Stealing the Bad Boy

by Emma St Clair

  Elton rolled his eyes. “And I say, make your own luck! Win the girl, Sy. You got this. We’ll clean up and get out of your hair. We’d both prefer to avoid the battle of the sisters. If there is one.”

  “Me too,” Sy muttered, walking inside the house.

  Sy paced through the living room, his heart beating faster with every step he took. Would Delia understand? Would she be angry? Would Amy be upset that he hadn’t done this sooner? He wanted to call Amy first and explain, but he needed to get things straight with Delia first.

  Sighing, he called Delia. She had plugged her number into his phone the other night at dinner.

  Her voice was cool when she spoke. “Hello, Sy.”

  “Hi.” He cleared his throat. “So, I wanted to call after the other night and explain and then … I guess I got distracted.”

  “By dating my sister?”

  So, she’d definitely seen the article. Or maybe talked to Amy? Oh, he hoped that she hadn’t talked to Amy.

  “That and other things. But yes, Amy and I went on a date. I … like her. A lot, actually.” He paused. “The other night at dinner—”

  Delia interrupted. “The other night at dinner, you acted like you liked me. Now, suddenly, you like Amy? I think it’s best if we both stay away from you.”

  Anger burned in his chest and Sy worked to control his voice. “You misunderstood the other night. I didn’t lead you on. I think that you just saw what you wanted to see.”

  Delia laughed. “Sure. I saw the guy who had been in love with me for years acting the same way he always had. What was I supposed to think?”

  “Delia, the only thing I did to lead you on was not to shut you down immediately. I should have been more clear. None of my actions should have made you think that I was interested.”

  “Whatever. It doesn’t matter now.”

  Sy’s stomach dropped. He didn’t like the finality in her voice. “Why doesn’t it matter?”

  Elton stuck his head inside the back door, waving his hands and pointing to his phone with a panicked look.

  “Hang on.” Sy put a hand over the phone and spoke to Elton. “What? I have Delia on the phone.”

  “You should probably see this before you finish that call.”

  Elton crossed the room, holding up his phone so Sy could see it. There was a new article, and his eyes went to the photos before the headline. At the top was a posed photo of Delia, looking heavily made up and serious, next to a picture of Sy and Delia from back in high school at a football game. She was in her cheerleading uniform and he had on full pads and a jersey, his helmet under one arm. He remembered the night, surprisingly. She had been dating someone else, but the photograph made them look like a couple.

  He saw the headline next: Perpetual Bachelor Cheats with Sisters!

  Sy closed his eyes, clamping his jaw shut so hard that his teeth ground together. He didn’t even need to read the story. He could guess what Delia would have said.

  “I’m sorry,” Elton said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “We’re going to get out of here. If you need somewhere to stay, the couch is open at our place.”

  “Thanks,” Sy growled. He watched Elton duck out the back door. Easton nodded to him through the glass and then the twins disappeared around the side of the house.

  He waited until they were gone until he put the phone to his ear again. “Delia?”

  “Still here.”

  “You fed this bogus story to the press?”

  “It’s not bogus. It’s the truth.”

  “Your version of the truth, you mean. Has Amy seen this? Have you talked to her?”

  “We talked a little while ago and came to an agreement. Both Amy and I are planning to stay far away from you.”

  The words struck him syllable by syllable, crushing every shred of hope he had that things would be okay. Sy didn’t need to say anything else to Delia, so he ended the call without even saying goodbye. He didn’t want to believe her, so he called Amy. She wouldn’t decide something like that without talking to him, would she?

  When it went to voicemail after a few rings, he hung up and tried again. And again. “Pick up, Ames,” he said. “Pick up.”

  After six tries, Sy gave up. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends until it almost hurt. He walked back outside, where Elton and Easton had finished sweeping up the sawdust and picking up tools before they left. He ran a hand over one smooth post for the pergola, feeling a growing ache in his chest.

