I paused. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are.’
There was silence for a moment and then Oliver’s voice came, clear in the night. ‘You don’t belong here.’
I turned. His eyes were on me, sharp and blue. I looked away.
‘You don’t even know me.’
‘I know everything about you, sweetheart,’ Oliver’s voice was matter of fact. ‘And I know you’re better than this. Than anyone in this town.’
I swallowed, my skin prickling with awareness. ‘Your family’s here,’ I pointed out, trying to deflect his laser-sharp attention.
Oliver chuckled. ‘Yes, they are.’
Silence.
My pulse kicked. I didn’t know why, but I wanted desperately to believe him. That I had something special inside me, more than Haverford could contain. That I could be more than this.
Tears stung, sudden in my throat. I slid down from the hood. ‘I should be getting home,’ I mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
Oliver didn’t object.
We drove back in silence, but this time, I couldn’t shake my awareness of him, inches away in the dark car. My head was spinning, just a little, from the whiskey and the day, too long. Work, and Crystal, and school, and the quarry all blurring into one.
Just one day, but it felt like something had shifted, split open inside me. I felt raw, the many weeks of holding it all together catching up all at once, too messy and too damn sharp to keep contained in such a small body. I clenched my fists at my sides, digging my nails into my palms, counting the breaths until Oliver pulled into my driveway and turned off the engine.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered, grabbing my bag. ‘For the ride. And . . . ’ I stopped.
‘Anytime,’ Oliver replied lightly.
I opened the door and bolted up to my front porch, scrabbling for my keys. I’d left the light off and now I felt blindly around in my bag for the touch of metal.
‘Chloe.’ Oliver’s voice rang out.
I turned. He was sauntering towards me, unhurried, his face cloaked in shadow. ‘Did I forget . . . ’
My words died in my throat as he kept on walking, straight up to me, backing me up against the door without breaking stride and taking my face in his hands.
He kissed me hard, before I had time to think. Before I had time to even breathe; his tongue demanding, his body pressing into me, hands trapping me in place with no space to resist as he branded me with his mouth, biting down on my lower lip hard enough to make me flinch.
He stepped back, leaving me gasping.
‘Good night.’ Oliver’s smile was almost cruel as he turned and walked back to the car; starting the engine, sweeping back out on to the street and away, the noise receding in the night.
I stood there, shaking, my heart racing, my body weak.
What the hell was I supposed to do now?
I’m used to secrets.
This year, I became an expert, accumulating them like rare butterflies in a delicate glass case. Mom’s illness; the money; Dad’s betrayal; my own illicit desires. I tucked each one away in turn and locked the door tight, hidden and silent, as secrets should be.
Now, they’re all escaping. Sharp wings and an angry flutter, beating louder in the silence of the empty hospital hallways. A crescendo, building to the most terrible truth of all.
The body I left in the burning building. The boy I didn’t love enough to save.
The wingbeats stalk me with every step. Soon, they promise.
Soon, you’ll have to tell.
I didn’t tell Ethan about the kiss. I couldn’t. What would I say? He’d think it was my fault somehow, that I’d led Oliver on. He was his brother, after all, I was just the girlfriend. It was no contest whose story he’d believe, and then where would I be left?
Alone.
I’d be all alone in this town, with nothing to take me out of that house, alleviate the dark lonely drudgery that my life had become. Without Ethan, there would be no warmth, no fun, no laughter between work, and Mom, and the quiet glare of the television, night after night after night.
I couldn’t take it. I wouldn’t make it through.
So I said nothing and waited, anxious, for a change in Ethan. Any sign that Oliver might have told. He wouldn’t, I told myself, what reason would he have to hurt his brother like that?
But what reason did he have to kiss me in the first place?
Ethan was busy, thankfully, with work at the construction site and commuting out to the new development, so I was able to avoid the Reznick house for weeks. Guilty, I did my best to be the perfect girlfriend: calling him every night, responding to his texts right away. I even invited him for dinner at my house and cooked his favourite lasagne, painfully aware of my Mom, sitting in front of the TV in the next room, even as Ethan slid his hands around my waist and nuzzled my neck from behind.
‘Did I tell you you’re, like, the best girlfriend ever?’ he murmured, lips against my throat. I stepped away, pivoting across the kitchen to grab some milk for the white sauce.
‘Don’t distract me,’ I protested, trying to sound normal. ‘I want to get the recipe right.’
‘Whatever you do will be great.’ Ethan lounged back against the countertops, smiling at me. His hair was getting longer, a ruffled mess. ‘You’re the sweetest.’
‘I’m not.’ I concentrated on stirring.
‘You are.’ Ethan insisted. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me.’
‘It’s nothing.’ I felt my cheeks flush, guilty. ‘You’ve been working hard all week, that’s all. I wanted to do something nice.’
‘Well, this is perfect. I’m just happy we get to spend some time together.’ Ethan reached out and caught me against him again, arms settling loosely around my waist. ‘I’ve missed you.’
His eyes were warm and honest as he smiled at me. I looked away.
‘I missed you too,’ I murmured. I moved to step away, but instead of letting me go, he tilted my chin up to him and found my lips in a slow kiss.
I swayed against him, feeling the warmth of his mouth, and the slide of his hands bringing me closer, but when I closed my eyes, all I could think about was Oliver’s lips, not his. Oliver’s body, hard against mine.
It has been intoxicating.
That was the source of my secret shame, the reason I was running in circles trying to make it up to Ethan. Not just that it had happened, although the simple fact of my betrayal was bad enough to make me sick with guilt. But worse still, worse than anything, was the fact I had liked it.