Pretty Instinct (20 page)

“Then
why
did you stay?” I ask, tempted to laugh at the self-inflicted diarrhea part, but seeing how red his face has gotten, I think better of it.

“Because
my one
and I hadn’t found each other yet and until then, I had nothing better to do. I know it makes me sound like a coward, but honestly, I was too damn disengaged to realize I was miserable. I functioned.”

It reminds me of my mother, on a smaller scale, and I reach up to run my hand down the side of his face compassionately. “The absolute last word I would use to describe you would be emotionless.”

“That’s the last thing I am, now. It was like, why rock the boat if Katarina isn’t in the water waiting for me?”

“Arturo,” I whisper.
I love that movie. Twin, oh twin!

“Yes, exactly,” he murmurs, a pleased grin at yet another connection we’ve instantly made. “I didn’t lie. We quit saying ‘I love you’ a long time ago. I didn’t enter her body and act like things were fine just to get off. I cohabitated peacefully, same as she did. We’re here.” He sets me down easy, clutching my hips until I have my bearings. “You take a shower, I’ll take care of everything else. And hey,” he cups my cheek, his thumb grazing my bottom lip, “I’m so damn sorry about today. I had to get you back and I saw it work on TV once. I’d never hurt you.”

“I know that.”
As certain as death and taxes
. “Let’s never talk about it again.” I hold up my pinky and he promises, then I kiss where they connect. “And you don’t snore.” I give him a wink of my own and climb on board in front of him.

Jarrett had reappeared, a fog so thick around him it actually spelled out “don’t fuck with me.” Unbeknownst to any of us, until he got back, bottom lip scraping the ground, he’d taken Vanessa to the airport. She’d been gone from school and work long enough, so Jarrett paid to fly her home, and he’s
not
happy about it.

So after hugging on him awhile, I head for that shower I urgently need and when I reappear they’ve all discussed and laid the plans for tonight. Here in the thriving metropolis of Douglas, Wyoming, the venue only holds about 60 max, so Rhett and Jarrett are gonna do an “unplugged” kinda thing.

Fine by me.

Rhett still hasn’t spoken to me, even though he knows I’m ill or whatever, and that hurts. Bad. Conner loved on me, concerned, then offered up his bed as he and Bruce left to go bowling and out to eat, leaving Cannon to watch over me. I know they say let a sleeping dog lie, but I’ve never had a dog, thus my approach.

“Hey, Rhett, before you head out, can I talk to you?” I ask him.

“Sure, what’s up?” It’s stony and unfeeling, unlike our usual rapport, and I’m already prepping myself for a fight. But Conner’s gone and this has been awhile coming, so I’m down to do the thing if need be. Jarrett slinks off to the bathroom to get ready, but Cannon stays put, a hard set to his jaw and his arms crossed across his chest.

“I thought we talked everything out and agreed things were good?” I start, clinging closely to my bravery as he paces back and forth in front of me like a caged lion ready to roar. “Why are we back to angry, not speaking to me Rhett?”

“I’m not mad at you Liz, I’m mad
for
you. Have you by any chance been ignoring your father’s calls?” he questions me, brows lifted.

“Of course, I always avoid that bastard until I can’t put Conner’s requests off any longer. You know that.”

“Well, he’s calling
me
now, incessantly. I thought it was too weird, so I answered.” He comes and sits down beside me, throwing an arm around my shoulder and taking one of my hands with his other. Cannon hasn’t moved, just watching in silence. “I’m not sure if this will be too much right now, I heard you had a rough day, so I was trying to hold off. But you need to know. Wanna wait before I tell you the rest or—”

“You know when people leave you a voicemail and say ‘call me back, I have something very important to tell you!’ All they had to do was actually
tell you
, right then, but instead, they leave you hanging, all worried. That’s exactly what you’re doing right now. Just say it.”

“He’s engaged, your father.”

“So,” I grit, failing to conceal my disgust.

“So, apparently this woman has children and your dad’s running for some new office. I didn’t listen to which one, but he wants his son home to meet his new brother and sisters. They’re planning a family trip to Hawaii for two weeks and want to take Conner.”

“OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!” The windows rattle and Rhett jerks back, visibly shaken, while Cannon rushes forward, visibly in protector mode, at the same moment Jarrett runs in, confused.

