by Ella Miles
“Ice,” I answer.
He nods and then jogs out of the room.
It gives me a moment, but there is too much to process.
My shoulder throbs, although not as painfully as before. The alcohol is numbing the most intense suffering.
It did hurt like hell when he dug the bullet out, though. I refused to show weakness, especially in front of Langston, my killer.
Is he still going to kill me?
He hesitated to pull the bullet out. It was as difficult for him as it was for me.
A lot can change in a year which, give or take a few weeks, is what I have left. That’s the timeline he gave me.
One year.
I can get him to change his mind in a year. Get him to warm to me again like when we were kids. Get him to feel things so he can’t fathom killing me.
Langston is back.
“Do you want to move to another bedroom?” he asks. It’s clear he’s worried that I’ll have nightmares about being tied up and almost raped if we stay in here.
I shake my head. “That’s not how my nightmares work.”
He enters, carrying a bag of ice and a bowl of something with two spoons sticking out.
“Climb under the covers and sit back in the bed,” he orders.
I do.
He plops the bowl down in my lap and then puts the bag of ice on my shoulder. Finally, he climbs into the bed next to me. He sits on top of the covers, while I sit under.
He brought me a bowl of buttered pecan ice cream—my favorite.
“You should have more than just scotch in your belly.”
I smile lightly; I can’t help it.
“What’s the second spoon for?”
“Me.” He takes a bite of my ice cream before I can jerk the bowl out of his reach.
That makes us both laugh. We both need a laugh, even if it doesn’t make sense.
“Here,” I say, reaching behind my shoulder to grab the bag of ice and toss it at him.
“What’s this for?”
“Your eye—it looks terrible. And if I know you, you didn’t ice it at all today. You might need your eye to be able to see and shit.”
“I think your shoulder needs it more.”
“Nope.” I grab the bottle of scotch. “This is all my shoulder needs.”
He doesn’t argue with me, probably because he feels guilty. He just puts the ice to his swollen eye.
Progress.
I smile to myself as I take a bite of the heavenly ice cream.
“I haven’t told you my story for the night,” I say after taking a few more bites.
“I’ll give you a pass for tonight, since you were shot and all.”
“You’re not getting out of story time with me that easily.”
“Story time with you? I thought I was the one torturing you by making you tell me stories.”
I put the spoon in my mouth and scrape the ice cream off with my teeth.
Langston stares at me like he’s entranced with my mouth, wishing he was my spoon right now.
“Nope, story time is about putting tiny little cuts into your heart every single night. I can’t kill you with one big blow, but I can kill you if I inflict enough scratches.”
“Okay, what story are you going to tell me tonight?” He leans back, resting his head on the headboard. He holds the ice to his eye, and I hold my spoon of ice cream up to his lips.
He hesitantly takes a bite. Now I’m the one who can’t stop staring at his lips.
“Liesel? Are you going to tell me a story or not? It’s been a long day, and I’d like to sleep at some point.” He says it like he’s irritated with me, but we both know it’s out of concern for me. He’s just looking out for me, making sure that I get sleep, which is the best thing for my shoulder.
Rest and time are the only things that will heal it now.
I lean back too, trying not to wince when my shoulder hits the headboard.
“I think we were twelve or thirteen; I can’t remember the exact year. That doesn’t really matter, anyway. You had just kissed Ruby.”
“Thirteen. I was thirteen.”
I hit his shoulder playfully. “Of course, you would remember how old you were when you kissed Ruby.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
I hem and haw. “Yea, probably. No more interrupting my story.”
He gestures to zipper his mouth shut.
I smile and get distracted by his adorable dimple.
No—focus.
“You and I rode our bikes together on the way home from school. I saw you kissing her earlier that day, and I teased you the whole way home.”
Langston’s face drops as he realizes the story I’m going to tell, but he’s not sure why I chose it.
“We got to your house, and I kept teasing you, even though I saw your father drinking beer in his chair. Even though I knew not to be loud. Even though I knew not to tease you about something your father wouldn’t approve.”
“Liesel,” Langston says in a warning tone.
I keep going.
“I knew what was going to happen, and I kept pushing, teasing. I was jealous that you kissed that girl. And I wanted to make you pay.”
Langston’s eyes close, as if remembering.
“Your father beat you, and it was my fault. I provoked him. I knew you got beat every time he was triggered, and I did nothing.”
I reach up and touch his face.
He opens his eyes.
When he looks at me, he knows why I told this story. Every time he gets hit, it reminds him of his father. And I’m still sorry for not saving him when we were kids.
“I’ll go sleep in the closet,” I say, moving to get up.
Langston grabs my wrist, stopping me.
“Liar.”
“What?”
“You’re a liar.”
I frown. “What part of that story was a lie? You lived that story with me. Every word was the truth.”
He removes the ice from his face and looks at me with both eyes.
