“Yeah, that’s pretty messed up,” I agreed quietly.
“The Four Brothers brought me back. You make me remember why I never wanted to leave in the first place.” He reached his hand out, but stopped before he touched me. Closing his fingers into a fist, he let it fall into his lap.
I watched him pull his hand back, looking up to meet his gaze. It was unreadable. I pressed my lips into a line and looked at my lap. After a few seconds, I asked, “Do you still have them?”
“What?” He drummed his thumbs against his thighs and blew out a breath.
“Visions of hurting me.” I looked at him.
His hands stilled. “No.”
“Did you ever wonder why that is?”
“When I was gone, I thought it was because I was too far from you. Since I’ve been back, I haven’t given myself time to think about it. I’ve been too focused on the Four Brothers.”
“Abaddon is dead, Chay. So is his curse or spell or whatever it was he had over you.”
He nodded slowly. “I hope you’re right because I don’t want to be apart from you anymore, Milayna. You’re the best part of me.”
I leaned over the center console and gripped the front of Chay’s jacket, pulling him to me. Nose to nose, I looked at him. “Promise you won’t leave me like that again.”
“I promise—”
My lips were on his before he could finish the sentence. He threaded one hand through my hair, pulling me to him. He used his other arm to half lift, half pull me over the console so I straddled his lap.
Our lips never left each other’s as I shimmied out of my jacket. Chay’s cool hands slipped under my shirt. Goose bumps flew across my overly heated skin. I pulled my mouth from his long enough to pull my shirt over my head and push his jacket over his shoulders.
I tried to undo the buttons on his shirt, but they were so tiny and my fingers shook so badly. Chay grew impatient. “I’ll do it,” he said against my lips. He brushed my hands away, ripped the last few buttons open, and shrugged out of his shirt. Smiling, I kissed the side of his neck and across his chest. I rubbed my hands over his smooth, heated skin.
He hooked a finger under my bra strap and lifted it away from my shoulder. Lowering it slowly down my arm, He bared my skin inch by agonizingly slow inch. He followed it with his mouth and tongue. The feeling was so intensely tantalizing, it was almost painful and it pulled a soft moan from me. My fingers tangled in Chay’s hair. The fingers on my other hand ran over the hard planes of his chest and rippled muscles of his abdomen.
A loud rap sounded on the window, and I screamed. Chay grabbed his jacket and wrapped it around me before he cracked the window and looked outside.
“Mr. Goodson, neighborhood watch. Can I help you with something?”
“No, sir,” Chay answered.
“Then you best be moving along.”
“Yes, sir.” Chay rolled up the window. “Well, hell.”
I looked at Chay for a beat, and then giggled. “I’m so busted,” I said through hiccupped laughter.
“Why?”
“My dad and Fred are friends.” I laughed harder.
Chay groaned and laid his head on the seat back. “Great. That’s flippin’ great.”
“Where’s my shirt?”
Chay groaned again. I laughed so hard I snorted.
***
“So I hear we’re down to three brothers now,” Muriel said the next afternoon. I’d met her for lunch between her classes. We sat in a booth, eating greasy burgers and fries.
“Yeah. Vann is dead. The dagger worked on him like it did on Abaddon. Just gotta hit where their heart is. Which is funny because I wouldn’t think they’d have a heart. I mean, they don’t bleed when they’re stabbed.”
“They might if you missed or stabbed another part of their body,” she said, dropping a fry dripping in ketchup on her pant leg. “Oh, crap, I have to wear these through two more classes,” she moaned.
“I stabbed Abaddon in the leg, but I can’t remember if he bled or not. I was too busy at the time to care.”
“I know, right?” She laughed. “So, you and Chay, huh?”
“I wondered if you’d heard. I was going to tell you. It just happened last night,” I said around an unladylike bite of cheeseburger.
“I know. Drew talked to Xavier.”
“Really? I didn’t know they talked,” I said.
