A Fine Mess (Over the Top) (8 page)

But he’s considering it, and he has himself all wrong. He’ll always be the fun guy who makes everyone laugh; the work he put into keeping his mother happy made him that way. But he’s this man, too. Strong. Protective. And afraid. Scarred, like the cut on his neck that heals but remains. He’s everything I want,
if
he’s interested. If not, I need to move on and date. Not keep pining. Not get stuck in another emotional rut with a man.

I stand and adjust my dress, the fabric still scrunched from the sweater on top. I stop in front of him. “Anyone who opens up in a relationship risks breaking their heart. I could hurt you as much as you could hurt me.”

He nods. “True.”

His eyes dart to my lips, and my fever returns, flames licking from within. I struggle to swallow. “According to you, it’s
my
risk to take. You’ve been honest. I know your history. I know what you’re afraid of. But I think we can be stronger than that. I
know
you, Sawyer. You’re like your brother, not your father. I want to try. But…” I pause, making sure to word the next part clearly. “I won’t wait forever. I wasted a lot of time in a relationship that wasn’t right. I have no intention of doing that again.”

He doesn’t reply, and my pulse stutters. Not because I’ve sewn my heart on my sleeve. As forthright as he’s been,
I
haven’t been honest. My nana was the only person I talked to about my need to shop, a compulsion that intensified after she died. Our sewing circle of two was my confessional and continued once a week after my parents returned from Florida. I’d tell her about my feelings for Kevin, unload my hopes and fears. The most truthful moments of my life were with her, and my ability to share those secrets got buried in her grave.

I’ve also seen what happens when people witness collectors. I wasn’t close with my aunt, but my father, a sweet man, spoke of her with derision and eventually cut her off. Once, at a bake sale, I overheard a woman call her
crazy
and
disgusting
, only to learn they’d once been best friends. A glimpse at my farmhouse would send my friends and family running for the hills.

Now I’m asking Sawyer to face his fears and trust in us,
in me
, knowing I’ll never confess the extent of my shopping. Never share that side of myself with him. Not completely, anyway.

Again, his brown eyes dance over my lips.

And sparks ignite.

“You have to be sure,” he says. “If it goes south, we could lose the friendship, and it could fuck things up at work. Not that we’d ever replace you, but it could be a hell of a lot weirder than it’s been. Are you sure?”

He side-eyes my hands, and I realize I’m picking at my nails. I drop them and inhale to the count of three, then exhale like I’m on my yoga mat, something I’ve neglected as of late. “Yes.”

He nods, but doesn’t move. Then he scrubs a hand down his face. “I want to be with you, Lil, for us to be together, but I need to process this. Make sure I’m okay with what’s on the table to lose. I’m heading back to Vancouver tomorrow. I have some meetings and my family Christmas bash on the twenty-sixth, the day you leave for Belize.” He blows out a breath. “We’ll talk when you’re back.”

Elation and disappointment war for dominance as I absorb his words. Sawyer isn’t the type to process. He wants, he grabs. He thinks, he does. I doubt the scales will tip in my favor. Still, I’ve done all I can. I won’t live with regrets.

“Okay,” I say. “And thanks for opening up. It means a lot, no matter what happens. I can’t imagine seeing your father at your family party will be much fun.”

He snorts. “Not my favorite event. For some reason, my mother invites him every year, and he sits in a corner drinking. It’ll be nice to see her, though. She’s been in Florida a couple weeks and won’t be back till after Christmas. What about you? Going home for the holidays?”

I fold my arms and hunch forward. He mimics my pose, the two of us separated by self-imposed barriers. Yesterday, his lips closed over mine. Today, a galaxy is between us. “No. My parents celebrate with Kevin’s family. We both need some space.”

“Seriously? Why would your folks socialize with them?”

“When I was four, we bought the house beside theirs. Once they realized I was an only child and we had few relatives close by, they insisted we join them for Christmas. It’s been tradition ever since. I’ll miss it. I mean, between Kevin’s two sisters and uncles and cousins, it’s always fun. But it’s better to take some time apart.”

He tilts his head. “So, you’re on your own, then?”

