Page 44 of Banshee
Who the fuck was he?
“Diesel, let’s go for a walk.” She set the book she’d been reading on the couch and stood. Her long legs looked evenlonger in the tiny shorts she wore. I swear she was doing it to torture me.
She grabbed her sneakers and slipped them on as Diesel danced around her, waiting to go out. I stood up from the table and followed her onto the porch.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking a walk with you.”
“You weren’t invited.”
I smiled at her and smacked her ass. She spun around, her gasp opening her mouth enough for me to lean forward and shove my tongue between her lips. There was a chance she might bite me, but it was a risk I was willing to take.
It paid off when she melted against me and groaned as I kissed her. I wrapped my arms around her waist and held her tight against me. I wanted her to feel how hard I was. Wanted her to know what she did to me. Diesel barked, impatient for his walk, and Aspen pulled back. Her eyes locked onto my lips while her tongue darted out as though she was tasting me.
I waited for her to chastise me; yell at me for taking what I wanted without asking. But when she looked up, I didn’t see anger. I saw longing. She blinked it away and turned without a word, taking the few steps to the ground. I followed with a smile.
I was wearing her down.
Knocking down her walls brick by brick and throwing them away so she couldn’t build them back up. I would find the girl she was, if it was the last fucking thing I did.
“Will you tell me about your sister?”
My feet stumbled beneath me at her question, but by some miracle I managed to stay upright. I hadn’t been expecting her to say anything, least of all ask me about Kaylah.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, emotion clogging my throat.
Aspen stopped walking and turned toward me. Compassion shone on her face, and she reached out and took my hand. Turning away, her feet started moving again, and I had no choice but to follow—our hands locked together.
“What happened to her?”
“When she was sixteen, she ran away. I was twenty and had moved out of the house, on my own. But I didn’t leave her. I talked to her every day, and on the weekends, she stayed with me. I should have seen it. Should have known something was wrong. She’d gotten quieter, more subdued. Every time I asked her what was wrong, she told me it was school. She was worried about her grades, or she was fighting with her friends. They were all bullshit excuses.
“Then one day I called, and she didn’t answer. That wasn’t like her; she always answered, but I still didn’t think anything was really wrong. Three days passed, and I still couldn’t reach her, so I went to the house. My father told me she’d run off. The son of a bitch didn’t bother to call me, or ask me to help find her, nothing.”
I squeezed her hand, desperate for her touch. Desperate for her to hold on to me.
“I went to her room and searched through her things. I knew she kept a diary. Knew whatever had been going on would be written in those pages. I should have pushed her more. I should have made her talk to me.”
“You can’t force someone to talk.”
I halted my steps and waited for her to turn around. When she did, I saw the pain in her eyes. “I should have said yes.”
“I wasn’t your responsibility.”
“You were. I knew the first day I saw you, you were mine.” I lifted my hand and brushed her cheek with the back of my fingers.
“Did you find her diary?”
I dropped my hand and breathed through my nose like a bull waiting to charge. She had no way of knowing what her question would do to me. How it would make me feel. How the rage would boil in my blood.
I let go of her, afraid I’d hurt her. She stepped closer, her hand on my chest. I covered her hand with mine, holding it there, breathing her in and letting her touch settle over me. Letting it calm the anger.
“I found it. When I read it, I found out what my father was doing to her. She’d never said a word.”
“What about your mother?”
“She died when Kaylah was thirteen. My father never remarried. Never had a girlfriend. I should have questioned it. Should have questioned him. I foolishly thought he’d loved my mother so much that no one could take her place.”
