He brushes his nose against mine, his lips close to mine but still so far away. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
He takes me by surprise when he finally kisses me. His lips are warm on mine. He still doesn’t release my hands, leaving him entirely in control. He kisses me the way he wants, slow, taking his time, stealing another little piece of me.
His lips were made for mine to kiss. His hands for mine to hold.
Be mine, my lips speak to his with movement, not a sound passed between.
I’m already yours, his say back.
I don’t think either one of us can make sense of these feelings between us, but they can no longer be controlled. They’re a wild, chaotic, living and breathing thing. All the reasons that should keep us apart are crumbling around us.
Behind my closed lids there’s a flash of light. For a heartbeat, I’m stupid enough to believe it’s us, that we’re creating some kind of energy, but when I blink my eyes open I find the room flooded with light.
Lachlan’s lips break from mine, his grasp loosening, but he still holds his body above mine, slowly blinking down at me.
“The power’s back on,” he says breathless, stating the obvious.
“Yeah,” I breathe, unsure what else to say.
He sits up, scooting back from my body in the process. I instantly miss the feel of him and ease up, my throat closing up when I see the shame slowly leeching onto his face. I want to scrub it away. It’s the last thing I want to see. Not after this, not after last night.
He rubs his hands roughly over his face.
When he lets them drop his eyes are watery.
“Don’t say it,” I plead, begging even more so with my eyes.
“This is so fucking wrong.”
“You were kissing me five seconds ago,” I protest, my voice cracking. “What changed?”
My hands clench into fists. I want to go back to when the lights were off, where the darkness hid our sins.
Lachlan stands suddenly, beating a fist against his chest. The veins in his neck stand out. I’ve never seen someone look so purely tortured before.
“I’m killing you and I’m killing me,” he chokes up. “Fuck.” He inhales a breath, his whole body expanding with it. “Being with you feels so fucking right, but it’s—”
I stand too then, pointing at him. “Don’t you dare say it’s wrong. Don’t do it.” I shake my head.
“But it is, Dani. Don’t you fucking see that?”
“I don’t care!” I shout. “I, for once in my life, don’t want to question everything and instead follow my gut to what feels right. Is that so wrong?”
His eyes grow bigger. “Yes, Dandelion! It is!” He tugs at his hair, and he looks so tortured I want to wrap my arms around him and make it better, but I know I’m the problem so I can’t do that. “I’m not going to name off all the reasons this is wrong, because you already know,” he swings his arm at me in a wild gesture, “don’t you see? I can’t be with you in the light, I have to hide like a coward in the darkness and I refuse to do that.” His jaw clenches and he shakes his head roughly. “I won’t do that to me or you.”
I look around at all the glowing lights in the apartment—hatred burning through my veins, because such a simple thing has ruined everything.
“I don’t care about the light,” I whisper in defeat.
There’s no point in fighting with him.
“I shouldn’t have allowed myself to give in to my feelings.” His words are barely audible, the struggle going out of him too. “You deserve so much more than this back and forth bullshit.”
I close my eyes, releasing a pent-up breath. “I understand. I know what … what we feel is technically wrong, and I get where you’re coming from. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt, because it does. Five minutes ago I was blissfully happy, sitting with you, watching you, kissing you. Now…” I let my hands fall to my sides. “All because the stupid lights are back on it’s ruined everything.”
We stare at each other, the foot of space between us suddenly feeling insurmountable.
Lachlan swallows, working his jaw back and forth. “I’m sorry.”
I know he is. I am too.
“I’ll go.” My voice cracks.
His eyes track my progress as I move around him, heading for the door. Zeppelin lifts his head, watching me go too. Neither he nor his owner make a move to stop me.
I look over my shoulder and find Lachlan watching me with sad eyes, his expression pained.
Turning back around I leave, letting the door click closed behind me like a period on the end of a sentence.
Hours later, the door finally opens and Sage enters, looking utterly exhausted. I can’t quite make sense of the utter relief I feel upon seeing him, but I dive off the couch into his body.
“Whoa.” He stumbles back from the force, wrapping his arms around me. “I missed you too, Weed.”
I hold him tight, not wanting to let go.
“Don’t leave me,” I beg my brother brokenly. “Everyone leaves, but you can’t.”
He squeezes me tighter, resting his head on top of mine. “Never.”
Chapter Forty
It takes a solid week for the snow to clear enough for us to go back to school. The record blizzard was so bad that trucks were brought in from out of state, not just to fix the power, but to clear the snow from the streets. I watched from Sage’s window as snow was loaded onto dump trucks to be hauled away. It looked eerily apocalyptic.
Tying the laces on my yellow Vans, I say a grateful prayer that this is the last week of school before winter break. Sure, it means a lot of time spent by myself with Sage working most days, but for the first time since the school year began I’m not looking forward to my fifty minutes spent with Mr. Taylor every day.
I’ve spent the whole week reminding myself he’s Mr. Taylor, not Lachlan.
All my reminders didn’t stop me from buying him a Christmas present, though.
