Cover Model (25 page)

“Electra?” Ryan says thoughtfully when our eyes meet. “What are you doing here?”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and make this situation worse. I’m frozen with fear.

Ryan glances at Connor. “She’s… This
is
Electra, isn’t it?”

Connor only nods.

Ryan raises a protective hand to his face and turns away like he wants to hide his disfigurement. “I…”

I feel terrible for him. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I didn’t know where we were going when Connor brought me here. It was a complete surprise.”

Ryan remains half turned away, his face hidden in shadow. “Why’d you bring her, Connor?” His voice shakes.

Connor sighs heavily. “I don’t know.”

Now I’m beyond confused. I don’t know what to do or say. The room has suddenly grown so uncomfortable, I want to run out the front door, but I won’t, out of respect for Ryan. I also want to slap Connor upside the head and shout at him, “
What the hell were you thinking?!
” But I know that isn’t the right thing to do either. I feel awful.

We all stand in the dim living room in silence for a long time.

The grandfather clock ticks and ticks and ticks.

Should we leave?

“Why didn’t you at least tell me you were bringing her, man?” Ryan asks in his lispy voice. He sounds heartbroken.

Does Ryan still like me?

I’m horrible by association.

“Fah-
fuck
,” Connor hisses, his breath hitching in his throat. “This was stupid. Sorry, man. Sorry. I’m a fuckin idiot.” His voice is quiet and obviously near tears. He strides to the front door of the house and rips it open. I expect him to slam it behind him as he walks outside, but he doesn’t. The latch clicks gently and he’s gone.

Now it’s just me and Ryan Hansen all alone in his living room. I haven’t spoken to him once in the seven years that have passed since his face was ruined by the car fire.

Oh, fuck.

This just got a billion times more awkward.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

CONNOR

I sit on the curb outside Ryan’s house.

There’s no way I can be with Electra.

The look on Ryan’s face said it all. It will kill him if he knows I’m with her. After all he’s been through, the broken bones, the surgeries, the titanium pins and rods, the skin grafts, the recovery, the pain every single day, all because of me, I can’t do this to him. He’ll never have Electra or anyone like her. So why should I be happy if he can’t? Why should I have an amazing woman in my life if he has to hide his face so people don’t stare at him like he’s a fuckin monster? I shouldn’t.

Because I’m the fuckin monster.

If it wasn’t for me, Ryan would have the same damn face he was born with. Not the one I caused. He would be chasin chicks like I do. We would be trading stories about all the hotties we banged instead of me hiding all of it from Ryan so he doesn’t have to be any more miserable than he already is.

That’s why I have to finish this interview with Electra as quick as I can and say goodbye to her forever.

My guts are in knots.

I pull out my phone and turn it over in my hand, thinking.

This is a fuckin mess. I should’ve told her to turn around and go home the second I saw her at that fuckin convention. But that’s not how I operate. I take something good and turn it into shit.

I hang my head.

Fuck me.

I should be dead.

I wait for my heart to stop, but it doesn’t.

A car drives slowly by in front of Ryan’s house. Some little brown bird flaps its wings and flies from a telephone wire and lands on someone’s front lawn, looking for worms.

I remember my phone in my hand and play the voicemail.

“It’s your dad again.”

“
Hiiii
, Connor!” My mom’s voice cheers in the background.

“Sorry we didn’t call sooner. The east coast was a zoo. Never drive an RV through New York City.”

My mom chimes in. “They gave your father a parking ticket because he drove so slow. He was afraid to go the speed limit! Can you imagine that?”

“I went the speed limit!” Dad protests with a laugh. “But I’ll tell you, son: parking is impossible in New York and traffic is a pain in my ass. They should call that place The Big Hemorrhoid, not The Big Apple.”

I chuckle to myself through tears.

Mom laughs. “That’s disgusting, Finn!”

“What? If you think about it, the
bottom
of an apple looks a lot like a big red hemorrhoid.”

I snicker and blow snot from my nose, crying hard.

“Ohmygod, Finn! I’m going to throw up! You just
ruined
apples forever!”

I definitely got my Dad’s sense of humor.

“What?” he says. “Apples don’t taste like hemorrhoids. They’re sweet and crunchy.
Nothing
like a hemorrhoid. What’s the problem?”

