by Linda Kage
Kind of wanting him to tell me about it, I blurted, “Who’s Aspen?” even though I’d discovered that answer already.
Colton looked up as he tossed his phone onto the nightstand next to mine. “What?”
“Aspen,” I said. “You mentioned her name the night of the wedding, but you were too drunk to really explain who she was.”
“Oh. She’s my sister-in-law, Noel’s wife, but kind of my mom too. She’s Beau and Lucy Olivia’s biological mom. They’re Noel’s kids. You remember Beau from our Chicken Dance, right?” When I nodded, he fell back against the pillows of my bed and tucked his arm under his head. “Aspen and Noel have been my legal guardians since I was eight. So most of the time, I think of them more as parents than siblings.”
His gaze swept down with a mournful kind of air, so I said, “You seem kind of sad about that.”
Eyes flashing up, he immediately answered, “No! Oh, shit, no. I love them. They were great. They are great. It’s just…”
“It’s just what?” I asked softly, easing down next to him.
He took my hand and interlaced our fingers before pressing his palm against mine and studying the different colors of our skin mixing. “Aspen got pregnant this last year, but she didn’t realize it until she was, like, four months along or something. The thing was, she was on birth control, so she immediately stopped, but she and Noel were freaked out for a while, worried there may be problems with the baby. Except every checkup came back normal, and Lucy Olivia was born right on time at the end of November, healthy as could be. The problem came when Aspen turned really unresponsive. They diagnosed her with postnatal depression. Most days she can’t even get out of bed. And when she does, she usually ends up crying or getting so upset she yells at people.” He shook his head and leaned against me. “It’s really traumatizing for all of us because Aspen is not like that. She’s sweet and kind and giving and selfless. This is just…it’s not her at all.”
I turned my face and kissed his shoulder. “Have you gotten her any help?”
“Sure. We’ve been to the doctor and set her up with a therapist, and he’s prescribed her some pills.” He shrugged. “Some days, it works. In fact, her good days are starting to outweigh the bad, but damn, those rare bad days are getting worse than ever. I don’t know if it’s her depression desperately trying to cling on or what, but those days really suck.”
I held my breath, bracing for him to tell me about the argument he’d had to settle Saturday night, but when he didn’t, I realized that was okay. I almost respected him more for preserving Noel and Aspen’s privacy.
“I bet that makes it hard for you to live there,” I murmured, playing with his hair.
He turned his face and studied me as I sifted my fingers through his silky locks. “They pulled me out of hell,” he said simply. “Then they raised me as one of their own in a new world full of amazing shit I never thought I’d possibly have. I owe my entire life to those two. So trust me, I’m more than happy to help them any way I can.”
Holy shit.
I stared at him, almost seeing a new person and yet the same one I’d known for almost a year. He was most definitely still flirty, carefree Colton, and yet he was more. So much more.
It was like he didn’t want anyone to know he was more, though. He hid his depths from people, like a magician. Sleight of hand, trick of the eye, smoke and mirrors. He stood in front of the crowd, making a big production with colorful scarves and wands, and big black hats—or in his case, flirting egotistical smiles and inappropriate advances—while all the while he took your attention off what was really going on, right in front of your eyes, and concealed the very best parts of himself.
Eyebrows crinkling, he self-consciously demanded, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I shook my head, not about to tell him what I’d just discovered. “No reason,” I murmured. I still wasn’t all that sure what to do with this newfound information anyway. It only made me like him more, made me want him more, made me want…just more. And that wasn’t what we’d agreed on.
If I didn’t watch myself, I was going to take all this “mine” business I kept saying whenever I thought of him, and I was going to get myself hurt.
“I’m just pleasantly surprised by your family devotion,” I said. Then I patted his chest as a way to help me not fall too deeply into the moment. With a sigh, I started to climb off the bed. “I’m going to go change into my pajamas. Be right back.”
