and he’ll do everything in his power to keep us apart—as he should. While I still have her within reach, each kiss becomes a promise to stay away if that’s what’s best for her. Each tear is my pledge to disappear if that’s what makes her happy.
I would die for her.
All she has to do is ask.
Ella gently places her hand on the side of my face, urging me to look up. I kiss the inside of her palm and stand to my feet, setting my hands on each side of her against the counter.
“Are you going to leave me?” she asks.
“I shouldn’t be anywhere near you,” I reply, licking my lips. “But first I’m going to draw you a bath.”
I lift her dress over her head, discarding it with the bloody towels. Unclasping her bra, I’m not honorable enough to look away when it falls down her arms, baring her naked chest, and she’s not ashamed enough to ask me to look away, letting sheer and lace drop with her clothes, leaving her utterly bare. Ella sweeps her hair over her shoulders, brushing it out of her face, displaying a perfect view of her body. She’s small, exposed in front of me, injured and perfect all at once.
I wrap her in a clean towel until the tub is full, and she holds it together with unsteady fingers. I stare into the running water while flashing memories from the hallway turn my stomach inside out, and I want nothing more than to crawl from my own skin.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you, Tell,” Ella says in a quiet voice, thick with devastation. “This is my fault as much as it is yours.”
“No, it’s not.” I turn off the water and sweep my fingertips through the surface to test the temperature. “It’s not the same, because I’m a man and … I shouldn’t have touched you.”
“I wanted it!” she shouts. Her voice echoes off the walls. “I wanted you to do it. I wanted you to finally fucking do it.”
Cutting my gaze from the bruises on her throat, my eyes brim with defeat. My heart’s rickety, barely beating, nothing without her.
“Let’s get you in the water,” I say, helping her from the counter and into the bathtub. “I’ll be outside. Call me know when you’re ready to get out.”
“No.” She grabs my wrist and pulls me down. “Don’t leave me alone.”
“You want me to wait here with you?”
“I want you to come in with me.” Persistence brings her knees to her chest. The ends of her hair float in the warm water, and steam ribbons around her frame.
I clear my throat to keep from crying out. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. I want you, Teller.”
Too tired to argue, I draw the belt from my pants and toss it into the trash bin. It hits the metal can with a clink, but I don’t give it a second thought. I go to remove my undershirt, but it snags on my back, stinging when I pull. Ella looks at me from the tub, wide-eyed and guilty, with her bottom lip between her teeth.
Checking it out in the mirror, the shirt’s stuck to raw scratches on my back, blood-soaked. I give it one hard pull, ignoring the pain, and throw the shirt into the trash, too. Giving my back a quick glance, there are a dozen or so long red scratches, carved in no order. They start to bleed again, burning against the cool air.
“I told you,” Ella whispers.
After taking my pants off, I get into the tub behind my girl. She leans against my chest, and I drape my arms around her. I admire her naked body, appreciating the feel of her skin against mine. She places her feet right on top of mine, and I place my cheek on the top of her head. Every single part of us is completely touching the other, and I don’t deserve it.
Before
“Don’t look, but Teller just walked in the door and he doesn’t look too happy.” Nicolette stirs a tiny black straw in her drink, swirling ice in liquor and something sour. “What the fuck is his problem now?”
Ignoring her advice, I turn my head toward the bar entrance where tatted and pissed scopes the tables, no doubt looking for me. The corner of my mouth twitches, not entirely unhappy to see him. He’s gorgeous in dark denim and red, unshaved and rough around the edges. His first year of medical school and lack of time to shave every week have done amazing things.
I dig the scruffy look.
But he can kiss my ass.
“Should we get out of here? I’m sure there’s a back door we can sneak out of.” My brother’s girlfriend reaches for her purse, but I place my hand over hers, ending the retreat. “I don’t feel like dealing with his shitty mood tonight.”
“No,” I say. “Let him come over. It’s a free country, after all.”
Nic smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Nice, Ella. The free country argument, because we’re in middle school. What’s he pissed about, anyway?”
I sip my cocktail, too sugary and sweet. “Dad stuff. School stuff.”
“You stuff.” Nicolette rolls her hazel eyes.
“Me stuff,” I confirm, setting my drink down onto a wet paper coaster. “I overheard Kimberly Evans mention hooking up with him at some party. I was in the bathroom at school and she didn’t know I was there.”
“You realize Kim’s a slut, right?” Nic blows her sandy blonde bangs from her eyes, tapping her acrylic nails against the wooden table. “She’s a med student groupie. Teller’s a dick, but I don’t think he’d sink that low. And besides, he obsessed with you. He has been for the last three years. It’s weird.”
Disappointment and mistrust are bitter in my mouth, but I know the blame’s partly my own. For the last few years, Teller and I’ve played tug-a-war with our hearts, constantly heaving in different directions, never on the same team. It’s complicated, but it’s ours, and I assumed we had a silent agreement about exclusivity.
You don’t, and I won’t, and we’ll figure out the rest along the way.
I assumed wrong.
“Not sure if I agree, Nic. Kim sounded pretty convincing.” Tension hardens my backbone, packing my chest with fiery pressure.