  Less than an hour ago, everything looked and felt different. New. He and the guys built this for Amy. He was going to ask her to the charity prom, and hopefully they’d talk about their future. Now? It was over. His relationship with Amy had ended, before it really even began.

  One date. One amazing kiss. And a lot of hope for more. It shouldn’t hurt so much. But it did.

  He should have talked to Chad about this. Maybe diving in so quickly with Amy would have been something his therapist would have given him a yellow light on or told him to slow down. Would he have listened though? Pursuing Amy felt like the right thing to do, more right than any decision he could remember making.

  “Sy?”

  Amy’s quiet voice startled him, and Sy spun around. He felt strangely guilty standing under the new structure as her eyes pinged between the pergola and Sy’s face. This wasn’t a small thing he’d done, and he hoped this wasn’t a mistake too.

  “What is this?”

  Sy’s hands felt like dead weight at his side. He crossed his arms, but that felt too confrontational, so he clasped his hands behind his back. “Easton, Elton, and I built it. You said you wanted a pergola.”

  Smooth, Sy. Really smooth.

  He had so many things he wanted to say to Amy but felt struck dumb in her presence after the conversation with Delia. He studied her and could immediately tell something was off. She was still so beautiful, but her face was shuttered now. Like she had closed off all the brightness and emotion that usually colored her features. Delia’s words seemed much more real now.

  Amy’s shoulders slumped. Sy wanted to close the distance between them, and wrap her up in his arms, but didn’t think that he could. Instead, he stood there, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had. He had hoped to ask her to the charity prom here, not have this conversation.

  “Was I wrong about what you wanted?” he asked.

  Her eyes met his. “I … don’t know what I want.”

  “I talked to Delia.”

  She flinched, then blew out a breath before she looked away, staring up at the pergola again. “Me too.”

  “Was what she said true? You made an agreement not to date me?”

  Amy looked at him again. The expression in her eyes cut him right to the heart. It reminded him of how she had looked in the rare times when she lost hope or had a rough treatment. She looked like she was giving up.

  “She’s my sister,” she said, lifting one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

  “Are you going to let Delia make this choice for you?”

  “It’s my choice too.”

  Sy’s hurt began bleeding into anger. He could read Amy well enough to know that she wasn’t being completely honest. She was hiding something. And even if it was just Delia, she had obviously just wanted her fifteen minutes of fame. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have talked to some blogger and sold her story. And he bet that she got paid for sharing the photos if not the story itself.

  “Don’t be a coward, Ames.”

  Sy knew the words were a mistake as soon as they left his lips. What he meant is that he wanted to see Amy fight for him. To stand up to Delia. He didn’t want to watch Amy let her sister keep taking center stage, shoving her off into the wings. She’d always done that, even if he didn’t see it until now.

  But his words had the opposite effect. Amy’s body seemed to crumple, even as her eyes flamed with heat. Her shoulders slumped, and her hands shook, totally at odds with the hardness of her words.

  “You m
ay have known me then, but you can’t say you know me now. After one date and a little time spent together. You don’t know me at all, Sy. This would never work. I think it’s time for you to check out.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  Please say it’s not. Please say you want me the way I want you.

  “That’s what I want.”

  Sy brushed by Amy on his way back inside. He wanted to stop, to wrap her up in his arms, to remind her with his words or through his touch what they’d started. What he’d hoped for. He wanted to say all the right words, to apologize for calling her a coward and to explain what he meant.

  But he didn’t pause. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t touch her.

  Sy simply walked upstairs, packed the few things he had, and scrawled a quick note, which he left with his key on his way out the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Amy

  Amy thought she had been through heartbreak before. She had no idea. Following prom in high school, when Sy stopped coming around, she wept for days.

  But that didn’t even come close to this. It felt like someone had pressed a ten-ton weight down on her chest, after first putting her heart through a paper shredder. She was an achy, pulpy mess of hurt, and it sucked.

