Secrets We Whisper in the Moonlight (Decisions in Durham Book 2) Page 8

  “It’s good though, right?”

  He took another sip and nodded. “Better than the Keurig shit I drink.”

  I made a face. “What? Why?”

  “It’s easy?” He shrugged. “This would drive me crazy every morning.”

  I shrugged back, unwilling to admit it did drive me crazy most mornings. But it was also worth it. Sometimes the effort to do something good was hard. But that didn’t mean the thing was bad. Hard things could be good things.

  In more ways than just coffee.

  “This is weird,” I said instead. “That you’re still here.”

  “You’re so damn pushy,” he scolded in a low rumble, tossing the last of his cup back. I thought that meant he would leave, but instead, he walked over to the coffee pot and poured himself another.

  I eyed the remaining coffee to make sure there was enough to get me through my required two cups per day. Caffeine was something I liked to be careful about. But mostly because I absolutely loved it. I loved coffee and soda and chocolate and even, secretly, energy drinks.

  It was my night owl life that got to me. I was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise person by nature. The bar had effed with my entire circadian rhythm. And even though I’d had four years to get used to the schedule change, I still struggled in the afternoon, when I needed to be my most productive self in the office. And then again late at night, when the main floor needed me to help out and I was trying not to doze off standing up.

  If I gave in to my baser needs, I would spend every day sucking down a two-liter Coke and slamming Red Bulls. But I was bound and determined to stick to two creamer-rich cups of homemade coffee and let iced water and Big Red gum fill in the gaps.

  Most days.

  I was only human, after all. And some afternoons demanded caffeine overdoses. That was just the way of life.

  “You don’t think it’s weird that you spent the night at my place?” I asked, truly perplexed by his nonchalance.

  He screwed his face up in thought. “Mmm, I’m pretty sure you made it abundantly clear that nothing would happen between us, English. So I wasn’t exactly worried you were going to take advantage of me in my vulnerable sleep state.” Little did he know.

  Reaching REM and drooling on his T-shirt didn’t exactly qualify as sexual misconduct, but when I closed my eyes and remembered what it felt like to be nestled against his chest, what he smelled like so close to me—even the damn cadence of his breathing—it was hard not to feel like I overstepped some boundaries. Boundaries I’d put in place. Not just because I didn’t want to be another notch on Jonah’s bedpost. Or worse . . . another one of his regrets. But because it was oh-so easy for me to forget who I was today and get swept up in who I used to be. Or rather who Jonah used to be to me. Not the best friend I loved and respected and thought the absolute world of. But the man of my dreams who I would have done anything just to get him to notice me.

  Ugh, stop, Eliza. Get your shit together.

  “That’s not what I mean,” I said coolly.

  “Then what do you mean? I’ve spent the night at your house a thousand times before.”

  Was he serious? “You’ve spent the night at my mom’s house a thousand times. With Will. This was so not the same thing.”

  He shrugged for the three hundredth time. My eye twitched, and I had the briefest fantasy of punching him on his collarbone. Having company in the morning had lost its luster now that we were bickering.

  “Semantics, Eliza. We both survived still virgins. All is good.”

  I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly lodged behind my eyelids. Neither of us was virgins, and he knew it. But clearly, he needed to be reminded of the rules. “What if Will would have stopped by, Jonah? How would you have explained our sleeping arrangements then?”

  I expected him to tense up and get serious. Or to panic and run out of my apartment screaming and waving his arms over his head because he just remembered that he’d promised my big brother he’d never lay a hand on me. Never even look my direction in a way that was anything but platonic and brotherly. I expected a lot of apologizing and pleading and reminding me I had just as much at stake as he did. We couldn’t anger Will because Will was the boss and sacrificed so much for all of us, and we owed this to him at least and blah blah freaking blah.

  I felt queasy waiting for him to make last night the biggest mistake of our adult lives. Because I’d already lived through this scenario in my teens. And I could safely testify that it lived in infamy as the worst night of my teenage years by a landslide.

  seven

  It was actually eerily similar to these circumstances, now that I was thinking about it. Mentally reliving the nightmare that refused to give up and die already in my memory.

