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I watch her breathe softly and evenly while the sounds of chaos batter at the door. She’s beautiful when she sleeps. She’s beautiful when she’s awake too. When she’s happy, when she’s furious. When the words are stunned from her mouth. Even in the midst of that insanity I’d still found myself blinking and stupid whenever my gaze had trained on her.
God, what am I going to do about this woman? I’m not used to this. It’s not me. But dammit, some part of me wants it to be.
There are simpler problems to dwell on though, and I choose those over this riddle in powder-blue sweatpants sleeping beside me.
Not Jack, of course. There’s nothing easy about that situation. I’m proving time and again that I can’t make a single right move when it comes to that boy.
Not the Seafarer either. Its status has never been more precarious. I’d woken up this morning to an email containing barely disguised panic from one of my major investors. I could do little more than tell him to trust me. And not to believe anything he might read in the tabloids that suggests I’ve become a roadie for a DJ a decade younger than me.
No, it’s Brent who my thoughts turn to with twisted, evil delight. I fantasize about scattering those white teeth across the ground. About driving my foot into his side. I picture my fist smashing into that perfectly straight nose. I’ll bet it’s never been broken before. I’ll bet he’s never even taken a punch.
It’s primal and brutal, and it feels a little too nice.
I’m not a violent man. What happened on St. Mark’s was my first fight in years. But growing up where I did, a guy who couldn’t use his fists got the snot kicked out of him. I learned early that while violence might not be the answer it did keep bullies from asking any more questions.
The moment I laid eyes on Brent I knew I hated him. Actually, from the first time Evie mentioned that somebody out there was fucking stupid enough to leave her behind, I despised the bastard. Because I can’t have her, and I’m furiously jealous of the man who could and still threw her aside.
But what really says Evie and I couldn’t work other than my own self-imposed rules? I’ve always scorned domestic bliss, pitied fools in middle management driving out to the suburbs every day. But now, sitting here with Evie, I’m shocked to find my thoughts drifting to images of a normal life. Waking up on a Saturday morning in bed. A grill and a big window overlooking a yard. A yard where children could play…
I shake myself, want to slap my own cheek to jerk me back to reality. I resist the urge but barely. What the hell am I thinking? Children? With everything going down with Jack, it should be pretty damn clear that I’m not capable of raising a plant, let alone a person.
Unable to help myself, my thoughts reluctantly turn to my brother. He’d filled out a slew of applications yesterday and had seemed almost excited to tell me about the interviews he had lined up Monday. Things had been going well until this morning when he asked me why I was packing a suitcase.
“Work trip. Came up last minute,” I’d said.
His face had frozen, the brightness in his eyes dying in an instant. “What about visiting Dad today?” he’d asked.
Things had gone south from there.
The truth was that I really had forgotten. But even upon remembering I hadn’t exactly been devastated to miss out on it. Still, I told him I would go, just another time. It hadn’t helped. Reminding him that it isn’t like Dad is going anywhere had also been a bad move.
A big fight wasn’t what I needed right before a stressful trip. I didn’t need any more reminders of my failures. But Jack seemed intent on dragging things out, to the point where he’d followed me downstairs and aired our laundry to half the people in my building and, more importantly, Evie.
I’d acted childishly in the car, but it was from deep embarrassment, not anger. How many times had Dad fought publicly? Loudly in our apartment, right at the bar in front of customers, on the street any time he thought someone might be disrespecting him. And now Jack and I are continuing his legacy, and Evie can see just how broken and messed up my family really is.
I sigh and rub my eyes. At least we had Brent to unite us again. It was awful knowing she was so mad at me. Usually my scornful personality acts as my armor against the world; this is the first time I’ve ever felt resentful of it.
My eyes trail again down Evie’s face. I smell the sweet scent of her hair. If I don’t get a hold of myself soon, she’s going to break my goddamn heart.
There’s a scrambling behind the wall that our closet shares with the bedroom and then voices giving directions. The music video is moving in. I can hear Kara and Dalton directly outside our door. Their voices are too muffled to hear exactly what they’re saying, but it’s probably about us. It’s for the best I can’t hear them. I can’t imagine the two of us sleeping in a closet is going to impress Kara much.
A problem for later. The increased noise overwhelms Evie’s exhaustion. She stirs against me and then sits up, blinking and stretching.
“Oh my god,” she says blearily. “Did I actually fall asleep?”
“Somehow,” I say. “It sounds like they’re coming through the walls.”
Evie covers her eyes with a hand and laughs. “We are just not built for this, are we?”
“Not at all,” I say. “I’m not a good time.”
She shifts so that she’s leaning against the wall. We’re shoulder to shoulder now and she’s able to look me in the eyes. “I don’t know about that,” she says. “I somehow manage to put up with you.”
“Again, no clue how.” I let out a grumbly chuckle. “I’m not exactly known for my sunny personality.”
“You have your moments,” she says.
My eyes flick down to her lips. They’re so close, so inviting. But we agreed on that park bench. This isn’t good for either of us. Somehow I force my eyes back to hers. It doesn’t help much; the serenity in them just makes me want her more.
