Brisé (3 page)

“She’s in love. She thinks it is the forever kind, but she doesn’t see the big picture. Give her time. Let her experience life and learn her own lessons.”

“No disrespect, but it
is
the forever kind. Don’t misjudge what I am doing by letting her gain some experiences and perspective as a forever thing. It’s just for now.” I need to make my intentions clear.

“I know that, son. I meant she isn’t looking at a few years down the road. She wants instant gratification. That won’t work, and I respect you more than you know for having the best interest of my little girl at heart.”

“I always will.”

“We need to have a meeting before you leave. I know you have some time left. Just schedule an appointment with my office before you leave. Go. Enjoy your summer. She’ll get over her fit.” He smiles at me and shakes his head, mumbling under his breath, “Women.” No shit.

I hope he’s right and she gets over her anger towards me, but I know her. It isn’t her anger fueling this rift between us, it’s hurt. I would take her anger any day over her pain. I wish I could kick my own ass for hurting her. I can’t, and I know when the time comes I’ll make up for every tear she’s cried, for every ounce of pain I’ve caused her. I will give her a thousand smiles and happy memories. Sometimes doing the right thing sucks, causes unwarranted feelings and doubts. I wish I could say screw being the noble guy, but that isn’t what’s best for Phoebe, so I’ll continue to follow the plan.

Day Two of Phoebe not talking to me: Bullshit. This whole temper tantrum she’s throwing is complete and utter bullshit. I’ve stuck close to home and am constantly doing things outside so I don’t miss her. I think I have the cleanest truck in all of Georgia, but she still hasn’t ventured out to talk to me. I watch her window like a creep-ass Peeping Tom and haven’t even caught a glimpse of her. She’s ignoring my texts, phone calls, and Facebook messages . . . radio silence is what I am getting from her stubborn ass. I’m about two seconds from beating on her door and demanding she talk to me, but that plan is thwarted when a car pulls up in her driveway and a group of girls get out, then ambush her front door. I’ve seen them around school, but I don’t pay attention to other sophomores, so I don’t know their names. The noise dies when Emily sweeps them in the front door. She gives me a sheepish wave and smile when she notices me stalking her house. I lift my hand back in greeting, but my gaze never leaves her front door. I have never not known what is going on with her, who she’s hanging out with, her plans . . . being on the outs with her is driving me insane.

Fifteen minutes later when the front door flies open and Phoebe is now in the group of girls making their way down the walkway to the car, my heart speeds up. Where the hell is she going? Why is she dressed like she’s leaving for the night? I don’t see a bag in her hand, so I know she’ll be home by curfew. This shit stops here; she will be speaking with me sooner rather than later. Before she crawls in the backseat she looks over her shoulder, and her eyes collide with my penetrating stare. I see her shock, then indifference crosses her face as she climbs in and never looks back. I hear the radio turn on and the car speed off. I am livid. She just fucking dismissed me like I don’t matter. That hurts, and she did it on purpose. She isn’t that cruel person, and knowing how much pain I’ve inflicted on her, but not knowing exactly what I did, is causing a burning sensation in my chest and a raging inferno in my stomach.

I pace back and forth in my driveway, formulating a plan and trying to figure out how I am going to pull it off. When Mr. and Mrs. Wells walk out of their house hand-in-hand, I know exactly how I can execute it. I wait until their car disappears out of sight and rush back in my house and quickly shower. I throw on some basketball shorts and t-shirt. I don’t have much time to dick around because I don’t know what my window of opportunity is. I grab the spare key and hurry across our yards, slip inside, and up to her room to wait on her. I have no clue what I am going to say, but I know I won’t leave until we work this shit out. Enough is enough.

I hear her parents return, and not shortly after, Phoebe comes home. I hear her rendition of the evening as she tells her parents about the movie she saw, who she hung out with, and that she’s going to the lake with them tomorrow. What? She hates the lake. She’s always said the only place she’ll get in the water is a pool where she can see her feet. When we take the boat out we always have to pull up to the dock so she can go to the bathroom because she refuses to jump in the water like a normal person.

