Forbidden Kisses (3:AM Kisses Book 9) Page 7

  “Hey, don’t get so worked up.” I pick up her seat and motion for her to get back in it, but she makes a face like she’s about to get sick. “Please, sit down. We didn’t finish that conversation we were having. And I want to.” I’m pleading like a pussy. I’m not sure why I feel the need to make nice with this girl—perhaps because she is indeed about to become my stepsister in a few short weeks. Perhaps because I’m a glutton for punishment. “Sit.” It comes out a little sterner than anticipated.

  “Nobody tells me what to do with my body!” she thunders so loud an entire crowd of girls from the next table gasps in horror.

  “I wasn’t telling her what to do with her body.” God forbid I have my tires slashed by morning.

  “Yes, you were!” She snatches her drink off the table with a marked aggression—I’m expecting to wear it any minute now. “Liar, liar, nose as long as a telephone wire! You and your entire family!” Her face is just as red as her hair against this dark, moonless night. “You’re going to pay for this!” she screeches as she takes off toward Cutler Tower.

  “Pay for what?” I’m both perplexed and frightened of what exactly I’m about to pay for. “You’re a nut job just like your father!”

  A large iced mocha coffee, coconut milk, decaf—her order, comes tumbling from the sky and narrowly misses my temple.

  “Shit!” I touch the side of my head as if it had struck me.

  One of the dudes who works here comes at me with a broom and dustpan, ready and willing to clean up her mess.

  “Sorry.” I pick up her cup, the loose lid, and straw that rolled under the next table just to help the guy out. “She’s a little psychotic.”

  He chuckles while sweeping up the ice. “The good ones always are.”

  “She’s not a good one. Trust me on that.”

  But my stomach wrenches, and my boxers twitch like maybe she is.

  Is there something going on with Scarlett? Sabrina hinted at it. She mentioned it would be very upsetting but wouldn’t give details. Any information you could get would be valuable. Bradley is losing his mind. He says she can be a firecracker when she wants to. Please watch over her. She is practically your sister!

  I stare at my mother’s text for a little longer than necessary. It’s early afternoon on Saturday, and I’ve trekked to the outskirts of Hollow Brook where my father traded his Bel Terra mansion for a split-level with wall-to-wall carpeting, an act my mother found both humiliating and repugnant.

  I’ll see what I can find out. I fire off the text and get out of my truck, taking in the scent bleeding from the pines mixing with the hint of something floral drifting in this heated, early summer air.

  I happen to know exactly what is up with that little firecracker. It’s me. It sounds as if Scarlett’s scantly engineered plan of getting her sister to think we’re going at it has crested its first wave, ready and willing to crash over us at any moment. I’ll bring it up to her and see what she wants to do. I get it. She’s hurting. The pain in her eyes last night was palpable. A part of me wanted to let her know that it will all work out, that no matter what the outcome, we would survive this. But I also happen to know how much divorce hurts and how the wounds never seem to heal, and lastly, and pathetically so, no matter how old you get, you still have that underlying craving for your parents to fall madly back in love and stitch your family up again. And, ironically, that’s exactly why I’m here.

  I head up the driveway to the sunny yellow house with its chipped brown trim. Knox’s truck and Trixy’s Beamer are parked in the driveway, so I know they’re home. Just as I’m about to give a wallop over the front door, it glides open, and I’m greeted with my father’s smiling face—a mirror image of my own if you add about twenty-eight years.

  “Hold your fire,” he teases, pulling me in. “Saw you walking up the driveway, kiddo.”

  He feels strong, safe, is wearing the same cologne I’ve known him to since the day I was born, and everything about this one simple physical exchange makes me miss him a hundred times more.

  “You don’t have to be such a stranger, you know.” He leans back, his hand clasping over mine as he leads me inside.

  “I don’t want to be.” But I have been. The last three years have been the toughest. First, there was the divorce—an axe that drove itself through the forehead of my family—then my mother’s far more painful spiral, the nails securely set in the Toberman family coffin. No thanks to the questionable moves of my father’s business partner, Toberman Global has disbanded and is no longer a viable entity. But he’s rebuilding his life, one dollar at a time, and my mother is rebuilding her life with Bradley.

