Temper: Book One of the Taboo Series, page 5
He twisted his face into a menacing mask. I refused to be daunted as he inched closer. He wasn’t likely to be kind after our last encounter.
He bent as I predicted he would. He never deviated from the routine bullying I endured for years. His hand shot up to grab my ponytail but I ducked.
I lifted my foot. I slammed the heel of my boot into his injured knee, knowing it still hurt after being pushed down a flight of stairs at school.
He crashed down as heavy feet stomped in the distance. I made as much noise as I could in the leaves and brush to cover the sounds of my friends escaping.
He groped for my ankle as his face purpled with pain. I danced away and ran as hard as I could.
A woosh made me fumble back in time to see Hugh leaping from the tree, his face livid. He landed like a cat, crouching fast before storming past me.
I grabbed his arms and he spun on me. His voice was terrifyingly calm and glorious, “He shouldn’t do that.”
I almost laughed, “I’ve had worse from Beau.” He paled at my implication. I turned away, trying to pull him after me. “We need to go. Now.”
Beau stood and glared at us through the trees. Hugh returned the look, unintimidated. I rolled my eyes as I compared Hugh’s wiry frame to Beau’s bulk.
A protective hand lingered on the small of my back. Chagrin settled into me.
I crashed through the trees. “I can defend myself,” I spat, pulling away. I released a thin branch to whip towards him. He dodged the strike and I turned away, annoyed with his reflexes. I jumped onto a rock on the creek and felt him behind me as I moved across.
“He was grabbing you and-”
“No,” I cut him off, turning as he stepped onto my rock. He was too close again. “I’ve dealt with him for too long. I don’t need some testosterone-fueled show of dominance to protect me. I can do it myself.”
I hated being made to recall that day in early spring. I didn’t want to reimagine how Beau cornered me at the edge of my property. He refused to take ‘no’ for an answer. I never forgot the threat he screeched at me as I lifted my knee and escaped his hands.
Hugh didn’t back away. He looked down into my face in search of an answer to a question he wouldn’t ask. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I spun away. My hair slapped him. I halted as a heavy splash sprayed my jeans from behind. I stared down as the water tumbled around him.
“You did that on purpose,” he growled. I detected the hint of an amused smile teasing his lips as his hair dripped down his face.
I lifted my brow in response. I shrugged and sauntered away as he stood, wading through the water. He followed as I lead the way home, my impatience waning.
I couldn’t rid myself of the confusion and apprehension of his constant expressions. He was unpredictable and near impossible to read.
For some reason I found myself intrigued by those flaws.
Chapter 7- Scorch
As we stepped into the house I pulled off my muddy boots and gestured for him to remove his shoes.
“What did you mean, you’ve had worse from him?”
My mind leaped to the memory of Beau pressing me against a tree, his hands bruising my jaw as he forced my face to his. I remembered the taste of his blood as I bit down on his lip, followed with a sharp jab from my elbow into his chest as his fingers slithered up my skirt.
“Why does it matter?” I snapped. He grimaced as his teeth pressed into his lip. “It’s not something I talk about,” I amended.
The hard glint in his eyes wasn’t for me. His protective nature resonated but I didn’t understand it.
“I’ll wash your clothes,” I offered, noticing his jeans were still damp and his thin, once-white shirt clung to the curves of his muscles and ribs. He smelled like creek water and dirt. After seeing his meticulous ways I knew it must bother him.
His response was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice from the den. Hugh lingered before following me into the room.
Mr. Stan sat on the arm of the sofa across from a small, older black gentleman. Stan looked up as we entered the room. Questions danced in Stan’s face as looked over Hugh’s condition. Instead of voicing them he stood to introduce us to the guest.
“Olivia, this is Reese Steed. He was trying to contact Ruth.” I blinked at the man I didn’t recognize. Ruth never mentioned anyone named Reese.