“No. Raven never goes home for the holidays. We’re spending Christmas together.”

“Good.” His brown eyes lock with mine, holding me in place for an extended beat. “I’m glad you won’t be alone.”

He doesn’t blink, and I can’t look away. The man is beautiful: slanted eyes and soft brown lashes, straight nose with a small bump from a rogue basketball in school, hint of stubble, the curve of his fuller bottom lip. I take my fill. In a few weeks, if he tells me we can’t be together, I’m not sure I’ll be able to look him in the eye.

I swallow hard and hold my arms up to the sides. “We should finish the sweaters. Make sure they’re right before you leave.” Nothing better than a design distraction. I glance down the front of his creation. Thin silver lines angle in V’s, the pattern getting tighter as it reaches the bottom. It’s striking, but he’s right to slim the sides.

“Right. The sweater.” He stares at me while I stand like a scarecrow with my arms out, then he sticks a few pins in his mouth.

He approaches and cinches the fabric at my hips. There’s that heat wave again. His focus is absolute, though, not a glance at my face. He steps back the way I do at the drafting board, eyes roaming over his creation. He moves one pin and adds another. He tugs the hem down. “What do you think about doing this in old-school colors? Like brown with pink detailing?”

I tilt my chin down, imagining the transformation. “It would rock. And the vests you designed with the quilted back would also work in those colors. Would you do navy with yellow, too? It’s more seventies than Moondog usually does, but it could be cool to shake things up.”

He spins his pinky ring while nodding, then he grabs a blank board and shoves aside a pile of sketches on the table. Pen in hand, he roughs out a three-quarter-length jacket in seconds, bold stripes draping in an inverted rainbow from shoulder to shoulder, thick cuffs and lapels funking up the shapes. “Instead of all the asymmetrical stuff we’ve been doing lately”—he points the butt of his pen at the drawing—“I’d mirror everything on both sides. Breast pockets and hip pockets.”

I bounce my legs, feeding off his excitement. “I’d add a hood, too. It’s practical, but it would look cool. Just not too wide. And I’d use the nylon with the sheen. Make it iridescent.”

He drops his pen and holds his right arm out to the side, palm practically in my face. The familiar gesture melts the remaining strain between us.

I slap his palm. “Nice work, partner.”

“My muse,” he mutters, and continues sketching.

I’m not sure what he means, but I don’t break the spell with questions. We’re us again, for at least three weeks. Now that I’ve survived this time with him, I can focus on my trip.

Sun. Beach. Snorkeling.

On my own.

When I took my design program in New York, Kevin deferred his studies for a year to be with me. I didn’t work a new job for a semester like Raven, forcing myself out of my element. I didn’t brave the city solo like Shay. I’m the girl who skipped a school trip to Paris because I didn’t know anyone going.

In fifteen days, I’ll be alone in a foreign country.

The smart thing would have been to cancel the vacation. It’s not like losing the deposit matters. Between my folks and the money Nana left me in her will, I barely need to work. But I want to stake my independence the way Shay fought for hers after everything with her ex. I want to be strong, too. Shay and I are different threads of the same sweater, though. She’s thick and wooly and holds strong; I’m the thin silk that could snap at any moment. A trip to the farm should help. A visit. A couple of days with my things. Maybe a drive to the Keady Market, see what treasures I can find.

I glance at Sawyer, his head bent forward in concentration.

Find some treasures I can keep, to help forget the one I’ll likely lose.

Nico parks on the street by my childhood home, and I drum my thumb on my knee, irritation creeping up my neck. I could get him to drive around for another hour and claim we got a flat, put off Family Christmas Fun Time for a while, but Finn would have my balls.

When I don’t move, Nico puts his hand back on the keys. “If you want to take off, you can blame it on me.”

I unclick my seat belt but don’t budge. “No. I haven’t seen the twins in a while.”

Or my mother. Not since I unloaded her secret on Lily.