  “Your brother and sister are in the pool. You can borrow a suit if you like. I was just about to join them.”

  “Maybe I will.” I swallow hard as I spot them splashing at one another in the water, having a good time, and I want them to. Knox and Trixy clung to our father during that hellish era of our lives. My mother seemed so isolated and alone that I seemed to favor her in that time, trying to help her navigate her downfall from being a socialite to social parasite back in Bel Terra. Even at home, the three of us were forced to favor one parent over the other. It felt like battle lines were drawn, sides were being taken, and now that the nightmare is in the rearview mirror, relations are still strained. We never fully recovered. We may never do so. I’m not sure if that’s entirely Bradley Kent’s fault, but I damn well know he isn’t helping us heal.

  “So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” He smiles over the rim of his glasses while holding up his coffee. “Would you like a cup?”

  “No thanks.” We take a seat at the kitchen barstools and watch as Knox and Trixy slow their playful game of trying to drown one another. I can hear them speaking between themselves, trying to make out where we might have gone in the house. Scarlett was right when she said they were so close it’s creepy, but I like it, and I’m glad they’re close. In fact, one of my goals this summer is to mend the bridges I might have burned down in an attempt to support my mother.

  “How’s school? Are you still on target to graduate on time?”

  “Yes. Finals went well. I just got my grades back—straight A’s this time. Next semester should be a breeze. Law school should be happening for me before we know it.”

  “Sounds like you have it all figured out.” He smiles so hard his eyes disappear in half moons. That’s the great thing about my father. It takes so little to get that genuine response out of him. He’s always been happy-go-lucky, rolling with the punches no matter how hard the beatdown. “So, how’s your mother?”

  No matter where our conversations start off they always end up at the same maternal destination.

  “She’s great. Perhaps a little too great,” I grunt.

  “The kids told me about the engagement. Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.” His forehead wrinkles into a million lines, his eyes gloss over, and the pain in them is just as undeniable as it was with Scarlett last night. “She’s happy, though. That’s the most important thing.” His left eye twitches as if calling out the lie. Of course, at the end of the day, it most likely isn’t a lie, but my father and mother were in love. They were the perfect couple until they weren’t. They enjoyed each other. That’s the one truth I know. Then, in a span of six weeks, the news went from bad to worse, and my mother cursed up a storm at my father whom she blamed for taking her down with him. The horror of what came next is exactly the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. She openly declared their marriage a sham, but we all knew she was speaking from her pain—at least that’s what we chose to believe. She hasn’t spoken to him since, outside of a few words regarding my siblings and me.

  “She seems to be content. How about you? You happy about this?” My voice pitches with frustration without meaning to. Our eyes catch on one another as my percolating rage meets up with that forever look of sorrow embedded in him. I wish I could shake him. I wish I could make him tell me exactly at what point he gave up o
n the woman he once vowed to cherish and decided she wasn’t worth it anymore.

  “I’m not happy about how any of this worked out, and you know it.” His voice is tense, his expression hard, but those watery blue eyes of his show a far more delicate side.

  “Then why are you letting this happen?” I swipe the newspaper off the counter in an adolescent fit of frustration. “Fuck!” I slam my palm down onto the granite just as Knox and Trixy scuttle in, wrapped in towels, dripping over the hardwood floors until they reach us.

  “What’s happening?” Knox steps between Dad and me as if to contain the situation. I once threw a punch at my father and landed it square on his jaw. He needed x-rays, but thankfully wasn’t hurt. I swore then and there I’d never hit my dad again, but, honest to God, I just came close.

  “Nothing’s happening.” Dad tugs at Trixy’s hair just as she dives over me with a sopping wet hug.

  “Did you talk to Mom? Is she still going through with it?” Her words come out in a childlike wail.

