raged on.
Music played. People laughed and chatted. The crack and pop of another fire sizzled, the smell of its autumn perfume in the air. Its residual warmth seemed to touch my legs.
“You finally find her?” Mitch asked.
Brando didn’t answer, just kept walking with intent. I caught Mitch’s smile as we breezed past him—actually, it was a frown, but since my position was upside down, it had turned the expression into a smile.
Finally, we came to a duller section of the party, a quieter and colder section. The heat from the alcohol seemed to even out the chill. Brando released me on my feet and I stumbled a bit. He caught my arm, but it seemed nothing but a polite gesture.
I started where my tirade had ended, but he held up a hand, successfully shutting me up.
He paced, fiddling with the beanie on his head, and then he threw it to the ground. His hair was a mess, standing in all different directions. His eyes were bright, glazed over. And if his skin had been paler, it would have been colored red with the embers of his temper. I realized then that his eyes were not smoldering, as I had first assumed. They were so cold that they held the burn from extreme temperature—a frigid temperature that made one go blue. His hands balled and flexed. Balled and flexed. He kicked the tire of Mitch’s truck; a tremble ran through the tin with the force of the impact.
A little voice in my head reminded me that I couldn’t take another silent argument. This was war, on my mind, my heart, my body, and my soul. The battlefield stretched from wherever he stood to wherever I stood. I needed more from him and he couldn’t seem to control me.
He had held my heart for a long time, but he had never claimed it. He allowed me to suffer—to suffer without him, even though we were both hurting. He knew what that night in the snow had meant, yet he never tried to talk to me afterward.
He never even thanked me for saving his life! Then he reenters, acting like some hero set on avenging his best friend by protecting his baby sister. He wasn’t effing Robin Hood!
He stopped so suddenly that I flinched.
“Tell me,” he whispered. He whispered, but that frightening calm mask was in place again, though I could feel the rage that lurked beneath the surface.
Every thought in my mind came out in a seething breathe of words. “You hurt me. You keep hurting me. Why come back now? Why all of a sudden?”
“You are driving me fucking crazy!” He pulled at his hair. I had never seen him so unhinged, so unglued. Even the night he socked that guy for knocking me over, I had never seen him go this savage. “I’m losing it. I’m losing my mind—I’m losing fucking control.”
“I don’t give a damn.”
“You don’t. Because this is what you want. You punish me by acting the way you have been. The parties. Ace. Tonight.”
“Why do you even give a damn?” I threw my hands up in frustration.
The sweater, which normally settled above my navel, gave him a clear view of my ribs, the soft area just under my breasts, and the touches of lace that covered them. He caught the flash and his eyes flashed molten before they turned to stone.
“Why do you even care, Brando?” I pushed forward. “Why am I even here talking to you? I don’t want to be your little sister. I’m not your little sister. I had a brother. He did a fine job of it, too, when he was alive. But he’s gone now. He’s gone! You can’t replace him!”
He seemed to be avoiding the word “why” at all costs. He was a man who rarely asked questions, just commanded and took whatever the hell he wanted, when he wanted. I didn’t need to be experienced to know that much.
It took him a moment to answer. He looked at the ground, at the truck, and then up at the sky. “You don’t punish someone you love,” he whispered.
I thought that over for a moment. Was I punishing him? Was I acting out to get his attention? Perhaps. But it didn’t seem to matter. Not then. He had his agenda, I had mine. “Why, Brando?” I sniffed hard, trying to control my temper. “Why are you here?”
“That’s not love, Scarlett.” He turned his eyes on me then; his anger had dissolved into