“Well, they just happened to see each other and stopped to talk. Drew said he’s pretty upset.”
“I know. And I feel bad, but…”
“You tried to warn him. I know you did,” Muriel said. “No one blames you.”
“Except Xavier.”
Muriel frowned, and watched the fry she pulled through the blob of ketchup on her plate. “Right. Except him. Gonna make living at Xavier’s a bitch, huh?”
I blew out a breath. “You have no idea.”
“I’m glad it worked out for you, Milayna. Chay’s a great guy when he’s not trying to kill you.” She smiled and popped the fry in her mouth.
I laughed. “That’s exactly how I look at it. As long as he keeps his homicidal tendencies under control, we should be able to make our relationship work,” I said, smiling around the straw of my drink.
***
Saturday morning. And the first morning we had in our house since the tree incident. Of course, my room—which was now the study—was unusable and the kitchen and family room were almost as bad, but it was home. No more sharing a house with Xavier. Thank goodness. Since the night Chay and I got back together, it had been more than awkward staying with Xavier. Even my parents felt it. So we moved back a few days earlier than we were supposed to.
It was our traditional family breakfast, and I could hardly wait. It was the first time Chay would be there in over six months. I hadn’t told Ben yet. I wanted to surprise him. The kitchen was still a mess, so we couldn’t make our big breakfast like we normally had on Saturdays. Instead, we were having cereal, but none of us cared. Cereal in our own home sounded better than eggs benedict in someone else’s.
The doorbell rang at nine o’clock on the dot. “Ben, go answer the door for me, please,” I said.
“Okay.” He scurried down the hall in his superhero slippers. I heard the deadbolt slide and the door swing open. There was a split second of silence followed by an ear-piercing wail.
“It’s Chay!” he screamed. “Are you here for breakfast? All we’re having is cereal, but you can still stay if you want.”
“Yes, I’m here for breakfast.”
Ben’s voice dropped to a whisper loud enough that everyone could still hear. “Does Milayna know you’re coming? She’s gonna be pissed.”
Chay laughed. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that word.”
“Milayna does,” Ben said.
“She’s older. When you are as old as she is, then you can say it.”
“Okay, but does she know you’re coming?”
“Yes, she does,” I said behind him, making him jump.
“Don’t do that. I hate it when you scare me like that. It gives me the freakies,” Ben complained.
“C’mon, let’s eat,” I said, holding my hand out to Chay.
He threaded our fingers together and dropped a kiss on my check.
We all fixed our cereal. Chay chose Fruity Pebbles, and I had to laugh—it was so fitting—and we filed into the living room to eat since the dining room was still a plywood box.
“What are your plans now that you’re back, Chay?” my dad asked.
I rolled my eyes. And let the interrogation begin.
“I’m starting college next semester.”
“Good.” He nodded and shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, giving the bowl a disgusted look. “This bran stuff sucks,” he said to no one in particular.
My dad bombarded Chay with at least a hundred questions. I had to give him props, though. He answered them all and didn’t seem to mind in the least. Even told my dad why he left, whe
re he went, and what he did while he was there. I listened closely to that discussion since Chay and I hadn’t had a chance to talk about it ourselves.
When breakfast was over, we all rinsed our dishes and put them in the dishwasher, the one thing my mother insisted be in working order before she’d move back. Chay and Benjamin planned to play video games. My dad had other ideas.
“Chay, can I talk with you outside for a minute?” my dad asked.
Oh, no. Nothing good can come of this.
Chay looked at me, and I shrugged. I didn’t know what he wanted. “Sure,” Chay said following my dad out the patio doors.
As soon as they were outside, I scurried to the patio doors where I could eavesdrop on their convo.
“Chay, we need to talk,” I heard my dad say. He put his arm around Chay’s shoulders. “I got an interesting phone call from Fred. You know Fred? He’s part of the neighborhood watch. He said he saw you and Milayna up at the little store in a rather… delicate manner.”
