The Other Side of Blue: A Best Friend's Sister College Romance Read online

  Eva’s quick gaze darted across my face and she wagged a finger. “You’re cagey.”

  I snorted a laugh that got two blondes with matching bubblegum lipstick to turn in our direction. “I’m not cagey.”

  A paper cup thrust under my nose. “Hall monitor has gone.” Alex scrunched those freckles and nodded at the cup of beer.

  “Yay, warm beer.”

  He went to take it back, but I grabbed it and held the cup as tight as I could without turning the drink into a volcano, drinking half of it down in three gulps. Pulling the cup away from my mouth, I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

  “That’s my girl. I knew we’d be friends.” Alex raised his own cup and then downed his. “Right, let me introduce you girls around.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Because you know everyone already, what with this being your third time as a freshman.”

  Alex smirked and then winked. Eva gave an audible sigh. “You wish. You’ve just got to be in it to win it.” He caught my hand and pulled me away from the safety of the wall I’d propped myself up against.

  “What are you winning exactly?” I asked. His deep gaze swept over me and I tried my hardest not to cringe. He seemed nice enough, and it would be pleasant not to be labelled the frigid freak on the first day—or ever.

  “At life, Collins kid.”

  “That’s going to get old real quick, Alex Co—”

  He cut me off by wiping at the corner of my mouth. “Beer mustache.”

  Oh. Just great.

  “Thanks.”

  “Hello! Can anyone see me?” Eva waved her hand between our faces.

  Alex turned his megawatt smile in her direction. Hopefully he’d blot out any lingering memories of my brother from Eva’s gray matter with his pearly whites.

  “I can see you, sweetheart.”

  She visibly swooned at his wink while my top lip curled up.

  Alex, seeing my disgust, laughed and hooked a hand under my elbow to tow us both toward a group of blondes.

  I could smell their type a million miles off. The type who’d trail Blue thinking they could tame his bad boy ways. I could almost smell their determination as they locked gazes onto Alex. I pulled my arm from his. I wanted no part in a first night turf war, thank you very much.

  Fuck. Why was I even here?

  I wanted to bash my head against the wall. I could hope I’d wake with amnesia and would forget all about this crazy idea.

  A Lennox at college.

  I probably had an ancestor somewhere spinning in a grave sucking her teeth and saying, “What dat girl at? she should be home with her mama making gumbo.”

  “Lyra, Eva, these are Brittany and George.” Alex pointed to the blondes. Okay, only one was blonde, but they both looked sparky and keen which made my stomach drop down to my Vans.

  “Hey…” George, I think, smiles.

  “Hi.”

  Awkward.

  “So you play violin?” Brittany laid me down with a killer stare, taking in my hair, outfit, and possibly my bra size all in a ten second full body sweep.

  “Uh, yes. How do you know that?”

  Alex laughed and threw his arm over my shoulder. I shifted beneath its weight, like an unwanted warm scarf that I couldn’t shrug off. “Collins kid, remember?”

  Brittany shoved her tits out and cackled a laugh, somehow managing to get her hair to swing over her shoulder at the same time.

  She had major life skills.

  “And you?” I cringed as I forced the conversation.

  “Violin too.” She smiled, and it was all saccharine and unicorns, hiding steel underneath that all too clearly said, ‘Watch it, bitch’.

  I really didn’t need the drama. I was tired of it, so fucking tired.

  “Great to meet you.” I turned to Eva, shrugging Alex off my neck like a deadly disease. “I’m beat from the journey; I’m going to duck out.”

  “Oh.” Her bottom lip protruded in a small and plump pout. “But it’s only just got going.”

  I shot her with gun fingers. “I know. And I promise next time I’ll be all about the social and warm beer, but I’m dead on my feet and I’ve got an early meeting with Professor Greene tomorrow.” This was actually the truth. As the ‘Collins kid’ I got my own professor and support staff.

  I didn’t even want to think about it until I woke up tomorrow and faced the new day.

  “Want me to walk you back?” Alex asked, pointing to the door.

