Page 48 of Crash

Nix groans. “Come on—”

Ezra holds up a hand, cutting him off. “Nope.” She turns, stomping in her boots over to Everett.

“Fuck,” Nix whispers, while Monroe rubs soothing circles on his back.

“It’s okay, Nix. Take your punishment and then you’ll be her favorite again,” Monroe says.

He grumbles as he climbs into the car. I push off the car, opening the door and climbing in. Thankfully, the seats are in rows and not just two singular chairs at the back, because that wouldn’t do. I want close proximity, my air mixing with hers until we are one. She climbs in, a slight glare on her face as she sinks in, stuffing her blanket and pillow into the floorboard. I smirk, pulling on my headphones, shifting in my seat so I can watch her.

“Tear in My Heart” by Twenty One Pilots blasts in my ears as I watch her pull out her sketch pad. Every brush of her pencil, aggressive stroke, the way her eyebrows draw together when she concentrates. How she pushes loose strands of her hair behind her ear when they block her view. I watch her until her pencil stops stroking, her head falls to the window, eyes fluttering closed.

I grab her pillow and blanket, scooping her up and dragging her into my lap, my head laying on her pillow that’s up against the window. The blanket is soft as it lays over both of us, and she sighs into my chest. Her scarred wrist rubs across my neck as she wraps them around me. My hands envelop her, pulling her as close to me as I can, my nose falling to the crown of her head, smelling warm vanilla. My eyes open, meeting Nix’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He grins, shaking his head. My eyes close, body relaxing as I drift with her.

I wake with a fist to my chest.

“What the hell, Easton. Get off me.”

I groan. “Technically, you’re on me.” She smacks my chest again, causing me to release her. She stumbles onto the seat next to me, huffing as she looks out the window to the vast ocean. The blue water mixing with her reflection in the window, an inner battle playing across her face.

It isn’t long until we arrive at our vacation beach house. It’s nothing elaborate like the mansions we live in, only three stories high with a balcony on each upper floor, a light blue exterior with white shutters and doors. It sits perched on a hill, overlooking our sandy private beach. No neighbors in close range. We all get out, grabbing our bags, the parents not far behind as they discuss the décor and color scheme.

“I like this blue. I had it painted after the color of your eyes,” my dad tells Mom.

“That’s cute.” She fake smiles. “But it’s a no from me. It’s been decades since we did any remodeling around here. We need space for our grandbabies.”

Dad chokes on his coffee. “And which one do you think is going to give us these grandbabies? Easton hasn’t had a girlfriend in years, and Ezra consumes boys like a daily vitamin.” He looks to my sister, grimacing. “No offense, angel. But you never bring any home and I’m not stupid. You’re eighteen, I know you’re not staying celibate.”

Ezra throws her sunglasses on, her signature frown painted on her face. “I eat boys for breakfast, Dad. Sorry, Mom. No grandbabies from me in your near future.” Under her breath she’s says, “Or ever.”

Mom throws her hands up, “I didn’t live a life of crime to not enjoy grandbabies.” Her eyes narrow on me, the frozen waters of blue sending a slight quake down my spine.

They say, You will give me grandbabies.

Mine say, I’m only twenty.

Hers respond with, I don’t give a fuck, Easton Jackson McKnight.

I sigh, breaking the strange eye verbiage we have going on, and follow everyone else into the house. Mom told me of the changes that have already been happening in the beach house and to make accommodations. So, I have. Not entirely sure how it’s going to go over, though. I step in behind Jasmine, the room an assault to my eyes with flamingos gracing every inch of the room. I knew we didn’t want to flat-out admit we were criminals, because let’s face it, we are, but I think this is a little overboard and screams we’re up to no good. Every bedroom features a different island type theme. Mine is sailboats. Ezra’s room is now a bright yellow, the theme sunset. You could hear her groan every time she walked in it, complaining it burned her soul with how happy and cheerful it is. But these flamingoes are creepy as fuck. Flamingos on the walls, the bedding, the rug. Flamingo-shaped pillows. Pink and green everywhere.

Jasmine halts, turning to me, eyes flaring. “This is my room.”

“Our room,” I state calmly, shutting the door.

She crosses her arms, ready for battle. “No, almost positive this has been my room since we were children.”

“Monroe and Nixon took my room.” I shrug. It’s been a long ride, and nothing would piss me off more than having to fight this out with her. I just want shit to be simple. I’m tired of her not belonging to me.

“So, take one of theirs.”

“Can’t, the walls have been knocked down and made into a gaming room.”

The beach house is huge, but the number of rooms are limited. Only enough to house us in pairs. No spares.

“We’re not having a one-bed scenario. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.” I frown at her choice of words.

“Why would it be so bad?” I ask.

“Because I’m not ready.”

---