Losing Romeo (10 page)

Anxiety rose up, knocking down the butterflies trying to rise in her tummy.
I can’t start feeling like this, not toward Bryson.
He was her only close friend here, and crossing into more would screw everything up. It always did. And she couldn’t screw it up—not now, when she needed him the most.

She pulled back and took a couple deep breaths.
Okay, now I can think clearly again. No more doing that to me, body. Deal? Let’s not forget what got us here in the first place.

“’Kay. Time to fess up to what sent you on your daredevil adventure. What’s going on with you?” Bryson raised an eyebrow. “And don’t do the girl thing and say nothing.”

She crossed her arms. “
That’s
the
girl thing
? Sounds more like a
guy thing
.”

He fixed her with a stare that said he wasn’t letting it go.

Now that he’d told her not to say nothing, that was all she wanted to say. Finally she figured she might as well spill it. “You know Romeo? Well, I guess he gave Juliet a promise ring, and my cousin Ty found out, so now he’s threatening to kick Romeo’s ass, and part of me actually wants him to. Only that won’t solve anything, and really, I’m over it. They can live their stupid lives and exchange promise rings at the ridiculous age of sixteen. It just makes me feel like a moron for thinking that he cared. For losing my parents’ trust—for jacking up my life, all because of him and his mushy poetry. I hate poetry, by the way.”

“I’ve never thought much of it either,” Bryson said.

That startled a half-laugh out of her—it came out a little garbled through all the regret choking her, though. She leaned back against the sink. “I didn’t want to tell you because I know you don’t like drama, and it’s embarrassing, and I… I don’t
want
to be the pathetic girl who lets news like this get to her. But it does.”

Again and again she thought the same stupid thought:
What does Juliet have that I don’t?

Bryson pressed his lips together. “I wish I could say something to make it all better. All I can say is he’s stupid and you deserve better. And I hope he does get his ass kicked.”

A little bit of sunshine broke through her cloudy mood. “Thank you, Bryson. For everything.”

Chapter Fourteen

Bryson turned on the radio, low enough he and Rosaline could still hear each other talk, and pointed at the blue foldout chair he’d set up in the garage. “I brought you a chair so you don’t have to sit on the ground.”

“Aww, thanks.” Rosaline poked his side, her smile widening when he automatically jerked away. “Such a gentleman.”

“Yeah, that’s me, all right.” He jerked his chin toward the toolbox, fighting back the grin trying to break free. “Now get over there, woman, and bring me my tools.”

Her mouth dropped open, her eyes going all fiery. She strode over to his toolbox, pulled out a socket wrench, and cocked her arm. “For that, you’re going to get a nose wrench thrown at your head.”

He held his hands in front of his face just in case she followed through with the threat but couldn’t help saying, “Nose wrench?”

She twisted the socket side of the wrench toward her. “It looks like it’s got a nose, so that’s what I’m calling it.”

“It’s called a socket wrench. Nose wrench is just a ridiculous name.”

She put one hand on her hip, still wielding the wrench in her other like a weapon. “Isn’t there one called a monkey wrench?”

“Well, yeah, but…” He couldn’t think of a good comeback to that. Man, it was fun having her here while he worked. Not only was she entertaining with her made-up tool names, but she also lit up the whole place—she was like the embodiment of caffeine, always talking, always moving, and doses of her left you all hopped up and unable to sleep.

Since the socket wrench was the tool he needed, he cautiously walked over and took it out of her hand. “Thanks, woman.”

An overpoweringly beautiful smile curved her mouth. “You’re welcome,
man.
”

The more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted to spend with her. He thought about her when he was doing chores. Before he fell asleep. As soon as he woke up. Realizing he was staring now—probably had a stupid love-struck expression on his face, too—he dragged himself over to the motorcycle he was working on for a guy from Springdale. The bike had a warped steering stem, which screwed up the alignment. He’d already removed the throttle assembly, so now he just needed to get the master cylinder off.

