Secondary Colors (20 page)

Her already frosty, stiff posture becomes as frigid as an ice sculpture in a December blizzard.

“How dare
you
tell me what affects
my son
or where I should set the blame. You’re nothing more than a gold digging tart, sinking your Hathaway claws into the Channing men. You are your mother’s daughter.”

I stand with a calm poise, even though I’m vibrating with rage inside.

“We both know I want nothing to do with your money. I made that clear when you tried to pay me off. As far as your husband, if you throw your dirty laundry out for everyone to see, expect an opinion. Have a lovely evening,
Mrs. Channing
.”

I stride away without a chance of hesitation for her to give her two cents. I locate the bar and order a beer. I take a swig, wiping away spillage before it dribbles onto my borrowed dress.

“That looks good,” Aidan says, stepping up to the bar next to me. “I’ll take one, too,” he tells the bartender, pointing at the bottle in my hand. When the guy behind the bar hands it to him, he takes a big chug and moans. He leans his back against the bar.

“I’m guessing not many of these people drink bottled beer.”

He laughs.

“No.”

“Good,” I mutter then take another swallow.

“You are quite a vision, all prettied up, beer in hand. It’s perfect.” His eyes drift down. “Where are your glass slippers, Cinderella?” I glance down at my very bare feet and laugh. “I thought you were only supposed to lose one of them.”

“I forgot them at the table.”

“It works for you, really.” He laughs into his bottled beer, the wind making a whistling sound. I nudge him with my shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if I fit here.”

“You fit, Evie. You wear this life well, bare feet, beer, and all.”

“Your mother might disagree with you.” I draw on the barley water before I shove my shoeless foot into my mouth.

“My mother is here?” He scans the crowd of cardboard people, stretching his neck. “What did she say to you?”

“Oh, you know. She pretty much put me in the middle of our parents’ affair.”

God, that sounds so messed up. Then again, what isn’t messed about Aid’s and my situation?

“She didn’t.” His shoulders sink with disapproval.

“She did. And I’m sorry to say I may not have been very nice to her either. I can’t have anyone talking about my mother.”

“No. Of course not. I’m sorry she did that, Evie. She was way out of line.”

“Can you take me home? I’m not in the mood to be here anymore.”

“Yeah.” He sets his beer on the dark wood counter and searches his pockets for his keys. “What about your shoes?”

I refuse to risk another encounter with that woman.

“Leave ‘em.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more.”

Sorry Tay. I owe you a pair.

He hooks an arm around my shoulders, hugging me close to his side, and escorts me out.

“Can we stop somewhere?” he asks after a lengthy silence.

Why interrupt it with meaningless dribble?

“I’m not sure—” After the last few weeks of disappointments, I need time to meditate and register everything.

No bullshit. I want to be with Holt right now. He’s the only person that ever seems to make things better, but he’s mad at me.

“You’re the only other person who understands what I’m going through, what I’ve been going through for years. It might be good for us to talk about it.”

It would be good to talk to someone who understands, even if it’s the son of the man my mother is having an affair with, the unknowing father of my child, and the only man I’ve ever given my heart and body to—Well, the last one is partially true.

I nod my head, and he pulls onto the old road and up to the old bridge. It’s this red rickety covered bridge barely wide enough to accommodate two cars going both ways. It sits over the eerily black river, calmly passing under its cover.

We park on the grassy shoulder of the road, near the bridge entrance, and climb out. Taking a seat at the opening in the middle, our legs hang over the edge. We look onto the river, with forest-lined grassy banks. Even with its calm currents, the river silences the world around you. That’s why it’s a perfect place to reflect.

If you want to forget everything, drown your thoughts, the untamed river gets louder further from town, closer to my house, with towering boulders and trees and moss blanketing everything. It’s breathtaking. The kind of beauty most people only ever experience in nature magazines, a beauty that could never be captured on film. It’s the kind of place you have to see in person to truly appreciate it.

We quietly watch the water move under us, taking assurance in its steady repetitiveness.

“Evie,” he says after such a long stretch of silence, I almost forgot he was beside me. “I’m sorry about the last time we spoke.”

