Some Boy (What's Love? #1) (15 page)

“I’ll be fine. I’ll work something out.” His jaw clenched briefly. “I’ve got something for you, though.”

My brow dipped. “What?”

He tilted his head, and I followed him back up the stairs and into his room. There I stood awkwardly in the middle of the space, watching him and feeling tendrils of anxiety creeping over my shoulders. He reached under the bedside table and I heard the rip of tape being pulled away from laminate. He turned with something in his hand; he was looking down at it, like he was still deciding whether to show me what it was or not. All the tendons in his neck were taut. My first thought was drugs. Was it drugs after all? Was it not really his dad who had done this — or it was his dad, but they were in some family business.

I was still trying to clear my head of the barmy chatter going on in there, when he held out something tiny on his palm, and it took me a moment to comprehend what it was. I reached out and picked it up between my thumb and forefinger, feeling numb.

“Is this…”

“I could only find one.”

“You went back?” The cluster of diamonds winked at me from the setting. One of my stud earrings. Earrings I thought I’d never see again.

“Yeah.” I blinked at a rush of unexpected emotion, and a small smile played at my lips.

“You didn’t have to do that.” I said and smiled at him. His face was stony. “Why don’t you keep it? Sell it or something — I don’t want it, really.” Brendan screwed up his face and shook his head at me. “Or don’t, fine. I’ll just throw it away again,” I said, dropping the stud into my palm and closing my fist around it.
 

“You don’t get it,” he said, passing a hand over his face with an exasperated exhalation.

“Get what?”

“I didn’t go back for it for
you
.”

“Then, why…oh.” My face did a few contortions as I tried to process what he was telling me. “What, you were going to sell it?” He just gazed at me stonily still, a challenge in his eyes. “Then do it.” I held out my open palm towards his, the earring resting on it. I felt sick. “Take it. Sell it. What do I care. Why haven’t you already?”

“I don’t want it.”

“Take it,” I said, stepping towards him, jutting my hand at him.

“No.”

“Take it.” Brendan pushed my hand away, knocking it harder than he meant to and the earring flew off, bouncing on the carpet and disappearing somewhere in the pile of clothes. I felt a tear drip down my face and I dashed it away violently.

“Fuck you, Brendan Holt,” I murmured, and turned for the door. Brendan stepped in front of me and shut it before I could reach it. “What, you’re going to hold me hostage? Ransom me to my parents?” I spat, then instantly regretted it. His face creased with pain, then turned blank again. He stepped out of the way of the door and shrugged.

“Go then. I just thought you wanted to talk.”

“I did. But then you tell me you stole my earring—”

“I didn’t steal it. You threw it away.”

“It wasn’t yours to take, though.”

“Not all of us can afford to watch money go down the drain.” I glared at him, feeling my face flaming and my heart banging wildly against my ribcage. Why was I arguing this? Did I actually care that he’d planned to sell it? I shook my head, chewing on my lips, still watching him, searching for words that refused to come. I couldn’t even work out what I was feeling. My hands were in tight balls at my sides, and I raised one and hit him on the chest with it.

A frown flickered over his face, but Brendan just stepped closer. “Will that make you feel better? Hit me then. Beat the crap out of me, if you like. Finish what everyone else has started,” he said, opening his arms and waiting for it. I hit him again, but weakly, half-heartedly, feeling more hot tears welling in my eyes. They overflowed suddenly, and instead of striking him again, I threw my hands over my face and found myself bawling into them.
 

Then I felt Brendan’s arms close around me and I leaned into his chest. My whole body shook with wet sobs.

“Why are you crying?” he murmured, when my tears had subsided to quiet sniffles.

“I don’t know,” I said, then took a hitched breath. “Why did you say it?”

“Say what?”

“That you…that you…l—” I broke of, snuffling, and turned my face away from him, pulling out of his arms.

“I don’t know. It was just, you know, in the moment. It just came out. Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t mean it.” I wiped my nose indecorously with the back of my hand — I was past dignity — and looked at him through puffy eyes.

“What is this, then?”

“I…what? You want me to mean it?”

“No. I don’t know. I just want to know what this is. Are you just using me for money?”