Cannon has me scooped up in his lap faster than I can shove him away. “Lizzie, breathe for me,” he pleads.

“Rhett talk to me, man,” Jarrett demands, begging to be caught up.

“Go ahead,” I grimace, waving a careless hand to give Rhett the floor. “I don’t care, talk about it all you want; it’s not happening.”

How do you sell “family” if only one of your kids is there?
And how does he convince someone to marry him once they talk about their pasts? He’d literally have to tell her his wife died in bed at 43, no autopsy, his son woke up one day with a cerebral hemorrhage that left him with special needs and his daughter hates him and plots ways to convict or kill him. “I do” would not be the next words out of a sane woman’s mouth. Which means she’s as bat-shit crazy evil as he is and NOT COMING NEAR MY BROTHER!

“Lizzie, right here, my eyes, love.” Cannon turns my head for me, demanding I come out of my own head and look at him. “In for me,” he pauses, “out for you. One more, in for me,” he smiles at me, “out for you. Okay, now—”

“What was that hypnotist shit? Teach me, too, I’ve been wigging since I got the call.” Rhett rambles, running a shaky hand through his hair.

“It’s called breathing, bro. I’ll teach you later, now shut the fuck up,” Jarrett says, then turns. “Sorry, Cannon, please continue.”

“I was gonna ask Lizzie, can your father do this? Legally, per agreement, whatever. Does he even have the option?”

“He gets 24 hours every other holiday, ten weekends, and a single two week block. So yes, he can. He’s barely used any of his time and never cared before, he’s just cashing in now to sell ‘family values,’” I air quote harshly, blanching my knuckles, “in his campaign. And possibly, to show new wifey that
he
tries and
I’m
the problem. Doesn’t matter, he’s not taking Conner out of state for two weeks with some fill-in family, probably MANSON, that I don’t know. I’ll leave, take Conner, and run before I allow it.”

“Well, we can’t solve anything tonight,” Cannon concludes and exhales, strained. “You guys go do your show. Lizzie needs a night of solid, peaceful rest, and we’ll regroup in the morning. Sound good?” He looks to each of us, seeking acceptance or a better idea.

We all agree with half-hearted nods and murmured agreements and I trudge to Conner’s room while they pack up and head out. “Have a good show, boys, love you!” I call back, faking enthusiasm.

“Watch her phone, he comes up as DIE DICK. Don’t let her answer it ‘til she speaks with her attorney,” I hear Rhett whisper to Cannon. They forget I’m Conner’s sister; that comes with werewolf hearing and a keenly developed sixth sense. He could have signed it and I would’ve heard him.

Unless, of course, they’re planning top-secret on stage serenades. Then, somehow, I’m oblivious. That one still perplexes me.

Exhausted, mentally and physically, I fall face first into Conner’s bed, fully clothed, legs hanging over the end, not giving a damn. When it rains, it pours. And this whole day has been a shit storm of epic proportions. I was
supposed
to be out on my first
real
date, with Cannon, no less, right now, then doing a show with my best friends, concluding with arranging the next
one
day Satan could visit with Conner. And look where I’m at instead, as far from said plans as possible without being on another fucking planet.

***

Why do I keep waking up in Conner’s bed, having to piece together previous blocks of time and events? Wasn’t there a movie like this—ignorant chick was being drugged, losing blocks of time, and it took her the whole flick to catch on? I remember thinking
what a dumbass
, yet look at me now.

Light cuts through the darkened room and I wince from the sudden intrusion, shielding my eyes with one hand.

“You need anything, babe?” It’s Cannon, his voice hushed and kind, checking on me.

“What time is it? Where’s Conner?” I start to rise, pushing back the covers, but he hurries to me and stops my progress with a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Everyone’s still out, you only slept about an hour. Just relax, I can take care of anything that needs it. Lizzie,” his lips find my forehead, first a kiss, then rubbing lightly back and forth never breaking contact, “I know you don’t trust easily, but I mean this. Any time you wanna treat yourself to a well-deserved break—nap, movie, whatever—I will make Conner my number one priority. So anytime you start to panic that you turned your head, just stop and trust. I picked up where you left off.”

“Why?” It escapes a hopeful, but disbelieving, whisper.

