Page 157 of Into These Eyes
I turn to Gavin. “Please make her stop.”
With an amused grin, he shrugs. “You’ve clearly raised a monster.”
She gives Gavin’s bicep a hard punch. “And don’t you forget it,bro.”
After dinner, Gavin and I relax on the couch in front of the TV while Anika stacks the dishwasher. Before long, his arm curls around my shoulders and I find myself playing with the inseam of his jeans. Two more nights, I tell myself. Two more nights and I’ll know what it feels like to have this man between my legs, thrusting—
“Move over,” Anika says, a bowl of ice cream in her hand, her butt positioned right between us and coming down fast. I scoot over, Gavin mirroring me just before she wedges herself in. “That’s better. You know, I can really do without seeing my brother and sister getting all lovey-dovey with each other. It’s kinda ick.”
Gavin’s amused gaze connects with my horrified one before he turns his attention to Anika. “So, now I not only have to put up with a cheeky woman, I have to put up with a smartarse troublemaker as well?”
Anika whips her head toward him. “Now you’re getting it, bro. Welcome to the family.” She shovels in a mouthful of ice cream, then bites her lip, apparently deep in thought. “Are you two sure you’re not related?” she asks, blinking at me as if it’s all so confusing. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Give it a rest, Ank,” I beg, knowing it’s pointless. She’ll milk this for all it’s worth.
“But, if you’re my sister, and he’s my brother, how can younotbe related?”
“Halfbrother.Halfsister,” I remind her. But as I stare at the beautiful young woman beside me, I know to the core of my heart that she’s a whole, vibrant being who can’t be divided into a fraction. There’s nothinghalfabout her.
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t like the sound of that. I’m not introducing either of you two as half of anything.”
“You won’t be introducing us full stop, since I’m going to kill you,” I joke so I don’t burst into tears at the fact she feels exactly the same way I do.
Her large round eyes glare at me. “Jamie Evans, are you threatening the life of a police officer?”
“I’m threatening the life of my … sister.”
She beams. “See, you can’t even sayhalfsister, can you?”
I let out a defeated breath. “Fine! It doesn’t sound right, even in my head.”
Utterly pleased with herself, she wriggles further into the couch. “This’s gonna be soooo much fun. I mean, parties, right? Can you imagine the look on people’s faces when I mention my brother and sister are totally in love? What a conversation starter!”
Exhausted by a highly emotional day, and with another one coming, I finish cleaning my teeth, turn off the ensuite light and plonk on the edge of my mattress. I wish with every bone in my body that Gavin was here, in my bed. I know we made a promise, but I long to feel his arms around me, his body pressed against mine.
Two more nights, I remind myself.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies sweep through my stomach. This rule Anika’s enforcing feels like it’s building up unrealistic expectations. What if I’m a useless, terrible lover? I have nothing but a bad experience to go on. This waiting is causing insecurities to surface. Insecurities I wouldn’t have had time to think about if we’d been able to finish what we started the night we were interrupted.
Sighing, too anxious to sleep yet, I decide to read to help quiet my mind. Turning to the nightstand, I’m confronted with Gavin’s fifty-two letters. I know I shouldn’t. I know those letters won’t lull me to sleep.
But I can’t resist. Only two, I promise myself.
Wiggling the first and last letter free, I run my fingers over the first one he ever wrote. I hate the fact that I’m not the first to read them. They were supposed to be between me and Gavin. My father had no right to violate my privacy.
I scoff. At least he did one thing right. He could have burnt them all. Yet here they are, sixteen years too late, but here, nonetheless.
Dipping my thumb and forefinger into the envelope, I pull out a single sheet of paper folded in half. And hesitate. The boy who wrote these is the man now trying to get some sleep in my spare bedroom. Written in his first year of incarceration, there’s a good chance the words on these pages might hurt.
But he didn’t try to hide them or ask me not to read them.
Unfolding the sheet of paper, my gaze instantly drops to the bottom of the page.
Where a sketch of disembodied eyes stare at me.
My eyes.
The graphite pencil’s attention to every detail makes them unsettlinglyreal, almost mesmerising.
