Page 14
“Oh. You must have been close then?” Séverin’s question is innocent on the surface. His gaze flicks between me and Bellamy as we get stuck in a staring contest.
Bellamy’s sunlit-honey eyes bore into me with an intensity that feels like it’s blistering my skin. “Once upon a time,” he finally says, his expression closing off. The crack of his glass hitting the table sounds a thousand times louder than it is. He turns and shuffles toward Séverin to get out of the booth. “Excuse me.”
His hands fist at his sides as he leaves, heading toward the bathroom. Part of me wants to follow, wants to check if he’s okay.
I wonder if there’s anything salvageable between us, if I can claw back even a scrap of friendship. Hell, I’m not the same person anymore, and I’d like to get to know this version of him.
“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Séverin breathes, craning his neck around the booth to watch Bellamy walk away, oblivious to the fact I’m about three seconds away from dragging him out of here by the scruff of his neck. “Doesn’t seem to like you very much anymore,” he chuckles, turning to me.
“I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” I warn, standing up and throwing a bundle of cash on the table to cover the check.
Séverin has the common sense to shrink back into his seat when I lean over him. He blinks at me, wide-eyed, brows slamming together.
“You were…more than roommates?” His voice breaks.
Astute observation.
“Mmm. You wouldn’t know how to handle him.”
Defiance flashes across his features, eyes darkening as he straightens in his seat.
“Make sure the server gets the tip,” I mutter, stalking off in the direction of the bathroom before I give Frenchie a free dental examination.
The pull I feel toward Bellamy is no less strong than the day we met—I can’t help going after him. I’m the moon desperate to orbit his sun.
When I enter the bathroom, he’s just coming out of a stall, fingers stilling on his zipper when he sees me. He regains his composure quickly, schooling his expression into neutrality.
“Are you following me now?” he says as he washes his hands. The collection of pastel rope bracelets on his wrists gets shoved up his arms, out of the spray.
“Am I not allowed to take a leak?” I throw back, stepping up to a urinal and pulling myself out, no shame. Maybe there’s a part of me that wants him to see my piercings. Is that considered peacocking? Here, look at my fancy penis upgrades.
I’m a little smug when color blooms across his cheeks and he quickly turns his head back to the mirror.
“Spirit, lead me,” he mutters, scrubbing his hands aggressively.
“It’s not like you haven’t seen it before, Bels,” I tease, hoping to break some of the tension.
“Don’t call me that.”
“It’s your name…” That, and about a hundred other silly ones I gave him over the years. Belladonna, Belltower, Bellbottom…Babybell.
“Not to you, it isn’t.”
I feel that wall sliding into place, creating a barrier between us. I know I messed him up, but this can’t be all my doing, right? It’s been years.
“Are you okay? Lara said—”
“As if you care, Sunday. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how selfish you can be.” And with that, the little blonde whirlwind tears through the bathroom, a blast of cold air following in his wake.
Chapter Seven
Bellamy – Age 19
Sunday has been excited about this all day, so I wear a pleasant smile as we walk through the woods hand in hand. It’s pathetic, really, how protective I feel over these woods. They feel like ours, even though they’re not. The Mournings technically own a part of them, which is why they can get away with having campouts here. We’ve done it a couple times, just me and him.
Maybe that’s why this place feels so special to me. It’s the place where he first said I love you, the place where he laid out a picnic blanket and took me apart with more patience and tenderness than I thought possible for someone with such a high sex drive. It’s kind of our go-to place for that, when we aren’t at college. Embarrassingly, we didn’t have to come out to Sunday’s parents about our relationship—they pulled him aside and lectured him on his decibel level. It’s one of the only times I’ve ever seen him embarrassed.
So, as sad as it sounds, these woods are our sacred space. The thought of a bunch of people trampling all over it and leaving their trash behind gives me anxiety.