Rosaline sat down in the chair and propped her feet up on the toolbox. She never sat normal. Always with her feet up. Showing off her nice legs. She was wearing shorts again, and her skin looked satiny smooth.

Pain shot up from his finger, all the way to his elbow, and the socket wrench fell to the floor with a noisy clank. He whipped his hand back, shaking his pinched finger. “Damn it!”

Rosaline raised an eyebrow at him. “Having some trouble?”

She must be used to his cussing now, not jumping up like she’d done the first few times he’d hurt himself while she’d been in the garage with him. Of course, this time was all her and her distracting legs’ fault. Concentrating while she was in the room was getting harder instead of easier.

He picked up the wrench. “I’ll live.”

“Good to hear. So, I don’t know exactly how to bring this up, and I keep chickening out but I’ve just gotta know…” She dropped her feet to the ground and leaned forward. He tried to focus on her face instead of the fact that her bending over like that was giving him a prime view of her cleavage. “Was this place built on some kind of Indian burial ground?”

Obviously the people in town were running off their mouths about their stupid superstitions. “Yeah, my ancestors moved here, found a graveyard and decided to disregard it and build a house. Great Grandpa Mercer was just an awful, horrible person.”

A crease formed between Rosaline’s eyebrows. “It’s not like I thought… I didn’t mean…”

“It’s not you. People want a way to explain our bad luck, and that’s what they chose, even though pretty much all of America used to be Indian territory at one point. They should pay better attention in history class when they go over how our country was formed.”

“I was only asking because I freaked myself out that first time I went for a walk and”—the crease between her eyebrows deepened—“what do you mean, bad luck?”

Bryson rolled the wrench around in his hand. Curse or not, Mercer men had shitty luck when it came to their personal lives. “There are a lot of tragedies in our family. Grandpa Mercer once said you could be lucky in business or life, but not both.”

“And you’re unlucky?”

He traced his finger along the scar on his face, then dropped his hand when he realized he was doing it. His gaze moved to his motorcycle, and he ran his hand along the seat. “I can’t do the one thing I love most anymore.” He leaned back on his palms, giving up working for now. “I can’t complain, though. Winslow’s had it a lot harder than I have.”

Rosaline came over and sat next to him on the cool concrete. “What happened to him?”

“He’s lost almost everyone he’s ever cared about. His mom when he was real young. His father.” Bryson drew a line through the dirt on the floor with his finger. “His sister. And his fiancé—she died a week before the wedding.”

Rosaline’s mouth kept opening and closing like she was going to say something, but kept changing her mind. Then finally the question he’d expected fell from her lips. “When you say sister…?”

“My mom.” Words were getting hard to get out. The familiar ache rose up. Missing her despite the fact that their time together had been filled with a lot of hard days. He cleared his throat. “I was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

He waved it off like it wasn’t a big deal, even though it was. Man, why was he telling her this stuff?

“That room in the house. The one with all the woman’s stuff in it…?” She put her hand on his arm. “Was it your mom’s?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Mom and I used to live in town. I moved in with Winslow after she died. The things in that room are—were—Tammy’s. Winslow’s fiancé.”

“What happened to her?”

“There was a real bad snow storm. She was driving back from Lowell, a semi was going the other way, and with the ice—they figure she was killed on impact. They couldn’t even get to her for a while because of all the snow.” Bryson ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. He’d only been living with Winslow for a few months then, and his uncle had fallen apart. Admittedly, he’d already been attached to Tammy, too. Enough that her death left another hole next to the giant raw one Mom’s death left him with. Even the residual memories of those black days made his chest ache. “I think it’s time for a subject change. Something happier.”

He looked at Rosaline, finding her watching him. “This is the part where you cheer me up,” he said.

“Oh! Right! Let me think.” She pulled up her knees and looped her arms around them. “Once upon a time…” One eyebrow went up, as if she were waiting for him to cut in. He didn’t, and she continued on about two guys who’d had bad luck but then their luck turned around when a “super awesome girl” came to live by them. “…and the rest of their lives were filled with happiness.” She shot him a smile. “And gold and motorcycles that never wrecked.”