Don’t tell anyone.
My mother’s voice echoed in my head for a couple of days afterward. I don’t normally do guilt. The world is my oyster, and I live it accordingly. I don’t steal or fight or light things on fire. For the most part, I don’t lie. And I don’t apologize for liking women and sex and fast cars. I usually sleep like the dead. Then I found myself staring at the ceiling for two nights running. It felt good to come clean about my mother, but it brought back my promise to her and a lot of unpleasant memories: the tightrope I’d walk in the house, her vacant face when she didn’t think I was looking. How I’d escape into my comics, wishing I could be powerful enough to heal her.

Most of that time, though, during those dark hours in bed, Lily’s gray eyes swam through my mind. Am I my father or my brother? Am I destined to hurt her or love her?

I’ve been clocking a lot of miles on my bike.

Nico settles back into his seat. “You’ve been as much fun lately as my brother. Is it the Lily thing?”

Door Number One: Share in the sharing circle.

Door Number Two: Evasion.

“How’s the investigation going? Any closer to clearing Josh?” Much easier to latch on to Nico’s ongoing drama than deal with mine. It’s been nine months since he bolted from Aspen early to rescue his brother. Josh has done some dumb shit in his life, but jacking a car topped the list. Especially when the car was found with enough crystal meth to get him slapped with a trafficking charge.

Nico rubs a hand over his buzzed head, a familiar habit of late. “Not good. He’s out on bail, and he’s stopped covering for the punks he used to call friends, but the evidence is stacking up. The best thing his lawyer did was buy us time.” He cuts me a sharp look. “Nice of you to ask, but let’s get back to Lily. Why are you being such an ass? You really dumb enough to think you’re not into her? If you ask me, you have it worse than Kolton.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I didn’t ask.” I drum my thumb on my knee, the turmoil of the past month catching up. Door Number One it is. “I’m so fucking into her, I can’t see straight.”

His cell dings from the center console. He glances at it but doesn’t pick it up. “So what’s the problem?”

“Me. My family. What I’ve seen when relationships don’t work out.”

He shifts on his seat and angles toward me. “That’s like me deciding not to be a cop because a third of my family’s done jail time. This is your life. Don’t miss out because you think it’s preordained or some shit.”

His phone dings again, and he picks it up. I lean into my headrest.

I’m a pretty smart guy. I may have flunked the sciences I took at university, and there was that time I accidentally Tasered myself with Nico’s Taser gun, but I can read people. When Meryl told Finn some crap about “finding” a dent in her fender, her hands gesturing as she bitched about careless drivers, I took her aside and called her on it. She admitted to swiping a truck, and now I get free condoms. (Handy having a sister-in-law who volunteers at a sexual health center.)

Lily’s an easy read, too. Her flushed skin and sex eyes that day in her design room screamed
fuck me
. Her quiet and closeness when I spilled my secret read
trust me
. Her frown as I explained we shouldn’t date dared
try me
. And I put her off.

Moron of the First Order.

We haven’t spoken since I left Toronto. I’ve stopped frequenting bars. No late-night booty calls. The Masturbation Olympics have returned to Vancouver, Lily the sole sponsor. I’ve been biking like a madman, too, pushing my pedals faster, harder. Climbing inclines as if she’s waiting for me at the top. She’s waiting, all right. And I’m stuck. Glued. Cemented in place. Knowing exactly what I want, but too chickenshit to take the leap.

I glance at my watch. With the time difference, she’ll have landed in Belize an hour ago. She could be on the beach already, string bikini barely covering her goods.

Sun beaming. Skin glistening.

Men ogling.

I shove the car door open, needing air, but the gray day reminds me of her eyes. I smack Nico’s shoulder. “I’ll meet you inside.”

He nods while texting.

Christmas gifts in hand, I walk in the house and close the door behind me. The twins spot me from across the hallway, shouting, “Sisi!” in unison.

Normally, I’m not one for nicknames. After the snow-in-the-pants incident, Eva Lamont called me Tic Tac for a year. My nieces, however, couldn’t pronounce Sawyer when they were little, and they get special privileges.

They plow forward, their straight brown hair in similar ponytails, untucked pieces hinting at mischief. Hazel has on a yellow dress, always girly, always with her nails painted. Hayley wears jeans and a navy long-sleeved shirt, a smear of dirt on her knee. Even if Meryl stuck them in the same outfits the way some freaky parents do, I’d recognize Hazel’s rounder cheeks, and Hayley’s slightly pointed chin. I drop to my knees, put their gifts on the floor, and drag them in for a hug.