“It’s alright, Aid. The truth might suck, but it’s better than ignorance any day of the week.”

I’m a hypocrite.

“Maybe so, but I didn’t want to tell you like that. I wanted the situation to be right.”

“Aidan, there are no right situations to break shitty news. Even if there was, it just ruins a perfectly good time.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it.”

A big, fat, lying hypocrite.

Why can’t I take my own advice?

Why can’t I say, Aidan, I’m the mother of your child. She’s beautiful and perfect and the best thing we’ve ever done.

But I don’t say any of that.

“How do you stand to be around your father after discovering he cheated on your mom?”

“I didn’t, remember?”

“Oh,” I let out a lazy chuckle, “yeah.”

“You’re stronger than me, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I didn’t see it firsthand. It has to be ten times harder actually walking in on the situation. I can at least block out visuals.”

“Yeah,” he shutters, “you’re lucky there.”

We glance at each other from the corners of our eyes and chuckle.

“It must’ve been hard hiding this secret all these years.”

I guess we’ve both been keeping things from each other.

“Not being able to talk about it made it that much worse. But the one person I should’ve told, you, I couldn’t. Deep down, a part of me stayed away from here because of you, too. I couldn’t bear to hurt you more than I already had. I’d done that enough.”

Knife in the gut.

“You did.”

“I can’t apologize enough for that.”

“There’s no need, Aid. I got over it years ago.”
I still haven’t gotten over it.
“We were dumb kids who got together at the wrong time in our lives.”

“And now?”

“And now we have to figure out where we fit.”

He takes my hand and stares down at it, his thumb running over the knuckles.

“I really do care about you, Evie.”

“I care for you, too, Aid,” I admit, watching our touching hands.

When we look up again, his eyes are reflecting something I haven’t seen since our night together. He leans in to kiss me, and without thinking, I lean toward him. Our lips barely graze when I halt him with a hand on his chest. “Wait,” I stutter, my face dropping. “I can’t.”

“Is it because of our parents?”

A million and one reasons keep me from him, each worse than the last.

“It wouldn’t be fair if I did.”

“Um, you’re going to have to explain how it would be unfair if I kissed the girl I’ve been in love with since we were kids.”

“That’s kind of another reason why I can’t.” I scoot over a foot, putting space between us. “It wouldn’t be fair if I kissed you knowing fully well how you felt.”

He shakes his head. “Evie, you aren’t making any sense. Are you sick?”

“Yes,” I answer with a groan of anxiety, “to my stomach.”

“Would you like me to take you home?”

Home.

Holt.

There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than home with Holt. Unfortunately, no matter how much I want it, it doesn’t matter because he isn’t speaking to me anyway.

I hurt him.

If I want to fix things between us, I’ll have to hurt Aidan, too. But I don’t want to hurt him more than I have to. Why pour salt on a wound by telling him there’s someone else? At least this way, he won’t be emasculated by the choice of another man.

“I have to tell you this first.” I clamp my eyes shut and take a deep breath before I blurt out, “I—I don’t think of you that way, Aidan. I’ve enjoyed these past weeks with you, but I don’t have the same feelings for you I once had.” I open my eyes, expecting a heartbreaking expression on his face, but he’s staring off with a muted look. “I’m sorry.”

He refuses to acknowledge me. I see him fighting the urge. He trains his focus on the river rushing below our feet instead. I wait him out, hoping he’ll say something, anything.

“I’d better get you home,” he says, stands, and starts toward his SUV before I protest. But why would I? The night is officially over.

softening of sharp edges between colors, fusing until no division is apparent

When Aid drops me off, he doesn’t get out of the vehicle to escort me to the porch like usual. I honestly didn’t expect him to either. Every light in the house is on, emanating a golden, hospitable glow. I haphazardly drop my purse in the entryway, shuffling back to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Listening to the motionless house, I slump against the sink with the glass frozen in my hand, my eyes glazed over in reflection. Holt walks through the swinging door, stirring the silence. Our eyes lock, his face stone-cold. After an uneasy thirty seconds (I counted), he finally moves to the fridge and takes out a pitcher of whatever the hell he came in here for. I turn away from him. I’d die if he saw the hurt splashed in bright red and pink shades across my face. It would give him a reason to gloat.

