Asshole! Jerk! Coward!
This is the second time in a row I’m leaving Archie with curse words in my head. The nerve of the guy! I know we had a moment. I know he likes me. Is he scared to act on it because of my brothers?
Dang cockblockers. Little Hope is too small for all the Benson siblings.
But maybe it was a good thing since you don’t need the complications of a relationship? Especially with one of your brother’s friends, my inner voice suggests helpfully, but I shut it down. For a man like Stephan, I could make an exemption. Not Archie. Stephan. ‘Complications’ next to his name don’t look so scary.
I pull into the driveway of the tiny house I’m renting. I’ve been living here for two years now, and every neighbor knows what time I go pee in the morning. So, it takes me by surprise to find a note stuck to my door. Every neighbor has my phone number, so why didn’t they just shoot me a message?
I take the note and open it.
Hey, hun. It’s Mrs. Roberts from 22 Pine St. Your boyfriend came around, asking for you. He said he has a surprise for you and will be back. I thought I’d let you know so you can get dressed all fancy like young people do. Xo xo!
Oh, Mrs. Roberts. Good intentions never pave the road to heaven. I know it’s not the saying, but it sure represents me better.
I nervously look around, scared ‘the boyfriend’ will jump out at me from the dark. Finding no one, I quickly unlock the door and rush inside. Once I’m in, I lock both locks and run around the house, checking the back door and all the windows. Feeling a little safer, I get in the shower and blast the hot water, washing the dirty feeling off my suddenly cold body.
I have a feeling that ‘the boyfriend’ and the sender of the messages are the same person, and it terrifies me. Now I’m not just paranoid; my fear came true—they know where I live. The security system sounds like a real necessity now, and not a vague idea in the back of my mind.
I’m contemplating texting, but I don’t have a choice, so I pull out my phone, find his number, and shoot him a message.
Is he still in prison?
The reply is instant. I’ll never know how he can reply so fast when he has so much stuff to do.
Yes. Why?
Nothing. Just making sure.
A couple of minutes later another message comes through.
Just double-checked. He is still locked up. Let me know if you have any problems.
Thanks. Will do.
Will not. I want to be as far away from that world as possible.
I force myself to push my worries away, quickly wash myself, and get into bed, considering I have to be up in three hours. Young or not, the lack of sleep will surely show on my face tomorrow, and I want to look at my best.
The next morning my shoulder aches, my eyes are red, and my whole body feels like it’s been hit by a truck. Not my best day, for sure.
I take two aspirins and get myself ready for the wedding. Today, I put extra care into my make-up and lingerie. Even though no one will see my undies, beautiful stuff always makes me feel better, so my dresser is stuffed with lace and leather. I truly believe confidence comes from within. And from under your clothes, so to speak.
I arrive at the Dancing Pony at ten, one hour before the ceremony. I wasn’t asked to do anything special, so I wasn’t needed early, but still, if you’re not early—you’re late.
Mom meets me at the door, hands covering her mouth.
“Honey, you look so beautiful!” She touches my hair and looks at me in wonder. “Did you curl it?”
“I didn’t.” I pull the curl back. I totally did. Just for myself, alright? That and the lingerie act as a double weapon.
“Anyway, it looks beautiful.” She kisses my cheek and flies away to oversee some tasks in need of micromanaging.
“She’s right, you do,” comes a low voice from behind me, and I turn around, nearly giving myself whiplash as my eyes find Archie standing two feet away. He’s smoking hot in his black suit, crisp white shirt, and red tie that Freya picked for the groomsmen.
His hair is pulled back away from his face, but a few wayward strands keep falling over his forehead. He’s clean-shaven, and a dark tattoo plays peekaboo from behind his collar, making him ten times more handsome—a nearly impossible feat, considering he’s already a hundred on a ten-point scale.
He owns this bad-boy vibe, barely restrained by social stigmas, with enough class to shame any of the royals. His dark eyes hide a mystery that I instantly need to solve.
And I’m not the only one who wants that, judging by the thirsty looks the women present send his way.