Hazel slaps her hands on either side of my face. “I learned a new dance this week, and I hafta show you. I’ll teach you? ’Kay? Like last time. We’ll perform it. Like with music and everyone will watch. But you gotta do the moves I show you, ’kay?”

I wink at her. “Bring it. What about you?” I pinch Hayley’s side. “Any new fossil discoveries?”

She digs a hand into her jean pocket and emerges with two rocks. Instead of talking my ear off like Hazel, she says, “I dug them out by the pool.”

“I’ll alert MIT to get your scholarship ready.”

These days, Facebook blows. My friends from high school have replaced their pictures of getting shitfaced with images of their kids’ every fart and hiccup. Kids, in general, are life-sucking beings that excrete fluid from every orifice, making the vomit scene from
The Exorcist
look like a Disney flick. Except the twins. My nieces are five-year-old prodigies. Geniuses. Virtuosos. While other kids have their tongues stuck to frozen metal poles, the twins will set the world on fire.

A Tony Award for Hazel. A Nobel Prize for Hayley.

They get it all from me.

As Hazel twirls with her hands in the air and Hayley studies her treasures, I realize Lily chose the perfect gifts for them. Hazel will swoon over the brush and mirror, and Hayley will fill the jewelry box with her discoveries. Lily’s never met the girls, but I must have talked about them enough. And she listened.

Still, I pushed her away.

My chest does that tight-uncomfortable thing it’s been up to lately. Probably acid reflux, or maybe a collapsed lung. I stand, rub my sternum, and smile at the twins. “I brought your Christmas gifts”—I motion to the wrapped boxes on the floor—“but they’re for later. First, I have a surprise for you.”

Hayley’s eyes widen, and Hazel shouts, “
What?
A pony? A trampoline? My friend, Mary, she has one, but we’re only allowed to use it if her daddy’s there. But I bounced on it, like, really high. And there’s this tree next to it, but I bounced higher.” She jumps in place while Hayley waits patiently beside her.

I lean down, hands on my knees. “This is better than a trampoline.” I flick my head to the door behind me. “Nico’s coming.”

Hayley whispers a fierce “
Yes,
” while Hazel lunges for the door handle.

The big guy himself is already there, poised to knock. The girls scream, “Nico!”

He scoops them up as if they weigh nothing, planting kisses on each of their cheeks. “You ladies keep getting prettier. Good thing you don’t have your uncle’s genes.”

He plops them down and Hazel grabs his hand. “You hafta come see my dance. Sisi’s gonna be in the recital, but you gotta learn it, too.”

He chuckles and glances at me. “So this is where you learned your dance moves. That explains a lot,
Sisi
.”

“Unless you’re three foot nothing and adorable, you don’t have permission to use that name.” Safe bet, considering the dude’s six foot four, 270 pounds, and covered in tats.

“Sure thing, Tic Tac. Consider it forgotten.”

Damn Eva Lamont and that nickname.

He lets the twins drag him down the hallway, turning a hard left when they reach the great room, presumably heading for the study, aka the playroom. With the mini table and chairs, art sets, dress-up clothes, and stacks of toys, the girls have staked their claim.

Finn sidles up beside me and folds his arms. Unlike the twins, we wouldn’t get picked out of a lineup as siblings. With his dark hair and green eyes, he’s our mother, even barrel-chested like the men on her side. I’m Jack—our father’s sandy hair and brown eyes branding me as his. According to Lily, that’s where our similarities end. According to her, I won’t hurt her the way he destroyed my mother.

I check my watch again. Has she unpacked yet? Is she touring the town? I rub my chest again, that damn heartburn unrelenting.

“Thought maybe you wouldn’t show,” Finn says.

“And what? Miss all the fun? Hazel might put me in a tutu.”

He chuckles. “She’s obsessed with that dance stuff, and Hayley’s on this vegetarian kick. She’s too inquisitive for her own good. And mine.”

“They’re awesome.”

