Page 6

6

JACOB

Wheeling my suitcase into the kitchen, I get the fright of my life when a voice calls out, “Morning.”

Skye.

“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out gruffer than expected. I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.

Owen steps through the sliding glass doors from the back garden. “Sorry, I went to get some fresh air.” He runs his hands through his disheveled hair. He looks wrecked. I was up every hour to check on him and twice I found him with his head in the toilet. “Skye says you’re off to London?” He grips his hand to his stomach, presumably because he feels sick again.

“I arranged to meet you at the airport.” I look at Skye and almost moan out loud. She’s wearing my favorite skirt. The black and teal plaid pleated one and those fucking socks.

Motherfucker.

“I thought I could leave my car here instead and we could travel together. I had Shona change my arrangements.” She smiles cheekily.

You’re playing with fire, Butterfly.

She turns to Owen. “You don’t look so good. You’ve turned a funny shade of green again.”

“I feel horrendous.” He belches, making Skye’s nose scrunch. She looks cute when she does that.

“When was the last time you ate? You look dreadful. You need a haircut and a shave.” She looks him up and down. “Your mother will not be impressed if she sees you looking less than her Brodie standards.”

Owen snarls, “You think I don’t know that, Skye?”

Not deterred, she continues, “Fine, whatever, Owen. I am only trying to help.” She waves her hand casually through the air. “You are no longer my problem.” She turns to me and smiles. “Are you ready to go? Your car is outside waiting.”

I catch Owen’s attention. “You can stay here for as long as you want.”

He bobs his head in acknowledgment.

Walking slowly toward Skye, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Can we talk, just for a minute, please?” he practically begs.

I don’t want to listen to this.

“We really do have to go,” she replies quickly, not giving him a chance to speak. “We have a flight to catch and we’ve said all there is to say, you know that.” She looks down and plays with her fingers. “Oh, I just realized.” She lifts her head. “I have your tee shirt on.” She pulls the faded black fabric, looking sadly at Owen. “I’ll have to give you it back.”

Owen clears his throat. “It’s not mine, actually. It’s Jacob’s. I stole it from him when we were about sixteen.” He points to the now faded, tatty top that looks vintage on Skye. “Funny, I’ve just noticed that she sort of looks like you.” Owen gently smirks.

Skye looks down again at the barely there print of a girl with blonde pigtails licking a lollipop with a butterfly tattoo on her arm. It’s Crazy Town’s The Gift of Game album cover. One of the songs on that album I would listen to over and over again. It was my song about her.

She lifts her head, and her eyes slide to mine. “Oh.”

“Keep it.” My voice sounds short and clipped as I head to the front door. “See you when I get back and we need to talk,” I shout over my shoulder at Owen. I didn’t get the chance to speak with him because I didn’t realize he was awake. “When and if you do leave, remember to lock up.”

“Thanks for last night,” he replies.

I wave over my shoulder.

Skye’s little steps quickly appear behind me. “Bye, Owen.” She scuttles into the hallway. “Oh, I just remembered.”

I look back around, but she’s addressing Owen.

“Do you have the receipt for my tablet and stylus pen you bought me for my birthday? They’re not working for some reason so I can’t use them. They’re both still under warranty, but I can’t go back to wherever you bought it from without the receipt. Could you find it for me, please?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Owen points at me. “I didn’t buy it for you. Jay did. I still owe you for those.” He laughs. Fucking laughs. Not realizing he probably just hurt her feelings because he couldn’t even be bothered to get her a birthday present.

He left that up to me to organize. Again.

I clench my jaw.

Skye’s eyes widen in disbelief, while I feel like all the oxygen was just sucked from the room.

“I have the receipt.” As soon as my feet hit my gray gravel drive, the driver takes my case. I climb into the car and pull my phone out of the inside pocket of my jacket to check my emails.

Skye moves into the back beside me and slams the door shut and I keep my head down as the driver pulls away.

I try to focus on my phone, but it’s not long before I find myself stealing a sly glance down Skye’s toned legs. The tiny amount of exposed flawless skin between her pleated skirt and knee-high socks is, yet again, calling out to me.

Fingers crossed on her lap, she fidgets with her thumbs as if they are having a wrestling match. Eventually, she says, “Do you want to talk about any of that?”

“No.”

“You don’t want to talk about the fact that I’m wearing a tee shirt that belongs to you with an illustration on that apparently looks like me?”

“No.”

She grabs her phone from her rucksack. The one I helped Owen buy for her because I saw her swooning over it one lunchtime. She loves it because it has multiple hidden pockets, it fits her laptop, converts to a purse with a top handle, and looks cute . It’s Parisian chic. Supposedly.

She taps her phone as if in a crazed frenzy.

“Is that why you call me Butterfly?” Her voice remains steady as she pushes it under my nose.

And there on the screen is the track listing of that entire album and a little inset picture of the cover. I rest my head against the headrest, watching the countryside swoosh by in a blur. My stomach feels like a washing machine on the fastest spin cycle.

I’m the guy that pushes everything deep down into the pit of my soul because I’ve had to. I’ve had to hide my feelings for all these years, not only from my best friend, but also from her. She has no idea just how engrained into my heart she is.

But the last few weeks have changed everything, and my hidden emotional filing cabinet has been unlocked and flung open with such force that everything has slipped out around me and I have no idea how to start packing it away again… or whether I even want to try. It’s too much. I can’t deal with all of her questions and my emotions at the same time. I’m not dealing with any of it well at all. I feel sick to my stomach that I’m being a complete jerk around her.

Perspiration beads across my forehead. I remove my dress jacket, carefully laying it on the seat opposite me before I loosen my tie and undo my top button. Nausea bubbles in my stomach like a boiling cauldron.

“And the tablet and pen? You bought that too?” She’s persistent, I’ll give her that.

Balls to the wall, I go down the full-disclosure route when I reply, “And the rucksack you’re using.” I raise my eyes to meet hers. I’ve got nothing to lose because I’ve already lost her. I lost her the minute she started dating Owen. “Your phone cover. Wallet. Earrings last Christmas,” I add.

I stare into her why have you never told me eyes, for what seems like an eternity.

Her shocked face softens. “Right,” she eventually mumbles, then she starts chewing her top lip.

Breaking our gaze, she reaches over to the drinks storage and grabs a bottle of water. Almost finishing its contents in one go, she screws the top back on and rests it in her lap. And for the rest of the car ride, the hour-long private plane journey, and our transfer to the hotel, we don’t say anything to one another.