Unstable (18 page)

Nothing. The same stoic expression of calm, charismatic understanding he always tries to wear for me…unless we’re arguing of course. And even in those times, he usually sports his signature smirk, enjoying getting me riled up every bit as much as I do him.

“Did you hear me?” I raise my voice. “I snooped through my sister’s most private thoughts because I actually believe she told me I could in a fucking dream!”

“Heard ya,” he keeps the same easy smile and tone, “the first time. So quit your yelling. You know the night my dad had his heart attack? I woke up out of a dead sleep and ran to check on him.
Something
, don’t know what, told me, loud enough to wake me, that I should. Doctors say my quick action probably saved his life. So if you’re waiting on me to not understand things we can’t see or intuition, you’re gonna be waiting a while, Darlin’.”

I hide my face in my hands and shake my head. “You’re infuriating,” I mumble, muffled.

“Why, because I believe you? Shame on me.
And
, right back atcha’, woman. So, moving on. You read her diary. What’d it say? I’m assuming that’s what you really wanted to talk to me about?”

I raise my head and give him a look of exasperation, which he contradicts with a relaxed curl of his mouth.

Fine, he wants to play hardball? I’ll come out swinging for the fence.

“You and Hadley were at a party once. You beat someone up. Who was it?” My eyes narrow and harden, ready for a confrontation.

“Merrick,” he answers easily, unapologetically. “But I think you already knew the answer.”

Okay, so no confrontation…but rather honest cooperation. Was not expecting that.

“Exactly how many times did you beat up my boyfriend?”

“Hmm,” he rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I’d say less than ten, but more than five. Two times were after you were…gone,” his tone plummets, “so that wasn’t beating up your
boyfriend
. Just giving a douchebag a small dose of what he deserved. Hope you’re not looking for me to be sorry, ‘cause I’m not.”

“Jesus, Keaton! You can’t just go around wailing on people.”

“I don’t. Not
people
, anyway. Only him.” He has the audacity to seem proudly gratified with his reasoning and complete lack of remorse.

I run my hands through my hair; he sincerely wears me out. Yet part of me envies him—right or wrong, or somewhere in between—he owns his actions and makes no excuses for his decisions.

“So
that
night, the party, why’d you beat him up then?” I have to hear it—one more piece of closure to a suspicion that has long plagued me.

“Diary didn't tell you?” Ah, his first show of discomfort—he shifts in his seat.

“Nope, she didn’t see what all happened. Only caught you storming out of the woods with busted knuckles and a bloody shirt. She did tell me to ask you about it though, back when it happened.”

His eyes brew with troubled curiosity when they focus in on mine and his voice comes out heavy. “Why didn’t you?”

I hitch both shoulders, but my defeated tone defies my attempt at nonchalance. “I didn’t want to know the answer. At the time anyway. Now I do.”

“Hen.” He scoots closer, covering my knee with his large, firm hand. “Let’s not do this, baby. Enough past, let’s concentrate on moving forward.”

Baby?

I can handle the “Hen” plays—got used to those years ago. And even “Darlin’,” not an uncommon word, and seldom meant as an actual endearment around these parts. But “
baby
?”

“I’m not your baby,” I warn him that he’s crossed a huge line through gritted teeth.

“Yet.” He rubs my knee. Which reminds me…

“Why is your hand still on my knee?”

“‘Cause you haven’t made me move it.” He smiles in pure male satisfaction.

I inwardly grimace ‘cause dammit, he’s right. What the hell is wrong with me? Seriously, the person I’m apparently going to gradually lower the drawbridge for, and let even an inch inside my walls is Keaton Cash? It would have been my very last guess.

But I’ll be damned if I lower anything without at least the pretense of a fight.

“Move your hand and tell me why you beat up Merrick at that party,” I speak clipped, eliminating any room for argument.

He
doesn’t
move his hand, sadness mixing oddly with defiance in his marine blue eyes. “I don’t want to tell you. No good can come from it.”

“And I don’t want you getting all comfortable with touching me whenever you want, and yet for some reason I’ve allowed it. I know compromise hasn’t ever been our strong suit,” I lift a brow, “but there it is, so tell me.”

“Okay, but I have conditions to telling you.”

Now I roll my eyes and he laughs.

“What are they?” I ask, despite being afraid to ask. Lord only knows what will come out of his mouth next.

“I get to keep touching you.”

“Which you’re already doing.” I look pointedly at his hand. “But admitting sexual blackmail?” I tsk. “Beneath you.”

“It’s your knee, not your tit,” he chuckles again.

I scoff, as though offended…but Eatin’ Ass doesn’t miss a thing. And damn instinctual, human reaction…making it impossible for me to stop the things I need him to miss the most.

“Felt that shiver, Hen, and your skin heat up. Lemme’ know when you’re done picturing my hands on your tits, and I’ll go on.” His sure smile is as sexy and intimate as if he’d kissed me.

“W…what else?” I ask too shaky, too breathy to even attempt denying any part of what he just said.

“What I tell you will upset you. I’m not sure if you’ll cry, get angry, or both. But no matter what,” his voice drops to a dark, intense timbre that more than tells me that he won’t negotiate on this part, “you come to me with it. Your tears, your fury, whatever. No closing yourself off and no talking to Gatlin about it. And
especially
not Merrick. I don’t want you discussing anything with him if I’m not with you. Only. Me. We clear?”

I know the source of his contention at the root—he’s jealous of Gatlin and hates Merrick. But there’s something else there, something deeper when he spoke of Merrick, that I can’t pinpoint yet. I’ll definitely be circling back around to it later though, if our further discussion doesn’t enlighten me.