“Hey, Twinkle,” I say as she opens her door. I sure hope she doesn’t scream from being startled because then all my plans are going out the window, probably followed by my body if her dad catches me up here. Luckily, she just jumps and covers her mouth to muffle her shout.

“What are you doing here?” I notice she still hasn’t come all the way in the room, so I make my way around her and gently pull her in the door and shut it. She quickly yanks her hand away. I hate it. She never refused my touch before, and damn it, she can’t start now. Not when we are so close.

“I’m here for you. We need to talk.”

“So talk.” Her bitchiness is totally out of character.

“What’s your issue, Phoebe? This can’t all be about prom. I explained it to you already. I don’t know what else to say or do.” I’m desperate.

“I told you the other day; it isn’t just about prom. It’s a whole bunch of shit, and it’s become too much. I can’t compete with your life and your conquests anymore. I realize that now, so yeah, I acted like a bitch. I was hurt. I’m fine now. Promise. Just branching out.” She shrugs at me.

“Is that what tonight was? Branching out? And what conquests are you talking about?” She’s giving me whiplash here.

“Yes, tonight was about starting my high school life. Making and bonding with new friends. And Katie Daniels . . . need I say more? I saw your prom pictures. Oh, and did you know that she’s now considering transferring to the University of South Carolina because apparently her prom date “rocked her world,” and she doesn’t want to give him up?”

I’m speechless. I have no clue what she is talking about. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Doesn’t matter, Luke. I just hope you wrap it before you tap it. She isn’t exactly known for her virginal ways, but then of course you already know that.”

“It does matter, Twinkle. You matter, your feelings, your thoughts, and every part of you matters to me.”

“Maybe, but not like you matter to me. I love you. Like really love you, and you offered me a pity date, went off and fucked another girl at prom,
your senior prom.
If I mattered, if you felt half of what I feel for you, then it would have been me in your arms; it would have been me under you that night. It would have been me, and it wasn’t. It never is.” Her voice cracks, and it’s my undoing. I can’t stand to hear her doubt what she means to me.

“It’s always you, Phoebe. It’s all for you.” I pray she can hear the conviction in my voice and see the love I have for her.

“Prove it,” she dares me.

“How? I’ll do anything.”

“Kiss me. Kiss me and mean it.” Her whisper is barely audible.

I shouldn’t, I know one taste will just make me crave more, but I also don’t want her to doubt a thing I just said to her. I’m screwed either way. I want to be selfish, yet selfless at the same time. Those two actions don’t go together, and I have to make a decision. I can see her shutting down in front of me. Can I do this and walk away? Can I walk away without doing this and risk her hating me? All my carefully crafted plans are swirling around in the recesses of my mind; remember your plan, don’t rush her, don’t hurt her, let her live, and gain some insight into life, don’t stray away from what could be your lifetime . . . yet one thing is more prominent in my head. I love Phoebe Wells, and she is offering me, no pleading with me, to kiss her.

Chapter 4

Phoebe

I know asking him to kiss me is a desperate move, but I’m a desperate girl. I need to feel him. I want to know he isn’t slipping away from me. I see his internal struggle, his eyes flash hope, yet they turn to anguish in the next heartbeat. He’s tugging at his beautiful caramel colored hair that needs a haircut. The messy look works for him. I stare into the emerald abyss of his eyes, trying to see if one emotion shows more than the others, but all he’s giving me is uncertainty. I feel like a fool. I just asked my best friend, the boy I have secretly been in love with my entire life, to kiss me. That’s almost as bad as his pity offer to be my prom date. God, I’m
that
girl. Before I can move to turn away from him, he places his palm gently on my face, curving it to fit around my chin and cheek. Slowly, he inches his face towards mine. I hold my breath. Is he really going to kiss me? Does he really want to? My brain is clouded with doubt, but before I can work them out his lips are on mine. Gentle. Just a whisper, a brush of his lips he kisses me. Once. Twice. On his third taste, he traces my lips with his tongue, and I immediately go to lick off the moisture he left. Any essence of him I want on me. He takes that gesture and meets my tongue, licking, sucking; finally pushing it inside my mouth. Not a deep plunge, but a soft caress against my tongue. I have never felt anything like it. A tingle floats down my spine, and I instinctively push up on my toes, but I can’t get close enough. He wraps one arm around my waist and effortlessly lifts me up while still holding on to the side of my face. In this moment, I feel treasured. I feel like I’m part of him. It will always be Luke and Phoebe. My dreams are coming true. Then just as gently as he started, he ends the kiss, and my dreams shatter around my feet as he utters the words, “This can’t change anything, Phoebe.”