  Jonah had been spending the weekend with us. His mom had checked herself into the hospital the day before. She did that sometimes. She had a lot of issues, but one of them was debilitating depression, where she regularly considered taking her own life.

  Sometimes her hospital stay was a good thing. She was sick and needed help, and at least she was protecting her son.

  But other times, she blamed Jonah for being the reason she was so depressed. Then she would leave her only child to pick up the pieces of her emotional terrorist attack and the physical destruction of their house while she got a state-paid weekend getaway. Even if it was in a psych ward.

  That time was one of the latter. Jonah had shown up late the night before, looking like someone had run him over with their car. I had seen him cry when we were little, but I was seventeen, and he was almost twenty then . . . and it had been a while since he’d looked this . . . defeated.

  My mom had welcomed him into our home immediately. Even my dad had been kind to him. They couldn’t do anything for him other than feed him and give him a place to stay. He was an adult. His mom wasn’t supposed to be able to crush him anymore.

  But she had.

  Oh, how she had.

  Will had been home too. They’d stayed up late talking, drinking, and eventually passed out. I’d had to leave for school before they were awake, but I couldn’t wait to get home and hang out with Jonah. I had it so bad for him. But I’d also liked being his friend. At seventeen, Will had started to let me hang around more often. I hadn’t been as annoying to them as I’d used to be. I could even make them laugh and beat them at video games.

  The night had been everything I’d hoped it would be. I’d helped my mom make dinner, and the boys had been ecstatic to have her homemade roast chicken and cheesy potatoes. Then Will, Charlie, Jonah, and I had started a movie marathon. Probably Austin Powers. But Charlie had abandoned us to play video games in his room. And at some point, Will had decided to go to bed too.

  It’d ended up being just Jonah and me. And just like last night, we’d started on opposite ends of the couch and somehow had found our way to the middle. We’d laughed about the movie. And joked. And kept touching each other. Flirty at first, where you’d linger but pull your hands away. Then we’d stopped pulling our hands away. And just touched.

  I’d looked at him when the credits were rolling. He’d looked back. Those gray-blue eyes darkening and softening and somehow also intensifying. I’d said the thing I’d wanted to say to him for years. “I’m sorry your mom doesn’t know how amazing you are.”

  And then I wasn’t sure who’d moved first or kissed who, but we had suddenly been kissing.

  I had only kissed two other boys before Jonah. The first, a kid who’d begged me to kiss him under the bleachers after school, had been a total disaster. And the second had been a couple of months before at a party. I’d been in love with Jonah even then, but Colin was a nice kid from my science class, and I’d felt like . . . I should at least have some idea of what I was doing if I’d ever hoped to impress Jonah—who had been in college at the time and had dated plenty of girls.

  Honestly, I’d never really expected to get to that point though. Jonah was so out of my league. So beyond my hopes and dreams. So everything I’d obsessed over and everything I’d been afraid to try for.

  But there we’d been . . . kissing . . . and kissing . . . and kissing . . . and I’d thought I would combust right then and there. His hands had cupped my face, rough and calloused, where my skin was smooth and soft. His tongue had been insistent and exploratory. He’d made a sound in the back of his throat that I knew meant he’d enjoyed this as much as I had. And just when I thought we would take things a step forward . . . he’d pushed me away.

  “I can’t,” he’d mumbled. He’d sat up with a start and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, Eliza. I can’t.”

  I might have managed something like, “Huh?”

  Jonah had thrown a hand back against the couch, punching the cushion. “He’s going to kill me.”

  I’d reached some outer space dream world where I sat on clouds and felt wonderful all the time and had access to Jonah Mason’s lips, so when he’d pushed me away, I hadn’t come back to reality. I’d actually fell off my puffy, perky cloud, careened through time and space at lightning speed, and crash-landed back on earth with an ear-splitting thud. My body had actually hurt from the impact. Still, I’d managed to ask, “What?”