Uh-oh. This can’t be good. Fred has a big mouth.
“Oh, Mr. Jackson—”
“Son, don’t talk. Now’s a time to listen,” my dad said, and I rolled my eyes. I’d heard that line a time or two growing up. “I know you and my daughter have some strong feelings for each other. And I know it’s old fashioned of me to think you are going to wait to… well, whatever, but I expect her to be treated with a little respect and not be groped in the middle of the night in a convenience store parking lot. Get my drift here, boy?”
My dad and my boyfriend talking about sex. I think I’m gonna need therapy. Years and years of therapy.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
“Sir, I promise I won’t touch Milayna in that… well… like—”
“Yeah, yeah.” My dad waved his hand. “I get your point.”
“It won’t happen again, sir.”
“Good.”
Did I just hear my boyfriend tell my dad that he won’t have sex with me?
***
“I have to go,” Chay said after playing seven video games with Benjamin.
“Why? Because a seven-year-old just killed you in video games?” I teased.
“I’m out of practice. My reflexes are slower,” he said with a laugh.
“Yeah, yeah.”
He slipped a hand in the pocket of his jeans. “I have chores. Silly, huh?”
“Nope. I still have to do my chores when I’m home. My dad says it’s the price I pay for living here rent free and eating all their food.”
Chay laughed. “Your dad and my dad must get together and make up these lines because that’s almost exactly what my dad told me.”
“Text me when you’re done?”
“Nope,” he said, popping the p.
“Oh.” Disappointment weighed down on me like someone placed a barbell on my shoulders.
“I was hoping I could pick you up and we could go to dinner and a movie. You know, a real date.”
“I’d really like that.”
“Okay. I should be done around two or three, so I’ll pick you up at four?”
“I’ll be ready.” I smiled—probably some goofy-looking smile that made me look like an idiot.
He bent down, gave me a quick kiss, and left. I still had the goofy grin when I walked into the living room.
“What’s the matter with you? You’re all pink and smiling funny.” Ben wrinkled his nose at me.
“Nothing. Mind your own business,” I said, still smiling like a fool.
My mom looked at me and winked. I felt my blush grow hotter.
At 3:55, the doorbell rang. I bounded down the stairs. Pulling it open, I said, “You’re early…” My words died on my lips. It wasn’t Chay. “Um, hi,” I said.
“Hey. Can we talk?” Xavier brushed past me into the house.
Well, come in, why don’t you?
“I’m on my way out, actually.”
“This will only take a minute,” Xavier said.
“Okay. Let’s go out to the patio.” I turned to face him when we stepped outside on the patio. “What’s up?”
He stood with a hand on his hip, pinching his forehead with the other. “I just need to hear it from you that this thing with Chay is real and there’s nothing between you and me.”
“Xavier.” I sighed. “I love you. But I’m not in love with you. There could never be anything between us. I’m sorry that it hurts you, but I’m in love with Chay.”
Xavier took two large strides until he was standing toe to toe with me. He grabbed me by the upper arms and kissed me hard. My lips parted in surprise and his tongue dipped between them, taking the kiss deeper.
He wrapped one arm around my waist, splayed his fingers over my lower back, and drew me into him. His other hand threaded through my hair at the nape of my neck and held my head to his as his lips moved over mine.
I pushed out of Xavier’s grasp and stepped backward. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I glared at him. It was then I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and knew who it was before I even turned my head. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I turned my head, seeing everything slowly pass by my gaze. The colors brilliant, each item perfectly defined, and then the one thing I didn’t want to see. Was loath to see, but I knew was it was inevitable.
“Chay, this isn’t—”
“What it looks like?” Turning, he walked to the door. He didn’t yell, didn’t speak to Xavier, he didn’t even seem all that eager to make a quick exit. He simply walked to the door, opened it, and left.