Ice-cold water to my face wouldn’t have shocked me more. How can the feeling of euphoria I just experienced become devastation in a mere five seconds? The chemotherapy that flowed through my veins from age five until age eleven didn’t burn as much as his cruel rejection just set me on fire. I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. The tears are on the verge of coming, but I won’t let him see how much he just crushed me. He’s done enough, setting me up to prove a point. Why did he have to follow through with kissing me? He could have just as easily said no. I’m over being his puppet … his friend on the side when nothing else is appealing to him. To be fair, that isn’t how it is, but it’s what I have to tell myself to get over this crush I have on him. I thought it was love, but I know love isn’t supposed to be one-sided. Lust. That’s what it is.

“Twinkle,” he starts. How fucking dare he pull out the nickname card. “Stop, and listen to me,” he commands me. I stare at him, silently giving him permission to continue his explanation. “That kiss was what I’ve been dreaming of, even before knowing what a kiss was. From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I felt something. But it’s too soon. The timing isn’t right. I’m leaving to go to college; I don’t know how I’ll handle that.” He stops talking and looks down hiding himself from me. My heart breaks for him in that moment. In all the confusion of how I’ve been feeling, and the transition this last year has brought on us, I’ve never once stopped and thought about how he was handling going to college. His insecurities and doubts have taken root in his mind, and I was too selfish to notice. Right now, it doesn’t matter how I feel or what I want. I need to be his friend, his confidante, his cheerleader . . . his Phoebe.

“Luke,” I grab his hand and squeeze. “You will be fine, I know it. Talk to me.”

He looks up at me, and the little boy who got teased for taking longer to do his reading than the rest of his class is staring back at me. He’s letting his insecurity define him, again. I want to shake him and comfort him at the same time. He works hard, overcomes so many obstacles people don’t understand: making up mnemonics to learn the steps and remember them; spending hours on one project so he can break it down and process it in the way he will retain it. He is so conflicted with wanting to succeed but being afraid to do so. The more he achieves, the harder he has to work. That’s his philosophy and his reality. I once again want to kick my own ass for my selfish behavior of late. “Hey, why didn’t you talk to me before?” I can’t believe he’s hidden this
or
that I’ve been so self-involved I didn’t bother looking behind his laughter and jokes.

“We’ve had other things going on,” he reminds me.

“Luke, there’s nothing more important than you being okay. I need you to be happy, and you need to remember no matter what, I’m always your friend.”

The raise of his eyebrows reminds me I haven’t acted that way lately. “Your happiness is more important to me than anything, Phoebe. I seem to cause you nothing but pain, and I’m killing myself trying to figure this shit out.” He’s frustrated, pulling on his hair and not making eye contact.

“None of this crap makes a difference. We need to get you ready for school, where you can kick ass and take names. You have this, Luke. And you always have me by your side.”

“Promise?” he stares at me.

“Promise.”

“That’s all I need. You’ll see. I’ll make you proud, and all this bullshit will make sense one day.”

I let part of his comment hang in the air because I am not sure what he means, and I don’t want to delve into it anymore. “I’m always proud of you. I’m your number one fan, remember?” No truer words have ever been spoken. From this point forward, I’m going to be the friend and support system he’s always been for me. No more throwing my own pity party, no more wondering what if, and why he can’t love me back. Nope. Time to move forward, and I can because I know Lucas Matthew Nichols will always be a part of my life.