Page 42 of Between Here and the Horizon
“Why?” He was so calm. So reasonable. Soinfuriating. As far as he was concerned, I didn’t have a leg to stand on. He was never going to believe I hadn’t read that cursed journal.Never. My outrage was bubbling over, difficult to tamp down. Sully’s smile spread even wider. “How about you quit acting all bent out of shape and admit to me why you’re really here right now?”
“I told you—”
“And I toldyouI hate liars. Are you denying you’re attracted to me? Even though you know you shouldn’t be? Even though you know it’s weird because I’m an asshole, and because of Ronan’s kids?” He seemed completely unaffected by the words coming out of his own mouth. He didn’t seem to care that they were bound to affect me either. He just sat there, watching me, waiting.
He wasn’t going to win. Not this time. Even if it meant embarrassing myself by owning something I’d been avoiding acknowledging even to myself. But the things he’d said earlier, about people ignoring their problems, or simply ignoring their feelings in this case…it never helped, and I knew it.
“Fine. You’re right. I am attracted to you. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. Not because of Ronan, or because of Amie and Connor, but because you’re a spiteful, garbage person who only sees the bad in everything, and caring about a person like you will probably make me a toxic, unhappy person, too. At least Ronan was—”
He heaved himself off the couch way faster than I would have thought him capable of, and stood over me, panting. “Don’t do that,” he snapped. “Before you even contemplate finishing that sentence, please donotcompare me to my brother.”
“Why not?”
“When you’re a twin, when you look so utterly the same as someone else you grow up with, learn with, develop, become a man with, then all people want to do is find the differences between you. He was kinder. You were meaner. He was academic. You were destructive. He was the family man. You were the warmonger. It’s fucked. I don’t want to hear it. Especially from you—someone who knew Ronan for all of five fucking minutes, and who still doesn’t know me at all.”
“I would if you damn well let me!”
“I DON’T WANT—” The room erupted with a high-pitched, startling sound, cutting through our argument. Sully almost leapt out of his skin, spinning around, eyes wild and wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“What the hell is that?” I yelled.
He still looked on edge, but a calmness settled over Sully all of a sudden. “Smoke detector,” he said, low, so I could hardly hear him over the racket. “You’re burning down my kitchen, Lang.”
“Oh, shit, the stew!” I dashed into the kitchen. The gas burner underneath the cast iron pot the food had been cooking in was charred, and smoke was curling up from underneath it, thin and black but enough to have set off the alarm. “Fuck.” I quickly turned off the burner and moved the pot, checking inside to survey the damage done to the stew. Thankfully it looked fine. It wasn’t even burned on the bottom. The base of the pot, however, was ruined. The alarm stopped, leaving my ears ringing.
“I didn’t think to ask if you were a decent cook before I let you loose in here,” Sully said behind me. “Here, let me see.”
I got out of the way, and he poked and prodded at the stovetop. “The element’s almost gone,” he said, pulling a face. “I’ve been meaning to replace it for a while. It catches light when the burner gets too hot sometimes.”
“So this wasn’t my fault?”
“No, this wasn’t your fault, Lang. Relax. Go sit down. I’ll bring the food through.”
I started to argue—he shouldn’t be picking up heavy pots, or doling out food. The whole point of me coming here to cook was so that he didn’t have to—but then I saw the look on his face and I backed out of the kitchen without another word. He brought in two bowls shortly after, then went back and collected the biscuits I’d made from the oven. We ate in silence, Sully only managing to finish half the bowl he’d served himself before he set it down, groaning.
“Go on. Tell me my food tastes disgusting. I dare you.”
“It was great, Lang. But you may have noticed that I’m a little under the weather right now. My appetite isn’t what it normally is.”
“You should get up to bed. Rest some,” I told him.
“Too many fucking flights of stairs in this place. I’m sleeping right here until I’ve healed up a bit.” Lying back, arms wrapped around his torso, he sprawled himself on the three-seater, lifting his legs up onto the cushions, and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Eating seemed to have taken it out of him.Reallytaken it out of him. His face was even paler than before, and that clammy sweat had returned, beading on his forehead.
“You’re looking pretty gray, Sully. Do you think you can be cordial for a couple of minutes while I check your temperature?”
“Sure. As long as you don’t try to stick a thermometer up my ass.”
“I promise, that’s the very last thing I plan on doing.” I had no idea where his first aid kit was, and I hadn’t brought the one from The Big House with me, so I went old school and used the back of my hand, pressing it against his forehead.
“I’m sure that’s really accurate,” Sully grumbled.
“Accurate enough to tell me that you’re burning up. Jesus, Sully, you should never have left the medical center. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I had a better chance of survival at home, where Gale couldn’t shoot me up with adrenalin instead of morphine by accident.”
“Yeah, well. I suppose that’s a good point.” Rushing back into the kitchen, I grabbed a clean dishcloth from one of the drawers and ran it under the cold tap before taking it back into the living room with me. Sully’s chest was rising up and down so fast, it looked as if he’d just run a full marathon. I held the cool, wet material to his forehead, keeping it in place when he tried to push it out of the way. His arms were made of rubber, though—easy to fend off. He didn’t seem to have any strength left in his body at all.
“Can you call Ronan, please? Tell him I need him to come get me? I’m sorry, Mags, I shouldn’t have drunk so much.” He was slurring like hehadbeen drinking. Way more than two glasses of whiskey. More like he’d drunk the whole bottle.