I’ve never liked a guy enough to be in a relationship with him. I’ve had casual partners, but no actual relationship where we go to dinners and meet each other’s friends because I never craved it, so I don’t know what exactly it entails. But what I didn’t think it entailed is the wave of jealous rage burning my chest when I see all those looks. Does it mean I like him so much that I want to be in a relationship with him? In what capacity?
In any, my subconsciousness suggests sardonically, and I nearly roll my eyes at myself.
I’m a levelheaded person, and I deal with unwanted emotions with grace. I repeat the mantra so I won’t forget it.
“How’s your shoulder?” he asks while rolling back on his heels. One might say he looks a little uncomfortable.
“It’s fine.” I shrug to prove my point.
“Leila,” he sighs tiredly.
“It’s fine, Archie. Hurts a little, but it’s just a bruise.” I sigh in return, giving up on pretending. “I took some meds. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, good” is all he says, and I expect him to walk away, but he stays, watching me.
“Oh, damn it,” Kenneth’s voice booms through the room when he enters from another door. “My head is pounding.” His eyes are bloodshot and barely open.
“I picked you up and went to bed later than you, so why do you look like shit?” I ask humorously.
“It’s the age, sis. It will get you too,” he replies with a laugh and comes to stand next to us. “Are you okay?” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into him. I fall into his familiar, safe hug.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I muffle.
“You didn’t get hurt, did you?” he asks quieter, but Alex hears it—from the other side of the room—and his head turns so fast, I’m sure he gave himself whiplash.
“What are you talking about?” his loud voice booms throughout the room, drawing everyone’s attention to us. A few curious heads move between Ken and Alex, but Alex doesn’t notice them as he barrels toward us like an icebreaker through Antarctica. I’m almost positive he would have knocked down that little old lady over there if she hadn’t stepped to the side. He stops in front of me, crosses his arms over his chest, and levels me with a heavy stare. “What is he talking about, Leila?”
“Be quiet! It’s your wedding.” I punch him in the arm. “Freya will be upset that you’re scaring guests.”
That seems to do the trick—always does—and he quiets instantly. “This talk is not done.” He points at me and starts backing away. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Sure!” I reply enthusiastically, and he pouts like a little baby while walking backward.
We all want to warn him that there’s a little accent table right behind him that he’s about to back into, but we don’t get a chance. He makes contact with it the second he turns around, knocking the beautiful vintage piece to the floor.
I groan. Kenneth groans. Everyone around groans. Only Archie looks confused and amused, not understanding what’s happening.
“On it!” Out of nowhere, Justin rushes over to us with a broom. He quickly starts wiping up the broken pieces of glass while talking to Alex in a baby voice, “That’s alright, Boo Bear.”
I feel Kenneth’s chest shake under my cheek as he laughs silently.
Alex gives him an unamused look, but Justin just keeps going. As usual. Gotta love the guy. If you don’t take him with a grain of humor, you’ll want to murder the dude after five minutes of meeting him. “Freya told me to take care of you today, and I’ll do just that, Boo Bear.” He places a gentle hand on Alex’s chest and bats his eyelashes at him. “Taking care of you.”
Alex’s cheeks turn bright red, one second away from murdering Justin. And I don’t think anyone will stop him if he tries.
I glance at Archie, who’s watching everything with a slight tilt of his head, a look of pure wonder on his face as if he had just stepped into some alternate reality.
A minute later, Aiden is there with a plastic bag to help Justin clean up. But Justin keeps going. “It’s gonna get better, Boo Bear. You just wait.”
His voice hitches, and I think he can barely refrain from laughing. Kenneth lets out a loud snort, bringing his fist to his mouth, trying to cover it with a cough.
Aiden jogs away with the bag in his hands, super-duper red cheeks, lips pressed tight, and suspiciously shaking shoulders. Justin follows him, coughing into his fist on the way. Everyone around us starts going about their business, getting the ceremony ready.
“What did I just see?” Archie blinks and looks around.
