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“And what's that?”
“That I don't even have to be inside you to make your body feel better than he ever could.”
My words drench her like cold water. She whips her head backward, almost smacking it on the car that I've got her trapped against, her eyes wide with shock.
“Careful, Thea. Mr. Garrison can't afford the repairs as it is. He doesn't need you causing even more damage.”
She raises a hand to my chest and lightly pushes me backward. And though she's trying to hide it, I feel the slight tremor of her fingers against me, right over my heart.
“Leave me alone now, please.” Her voice is small, shaken and unsure. It almost makes me feel guilty for pushing her so far.
Almost, but not quite.
But I do take some amount of pity on her and step away. Before I've even had a chance to take a breath, she ducks underneath my arm and darts across the room to the doorway.
Before she leaves, she turns to look at me. I'm surprised to see no anger on her face, not even irritation at how I provoked her. She just looks...resigned. “It's my father's funeral tomorrow,” she says matter-of-factly. “If you're planning to be there, stay out of my way. I can't be dealing with your bullshit on top of mourning my daddy's death.”
And fuck if that doesn't make me feel like an asshole.
Thea didn't cryat her father's funeral. Not one single tear. I know because for the entirety of the hour-long service, I didn't look away from her once.
Maybe I should have prioritized my attention on the hymns, prayers and poetry readings instead of focusing solely on the daughter of the deceased. I was there to pay my respects to Bobby Sparkes, after all. But that was simply the way it was. It was impossible to look anywhere else.
And I don't mean because of how stunning she was, all wrapped in black lace with her hair falling around her face, though it's true, of course. Her hands were held in her lap with a grace even angels don't possess and her cheeks were flushed from the intensity of the situation. She was, as she's always been, astonishingly beautiful.
But it was what I could see swirling in her eyes that caught my attention and held it. An entire thunderstorm of emotions, so complex and entangled, it was impossible to get a gauge on what she was really feeling.
Grief, as you'd expect, but other things as well. Regret mixed with disappointment. Sadness. Pain. Confusion, too. And then, deep in the evergreen of her irises, I saw anger. It was the latter that captured my curiosity.
Even now, as Bobby's casket is lowered into the ground, my gaze is still locked on Thea.
Hollywood has changed Thea—that much I know for certain. Everything about her is different now. She's colder, sharper somehow. The sunshine warmth she possessed at eighteen has cooled to a kind of wintery chill and her eyes don't hold the same innocence as before, like she's seen and experienced terrible things. In the time that she's been back in town, I haven't noticed it as starkly as I do now. Standing beside her daddy's grave, her emotions locked away behind tearless emerald eyes, she is the picture of stoic composure.
It's both impressive and concerning.
Because, at some point, the dam will inevitably burst and what will happen to her then? Who'll be there to take care of her?
Aiden.
It's a sobering thought, one that finally gives me the push I need to look away.
Once the burial is over, I follow the rest of the funeral party the short walk to the Sparkeses’ home, where the wake is being held.
The house where Thea grew up is a modest, ranch-style building with a low-pitched roof and connected deck space. A front yard that sees petunias bloom in spring stretches out a short distance to the tree-lined road beyond.
I haven't been in this part of the neighborhood since the morning Bobby told me Thea didn't want me anymore. And standing here, looking at the very same view I was faced with that day, I feel the heartache all over again.
“Someone kicked your kitten?” my older brother's voice cuts through the déja vu.
I turn to Conan, finding him with his hands shoved into his suit pockets and a solemn expression on his face.
“Don't have a kitten.”
“Maybe you should get one,” he says. “Might stop you looking like a miserable old prick all the time.”
I snort. “Yeah, 'cause you're a goddamn ray of sunshine yourself.”
“Touché, bro.” He grins, holding out his fist for me to bump. “You coming inside?”