I fled the room, needing a moment to adjust to what had just happened, or what I’d just realized about myself, which was that it was already too late to back off; I’d fallen for Colton Gamble completely.
JULIANNA’S CHAPTER | 22
My hands shook as I conditioned my hair and tied it up, and they continued to shake as I cleaned my face and changed into the sexiest pair of pajamas I owned.
Why were they shaking? I wasn’t sure. I mean, this wasn’t the first time I thought I was in love with a guy. I’d been positive Shaun had been the one, but look how that had ended. He’d been a slime ball. So honestly, I shouldn’t trust my emotions at all.
Things with Colton felt so different, though. I’d wanted to fall for Shaun; I’d fought it the entire time with Colton. Opening my heart to him seemed scary and bold and dangerous. I knew he could hurt me like no one else because I’d given him more weapons to do so…I’d freaking confided things to him. And if he wasn’t the one to hurt me, what would everyone else think about us being together? What if their scorn broke me?
Maybe Theo had been right. They were all looking down on me now. I mean, even my two best friends had been giving me a wide berth since Colton and I had started our affair. They might’ve acted supportive and curious before anything had ever happened, but now that it had, neither of them had demanded a single detail from me like they said they would. That worried me; just not enough to give up on what I had with Colton.
He was worth it. He was worth the objections we’d probably receive from both our families and possibly even our friends. He was worth the heartbreak I was almost certain would come. He was worth all of it.
I just wasn’t sure if he felt that way too, or if he was still just having fun with me.
One thing was certain, I couldn’t ask him. I was too scared to learn whether all this was unrequited or not.
Deciding I’d just wing it and continue having fun like we were, see where things went from here, I returned to the bedroom, a little giddy when I saw his shoes on the floor as I opened the door.
He hadn’t left yet. That thrilled me to no end.
He snickered from my bed as I shut the door behind me.
“What’s so funny?” I asked before I realized he was lying on his stomach but had the upper half of his torso propped up on his forearms as he read from my Kindle. I pulled in a sharp, embarrassed gasp. No! “Are you reading my book?”
He motioned toward my nightstand, letting me know that’s where he’d found it, as if anything laying there was community property or something. Then he laughed again. “I can’t believe you actually read this shit. It’s fucking hilarious. This dude just came like five times inside this chick, like right in a row. In what universe is that even believable?”
Oh my God, of course he’d found a sex scene of all things. “It’s fiction,” I argued defensively as I yanked my Kindle from his hand. “I like it a little bit unbelievable. That’s why I read it, you moron. To escape the real world. If I wanted believable, I’d just stop reading and return to my life.”
“Yeah, but she called his dick a meat shaft.”
“Oh my God.” I scowled. “You’re one of those annoying people who quibble over every little detail in a book, aren’t you?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I can’t believe you’re not. Did you read what he said to her when she opened her legs—”
“No,” I warned him when he reached for my Kindle to find the cheesy line he wanted to quote. “Don’t you dare ruin this story for me with lo
gical bullshit. I like the emotions it brings out. That’s why I’m reading it.”
He blinked at me a moment before shaking his head and murmuring, “I find this so interesting to learn about you. I mean, really, how can you be so...you, and then read something that’s just so...not you?”
“I told you.” Gritting my teeth, I sent him a glare, trying to get him to leave it alone. “It’s an escape.”
His gaze softened before he quietly asked, “Are you not happy with your life?”
“I...” I fumbled a moment before giving a nervous laugh. “I don’t know what you mean. Of course I’m happy with my life.”
“Then what’re you trying to escape?”
“I don’t...” I shrugged, suddenly exposed and not sure how to answer. “I don’t know. I just get exhausted with always having to perform a certain way and dress a certain way and—”
Colton squinted his eyes. “What do mean a certain way? Don’t you just wear whatever you feel like wearing?”