  “Yes. I mean no. I didn’t ask her if she’s really going through with it. You know she is just as much as I do.” I glance over to my father one more time with his tired eyes, that beaten down look on his face, and my chest bucks with emotion. “Are you even going to try to stop her?”

  The three of us look to Maximillian Toberman, a shell of the superhero he once was in our eyes. Once upon a time, our father was infallible. We were wealthy beyond measure, we knew nothing but the best, student loans were something we read about on the Internet, and now here we are living out some bad suburban fantasy, watching in horror as our mother readies to walk down the aisle with another man—watching in horror as she creates a whole new family, and it hurts like hell to witness.

  “Well?” My sister’s voice wobbles as tears burn down her cheeks.

  “No.” His hands clasp together as he tries desperately to force a smile to come and go. “I can no sooner stop her from marrying anyone she pleases than suggest what she might order off a dinner menu. I’m not her husband—and, her choice not mine—I’m no longer considered her friend. Am I thrilled to watch her do this? No. But I’m not about to stop her. If she’s found a shred of happiness, for God’s sake, I want her to steal it. I’m not too impressed with what I’ve done to her. I’m downright ashamed.” He turns his head away a moment. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get some things together before heading to the office.” He takes off for the den before turning around. “Don’t be such a stranger, Rex. Nobody is angry with you. I miss you.”

  We watch as he disappears down the hall, and Trixy wraps her arms around me once again.

  “I don’t care about all of this bullshit anymore. I just want us to be a family again. If Mom and Dad can’t pull it together, I think at least we should.”

  “I agree.”

  Knox groans while staring me down. He’s been a bit harder on me than Trixy these days. As much as I’ve tried to protect our mother, he’s fiercely guarded our father.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I plead with him. The three of us were always close. I’m with my sister. Enough of this bullshit already.

  “Like what?” He gives an indifferent shrug. His biceps bulge as he flexes. He’s grown out of that lanky little boy body and has beefed up enough to where he could play for WB when it’s time. He’s already starring on his high school team. I’ve told him so a dozen times already, but he keeps refusing. Knox loves football as much as I do, and I have a feeling the only thing keeping him from pursuing football at WB is me.

  “Stop looking at me like you hate me.” There, I said it. I cut that wound open with the serrated, rusted blade of the truth, and it feels damn good even if I understand that we might die from the infection.

  “Then stop acting like you hate the rest of us,” he barks back. “Dad didn’t do anything to Mom on purpose. He didn’t set her up for the fall like she thinks he did. He feels bad about what happened.”

  “Then try to open up to her. She says you both give her the cold shoulder. She can’t get but a couple of words from the two of you. Somebody has to show her the affection she deserves.”

  Trixy buries her head in her hands a moment. “I will. I don’t want to be like this anymore. I miss her. Even though we physically see one another, she’s right. I’ve pulled away. I’ve let all of this bullshit poison me.” She pulls me into a deep embrace. “I’ll change.” The chlorine from her hair stings my eyes, and I welcome the burn in an effort to shelter the tears.

  “Thanks. I know she’ll like that.” I nod over to my brother. “We’ll get together soon. Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

  “It will,” he says it stern as if he doesn’t really believe it.

  I’m not so sure I believe it either.

  I hop into my truck and stare at my phone a moment before shooting a text off to Scarlett. We were in a study group together last fall for Spanish II, thus the number exchange. She was the redheaded señorita all of the boys couldn’t stop drooling over. We didn’t say more than a few words to each other because at that point it was painfully clear our parents were an item. In fact, we’ve spent the rest of the school year being less than friendly toward one another for exactly that reason.

  Where are you? We need to talk. I wait a few minutes, and sure enough, she fires right back.

  Deep in the woods. Don’t bother looking for me. We have nothing to say.

  This doesn’t surprise me. Scarlett is obsessed with archery. I learned this first from my mother’s intro last summer, and I’ve witnessed it a few times during the unpleasant forced gatherings we’ve had thrust upon us.

  In the woods. Huh. Near the Witch’s Cauldron? The least she can do is give me a hint.

  Maybe.