  “No, don’t be silly. It’s just a few flights of stairs. I should make it.”

  Eva gave me a wave and then launched into grabbing Alex for conversation. I slipped away, ducking through the other students, trying not to meet anyone's gaze.

  I mean, I wasn’t anti-parties.

  They just tended to normally turn into a disaster for me. As I walked the four flights of stairs, I thought of Raven Smoake’s house the night of my first escape from the window. My first party. Blue’s hand had held mine until we drew close to her front door. I’d not known if he even knew he held it. I’d just been breathless and suspended, every gasp of air painful in my lungs as his fingers gripped mine.

  Then we’d got to the door and he’d dropped it, a flash of surprise and annoyance in his gaze. I’d died a little on the inside, a fissure cracking down the middle of my heart. A crack for him to rub salt in as and when he wanted.

  Back in the room, I sat for a moment on the bed and stared out of the window. Campus was shrouded with dark and empty stillness, quietly beautiful. Shifting onto my knees I pushed open the sash window and breathed in the clean air. Above the tree line, a dusting of delicate stars glimmered a faint trail of light.

  The air here tasted fresh. Pure. Not tainted with dust and regret, smoke and creosote.

  I gulped it in.

  “Well, Blue. I’m here,” I muttered to the stars.

  Then snorting and almost on the point of sending myself for a lobotomy, I shut the window, not sure on the East Coast nighttime insect situation. I picked up my wash bag from the dresser.

  I blinked inside the small but bright-white bathroom. White tiles, white shower stall, white furniture. Against the bright backdrop, I looked like an iced coffee. I thought of Luca. I should send him a picture, tell him I’m okay, but then I shook it off. Luca and I didn’t do things like that anymore.

  Puling my fingers through my tangled curls, I scraped them up into a loose bun, twirling the edge of my curls under the elastic. Bronze and blonde streaks.

  I stared for a moment in the mirror, voices from the past chasing me, always hounding me.

  Grams leaned over her ketchup on the stove, using the last of the tomatoes to bottle. I was on vinegar duty.

  The back door crashed open and Luca stormed in, lip bleeding, cheekbone swelling. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Blue clattered in behind. My gaze checked him over as he panted, a sheen of sweat on his skin, his arms folded tight across his chest.

  Grams didn’t even turn.

  “Luca!” I said.

  “Yeah, well, you should see the other guy.”

  Grams stirred her sauce, the steam lifting in a cloud and then she turned to Luca. “What happened?”

  Luca’s dark gaze dropped to me and then resolutely back up to Grams. “Pierre Abrams said Lyra isn’t my sister. He said we have different daddies.”

  Grams carried on stirring. “Is that true?”

  Luca straightened up, his fingers curling. “No.”

  “Then does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  I watched Blue, realizing too late that he looked like that, his body tense, adrenaline spiking, because of me, because he’d been defending me. It made my mouth tingle with dryness.

  “So long as you and Lyra know the truth that’s all that matters.”

  We watched one another. Luca and I could see the differences between us. A tight bond cemented us together too. It meant more than skin and eye tone.

  “Don’t fight for me, Luca.” I ha
ted seeing them with bruises. But their fists talked faster than their mouths, always had.

  Blue turned so he didn’t have to meet my eye and my stomach dropped.

  They left after Grams consoled them with some of her baking chocolate. I pulled on her apron. “Grams, why don’t we look the same?”

  Chuckling, she turned for me and pulled at a bronze curl. “These are me, and maybe a bit of your Great Mama.”

  “And Luca?”

  “Pops.” That’s all she said. She was a clam of secrets that woman, only letting them go when she decided it was best.

  Now was not best—apparently. I couldn’t help but notice she didn’t mention Mom. I didn’t mention her either.

  “I miss Pops.” I snuck a little piece of chocolate that didn’t make it back into the packet, wetting my finger with my tongue and pressing it down so the small scrap stuck to my skin as I lifted it back into my mouth.