“Umm...no.” I looked at him as if he were crazy. “No way could I leave my apartment without looking one hundred percent presentable.” When he just stared at me with utter confusion, I sighed. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”
He covered my hands with his. “Then make me understand.”
When I realized he wasn’t going to drop the issue, I growled, “You’re a white male.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “I knew that one. I just don’t get what the fuck it has to do with anything.”
Oh geez, I guessed I was going to have to be really blunt here. “Well, I’m not a white male. So I have to work twice as hard to get half of what you have. Society looks at me and sees a black woman. I don’t have the luxury of giving them another reason to look down on me and think even less of me. So I do not leave my home with a single hair out of place, without my clothes immaculately put together, without my makeup—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Colton shook his hands to stop me. “So you...this whole perfection regimen you put yourself through every day is just…it’s all for the haters?”
I frowned at that. When he said it that way, it sounded bad. “No,” I started. But I didn’t know how else to explain it. I blinked and shook my head, confused.
“Oh, baby doll,” he murmured sympathetically. “It’s not going to matter what you do or wear or say. We all get judged. Before I moved to Ellamore, I lived with my drunk, druggie whore of a mother. We Gamble kids ran wild with no parental guidance or discipline, no hygiene, or fucking new clothes, or good example to teach us right from wrong. I remember my kindergarten teacher calling me trailer park trash. And if we’d stayed in that town, that’s probably exactly what I would’ve ended up becoming. Because they made me believe that’s all I could ever be.”
“Oh, Colton.” I covered my mouth with my hands. That was awful. I just wanted to go into the past and slap his kindergarten teacher, and then maybe his mother too, right in the tits. Then I wanted to find kindergarten him and give him a huge hug and tell him he was special and wonderful and should never stray from being himself.
“But it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been raised differently,” he went on. “If I’d been a wealthy boy with parents who spoiled me rotten and provided the world for me, someone would’ve called me an arrogant rich prick who thought he was better than everyone else. So you see, some idiot out there who knows shit about you is always going to judge you no matter how flawlessly you present yourself because that’s what they do. They judge. You shouldn’t live your life according to them. It won’t change them or their point of view. It’s just going to make you miserable and never feeling like you measure up, when really, the whole problem is them, not you.” Pulling me into his arms, he kissed my hair. “If you really want to stick it to them, dress and say and act the way you want and be content with yourself no matter what they think.”
I blinked rapidly, feeling utterly schooled and kind of small for having lived so much of my life according to complete strangers who knew nothing about me but hated me anyway.
“Holy shit,” I whispered, pulling back so I could look up into his face. “Where the hell have you been all my life?” And why had no one helped me really see this before?
He grinned and leaned in to kiss me. “I’ve been looking for you, baby doll.”
This feeling of contentment expanded inside my chest until it felt so big and full I thought it might burst right out of me. I stared up at Colton, not sure if he had any idea what he was doing to me right now. I kind of hoped not because I wasn’t too sure if I wanted him knowing quite that much.
When his smile turned from affectionate to amused, he leaned up to flick his finger at the top knot of my head scarf. “Okay, I gotta know. What is this thing?”
I scowled and patted my head to make sure he hadn’t dislodged anything. “It’s my hair wrap. Duh.”
“Hair wrap,” he repeated curiously. “Do you wear it every night?”
“Of course.” I stared at him as if he were insane. But how the hell did he not know about hair wraps? “What’s wrong with it?”
When I arched my eyebrow challengingly, he lifted both hands in surrender. “Not a damn thing. I think it’s fucking adorable. But doesn’t it bother you? I think it’d bother the shit out of me to sleep with something on my head.”
“I’ve slept with something on my head for as long as I can remember, so…no. Doesn’t bother me.”
“Cool,” he murmured in awe, still gazing at my wrap and reaching up to tweak the top knot again.
I slapped his hand away but then ruined the stern reprimand with a giggle. “Will you stop?”
“I can’t help it. It’s so cute.”