  With Sy paying for all the rooms for the week—even if he wasn’t here—she didn’t need to worry about guests. Or showering. Or eating. She wondered how long she could stay in bed. She could manage only getting up a few times a day to use the bathroom and drink water straight from the faucet. So far, she’d made it one full day. She figured that she at least had until Christmas Day. Then, her mom and Delia would for sure hunt her down.

  She lay in bed with an empty box of tissues. She had switched to toilet paper when the tissues ran out. Her phone was out of batteries and she didn’t bother to get the charger from the kitchen. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, anyway.

  That was a lie. But the one person she wanted to talk to, she shouldn’t. Or couldn’t. Because she’d agreed with Delia that they’d both leave Sy alone.

  Which started to feel like a really stupid decision. Were they back in high school? She knew that Sy wasn’t interested in Delia. And really, Delia liked the idea of Sy more than Sy. She’d get over it.

  But it’s not just your sister.

  No. It was the cancer, growing silently inside of her. Amy imagined the cells, multiplying with glee as she lay there in misery.

  She wouldn’t do this to Sy. Maybe he liked her, but he couldn’t feel as strongly as Amy did for him. She had carried around her feelings, which had shifted and grown with her, for years. Any romantic feelings he had for her started this week. It was too much, too soon. He deserved someone better. Someone whole.

  Still, there was a part of her that wanted to hope. To hope that she could defeat this sickness, again. To hope that Sy wasn’t out of reach.

  She held his note up in front of her face again. Not that she needed to read it. She had it memorized. But she liked to look at his blocky, messy handwriting. To smell it, even if it really just smelled like paper.

  Ames. I’m sorry about everything. Heading home. Thanks for having me. Best date, best kiss of my life. Wish things were different.

  -Sy

  She had clutched the note for the last day. Under her fingertips, the paper had grown soft, almost like a tissue. She really should put it down before it disintegrated to nothing. But it was all she had.

  Amy flopped back on her bed and put a pillow over her face. It didn’t silence the thudding of her poor, broken heart.

  No, that wasn’t her heart.

  She sat up. It was the door. Someone was pounding on the door.

  Adjusting her shirt and crossing her arms over her chest to hide the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra, Amy pulled open the door. Delia stood there, mouth open like she had been about to speak. Her head snapped back, and her eyes trailed over Amy, from her mismatched socks to whatever state her hair was in.

  “Are you coming in or are you just going to stare all day?” Amy stepped aside.

  Delia walked in, still studying Amy. Her lips pursed, and something shifted in her face until she wore an expression that Amy didn’t recognize.

  “Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” Amy said. “I need coffee.” A pressure headache was forming right at the top of her skull.

  Amy headed for the kitchen without waiting for Delia. Her sister sank down on a stool at the island. Amy held up the coffee pot, which still had a few cups from what she’d made the day before.

  “Day-old coffee?”

  Delia shook her head, and Amy poured a mug and put it in the microwave. This was the quietest Amy had ever seen Delia. Maybe Amy should ask about it, especially after their breakthrough the other day in the car where they vowed to talk more.

  Of course, that was the same conversation where they agreed to give up Sy.

  And now that he was gone, even if Amy knew it was for the best with her diagnosis, she was a little bitter.

  Okay, more than a little. Selfish? Yep. But right now, Amy felt like being selfish.

  “Ames? Are you okay?” Delia’s voice carried a concern Amy didn’t remember ever hearing.

  Amy gave a short laugh as she stirred milk in her coffee. “I’d say I feel about as bad as I look, but that’s not true. I feel worse. How about you? Are you okay?”

  “Why?”

  “Because, if I’m being honest, you seem way more concerned about me than you normally would be.”

  She only felt a little bad when Delia looked hurt. Amy was just being honest, after all. It didn’t feel as good as she thought it might.

  “I guess I deserved that,” Delia said finally.