He sets the pitcher on the counter with a thud and reaches for a cup from the open cabinet. He sets that down with force as well. Luckily, they’re both plastic. Otherwise, they would’ve shattered in his hand from the contact. He pours himself a glass of ice tea, refusing to acknowledge me past the awkward eye-contact when he entered.

He doesn’t leave once he’s gotten his drink. He stands at the counter, silent, avoiding me, drawing out my misery.

“Have a good time with your boyfriend?” he grumbles with a snicker at the end.

“You have your drink,” my voice quakes angrily, “so leave already.”

“Turn around.”

I don’t.

He clinches my shoulder and makes me, noticing the tears glinting in the corners of my eyes.

“Did he try something with you?” he asks, his mood swinging from anger to concern.

“No,” I murmur, my face sinking when the slippery suckers fall from my eyes. I hate crying in front of people. It makes me feel weak. Not wanting him to see me like this, I try to escape, but he steps in my path, blocking me.

“Please, not now,” I plead, keeping my face from view of him.

“Evie,” he rests his hands over the sides of my face, coaxing it up with an urging touch, “did he hurt you?”

He runs his thumbs over the wet trails of tears streaming down my cheeks, examining them with a knitted brow.

I shake my head. “The opposite.”

“What happened?”

“I need time alone, to think and get out of this damn dress.”

He presses his forehead into mine, rubbing the pad of his callous thumb over my cheekbone. His face sinks into my hair when I turn mine away, trying to find my center. Our hands clasp as I walk away, the last pieces of us to retain a connection.

“Come to me tonight,” he says.

I agree with a nod before our fingers unlock.

Once I’ve undressed and taken an hour for myself, I trek up to the attic. I don’t knock. When I make it to the top step, I don’t notice him on first glance.

“Hey,” he says from behind me. I spin around and spot him lounging on the couch of his living room, a book in his hands. Max rests on the floor beneath him.

He studies me.

I study him.

“It wasn’t what you thought,” I blurt.

Good job. You sound like an idiot.

He has an identical expression to the one he gave me the night I got drunk and danced around the attic like a mad woman. I would, too.

“I wanted you to know. What I last said to you about hurting Aidan, it didn’t come out the way I meant. What I wanted to say was, it wasn’t fair of me to carry on a relationship with him when I want you.” He rises and steps toward me, his mouth open and ready to speak. I hold my hand up to his lips. I need to finish. “That’s why, when he leaned in to kiss me tonight, I stopped him.”

He grips my wrist and removes my fingers from his lips slowly. His eyes focus on me firmly.

“You want me?”

“Is that all you got from that?”

“It’s the only thing that matters.”

His lips move toward mine.

“Wait.” They stop. “We need to talk before this goes any further. However far that may be.”

He brings my palm to his lips and kisses the center.

“Where would you like to start?”

“You knew I was with him tonight. How? Were you spying on me?”

“Give me credit,” he says, offended. “Who else would you get dolled up for?”

“I could’ve been with Tay.”

“The only time you wear dresses is when you see him. The rest of the time you’re in jeans and an old T-shirt. Plus, I might’ve seen you get into his car earlier tonight.”

“Making notes of my habits, Holt? Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“I’m observant.”

“What about you and Kayla?”

“There is no Kayla and I. Never has, never will.”

“You asked her out the night of my date with Aidan, you invited her to our house, to spite me.”

“I never asked Makayla out.” He pauses. “Our house?”

“It’s a general ‘our’. And that’s not the point.”

“She asked me after you came home, on one of my trips to the hardware store. She was building toward it for weeks. Since her dad owns the only supply store in town, I couldn’t piss her off. I’d have to drive to Hanover every time I needed a nail. I guess I’ll have to now. It doesn’t matter, though.”

“Did anything—ensue between the two of you?”

“Ensue?”

“Did you sleep with her in the woods that night? I mean…Not that it’s any of my business. And every guy wants her, so it’s understandable. She’s beautiful,” I ramble because I’m terrified to hear the answer.

