Ruckus (Sinners of Saint 2)

Dare I say it? Might as well. She is giving me her truth. It is only fair that I give her mine.

“And…?” Millie disconnected from our hug, eyeing my curiously. I scooted up, sitting with my back against the headboard. I stared at my hands so hard my vision became blurry. I did the crime. It was time to pay the time.

“And I slept with Dean.”

I didn’t look up. The prospect of hurting my sister was suddenly very real and very raw. For twenty-something years, my life was devoid of responsibilities. Other than to stay alive, of course. I was let off the hook time and time again, as long as I took my medicine, went to my physiotherapy sessions and did my airway clearance every morning and afternoon. Now, I had to ask for forgiveness. To show remorse. To deal with the consequences.

Starting with the last person I had ever wanted to hurt—my sister.

I was willing to make it right. To give up Dean—knowing full well that he was the only man I was meant to love, the only one I would ever love—because my sister was more important. More important than him, and more important than me.

So, I held my breath, my eyes half-closed, waiting for Millie’s verdict. Even though my lungs were burning, begging, gasping, I held my breath. I wanted her to punch me in the face, kick me in the stomach, tell me I’m the worst person in the world and throw me out of her house. As long as it meant that she would still give me a chance to fix it.

“How was he?” Her voice came out of nowhere.

What…?

“I…uh…excuse me?”

“Was he any good?” It was Millie’s turn to scurry up and sit beside me. She flung one leg over the other, tapping her lips. “I was only with him one time. Between you and me, he barely touched me. Half the time we were just kissing between me doing his homework.” She giggled, and hell, hearing this made me feel good.

“He was…” I narrowed my eyes, inspecting my sister closely. Was she drunk? High? Couldn’t be, as she had a bun in the oven. But it didn’t look like she cared one bit. I knew that she was over him. Knew that they were never in love in the first place. After Millie had run to New York, I monitored her every move from afar, making sure her heart wasn’t broken. She felt regret and sorrow for the way she ended things with Dean, but never longing. So I knew she wasn’t going to feel the sting of heartbreak. But this…this was weird, too.

“He was…?” my sister prompted, tilting her chin down.

Dirty-hot. Filthy-rough. Mind-blowingly hard. The best I’ve ever had.

“Well,” I coughed into my fist, “let’s just say that while I have a lot of criticism when it comes to his personality, you will not hear me complain about him in the sack. So, are you really not mad?”

She shrugged. “He’s a HotHole, Rosie. They’re so bad they can’t even spell the word ‘good’, but I think you already know that. As long as you protect your heart.” She placed her palm over the left side of my Anti-Flag shirt. “I’m supportive of this, whatever this is. I just want what’s best for you. Does he make you happy?”

Did Dean make me happy? I couldn’t answer that honestly. When we were together, I was either drunk or angry. Sometimes both. And I always left him feeling so guilty, there was a pinch of salt to every sexual encounter. To every heart-to-heart moment. Even when I held him close to me the night we found out Val left Trent, I couldn’t let my heart beat for Dean. It had to have Millie’s permission first.

“I think I could be,” I answered, feeling excitement and awe swirling in the pit of my stomach.

“Then it’s settled. You have my blessing.” She clapped once, smiling.

With this blessing—which I did not take lightly, it was my ticket to happiness, after all—I also made a promise. I was going to be the best bridesmaid in the history of bridesmaids on Sunday. The opposite of Annie. The prospect of redeeming myself made my heart beat faster.

“Thank you, Millie.” I exhaled the air I’d been holding since we started this conversation, and my lungs winced in relief.

“Don’t thank me. Thank love. It conquers all.”

“Even Dean ‘Manslut’ Cole?” I joked.

My sister slapped my thigh, laughing.

“Oh, I have a feeling especially him.”

FUCK, I HATED WEDDINGS.

I almost forgot about this little fact—almost—but then Vicious and Millie’s collision of prissy food, bright colors, and sweaty, dressed-up guests had reminded me that if I were ever to get hitched, it was going to be in Vegas.

It was a good thing Rosie and I had plane tickets to New York first thing tomorrow morning, because I was desperate to get the hell out of Todos Santos and begin my relentless pursuit after her. I called it: Operation: The Right LeBlanc Sister. And I was going to start by breaking the fucking news on national television so she’d stop feeling so goddamn guilty every time we slept together. That was one of the roots of our problem, and I was eager to tear it from its base and kill the shame and prejudice I saw when she looked me in the eyes.