“You did do something to stop him, Liesel.”
How does he know?
“You did something every time you could. You told my mother. You tried to calm him down or get him extra drunk so that he wouldn’t be able to hit me.”
He’s right. I did. I just never realized that Langston knew that.
“But that night—”
He puts a finger to my lips, getting me to stop.
“You took a beating for me.”
I freeze, and my eyes widen. How did he know?
He nods as if my reaction confirms it. He didn’t know for sure until this very moment.
Langston gets up out of bed and turns off the lights.
I feel him return a moment later.
He climbs into the bed, this time under the covers.
“Go to sleep, Liesel.”
This time he doesn’t give me a choice between the closet or his bed; he demands I sleep in his bed. For the first time since I slept next to him when we were kids, I want to share a bed with him.
30
Langston
“Please.”
The single word stirs me awake.
I’m a light sleeper. It’s one of the many reasons why I excel at security and protecting people—well, protecting everyone other than Liesel.
My eyes fly open and look to the woman lying on my shoulder.
Liesel Dunn.
Her head is snuggled up against my bare chest.
“Please,” she whimpers again.
“Shh, I got you,” I whisper into her ear, but I don’t think she’s actually awake. She’s just having a dream or, most likely, a nightmare.
I feel her forehead—it’s covered in sweat. Her body trembles in my arms. She feels like an addict in need of her next fix.
I’ve had my suspicions of what her demons actually are ever since she arrived. Holding her while she sleeps seems to confirm them.
“I need you, please,” Liesel whi
spers again, her hands start clawing at my chest.
“Liesel,” I say, freezing.
Her thigh drapes over mine, and she starts humping my leg, moving her body over mine like she’s desperate.
“Liesel, wake up.” I stroke her hair.
“Please, make me come. I need it.”
She tries again to rub herself against me. To feel something. To let go. But she can’t.
Suddenly, the dream shifts.
“Get off of me!”
She’s no longer begging for my body but begging me to let her go.
Her fists slam against my chest, over and over. Her body somehow heats to an even higher temperature. She has to be running a fever. She has to be having a nightmare.
“Let me go!” she yells.
Now I’m not sure if she’s awake or asleep, but I can’t let her go. If I let her go, she’ll run. She’ll hurt herself—her shoulder.
“Liesel, wake up.”
“Let me go!” Her legs start kicking. She’s terrified.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know how to help her.
“Please,” her mood shifts again, and this time she’s begging.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know where my brain goes or why I think this is a good idea.
I roll her onto her back and hover an inch over her.
I kiss her.
The second our lips touch, her eyes open.
I should stop the kiss.
I should pull away.
I don’t.
And she doesn’t push me away.
So I savor the moment. This kiss won’t be repeated. This kiss tastes just like I always thought it would. Sure, I kissed her when we were kids, but that was before I knew how to actually kiss.
This kiss, I take everything I can.
I feel the soft warmth of her lips.
I plunge my tongue into her depths, finding hers and dancing with it, already knowing her next move. Her tongue is going to battle mine for control. I expect to feel frustrated that she doesn’t just resign to me.
Instead, I feel like she woke a hurricane of emotions inside me. I feel the sparks, the electricity, the waves crashing between us.
I would say I didn’t expect this—but that would be a lie. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t kissed her until now. Until I felt like I didn’t have a choice.
Liesel grabs the back of my head when I start to pull away.
There’s a pause, and then I attack her with my kisses. I can’t control myself. I can’t think. I want to drown in her kisses.
I shouldn’t. This is wrong for so many reasons.
I’m destroying everything I’ve worked for with one stupid kiss.
But damn, this kiss is worth it.
Suddenly, the intensity of it all becomes too much. Like two spark plugs forced together, the zap eventually pushes us apart as much as it pulled us together at first.
We both pant heavily.
“That was our first kiss?” she says like it’s a question.
“Yes, if you don’t count that kiss when we were eight.”
“I don’t.”
I nod in agreement. That was nothing like this kiss.
“You’ve never fucked me?” she asks. She’s just now figuring out the truth.
I shake my head.
“You’ve never fingered me?”
I shake my head.
“Never done anything sexual with me?”
I shake my head.
“Oh my god, then who did?”
“Mostly hallucinations in your nightmares.”
She holds onto her shirt, gripping for reality, for truth.
“Joel?” she asks, her voice terrified of my answer.
“No,” I lie. I failed to protect her before, but dammit, I’ll protect her now. She never has to know about Joel.
But the rest?
The rest of the truth, I’ll take to my grave.
31
Liesel
That kiss.
That kiss was terrifying, breathtaking.
It also brought me back to life.
It changed how I felt about Langston. Or maybe it brought me back to how I once felt?
I want to kiss him again.
And yet, if I kiss him again, I’ll ruin everything.
But did he ruin everything already?
Is he lying?
