Page 11 of Little Bird
I bite my lip at that memory and shift in my seat. I’d just turned sixteen, and we found ourselves in the house on our own one dark, rainy night. The power went out and we were bumbling around the kitchen, looking for candles, when I ran right into him and scared him. He screamed, and then we both fell to the floor laughing at how ridiculous it all was.
Once there, though, the breathless laughter turned into something more intense. Fingers accidentally brushing against skin, like someone dipping their toe into a deep, dark lake they weren’t sure they wanted to dive into. A hesitant touch of a thumb against a bottom lip. Eyes shining in the glow of the moonlight.
The air around us growing thick with something that had been building for at least two years.
The kiss was gentle enough to be chaste, if we’d wanted it to be. We could have drawn back and let it go at that. Pretended nothing happened and gone on living our lives like we’d never thought about each other as anything more than stepsiblings.
But that would have been a lie. The truth was in the long, lingering gazes we’d been sharing for a year. The secret smiles that told us both there was more than we were admitting. The driving jealousy when he brought a girl home or I talked to a boy for too long.
This was a pool we’d been thinking about for months. We just hadn’t said anything.
And now that we found ourselves standing toes-deep in that pool, we were all in. Neither of us drew back or let our minds get in the way of what we wanted. We dove into each other like we were finally finding the truth of ourselves, and we didn’t look back. The kiss became tongues and teeth, a driving need that nothing quite satisfied. My hands went to the hem of his shirt and drew it quickly over his head while he grasped me firmly by the hips and pulled me into his lap. I’d never so much as looked at a boy before and had no idea what to expect, and I’d been shocked at the hard bulge of him pressing between my legs.
It had only taken moments for me to start rocking my hips, though, searching for the friction my body knew I wanted.
We didn’t come up for air until the lights came back on and we found our parents staring at us, horrified.
My mother had forced me to pack my things that night, and when morning came, we left.
I never asked her if we fled because of what I did. I didn’t want to know the answer.
Now, though, I want to know if Gabe realizes I’m coming back.
I want to know what he thinks of it.
I want to know why neither he or Gunner ever tried to get in touch with me after we left.
“I didn’t talk to him,” Gunner says abruptly, like he’s been waiting for me to finish going through my memories. “No time. We’ll be home in an hour. Why don’t you get some sleep.”
I want to protest. Tell him that he can’t order me around anymore, and that I have more questions. But when I glance at his stern visage, I realize it’s no good. He’s shut down to me again, and I’m not going to get much out of him.
Maybe it’s better if I keep my mouth shut, after all.
I don’t know how long I’m going to be staying with him. And I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.
By the time we get to the house, the sun is peeking over the horizon, washing the mountains around us in pink and gold. The view is breathtaking, and I pause for a moment, staring at the place the Hawkes call the cabin. It’s always been more than that, three stories tall and stretching between two separate wings. The rough timber gives it the look of a place built quickly and out of raw wood, but I know differently. Gunner’s grandfather built this town, and this house, and though I never met the man, I’ve heard he never did anything halfway.
Inside, I remember, the house is a clean, quiet, and very solid place. Rough wood beams cross over wide-open spaces and whitewashed walls, giving you the feel of strength and permanence. It always felt like a safe, dependable place to me. The walls weren’t going to fall down around you, and you’d always find a steady floor under your feet. It smelled of pine trees and wood, smoke from the fire and whatever was baking in the kitchen.
It had always felt like home to me.
Just as Gunner had.
The man in question grabs my bags out of the truck without saying anything, though, and I revise my opinion of him, wondering again why he’s so angry. If he doesn’t want me here, why did he come all the way to the city for me? Why bring me up the mountain if he’s going to act like I’m imposing?
I stumble out of the truck after him, still reveling in the brand new sunshine around me, my lungs full of the smell of woods and dirt and animals. This, I realize. This is what I’ve been missing since my mother dragged me back to the city. Nature. A house that sits on the ground rather than in the sky. The feel of people who matter around me.
I turn to find Gunner already climbing the steps into the house and race after him, still trying to figure out what any of this means. Gunner is through the door when I arrive, though he’s at least stopped to hold it open for me, and when I step into the great room, I have to pause and smile. This room is the heart of the house, combining living room and kitchen together, and I look around, memories flooding over me.
One wall is dominated by a large fireplace, the stones worked into the wall itself, and a number of chairs and couches litter the hardwood floor in front of it. A dining room table sits in a corner of the room, and across from that is the Hawke version of a library, shelves lining the walls and floor lamps marking the space off.
The kitchen is on the other side of the room, rough shelves nailed into the wall and a large stove set in an island in the center. Bar stools and a breakfast table finish that spot, and I remember more than one breakfast there, the four of us laughing like we didn’t have a care in the world. Above us, the space opens up on the second and third floors, this room rising all the way to the roof of the house and the skylights that are leaking with morning sunshine. Everything smells the same and looks just like it did, but there’s something off about the space.
Like the color has gone out of it. Or maybe the light’s not getting all the way in.
Then again, maybe it’s the fact that we’re three weeks from Christmas and there’s not a single Christmas decoration in here.
I don’t think I’ll mention that, though.
