On the day Mom died. On the day you caused it.
“Art?” I snort out. “You mean my doodles?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated. I can tell he is struggling with a hundred emotions right now. His loyalty to Dom, his desire to create. We’re messy. Not fiends, nor friends. I can tell Joe doesn’t hold a grudge against me anymore for what happened between us, and at the same time, he is mad. Mad like I’m mad. At the world. At this situation.
He reaches for his front pocket and pulls something out. A crumpled pack of tissues. He tugs one sheet and waves it between us.
“Let’s start over.”
“I don’t want to start over.” Maybe if I keep repeating this, it’ll be true.
“You have to. I raised a white flag. There are rules in this world, Ever. A white flag symbolizes an approaching unarmed negotiator.”
Too bad his presence is the very weapon I fear the most.
“Look, I don’t know why things happened the way they did.” He rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “I thought about it all week. Maybe I did something really fucked up in my previous life, and this is all karmic retribution.”
That’s what I thought too. No surprises there. He and I are too much alike.
“Or maybe you and I weren’t meant to be,” he continues. “Or maybe this is just a part of life’s randomness. Whatever it is, it doesn’t change one fact—I didn’t manage to write one goddamn word since the day you left Spain, and in this past week, I wrote four pages.” He takes a deep breath and adds, “Front and back.”
“It felt good,” I admit, biting down on my lip. “To create again.”
His gaze drops to my lips. “I can make you feel even better.”
My senses heighten and my temperature hikes up when he takes another step forward. He leans forward, his lips touching the shell of my ear. “By making you draw, not come.”
I push him away, almost violently.
He chuckles in response. “C’mon, Ever. I’m just trying to break the ice!”
“What are you suggesting?” I ask impatiently.
“We meet up. Hang out. Bounce ideas off each other. Talk books, music, general life stuff. We’ll keep it platonic. You spark something in me, Ever. We don’t have to give each other everything. We can just . . . be there for one another. The spark is there.”
“Don’t you see?” I fling my arms in the air, ignoring the verbal jab. “This is exactly why we can’t hang out. You know what happens to sparks?”
“They turn into flames.” Resigned, he hangs his head between his shoulders, shaking it. “You feel it, too, huh?”
“Bone deep,” I admit.
“So what? Lots of people want to fuck each other but can’t. We’re not animals. We can shoot the shit without exchanging bodily fluids. We can be . . .”
He doesn’t say friends, because we can’t be friends.
I smile sadly. “Be what? Whatever it’s gonna be, it’ll be betraying Dom. Emotional cheating is still cheating.”
He frowns, looking thunderous. “Dom won’t mind. I can be friendly with his girlfriend.”
“Do you guys have a good relationship?” I ask, remembering in Spain how resentful Joe had felt about his family. Now it all makes sense. Dom hogged all the attention, and Joe stayed on the outskirts of his parents’ conscience. There, but not really.
“Sure.” Joe shrugs. “Peachy.”
“Doesn’t look it.”
“We have baggage. All siblings do. And I have some disagreements with him, which I’m not going to talk about with you. But I love him. Too damn much. Too much to do something we’ll both regret, I think.”
Not sure what to say, I let myself digest what he’s just said silently.
“Well?” He frowns. “What do you say we help each other out?”
“I’m sorry, Joe. I can’t.”
His look, of defiance and anger, sears me. My walls are falling one by one. I want to drop to my knees and collect the invisible bricks. Put them between us again.
“Ever,” he says quietly. It’s a plea. Please, help me.
I shake my head, pressing my lips together to muffle a sob.
He closes his eyes. “I fucking hate this.”
With a knot in my throat and the world’s weight on my shoulders, I turn my back on him, slide into my car, and drive off.
Leaving my imaginary bricks and very real heart behind.
SIXTEEN