“What did he say when you asked him about it?”
I shrug, sliding my finger around the rim of my glass. “Not much. I sent him a message that I knew what happened and blocked his number.”
Nicolette purses her perfectly glossed lips, and I can see she’s holding back a few choice words. At this point, she’s the only one who stays tight-lipped. Unless we break something, or disturb her television schedule. Teller and I know to keep our issues to a minimum during The Bachelor.
“Well, my guess is you’re about to have an overdue conversation, because here he comes.” She nods over my shoulder, sitting back to enjoy the show. A few drinks in, who’s not going to enjoy the entertainment?
My counterpart pulls out the chair beside me, dropping his car keys and cell phone onto the table, knocking over the drink specials stand-up menu. I pretend he’s not there, ignoring ginger and soap and the electric current that ups my heartbeat when he’s near.
Husher and Maby come back from the bar, hands full of shots for the table. My brother follows not far behind, ready to partake. They all look like deer in headlights when they realize our party is one person bigger than it was when we arrived.
“Nice,” Teller says in a clipped tone. “All you motherfuckers are here and no one called me.”
Four sets of eyes fall on me, but I ignore them like I do my favorite green ones. If he’s messing around with some med school groupie like Kim Evans, it’s no longer my responsibility to make sure Teller gets an invitation to anything.
“Sorry, Tell. We assumed Ella—” Maby stops, taking in the angry expression from her older brother.
“You assumed wrong,” Tell grumbles. He leave
s the table and heads toward the bar, pushing himself between the crowd.
I hold my hands up in surrender, refusing to take the heat for Teller’s bad attitude. It’s something I’ve done for long enough, and I choose now not to give a shit anymore.
“Handle it, Ella. I don’t want this to get out of hand tonight. I work here,” Emerson warns, deepening his voice to mimic our father. As if his security job here a couple days a week is some dream prospect. “I’m not in the mood to babysit.”
Flipping him the bird, I take my shot, pretend it doesn’t catch my esophagus on fire, and head toward the restrooms on the far side of the bar. No one calls me back—not that it matters. I’m twenty-two years old, able to make my own decisions, and not in need of four caretakers who have their own issues to figure out.
After a week of midterms, this place is full of exhausted college kids looking to take a load off on a Friday night, drinking their worries and stresses away. Conversation carries as frat boys talk over each other, and jocks arm wrestle while girls in short skirts swoon and fight over who’s going home with whom. Then there are the groups who are just here to get drunk, cheering over games of pool, gathering darts to hit the bull’s-eye over pitchers of beer.
The line for the ladies’ room spills out into the hall, crowding an ancient pay phone and a corkboard advertising tutoring and minimum wage jobs. I’m scoping out employment options when someone reaches over my arm, tearing a number tab from a dog walking opportunity.
“I fucking love dogs,” tall and dark says, pocketing the inquiry. “There’s something about the hairballs that makes me feel so complete.”
“It’s probably because they can’t talk back,” I say, smiling shyly.
“You’d be surprised,” he answers. Gray eyes scope out my chest, then my face. “Can I buy you a drink? To say thanks for leading me toward a promising career prospect? It’s the least I can do.”
Looking toward my table, I relax when I see Teller’s back in his seat.
“Not sure how I did that. I’m just waiting in line.” I nod toward the five girls in front of me, all looking at their phones. Tiny screens glow yellow, blue, and neon green across their zombie-like expressions.
Animal lover smiles, and it’s not enough to weaken my knees, but it’s enough to keep my interest.
“Well, I was over there with my friends.” He points toward a pool table directly across the room. “And when I saw how beautiful you are, I had to come over and ask your name or regret it for life. The job’s a bonus. Right place at the right time.”
I move up with the line, expecting the dog walker to take off the closer I get to the restroom, but he follows like a puppy. Which makes me laugh.
“Gabriella Mason. Science,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Phillip Graves. Business.”
Of course, I think to myself. You and everybody else.
Business is one of those failsafe, go-to majors one chooses when they have no idea what they want to do after college and don’t want to spend too much time thinking about it. Not when there are toga parties to attend and bitches to fuck. He’s smug now, big bad college guy, but in a year he’ll work IT at a warehouse selling replacement parts on copy machines, in debt up to those chilling gray eyes.
“Science?” Phillip shoves his hands into his back pockets. “Environmental?”
Typical.
“No, actually I’m working toward a BSN. I can be a registered nurse with an associates, but I’ll get paid a hell of a lot more with a bachelors degree. I just need to finish the year before I go to nursing school. Technically, I can get my RN license and earn a bachelors while I’m working, but I may as well get it over with all at once, right?” I smile condescendingly. “Because what are we here for?”
It goes in one ear and out the other, and I can practically see him chanting, toga, toga, toga, in his head.
“Yeah, that’s cool,” he says, plastering a rehearsed smile on his face. “How about that drink?”
I’m one person closer to the door, and he follows me deeper into the hallway that’s beginning to smell like powdered soap and Lysol.
“I would, Phil. Can I call you Phil?” I jab my thumb over my shoulder. “But nature calls.”
