Broken Beast

That's big.

I can't respond with this. Even if it's what I'd normally do on a Saturday afternoon.

I need to be honest with him.

The bedroom door opens. Adam steps into the hallway, still in his suit, tie, shoes.

It's strange, but it would be stranger seeing him in jeans and a t-shirt.

He stops at the dining table a few feet from me. Runs his fingers over the thick wood. He lingers there for a moment, pulling his words together, then he says, "It's too much. Being here."

"Don't you live here?" I shut my laptop. Push it aside.

"I did," he says. "After I graduated. For years. But now… there are too many memories. Bash is everywhere."

"But not in your house?"

"It's different."

"How?"

He doesn't deliver a quick comeback. Or throw down because I said so. He pauses. Looks to the window, to the bright blue sky, the deep blue water, the lemon sun. "If I didn't know better, I'd think it was July."

"It's brighter in July. The sun is higher. The sky is bluer."

He nods, remembering. "I'm not used to the city anymore. It's too busy. Too loud. Too crowded."

"Here?"

"Not in the apartment, no." His eyes flit to the window, to the spot where I fucked myself yesterday. "It's quiet here."

"Isn't that what you want?"

"I don't know." He swallows hard. "The quiet is suffocating. An emptiness that used to be filled with laughter. But the noise is worse. It echoes through the emptiness. Reminds me I don't belong with other people."

"Adam—"

"You should stay. Invite your brother here. Watch that vampire show he adores."

"Blood Borne: Legends of the Vampire Clan?"

"Is it really called that?"

I nod. "Don't knock it till you try it."

"You think I'll like it?"

"I don't know. I don't know a lot about what you like to watch. It's possible."

"We didn't have a TV."

"There's a home theater on the second floor."

"Simon added it after Dad died, but we didn't use it often. We weren't in the habit of watching TV."

"You still don't?"

"Not usually."

"But—" I motion to the widescreen TV across from the couch. "Is it there for porn?"

His laugh is sad. "That's what Bash said."

"Oh."

"He bought it for me. He and Liam were younger. Young enough they invited girls over to 'watch a movie.'"

"Really? Liam seems more direct."

"Usually." His deep blue eyes get hazy as he slips into a memory. "He reads people well. If a girl was shy, didn't want to admit she wanted to come over to make out on the couch, he'd suggest a movie."

"Isn't that manipulative?"

"He meant it."

"Really?"

"Not your experience with boys that age?"

"I wasn't popular with guys in school. I was the weird girl with the camera. I took it everywhere. Spent lunch and break staring at the world—"

"Like it's a place of infinite wonder and beauty."

My cheeks flush. "I don't."

"You do."

"Maybe."

"It's a compliment."

"I know." That's why it steals my oxygen. Adam is sincere and straightforward when we're alone.

Why go to all this effort to lie?

Even if it is to protect his brothers?

Liam isn't a guy who needs protecting. I can't imagine Adam's older brother Simon is afraid of the truth. Especially if he's as serious as Adam is.

The Pierces are rich, yes. They've never lacked food, shelter, material comforts.

But they've been through a lot.

They're not going to fall apart because Adam is slow to let go of his grief.

"Thank you," I say.

"You had a boyfriend in high school."

"How did you know?"

"You told me."

Oh. Right. "I'm a little"—I hold up my half-drank coffee—"worn out."

"Do you want another cup?"

"Okay. Thanks."

His fingers brush mine as he takes it. He moves to the kitchen. Sets the water to boil. Grinds the beans. "I'm sure he saw it too."

"My artistic point of view?"

"Yes. But…" He actually laughs. "I was considering a more shallow angle."

"My tits."

"Your legs." His eyes flit to my short skirt. "Ass."

"I feel neglected."

"You or your tits?"

"Both."

He smiles as he scoops beans into the French press. "You're baiting me."

I motion maybe. "Is it working?"

"You can't tell?"

"No." I stand. Smooth my dress. Take a half-step toward him. "You're hard to read. Is that new…"

He shakes his head.

"But you… I remember when my mom died. It left me with this ache in my chest. But, more than that, it didn't make sense. She was just here. Laughing. Smiling. Fixing dinner, telling me to study, asking why I was home late, listening to bad reggae music. How could she already be gone?"

"What happened?"

"She had a heart condition. She kept it a secret. We didn't know. At first, I was mad at her. I kept thinking how I would have spent more time with her if I knew. How I would have savored every second."

"You were mad at yourself, for not appreciating what you had?"

"Yes. I missed her. I still miss her. Sometimes, I close my eyes, and I can see her smile or hear her laugh and I… It hurts, knowing I can never see her smile again. But it feels good to remember her. That night of the funeral, Remy and I had too much wine and started telling each other stories. I'd never gone from laughing to crying and back so quickly. Even now, it's such a strange feeling. I wouldn't have understood it before. And still, after three years… I still wake up some mornings and wonder what Mom will say today."