Page 116 of Craving Consequences
Lachlan hums softly and turns his lips into my palm. He doesn’t speak, but the silence stretches warm between us like he, too, is holding on to the moment as tightly as I am.
Carefully, he draws back enough to stoop down and scoop up the candles. The long, white stems clack together intheir confined space as they’re carried to the kitchen where Van stands at the table, spooning heaps of broccoli soup into bowls.
No one speaks as we gather around with our food. Lachlan unearths a pair of nickel candleholders Mom bought at the Carmichael’s yard sale years before. Light from the twin flames leap across the table in a comfortable halo as we sit to eat.
Conversation drifts lazily to debate over the preparations. Who will take which part of the house. If all goes to plan and the weather cooperates, the majority of the party is supposed to take place outside with a simple BBQ and maybe some swimming in the lake. If the weather continues to work against me, a large, hopeful part of me doesn’t think anyone will make the drive. As successful as I want this farewell party to go, I’m too exhausted to actually entertain anyone.
Like we’ve done a million times in the past, we work together to clean and stow away the dishes before working our way through the bins in the hallway in methodical order.
It takes longer than I anticipated. Would have taken even longer if I’d done it on my own. Even with Van and Lachlan doing the bulk of the lifting, stringing, hammering, and adjusting, we have half the box of candles lit as the dull light dwindles, drowning the cabin in shadows.
“I think we might be staying the night.” Lachlan sighs, letting the lace curtains over the front windows slip shut on the foul weather still raging outside. “Do you have more candles?”
I nod and gesture to the basement stairs. “There should be a few more boxes downstairs, but I have batteries and flashlights if we run out.”
“Why don’t we tidy up before it gets too dark, just so there’s nothing on the floor while the power’s still out,” Van suggests, nudging a bin with a toe. “We’ll go through everything again in the morning and finish whatever’s left before we head back. We can always come back before the party to set up the yard.”
It’s a sound plan. Mine had been to spend the entire three days putting everything together and making sure it all ran smoothly for Lauren. Now, I can barely bring myself to care as I help stuff streamers and fairy lights into their appropriate bins. I run a broom over the floors while Van goes through our groceries to make something for dinner.
He settles on hot dogs. It seems like an odd choice when we can’t warm them, but one glance at Lachlan and the pair set to work building a fire in the living room’s hearth. The ottomans are dragged to the edge, as close as they can get without catching fire and I feel the grin catch the corners of my lips as I watch them skewer the meat on forks and drag them over the fire like a pair of little boys on a camping trip.
I leave them to it. Let them work their method as I drag the Afghan off the back of the armchair and curl up on the sofa. And just watch them. Watch the firelight bring them to life in away that feels surreal. Everything about them is so painfully beautiful. So ... masculine and raw. I never imagined men like them could exist outside my books and yet I’m in awe of them. Starstruck.
Van is all hard lines and a soft gaze, eyes the liquid silver of mercury as they shift between the flames and his best friend seated next to him. Shadows stretch down sharp cheeks with every drop of his lashes when he looks down. In contrast, Lachlan’s face is fully washed in light. It clings to the dark wisps tumbling over his brow, catching the gold and auburn hidden amongst the strands. His mouth is bowed in a grin that glints in the warm pools as he tells a story I’m not paying attention to.
It’s hard to believe I get to witness this vulnerability between them. The ease and comfort they only share with each other. Like not another soul exists in the world. I’ve seen it hundreds of times in the past, but it’s different this time. I don’t have to school my features. I don’t have to worry about Lauren or Bron catching my slip. I can simply curl up and watch them and fall in love and no one can stop me. I can commit every detail to memory because this moment will never happen again.
My throat tightens and the good feeling starts to dissipate before I grab hold again. I fist it tight against my chest, reminding myself I still have tonight.
“How many you do want, sweetheart?” Lachlan glances back over his shoulder with his lightly roasted hot dog held aloft for me to see.
I blink, caught off guard.
“One, please,” I murmur, thoughts spilling away.
He returns to roasting the meat over the flames in slow, measured turns. Van is doing the same on the other side and I continue to watch them with my lip caught between my teeth. I tug the blanket tighter around my shoulders and twist the frayed edges around my finger. My nervous fidgeting cuts along my spine as I work up the nerve to unleash the weight of my decision.
“I was wondering,” I blurt, words wavering. They fail me entirely when both heads pivot back in my direction. Their full focus now pinned on me. “Would ... I know we said we wouldn’t ... anymore. I agree and understand...” I’m beginning to lose my nerve. I can feel it slipping from between my fingers, so I spit it out. “Will you stay with me tonight? Just ... one last time?”
Their silence isn’t cold or disgusted. I don’t think they would be. But it feels so long. So infinite when my heart is hammering between my ears.
My mouth does what it always does when panic begins to set in. It starts to vomit a flood of restless words.
“It’s just we won’t get another night like this. I know once the weekend ends and everything comes out, we might not see each other again and it’s a big ask, I get that...” I struggle into a sitting position, suddenly wishing I hadn’t said anything and still unable to stop. “You can, of course, say no. I will understand—”
Van is the first to move. He sets his roasting fork aside and pushes to his feet. His pale eyes are molten pits in the firelight as they fix me to my spot. Next to him, Lachlan folds his arm, expression a firm line of all the things I can almost see him contemplating.
Neither has yet said a word but they make their way towards me with unhurried steps. The silent stalk of predators circling their prey. They stand over me, framed by firelight. As dominating and tall as the shadows creeping long and heavy behind them. The air shifts, practically solidifying as they steal every drop until I can’t breathe. I feel so small and trapped. So pathetically helpless. I think I should shift higher on the cushion, but moving seems like a reckless risk.
“Did you think you were going to leave here without us having our fun with you, little doe?” Van taunts, the words hot steel in the sun.
“I...” is all I can feebly manage.
Van’s eyes are fixed on mine. Daring me to do something stupid and dangerous ... like run. Lachlan’s is lower, hooked on my lips.Amused and hungry.
“Did you think we wouldn’t take the opportunity to make you scream where no one can hear you?”
Fear and adrenaline course through me with savage excitement. I’m practically vibrating even as my back sinks into the sofa as if trying to put distance between me and the monsters looming over me from the shadows.