  Amy blew on the coffee and took a sip. It was still only lukewarm and definitely tasted old. But caffeine was still caffeine, and Amy needed this headache gone. Stat. Too bad coffee wouldn’t work for heartache.

  Delia sighed, leaning her elbows on the counter. Amy stood across from her, glad for the expanse of granite between them. She shifted her hips back to lean on the cabinet behind her.

  “Look, Ames. I owe you an apology.”

  Amy bit back the smart remark on the tip of her tongue. She hated feeling this bitter, and really, what would it accomplish? She couldn’t remember another time when Delia had apologized so sincerely.

  Delia blinked a few times, then her brow furrowed. “You’re not going to say anything?”

  Amy shrugged. “I guess I’m letting you finish.”

  “Finish?”

  “Usually, when you apologize, you say what you’re apologizing for. So, I’m waiting.”

  “You could make this easier on me,” Delia muttered.

  Amy hid her smile behind the mug of coffee. “I could.”

  “Fine.” Delia huffed out a breath. “I’m sorry for the whole Sy thing.”

  Amy’s brows shot up, and some ugly emotion she didn’t want to name churned in her stomach. She set the coffee on the counter. “What do you mean?”

  “About the article.”

  “You’re going to have to elaborate. After you and I talked the other day … well. I kind of checked out. My phone’s dead and I never looked it up.”

  Delia stared. “You … didn’t see the article?”

  “The one about me and Sy dating? No. You told me about it, but I never saw it.”

  Dropping her head to her hands, Delia muttered something. When she looked up at Amy again, her eyes held a guilty expression. One that Amy knew well. It reminded her of the end of their conversation a few days before, when Delia said their truce was starting now.

  “Did you do something? What article are you apologizing about?”

  “Don’t be mad, okay?”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “I can’t promise that. Tell me.”

  “I just feel like so much of a failure. Things aren’t going well in L.A., and I don’t think I can afford to go back. I hadn’t told you and Mom yet.” Delia bit her lip and looked down. “I just g
ot angry and jealous. I couldn’t make it in L.A., and here you’re running this amazing bed-and-breakfast for Nana—”

  “I’m going broke,” Amy said. “I can’t afford the property taxes due next month.”

  Delia’s eyes widened. “Wow. I didn’t know.”

  Amy shrugged. “It is what it is.” She hated when people said that. It was the dumbest, most obvious statement in the world. Still, it encompassed her life right now more than anything else she could think of. “Anyway, back to you. And this article.”

  “When Sy came to dinner, I thought maybe getting together with him would help me. Even the reality shows and things I’m applying for want someone with more of a profile.”

  “So, you wanted to use Sy’s high profile to bump your own.”

  Delia nodded. “Then, when I found out he was interested in you, I just got so mad. I mean, you don’t even care about the fame.”

  She didn’t. Amy only cared about Sy. But there was no way she could talk about that now without crying. The hard shell she was trying to build would totally shatter. Because it was just that: a shell. The anger and bitterness and the hard facade—this was not her. Amy felt like she was trying to wear a dress that was ten sizes too big. Any movement and it would slip right off.

  “So, I sold my story, and some pictures to one of those celebrity bloggers.”

  Amy suddenly felt cold, like she’d stepped into Alaska, mid-winter. “What story did you sell?”

  Delia licked her lips. She looked at Amy, then down at where her hands lay on the counter. She picked at her nails. “I kind of said that there was a love triangle, and that Sy cheated on me with you.”

  It took Amy’s brain a moment to follow Delia’s words. A love triangle. Sy was cheating on Delia. With Amy. “You know by default you made me look like a cheater too?”

  Delia nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about that part. Just … getting my name out there. And getting paid.”

  Amy wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and maybe toss her lukewarm coffee at Delia. What she did instead made no sense. She started to laugh. Small giggles at first, but they quickly turned into huge belly laughs that had her bending over with her hands on her knees, practically wheezing.