“Oh my God, you’re impossible. It’s not meant to be cute. It’s to keep my hair on my head.”
He snickered. “Where exactly do you think it’s going to run off to?”
“Lord have mercy.” I rolled my eyes, realizing he needed some educating. “I have extremely dry hair. In fact, I can only wash it once a week or it’ll break off until there were only about four frazzled strands left. Plus, I iron it, which dries it out even more. So I have to condition and wrap it—in silk, mind you because cotton draws out the moisture which would dry it even more—every night to keep it as healthy as possible.”
“Really? Huh, I had no idea. I have to wash my hair every morning or it’s a fucking grease pit.” His gaze wandered over my scarf again. “You know, I could just rub my head against yours and give you some of my—”
When he tipped his head to the side and tried to buff his hair against my shoulder, I screeched out a laugh and shoved him away. “Eww. No!” Even though I knew his hair was nowhere near the eww stage yet, it was fun to pretend disgust.
He laughed and tried to share his hair oils with me again. “Hold still. I think I almost got enough for you.”
“Oh, that’s sick. You are so sick.” I planted my hand on his face to keep him from getting closer just as his phone dinged with an incoming message.
We both froze, our grins dropping.
“That might be Noel,” he said, straightening as he reached for his phone.
If his brother needed him, I knew he’d have to go. I swallowed, greedily hoping his brother didn’t need him.
A second after he read the message, his shoulders relaxed. “It was just my sister, Caroline,” he reported. “She went over tonight and helped with the kids.” He turned the screen to me so I could read what his sister had typed.
I began to smile, glad his sister-in-law had experienced a good night. A second later, Caroline messaged him with another text that popped up while he was still letting me read the first.
I blinked. “A chainsaw?”
“What?” He turned the screen to himself, only to grin. “Oh, sweet. I was having no luck.” As he typed out a reply, I stared at him.
“Do I even want to know why you and your sister talk about chainsaws?”
“Hmm?” He glanced up, only
to say, “Oh,” and shrug. “We’re Viners.”
To me, that explained nothing. So I stared at him longer. “You’re…what-ers?”
“I’m a Viner.” He set the phone down and gave me an odd look. “Don’t you have the Vine app?”
“No. Sorry. What’s the Vine app?”
His mouth fell open. “You don’t…wait, you don’t even know what Vine is? How is that possible?”
“Hey,” I muttered, “you didn’t know what a hair wrap was.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll explain. Vine is just another social media sharing service, this one for short three-to-seven second videos. People use it to post pranks, music, journalism crap, comedy, political stuff and shit like that. My profile is strictly comedy skits. Actually, it’s not just my page. My sister, Caroline, and I share it. She learned a bunch of neat editing tricks in college and taught me some, so a year ago when I got started in it, I asked her for a little help, and…” He rolled his eyes. “You know sisters. She butted her way in until we were splitting the page, fifty-fifty.”
“Wow, you sound…really serious about it.”
“Yeah, well…when we hit two million followers, we picked up a couple sponsors and started making some cash from it.”
“Wait, what?” I lifted my hand to stop him so I could catch up. “Did you say two million followers? How the hell do you have that many followers in something I’ve never even heard of?”
“I don’t know. I’m just that awesome, I guess.” When I only gaped at him, he winked. “Do you want to see some of our Vines?”
“Hell yes.”
As he flipped through his phone and opened an app, I shook my head. “Wait. You’re logging on to YouTube. I thought you said it was on its own Vine site, or whatever.”
“Yeah, but we put compilations of our best Vines on YouTube so you can see more than one together. Here. Just watch.”
He typed in a few search words, then scrolled through a screen until he came to something called No-Colton-No. “That’s our screen name for our profile. Caroline used to read me this book called No, David! when I was little, and it was my favorite because my middle name’s David. Plus, I misunderstand things in a literal way a lot in our Vines, so it just seemed to fit all the way around.”