At the precise moment Laura bursts into the room calling out my name, I have my tongue down the little cellist’s throat, her dress pulled down to her waist exposing her breasts, and two of my fingers inside her wet *.
Laura screeches to a halt, a horrified look spreading across her face. “Jesus, Jamie.”
“Oh my god.” The little cellist scrambles back into her clothing, hanging her head as she wriggles away from me. “Oh my god, I am so sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I tell her, but she’s moving so frantically that she can’t hear me. Laura watches her hurry out of the room with her mouth hanging open like a swinging trapdoor. I’m still completely dressed, and thanks to Laura’s untimely entrance my hard-on has completely vanished, too. “Perfect, Lore. Just fucking perfect. Have you forgotten how to knock?”
“Are you kidding me?” She throws her hands up in the air, staring at me in disbelief. “You’re the one up here finger fucking some twenty-one-year old, and you’re giving me shit?”
It’s kind of hilarious to hear Laura say finger fucking, but I manage to keep the smile from my face. “What’s wrong? You never been caught in flagrante before, Laura Preston? Never been caught with your panties down?”
“No!” She looks like she’s lost for a second, and then she’s kicking off her monstrous golden skyscraper heels and she’s, shit, she’s throwing them at me.
The first heel misses me by a mile. The second one buzzes my head and hits the huge gilt-framed mirror hanging on the wall behind me, smashing the glass into a million tiny pieces. “What the fuck, Laura?”
“You! I can’t…” She clasps her hand over her mouth and that’s when I notice her eyes are filled with tears. “I can’t fucking believe you,” she whispers.
Oh, crap. This is not how someone reacts to busting their friend doing something questionable. This is not how they react at all. I cross the room, holding up my hands as I approach her, stooping slightly so I can look her in the eye. “Hey. Hey. I’m really fucking confused. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, or should I go get Cade?”
“Don’t you dare go and fucking get Cade,” she hisses. “You and Cade, joined at the hip, twenty-four fucking seven. You and Cade vanishing off to fucking Afghanistan, leaving me here on my own. I waited here for you for four goddamn years, Jamie. Four years of waking up every single night in a cold sweat, wondering which one of you was going to die first. And then you come home and hardly even…hardly even look at me and…”
Oh.
Fuck.
Seriously?
Her hair, perfectly pinned back when she came charging into the room, has now come loose and is tumbling into her face like it used to when she was a little girl. I reach out, tucking it behind her ear. “Laura—”
“No. Don’t! Fuck, Jamie, you just had your fingers inside some girl’s vagina.”
I consider pointing out that that was my other hand, but then come to the swift conclusion that Laura will probably strangle me to death with my own necktie if I do. I slide my hands inside my pockets, clearing my throat. “Lore,” I say carefully. “Is there something you wanna tell me?”
“Fuck you, Jamie. I shouldn’t have to tell you. You should already know! Ahhh! Men! Why are you all so fucking oblivious? How can you be that completely blind to what’s been staring you in the face since we were kids, Jay. I just…I gotta get out of here.”
She’s a whirlwind of tense energy and clenched fists as she storms out of the bedroom. I go after her, grabbing hold of her gently by the wrist, trying to stop her, trying to figure this whole thing out in my head fast enough to deal with it right here and now, but Laura has other ideas. She turns on me, hand raised, and her palm makes contact with my face, slapping me hard. I can see from the pain in her eyes that she regrets it immediately.
“Shit.” She covers her mouth with her hand. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I just—”
“It’s okay.”
“I just can’t—” Tears roll, round and fat, down her cheeks, dangling like tiny little crystals from her dark eyelashes.
“It’s okay,” I repeat. “It’s fine. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
She nods, just once. “Tomorrow,” she says. And then she goes, running down the sweeping staircase in her bare feet, tiny sparks of light bouncing everywhere like silent fireworks as the sequins of her dress catch the light.
It’s not until the next morning that Cade calls to tell me his sister never made it home.
ONE
REBEL
War isn’t always a loud, brash thing.