“Shut
up
, Finn!”

“All right, Kell. I’ll stop,” he sighs apologetically.

“Thank goodness,” she laughs.

“One question for you, Kelly Hughes,” Dad says seriously.

“It better not be about hemorrhoids.”

“What do you want for dessert tonight? Apple
pie
or apple
sauce
?”

“Finn!” Mom laughs like it’s the funniest thing ever said in the history of talking.

Hanging my head, I watch my tears drip onto the cement gutter beneath my boots.

There’s a sound of fumbling with the phone, then my mom has it. “I hate to break it to you, Connor, but your father is
not your father
. I was impregnated by a much nicer man with manners.”

Dad barks a laugh and he’s holding the phone again. “She’s right, son. Anyway, we just wanted to say hello. We’ll call you again soon. Probably when we get to Philadelphia. I hear the City of Brotherly Love is also the city where that old folktale about Johnny Appleseed got started.”

“That’s not true,” Mom snorts.

“All that brotherly love led to a bunch of guys with over-used butts getting hemorrhoids.”

“Finn!” She’s screeching with laughs.

“The story used to be called Johnny Apple Ass, but they changed it for the sake of the children.”

“
Finn!!!!
” Mom screams.

The phone drops and there’s a bunch of laughing and random noises before the message ends.

I save the voicemail and hang my head between my knees. It takes a second. It’s almost nothing at first, but the sobbing starts and my body shakes as the pain and sadness knocks me out.

Everything turns upside down.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

ELECTRA

“Did Connor tell you he bumped into me at the convention?” I ask, sitting across from Ryan on his living room couch.

“No. He just said he was doing some signing thing downtown.”

“Do you know about his book covers?” I’m careful with my questions, not wanting to spill any beans I shouldn’t be spilling. But this topic seems safe if Connor and Ryan are close enough that Connor can walk in Ryan’s house without knocking.

“Yeah. I’ve even got one of his books upstairs.
Stepbrother Obsessed
? Have you read it?”

“No,” I grin. “But I saw the cover at the convention.”

“I did.” Ryan laughs. “I don’t know how women read that romance shit. Guys don’t act like that.”

I’m surprised by his laughter. I smile. “I imagine it’s a fantasy. Women like to read that sort of thing.”

“Do
you
read romance?”

“Well, no, but—”

“See? It’s trash! Give me a good car chase or a gun fight any day. I’d rather watch
How It’s Made
than read a romance.”

“I’m with you,” I chuckle. I’m surprised Ryan is so relaxed around me. It helps that the living room curtains are drawn, blocking out nearly all the light. And he’s in the corner easy chair, lost in deep shadow. I imagine he sat there on purpose. “So, you’ve been friends with Connor since—I mean, for all this time?” I almost said
since
the accident
but I want to avoid that hot button. Why did I think the word hot? It reminds me of car fires. Wow, I’m glad I’m not saying all this out loud. This is really uncomfortable. Ryan deserves my respect. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

“Yeah. Connor comes by almost every day. He always has.”

I want to ask more, but I don’t want to invade his privacy.

“You want to know about my accident, don’t you?”

I wince.

“People always want to know. Did Connor tell you anything?”

“He, um, told me
how
it happened but that’s it.”

“Don’t let his asshole attitude fool you. He was at the hospital and then the burn center every day. I was in and out of consciousness for weeks because of all the pain meds, but he was the first person I saw. Well, him and my parents. But Connor was there helping me through all of it.”

“He was?”

He snorts a laugh. “Hard to believe, right? Connor Hughes having aaaa… what do they call it? A bedside manner.”

“I guess you had a different relationship with Connor than I did.”

“We’ve been best friends since first grade.” There’s pride in his voice.

I’m slightly envious. The only people I’ve known since first grade still in my life are my parents, and I don’t see them much. I really ought to drive out to their walnut farm soon.

“Even when the doctors told me my scar contractures needed more surgery, and I was ready to off myself, Connor was there for me long after my other
friends
faded into the woodwork.”

That was a lot to take in all at once. I start with the obvious. “What’s a contracture?”