“Hen? We agreed?” He shakes my knee to regain my attention.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Agreed.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. Shit, I’d rather do anything in the world than hurt you. That’s why I never told you back then. And a big part of me figured you wouldn’t even believe me. But mostly, as long as you were happy, I let it lie. Same probably went for Hadley, fear of causing you any sadness. Especially since, as far as I know, she had only speculation to go on. He
knew
you’d believe her, so I’m sure he watched his ass there.” His brows fold in and his mouth turns down slightly.

I know what’s coming. Secretly, I knew back then too, but until it smacked me in the face, which it never did, I just decided to remain in peaceful denial. High school is hard enough to navigate your way through without going digging for drama and extra causes of insecurity.

Lame excuse I know, but it worked for me. Looking back now, I understand—comfortable complacency isn’t love—so I lied to Merrick when I told him I loved him.

Not gonna feel too guilty about that though…considering I’m next to positive that he betrayed me at every turn.

“Hen,” Keaton drags me out of my own head. “Lost ya again. You sure you want to do this? It was a long time ago, and you have more important things to think about now. Like me, for instance.”

Old Henley—here she comes. I scrunch up my face, and jut my chin—and Keaton grins wildly, because it’s a look he recognizes well, the one I’ve been giving him since I was eight.

Commence confrontation.

“Listen here, Mister. Every time I ask you something, you counter me with the same line—
“are you sure you want to hear this?”
Quit. I’m growing stronger every day, faster than I thought possible really. So if I ask you a question, then yes, I’m ready to hear the answer.”

“There you are.” His soft smile grows as he speaks in a silky, impressed whisper. “My favorite Henny face. So fucking proud of you.” He leans in, cupping my cheek, and…kisses my forehead!

I jolt in shock, but he simply laughs. “Oh, stop. You liked it. And get used to it, your skin, my lips. That’s just a warm up.”

“You—”

“Wear you out, I know. I’m the only man for the job, too. Born to do it, with pleasure. Now, you wanna hear why I beat pudfuck’s ass or not?”

We’ve gone off track so many times, I’d almost forgotten I asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, but remember, you bolt, I’m gonna chase ya. You hide, I’m gonna find ya. We’re in this together. You come to me to work through it. To talk, scream, or cry it out.
Me
, Hen.
I’m
here for you and I’m not going a God damn place, and
no one
is taking my place.”

“YOU WANT TO LIE
down, get comfy first?” he asks.

“
Comfy?
Have you ever used that word in your life? And no, it’s not a bedtime story, Keaton.” I can’t stop a small laugh. “I’m fine like I am.”

“You’re also a stubborn smartass,” he grunts. “I’ll break ya one of these days. Can’t wait. You’ll come seek me out and snuggle up, wrap your arms around me, and lift your face up for a kiss. Gonna be great.”

“Hey, Romeo,” I snap my fingers. “Quit watching so much Lifetime, there stud. You’re killing your whole ‘
I’m the man’
vibe.” I tuck my legs underneath me and lean against the back of the couch. “Now, party, Merrick, fight. Let’s hear it.”

He blows out a long, laden breath and forces himself to meet my eyes. “First of all, I don’t watch Lifetime. I was
trying
to be sweet. Most girls like it, not
you
of course, ‘cause that would be too easy. Then again, you’re not most girls, never have been. You’re you, and I’m not complaining.” He grins. “Anyway, I only went to that damn party to see if you were there. Saw Hadley and she told me you weren’t coming, so I walked into the woods to take a piss before I left.”

“Classy,” I tease.

“Says the girl who made me stand guard, holding up a horse blanket, when she squatted to pee in the arena parking lot? And they had a bathroom there.” He laughs.

“With a line that went all the way around the corner!” I remind him. “You know, I almost peed on myself. Trying to balance
and
make sure you weren’t peeking.”

“I’ll never tell,” he winks.

“You didn’t. I watched you like a hawk.”

“See? We weren’t always fighting.” He edges closer.

“Huh,” my surprise sounds. “I guess we weren’t. Who knew?”

“Me, Hen. I knew.” His velvety timbre starts to wrap around me, but I fight it, clearing my throat and going with habit—changing the subject.

“I’m concerned about us,” I snicker. “I think we both need to be tested for A.D.D. Do you have any idea how many times we’ve veered off subject? I’ve lost count.”

“It’s called natural conversation. I like having it with you.” The affection in his smile matches his voice, and I’d be a fool to deny its appeal. But at this rate, I’ll still be wondering about my original question at dawn.

“I’m not saying I don’t like it too,” I mutter and divert my eyes, “but I want to know, Keaton. Tell me, please.”

“Fine,” he huffs and draws a slow hand through his hair. “I was pissin’, and I saw…” he dips his head to catch my eyes, drawing them back to his, “Merrick. He was…um…doing shit that I had some questions about.”

I don’t dare interrupt lest we get sidetracked onto another story, merely nodding for him to continue.

“I yelled at him, asked him where you were. He said, ‘At home,’ then went back to what he was doing. So, I took a few steps closer and asked him if you two had broken up. Now a
smart
guy would’ve just told me yes to avoid what he had to know was coming if he said no. But not ole’ Weasel Dick. No, he thought it was a good idea to answer me with, ‘Cash, there’s enough snatch in this town to go around. Surely you can find some of your own and quit being so worried about
my
girlfriend all the damn time.’ You see where he went wrong there?”