The Risks We Take Page 5

  “Ian!”

  “Stop torturing Dylan,” I scold her.

  “Did that little butt muncher call you?”

  I snicker. “He’s stressed over the shit online. You know how much the band means to him. Think you can lighten up with him? Maybe boost a few of the tour stop posts so the fans know it’s still on?”

  “Already ahead of you. I’m boosting two posts now and another two later on. Plus, I posted the full tour schedule, a link to the tour stops from your website, and a new photo I edited of the poster for the tour on all platforms.”

  I smile. “I knew you were the person for the job.”

  I can hear the grin in her voice. “I know. I’m pretty amazing. Oh! How’s the Kasey situation going? Make any leeway?”

  I fight back frowning. I don’t know why, it isn’t like she can see the disappointment on my face just from talking about her. But Kasey … I want nothing more than for her to forgive me. I don’t know what happened after I left, but I want to. If it means healing whatever I ruined between us, I’d do it.

  “Not great,” I admit after a moment of silence.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No big. It’ll just take some time, that’s all.”

  “Three weeks. Less than that now,” she reminds me.

  “I know, Tess.”

  She giggles. “Wouldn’t want Dylan having a heart attack if you’re not back by then.”

  “Go easy on him, Freckles.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she dismisses. “Good luck with Kasey. Sounds like you’re going to need it.” Before I can answer, she adds, “Do something she can’t ignore. Write a song. Dance. Make dinner. Something.”

  “Make dinner?” I repeat, scrunching my face.

  “Yeah,” she replies casually. “You’re a big thing now. Sometimes doing what’s expected isn’t going to win anybody over. You’re a singer, so writing a song might be what people expect of you. I can’t say you’re a dancer, because I’ve seen you move. And … well, don’t quit your day job.”

  “Hey!” I protest.

  “Just do something nice, that’s all I’m saying.”

  I think about it. “Tell Will I said hi,” I say before hanging up.

  Dinner? It could work.

  And if it doesn’t … I’ll make it work.

  I’m sitting in front of her door when she comes walking down the hall. She doesn’t see me right away, but her little sister does.

  “Sissy, look!” she exclaims, pointing at me.

  The expression on Kasey’s face says she’s not excited that I’m here. I try not to let it get to me.

  Three weeks. That’s how much time I have to turn our friendship around.

  I stand up just as they approach me. My body tenses when Taylor wraps her arms around my legs. For such a little thing, she’s got a hell of a grip.

  Wide-eyed, I stare from the smiling kid to Kasey. Her eyebrows are arched up, like she can’t believe her sister could like me.

  I clear my throat and pat Taylor’s head. “Uh, that’s a good … girl.”

  Kasey snorts. “She’s a human, Ian. Not a dog.”

  I press my lips together, nodding.

  She glances from me to her door. “So … are you going to let me in my apartment, or what?”

  “Oh.”

  Oh?

  I sigh internally to myself and peel Taylor from my legs. Stepping away, I lock eyes with the hazel-eyed girl staring back at me. Her lashes are as thick as Kasey’s and line the circular shape of her eyes. Unlike Kasey, Taylor’s eyes are more brown than green. If I remember correctly, their mother had the same color as Taylor, but it was too long ago to know for sure.

  Kasey clears her throat. “Ian? Hello?”

  I snap out of it. “I’m here for dinner.”

  “Uh … what?” Her tone is icy, and I don’t know why until she declares, “I’m not making you dinner!”

  “No! I mean I’m here to make you dinner.”

  Taylor jumps. “Is it mac and cheese?”

  I grin at her. “Do you want mac and cheese?”

  She nods enthusiastically.

  “Whoa,” Kasey intervenes, glaring at me. “I never said you could make us dinner.” She looks at her sister. “He’s not staying, Tay.”

  “But, sissy!” She stomps her feet, not bothering to finish her sentence.

  “Come on,” I cut in, giving her my best smile. “I just so happen to make the best macaroni and cheese around. It’ll blow your mind.”

