Broken (26 page)

“
You have any idea how persistent you are?”

“Tot
ally.
” I bat my eyelashes. “
I could’ve warned you about that if you’d asked.”

“
Never thought I’d have to.”
He sounds so serious, but he’s smiling.

Mom passes in and out of the kitchen, never giving me a good chance to
question
Alex
again.
C
hicken stew in homemade bread bowls
soon cover the table
,
dragged out unmercifully long by
torturous
small talk between Mom and Dad about his company’s Thanksgiving party.
Alex and Dad clear the table, and Mom suggests we watch a movie while she goes upstairs to read.
Thankfully, I’m not facing her and she can’t see my
smile
.

“Planning on any certain movie?” Dad
sounds intrigued
.

“Dracula,” Alex says.

“Oh
.
” A minute shrug and polish of his glasses. “
We’ve seen that quite a few times. Y
ou two won’t mi
nd if I go back to the workshop
, then
?
”

Dad doesn’t wait for an answer, just fills his chipped mug with decaf cof
fee and heads for the basement.
For a moment, the lack of immediate parent
al
supervision feels odd. I poke a toe at the table leg. Alex tugs at the zipper of his jacket.
We meet gazes, inhale in sync, and drop gazes just as quickly.

“I don’t have the DVD anymore.
” I say, sure that he expects me, the super fan with a cat named Renfield, to have a copy.
“
Bree spilled nail polish on it.”

“No worries
.
” Alex pulls the DVD from the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
“I came prepared.”

His smile is cute, and a little annoying. He must think he’s successfully derailed me from pestering him.
“You have shin and elbow guards in there, too?”

“No.
” The querulous tone in his voice feels like a small victory. “
Should I
?”

“
Yeah.
I’m going to sic Renfield on you if you don’t break the suspense soon.”

“Who?” he asks
all sweet and
innocent, and collects the white cat circling his feet. “This kitty?”

The damn traitor cat purrs, and lifts his chin to be scratched.
I
flex
my fingers, and buff the nails of my left hand against his hoodie, which I
’m wearing because I
grabbed
it
when I ran on autopilot this morning. “I have claws too.”

“Oo,” he teases. “
You’re a big
threat with just one hand.”

“Brat.” I whip a pillow at him, dislodge the cat, and nearly knock the DVD from his grip.

“By the way
…
”
H
e skirt
s
my throwing arm and edg
es
for the TV
.
“Nice shirt.
I wondered where it got to.
”

“Oh yeah? Want it back?”

“Depends…” He waggles his eyebrows. “You gonna take it off now?”

A b
lush ravages my cheeks, and I busy myself piling
throw pillows in the corner of the sofa, and drag
ging
a c
ouple
of
blankets from the closet. Alex fishes the remote from Dad’s armchair, and works our TV like a pro. In mi
nutes
,
he has the movie started and has nestled in the corner like I’d cozied it up just for him. He
pats
the cushion next to him.

Heaving a sigh, I sink
down on
to
the
red
sofa and lean back.
Not long into the movie
,
Alex sits up, pulls my braid free from being trapped behind me, takes off the binder and unweaves the plait.

“I love your hair,” he says, voice just above a whisper. “Com
’
ere.”

The way he slides the words together is a definite Michigan thing,
and
with his
husky
tenor it
’s definite
ly
entic
ing
. How can I refuse?

He
takes my shoulder, guiding me
to the edge of the cushion while
he slide
s
a leg behind me
, and
pull
s
me back against his chest.
Warm tingles
pour
across my scalp, following the light touch of his fingers running through my hair.

“Now that I have you where I want you,” he says, “we have something to discuss.”

“We do?” I feign surprise.

“Yes.”
Shivers spread over my skin as Alex
slides his fingers across my neck, pouring my hair over one shoulder. Twisting a little, he nestles me in the crook of his arm. The tunneling sensation flares, narrowing the house to this sofa, and the world to this moment.

“Two weeks of knowing you isn’t enough, Em. Two weeks of being friends isn’t enough, either.”

“What are you saying?” Suddenly,
I can’t get enough air
and I feel like I’m spiraling into him
.

“I want you to be mine.”

The falling sensation becomes hurtling.
I slide my hand up his chest, my fingers brushing his cheek below the scar.

“I already am.”

Smiling
the tender expression I know is just mine
, he
cups my hand against his face a m
oment, leaning into my fingers, and my heart dances.
Then he releases my hand and
places
his fingers under my chin. Moving slow
ly, giving me plenty of time to
say
‘no’
to the kiss I know is coming,
Alex tips his face to mine.
My
eyes slip closed
when
he
whispers,
“Com
’
ere.”