He said we never fucked, he never touched me, and that Joel didn’t touch me. Is it true? Or is it all a lie?
I trust him.
It doesn’t matter if it’s the truth or a lie. It’s what I need to hear.
I’m a sex addict. I use sex to deal with the pain of my past.
But god, that kiss—do I wish I could have more than one.
That’s what I think about as I drift back to sleep. It’s what I think about all night. That kiss is still playing on my lips in the morning when I wake up.
“Langston?” I ask to an empty room as the sun rises.
I get no answer.
The room is bright. Maybe I slept in too long, and that’s why he’s not here.
Or maybe I scared him off last night.
Maybe he’s changed his mind and wants to end my life sooner than planned.
I sit up, my body aching with pain. I need more painkillers or more scotch.
I reach for the scotch bottle next to the bed and see that it’s been replaced with a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water.
“Fine,” I say, resigning myself to meds instead of alcohol to deal today.
I pop two pills and drink the water.
Then I get out of bed. I consider showering or soaking in the tub, but I want to find Langston.
So I just head downstairs, feeling much happier and lighter than I should.
The house is quiet as I hit the bottom step.
I decide to grab a coffee before I continue my search. The pot is still on, and there is enough for one cup left. I pour myself a cup, happily humming a song in my head when my world stops.
I look out the big glass doors that are usually open to the outside by now, but I’m guessing that was Amelia’s job. No one else has gotten into a routine to open the house up yet.
It’s not the closed doors causing my heart to skip—it’s what I see just beyond them.
Langston kissing Phoenix.
Not a chicken peck either, a full-on slam me against the wall and take my breath away kind of kiss. The kind that you get swept up in and don’t notice the world around you. I know what kissing Langston like that feels like. I experienced it last night.
And now he’s kissing Phoenix.
They don’t notice me. How could they, locked in a lip battle like that?
I have two choices—go back to Langston’s room and pretend I didn’t see them, biding my time until I bring the subject up, or make it clear that I see them and I’m pissed.
I’m usually pretty good with self-control. Not today.
Coffee still in hand, I storm through the glass doors, making my presence as obvious as possible. They can’t hide what I saw.
They both stop at the sound of the door swinging open. Or maybe it’s my stomping and the fire shooting from my body that drew their attention my way, but they don’t separate. Phoenix still clings to Langston’s arm.
“So you’re not only a liar; you’re also a cheater,” I say, glaring at Langston. Phoenix, I can’t really be mad at. I thought she was my friend, but then I’ve only known her for a couple of days. I can’t be upset with her. Langston, on the other hand, I want to bury with the fires of hell.
I want to fight. I want to knee Langston in the groin. I want to run him off a cliff.
But I know that not doing any of those things is more powerful. He knows I’m pissed, and now he has to wait to see what my next move will be and when I’ll make it.
I walk past them and head to the beach, wishing I had something stronger than coffee in my hand. I plop down on the sandy beach with
the sun beating down on me. My hot coffee isn’t going to do much to help with the sweltering sun. Soon, I’ll have to go back and get water, or at least find a shady spot to sit.
“I’m not a cheater,” Langston says from behind me.
I snap my head. “Oh, really? What would you call kissing me while you’re dating her? I’m pretty sure most people would classify that as cheating.”
“I only kissed you to get you to stop having your nightmares.” Langston’s hands are in the pockets of his swim trunks, and he’s wearing a plain white T-shirt. He looks like the boy I used to know before Enzo sunk his claws into him. He looks light and carefree, but I can see the turmoil in his eyes.
I nod and glance away. He’s right. He only kissed me to help me. All the rest was just my imagination. Langston didn’t touch me; he didn’t fuck me—it’s true.
I can’t be mad at Langston, at least not for this. But why does it hurt worse than him threatening to kill me?
Probably because deep down, I always thought we had a future together. At least as friends. As one time lovers.
But that was always just a dream.
Still, I want to hurt Langston more than I’ve wanted to torture anyone. I want to strike a hot branding iron into his heart like he did to me with that kiss.
“I’m ready to tell you one truth from the letter in the envelope.”
Langston’s eyebrows shoot up, and his blue eyes widen.
“Yea?”
I nod and pat the sand next to me, trying to act like I’ve forgotten all about that kiss. I could fight him, but that wouldn’t help. I’d lose. This is the only way to win—with vicious words.
Langston sits down, resting his wrists against the top of his bent knees.
“I want a month for telling you a truth.”
“A month seems fair,” his words seem pained, hesitant.
“The letter said the first requirement for going after the treasure is to be married. I have to be married. Only that person and I will have the keys to be able to open the treasure. Whoever I choose, I have to choose wisely, because I can only be married once. One love to go after the treasure with.”
He looks out at the ocean, his thumbs circling each other, fidgeting. He knows I’m not done.
“Liesel, will—”