“Ah, this is nothing.” Kenneth dismissively waves his hand. “Alex tends to break lamps anywhere he goes, and we told Emma to get rid of them before he did. She didn’t listen.” He shrugs. “Her fault.”
“Breaks lamps?” Archie asks, not getting it.
“Yes,” I explain. “He really doesn’t have a good record with them.”
“I’m fine with lamps!” Alex exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.
“Really?” I narrow my eyes at him. “How many did you break in the last year?”
His lips purse, and two red blotches color his cheeks.
“What about in the last three years?”
His lips turn white from how hard he’s pressing them together.
“We need to open a lamp store here in Little Hope—Alex will make sure they’ll never run out of business,” I add with a laugh.
He doesn’t find it amusing, pointedly scratching his chin with his middle finger. But his eyes are smiling. He likes the teasing. He likes to be included. Oh, my big brother. I’m sorry for the damage our father did to you. I try to say I’m sorry with my eyes, and he must see something because his own soften, and the corner of his lips quirk in a half-smile. Then his eyes shift to something behind us, and he rushes forward with a loud, “Hey! I hope you are not trying to get my fiancé to change her mind!”
We all look behind him and find Kayla sneaking around the room, a guilty look on her face.
“No-o-o! Don’t you worry!” She nervously looks around. “Freya sent me to ask what the noise was about?”
“Alex broke the lamp,” Mom offers helpfully, and Kayla’s face brightens.
“Gotcha. We’re almost ready. Can you come here for a second?” she asks my mom, who likes to feel useful, and gladly follows Kayla.
“She’s happy,” Kenneth says in an equally happy voice, and I don’t even know who he’s talking about. Everyone here seems to be genuinely happy. That’s what happens when two really good people decide to tie the knot.
“Yeah,” I say and glance to the side, feeling someone’s eyes on me. To my surprise, I find Archie watching me with heavy intensity. His lips are tight, his eyes dark. I expect him to look away when I catch him staring, but he doesn’t. If anything, his stare intensifies.
“Archie!” someone calls to him, and he shifts his attention to one of the townspeople organizing the wedding. “We need you here.”
He gives me one of his flirty smiles and says as he leaves, “Duty calls.”
I watch him until he disappears.
“Leila,” Kenneth sighs next to me, “you’re one of the smartest people I know and the most observant. You know he’s got fucking’ baggage. Make sure that’s what you want before you go there.”
“Why? Because I should be scared of it?” I’m surprised to hear it from Kenneth. Alex would totally say something like that because he sees only black and white with no spectrum in between, but not him.
Kenneth is levelheaded and careful about the things he says. He is a rule follower with a good-boy complex, even if sometimes it doesn’t seem that way, and he would never degrade someone just because they have baggage. I’m really surprised at his prejudice.
“No.” He shakes his head. “That man has nothing left to lose. Do you understand me?”
I meet his intense eyes and begin to comprehend that it’s not prejudice he’s showing, but care.
“Nothing,” he continues. “And he’s looking at you as if you might be his lifeline. But if he loses you, that would be the last thing he loses. Do you understand me?”
I slowly nod my head, not quite believing what he’s saying. But also, it makes sense. It also makes me feel a little better that he cares about Archie too.
“It’s a lot of responsibility,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “I want to give you advice, but I won’t.”
I feel lost. “But what if I want your advice?” I whisper.
“You don’t.” He shakes his head with a warm smile. “You’re wired differently, sis. You’re the one who gives advice, not the other way around, my little big sister.”
My eyes swell, and I blink away the tears. “That sounds awfully like you accept me as an adult.” I tilt my head back to look at his face.
“Fuck no,” he snorts. “You’ll always be my baby sister. Don’t push too far.”
Everyone is shedding tears at the ceremony. Well, my mom is a waterfall, and the rest of us all have misty eyes. For different reasons though. Every single soul here has a different reason to cry. Some are happy tears, and some are not so much. Mostly happy, though.
