Secrets That We Keep

by Linda Kage

  I pulled up short, not expecting to see them like that.

  “I, uh, sorry!”

  Uncle Noel merely chuckled over my embarrassment and hitched his chin toward the hallway. “He’s in his room.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled humbly, then belatedly added, “And thanks for supper.”

  Aunt Aspen nodded. “Thank you for finally coming. He’s had a hard week.”

  I didn’t want to feel bad about that—this whole thing never even would have started if he’d just been a little nice to me. But I felt bad anyway. I didn’t like the idea of hurting him.

  I nodded mutely, and bowed my head, then hurried toward Beau’s room.

  Unable to admit it to anyone, I had kind of missed him these past few days. No one pissed me off the way that Beau did, but no one made my blood pump and feel as alive as he did either. I was so messed up, but I always felt this thrilling jolt whenever I smacked him in the arm and his eyes lit up as if he wanted me to do it again.

  But I wasn’t going to think about that because that was weird.

  The door to his room was open all the way this time, so I just walked in without announcing myself. He was sitting on the bed, back against the wall with his feet stretched out in front of him and one knee bent up as he heaved out a long sigh and ground the palms of his hands into his eye sockets.

  A compassionate ache tore through me, wanting to hug him or something. I always experienced a strange, restless distress whenever he was hurt. Before, that had only been over broken bones or skinned knees, but now, apparently it extended to a hurt soul as well. And this agony he was experiencing now felt particularly worse than ever since I knew I was the source of it.

  And that made me mad.

  Why the heck was I the one feeling guilty here? All this was his fault.

  Focusing on my anger and determined to stay upset, I folded my arms over my chest.

  “Well, it’s official,” I announced, making him startle and drop his hands to blink at me. “You’ve stooped to a new low. You sicced my own mother on me. So congratulations...” I lifted my arms and spread them wide. “You win. I’m here to resolve all my issues with you or I’m grounded for life. So what was so important that you just had to go to such extreme measures to get me to talk to you again?”

  “You know what,” he said in a tired voice. “Just forget it.” He glanced toward his window as if he couldn't stand to look at me. “Just go home, Bentley. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

  “Well, sorry, but did you not hear me when I said I was here under duress? I can’t go home until you’re all happy and cheered up again or whatever.”

  “Why can’t you just lie, then?” he snapped, slicing a scowl my way. “Tell Felicity I’m fine. We’re good. Our problems are resolved. I certainly won’t tell her otherwise.”

  I hissed out a sigh. He really was in a bad way, wasn’t he? Mom had not been lying about that.

  “Look,” I said, rubbing the center of my forehead. “I’m here, anyway. We might as well just talk it out.”

  He shook his head and snorted. “I said I don’t feel like talking.”

  “Beau Clayton Gamble,” I growled, glaring at him. “Start talking now, or I’m throwing another shoe at you.”

  “No,” he snapped. “You made it real damn clear how you feel, and I’ve finally gotten the picture. Alright? I’ll leave you alone. Now go away and celebrate or whatever it is you want to do.”

  There were these strange red rings around his eyes as if he’d stayed up too late, studying.

  Or he was about to cry.

  My shoulders sagged in defeat. “I’m just so confused. You say to tell my mom that all our problems are resolved. But I don’t even know what our problems are.”

  “Really?” he asked dryly before snorting and shaking his head. “Did you forget about the dog shit date already? Or the date before that? And the one before that? Or pretty much every time we’ve ever had some kind of encounter. I’m mean to you. I’m a horrible, nasty, awful person. You want a list of every insensitive thing I’ve ever done against you?”

  “I know you’re mean to me,” I muttered. “But you’re not an awful person. And besides, I’m not exactly nice to you either.”

  “Only because I started it first,” he argued heatedly.

  “That’s my point,” I hissed. “Why did you start this whole war between us? You’re not like that with anyone else. Just me. And that hurts.”

