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I didn’t know if I regretted that kiss, or whether it was the whirlwind of emotions it stirred up in me that had me running scared. Maybe I should have stayed, faced the music, and talked things out with Jax, but in the heat of the moment, my impulse was to escape. To stay and maybe end up talking, might mean I compromised and agreed it should be a one-time thing, and I was done losing my dreams. After everything I’d given up—albeit willingly—didn’t I deserve to follow the path I’d always imagined for myself?
Maybe I should have called Jax,justto hear his voice, to ease this knot in my chest. Or maybe I should have gone all out and gone back to his house, laid it all on the table, and seen where we stand. But doubts crept in. What if I made things worse? What if Jax didn’t want to see me again? What if the kiss was him being tired and bored.
Why did we wait so long?My words echoed in my thoughts, and I was alternating between embarrassment and conviction.
I was left with more questions than answers because what we’d done had been everything, and I couldn’t help but second-guess every move I was making, let alone adding this to the heap. Nowhere in my future was revealing I was in love with Jax, or hell, kissing him some more.
So, busy work was where it was at. So far, I’d emptied and cleaned out two cupboards, reorganized photos on the kitchen pin board, and run two loads of laundry. The drier beeped at me, and I emptied the contents—comfortable and soft work T-shirts.
I fluffed and folded, and headed out through to the hall, finding Panda hanging precariously from the top shelf of a bookcase, one half of him in a shoe box, the other half kinda sprawled this way and that.
“You gonna help put this away with me?” I asked him as he blinked at me, then stretched out a single paw, showing me his pale pink toe beans, which could change into murder mittens in an instant. He made no move to follow me. “Guess not, then.”
Only, as soon as I neared my bedroom with my arms full of laundry, Panda sprinted up the stairs, spotted the attic door, which I’d not shut properly, darted through it, and vanished. I dumped the basket inside my bedroom door, then followed him, because Panda was the kind of idiot cat that would get stuck among the boxes and detritus of three generations of the same family. It wasn’t much of a wait to spot him jumping from one corner of the attic to another, pouncing on shadows on the old wooden floor.
“Panda, get your furry butt out of here.”
As if he’d heard me, and in his usual cat way had chosen to ignore me, he pounced on a drop cloth, then ventured deeper into the attic. I watched him leap on some old boxes as he explored a far corner. With a curious sniff, he mauled at a box, sending plumes of dust and cobwebs into the air, disappearing into the cobweb-covered space. Yowling, he backed away, up on his back paws, then darted back down past me with a tangle of webs and dust clinging to his black face, which I knew would end up somewhere it shouldn’t.
Like right in my clean laundry.
I took the steps two at a time, sliding to a stop, but I was too late—Panda was right in with my clean shirts, circling, and pawing at them. I eased him out of the impromptu nest and carried him at arm’s length downstairs, shooing him out of the back door, ignoring the baleful stare he threw at me.
“In my clean washing. For real?” I called out to him, and he did the cat alternative to rolling his eyes by turning his back on me. I had almost made it back upstairs when my cell vibrated. I yanked it out, hoping it was Jax.
Actually, hoping it wasn’t Jax. I would stumble over everything and fuck everything up because I didn’t have my thoughts in order.
Thank God, it was Trace, and I answered before he rang off, which he often did if he didn’t get an answer straight away—he had a typical early twenties attention span, but give him a page of random statistics, and he would spend hours staring at them, obsessed, and attempting to find patterns—hence his degree in actuarial science. However, talking on the phone? Nope, wasn’t happening. I didn’t enjoy talking on the phone either, but it was the one way I got to hear my brother’s voice, so that was what I did. I should’ve felt honored when he didn’t ring off, and I actually got him talking to me.
“Trace, hi,” I said and reached the top of the stairs, pushing the attic door shut and trying the handle a few times—the lock was loose, which was why it wasn’t shutting, and I sighed to myself—something else to fix. “Trace?” I asked again because it was super quiet from my brother’s end.
“Sorry! Here!” he announced, and I sat on the top stair and smiled. “Guess what?” he asked.
Given I had no idea whatsoever what it could be, I threw out a few guesses. “The 5thdentist caved, and now they all recommend Trident? You ran out of change for the drier? You tripped down the stairs in class? You lost another pair of glasses?” So far, he was three for three on glasses versus sidewalk, which weren’t the cheapest accidents on earth.
“Nope,” he answered, using his practiced smug tone. “I still have my… shit… where are they… oh wait… yep, I have my glasses.”
“Idiot.”
“Pot, kettle, black—given how often you mislay your keys,” he replied.
“It’s a big house.”
“You’ll never guess who got the work placement they applied for?”
“I have no idea. Who?” I pretended, even as I fist-pumped, because Trace deserved every success he had worked so hard for.
“You’re an ass, Arlo. Me. I applied; I did math;, I conquered. I start in a week!”
My chest swelled with pride. I knew he was one of thirty or more final year students wanting this, and the fact that Trace—my little brother, Trace—had risen to the top was fantastic. “That’s amazing news. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you, we’re so excited, and when I saywe, that’s my other news. I wanted to tell you about Isabella, my girlfriend; she’s a second year pre-med at the house two doors down, fiery, Italian, long dark hair, a real temper. I’m in love, and I’m going to marry her.”
The hell? “What? Trace?—”
“I’m joking about the marrying. Oh my God! Anyway, I think I’m joking, but you know Mom and Dad fell in love at first sight, so maybe it’s in the genes. I can’t wait for you to meet her!”
Trace’s excitement was palpable. I could even imagine his face, so like my own, with a broad grin, and something else settled in my chest alongside the pride, a warmth from knowing he was happy. I was sure I’d love Isabella—Trace was the sensible brother, the one who weighed all the risks in life and took careful steps whenever he could.