“No!” He said it vehemently, and I saw the pain in his eyes even as his nostrils flared indignantly. He turned away and slapped hard at one of the tallboy drawers, shoving it back into place savagely. Then he rested his forearms against it and stared at the wall. Then sighed. “If I was using you for money, I would have done it already. It’s not like you’d be hard to get it from.”

I frowned and my mouth worked, but I didn’t know what to say to that. “But the earring…”

“Was just opportunity.” He shrugged and turned his back even further, picking up random things on his bedside table, inspecting them and putting them down again. Then he turned abruptly. “That’s me, okay? I take advantage of opportunity. I try not to hurt anyone in the process, but if we need the money…” He shrugged again, and glared at me, like he was angry at me for forcing him to explain himself.

I licked my dry lips then pressed them together, watching him for a moment.
 
My whole body seemed to throb with every heart beat.
 

“I don’t care about that,” I said eventually. He sneered. “I don’t.” I took a step towards him, and Brendan eyed me warily. “I just don’t want you to lie to me. Tell me next time, and I can help you. Fuck, I would have given you those earrings if you’d asked for them. If I’d known.” Brendan was shaking his head, avoiding my eye. “I mean, what kind of arrogant twat throws ten-thousand dollar earrings in a swimming pool, anyway.” He glanced at me, looked at my sheepish smile, and gave a slight snort of humour.
 

“Ten-thousand dollars?”

“Yeah, in America.”

“Shit. Lucky I didn’t sell it. I would have only asked a few hundred quid.”

“Phht. That’s chump change. My daddy wipes his arse with hundred pound notes.” Brendan shook his head at me again, but his mouth twitched at the corners.

“Why aren’t you mad? Why are you even still here? My life is a mess.”

I stepped closer to him again, till our bodies were almost touching. I swallowed and sniffed at the last of my watery tears still clinging on, and raised my hand to brush my fingers lightly over his temple, just below where the cut was in his hair. I shivered at how close it had come. Brendan watched me watching my own fingers move. I shrugged, a tiny twitch of my shoulders, and chewed the inside of my lip. “Whose isn’t?” I said, and he smiled at that. But then he caught my fingers and held my hand away from him.

“Seriously, Kat. Mess isn’t the right word. You don’t know—”

“So tell me.”

“You don’t need to get involved—”

“And what if I want to? What if I care about you?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. You don’t know. You don’t know me, you don’t know what you’re getting into. I shouldn’t have ever let you come here.”

“You didn’t, remember,” I said, trying to tug my hand out of his, but he held it too tightly. So instead I pulled his hand towards my lips and kissed it, watching his face over it. “You didn’t invite me here. You’ve done your best to ignore me, and for some daft reason I’m still hanging around.” Catching him off guard, I slipped my hand out of his, and circled my arms around his neck, closing the gap between our bodies. Our lips were close, almost touching. He didn’t put his arms around me, but he didn’t pull away either. “Maybe I should leave, but maybe I don’t want to.”

“You want to use me to freak out your parents again or something?” he murmured.

I rolled my eyes. “Leave it out. I don’t care what my parents think anymore.” I pressed my body harder into him pointedly. “This is about me. What I want. And I want you.”

I searched his eyes, though they were so close I could hardly see them clearly. Then I felt his hands rest lightly on my hips. Slowly he closed the gap between our lips and brushed them. I tightened my arms and held him there, kissing him harder. His body relaxed into mine a little more, so I could mould to him, instead of feeling like I was trying to hug a brick wall.

“I’m still taking you home, though,” he said eventually.

“Now?”

“Before the last bus.”

“Oh.”

“You just shouldn’t stay here. In case—”

“Your dad won’t come back, will he?”

Brendan shook his head. “Nah. He got what he came for.” But he was still reaching for his jacket. I followed him downstairs and found my own coat, and started pulling my boots back on.

“Sorry about our date,” he said, watching me. I laughed ruefully.

“Make it up to me later.” I pulled up the zips on my boots and stood. “Where were you going to take me anyway?”

“To rob a jewellery store.” I started, and then saw him grinning.