Reese stood as I walked towards him. He smiled and took my hand, “I’m sorry for your loss. Stan’s been kind enough to tell me what happened. I came by, worried when she didn’t come to the funeral. I knew she wouldn’t have missed it.”
Reese’s words trailed off as he caught sight of a movement over my shoulder. His eyes widened in awe and horror. A hand shot to his chest to grasp his heart.
I glanced back to see what startled him. Hugh stood in the doorway, looking down at his wet socks. He lifted his head and looked between us.
“What?” he asked in confusion.
“Good Lord.”
I turned to examine the stranger’s expression. His eyes met mine but they didn’t connect. His vision was lost somewhere in the depths of a stinging memory.
Reese moved passed me to extend a hand to Hugh, “I knew she had a daughter but not that they… she had a son.”
“She didn’t,” Hugh answered. Reese jolted at the timbre of Hugh’s deep voice. “My mother is Hannah Sykes.”
I stepped between them, unsure of Hugh’s protective tone. “How did you know my mother?” I asked the stranger.
His awed eyes never left Hugh. “She was a great friend to me and my late husband.”
I was worried the man’s spouse passed recently, and he was having to mourn Ruth as well. “Whose funeral did my mother miss?”
“William’s.”
Hugh’s face darkened at the name as his bright eyes glowed with bewilderment. He halted his awkward shifting. “Who is William?” His tone was sharp, as though he needed the answer more than oxygen.
Reese stared at him as though he was talking to his best friend. “Elizabeth’s brother.”
Rude, quiet laughter rose in my chest. “Ruth didn’t have an uncle.”
Reese met my denial with a look of understanding. “Half uncle, I should say.” He threw Hugh a longing look as his voice filled with regret, “I should be going.”
I looked to Mr. Stan, hoping for help with gaining answers but his contemplative eyes were trained on Hugh.
“It was nice to have met y’all. Sorry for your losses.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I couldn’t unstick my throat before Mr. Stan showed him from the house.
Hugh crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “What’s bothering you?” I asked.
“It’s nothing,” he lied, shrugging his shoulders. He pulled himself straight and feigned disregard.
I turned and began collecting Stan and Reese’s sweet tea glasses. I wanted to show Hugh the same respect he showed me when I pushed away his curiosity about Beau.
“Elizabeth calls me William sometimes,” Hugh blurted from behind me.
My face snapped up at his outburst. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know but lately it feels like she expects me to respond to it.”
I kept my voice passive. “Why does she associate the name William with you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I never knew she had a brother. I’ve spent a lot of time with her. I’ve lived in that house since I was born. No one’s ever mentioned him before.”
Dark worries crept from the corners of my mind. “I’ve never heard of him before, either. Why would Reese assume Ruth would care to go to his funeral? Why would this man have mattered to her?” My Grandparents had snuck away for the ceremony without explanation. It made the man feel too important.
I looked up to see Hugh reading me the way I always tried to read him. It was painful to watch. I pointedly turned my back on him as I carried the glasses to the kitchen. As I washed the dishes, I listened for Mr. Stan to come back into the house.
“Olivia?”
Hugh stood in the doorway, “I need to run into the city and get the rest of my registration forms for next semester. You want to come?”
“No. I’ll stay here, thank you. I didn’t know you were in school.”
He leaned against the doorway and watched as I rinsed the soap from last glass. “I started a culinary degree after I got my GED. I have a year left.” Pride sparkled in his eyes as his face lit with excitement. I couldn’t help but grin at the new expression.
“Getting between here and back home every day must take a toll on your wallet,” Stan commented as he stepped into the room behind Hugh.
Hugh glanced over his shoulder, “I rent an apartment in the city during school. I go home on the weekends to work.”
Mr. Stan flashed me a silent question I didn’t understand. He turned back to Hugh but gave me a pointed stare with the words. “You’re not yet eighteen, how is that legal?”