  “I do too.” She turned back to the ketchup and I thought of Pops. A giant of a man with a broad belly-jiggling laugh, he’d been pale-haired and had an accent. I used to love him reading stories. He’d always made it sound exotic with the way he’d roll his r’s.

  He wasn’t American. Definitely not African American. That much I knew.

  He’d been stolen from us when I was seven.

  Grams ignored me and started humming as she carried on cooking and I waited for the instruction to drop a spoonful of vinegar in the mix.

  Pulling myself back to the present, I blinked up in the mirror. So many secrets stared me right back in the face.

  Switching on the tap, I splashed my face and then brushed my teeth.

  Back out in the room, I stripped off and pulled on my cotton shorts and vest top. Then I slipped under the new bedding Grams made me pack, the cotton scratching at my skin.

  I rolled onto my front and prayed for sleep.

  I couldn’t think about tomorrow. Didn’t want to.

  If I did, I’d have to acknowledge that I was here purely because I made a promise. A promise that now I’d arrived felt totally incomplete.

  Chapter Seven

  Lyra

  I sat bolt upright, my pulse thrumming in my veins, as fast as a Vivace in A major. Still dark, the moon turned my room a milky, pale-silver and slanted shadows across the floor. The drapes hung open. Always open.

  I jumped out of my skin as a movement flickered next to the windowpane. Blue shook his head and my scream died before I articulated it. Whisking off my covers, I coerced my legs into work and stepped for the window, sliding it up and open. “Blue?”

  Instinctively, I inspected his face for blood and bruises.

  “Lyra Bird.” He swayed a little and I grabbed his arm, hauling him into the room before he could fall down and crack that beautiful head of his open on the sidewalk.

  “You’re drunk.” I knotted my arms across my chest. The cool night air made my skin prickle and my nipples hardened. Blue’s gaze dropped, roaming freely and hungrily across my chest.

  “It’s better this way.” His words ran together, the faint smell of Jack Daniels drifting between us.

  My chest gnawed around the edges; my breath painful to draw.

  “Nothing is better this way, Blue.” I reached for his face, expecting him to knock my touch away before I could make contact, but he didn’t. My palm slipped around his cheek, curving his warm skin in my grasp, and he closed his eyes, long dark lashes on sun-kissed skin.

  He seemed too beautiful to look at.

  So beautiful it hurt.

  Especially on days like this, when he remained whole, no bruises, no cuts; just clear olive skin.

  He didn’t open his eyes and we stood with my hand on his face for what seemed like a million years. Time stretched, dragging around us, leaving us castaways on an island in a sea of desperation.

  Swallowing, I stepped closer, pushing my chest against his. Taller now, broader, his body no longer held any boyish angles. It made me warm, turned my bones to goo. Made a deep red heat scorch the pit of my stomach.

  He stood silent and I watched his eyes rest closed. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Lyra…”

  “Why are you drunk?” I pushed myself against him. Curving myself into the tight muscles of his chest and stomach.

  “Why not? I’m going to end up like him anyway, what’s the point in denying the inevitable?”

  “Blue.” I lifted my hand to his face again. “You aren’t. You are nothing like him. Nothing.”

  His eyes flickered open, snapping onto my face. Hard grit flashed through his glossy dark lashes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know you.”

  He huffed a breath through his nose like a horse, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he dropped his forehead to mine. “I should burn in hell for the way I…”

  He cut himself off. Desperate, I clawed at his words.

  “The way you what? Feel?”

  Dare I say it? Yes, I fucking did.

  “Feel for me?” I added, holding in an aching breath.

  His gaze held mine, smoldering, our lips a brush away from one another’s.

  “I’m wrong, Lyra. So wrong.”

  He wasn’t talking about just us, this thing that had grown and morphed into an uncontrollable beast of the unsaid. He meant he was just wrong, from beginning to end.

  And I would never believe that. Not ever.

  I launched myself onto my tiptoes and pushed my lips against his. He froze, not moving an inch, but I skimmed my lips again, brushing left and right over his, desperate for a first kiss I’d never forget.