  Taylor gives the puppy eyes to Kasey.

  She runs a hand down her face. “I really don’t have the energy to argue with you, Ian.”

  “So don’t.”

  “Can’t you just take no for answer?”

  I gasp in offense. “Never!”

  Taylor looks at her. “Why can’t he stay?”

  “Because …” She’s struggling to find an answer, which stings. She’s trying to figure out how to break the news to a kid that she doesn’t want me around.

  “Just one meal,” I bargain, stepping forward.

  Her eyes are pleading. “I’ve had a horrible day. One that I can’t even fathom that you’d understand. So all I want is to go inside, put my feet up, and forget about everything.”

  My head tilts to the side. “What exactly do you want to forget?”

  She averts her gaze.

  “I’ll cook. You put your feet up.”

  Our eyes meet.

  I don’t think when I reach out and take her hand.

  She doesn’t think when she lets me hold her.

  Neither of us move when our fingers entwine.

  It lasts a mere second, but the feeling it leaves behind when we finally separate—God help me—is like I can still feel the ghost of the girl I knew.

  She’s staring at the ground, her palm running down the thighs of her black leggings like she’s trying to rub the feeling off.

  My lips twitch down.

  “Sissy, I’m hungry,” Taylor whines.

  Kasey brushes her hair back. “Fine. One meal. It doesn’t take that long to make macaroni and cheese, so I guess it’ll be doable.”

  I gape at her as she unlocks her door.

  This is more than me moving away. More than two people who separated. I don’t just see the pain in her eyes, but the contemplation.

  She’s struggling. Battling a silent war within herself that I want nothing more than to help fight. To heal. To end.

  Once we’re inside, Taylor runs into what I assume is her room. It gives me time to follow Kasey into the kitchen, where she grabs out a princess cup and a carton of milk from the fridge.

  “What did I do?” I demand quietly, keeping my voice low so Taylor doesn’t overhear.

  She tries averting her eyes, busying herself with pouring Taylor’s drink.

  I take it from her, setting it down on the counter next to me. “Look at me, Kasey.”

  After a long moment, she does.

  “I—”

  “Sissy!” Taylor yells, running into the kitchen.

  Kasey reaches past me and grabs the milk, handing it to Taylor. “I want you to drink this while we get supper ready, okay?”

  “I’m cooking,” I remind her.

  “It’d be quicker if we both did.”

  Translation: It’d be quicker if we both cook so you can leave sooner.

  I lean against the counter. “You know what? I make a mean chocolate cake. It’s true. My grandma showed me how to keep it moist—”

  “Not a good use of the word moist,” Kasey cuts in coolly. “And not going to happen. You said macaroni and cheese, that’s what we’re cooking.”

  “But I want cake!” Taylor sniffs.

  The glare Kasey shoots me should probably make me drop dead. If looks could kill and all that.

  I stand my ground though. “Kasey, it takes like thirty minutes to make the cake. Even from scratch. You don’t want your little sister to be cake deprived, do you?”

  Her glare les
sens, so I keep going. I’m a man of persistence, after all.

  “Not like the time your dad offered to take us to Friendly’s so we could get ice cream cake for your birthday, but then he forgot because he fell asleep watching Real Housewives.”

  I can see her lips waver, like she wants to crack a smile. Her father looks like a motorcycle enthusiast who loves getting into bar fights as a hobby, but the guy’s a teddy bear. Knowing that a guy like him fell asleep watching Real Housewives was worth the lack of ice cream cake.

  I press my own lips down at the sight of her twitching ones, and I’m eager to see even the slightest ghost smile appear.

  She blows out a breath, her lips tipping up only a fraction. “I was pretty upset that day,” she admits, shaking her head.

  I nod. “You cried for a solid five minutes when he told us that we’d have to go another time.”

  She frowns. “Mom burnt my actual birthday cake, so the ice cream cake was supposed to make up for it. That birthday was awful.”