“Hilarious.”

“What? I got a taste for it.” I shook my head and gave a pouty smile. Then glanced back up to his room. I’d forgotten about the earring till then. Brendan followed my look.

“You want it?”

“Nah—”

“I’m not going to sell it now—“

“Why not? I don’t want it.”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t feel right.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but then shut it again and gave up. “Do what you like with it.” Brendan clenched and unclenched his jaw, then seemed to decide to let it go too. He took my hand and we went out into the street, heading towards the bus stop in silence.

“You know the fucked up thing?” I said, as we approached the shelter. Brendan drew me back against him and rested his chin on the top of my head. “If I told my dad I’d lost them, he’d just buy me a new pair. No questions.”

“Yeah, fucked up,” Brendan said flatly.

“Okay, so maybe compared to some things it’s…whatever. I just mean…I don’t know what I mean. It just seems wrong.”

We were silent for a few minutes, waiting for the bus. Brendan’s arms were wrapped firmly around my shoulders, and I rested back against him. Even after everything that had happened that night, it felt like the best place to be. Even in the freezing cold air, I could have stayed there forever.

“What is it with dads and money?” Brendan murmured eventually. “Yours throws it at you, mine takes it all. Why can’t they just…”

“Be dads?” I finished. We stood together in that mutual sympathy for a while, but as the bus approached and I reached for my purse to get my pass out, I saw the credit card there that my dad paid off every month. I saw the designer labels on my purse and handbag. And I realised, as much as we were bonding over parental frustrations, his was in a different league to mine.
 

Tonight his dad had come into the house, hit his son over the head with a glass bottle and taken all his money. What did I have to complain about?

I watched Brendan as we got on the bus, and he turned to me and smiled, drawing me close, protectively, as we slid into seats near the back. Here he was taking care of me, sympathising with me. Like I didn’t already have everything in life going for me.

My brief self-pity had turned to a taste of bile in the back of my throat, and I leant my head down on his shoulder so that he wouldn’t see my face. I didn’t want pity to show there — he didn’t want my pity.

He didn’t want my money, either. Unless this was all just a long con. I shifted uncomfortably away from that thought, and twined my fingers through his where his hand rested on my shoulder.

So what did he want? Just me?
 

And the question was in my mind again, about the words he’d said to me. Maybe he did mean it — maybe that was how he really felt. What then? And what if I felt like that too?

T
HE
MORNING
WAS
pale and grey. Heavy clouds hung like a thick blanket over the sky. But the air was crisp and fresh through the open window in front of me, where I stood staring out, not really seeing anything; I must have been stirring my coffee slowly for at least a full minute.

“Morning, Babe.” Izzy appeared, leaning on the bench beside me and grinning. I glanced at her and smiled dreamily. “Who’s the cat that got the cream, then?” she said, nudging me. I smiled wider then. My mouth seemed to stretch of it’s own accord, and I put my hand over it self-consciously.

“God, I actually just feel so happy. Is that totally selfish?”

“What are you on about?” Izzy was moving away, towards the cupboard that held the bowls, and she looked back at me over her shoulder. “Why would being happy be selfish?”

I looked down at the coffee I was still stirring, watched the caramel coloured liquid ripple around the spoon, creating a whirlpool in the centre.

“It’s just…some people don’t have it so easy.”

I released the spoon suddenly and it clattered around the edge of the cup, caught in the force of the whirling coffee, before it came to rest. I didn’t even feel like coffee — I’d made it on autopilot when I’d got up, too lost in my head. I turned and found Izzy watching me from across the kitchen.

“What’s up? I can’t tell if things went really well or really badly on your date last night.”

“Both.”

“Is Brendan here?” she asked, glancing in the direction of the hallway that led to our rooms.

“Yeah. Still sleeping.” I’d checked that he was still breathing multiple times over night, and again before I got out of bed; I was paranoid he had concussion. “Oh, God, Iz, what a night.” I planted my hands on the edge of the bench behind me, and vaulted myself up to sit on it.

“In a good way or a bad way? I still can’t tell.”

“Good for me, or both of us I guess. But kind of really fucking awful for Brendan.”