Make Her Mine

“You stood me up tonight,” I say, trembling all over. “You stood me up to come here and threaten my brother. That tells me exactly where I stand, Stone. Let go of my door.”

“No.”

“Let go of my door or I’ll call the police.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw, but he releases his grip this time without protesting. I slam the car door and hit the lock button, just as he bends his mouth close to the window. “I can’t involve you in this,” he says, loud enough for me to hear him through the glass. “It’s not safe.”

“Nice excuse,” I shout back. I glare at him but I feel the tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. They’re sharp, like pinpricks, and I blink a few times to hold them back. I don’t want him to see me cry. I refuse to let him see my cry over him. “But I’m not buying it.”

“Skye, you have to understand. I need to protect you.”

“I’m sure I’ll be safe when you piss the fuck off,” I retort then put the Neon in drive.

Before he can say another word, I floor the gas pedal, leaving him standing in the middle of the road. Like a fool, I watch him in the rearview mirror until I can’t see him any longer.

Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the lot outside my apartment and double over, breathing so hard my chest and throat feels frozen. It takes a minute for my vision to clear and my senses to return to me. When they finally do, I slide my cell out of my pocket and dial my brother.

He picks up on the first ring. “Skye.”

“Come over here,” I say. I hang up before he can reply. My brother knows me well enough not to stand me up right now.

That business finished, I lock my car and drag my ass up the staircase to my apartment. Once inside, I don’t make it as far as the bedroom. I sink onto the couch, pull a pillow over my face, and scream into it. A moment later there’s a knock at the door, way too quickly to be my goddamn asshole of a sibling. “What?” I groan.

Please don’t be Stone, part of me, the sane part that knows it’s wrong to still crave his touch now that the truth is out, prays.

“You okay in there?”

It’s Amanda. “Yeah I’m fine. Sorry, long day.”

She laughs faintly through the wooden door. “I hear you, girl. Hey, you never told me how that date went last week.”

My temples throb with a mixture of regret and sorrow. “Great … until the bastard pulled a dine and dash on me.” I feel bad lying to her, but it sounds better than admitting the truth—my date was more interested in my older brother.

“Shit, girl. I’m sorry.” There’s a creak as Amanda leans against the door and heaves a sympathetic sigh. “You need some company?”

It’s tempting. Standing up now, opening the door and unburdening my sorrows onto my poor, unsuspecting next-door neighbor’s shoulders. The girl does not know what kind of angst she just volunteered for. Because she’s probably a normal person. The kind of woman who doesn’t fall head over ass for a guy she’s only known for a week.

“No, my brother is on the way over,” I tell her instead. The only thing worse than dealing with Ian’s probably illegal shit right now will be dealing with it with a witness present. “But thanks!”

Amanda taps the door twice in solidarity. “Anytime, woman. You know where to find me. I’ll make you one of my famous lemon drops the next time you’re free—trust me, two drinks will have you on your ass.”

I listen to her retreating down the hallway, and almost immediately regret not taking her up on her offer. I could use some company to distract me from myself right now. And a drink. A drink that’ll have me on my ass sounds awesome.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, I don’t have to wait long to get this over with. Ten minutes later I hear the crunch of tires outside my window, followed by the thud of boots on the pavement and a key in the latch downstairs. Ian slinks into my apartment a minute later, not bothering to knock, the way we never do at each other’s place.

He does, however, linger in the doorway, peering up at me from underneath a sad fringe of jet black hair across his eyes. Boy needs a damn haircut. He’s starting to look a little too much like me with the long hair. “Can I come in?” he asks after a long pause where I don’t wave him inside, but instead just glower at him from the couch.

“Unless you want my neighbor to hear all this,” I snap.

He slips inside and shuts the door behind him. This time, he doesn’t join me on the couch. At least he’s that smart. “I was going to come over anyway,” he starts, but almost immediately he seems to lose the thread, searching for a way to say what comes next.

“Explain. Please, tell me what’s going on, Ian,” I implore. I’m not forgiving him, one way or another, until I know the full story here. How bad this is, exactly. And what he did to get into this situation.

“I never meant for you to get swept up in this. I should’ve realized that what…” His nostrils flare and he glances away from me, toward my tiny kitchen. “That what I’m doing has consequences.”

“And what are you doing, Dorian?” He flinches at my use of his full given name. I’ve called him that maybe ten times in our entire life. They’ve never been pretty scenes.

“That … it’s a long story. Skye, trust me, if I told you it would only drag you deeper into this mess. If there’s one thing in the world I want to avoid, it’s that. You’re the only person that matters to me right now. When I saw that big motherfucker walk after you in my parking lot, I…”