I’m for once happy for my brother. When he went full hermit in that cabin deep in the woods, I tried visiting him, but he never let me inside, so eventually, I stopped trying. Not because I gave up on him, but because I believed he needed to come home on his own terms. I didn’t see it happening without a woman pushing him. It’s sad but true. I didn’t think he’d find a reason to on his own until he wanted to do it for someone else.
Enter Freya, a force of nature that shifted this town with her sudden appearance. The first time they came to dinner together at our parents’ house, I knew she would stay, and he would be different. Some people just click together; it’s like they are lost pieces of the same puzzle that come together once they’re on the same board. I saw those pieces and got a little jealous.
I knew it wasn’t in the cards for me—Ken is right; I’m wired differently. I’ve never connected to a man or a woman. Some might say I’m just young and all that is in the future for me. But it’s not. I see too much. More than I care to, and the moment my partner’s attention shifts somewhere else, I’ll know. Even in a moment of weakness, I’ll know, and I won’t be able to live with that, so I’ll leave. Damn my observance Ken praises so much.
My father had this moment of weakness and strayed from my mom, and that’s how Alex came to our family. His mom was my father’s lover, and when she died when Alex was just a teenager, he came to live with us. I love my father, but I can’t forgive him for doing that to mom. I’m very grateful to have Alex from that affair, and I can’t imagine our lives without him, but he did that to mom. I’m very sensitive about the matter. So yeah, daddy issues here, just of a different kind.
I don’t know if someone made specifically for me exists out there. What I need is a little toxic. I want my partner to be one hundred percent devoted to me. To breathe for me. To breathe with me. And I’m ready to do the same for him. Who would agree to that? It’s pretty much like losing a part of yourself. I know it’s what I want, and this is what I can offer, but people don’t like restraints. It’s natural and normal, which is why I know it’s a bit toxic. And that’s okay too.
And that’s also why eventually, I’ll get myself a dozen cats to surround myself with unconditional love. Wait a minute, cats won’t work here. They don’t do devotions. I’ll get dogs; they know a thing or two about loyalty. Yes, dogs. The plan is now set in motion.
Vows are made, and kisses are shared. Now it’s time for dancing and drinking. I don’t drink much because I personally don’t like the taste of alcohol, but I take a glass of champagne in spirit.
“Hey.”
I turn toward the male voice to my right—a handsome guy in his late twenties with a flirty smile and super white teeth shoots me a shy wave.
“Hey,” I reply with a polite smile.
“Are you on the bride’s or groom’s side?”
“Both.” Then I ask, just to be polite, “You?”
“Bride’s.” Then he rakes his hair with his hand and adds, “I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I just checked into her PTSD center, so I’m not sure.” He chuckles nervously and looks around. “Shit, I’m out of practice. Probably not the best way to start a conversation?” He rubs the back of his head, looking completely lost.
“Yeah,” I let out a surprised laugh. “Probably not the best.”
“Do you want, I dunno,” he shrugs his broad shoulders, “to ask me something?”
“About what?” I quirk a brow.
“About PTSD and all that. I mean to ask why I’m there and all that.” His eyes dart around the room.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“Not particularly, no,” he cackles.
“Then don’t. Freya is good with people. You’re in the right place.” Then I shift my attention to the dance floor. But not before I notice the surprised look on his face.
“Do you wanna dance?” he asks shyly after a few minutes of silence. It takes me a minute to gather the courage, and I don’t want to discourage this small step.
“Sure,” I say.
I accept his outstretched hand, and he leads me to the dance floor. There, he places his hand on my waist—very gentlemanly—and leads me in the dance. And he does it very well, may I say. His movements are sure, his feet are left and right (I have two left feet, so I’m happy he knows what to do), and his hands are never leery.
“I haven’t done it in ages,” he laughs nervously.
“Could have fooled me,” I say and stumble over my own feet, and he catches me, lifting my body a little off the floor. The situation brings us closer, I’m practically squashed into him, and he quickly places me back on the floor.
“Thank you,” I mumble, my cheeks flaming.
“Don’t worry,” he chuckles. “I’m just so irresistible that you can’t take your eyes off me.”