“That’s when the skin tightens up after the burn heals. It restricts your movement and can ruin your joints and do all kinds of crazy bad shit to your body over time. In my case, I couldn’t close my eyelids all the way. Talking and chewing made it worse. Every time I opened my mouth, my whole face pulled my
eyes
open. Can you believe that shit? It even hurt to smile. So I never smiled at anybody, and it got to where I hated opening my mouth to talk or eat because of what it did to my
eyelids
. I got pink eye all the time. When I started getting corneal ulcerations—which hurt like fuck, by the way—my doctor told me I could go blind without surgery. By that point, I didn’t want to go through any more fucking surgeries. I was over it. The pain, the hospital visits, the staring from strangers, the stupid ass questions about my face, knowing nobody would ever look at me like a normal person ever again. The last thing I wanted was another skin graft and all
that
pain. I already had enough fucking pain.
Emotional
pain. But the doctors and my parents insisted. At one point, I was ready to throw it in and jump off the nearest bridge. I told Connor how I felt and all he did was tell me we’d get through it together, and if I gave up, he’d shit on my grave every weekend for the rest of his life.” Ryan chuckles with amusement. “I remember telling him to go for it because it would keep the grass green.” He shakes his head, lost in the memory. “If it wasn’t for him, I really
might
have swallowed a bullet.”

I smile. “Wow. Just,
wow
.”

“Connor’s a good person. Don’t let him fool you otherwise.”

If anyone else said that to me, I would laugh in their face. Coming from Ryan, I take it in. But I have to ask: “Are you sure?” I quip, “Because Connor has pretty much been acting like the Connor I remember from high school since I ran into him.”

“Don’t get me wrong. He’ll always be a dick,” he laughs. “But that’s just an act. I mean
fuck
, that bastard even helped my parents with some of the medical bills when they got out of hand.”

Mrs. Hansen comes walking into the living room. “Oh! You’re still here. Was it Lex?”

“Yeah,” I nod.

“Is Connor still here?”

“He’s outside,” Ryan says confidently.

I don’t know how he knows.

“Is anybody hungry?” she asks. “I can make a snack.” She walks to the front door and opens it. Blinding light pours into the room. I don’t want to stare at Ryan, so I watch Mrs. Hansen. She hollers outside. “Connor? Do you want a snack? … Okay. I’ll make enough for everybody.” She closes the door and walks into the kitchen.

The family quality that exists between Ryan, his mom,
and
Connor is unmistakeable. His presence is assumed.

“Does chips and salsa sound good?” Mrs. Hansen calls from the kitchen.

“That would be great,” I answer.

“Thanks, Mom!” Ryan calls.

The front door opens.

Connor stands in the door frame and stares at me. Remorse weighs on his face. It’s almost like he’s afraid to step inside.

Once again, I don’t know what to say.

“Are you gonna stand there all day?” Ryan jabs. “It’s hot as hell outside. Close the door, dumbass.”

Connor’s face relaxes. A faint grin appears. He closes the door behind him and sits in the easy chair across from me, keeping the coffee table between the two of us.

I imagine he would have the courtesy to sit beside me after we just had sex six ways to Tuesday—in my workplace, no less—but I get it. There is an elephant in the middle of the room and neither I nor Connor are going to talk about it in front of Ryan, for good reason.

“You guys still like each other, don’t you?” Ryan asks.

My eyes pop and flick sidewise at Connor. I sit up as straight as possible.

Connor guffaws. “I never liked Warmoth and you know it.”

Hearing him say it doesn’t stab my heart like it did in the conference room at
Trending Magazine
. Things became infinitely more complicated since we walked in Ryan’s front door.

Ryan’s face wrinkles, “Gimme a fucking break, Connor. You talked about her every day for four years. You think I forgot when you stopped talking about her after graduation?”

Connor barks, “Bullshit, man! The only thing I liked to do was harass her. You know that.”

“Yeah, right,” Ryan chuckles.

Not even I believe Connor.

Mrs. Hansen walks into the room with a plate of tortilla chips, a bowl of salsa, and napkins, followed by a pitcher of ice water and glasses. “Here you go. Enjoy. Holler if you need anything.”

Ryan leans forward for chips, as does Connor. They fight over them like brothers, spooning out globs of salsa with the chips like they’re going out of style.