His sorrow melted away, and a different ache filled him. The kind that meant he was falling for a completely unattainable girl.

***

“Why didn’t you tell me about Winslow’s fiancé?” Rosaline asked when she and Dafne got back home after having dinner with the Mercers.

Dafne shrugged. “I don’t know. He never speaks of it. I started working for him a couple months after it happened and he was still broken. Most of what I know about it is from people in town, which means most of what I know is wrong.”

“I bet that’s why he’s hesitating with you. It does change the game some.”

“It’s not a game, Rosaline.” The sharpness in Daphne’s words caught her by surprise. “You come in and make me think things can be different. But they can’t be. I can’t compete with his dead fiancé.”

“I’m not saying you—”

“Just drop it!” Dafne’s voice echoed through the living room. Her words held an undercurrent of hurt, as did the expression on her face. It quickly morphed back to the stony one that didn’t suit her at all. Not now that Rosaline knew her better. It was a front. A front Daphne had worn so long she probably did it without realizing she was doing it. Maybe she even believed it herself. “We’ve got an early day tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

Front or not, there was a stern finality to her words. Rosaline went to her bedroom, got into her pajamas, and climbed into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. Sure Dafne was hurting, she tried not to let her aunt’s words get to her. After how close she’d felt to Dafne lately, though, the yelling left an ache in her chest.

She’s just heartbroken, that’s all.
Rosaline knew a little something about that. But it was the second heartbreak for her aunt.
I’ve got to find a way to either get Winslow to make a move or get Dafne over him.

It was like their emotional scars had attracted them to each other, but instead of healing together, they stayed in their misery. The solution was so simple. If they got together, neither of them would have to be lonely.

Maybe Bryson can help me.

Bryson.
Her chest squeezed as she recalled the sad expression he’d worn as he’d told her about his mom. He was broken, too. He hadn’t said much at dinner. She wanted to know more about his mom but didn’t dare bring it up again. Now with Dafne all snippy, she couldn’t ask her either.

Maybe this whole place
is
cursed.

She couldn’t help but wonder, if she stayed here, was she destined to become all sad and miserable, too?

Chapter Fifteen

Bryson placed the file into the G-L pile. Somehow Rosaline had convinced him to help her sort files. Well, not somehow. All she’d had to do was bat her big brown eyes and say, “It’ll be so much more fun if I’ve got you to talk to.”

I’m such a sucker.

They’d set up on opposite sides of the table in the study so they’d have extra space to sort and move around. And so they wouldn’t drive Dafne crazy—Bryson knew she and Rosaline didn’t get along as well in cramped spaces, and with him in there, too, they’d all be tripping over each other.

Rosaline stood, took one of the piles, and moved it to the other side of the table.

“I think you got the small pile,” Bryson said.

“What to the evs.” She leaned down and hefted another box onto the table. “I’ve got these, too.”

“’What to the evs?’”

“Yeah. I’m too cool to just say whatevs. Clara and I started adding ‘to the’ in the middle of all our sayings. And don’t act like you’re not jealous, because she and I are so awes to the ome.”

He shook his head. “I think I need a trans to the later to understand you.”

She grinned like it was the biggest compliment she’d ever gotten. “Okay, after we get all these sorted and entered into the computer, Mercer Trucking should be out of the Stone Age. Seriously, all this technology at their fingertips, and they’re still doing so much on paper?” She sat back across from him. “See, isn’t this better than…whatever else you’d be doing?”

Truthfully, it was. Only because he liked how she talked to the files and came up with strange sayings he’d never heard.

And how she was sitting across from him now, a big smile on her face. Sunlight glowed from the window behind her, creating a golden outline.

Which meant the sun must be lighting up his face, highlighting every inch of it. He put his hand over his scar and propped his elbow on the table. He kept it away from her as much as possible, but face-to-face made it difficult to do.

She grabbed his hand and yanked it down. “Will you stop that?”