“You.” I poked a finger at Xavier’s chest. “Better go find him and explain what just happened. Tell him it was you who kissed me and not the other way around. Tell him I didn’t want you to do it. I didn’t willingly participate in it. And then tell him I told you if it ever happens again, I’ll kick you so hard in the balls you’ll be peeing out your nose for the rest of your miserable life.” When he just stood there looking at me, I shouted, “Go!”
“No.”
“What?”
“I want him to think you were kissing me, Milayna. I want him to think you and I are together.” Xavier reached for my hand. I smacked his hand away.
“Drop dead, Xavier,” I whispered, “and go straight to Hell.”
“That’s not going to be a problem.”
“What? Why? Forget it. I don’t even care.” I had to get to Chay. He had to know what he walked in on was not what it looked like.
Gee, honey, it’s not what it looks like. Isn’t that what everyone says?
I ran out the door and looked down the sidewalk. I wasn’t sure if he took the shortcut through my backyard or the long way around the block. Luck was on my side—for once. I saw him walking on the sidewalk.
“Chay!”
His steps faltered for a second, but he kept walking.
“Chay, I know you can hear me. Please wait.”
He stopped, but he didn’t turn. He stood with his thumbs hooked through his belt loops. I ran to where he stood.
“Chay.” I grabbed his arms when I reached him. I hoped my touch would send a message—that his body would connect on some level with mine and know. Just know. Know that there wasn’t, couldn’t, would never be anyone else.
“Let me guess. It wasn’t what it looked like. You were breaking it off with him or telling him you and I were back together or whatever, and it was one last kiss goodbye. Or, and this is by far my favorite excuse, it wasn’t you—it was him. He kissed you but you didn’t kiss him back. Save it, Milayna. I don’t want to hear your excuses or explanations.”
He brushed my hands away and left me standing alone on the sidewalk. I watched him walk away from me until he turned the corner and I couldn’t see him anymore. Then I walked slowly home, fingering the ring that hung from the chain around my neck.
When I got home, Xavier was there talking with my dad in the living room. He was leaning back on the couch, his arms stretched along the length of its back. He lo
oked totally relaxed, and I had the overwhelming desire to scratch his eyes out. I could almost feel my nails sinking into the gelatinous orbs of his eyes. The little ‘pops’ it would make when they broke through the protective cover—the blood running down his face from the empty eye sockets.
Holy hell, what’s wrong with me? I need to get a grip. I’m about two seconds away from becoming homicidal. Talk about flipping someone’s bitch switch. I think Xavier shorted mine out.
I didn’t stop, and I didn’t speak. I walked up the stairs to my bedroom. Just as I walked through the door to my room, the chain of my necklace gave way. The thin, gold filigree chain fluttered to the floor. Thankfully, the ring was still pinched between my fingers.
I’m glad I’m not superstitious. Because this would definitely be a huge omen. Like major. With a blinking neon sign that read: ‘Run, Milayna, run. He’s bad news. He’s gonna rip your heart to shreds over and over and over again.’ Yeah. And I’m stupid enough to let him. What does that say about me?
***
I stayed in my room until dinner Saturday. Finally, I ventured out, hoping my luck had improved and Xavier would be gone. I was pretty sure I was the unluckiest person that day, at least when it came to Xavier. My dad had invited him to stay for dinner and Xavier, being the angel that he was, accepted. Naturally.
“Milayna, I didn’t know you were here,” my mother said when I walked into the plywood-enclosed kitchen.
“Yep. Had a change in plans.”
“That’s too bad. We’re having microwaved fish sticks and French fries. They don’t get quite as crunchy, but they taste alright.”
We didn’t have a stove in our new kitchen yet. Or countertops. My mom was cooking on a piece of wood held up by sawhorses. She used a crockpot, microwave, and a two-burner mini-stove thingy my dad found at a garage sale. Surprisingly, this improved her cooking. Maybe we should’ve made her cook like that all the time. Or maybe it wasn’t her cooking skills that improved, but the food. TV dinners were a luxury at our house. Anything that didn’t involve too much input from Mom was a good thing.
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