Alex’s
lips brush mine
, feather light first contact. I melt into him, whispering his name
.
He sucks in a breath, stealing mine and I don’t care.
The couch spins, only Alex holding me to it when his
mouth to
uches
mine again, firmer this time, more confident. I don’t know where to put my hands, and my hip is driving into his thigh. He must like it
all twisted up and awkward
.
Alex crushes me to him, kissing me like he’s waited a thousand years for this moment.

Too soon it’s over, and the stairs creak under Mom’s feet. I quick
ly
adjust so I’m leaning against him, and he manages to shove a pillow between us before Mom appears.

Her gaze hits us. No anger, just a resigned acceptance
framed in brown and gray hair
.
“Want anything from the kitchen?” she asks. “I’m getting a pop.”

“No
,
thanks,” we say in stereo, his velvet tenor a little husky, my soprano
a little squeaky
.

After Mom rummages in the fridge, then makes a return trip up the steps, I shift in his arms, ready for another kiss. He’s so pale, puddles
purple-black
dark under his eyes, I can’t and I don’t think he can either. He kisses the end of my nose, instead.

“Not feeling well?”

“Better than I’ve felt since I woke up in recovery.”
Alex hugs me to his chest, tucking m
y
head under his chin.
“
But I’m going to need another treatment tomorrow.”

“Another?”
What treatment?

“Once
a
week my dad gives me an immunity booster and vitamin shot.” His grin is so sweet it hurts to see. “It helps me to heal quickly.”

“That’s why you don’t look like Josh.”
I pretend to punch him.

“Exactly.” He laughs out loud. “Plus, I’m just better looking.”

“Damn right you are.
”

I
curl my fingers in the neckline of his shirt
.
He sits very still, eyes slipping closed when I brush a kiss on his jaw. A shudder ripples through him when I move my lips to his neck, beneath his chin. Then, I pull his neckline down and kiss the intersection of scars below the hollow of his throat. “God
…
You’re killing me
,” he
sighs. “
And I like it.”

I cuddle into him after that, only half watching the movie. I’ve seen it so many times I can recite every line.
Somewhere around the time Dracula turns
Mina
into a vampire
,
too
, things start to get fuzzy, and my eyelids droop.

“Hey.” Alex jostles me. “I think it’s bedtime for you.”

“I’m not tired,” I argue, even though I am.

“Your body heats up when you’re tired, so don’t try to lie.”

I want to argue, ask him how he knows that. Instead, a yawn comes out.

“
See?
I’m feeling pretty whipped, too.”

He stops the DVD and retrieves it while I stand yawning, with my eyes watering. I can’t fight the pout when he pulls on his jacket. “Don’t worry,” he promises, “You’ll see me soon.”

At the door, Alex cups my face in both hands and pours his gaze on me.

“What does this make us?” I blurt.

The stairs creak, and Mom says, “Time for your boyfriend to go home.”

“There’s your answer,” he says, all
soft
.
“You’re mine.”

“I like that.”

One more light kiss, and he says, “Me, too. Sweet dreams, Emma.”

Chapter Nineteen

Mine. The word
vines
through my mind, wrapping
sweet nettles around
it. The way he said it, the way I feel it, on a level deeper than easy emotions.
It cuts to the heart, and through.
Things haven’t been easy from the first day to this. Bring on trouble. Bring on the rumors.

“Never invite trouble,” my mom likes to say.

Standing outside Mugz-n-Chugz
on a chilly Friday morning, I can understand why. The rumors
once flocking around Alex swoop in on me, blacker and sharper-clawed than
the
crows in
his gossip murder
. Tiny’s Walk-Up line has morphed from zombies to wide-eyed whisper
er
s.
Josie Cummings and Faith Lewis take on the task of trying to humiliate me with a special zeal.

“OhmyGod,” Josie says
in
a whisper meant to be heard, “
Can you
believe how fast she moved on to Alex Franks
?
”

Of course
she can’t
, because the hypocrite harpy squad wasn’t all over him the first day.
Josie
wasn’t drooling over him, and her friend Ally wasn’t claiming him.
The
y
mock and throw stones in my mourning, but I move on and they crucify me.

“I know,” Faith agrees, skewering me with a bitchy glance. “Daniel must not
’
ve meant anything i
f
she
’s hooking
up with Alex
already
.”

Some sophomore acolyte of the harpies even pipes in with, “Pretty pathetic.”

The words hurt, biting
and mean like they’re meant to b
e.
They won’t get the reaction they want out of me. I might not know why Alex has so many of Daniel’s traits, but I do know he’s mine, and whispering isn’t going to change it.

“Pathetic?” I stalk up to them. “You wanna know what’s really pathetic? Your lives are so damn empty you have to fill them up with
what’s happening in
mine.”