  I start the engine and head out in that direction. “All right, Little Red. I’m coming to find you.”

  No sooner do I hit the Witch’s Cauldron than I spot Scarlett’s black Jeep tucked in a clearing not too far from the start of the trailhead. I hop out as the blazing sun baptizes me with its fiery glory. The sharp scent of jasmine and the woodsy evergreens takes over my senses, and that alone has the power to make me feel lighter than air. The thousand-pound burden of my parents’ nightmare magically releases from my shoulders as if this elevation has the power to cure anything that ails me.

  “Shit.” The hiss of a female voice comes from my left, so I make my way around a couple of scrub oaks, only to find Little Red herself reloading an arrow onto her compound bow. The light hits her just right, illuminating that wild mane of hers into strands of burning flames. Her skin is piqued with color, the apples of her cheeks a rosy shade compared to her naturally pale complexion. Scarlett is fierce and strong in every capacity. Her bare arms show off a sinewy muscular structure that redefines itself as she tenses over her bow. Her physique is far more toned than any other girl I’ve seen.

  Scarlett Kent is damn beautiful. There, I said it. It feels as if another weight has just been lifted. Deep down, I’ve always wondered what would have become of us if I simply saw her in that Spanish class for the first time. Last summer when my mother gathered us together at some greasy Chinese restaurant for the big intro, I groaned inwardly when I saw her. She and her sister were waiting impatiently near the front, and I remember thinking, please, God, don’t let it be her. Even then, I was far too attracted to her to ever want my mother to date her father, let alone to make her my new sister.

  I wait until she lets another one fly before stepping out of the shadows.

  It lands just above her target and embeds itself firmly into the trunk of a pine.

  “Nice shot.” I step forward, and she pivots on her feet, pointing her arrowless bow in my direction.

  “Stand still while I reload.”

  “Funny.”

  She’s squinting hard, sizing me up as her new favorite target with her lips knotted up in a ruby bow. I can’t tell if they’re red from lipstick or not. All I know is every last bit of this girl is cherry re
d at one time or another. My gaze dips to the deep V of her T-shirt as my mind strips her clean of all clothing, her blushing nipples staring me down. Then it occurs to me that if her hair is that red on her head—

  “My eyes are up here.” She relaxes her bow at her side. “What’s so important that you’ve sacrificed your Saturday to track me down? You need me to spot you while another cheerleader pole vaults onto your penis?”

  “You’re pretty sick, you know that?” I swipe the spare bow she has lying on a pillow of pine needles and position it over my arm. “Give me one of those,” I say, plucking an arrow off the basket hanging off her back. Knox and I used to have a membership down at the archery range in Bel Terra. That was back before our world fell to shit.

  “You’re welcome. I may be pretty sick, but you’re just flat-out rude.”

  I fire my shot and hit the bullseye near the top.

  She moans as if I’ve mortally wounded her. “Okay, you’ve proven your point”—she pulls another arrow from her sheath and repositions herself for her next shot—“you’re good.” She fires and lands her arrow in the target, dead on. “But I’m better.” She steps over, the sweet scent of her floral perfume dusts by in her wake. “Don’t you ever forget that.” Her eyes shine bright, a clear turquoise, and for a solid minute, I lose myself just taking in their glory.

  “So, what gives?” She takes the bow from my hand and lands it back where it came from in the shade of the pine. “You come up here so I can kick your ass?”

  “I came up here to let you know this.” I show her the frantic text my mother shot off this morning, and Scarlett lets out a dark laugh.

  “Well, well, my future brother, my very false Romeo, it looks like it’s time we take the next step in our non-existent relationship.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re going on our first, and hopefully, last double date. Once they see us pawing all over one another, they’ll want to vomit in their salad. Any fantasy about becoming husband and wife will long have dissipated before they ever bring out dessert. There’s no way my father is going to want me falling madly in love with my new stepbrother.” A smile twitches on her lips. “And, trust me, a socialite like your mother? She’d rather hang herself than see us mopping up each other’s faces with our tongues.”