  “Shit, Eliza, I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Done what?” I’d asked like a total moron.

  His face had been bright red, and he’d all but jumped to the other side of the couch to put as much space between us as possible. “That!” he’d said dramatically, gesturing toward me. “I promised Will I’d never touch you. Like that. I swore on my life I’d never, uh, get with you.”

  The pieces to this puzzle had been there, but I’d been in slow motion trying to put them together. “Wait, you promised Will? You promised Will what?”

  “You’re his sister,” he’d said plainly as if I’d somehow forgotten. “And he’s my best friend. And it’s not that I don’t think you’re awesome because I do. You’re amazing, Eliza. And so pretty. And nice. And . . .”

  He’d said only good things, but for some reason, they’d felt like punches in the gut instead of compliments. I hadn’t wanted to hear how awesome he’d thought I was. Or how amazing. Or how pretty I was.

  I’d wanted him to come sit by me again. To stop talking about Will and start talking about us. And for fuck’s sake, I’d needed him to kiss me again. Right then.

  “I don’t understand,” I’d told him. My hands had started shaking, and I’d felt the embarrassing prick of tears building up. I wasn’t going to cry over this.

  Okay, that was a lie. I was going to sob forever over this. But at least I wasn’t going to do it in front of Jonah.

  I’d save it for later when I could lock myself in the bathroom, crawl into a scalding hot shower, and curl up on the floor. Then I’d cry. And cry. And cry.

  But not yet.

  “I like you, Eliza. Like for real, I like you. You’re so cool. You’re exactly the kind of girl I want to date. But . . .”

  My heart had dropped to my toes, and the sick feeling in my stomach had intensified until I’d have sworn my skin actually turned green. Nobody had ever hated the word but more than I had at that moment.

  Nobody.

  “But . . .” he’d continued. “My friendship with Will is too important to fuck up. I’m sorry. He’s done so much for me. He’s basically saved my life. I owe him everything. And it would kill him if we . . . if I ever . . .” His vision had cleared, and he’d looked me dead in the eyes. Those eyes that had been so mercurial were solid, steely gray. “This can’t happen, Eliza. Ever.”

  This can’t happen. Ever. He’d meant him and me. He’d meant our kiss. He’d meant that even though he liked me, he liked my brother more.

  And could I even blame him?

  God, I’d wanted to. I’d so wanted to. But Will was the best—at least to Jonah. And they had been friends for so long. Plus, Jonah was so much older than I was. He was in college, and I was still in high school. What had I expected?

  The shame had borne down on me like a missile. Suddenly, I’d felt like I’d been the biggest idiot to initiate the entire thing. That I’d been flirty and too into him and desperate for something to happen between us.

  That I’d somehow manifested that shit show by sheer desperation.

  I couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. Or be around him. Plus . . . I’d been about to be sick. Like for real. And under no circumstances I’d let that happen after he’d just rejected me for my brother.

  My body had moved before my mind had fully caught up. But fight or flight had kicked in, and all I could do had been to play it cool and not sprint out of the room in a flurry of hysterical sobbing.

  “I get that,” I’d heard myself say. “Obviously. It would be weird anyway.” My hands had moved in ways they’d never had before. I’d kept jerking them in front of my face and then forcing them to my side, and then they’d twisted together in front of me, only for me to yank them behind my back. I’d probably looked like a marionette on acid.

  He hadn’t look at my hands, though. He’d held my gaze from across the room and lifted one arrogant eyebrow. “Why would it be weird?”

  Hadn’t he just told me it was wrong? Weird had felt like a softer synonym for what he’d been saying. And hadn’t he been the one pushing me away?

  So why had I suddenly felt like I had to justify my actions and words? Still, part of me wanted that to happen between us so badly that my body physically ached with longing for him. My heart had twisted itself into a knot, and the hope that had been stringing me along for years hadn’t figured out that this was the end. It’d still soared in my chest like a helium balloon, bumping against the ceiling barrier of my rib cage.