  His chin trembled, and stark grief filled his eyes. “I never meant to…” He tried to say more, but the words choked him, so he shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck, I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” I demanded. “You never meant to...what? Just tell me what I ever did to you to make you hate me so much.”

  His eyes snapped open in surprise. “I don’t hate you.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Because you’ve made it real clear that you certainly don’t like me.”

  Panic flooded his gaze. “No,” he whispered. “That’s not… That’s not right at all.” Shaking his head, he flew off the bed and set a hand over his mouth.

  I squinted. “What’s not right?”

  “N-nothing.” His attention darted wildly around the room as if he felt trapped. Then he tried to head toward the doorway as if he wanted to escape the entire conversation. “Just forget it, alright?”

  “The hell if I will.” I dodged into his path, making him pull up short and gape at me as if he were afraid. Of me. I flashed my gritted teeth at him. “You better start talking—and tell me the truth—or I’m kicking you in the junk.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not talking to you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Bentley. Dammit.”

  “Damn what?”

  “Get out of my fucking way,” he growled.

  “That’s it!” I went to kick him in the shin, but he successfully dodged me, lifting his knee and shifting to the side to protect himself.

  “Stop,” he ordered.

  “Then talk,” I commanded.

  When I attempted to kick him again, and missed again, I screeched in outrage and settled for smacking his arm. The satisfying sting I felt against my palm as I made contact prompted me to hit him again, but he caught my hand the second time. Fingers latching around my wrist, he kept my arm held suspended above us.

  When I saw the agony in his blue eyes, I stopped. “Beau?”

  Sucking in a harsh breath, he swiped his thumb gently over the pulse beat on the inside of my wrist and stepped closer.

  His expression turned pleading, but I wasn’t sure what he was asking for. I just knew his gaze caused this heated weight to settle low in my stomach, almost between my legs, and I felt my eyelashes waver as I swayed toward him.

  His lips parted, and I could only watch, mesmerized, as he stepped even closer, dipped his face, and then pressed his mouth against mine.

  Stunned, stupefied, and completely overwhelmed, I just stood there, compliantly still, as he let go of my arm so he could cup my cheeks in his hands and angle my face up to meet him better. As his lips softened, his grip tightened and his palms shifted into my hair so he could fist the locks passionately. I clutched the front of his shirt, not sure if I was trying to keep him from coming closer or make sure he didn’t move away again.

  I just knew I started to kiss him back at some point, and all I could seem to know in that moment was Beau. His heartbeat. His warmth.

  His true feelings.

  When I felt his tongue against my lips, seeking entrance, surprise had me jerking back and gasping.

  He sucked in a breath and blinked his eyes open before focusing on me. And when he did, his face drained of all color while his eyes dilated with shock.

  “Oh, fuck,” he breathed, gaping in horror.

  He stumbled a step back. And the next thing I knew, he was scrambling from his own room as fast as he could go, completely abandoning me there by myself.

  “Beau!” I cried in su
rprise, but nothing short of the hand of God was going to stop him.

  I probably stood there for five minutes, trying to figure out what had just happened before I left his room too. Then I walked down the hall in a daze, lifting the tips of my trembling fingers to my tingling lips as I went.

  When I made it to the front room, his parents were still there, but they were no longer cuddling on the chair as intimately as they had been before.

  They both looked concerned as they watched me.

  I dropped my hand from my mouth and rasped from a strangely hoarse voice, “Is he gone?”

  Uncle Noel nodded. “He lit out of here like his tail was on fire a few minutes ago.” Then he squinted his eyes at me and asked, “You okay, kiddo?”

  I immediately bobbed my head. “Yes. Definitely. I’m f-fine.” But my voice broke on the last word and a little hiccup got caught in my chest.

  Aunt Aspen immediately started toward me. “Hey, why don’t I make you a warm drink before you go? It’s chilly out tonight.”

