Pretty Instinct (19 page)

“I like Siren or Lizzie better. Witchy sounds evil.”

“Noted.” He winks. “You do cast a helluva spell, though.”

I adjust in his lap, getting more comfortable and he groans softly. “Oh, sorry,” I mutter. “Am I hurting you?” I start to climb off him but he snares me back in a blink.

“You’re not hurting me. But you gotta quit squirming around,” he assures me, but his plea is strained.

“Why don’t I just move?” I don’t—”

“Lizzie,
please
sit still.” He closes his eyes, titling his head to the sky and exhaling loudly through his flared nostrils. “Okay,” he’s instantly back, “go on.”

I’m about to ask “what the hell?” when he shuffles us slightly and…oh! Blushing feverishly, I drop my head, biting on my bottom lip. He’s rock hard against my bottom…and it’s distractingly erotic. “I feel that,” I moan, unable to stop myself.

He laughs, the shake of his body shoving his massive erection against me even more. “I’m sure you do. Much like I’m painfully aware of you wiggling your hot little ass all over it right now.”

I peer up at him with my best flirtatious grin. “Sorry, I’ll be still.”

“Good. I finally got you talking, so please don’t stop
that part
. Going for noble, not sainthood. Work with me.” He slides a finger under my chin, demanding my eyes on him. “Now tell me more, without ass teasing my cock, Wiggleworm.”

Once I stop snorting, finding his last statement funny as hell, I decide to take a chance, let him in a few more steps. What can it hurt? Actually, it might help; the more I talk to Cannon, the closer to whole I feel.

Oh good Lawd! I’m a cheeseball.

But I’m a cheeseball that makes his dick hard!

“My mother came from money, lots of it. When she married Lucifer, he built his social status and career while she built a home. He ran for office and basically became the King of Sutton, and we were all made to stand behind him like the perfect billboard family or suffer his wrath. Eventually, we literally became numb, ignoring his cruelty, absence, and indiscretions. Conner and I stayed busy with sports, music, and school while my mom self-medicated and drank like a fish.”

He guides my head back down to his shoulder—
I think he likes it there
—stroking my hair, neither of us acknowledging the tears beginning to soak through his shirt. I bury my face in his neck, inhaling the glorious scent of soap, musk, and Cannon, embracing the wake of security coursing through my veins.

“One summer, I went to camp for two weeks. I was so excited to get out of that house, to go be around happy, functional people. Conner stayed gone more and more and my mother was a zombie,” I choke, sobs building in volatility. “I didn’t think anyone would miss me, need me. I just wanted to be free. But I shouldn’t have gone! They needed me and I left!” My wails are incoherent even to my own ears, a screeching, slobbery mess, years of shame and regret flooding out of me in a landslide of guilty misery.

He’d done it, cracking the dam just enough for that one flaw to splinter, fracturing the whole wall I’d built. The collapse happens all at once, a torrent rushing forth, fierce and unstoppable. There’s no air, my lungs burning in protest and my vision splotchy. I can literally feel the blood vessels in my head constricting. This is it—this is when I finally completely snap, murmuring and tracing shapes in the air for the rest of my life, broken, unfixable. I surrender, letting my head dangle loosely, landing where it may.

“You’re my little sis, I’d never let him lay a hand on you or Mom. He’s not violent, just an ass. Now stop crying. I’ve got you.”

“I will always take care of my children, Bethy. No matter what, I’m with you.”

“Elizabeth, we need you to pack your things, honey. You’re needed back home, a driver’s on the way for you.”

“What happened, what’s wrong with Conner?!”

“Elizabeth, do try to calm down, your hysterics help no one. Go home with Alma, take care of your mother. I will handle Conner.”

“Lizzie! Siren, oh Goddamn, come back to me precious! Fuck! Lizzie!” His paranoid, crazed screams permeate my brain only milliseconds before a fiery hot shard of pain lights up the side of my face. I try to scream out to open my eyes, but everything feels heavy, like I’m trapped in a dream where the faster I run, the farther away my destinations seems.

“What’s wrong with my brother?!”

“Elizabeth, quit screaming at your mother, she knows nothing. Do I need to have the doctor get you medicine?”

“Conner!” I think I hear myself say, trying to lift my arm, wanting to rub my throbbing cheek.
If you can feel pain, you’re not dead
is the one conscious thought that takes hold. “Conner!” I scream louder this time.