Hugh shrugged. “Elizabeth lets me put it under her name, as long as I keep up rent and utilities myself. I’ll be eighteen before the new semester starts anyway.”
As Stan twiddled his thumbs he measured his words, his eyes prodding me with an unspoken plea. “That must be expensive, do you have no other option?” Hugh shrugged again as I realized Mr. Stan’s implications.
I had known Hugh for less than two months and not well. Mr. Stan seemed to want to keep him like a stray. I looked between them and watched their interactions more closely. I realized Stan must have been lonely.
I poured myself a cup of coffee as I debated with myself. Even as he kept conversation steady, Hugh eyed me with amusement at the ridiculous amount of sugar I poured into my cup. He was relaxed around Stan and he made Stan laugh. When Mr. Stan left the room I turned.
“Hugh?” He glanced up as he filled a mug. “You know we live about fifteen minutes away from town.” He narrowed his eyes.
“I’m not charity, Olivia,” he growled, sensing my angle.
I glared at him over the rim of my cup, “I never claimed you are.”
“I saw the way you two were conspiring, asking about money and such.” He waved his spoon in the air.
A drop of coffee landed on the counter and he stilled, staring at it as though it might bite him. I lifted the hem of my t-shirt and swiped it away.
I leaned back against the counter, “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll charge you rent. This is about more than you, anyway,” I said, pointing out his arrogance. His face flushed as he soaped a sponge and began scrubbing more than necessary. I continued, “It’s about Mr. Stan, he needs someone to take care of. And he likes you. Will you consider it, please?”
He sighed as he rinsed the counter and leaned back, trying to appear calm. His eyes kept flicking to the dampness he left. My heart turned upside down at the obvious pain it caused him to feign normalcy. I didn’t know how to express that it wasn’t necessary.
“I won’t promise anything.” His eyes narrowed at my grin of triumph. He shook his head and laughed as I contained my enthusiasm.
It felt almost shameful to laugh in my home so soon after the tragedy. Guilt washed over me for feeling relief around him, his friendship and presence granting me a moment of contentment.
He felt me pulling inside of myself. He set aside his coffee with a huff of frustration and stepped toward me. There was quiet resentment at my faltering joy in his movements.
Peaceful understanding lit his face. He reached out but hesitated. “May I?” he asked, not wanting to create another episode.
I swallowed as I considered, staring at his palms. I granted him a soft, shaking, “Yes.”
His fingers wrapped around my waist. His need to comfort made me wary yet I wanted to allow it. The fear in my mind and the excuses on my tongue were silenced by the intensity in his face. His furrowed brow told me of his pain, and his gnawing teeth stilled.
His lips were a whisper away from mine. The realization that I wanted them closer scorched me.
He said nothing as his eyes focused on my own, hesitating. The moment seemed to last forever in his private crusade of indecision.
I became ridiculous, naive, and hopeful in that moment. His hands faltered, grip loosened, and my heart broke along with the unrealistic expectations.
He stepped away from me with his head down. “I need to go.”
My lips fumbled for words as he turned. He rushed from the room and my house.
“But you smell,” I whispered after him.
Chapter 8- Melt
I relaxed with familiarity and memories in Father’s study. I soaked in the past tranquility and prayed in vain for it to return. A knock at the open door made me look up.
“Thought I’d find you in here.” Stan’s soft smile hid too much pain.
He took the glass of scotch from my hands and set it on the platter with Father’s decanter. “It was no more than a finger,” I defended.
“I know, Princess. I need you to sign a few things for me,” he planted a paternal kiss on my head before turning to Father’s desk. He lifted a light stack of papers and began thumbing through them. “This is your parents’ combined will.” He handed me all but a few of the pages “I need you to sign these so your trust can be opened.”
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the ones he still clutched
He shook his head and pulled them to his chest as he sat, “Not for you.” I narrowed my eyes in curiosity but began to sign the pages.