“I know.”

A crash is followed by an “I told you not to touch anything.” We both stare down the hallway into the great room as a man marches across our view. A young boy follows behind, dragging his feet in pursuit.

“Who is that?” I ask.

Finn shrugs. “No clue. I was outside with Hayley, and when I came back in, the house was half-full. Don’t know a third of the people here.”

Every year our family mutates, each split sprouting new relations and a spouse or partner who comes with an entourage. “Why does Mom bother? It’s not like the extended family actually likes spending time together.”

Two ginger kids run by us, one tripping on his shoelace, nearly face-planting on the wood floor. Seriously, who are these people?

“I think she does it because she likes to see Dad.”

Superpower wish: telekinetic compression,
crush skulls with my mind
.

I’m usually a laid-back guy. Go with the flow. Easygoing. My skin’s practically made of Teflon. When Kolton’s assistant, Stella, hired a new cleaning crew for our office, and they pitched a pile of sketches I’d tucked in a bag, I didn’t chew her out. Granted, she would’ve impaled me with one of her four-inch heels, but I bit back my fury.

One minute near our father, and I’m Kanye fucking West.

“Why the hell does she give him the time of day? The man is a waste of space.” I run my tongue around my mouth, ready for a taste of Scotch.

“I had lunch with him recently. A couple times, actually.”

I round on him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Those same ginger kids run by us, and Finn grabs the last one by his shoulders. “That big guy who came in here is a cop. You break anything, and you’re looking at jail time. If I were you, I’d slow down.” The kid’s blue eyes widen, his freckles bright against his paling skin. He nods vigorously.

Smirking, Finn turns to me. “Dad contacted me a few times, wanting to connect. I think the man has regrets. He’s getting older, probably hoping to make the most of his time left. Now that I have the girls, I get it. If I didn’t have a relationship with them, it would kill me. And it’s not like he shot someone. The man had an affair. It’s not exactly uncommon.”

“Doesn’t make it right.” And Finn’s newfound acceptance can suck rocks. His grudge was never as fierce as mine, but he was furious with our father. This change of heart is bullshit.

“No,” he says, “but relationships are tough. People make mistakes. And, to be honest, one of the main reasons I’ve hated him all these years wasn’t because he cheated on Mom. It was because of you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, shithead, you. You were so angry when he left, I was more pissed he hurt you than that he screwed around on Mom. But now? I don’t know. Who’s got time for bad blood?”

If I could play the Ghost of Christmas Past and show Finn our overdosed mother, I doubt he’d be so forgiving. Our father has tried to connect with me over the years, too. Phone calls. Invitations to go fishing. When I was a kid, he’d buy me things and take me to sporting events. It only made me angrier.

Because I’m a momma’s boy.

I don’t call her daily or rely on her approval, and she didn’t breastfeed me into puberty. But I love my mother. If I had a tattoo, it would read
MOM
. If you hurt her, I’ll hurt you back. When a woman pushes something as large as a watermelon through an opening the size of her nostril, you honor that shit. She loves me. She raised me. She’s responsible for every decent thing about me. So knowing what my father drove her to makes me Hulk-smash mad.

I narrow my eyes at Finn. “That man doesn’t deserve to spend time with you or the girls. Nothing good can come of it.”

Before he replies, Meryl appears in the hallway, double-fisting drinks. Her long brown hair swings as she walks, her red dress showing off a set of tits and an ass that belong on a burlesque dancer, not a doctor with twins. “You boys are actually allowed to join the party.” She sips her wine and offers the tumbler of amber liquid to me.

Finn killed it marrying her.

She places a hand on his shoulder. “Hazel’s asking for you. She needs another backup dancer. I’ll send Sawyer along when I’m done with him.” After those ominous words, he takes off, and she studies me. “I hear you and that Lily girl have complicated things.”

Goddamn Nico. I take a generous swallow of Scotch, the warmth of peat and malt following the burn. “She broke up with her boyfriend. So, yeah, things have gotten…strained.” I don’t offer more. It’s enough to deal with my father’s pushing his way back into Finn’s life. Hashing out the Lily Issue might shove me over the edge.