My Darling Arrow (St. Mary's Rebels 1)

The guy I’m in love with.

Just then the door opens.

It makes a little noise, and suddenly the tension in the air spikes up. Suddenly, I’m flushed and squirmy and both anticipatory and fearful to see him.

Footsteps echo in the silent house and I clench my thighs, my eyes lowered at the table, my hands wringing in my lap.

And then, he’s here. At the threshold.

I haven’t seen him but I can smell him. I can feel his heat. I can feel my body starting to sweat.

A second later I have to look up because there’s the screech of a chair against the hardwood floor.

My sister’s chair.

She’s standing up.

Just like that, I’m thrown back in time as I watch them together. As I watch them looking at each other.

As I watch him looking at her.

Like always, he looks at her like no one else exists. His features arrange themselves to be the most stunning they can be. His eyes become the most gorgeous that they can be as well.

And I fall in love with him again.

I fall in love with Arrow again while he’s staring at my sister.

I think dinner was a bad idea.

Well, I knew he’d be shocked. I knew that.

But I thought that when he saw Sarah, he’d get over that shock or that initial burst of anger.

But none of that happened.

In fact, I think he got even angrier as the dinner progressed.

Not that he showed it.

He wasn’t being rude or impolite or assholish to anyone like he gets these days.

He ate his food. In fact, he ate every bite and he was the only one. No one at that table finished everything. Not even Leah and Sarah.

But Arrow did and when he was done, he took a sip of his water and set down the glass gently. He even had dessert, and when dinner was officially done, he helped clear the plates.

He was every inch the Arrow that I’d known from before. And I didn’t like it one bit.

I didn’t like that he was keeping his anger in check. Even though I might’ve had a hand in bringing it out.

Now they’re talking, Arrow and Sarah.

Or at least they’re supposed to be talking, because right after dinner Leah asked me to go to my room and while I was leaving I overheard her saying that they needed to talk. That Arrow needed to act like a responsible adult and have a conversation and sort this thing out.

That was about fifteen minutes ago.

Since then, I’ve been pacing and pacing, listening to my own footsteps digging a hole in the floor and the loud beats of my witchy heart.

Until now.

Until I hear voices. Just under my window.

I rush to it then and drop down on the floor. Grabbing the edge of the windowsill, I peek my head out and see him.

My Arrow.

I see the top of his dirty blond hair and the broad line of his shoulders, propped against the wall.

The last time I saw him here, just under my window, was when he visited for Christmas with Sarah. I was so jacked up, so excited and shaky at seeing him in the flesh after months that I couldn’t sleep. I was about to go out on my bike when I saw smoke rising past my window.

I did the exact same thing that I’ve done tonight.

I rushed to the window and peeked my head out. I opened my mouth and drank in the smoke he was letting out, filling my lungs with his cancer while loving him with all my heart.

However tonight there’s no smoke.

He’s simply standing there, casualness dripping from his body like river. But I know better. I know he’s tense, I can tell by the rigid slope of his shoulders and how messy his hair looks. I bet some strands have come down to brush against his forehead.

I wish I could go to him and swipe them away. But I can’t.

Because he’s not alone and it’s not my right, is it?

It’s my sister’s right and she’s standing in front of him, matching him in every way. His looks, his confidence, his height. The way she’s dressed in casual professional wear or whatever it’s called: a pleated skirt and a silk blouse with her hair done up in a French twist. Or at least that’s what she called it when Leah asked.

She only has to crane her neck a little when she says, “You didn’t have to walk out like that.”

“No, I had to,” he says flippantly.

“I was talking.”

“I know.”

“So what, this is better? Standing out here. In this dark spot.”

“It’s my favorite spot, actually. I usually come out here when I want to escape. Like for example, when people are talking and I have no interest in what they’re saying. But for some reason, they can’t take the hint and shut the fuck up.”