Standing up, I brush my hands down the front of my jeans and shrug into my gray sweatshirt with the school’s mascot on it. Sasha had gotten it for me, and I forgot about it, burying it in my closet. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see me wearing it.
Layering on my coat, gloves, and hat, I finally swing my backpack onto my shoulders, ready to brave the cold and catch the bus.
Calling out a quick goodbye to Sage who would normally already be gone for work, I dash out the door.
I barely manage to catch the bus in time, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was tempting fate a bit, hoping I’d miss it and get to go back home.
Climbing the stairs, the door squeaks closed behind me as I find my seat and sit down by the window. The cold from the glass seeps through, chilling the air.
Popping my ear buds in, I search through my playlists. I pick a random one and click shuffle. Hollow by Jome begins to play.
Leaning my head back, the bus pulls away from the sidewalk while I pretend I don’t see the black Acura driving beside it.
“Nice sweatshirt,” Sasha comments, flipping her curly blonde hair over her shoulder as she sits down at the library table.
“Thanks, some weird girl got it for me,” I joke, plucking at the fabric.
“Rude.” She sticks her tongue out. “It’s nice to see you sporting some school spirit for a change.”
“I’m trying.”
“She looks nice in whatever.” Ansel winks at me as he pulls out a chair. I know he’s not flirting with me, just trying to stick up for me.
“It’s okay.”
I look over at Seth with an open mouth. “It speaks.” It’s so rare for him to reply at all that it takes me by surprise. I’m pretty sure this is only the second or third time he’s spoken at lunch all year. I don’t have any classes with him, but I can’t help wondering if he talks in those.
Seth gives a shrug in response, picking at his packed lunch.
I unwrap my sandwich. I didn’t get chicken salad today and I’m beginning to
regret that decision. My turkey sandwich looks more like regurgitated cat food. But I didn’t want to look at the chicken salad sandwich, let alone eat it, because I knew I would only think of Lachlan. I’m dreading enough seeing him today.
I understand where he’s coming from, why he keeps pushing me away. I’m not dumb. I see how wrong this is. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t break my heart a little being around him, especially when I seem to always give him a little piece of me in each of our sessions. It seems there’s always one single truth I leave him with before I go.
“You look distracted,” Ansel notes.
“Yeah, I guess it’s weird being back after a week.”
“You have bags under your eyes.” My gaze swings to Sasha. “Are you not sleeping?”
I rarely sleep a full night, but I did when Lachlan held me. Now sleep is even worse than usual. I barely manage an hour at a time before I’m awake worrying about something, or fighting a memory that’s clawing its way to the surface.
“Sasha,” Ansel groans, shaking his head.
“It’s okay.” I know Sasha isn’t trying to be rude. She sounds worried. “No, I haven’t been sleeping much.”
“Oh.” She frowns, flattening her lips. “What’s wrong? You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m sure it’ll straighten out soon enough.”
Ansel gives me a sympathetic look. I know I should tell Sasha about my past, but I’m so afraid of letting more people in. I don’t want who I am to change in her eyes because of what happened to me.
“What are you guys doing over break?” Sasha asks around a bite of her sandwich.
“Going skiing,” Ansel answers, tilting his chair back on two legs. “Meadows?”
“Nothing planned.” I give a small shrug. It doesn’t bother me much that we won’t be doing anything. I’m relieved not to be going back to Portland. I wish Sage wouldn’t be working most of the time, but I don’t have any say in the matter. “What about you?” I look at Seth, waiting for an answer. He stares steadfastly at the table.
“I’m going to New York City,” Sasha speaks up when Seth refuses to answer. “We’re spending over a week in Manhattan and celebrating Christmas and New Year’s there.”
“That’ll be fun.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” She must feel Ansel staring at her, because she turns to him, blinking. “What?”
“Nothing, Princess.” He tries to suppress a smile.
Sasha rolls her eyes and looks across at me, giving her head a shake. Even though we haven’t talked more about it, I know she still has a crush on him, but she’s also growing irritated with his behavior.
“If you have some opinionated crap to spew, say it,” she challenges him.
Ansel arches a brow.
“What? Nothing to say?” she counters. “Your family is rich so I don’t know why any of this matters to you. Besides, my grandparents live there and we’re visiting.”
Seth looks up at the ceiling, so I do too, but I don’t find anything interesting.
“You know, Ansel, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re kind of a dick.”
He chortles, completely amused. “I’m not kind of a dick, I have a dick. Would you like a description?”
“In-fucking-furiating.”
“Guys,” I groan, wanting to smack them. When I glance at Seth again, to silently beg him for help, he’s gone.
Is this guy even real or is he a figment of my imagination?
Luckily, I’m saved by the bell. I wad up my trash, say goodbye to their bickering forms, and toss it before I exit into the hall. I head downstairs, walking in the direction of Mr. Taylor’s office. Before I make it to the long empty hall that will lead me to him, I stop, freezing. It’s like my feet won’t move any further. It’s silly. I have nothing to fear in seeing him. Everything he said to me before I left him was a valid point. But not seeing him for a week has left an awkward knot in my chest.
