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Ross in the water, his scarred back bowed, golden head bent, as if expecting more punishment from the world.
Ross teasing me, that bright grin on his face, his eyes hooded and happy.
Ross kissing me, tasting of smoke and bitter pain.
But my mind keeps going back to the scars, and what he’s told me of his dad. I get why he hates that house, why his nightmares hit him harder there. So many bad memories.
It’s all starting to make sense—why he can’t be bothered with long term plans, why he lives like he’s camping—because he learned to live for the moment and that any moment it can all be over. And he may not have run away like me, but he hid instead, behind alcohol, behind his words and fists, sinking inside himself like a man in a maze, unable to find his way out.
I’ve had an epiphany, you see. We’re similar, Ross and me, in this at least: we both were bullied growing up. And sure it matters that he was the one who bullied me, but let’s face it: what his dad put him through is nothing compared to the words he used on me. Having your only family destroy you so completely isn’t something I can imagine. But I can believe it must have hurt a lot.
Enough to destroy a man. But he’s still here, and I love him.
***
The end of my shift is finally in sight, some centuries and millennia later and I got to ditch my uniform and put on my own clothes to go.
Is it going to get worse? Can it get worse? Already being away from Ross since this morning feels like a lifetime. It feels like I can’t breathe properly when I’m not near him.
Holy crap, this is bad. If he pushes me away...
I should stop thinking like that, stop expecting it. Yes, it would mean his rejection can hurt me worse, but it doesn’t matter. I said I’d believe in him from now on, and maybe I should stop expecting him to say he loves me. Just be there for him, and if it’s not what he needs, then... then life will go on.
Fighting past the ache of that thought, I grab my purse and turn to leave the diner via the back door, and stop in my tracks, my heart like thunder in my ears.
What in the world?
My first thought is that Dena is kissing Ross.
She’s in the corner of the kitchen, kissing a tall, blond guy with Ross’s general build, the same spiky pale hair, dressed in a black T-shirt and worn jeans.
But as the seconds tick by, I become aware of differences. The set of his shoulders is wrong. Narrower. More sloped. His jaw is just not that square. His hair is a different shade of pale. And the way he’s holding her... not the way Ross holds me.
“Seriously, Dena?” I blurt out before I realize I’m doing it. “With Jenner? Wow.”
They jump apart so fast they overturn a tray with dishes and they crash to the floor. The silence that follows the crash is deafening, while Dena’s face goes through several degrees of red, settling on dark crimson.
“And why not Jenner, huh?” she huffs in the end, while Jenner stares at me, something like pleasure in his eyes.
Weirdo.
“Dena... can we talk? Privately?” I want to remind her of the things we discussed, about him being creepy and mimicking Ross.
But she only plants her hands on her hips and glares at me. “There’s nothing to talk about. You chose Ross. You can’t expect to have all the guys in this town at your feet.”
I gape at her, doing a great imitation of a fish. “At my feet? That’s what you think? That I want both Ross and Jenner?”
“Don’t you? Well, you can’t have them all. You took the hottest of them all, so I’ll take Jenner, thanks very much. Not many options left.”
“So you went for Ross, huh?” he said, speaking for the first time, making us both jump. “For a while there, I thought you’d go for me.”
He doesn’t seem disturbed by the fact that the girl he was kissing considers him second choice, doesn’t mention it, doesn’t even look at Dena who’s frowning at him.
“You’re sick,” I inform him. “Nuts. Trying to look like him. Why are you doing this? Why can’t you be yourself?”
He shrugs, doesn’t deny any of it. “Ross gets all the girls. The more I look like him, the better chances I have.”
I whirl on Dena. “That’s the sort of guy you want?”