  I snicker. “It wasn’t your worst one, though. I seem to recall the time your uncle thought it’d be fun to do a circus theme in your backyard. The petting zoo was awesome, but the clowns …”

  Her body racks with shivers. “Don’t even mention the clowns, Ian. Uncle Arty knew I hated clowns, but he brought them anyway. I still hate him for that.”

  I hold back laughter. “He was trying to get you over your irrational fear. You know, face them straight on and all that.”

  Her eyes are sharp, cutting into me. “My fear of clowns is not irrational!”

  Taylor decides to speak up then. “Can I have clowns on my birthday, sissy?”

  “No!” Kasey whips. “Absolutely not. Clowns are … dangerous.”

  “Nu-uh!” Taylor argues.

  Kasey puts her hands on her hips. “You’ve never even seen one, Taylor. Just trust me, okay? Clowns are evil beings that should not exist.”

  I roll my eyes at that. “Now you’re just being dramatic. Clowns are meant to bring joy to people, not terror. Just because you had one bad experience—”

  “He pulled me out into the middle of the ring in front of all those people! As if that wasn’t bad enough, he kept dancing with me in circles until I was dizzy! Who does that, Ian? Who?”

  “Uh, clowns?”

  “Evil clowns. That thing saw me eat all that cotton candy. He knew exactly what he was doing when he spun me around.”

  I snort. “I highly doubt that, Kase. Come on, do you really think a clown’s end game is to be puked on by a six-year-old?”

  “I’m almost six!” Taylor announces happily from where she’s standing next to Kasey.

  I pat her head. “Good for you, kid.”

  She beams.

  Kasey groans. “It doesn’t matter. It was mortifying. Not to mention he sprayed me with his stupid flower sprayer.”

  I deadpan, “You were covered in vomit. He was cleaning you up.”

  “He was making it worse!”

  I sigh loudly. “This conversation never changes, even after all this time.”

  She looks at Taylor. “Why don’t you go watch TV?”

  Taylor doesn’t argue. She skips, if you can call what she’s doing skipping, into the other room. Soon enough, the television is on and blasting some horrible song that may give me nightmares.

  Colorful blobs are dancing in a circle on the screen, and it looks like there’s some screwed up sacrifice about to go down. The happy ass song that the weird dancing bunnies (where the hell did they even come from?) are singing don’t change the demonic undertone the show is portraying.

  My eyes travel to Kasey, who is taking out pasta from the cabinet. I can’t help but look at how her leggings hug the curves of her hips. And, okay, her ass.

  I’m a dude. I notice this shit.

  When a woman bends down in front of you, it’s almost rude not to look and appreciate it.

  “Quit staring, and start cooking,” she commands from over her shoulder.

  Busted.

  I shrug and take the pot she offers me, filling it with water. Putting it on the stove, I start the burner. Before I can do anything else, she’s dumping the noodles in.

  I look at her, eyebrows raised.

  “What?” she asks curiously.

  I gesture toward the pot. “You’re supposed to wait until the water boils before you add the pasta.”

  Her lips form an O.

  “You didn’t know that?”

  Slowly, she shakes her head.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Are you sure you want to cook? I can handle it. You know, the right way.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Are you insulting my cooking skills?”

  I nod. There’s no denying it.

  “It’ll cook fine, Wells.”

  I roll my eyes. “Really? We’re throwing around the last name? Guess what, Miller? You can act like you hate me, but you’re not fooling anyone.”

  She crosses her arms on her chest. “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t hate me.”

  She gapes.

  “You miss me,” I conclude.

  “Excuse me?”

  I give her my best smile. “It’s natural, Kay.” She goes to correct the name, but I stop her. “Just listen to me, okay? Don’t give me that look, you can’t kill me with your eyes. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Her jaw ticks.

  “I missed you,” I begin simply. “It’s natural. We were always hanging out, always around. It makes sense that we missed each other.”

  She looks away. “Missed, Ian. Past tense.”

  My stomach drops. “Tell me why.”

  “Ian …”

  “Just tell me.”

  She closes her eyes. “Time changes people, okay? Sometimes, it’s as simple as that. We’re different people. We were bound to be after all this time, right?”