“Lizzie, open those eyes, darlin’. Lemme see you, come on, love. It’s Cannon. I’m here. Look at me, please.” His voice cuts out, so scared and filled with anguish that my chest aches and my eyes open,
for him
. “Oh, thank God,” he sniffs, cheeks wet as he leans in and peppers my face with tender kisses. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I’m so sorry, angel; you don’t ever have to tell me anything again. I don’t care; just never leave me like that again. Please, stay with me.”

I’m not sure if I’m actually shaking or he’s trembling for both us, but I’m compelled internally to comfort him. “Cannon,” I brace a hand on his leg and push myself up, my mind fuzzy and my body lethargic, managing to wrap my arms around him, “I’m okay. Shhhh, I’m here, I’m fine. What happened, did I pass out?”

Now he laughs, his whole body jostling, the sound of relief pouring out of him more than humor. His head lifts as he discreetly swipes his damp cheeks. “Yeah, you were just
gone
. I couldn’t get you back. I will never ask you to relive your past again, I swear. Please forgive me.” He grabs the sides of my face, the seriousness in his eyes sending a cold shiver along my spine. “I slapped you,” he gulps and chokes out, his eyes dropping shamefully. “I hit you. I didn’t know what else to do! I had to snap you out of it, so I, I slapped your beautiful, precious face. I want to cut off my own fucking hand.” He’s inconsolable now, clinging to me, his face buried in my neck, wet tears splashing my skin. “God, Lizzie, I’m sorry.”

“Cannon, it’s okay. It was to help me, I understand. Hey,” I whisper, nudging him, “what’s that you’re always telling me? Take a deep breath, then look at me.”

When he finally does, my own exhale is a long, troubled sigh.

“Please don’t let me ruin you,” I say, keeping my gaze locked on his. “Please. You’re magnificent and my ugly will only bleed over to you and taint that. I’m hopeless, Cannon, way too scratched and dented. Don’t let me dim your light. Tarnishing you in any way would be my gravest sin. And I don’t know,” my voice cracks, “I don’t know if I can stay away, so it has to be you who stops it.
Please.”

Without warning, his lips crash against my own in a gluttonous attack, stealing both my breath and sanity at once. He’s brutal, unleashing his worry and fright into this kiss, a blatant message of his want, need, desire, and frustration. And I feast on it, letting him take his fill, reveling in the reward. He tastes of passion and power, his tongue swirling around and leading my own, but stoking every last inch of my being. All the other kisses in my life combined held not a fraction of this intensity, making me want to cry and scream at the same time, to crawl in the skin of my aggressor and get lost in him.

I whimper when he releases me, pulling back to gauge my eyes with his glazed own. “I’m so sorry, gorgeous girl. I’ll never hurt you or put my hands on you in anger, but I tried everything else. Say you truly forgive me, please,” he begs, a piercing sound that rattles me to the core.

“I do, I forgive you.” I taste his mouth, soft and seeking, a timid brush of lips. “You saved me. I get it, I promise. Now shut up and steal my breath away.”

“Ah, Lizzie.” He leans into me, forehead on mine, both hands cupping and rubbing my cheeks. “If you were any fuckin’ sweeter, I’d die from a sugar coma. I don’t care if it’s been two weeks or two decades, I adore you. I want you. I want us.”

“Seriously? Like, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Yes, I’m really eloquent and versed at this type of thing, not at all like a twelve-year-old girl.

“Nothing, never mind, errr…” I conceal my reddened face in my hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. Ignore me, please. Of course you don’t mean
that
, you were just engaged, I know.”

Do I
ever
stop talking? Fucking ramblerrhea already!

“Love, one in for me,” he rubs my back and takes an audible deep breath with me, “and out for you. Again.” He waits. “Better?”

I nod, face still hidden until he gently peels my hands away. “Let’s stand up, we gotta get back.” He goes first, then helps me. My body feels burdened, exhausted, and I wobble a bit. Instantly, he swoops me up in a cradle hold, tucking me safely against his durable chest.

“Cannon, I can walk.”

“Probably, but I wanna hold ya. You’ve had a rough day. I’m so damn proud of you though, for trying to open up and let me in. You can’t know how much your trust means to me, Lizzie. So you keep taking baby steps and I’ll carry you on the big ones.”

