Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(27)

I’ve loved Dallas Sykes my whole life. And I don’t think I ever believed in curses or bad luck until Eli decided to adopt me—just like he and my mother had adopted Dallas—and made us full-blown siblings.

The attic is easily accessed by a set of stairs behind a door in Dallas’s office, and I go there now. As I’d expected, the door is cracked open—I should have noticed it when I peeked in the office earlier—and I climb the stairs slowly, careful to avoid the fifth one, which always creaks.

As attics go, it’s huge, and full of old furniture and boxes of holiday decorations and all the usual things that get stored instead of tossed. My childhood memories are here, but I don’t even glance at the boxes with my name printed in my mother’s neat handwriting. Instead, I head straight for the open window and the man who I can see sitting on the flat roof where we spent so much time as children.

“Hey,” I say as I climb out next to him. “Hiding from me?”

I’m joking, but for a moment I think he’s going to admit that he is. But then he shakes his head, his smile little more than a contraction of the muscles around his mouth. “Never,” he says. “I’ve just—I’ve just got a lot of shit running through my head.”

I exhale, a little concerned. A little afraid. For a moment, we both just sit there looking at the ocean, but then I take his hand. I don’t look at him, though. I don’t think I can say what needs to be said if I’m looking at him.

“I thought it would be easier,” I begin. “Us being together.”

He turns sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“Together, we’re not fighting anymore,” I say. “This thing between us. So I thought it would be easier.” I lick my lips, hating what I’m about to say, yet knowing that I have to at least put it out there. “But now I’m thinking that we’re making it harder on you. Forcing you to see what you’d rather forget.”

I can see from his expression that he doesn’t understand me. Or maybe he doesn’t want to understand me.

I draw a breath. “Memories,” I say. “Nightmares. I know you’re remembering stuff, Dallas. I sleep right beside you. And I’m afraid that all of this—you and me—has made it harder on you.”

“No. Never.”

I glance at him, but don’t respond. Instead, I draw my knees up to my chest and hug them, staring out at the ocean beyond. “We had great talks out here as kids. And this was the no bullshit zone, remember? If we talked about something, we told the truth.” I hold up my hand and wiggle my pinkie. “You, me, and Liam. We pinkie swore.”

“It’s not harder,” he says. “You seem to have me confused with someone who has forgotten. I don’t remember because I’m with you, Jane.” He puts his arm around me, and I lean my head on his shoulder. “But because I’m with you, I want to get past it.”

I sigh and nod, and right then all I want to do is stay quiet and let the moment take us. But I can’t, because there’s more. “Then tell me what is bothering you.”

“There’s nothing—”

I sit up straight. “Do not even think you can bullshit me. I know you way, way, way too well. You’re out here before dawn, so there’s a clue. Plus, you held back in the study. That started out a lot wilder than it ended up. And I’m not complaining because it was pretty damn awesome, but it wasn’t what you wanted—no, don’t deny it. I know you, remember?”

“Jane.” My name sounds like glass, about to break on the sharp edges of his voice.

“Please, Dallas. Talk to me. Maybe I’m wrong and looking for problems. But I feel like there’s something going on with you. Something you’re not telling me.”

He says nothing—just sighs and looks out at the night. I’m about to break down into full-blown begging when he finally sighs, then says, “I know we promised each other no more secrets, and I want to live up to that. But there are things …”

“Like what she did to you?” I ask when he trails off.

He drags his fingers through his hair. “That’s sure as hell part of it.”

“And the rest of it?”

“Jane, can we not do this right now—”

“We need to talk. You need to talk. I know something’s bothering you and I’m sorry if I’m pushing, but—”

“Yes, you are pushing.” He turns to me, his eyes dark. “You are most definitely pushing,” he repeats, then sighs. “Christ, you always do this. It makes me crazy, like that time when you were in Girl Scouts and—”

I can’t help but laugh.

He looks at me like I’m insane. “What?”

“I was just wondering how many couples break down into sibling arguments in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel.”

His mouth twitches. “You have a point.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I still win the argument, but you have a point.”

“You do not win,” I say. “You can’t win if you don’t finish, and you are so totally avoiding the—”

“Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Since that’s something we don’t have to argue about, I do, and it’s long and hot and tender and sweet all rolled up in the perfect rooftop kiss.