  He groaned. Then his hand caught the back of my neck, tilting my face, his fingers dragging hard on my hair as his mouth crashed down onto mine, hot and cruel, his tongue teasing between my lips, seeking an entrance.

  I knew nothing about kissing. Didn’t know one thing about it, but I knew this kiss held everything. My heart sped like a runaway train. Little gasps flourished from my mouth and floated their way into his. Tentatively, I slipped my tongue against his, tasting alcohol and smoke, but craving more, like a drug that didn’t have a name.

  He thrust me away, his hands hard against my arms.

  Hard enough I staggered back into the dresser, my leg aching with the bang.

  “Don’t.” His face tore with brutal anger.

  I rounded back in. “Don’t come to my bedroom then if you don’t like what I do in it.”

  I longed him to grab me. To kiss me again. Wanted him to do more. My body needed some form of release, the pressure inside ached painfully.

  I edged closer and shifted against his thigh. Desperate. Needy. Weak.

  He watched me, his gaze hooded. Instinctively, I ground against his jeans, my body doing its own thing, my brain checked-out on reality.

  If I stayed connected to reality, I’d remember that Luca slept in the room next door. I’d remember that he’d kill Blue with his bare hands if he came in and found me dry humping him like a bitch in heat.

  I didn’t care. I closed my eyes, a desperate build curling my toes and weaving up my legs, connecting every cell in my body to one simple desire; to get off.

  Him watching me only made me burn hotter.

  My hands clasped around his neck and with a low guttural growl he placed his hands on my slender waist and smoothed them down my hips, guiding my rotations, pushing and pulling me harder against his thigh.

  I didn’t need anything else.

  A sliver of participation from Blue and I crested a wave of uncontrollable shivers.

  I whimpered as I fell back to earth, peeking up to meet his eyes.

  “You done that before, Lyra Bird?” His breath tore ragged from his lungs, his words a low grate across my shattered nerves.

  “No.” I met his gaze.

  “Good.” His green gaze hooded in the shadows, secretive like it held the history of everything, and he didn’t want to share.

  I wanted him to say I was his. That he was mine.
/>   He didn’t. He watched me from under heavy lids until eventually he shoved me away and turned for the window.

  “Blue…” I went to tell him to not go down. He must have been drunk to let me do that. But he’d already gone, the curtain fluttering behind him.

  I watched him land down on the sidewalk without glancing back up at my window and every step he took rubbed salt into the wound in my chest.

  An aching fact settled itself in my thoughts. I wouldn’t see Blue again. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew it all the same.

  I’d never find him again.

  I curled up on my side and cried as an aching emptiness took over every cell of my being.

  “Lyra!”

  I woke with a jolt, a shadow in the dark moving next to me. Pushing with my legs I scrambled back, my heart beating so fast, my skin slicked with sweat.

  The tail of my dream teased me. Searching for Blue endlessly, but never finding him. The hole in my chest that started as a crack widened, gaping, but all I could do was keep searching, keep looking.

  “Lyra? Are you okay? Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

  The world started to make sense. Eva stood next to my bed, her hand holding a phone, the light shining in my eyes.

  “Seriously, Lyra, you were screaming the place down.”

  “Was I?” I pushed back my hair. It stuck across my forehead and my skin slicked clammy and damp from head to toe. “I’m so sorry, Eva. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Eva made a guttural grunting sound and shuffled her socked feet back to her bed. “Seriously, Lyra, take a chill pill, I need my sleep.”

  The familiar nightmare of never finding Blue pulsed in my blood, like alcohol but with more of a buzzkill.

  No resolution. No end.

  Always empty halls and doors that wouldn’t open. Or doors that opened over wide cliffs with a sheer drop below.

  Always him calling my name, but never to be seen.

  Eva must have fallen straight back under because the sound of her even breathing filled the dark corners of the room. I’d never shared with anyone before, not since Luca and I were tiny. An adjustment period might be necessary to get used to the sound of someone else’s breath in the room, not to mention the fact normally my nightmares only scared me.