Page 17 of Beyond the Stix
The tree house my father built for me seems to be a lot smaller than the last time I was inside it. But everything Ileft behind is still in its place. My iPod, with the spongey headphones attached by a frayed cord. Most of my manga are still in their clear sleeves. And several baseballs signed by some of the White Sox and Chicago Cubs players.
I’m surprised my mother didn’t empty it out. But I can’t imagine her climbing up the rope ladder to do so either.
I stare down at the dark blue bean bag chair that was always too big for the space. It has more dust and cobwebs on the surface than in the corners of the tree house. No doubt bugs have made nests inside it. But I don’t give a fuck.
There’s still an indent of a small frame in the middle, from the last time I hid in here. That was when…Don’t fucking go there,Wildman.
I shut those thoughts down and drop onto the bean bag. The second my ass lands on the planked floor, a plume of dust fills the space, along with a snowstorm of tiny white Styrofoam beads.
“Shit,” I hiss as I’m covered by tiny balls.
“This is a picture moment.” John’s head is through the hatch opening.
How did I not hear him?
“I don’t think…” I begin to say.
“I’m not going to try to climb,” John says as he looks around the space. “Nice place you have here.”
Snarkybastard.
“Thanks,” I counter with a frown. “If you’re going to be an ass, you can just let go of the rope and drop back down to the ground.”
“Funny.” With some maneuvering, John pulls himself half way through the hatch.
It’s making my stomach churn watching him maneuvering himself. “Get down, Brand, before you fall and break something.”
“I didn’t know you cared.” He grunts, shifts again until his ass sits on the edge. “Want to talk?”
“Nah. And you really should get down. This structure might not be able to hold you.” There’s no way I’m going to tell my bodyguard what fucked up things are floating in my head.
“Don’t deflect,” John warns. “And don’t lie to me.” His left eyebrow arches high. He folds his arms across his chest, while balancing his body on the edge. He eyeballs me hard. Like that fucking tactic will work on me.Not!
“It’s your funeral.” The second those words fall from my lips I regret them immediately.
“Connor…” He begins to say when I hear my mother shouting from the base of the tree.
“Connor, get out of that tree house. You’re too big for it. And your Uncle Jessup is here to talk to you.”
I freeze and every molecule in my body solidifies. Panic snaps back into my bones, and my stomach’s churning to the point I want to throw up.
My eyes fix on John, who’s just as still as me. But there’s angry resolve set in his baby blues, which for some strange reason makes my muscles relax, and I don’t feel so sick anymore.
Right then, I have to accept that John—out of all people—grounds me, and my year-long denial of my feelings for him crumbles to dust.
“I don’t want to talk to him, John,” I whisper. “Please, make him go away.”
There’s a beat between us when I’m not sure if John will do what I ask. But then he nods, slips down through the opening and disappears from my sight. I don’t know why I constantly doubt him, when he’s been by my side from the moment I got the call about my father. It’s not like he’s let me down—other than him walking away after he gave me one of my best orgasms.
I swallow down the cowardice that forms at the back of my throat, and peer over the edge of the hatch hole to watch my bodyguard do his job while Fig stands as back up. Jessup apparently roused everyone in the house.
“You can’t hide from me, Connor. We need to talk. It’s time,” my Uncle Jessup shouts up.
“I told you. Mr. Wild doesn’t want to talk to you. Please leave.” John’s stern words reach my ears, and I relax even more.
“Fuck that. I’m not leaving here untilMr. Wildgrows enough balls to get down from his high perch and talk to me. He can tell me himself to leave,” Jessup shouts louder.
“Jess,” my mother scolds. “Maybe John’s right. You need to leave. Give Connor some time. He just lost his father?—”