  She’d already taken my shoulders in a gentle, motherly grip and turned me toward the kitchen by the time I got around to answering, “O-okay.”

  She sat me at the table, and I just stayed there, remembering everything that had happened in Beau’s room.

  When she sat across from me and slid a steaming mug before me, I blinked down at it, thinking that hadn’t taken long. Or maybe it had taken the normal amount of time and I had checked out from reality worse than I had thought I had.

  Picking up the cup, I took an automatic sip.

  “Oh, Bentley,” Aunt Aspen cooed, shaking her head sadly. And it suddenly felt wrong to think of her as Aunt Aspen, anymore, now that I had kissed her son. “You look absolutely miserable right now.”

  I sighed and scrubbed my face. “I just don’t understand him. I mean, I know he’s not a bad guy. I know that. I’ve seen him be perfectly nice to other people. To everyone else. It’s just me he picks on.”

  Aspen chewed on the corner of her lip as if trying to control her expression. Then she glanced into the depths of her own cup before saying, “Why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumbled scathingly. “Because he hates me?” That was the only logical explanation, except he’d just told me he didn’t.

  Right before he had kissed me.

  My stomach churned, and my pulse began to skyrocket.

  Beau had kissed me. And I’d kissed him back.

  Oh God, I had kissed Beau.

  Beau Gamble. Who usually made me so mad I just wanted to strangle him, yet also the boy I had secretly always hoped would be my first kiss.

  Now he was. And I had liked it. I wanted to try it again.

  “Oh, I don’t think he hates you,” Aspen murmured knowingly as if she could see the very scene I was replaying in my head right now.

  I blushed. Then clenched my teeth, irritated over the confusing mix of feelings in me.

  No one confused me like Beau. And that pissed me off.

  “Well, he sure has a funny way of showing it if he doesn’t hate me,” I muttered.

  This time, she laughed outright. “Yes.” She nodded. “I’ll definitely agree with that one.” Then she shook her head and sighed. “But for some reason, Beau’s always had a hard time letting anyone know what he’s truly feeling, especially when the emotion makes him uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable?” I blurted, wrinkling my nose. “But I’ve known him my entire life.” How could I make him in any way uncomfortable?

  Except, I didn’t exactly feel comfortable thinking about that kiss. I felt oversensitive, wired, anxious, and edgy. But not comfortable.

  His mom gave me an evasive shrug. “When he was little and used to clam up on me, refusing to tell me what was wrong with him, you know what I would do?”

  I perked up hopefully. “No. What?”

  Maybe I could use her method.

  “I’d write letters to him. He’s always had an easier time expressing himself through the written word than spoken.” Then she blushed and admitted, “Maybe because his mom’s an English teacher, I’m not sure. But whenever I couldn’t get him to say something out loud, I could always get him to write it down.”

  “Hmm.” My brows lowered skeptically. “Really?” I doubted what she was saying, even though I knew she wasn’t lying by any means. It all just seemed too good to be true.

  But she smiled and answered, “Always. And every time, it was something that he was too embarrassed to admit aloud, like the fact that he’d had a nightmare or was nervous about starting middle school or was still scared of the dark. Things he didn’t think a tough boy should ever feel.”

  My heart melted at that, imagining a little Beau, writing all his fears and concerns out to his mother.

  Aspen smiled fondly and sighed. “You know, reading words can be a magical thing. I fell in love with Beau’s dad after reading something he’d written.”

  Now that made me pull back a little startled. The mere words fall in love and Beau mixed together did weird, and even more uncomfortable things to my insides.

  But I was determined here, so I ignored all that and asked, “Do you think he’d write back if I wrote to him?”

  She lifted her brows, opting not to answer, and instead she said, “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “Well, I’ll try anything to get him to stop annoying me. Do you have a pen and some paper?”

  “Of course. Look who you’re talking to here.”

  I sniffed out a smile, and she immediately fetched me what I needed.

