Page 20 of Backslide
Welcome to the jungle, we take it day by day
If you want it, you’re gonna bleed, but it’s the price you pay
Seemed about right.
This evening, I slipped out first—and I swear I heard Nell cry out in pain through the wall when I crept toward our suite’s main door.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I eavesdropping on this woman? I am a goddamn adult. I need to act like one.
Now, Damien tracks Nell’s movement across the patio with his eyes, raises his brows at me. This is his first time catching a glimpse of her since we arrived.
I turn my back to her. Act like I don’t see. Like I don’t know what he’s suggesting with his look. Like I can’t feel her there, behind me, like a live wire.
He smirks. Likeplease.
He’s not going to let me pretend I don’t give a shit. Of course not. He’s Damien. He loves me, but he also loves to torture me. My asshole brother from another mother.
I am a collector of people. That’s what my older sister, Henrietta, always says. Only she uses less flattering words likehoarder. She groans every time I mention Damien’s name or tell some admittedly shameful story about another one of my aging high school boys—other than Ben, who she loves.
“You need to spring-clean,” Henny groaned during a recent call. “Make space. Set them free in their natural habitat to roam… to custodial court or a seedy bar at eleven a.m.”
But dissing those guys outright, even the shadiest of them, feels disloyal. Like denying a part of myself. So, I try not to judge. I keep in touch.
They—Damien especially—have been good friends to me in their way. They stuck by me in tough times. Not everyone did.
Nell didn’t, though I can see it was more complicated than that now.
So, I take their calls. I hang out when I’m back in New York. I do them favors, here and there.
“She still looks tight,” Damien says now, assessing Nellie from afar.
And I don’t like the way he’s looking at her.
I’ve never liked the way he looks at her, I let myself admit.
I know what he’s seeing without turning my head. Because, whether I wanted to or not, I memorized everything about her the instant she walked into the party—her jeans that fit her ass like a glove, a satiny tank top that dips low, and a white cable-knit cardigan in case she wants to wrap herself in a protective hug. Classic Nell.
“I guess she looks okay,” I allow. I swig from my glass. ’Cause that’s how you’re supposed to drink wine, right? Chug it in giant gulps? All classy?
“You guess?” He is disbelieving.
I shrug. Roll my eyes. “Of course she looks good, D. Doesn’t make her any more pleasant to be around.”
Damien looks past me again. I watch him catch her eye over my shoulder. Nod and wink in greeting. “I beg to differ,” he says, his gaze still on her. “I think it makes her plenty pleasant.”
I shrug again. Suit yourself.
I am a shrugging machine.
“You think you guys will hook up?” he asks, still distracted by Nell. His eyes remain not on me.
“Hard pass,” I say. And mean it.
Now, he’s the one who shrugs. Likemore for me. Like he might have a chance with her. Like he might try. I know he wouldn’t dare, which is why I don’t dignify the gesture with a response. And even though I feel like throttling him, I have zero legs to stand on.
I sigh and try to surrender to the surroundings. Ben and Cara have asked us all to gather on the slatted deck outside the estate’s restaurant for this first official event. D and I are hanging toward the edges as daylight begins its retreat. The air smells like fresh ferns, like a forest after a rain. Like something fertile and real.
Like there might be hobbits nearby.