Before I know it, I’m heading away, and find myself in the last place I should be.
I sit down on the hard bleachers, staring at the indoor track.
Setting my bag down between my feet, I lean back, resting my hands on either side of my legs. If I close my eyes, I can hear the cheers from the stands. Feel the excitement buzzing through my veins and jitteriness in my legs. But when I open them, it’s nothing but an empty track again, and silence. A blatant reminder of what I’ll never have.
I sniffle and wipe a tear away before it can fall.
I jolt when Mr. Taylor sits down beside me.
“That didn’t take you long,” I remark, sniffling again. It’s maybe been five minutes since I should’ve been at his office.
I feel him shrug. “I knew where to look this time.” It’s impossible not to sense his stare. “Why didn’t you come?”
“I don’t know.” I wrap my arms around myself. “I was going to, but I found myself here instead.”
“You’re mad at me.”
I don’t miss how he makes it a statement, not a question.
“No.” And I’m not. Finally, I look at him. His eyes are soft today, but his beard is a little thicker like he hasn’t felt like shaving. “I understand how complicated this is.” I nearly said wrong instead of complicated, but I didn’t want to use that word. The way I see it, how we feel about each other isn’t this evil ugly thing, but the situation is, his position versus mine.
Mr. Taylor exhales a weighted breath. I have to keep reminding myself that’s who he is—Mr. Taylor, not Lachlan. He should never have been Lachlan to me and that tears me up inside.
“I never meant to hurt you, Dani.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear, angling my head in his direction. “I don’t think either of us meant for things to get to where they are.” I clasp my hands together. “It just happened.”
His eyes lower. “I’m twenty-nine, almost thirty, I shouldn’t have let it happen.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t think age, or maturity is the problem here, we have a connection and it’s made us make some choices that aren’t the best.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And we need to stop making them.”
I bite my lip, wanting to keep my words at bay, but of course, I can’t. “Do you really think that’s possible? A lot has happened in the heat of the moment.”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I’m not … I’m not trying to fight with you, or act like I feel nothing for you.” Those Caribbean blue eyes stare into me, through me. “I could lose my job if someone found out,” he whispers under his breath, and I jolt.
Selfishly, despite understanding that I’m his student, and he’s my counselor, that I’m eighteen and he’s twenty-nine, I never quite grasped that he could potentially lose his job over this. My stomach coils into a tight knot.
“I…”
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Dani. But you need to understand how complicated and fucked up this is.”
I lower my head. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t know what else to say.
He glides his palms over the front of his navy blue slacks. “You have nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”
“But you’re not?”
He shakes his head, rubbing his jaw. “No, I guess that makes me a bastard, but I’m not sorry for liking you.”
I let out a sigh, clasping my hands as I look down at the track. “I miss it so much. I hate that I can never run again.”
Mr. Taylor grows thoughtful. “I think you need to focus less on what you can’t do and more on what you can.”
His words strike a cord.
“You can walk,” he continues, “you can laugh, smile, breathe. There are other forms of exercise besides running, you know.” He playfully knocks his knee into mine.
I know his words are innocent, but I can’t help but mentally picture exactly how I’d like to exercise with him. I’m a menace.
He stands up, holding his hand out to me. “Come on, there are thirty minutes left, let’s go to my office.”
I stare at his hand for a few seconds before I take it, letting him haul me up. He releases my hand, and it’s just in time because the doors open and one of the janitors enters heading for the trash can to empty it.
It’s such a blatant reminder of what he said moments ago about losing his job if someone learned about us.
Both of us watch the janitor, and when his eyes swing back to mine they’re immeasurably sad.
It reminds me so much of what he said to me in his apartment, that he can’t be with me in the light.
Another little piece of my heart crumbles.
Chapter Forty-One
“I hate this class so much,” Sasha whispers under her breath, passing me a worksheet.
I nod my head in agreement. I hate Sociology too. Honestly, I thought this class might be vaguely interesting, but I was wrong. The teacher is a tiny dictator, and the work is annoying.
“At least that one movie was interesting,” I remark, passing the papers to the student behind me. “You know, the one based on the play or whatever with the little girl who kills people.”
“But it was black and white.” She shudders like this is the most blasphemous thing.
“Well, it was an old movie.” I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.
“Filling out the page in front of you does not require talking, ladies,” Mrs. Kauffman calls out, giving the two of us a withering glare.
I press my lips tightly together and Sasha glowers at Mrs. Kauffman’s turned back.
The worksheet takes the majority of the class period to fill out, which is quite the feat considering it’s a ninety-minute class.
When the bell rings, the whole class can’t leave fast enough and piles the completed papers on her desk.
Sasha and I walk out together. She clasps her Sociology textbook to her chest. Mrs. Kauffman insists we bring them to each and every class, but we’ve yet to crack open the spine. We spend more time with the dictionary than anything else.
“This week can’t end fast enough.” We descend the steps along with the onslaught of other students eager to go home. “I’m so ready for Christmas vacation.”
Sweet Dandelion Page 23