He runs a large hand through his chocolate brown hair, and it’s apparent I was wrong about Phillip. He won’t just be IT at a warehouse selling replacement parts for copy machines. He’ll be a bald IT at a warehouse selling replacement part for copy machines. Male pattern baldness strikes some at such a young age.
“Oh, no problem. I can wait.”
Awkward silence rains on our heads, but I don’t mind much. I’m more worried about my bladder exploding before I reach a toilet. Phillip joins the two girls left standing in front of me, losing himself in technology wonderland, like everyone he’s friends with isn’t here, so there’s no pressure to make any kind of small talk.
And true to his word, he waits patiently until I’ve had my turn and resurface from the hell that is a bar restroom.
I have to give credit where credit’s due. Phillip Graves is nothing less than dedicated when he sees a piece of ass he wants, but Teller’s here, and I’m not walking out there with another man. Not even I’ll be able to stop him once his possessive wrath is unleashed, and good ol’ Phil doesn’t deserve it.
“Actually, I’m going to call it a night, but thanks for waiting for me.” I pat his shoulder, leaving a hand-shaped water spot on his blue shirt. They were out of paper towels.
“What? Really?” he asks, thickening the charm. He doesn’t notice I’ve wiped bathroom water all over him. “One drink. No strings.”
I think about it for a second. Between midterms and Kim Evans, I’ve earned a free drink after the week I’ve had. “Do you have beer at your table?”
“Yes,” he replies right away, broadening his smile.
“Fine, I’ll have one of those, but then I really need to get going.”
Following Phillip out to the main barroom, my hair falls over my shoulder, providing a curtain between my face and Teller’s eyes. The only problem is, I can’t tell whether or not he can see me, but I assume the coast is clear when my escort isn’t hit on the back of the head with a chair.
The beer’s warm, but his friends are cool—all business majors—and one glass turns into two, and I’m not having a terrible time. I stay tucked away in the corner, praying I’m out of sight behind linebackers and silicone breasts. Maybe Teller will think I’ve left, and he’ll leave, too.
A lot of roid rage and testosterone are over here—not that Teller Reddy would ever back down from a fight—but it would be in everybody’s best interest if he doesn’t see me.
“So, are you going to give me your number? I want to see you again.” Phillip leans on the table across from me. Illuminated by the yellow-orange light from the exposed light bulb above our heads, he’s not as cute as I thought in the dark hallway, and his hair is really thinning on top. He should intervene before there’s no going back.
“You don’t even know me,” I say, pushing my empty beer mug away and scooting my chair back. “Maybe I’ll see you around, though.”
Phillip straightens his posture to follow me, disappointment written across his features, but I don’t get entirely around the table before a Hulk-sized meathead moves to the right and my worst nightmare and I make eye contact.
“I didn’t fuck Kim Evans,” Teller says, like he’s been chewing on the words for a week.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I have to keep myself from smiling at the rush of relief flooding my nervous system. It’s like jumping into a pool on a hot summer’s day. Or realizing disturbia hasn’t noticed the dog walker practically sniffing my ass yet.
“She’s just making things up? It’s not like she even knew I was listening.” I should lead him back toward the other side of the bar, but I don’t want to be too transparent.
He doesn’t flinch, narrowing his eyebrows and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustrati
on. “Do I look like a motherfucking mind reader?”
I laugh, a little bit drunk, a whole lot irritated. “She must have been talking about another Teller Reddy then, right? Or maybe I imagined the entire thing.”
Teller lifts the hat from his head and runs his hand through his hair, ruffling soft curls gone flat. With the intensity of green eyes that keep me up at night in the best way focused entirely on me, I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around his back and press my ear to his chest to listen to his steady heartbeat.
I believe him.
I believed him the second he said it wasn’t true.
“Is there anything I can say to make this better, Ella? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg? Because I will.”
His sideways smirk lets loose butterflies in my stomach, and I say, “Take me home.”
Teller exhales audibly and holds his hand out for me, but as soon as I reach for it, the dog whisperer speaks up. It’s as if all the lights turn off and a blistering spotlight’s shining on me. I close my eyes, drop my hand, and say a quick prayer to the big guy up above, hoping He can save us all.
“Who’s this guy?” Phillip asks, pressing his hand to my lower back.
“This is my best friend, Teller.” Stepping away from his touch, I straighten my shirt and keep the easy grin on my lips, turning my attention to the person in question. “Teller, this is Phillip Graves. He’s a business major.”
Satisfied with my explanation, Phillip doesn’t give Teller’s presence much thought, supposing he’s not a threat and happy he might still have a chance to get in my pants. It’s an assumption Teller corrects by hitting the mug from his hands, shattering the thick glass and spilling its contents across the sticky floor.
“No!” I shout, holding my hand to Teller’s chest. I can feel him vibrating through the tips of my fingers. “Don’t, Tell. Take me home—now.”
The commotion doesn’t gain much attention, muted by high dialogue and loud music, but it’ll only be a matter of time before this place’s turned upside down if it keeps on. Phillip shakes beer from his fingers, jumping away from the puddle at his feet.
Closer (Closer #1) Page 16