I look up at him, and he winks. The air around us is lighter. People with a sense of humor can make another person feel like a king, when in reality they feel like a fraud. And that’s what I am right now, a fraud. Among my own family and friends today, I feel like an imposter, unable to be completely happy. What’s wrong with me?
“May I?” A low voice interrupts our dance, and we both look at the intruder.
Archie—because that’s his name now—stands next to us, his shoulders squared, his eyes narrowed and trained on my partner’s hands on my body.
“May you what?” my dance partner asks, a little attitude creeping into his voice.
“Have this dance.” Archie’s lips purse and his eyes lift to meet the guy’s.
“No, we’re dancing.” The guy’s voice gets angrier, and I can’t even blame him, considering Archie was the first one with an attitude and a pissed-off face.
But if I thought he was pissed off before, now he turns into a murderous figure, and I get a little scared for the guy. I take a step away from him, giving the most apologetic smile I can muster.
“I’m sorry, I already promised this dance to him.”
He looks between Archie and me, throws his hands in the air, and says, “I so don’t need that right now. Have at it.” With that, he walks away, leaving us alone in the middle of the crowded floor.
“What do you want?” I ask, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
“A dance.” He steps closer and places his hand on my waist and takes my hand in his other. Then he pulls me closer, not so gentlemanly as the guy before. No. Archie’s hand possessively moves from my side to my midback, and he pulls me into him by my other hand. His chin touches my forehead, and my face smacks into his chest. His lips lightly graze my skin for a brief moment—or did I fantasize about it?—before he pulls away. Just a little, but it’s enough to make me feel an instant gush of coldness.
“Why did you pull away?” I blink away the haze he put me into in exactly five seconds.
“You know why,” he murmurs into my skin, and my breath catches.
“You can’t do that.”
“Why?” he asks breathily.
“You know why.” I throw his own words at him.
“Tell me anyway,” he whispers. His chest heaves hard. His inhales are uneven. Every time my hair gets stuck in his five o’clock shadow, his mouth falls open, and he makes very deep breaths. It’s unsettling.
It’s arousing.
I can’t control my body, and my own breathing changes to match his.
“You won’t have me, but you don’t let anyone else have me either. It’s not fair.”
“It’s not,” he agrees too quickly.
“Then make a move, or let me be,” I challenge and look up at his face.
His hand tightens its hold on my back.
“I will.”
“You will what?” Please, tell me you’ll make a move.
“Let you be.” With that, he drops my hand and takes a step back.
“You’re a fuckin’ coward,” I growl, watching his nostrils flare in challenge, but he quickly puts out the fire, turns around, and walks away.
I feel like an idiot being left in the middle of a dance floor like that. I look around, and sure thing, quite a few curious looks are being thrown my way. I can already see the local rumor mill begin its work. Just great.
When I walk away from the dance floor, I find the guy from before with a sad look on his face. Awesome, now I’m the object of pitying.
I say goodbye to everyone, congratulate Alex and Freya one more time and wish them a happy honeymoon, and leave. Before I go, I catch Kenneth’s understanding stare, and I want to roll my eyes.
At home, I find a note stuck to the door. It’s not my neighbor this time. The note says just one word, and I don’t recognize the handwriting.
Hello.
I would have been scared out of my wits by this find, but I’m so numb that I can’t even comprehend the seriousness of the situation. I go about my routine of checking the windows and doors, but not as thoroughly as I should, considering the haze I’m in.
I need a break from all of this. Being invaded in my own place like this is unsettling. I don’t know who it is. Well, not for sure, anyway. I could speculate because c’mon, I’m a reporter, that’s what we we’re taught to do, but I try to be another kind of reporter. The one that uses only facts and doesn’t write clickbait.
Regardless of that, I still need to know who the fuck my stalker is. My only suspicion turned out to be false because the guy is still in prison, so I truly have no idea who’s been shadowing me.
But I’m overwhelmed with the wedding and my weird newfound feelings for a certain bad boy, so my head isn’t in the right place. I need a break, and I know just the place.