The hand on my shoulder gradually slides across my collarbone, then up my neck to cup the back of my head. He inhales sharply, blowing it out warm on my skin, before his own forehead replaces his lips against mine. “I don’t believe in magic or luck or fate. I know what you’re thinking, but I only give astrology some thought because, well, God made the stars. And I do believe in destiny, because that’s just a fancy word for what was planned anyway. But above all, I believe in instinct, the personal GPS you were born with. To me, instinct is the only tool you have when others try to mess up the ultimate plan already laid out for you. Don’t let them pull you off track, just follow your GPS. And Lizzie,” he cradles my cheek and tilts my head up, “all my instincts tell me to covet and cherish you fiercely, with each breath, and work harder to make you mine. Each and every time you try and push me away, to put that guard of yours back up, I need to hold on tighter, chase faster. Until my arms are the ones you want to run
into
.”

Despite my struggle, my eyelids flutter, my mouth goes dry, and my pulse accelerates to dangerous speeds; he’s more than lyrical...he’s intoxicating. I stay silent, for no response I would utter could do justice for all the things he makes me feel, the most prominent of which is safe.

“Say something,” he whispers on my lips, where his own now tease softly.

“So you don’t really believe in sirens?”

His gentle laugh is contagious, and I join him, but more so because of all I could have said...that’s what popped out...
and I actually write lyrics
.

“I do now.”

***

I’m lying in Cannon’s arms, my head on his shoulder as he strokes my back rhythmically, when Conner bursts through the bedroom door.

“Oh no, Cannon likes my bed too?” He frumps, stomping his foot.

I sit up while Cannon pauses our show, both us battling snickers. “No, Bubs, we’re just watching a movie while we waited for you to get back. You wanna finish it with us?” I pat the bed beside me.

“No.” But he sits down beside us anyway. “Bethy, is Cannon your husband?”

I snort with laughter; my brother and the things that come out of his mouth; the purest joy in my life. “No, Conner, he’s my good friend and he’s watching a movie with me.”

“That’s good. Because girls aren’t supposed to be in bed with boys that’s not their husbands. Mom said.”

Warm blood in my veins stops, turning icy cold, racking my body with an eerie shiver. Cannon immediately senses my apprehension, twisting to make the conversation a circle and curling an arm low, subtly behind my waist.

“What do you mean, Con? When did Mom say that?”

He’s probably just taking words of advice she’d given, probably something along the lines of “no sex before you’re married,” and repeating them in “his” version...but the little voice in my head coerces me to dig deeper.

“I don’t know.” He pops his shoulders and suddenly jumps up to go investigate his fish tank.

“Do you have your phone in here?” I whisper in Cannon’s ear. “Record this without distracting him.”

I’m running purely on
instinct
right now. I wait for him to dig the phone out of his pocket and wink at me that he’s ready, then I try again with my brother.

“Conner, can you come sit down and talk to me, please?”

He sighs over-dramatically and drops back down on the mattress.

“Bubs, when did Mom tell you about husbands and beds?”

“She didn’t tell
me,
Bethy, she told dad’s friend. ‘That’s my husband and my bed, you tramp! At least have the decency to keep it out of my home!’ She was mad.”

Years—nothing—then out of nowhere, and on today of all days, he’d just literally mimicked an exact memory, quoting the words of my mother; he even changed his voice to imitate her. I’m vibrating with anger at watching almost firsthand what went on in that house, but more with anticipation, hoping greatly that the recollections continue, and lead me to conclusions I’ve suspected all along. “What happened next, Bub?” I peep, scared but longing for more of the story.

“And then I tried to hug Mom because she was crying. Dad was screaming at her. He made—” he stops, fists clenching as his face reddens. “Dad was making Mom cry. He was being mean to her.”

Cannon scoots flush against me, his fingertips digging into my hip reassuring me.

“You’re doing great, Conner. I love your awesome memory. You’re so smart,” I encourage him and take a deep, bracing breath. “What else happened?”

“I told him to leave Mom alone. I wanted to hug her, Bethy. Dad only had on his underwear.” He laughs. “Mom said she wanted a divorce.”

My eyes dart to Cannon’s lap, making sure his phone is recording all this. Finally, some information, some clue what the hell I missed, the pivotal push to my family’s demise. I could cry, but just as easily jump for joy, which seems deranged at first, but no...the not knowing has been the hardest part.