  I shake my head. “It’s never that simple. You were a lot of things back then, but you were never a liar. Don’t start now.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “You don’t know me,” she points out bitterly.

  “I used to.”

  “Yeah, when we were ten,” she retorts. “And for the record, I lied all the time. I told you that your poems were awesome. They actually sucked.”

  I’m sure I should have been offended, but I ended up snorting in amusement instead.

  “One of those ‘poems’ was actually a song,” I inform her matter-of-factly. “And for your information, it was made into an actual song on our album … with some work. And rewrites. And edits.”

  Her brows arch. “So basically, you wrote a song that was based on one you wrote before you could actually write successfully.”

  I sigh heavily. “Words hurt, Kay. I don’t remember you acting this way before.”

  There’s a moment of silence.

  Then, she finally lets loose.

  “Words hurt?” she repeats through clenched teeth. “You’re absolutely right, Ian. Words do hurt. Sometimes words are the worst weapon a person could use—they cut deeper than knives, and leave scars that last forever. And you know what? I got a lot of words for you!”

  “Then say what you want to say,” I challenge, stepping forward. “Don’t hold back on me now, Miller.”

  We stare at each other, a silent challenge in our eyes. If we blink, we lose. If we break contact, we lose.

  When do we ever win?

  Her eyes are narrow into slits now. “If you open that can of worms, it can’t be undone,” she warns.

  I shrug. “Do what you need to do.”

  More staring. More silence.

  The tension is thick in the air between us, and I can tell she’s contemplating opening said can. She’s hurt, but she doesn’t want to hurt me.

  Or … I don’t think she does.

  “Your mom never told you, did she?” she whispers, seeing me in a new light.

  “Told me what?”

  She presses her lips together, debating
on if telling me is even worth it. Clearly, somebody thought keeping it from me was worth it all these years.

  KASEY

  All truths come down to love. Everything we say, do, think, feel is because of love. My mother used to tell me that.

  Ironic how somebody I despise so much now gave me even the slightest understanding of how truth works.

  The thing is … that kind of realization can destroy a person. I see that now. She sees that now. Even blinded by half the things she snorts or injects to forget about everything in the past, she sees that.

  And you know what? That realization—how easily truth can destroy someone—is the reason why I’m closed off. The truth is always seen as something worth hearing, so why do so many people withhold it?

  Me? I found out the truth from the very start. Heard the reason why my life fell apart—my family. Maybe it’d be easier if I didn’t know, but then I’d always wonder why. Why did my father leave? Why did my mother turn to medication? Why did everybody abandon me?

  I’m glad I know the truth. It makes me see life for what it is. A dirty bitch.

  “Did she ever tell you the real reason you moved away?” I ask finally.

  His face screws. “Dad got a new job.”

  A bitter laugh escapes my lips. “A new job. That’s golden. No.” I shake my head. “She lied to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Let me ask you something, Ian,” I prompt. “Are your parents still together?”

  “Well … yeah.”

  I nod. “Are they happy? Truly happy? After the move, did things seem different?”

  He stands straighter. “What’s this about, Kasey?”

  “The truth,” I snap. “It’s about the damn truth! All our lives we hear it’s bad to lie. We hear it’s bad to bend the truth. But people lie all the time. They’ll say it’s to save hurting somebody. Or it’s to protect their own feelings. If somebody thinks their family will be damaged from it, they’ll lie. But you know what? At the end of the day, the truth is all we have. And yeah, it sucks sometimes. It can ruin people’s lives. It can change everything.”

  I’m seething as old memories resurface.

  “Whoa … calm down.”

  My eyes narrow. “Don’t tell me to calm down!”

  He holds up his hands.

  “I used to hear my parents fighting. It wasn’t long before your family left. My mom had just found out she was pregnant, so I thought maybe it was hormones or something. That’s what Dad told me when he found me listening in on one of their arguments. But one day, I overheard my mom ask him how he could do it. How could he sleep with another woman? And you know what name she used?”