Fox stayed standing. Not only that, but he turned slowly to face her where she still stood after returning getting the calling cards from her purse. “If you’d hurt even a tiny proportion of the way I have since Jules died, and if I told myself and the world that I wanted you dead, and ‘tried’ to have you killed to prove it, then I reasoned that maybe it would go some way to lifting the guilt I’d felt for all these years, just a little.”
“What guilt? What are you talking about?” I couldn’t tell if she was confused or irritated, or maybe a combination of both.
“Guilt. I’m fucking drowning in it. Guilt that I knew something was wrong, like really wrong with my brother, but I didn’t realize the full extent of the problem until it was too late.” Shit.
“Guilt that some days, my infatuation for one of our bullies, one of the people who made our lives a living hell on earth, trumped his hurt and terror in the forefront of my mind. Guilt that those feelings, that stupid, childish crush on one of the people responsible for sending him to an early grave didn’t die when he did.” Fuck. His words hit me hard, so I could only imagine how Rose felt hearing them.
“Guilt that when one of the people with blood on their hands came back into my life, like an eerie phantom from the past, those feelings came rushing back, and then when I got to know the person a little better, not only did they persist, but they got stronger. Guilt that I’m the worst brother in the history of siblings.”
Chapter 9
Fox
Jesus. That was not what I’d gone there to say. Since Jules’s death I’d wanted a rewind button for my life, so that I could go back to that day at camp, and make my fourteen-year-old self care more, and do more. I’d make myself notice his spiral into depression in the lead up to those days, and beg him not to leave me. I would make myself realize that Jules was missing from group activities sooner, and go back and check on him earlier.
Now I just wished I could erase possibly the lamest, and most embarrassing, monologue in the history of monologues.
I was standing in front of Rose, looking anywhere but directly at her. “I’ll go. I’ve said what I came here to say. What you do with that information is up to you. I’ll shut the door on the way out.” I spun away from her, and started for the exit, but was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I turned to meet Rose’s concerned gaze.
“Was all that true?”
“Can I say no, and end this painful fucking ordeal? Why would I tell a lie that made me sound like the most pathetic guy on the goddamned planet?”
“Don’t go.”
“I’m going. I’ve had enough ritual humiliation for one day.”
“I’m sorry.” She was. I could see it so clearly in her eyes. All those years of obsessing over her, and I thought I’d memorized every detail, but it occurred to me that I’d never noticed her eyes. That wasn’t right. I’d noticed them. I knew they were a startlingly clear blue, but never having dared look into them when I was the embarrassed fat kid, I’d never realized how expressive they were, and how they spoke even when she was silent.
“Don’t be. You’re not responsible either for my character flaws, or my verbal diarrhea, which of course is a character flaw.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you and Julian. I’m sorry I lacked the strength of character and mental and emotional fortitude to stand up to Charlie. I’m sorry I carried on the cycle of abuse by taking out my powerlessness on people with even less power than me. I’m so fucking sorry that your brother saw suicide as the only way out of a situation that I helped put him in. But more than anything, I’m sorry that not only did I have a hand in you losing your precious brother, but that I have also forever tainted a relationship that should have been so pure and perfect. I’m sorry I ruined your life.”
Her voice had been quivering the whole time she was talking, but even still, the first tear that slid down her cheek shocked me. Not the least of reasons being that it hit me like a hundredweight to the gut.
“The worst is the guilt I feel for not being sorry I met you again,” I carried on with my previous train of thought.
I didn’t know who kissed who. I just knew that when our lips touched, it was the most natural thing in the world, as though it had always been, and was always meant to be.
Whereas previously there had been an agenda—at least on my part—this time, there was nothing but pure feeling. We’d spoken all the words we needed to say, and now our bodies were doing the talking. We were hesitant at first, our lips barely grazing each other’s, but it was enough to feel the spark that told me that there was something there, bubbling close to the surface for both of us.
We pressed our lips together harder this time, and before I knew it, my hand was easing into her hair, drawing her closer still, and pulling her harder to my mouth. I hated how much I loved feeling her lips against mine, and her tongue exploring my mouth. I loathed the fact that the sensation snuffed out the things I should have been feeling—guilt, betrayal, anger at myself and at her. I detested myself for wanting her more than I wanted to feel any of those things.
The kiss was tinged with regret, but not enough to stop either of us. We were bound by so much negativity, baggage, and hurt, but when we kissed I felt like we were washing that all off, and bathing in each other’s light.
With my free hand, I reached behind her back, to pull her whole body flush to mine. My dick pushed hard into the now taut fabric of my pants, and once our bodies were pressed together from head to toe, I rocked my hips slightly to grind it against her. Almost instantly she joined me, picking up my rhythm right away, and rotating her hips to push on me the same way. It was such a small and simple movement, yet somehow it felt big. Huge, in fact.
I was hit by another powerful pang of regret, and yet more guilt, when it was only the click of the front door lock that reminded me of Kane’s presence. I guessed he’d gotten pissed off and left. I was just starting to pull away from Rose, to tell her that we should go after Kane, when I realized my mistake.
As he came to a stop behind Rose, she pulled away from me to turn to him.
“Kane, I’m sorry. I ju—”
The heat of their kiss traveled through her and into me, as she braced herself against my chest, while her body did battle with his. Where our kiss had been passionate, but laden with intense emotion, theirs was alight with feverish desire. Kane was rabid in his thirst for her, and his fury at me.
I couldn’t remember ever seeing him so ferocious in his manner and actions. It was as though when I’d started kissing Rose, he’d gone from man to beast. His energy crackled around the room, then fired straight back at us, igniting our senses and desires.
Rose was still grinding into my erection, but the slow and building intensity had been replaced by blood-pumping urgency, and the feeling was sending me blind with desire.
Kane began grabbing at Rose’s clothes while they kissed, sending a rush of heat through my veins—he must have read my mind, as I was thinking that she was overdressed for the party. My straining dick clearly figured I was too.
“Clothes off. Both of you.” Kane took advantage of the fact that their lips had momentarily parted to bark out orders, his voice gruff and thick with anger and need. I had no idea who’d died and made him the boss of us, but given that the outcome of his order suited me just fine, I wasn’t about to push back on his alpha-dog routine. I wanted us naked as much as he did.