He lowered his eyebrows. “It’s my face.”

“Well I’m the one who has to look at you.”

“Wow. When you say things like that, I can tell how much you value our friendship.”

She tilted her head. “I do. That’s why I want to see your whole face.”

His gaze dropped to their hands. Hers was still over his, soft and small, her fingernails done in a neon pink that perfectly matched her personality. His pulse pounded through his head, washing out all other sounds. He slowly lifted a finger and placed it on top of her hand.

“Here are the last few boxes.” Dafne stepped into the room, carrying a large box, and Bryson slid his hand away from Rosaline’s.

He’d wanted to test the friendship line. See how in place it still was. He was hoping she’d finally get over that idiot in California. He wanted to be there when she did so he could kiss her and promise her that he’d do whatever it took to make her happy.

***

Dafne propped her cheek on her fist as Winslow—he’d told Rosaline to call him that since they’d started spending so many dinners together—launched into a recounting of today’s business. From the look on Dafne’s face, you would’ve thought he was spouting poetry.

A twinge went through Rosaline’s chest.
Poetry’s bullshit anyway. So yay for not-poetry, but I’m not sure business talk’s much better.

While Winslow seemed like a nice guy and all, she didn’t really get why her aunt was so infatuated with him. He was seriously unable to talk about anything but business twenty-four-seven. But Dafne deserved to be happy, so she hoped they’d figure it out. If he cared about her at all, though, he better step up, or else Rosaline would find someone else to set her up with. Even though Dafne had apologized for getting so mad at her the other day, Winslow was still a sensitive subject. One she hadn’t dared bring up again.

A kick under the table caught her attention. As soon as she looked across at Bryson, he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward the other room.

She nodded.

The legs of the chair scraped against the floor as Bryson stood. “Rosaline and I are going to watch some TV. We’ll leave you guys to talk about the business.”

“The business involves you, too,” Winslow said, shooting Bryson a stern look.

Dafne put her hand on Winslow’s shoulder. “They both worked a long day. I think they could use a break. You guys are going on the trip in the morning, and you could fill Bryson in then…”

Winslow’s eyes met Dafne’s, and his face softened.

Looks like Dafne’s affection isn’t as one-sided as I worried. There might just be hope for them yet.

“Very well,” Winslow said. “Don’t forget our flight’s early, and with the road construction, we’re going to have to give ourselves extra time to get to the airport.”

Bryson nodded, and then he and Rosaline made their escape to the enormous entertainment room they’d spent the last few nights in. Over the past week, they’d fallen into a routine: Dafne kept her busy working during the day, then she’d spend the evenings in the garage, helping Bryson work on his bike. “Helping” being a loose term that mostly meant watching. Then, after late dinner with Dafne and Winslow, they’d watch a couple hours of television or put in a movie.

The comfortable cushions on the couch felt especially nice after the hard dining room chairs. Bryson sat next to her, clicking on the flat screen TV that took up the opposite wall. “There are some motocross races on ESPN tonight. Mind if we watch for a little bit?”

“I’m game. And now that I know all the part names, I’ll be able to add commentary.”

The lopsided grin spread across Bryson’s face. “Oh yeah?”

“For sure. Like, see how number 479 needs a doohickey touch up? He really should have me as part of his pit crew.”

Bryson laughed. “I wish you were in my crew when I was racing.”

“You would’ve won so many races with my help.”

“You mean I would’ve won them by even farther. It was rare I lost a race.” There was a confidence in his voice she didn’t usually hear. She’d been working very hard to convince herself the reason she thought about Bryson so much recently was because they were such good friends. Now a bunch of traitorous butterflies went through her stomach, whispering something else.

Earlier today in the study it seemed like he was going to make a move. But then Dafne walked in.
Now they were alone again, she thought it’d be perfectly acceptable to lean over and kiss his cheek.