“Tell me about Wanda,” I rush out before losing my nerve.

“What about her?”

Ah,
finally
he agrees—all old lady names are the same! “Did you love her?
Do
you love her?”

He puffs out a long-winded sigh, perhaps the exertion of carrying me, or maybe in pondering. Either way, I wait silently for him to answer.

“I loved her fire and determination. In college, I just knew
nothing
was gonna keep that girl from her goals. She was smart, and sassy, and motivated, and being around her made you feel excited and accomplished. She ran her sorority and was always heading up fundraisers and charity events and collecting donations for something. I always thought she had such a giving heart. So yes, at first, there were many things I loved about her.”

“And?” I squeak, afraid of the answer. I knew it was building, but after today, I don’t want to think of him with anyone else. He lifts me up, literally; I feel like I can fly. He makes me hope for possibilities, that someday I’ll be happy and normal and worthy of him.

“And then she changed. Nothing was natural, or easy, or given. Everything she did or said had a hidden agenda; a means to get her one step closer to the caviar, country club, trophy wife status she would kill for. I wasn’t her partner, I was her pony. She picked my clothes, my job, my degree, my friends. I became some mindless puppet who did whatever she said so I didn’t have to hear her ear-piercing shrieks or answer to her daddy at work.”

He’s talking about another woman, but I’m drowning in the beat of his heart beneath my ear and the melodic cadence of his voice. And his strength—not remotely out of breath, carrying me as though I’m weightless, his grip as sturdy now as the first step.

“You fall asleep on me?” He chuckles.

“No, just listening. That all?”

“Well, you know what the final straw was about, the tubal thing. She wouldn’t even hear my point, no consideration for my feelings. And she didn’t even tell me—I overheard her telling her mother, who saw nothing wrong with it, either. Ruthie’s not a bad girl, she’ll make an excellent politician’s wife, but she wasn’t the one for me. Nobody’s fault, just not meant to be. The End.”

He takes a few more steps in silent deliberation, and by the time a devastating smile has worked its way back over his face, his voice has returned to “my voice,” where his register deepens and the words pour out like silk. “Now, about tonight. I think we should cancel our date and the show so you can rest. You scared me so bad back there and I think you need to take it easy. We can tell the others you’re sick if you want.”

Actually, resting tonight sounds divine, but I don’t know if I can do that to the guys. “If Bruce can get the venue to reschedule tomorrow or Sunday, fine,” I concede. “The guys need the money and exposure. Or do it without me; you three sing better than me anyways.”

“I don’t need the money or exposure, so if you’re out, all possible appeal to me is gone. I’ll be taking care of you. I can see the bus ahead though, so you better decide.”

“What do you think, send them or no show?”

He stops short, looking down at me. “You’re asking me what I think?”

Confused, I must give him a look as such. “Yes?”

His face again splits in a beautiful smile, something tender amidst his amber eyes. “I think if they want to do a drum/guitar different kind of jam, let them. If not, try to rebook. And last resort,” he winks, “fuck it.”

“Will you lay it all out to them, tell them I’m sick? I wanna head straight to a hot shower. Especially since there’ll be a million questions. I just don’t have it in me right now.”

“I got you.” He bends his head and kisses my forehead, then nose, both eyes, and lastly my lips, where he lingers a hint longer. “Totally spellbound, Lil’ Miss Not Witchy.”

He starts walking again, so I chance it, needing still to put it out there. “Are you sure you’re not—”

“Lizzie Siren Carmichael, if you say on the rebound, I will drop you on your ass then pick it back up and spank it. No, Goddammit, I am not on the rebound and what is with that fucking word around here?! And you wanna know how I’m
positive
that’s not what it is, the ugly details? Fine! She and I hadn’t made love in almost five months. Hell, we stopped using our tongues to kiss even before that. At best, I’d get a harsh peck immediately followed by instructions,
maybe
twice a week. Oh! And the last banquet her parents hosted for ‘Blah Blah, we support blah,’ a total act she went along with, I drank a bottle of citrate so I could pull off being too sick to attend! I slept on the couch because she said my snoring kept her awake. And I’m pretty sure she poisoned my cat because it shed!” He huffs, scrunching the forehead I know he wishes desperately he could rub if both hands weren’t carrying me. “
Again,
and for the last time, to
rebound,
I’d be chasing that same ball. No. Thank. You.”