  As I clutched the pen in my hand and stared at the blank piece of paper before me, I remembered the note Beau had slipped into the gift bag with the replacement blouse he’d given me. The blouse I had shredded.

  That simple I’m sorry had actually swayed me more than anything. If I still hadn’t been so upset, it probably would’ve broken my resistance right there. So I decided to go just as simple as he had. I wrote:

  Dear Jackhole,

  Why?

  WHY?

  Sincerely,

  Bentley.

  As I finished, I set the pen down on the table next to me and folded the note into thirds.

  Aspen smiled fondly across the table. “Go ahead and leave it on his pillow where he’ll find it.”

  I nodded, then thanked her before doing exactly what she suggested.

  Then I walked home in a much more pensive and sober mood than I’d been in when I had arrived.

  The next day at school, I found a note in my locker as soon as I opened the door, as if it had been poked in through the vents at the top. I knew it was from him the moment I saw it, so I didn’t even bother to open it. I just tucked it into my purse to save for reading when I got home.

  And of course, I then had to live through the longest day of classes ever. What felt like five years later, after the bell rang, I hurried home and slipped into my room, locking the door behind me so I could read in private.

  “I swear,” I muttered to myself as I crawled onto my bed to get comfortable. “If he only said why what? back to me, I’m going over to his house right now and hurting him.”

  Once I was situated and ready to read, I began to unfold the note carefully.

  “Holy…” I started, eyes bulging when I saw it was two pages long, filling in both the front and back.

  Relieved air hissed from my lungs. But thank goodness. He’d taken the question seriously. Waiting to read his letter until now had been worth the wait after all.

  Swallowing once, I dove in.

  Dear Bentley,

  I’m not sure what you’re asking why about, but I’ll try to answer as many of them as I can. I owe you that much, at least.

  Maybe you want to know why I have always treated you differently than I treat everyone else.

  That’s because I AM a jackhole. (And just to be clear, ALL the whys can actually be answered with this explanation, but I’ll give you the long answers too). It’s
also because you have always stood out to me, differently from all the others. It’s not just because you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen or that your red hair and bright blue eyes immediately catch my attention, either. I’m just ultra-aware of YOU whenever you’re there. It’s like a caffeine high without drinking any caffeine. And probably twice as addictive. Your voice doesn’t sound like anyone else’s in my ears. Your smile, your laugh, your smell. I don’t know how else to describe it than to say you just ARE different, and I’m unable to treat you like you’re anyone else.

  So why have I always been so mean to you?

  Probably because all the different emotions you stir up in me scare the shit out of me. It’s like this vulnerable weak point inside me that I can’t control or fix, and that irritates me. So I rebel against it by being mean to you. I think I’m also awful to you because a small part of me is mad at you for having this power over me that no one else does. I know that’s not fair to you and it’s in no way your fault how important I’ve made you in my own head, so I’m always trying to hide the mortifying truth. I think I figured that if I could just keep you mad at me, then you’d never figure out you could hurt me far more than I could ever hurt you. The absolute worst thing I think that could ever happen to me is if you rejected me. But if I’m always pushing you away before you even had the opportunity to reject me, then it’s kind of like I win. You don’t even get the chance to really hate me.

  Yeah, that’s really stupid jackhole reasoning, isn’t it? I’m not proud of myself for it, but it’s why I treat you the way I do.

  Or maybe you wanted to know why I kissed you.

  God, Bent. I wish I knew. Maybe it’s because I think about it all the time, and when my head went blank of something to say to you, I just reacted and did what I’ve always wanted to do. I don’t know. But I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I promise I didn’t intend to do that. It just slipped out.

  But if you want to know why I ran afterward…

  Well, that’s easy. Because I’m a freaking coward. I know I’m not worthy of you. I’m a jackhole, and you’re so sweet and amazing. I know there’s no way I stand a chance with you. And I just had to escape the rejection before you could even give it. Like I always do.