A thrill shot through her as she seriously considered going for it, but then she quickly bit down her emotions, telling herself to not screw up the good thing they had going. Besides, he’d never see her as a potential girlfriend after all the times he’d seen her at her worst. He already told her he thought she was strange, a sure sign he only thought of her as a friend. No interested guy used “you’re the strangest girl I’ve ever met” as a pickup line.

It’s for the best anyway. Remember that whole my-kiss-makes-guys-never-speak-to-me-again thing?

Before she ruined everything, she turned her attention to the TV. The camera zoomed in on one of the riders. “Wow. The TV’s so big I can see his nose hairs. And sweat. I know guys are obsessed with huge high def TVs, but there are some things I’d rather not see.”

The rider put on his helmet and at least seeing every detail of it wasn’t quite as graphic.

Bryson sat forward as the race started. His face lit up. As the riders rounded the track, he shouted instructions at them. Things like, “You’re spinning wide” and “You put your foot down too long.”

Rosaline sunk back in the couch cushions and sighed. “I don’t want you to go on the trip. I’m going to get so bored without you here.”

“I’m sure you can find some trouble to get into.” He sat back, his eyes flicking from the TV to her. “Just don’t wander too far. I won’t be here to go retrieve you and bring you back home.”

Home.
Was this home now? Instead of horrifying her, the word wrapped around her like a warm blanket. “I suppose if you’re not around to save me, I’ll have to keep the damsel-in-distress drama in check.” She picked at a stray thread on her shorts. “But I maintain my insistence I would’ve found my way back eventually. Plus, I know the place better now. And Ace knows the way home.”

“You’ve got it; now take him!” Bryson yelled. A guy dressed in blue and white overtook the other rider, crossing the finish line first. Bryson pumped a fist in the air and then twisted to face her. “Sorry. You were saying something?”

“No, I get it. If you hadn’t have shouted at him, he probably would’ve lost.”

The warmth of his smile echoed in his voice. “Damn straight. But like I was saying, be careful while I’m gone. It’s just a few days, then I’ll be back to make up for all our lost time.”

The butterflies in her stomach were trying to make a comeback. She kicked off her flip-flops and pulled her feet up on the couch. “Maybe I’ll save you some time and work on your motorcycles while you’re gone. You’ll come back and they’ll be extra special fixed. I bet they don’t need
all
those parts.”

Bryson looped his arm around her knee and shot her a serious look. “What’s it going to take to get you to not touch the bikes? Free use of my computer?” This close, she got a whiff of that fresh-cut-grass and crisp scent. Her chest tightened, and her heart fluttered against the new, closer boundary.

“Roz?” Dafne called out as she entered the room.

Rosaline jerked back like a little kid caught doing something she knew she shouldn’t.

“Phone.” Dafne held out her cell. “For you.”

Not her parents. Especially not in front of Bryson. It was bad enough when they fought with no one else around to hear. “Can’t you tell them I’ll talk to them later?” she whispered, not wanting Mom and Dad to hear. “I just talked to them on Tuesday, and I think weekly check-ins are more than enough.”

“It’s Sam.” Dafne covered the bottom of her phone and kept her voice low. “You can go out. I want to know exactly where you’ll be, it’s got to be a group thing—not just you and him—and home by eleven. Don’t make me regret it.”

Rosaline took the phone from Dafne and answered, hoping it came off cooler than she suddenly felt. She stepped away from Bryson as Sam asked if she’d like to go to dinner tomorrow night with him, Leanne, and Billy.

“Dinner sounds good,” Rosaline said, biting her thumbnail. A date. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Then again, maybe flirting with him would get it all out of her system. With Sam, she could risk it—he wasn’t anything to her yet.

Bryson already meant too much.

After they’d ironed out the details, Rosaline hung up. Bryson was still sitting on the couch, but the carefree vibe from earlier was gone. He stood. “I’m tired. I’ve got that trip tomorrow, and it sounds like you’re not going to be so bored after all.”

With that, he walked past her. All she could do was stare after him, mouth hanging open. She wouldn’t see him for five days, and he hadn’t even bothered saying a proper goodbye.