  But that hadn’t been the part that spoke. The part that had said, “Because you’re like an older brother to me,” had been a pure survival instinct. When his jaw unhinged and he’d stared at me, mouth agape, I’d added, “I’ve known you for like . . . ever. You’re family, Jonah. We’re friends. Just friends.”

  He’d blinked at me as if he couldn’t quite get my face in focus. His mouth had worked up and down, but he’d looked like he couldn’t figure out what to say. Probably because I’d said everything for him.

  I’d stepped back, anxious to barricade myself in my room for the next forty-eight hours, possibly the next thirty-six years, and scream into my pillow. And then cry. And then scream a little bit more. And then cry a hell of a lot more. And then rewrite my mental future, extricating him entirely from it.

  Which was too bad for him because we’d had a lovely future together in my head, dammit.

  A two-story house. The picket fence. Three adorable kids with my hair and his eyes. We were perfect.

  “Okay, sure. Yeah. If that’s what you want, Eliza. Friends. Of course. We’ll always be friends.”

  I’d wanted to scream at him. That wasn’t what I’d wanted. That was what he’d wanted. He’d wanted to be friends. I’d wanted to recklessly throw my virginity at him and have all his babies.

  Clearing my throat, I’d taken a step back and glanced at the door. “Um, thanks.” I didn’t know why I’d said that, but there it was. Survival. And some intense but stupid urge to be polite and not make waves.

  “And about Will—”

  Oh, no. I would not, under any circumstances, let him ruin this moment even further by bringing up my brother again. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I’d assured him. “I won’t tell Will what happened. My lips are sealed. I’ll take this one to the grave with me.” I’d made a lip-zipping motion. “Consider it buried. Decayed.” I’d taken another step back, trying to figure out why I was still talking. “Ashes to ashes,” I’d heard myself say. “Dust to dust.”

  “Eliza!” Jonah had called after me, but I’d already escaped into the hallway, and not a single thing on heaven or earth could have dragged me back into that room.

  I’d made it to my bedroom and managed to close the door quietly before bursting into sobs. Thankfully they were so strong, so severe, that they’d been utterly silent. I’d miraculously cranked up my radio and buried my face in my pillow before needing to gasp for air. And that was where I’d stayed for the next twelve hours. Weeping. Grieving. Saying goodbye to the childhood crush I had convinced myself was the love of my life.

  When I’d finally surfaced sometime after lunch the next day, Will had taken Jonah out. They’d gone golfing or something stupid. And I had showered, washed my hair, and decided I would never again entertain romantic thoughts of Jonah Mason.

  He’d be in my life probably forever. That was unavoidable. I’d have to see him. Interact with him. Hang out with him. And I would have to treat him like the brother I claimed he was.

  By the time the guys had returned to the house, I was fresh-faced and as peppy as ever. He’d avoided my eyes and had been quieter than usual. But I’d been my old self, razzing my brothers and laughing loudly at their jokes.

  A year later, I had stopped getting misty-eyed and flushing with shame every time I thought about that kiss.

  Two years later, I was fully comfortable being around Jonah and not assuming the shameful kiss was all he ever thought about when I was around.

  Five years later, we were as close as he was with Will. He called me as much as he called Will. We hung out without Will or Charlie around.

  Ten years later, that night and that kiss was a distant, embarrassing, long-buried memory for both of us. It was almost like it had never happened.

  Almost.

  Except for moments like this one.

  I’d brought up the big, fat elephant in the room. The reason for my ultimate humiliation all those years ago. So why wasn’t he freaking out? Why hadn’t the name Will English invoked pure, unadulterated panic from him?

  “Who cares what Will thinks? We’re adults, Eliza. Your brother can go fuck himself if he has an opinion. He didn’t ask my advice about Lola. Did he ask yours?”

  “No, obviously not. Will isn’t the guy who asks for permission.”