“Yes, she is beautiful.”
Ouch. Hurt.
“But I didn’t have sex with her.” He pauses, watching the tension drain from my face. “Want to know why I didn’t?”

Who cares why. I’m relieved. But I say yes anyway.

“Because,” he steps into me, “she isn’t
you
.”

My eyes level with it, I stare at his mouth, his strong, pink, kissable mouth. “What’s happening between us?”

“Attraction, lust, a basic human need for sex and connection.”

“Not what’s happening
chemically
.”

“You’re leaving at the end of summer. I never stay any place very long. You want me. I want you. Let’s get naked and see what arises.”

I laugh, one of those laughs that’s silent at first and then the sound comes bursting out. I slap him on the arm for his crassness, but I can’t stop cackling.

“I like making you laugh,” he admits, brushing runaways from the loose knot of hair atop my head away from my face. “Your eyes smile, and your nose crinkles.”

I’m not laughing anymore.

“Holt.” My eyes focus on his mouth again, his pouty, pink mouth. I’m transfixed by his observation. He doesn’t merely look at me. He sees me, every line, every imperfection, every secret I keep.

“Evie,” he breathes, as if my name were oxygen. He steps into me until no space remains between us, his arms at his sides. His lips tease mine, rubbing them up and down, side to side, never letting them settle.

“Take me to your bed,” I breathe into his slightly open mouth. I nibble on his bottom lip. “Please.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he pants and then kisses me, moving us over to the bed. His hands hover protectively around my back without actually touching it. Our mouths take each other in, deepening and becoming more eager. My hands disappear under his shirt and remove it, our lips parting for the briefest second before discovering each other again. We tumble onto the bed, the solid weight of his body over mine, his arms holding me. My hands find his lower back, moving from the bow to the gnarled broadness of his shoulders.

The last time I touched the puckered skin, he retracted from me. This time, he whimpers into my mouth, grabbing hold of me with rib aching strain. I reach a hand down between us, ready to release him from the confines of his jeans.

He stops me.

“Are you sure you want this, Evie? If we do this,” he says, running his fingers down the side of my breast, barely covered by my thin white nightgown, “it’ll be different between us. Sex blurs lines.”

He’s right. But the only lines I care about blurring are the lines of our bodies.

“Whatever the morning brings,” I whisper, lost in my lust, “I want tonight.”

He unbuttons his jeans, and my hands dive under the waistband and clasp the firm cheeks contracting under my palms. I urge him into me, moving against his increasing erection. He moans, “Violet,” into my hair as his head falls next to mine.

His fingers draw on my nipple rising under the lightweight cotton of my nightie.

I shed his pants the rest of the way, using my feet when they rumple around his calves. His hands skim along the suppleness of my thighs, the feminine width of my hips, and tapering of my waist, bunching my thin nightie up and over my head.

He reaches to the nightstand next to the bed, producing a condom wrapped in a colorful packet from the drawer. A euphoric high courses through my blood as reality sets in. This is really happening. Staring into my unblinking eyes, he sheaths himself in the ribbed rubber casing with swift dexterity. This is obviously isn’t his first rodeo. I wonder if he’ll spot my inexperience.

My concerns wash away when his lips melt over my skin, hot from the increased blood flow of my heart wildly thrashing under my tender breasts, cradled in his labor-worn touch. The mushroomed head of his penis dances near my entrance. The weight and width of his hips spreading my thighs like butter on toast. The warmth of his hard stomach against mine, lightly streaked with faint reminders of my pregnancy.

I rest my hands to the low of his back where it meets the mound of his supple backside, my palms pressing him into me. His hand slides into my hair, the heel of his palm against my temple, and his lips caress the other side of my face, my cheek, my jawline, my ear, and my neck. He rears his hips back and grasps himself in his hand, aiming to fill the void between my thighs.

“Ready?” he breathes into my ear through trembling lips.

I nod my consent against his stubbled cheek, my nails sinking into his back as he disappears within me in a steady surge of his hips, and I disappear within him.