I started where my tirade had ended, but he held up a hand, successfully shutting me up.
He paced, fiddling with the beanie on his head, and then he threw it to the ground. His hair was a mess, standing in all different directions. His eyes were bright, glazed over. And if his skin had been paler, it would have been colored red with the embers of his temper. I realized then that his eyes were not smoldering, as I had first assumed. They were so cold that they held the burn from extreme temperature—a frigid temperature that made one go blue. His hands balled and flexed. Balled and flexed. He kicked the tire of Mitch’s truck; a tremble ran through the tin with the force of the impact.
A little voice in my head reminded me that I couldn’t take another silent argument. This was war, on my mind, my heart, my body, and my soul. The battlefield stretched from wherever he stood to wherever I stood. I needed more from him and he couldn’t seem to control me.
He had held my heart for a long time, but he had never claimed it. He allowed me to suffer—to suffer without him, even though we were both hurting. He knew what that night in the snow had meant, yet he never tried to talk to me afterward.
He never even thanked me for saving his life! Then he reenters, acting like some hero set on avenging his best friend by protecting his baby sister. He wasn’t effing Robin Hood!
He stopped so suddenly that I flinched.
“Tell me,” he whispered. He whispered, but that frightening calm mask was in place again, though I could feel the rage that lurked beneath the surface.
Every thought in my mind came out in a seething breathe of words. “You hurt me. Youkeephurting me. Why come back now? Why all of a sudden?”
“You are driving me fucking crazy!” He pulled at his hair. I had never seen him so unhinged, so unglued. Even the night he socked that guy for knocking me over, I had never seen him go this savage. “I’m losing it. I’m losing my mind—I’m losing fucking control.”
“I don’t give a damn.”
“You don’t. Because this is what you want. You punish me by acting the way you have been. The parties. Ace. Tonight.”
“Why do you even give a damn?” I threw my hands up in frustration.
The sweater, which normally settled above my navel, gave him a clear view of my ribs, the soft area just under my breasts, and the touches of lace that covered them. He caught the flash and his eyes flashed molten before they turned to stone.
“Why do you even care, Brando?” I pushed forward. “Why am I even here talking to you? I don’t want to be your little sister. I’mnotyour little sister. I had a brother. He did a fine job of it, too, when he was alive. But he’s gone now. He’s gone! You can’t replace him!”
He seemed to be avoiding the word “why” at all costs. He was a man who rarely asked questions, just commanded and took whatever the hell he wanted, when he wanted. I didn’t need to be experienced to know that much.
It took him a moment to answer. He looked at the ground, at the truck, and then up at the sky. “You don’t punish someone you love,” he whispered.
I thought that over for a moment. Was I punishing him? Was I acting out to get his attention? Perhaps. But it didn’t seem to matter. Not then. He had his agenda, I had mine. “Why, Brando?” I sniffed hard, trying to control my temper. “Why are you here?”
“That’s not love, Scarlett.” He turned his eyes on me then; his anger had dissolved into sadness. “That’s pettiness. That’s childishness. That’s infatuation. That’s the wrong way to seek love. There’s nothing true about it when you have to run behind it.” He opened his arms. “I’m here. Right here. That in itself should tell you something.”
I had to control the impulse to sob. “Tell me something? Are you telling me that you only came because you don’t want me to…make out with a guy? Get drunk with my friend? Dance and have fun—with a girlora boy? Do things that anyone my age has done? I’m just starting to live! And who said anything about love?”
Something I said had made him tense, like I had hit him with all I had. “You did.”
Each step I took toward him caused me to wobble in my oxford heels. He refused to back down and I surged ahead with something to prove. I looked up at him, forcing my chin to still its tremble. “Why didn’t you take the scholarship offered to you? Why are you still here, in this town? Why do you work at the refinery?”
He bent down, meeting my eyes. We were a kiss apart. His lips drew me in, breaking our more fierce connection. I could smell sucker on his breath—chocolate. “No one here deserves you. You’re too good for this town, for everyone in it. You won’t make a mistake.”
I searched his lips, giving myself a moment to catch up. The conversation was happening, but in two separate parts—his and mine. “Not for you,” I whispered, watching his lips, licking mine. “I’m not too good for you.”
“Especially me,” his answer came fast and hot. “I made a mistake, barging in on your life. I should have stayed put. Kept my distance. I should have had Mitch or Mick deal with—” He waved his hands around.
“A mistake?” I hated how my voice sounded so small, so weak, so childish, compared to his.
His hands reached for me but I rejected them, stepping away from him. The amount of alcohol consumed had crept its way into my bloodstream and then rushed me all at once. The condition I found myself in had impaired me in so many ways. I was no longer in a blissful float but a wild twirl.
I fell into his arms because I had no other choice, while the world spun out of control.
Chapter Eleven
Scarlett
Elliott had gone with me on a field trip to the planetarium once. Eunice had instigated this field trip, since most of my life was spent homeschooled by sought-out teachers from around the world.