He set aside the rest of the stack face down on the coffee table and relaxed back, losing himself to a thought. I read over the page in my hand before glancing again to the forgotten papers. As I signed away and read the regulations associated with my account my mind kept drifting to the mystery of his pages.
I grabbed them and raced to the other side of the room as he tried to catch me. “Olivia, you’re being rude,” he sniffed. I glanced along the small print.
“These need Grandmother’s signature,” I said aloud, reading the custody statement. The ink was darker than on the ones he gave me. “You had this created?”
I shuffled through the remaining pages and found a few with my parents’ signatures. They named Stan as my guardian a year before.
His frown deepened as he settled back on the loveseat. “You were supposed to stay here with me, but Elizabeth wouldn’t allow it. She won’t sign those papers.”
I threw the packet down on the desk and grabbed my glass. I emptied it into my throat and began to pace. “It’s not her decision, it was theirs. And mine,” I added with a finger aimed at him.
The way he pressed his lips was uncharacteristic. “She has power when it comes to making her own laws.” He stood and poured himself a glass of scotch before replenishing mine.
I wanted to stay; Mr. Stan wanted me to stay. She held no right to demand my presence in her home when she never cared to be with me but for our silent mealtimes.
“I hate her for putting me in this position,” I admitted into my glass. Stan’s eyes searched my face.
His expression left me in dismay. I worried he would reprimand me. Instead, his quiet whisper comforted me, “I understand.”
I poured myself two more fingers of scotch and ignored Mr. Stan’s disgruntled huff.
✷✴✷
I took Hugh’s clothes as he showered and offered him some of Stan’s pajamas and a t-shirt. The clothes hung off of him yet it was attractive how comfortable he seemed to be.
The air was tense through dinner. After a touch too much alcohol, I was a silent statue. I washed the dishes in the lonely kitchen and felt the buzzing mute as I pushed away all of my animosity.
“How long do I get to keep you?” I turned to look at Mr. Stan standing in the doorway.
“I asked Hugh to take me home tomorrow.” His face fell with disappointment. “I’m sorry. Mr. Hubert meets with me on Tuesdays for tutoring and I don’t want to make Hugh stay another night simply to have to wake up early and-”
“It’s fine,” Mr. Stan chuckled softly, lifting a hand to halt my string of apologies and reasonings. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
I held back the emotions. I wanted to stay in my own home for forever. However, it was comforting to know I was going back to a house with a friend in its walls instead of simply the unknown.
He came to kiss me on my hair before closing himself into his bedroom. I clicked off the kitchen light and crept through the den.
I looked across Hugh’s sleeping form on the loveseat. His head hung on his chest as the sound of his heavy breath filled the air. He looked too peaceful to move.
The day began calm and joyous but ended sour and strange. In my bedroom I felt everything I was trying to repress- the discomfort and anger with Mother, the confusion about a man named William that felt too ominous, the destruction of my parents’ room, the locked closet door and what could be hidden in it, and Hugh.
I stripped from the jeans and threw my shirt in the hamper. I didn’t know what to do as the rage piqued. I hadn’t asked to be thrown away, ignored, and ripped from everything I knew. I didn’t know how to regain the footing in my own life.
The one thing I could do to comfort myself was to curl beneath the sheets and let the relentless grief consume me. I could do nothing but quiver in my silent agony and let the vengeful tears sacrifice themselves for my pain.
I didn’t hear the bedroom door open. I felt his warmth beside me. The bed shifted as he laid and wrapped a lean arm around me.
His whisper was warm against my cheek, “I don’t know how to leave you like this.” His words made the pain radiate.
I let him hold me as the agony mutilated my soul. Hugh never shushed me or told me to calm. Every now and again his hands would pull the hair from my damp face. When his lips blissfully caressed my temple I turned to him.
The pain in his eyes was for me. The depths of his heart bled for my tears yet he simply laid there, patient and comforting. He was everything I needed in that moment.
Embarrassment was the sole emotion absent.
