Perfectly Unmatched (29 page)

“Yes.” I readjust
Benelli’s best friend on my shoulder. “She’s a bit drunk, and I didn’t know where she lived. Is the guest room still open?”

Ithaca looks me up and down slowly, then nods and gestures for me to follow her down the hall and into a small room decorated in the ivories and
golds and pastels all the girls’ rooms are done in. I swing Lala down into my arms and Ithaca yanks the covers and sheets back, smoothing the bedding so I can lay Lala down.

She has her arms linked around my neck, and I’m having a hard time getting them undone. Just when I manage to pull them away, she grabs my face, leans up, and gives me a cross-eyed look before she kisses me, fully, wetly, and vodka-tinged, right on the mouth, before moaning, “
Mmm, I woulda gone to college if the professors were as sexy as you.”

I jerk back and turn to Ithaca, who’s crossed her arms and is frowning.

“Stop.” She holds a hand up and out. “Don’t get all stupid panicked. She’s drunk, you’re obviously freaked out, and there’s no reason for us to mention this to Benelli. Okay?”

I take a shaky breath and nod. “It’s just,
Benelli is out with your mother, and I assume Lala texted her first, but the text she sent me was a little, um, not exactly appropriate, so I thought it may have been a mistake--”

“Stop,” she repeats, this time with more
adamence. “Please don’t ever commit a crime, Cormac, because you have no clue how to keep your mouth shut.”

“Right.
Sorry. I’m just...with the engagement and all...” I don’t finish because I have no clue what to say.

“Whatever.” Ithaca spins on her heel and marches back to her bedroom. I follow her down the hall, and she glares at me when she gets to her door. “If that’s all you need...” She trails off as if she’s leaving an opening for further discussion, but her stony face tells me that’s the last thing she wants.

“Um, Ithaca?” I had no siblings and didn’t even have many cousins growing up, so dealing with temperamental young women isn’t really something I know how navigate. “I realize we may not have gotten off on the best foot, though I’m not sure why. But I hope we can be--”

Her sharp laugh cuts me off. “
Please
don’t say ‘friends.’ Don’t.”

“I was going to say ‘civil.’” I try to keep the nervous jitter out of my words, since Ithaca seems the type who’d be very able to smell fear and rip anyone who exhibited it to shreds.

“Look...” She taps one foot and grits her teeth before she turns her eyes, a lighter, clearer green than mine and full of swirling, drowning fury, on me. “You’ve got nothing to do with why I feel so angry at all of them, and I know that. But living here, with my family, it’s like living in the middle of the biggest, ugliest lie in the world. Day in and day out. There’s no escape for me for another year. So, if I act ugly, I’m sorry. But don’t worry. After next year, you won’t have to deal with me again. No one will. I’ll leave this family once and for all, and I’ll never come back. Never.”

“I, um...” I’m searching for words, any kind of words to let her know that I hear
her, that I understand her, but I’m coming up empty. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, but I haven’t really been included in many family discussions, and I’m afraid I don’t know why you need to leave. But, please know, I respect the need to leave anything that hampers growth or impedes freedom. Even your own family. I respect and support it, however unpopular that may make me in this family.”

Ithaca’s eyes, still red and raw, soften and she squints her eyes at me, like she’s weighing what she’s about to do. Then she beckons me into her room. It doesn’t sit well, because I’m too old and unfamiliar and male for this intimate, feminine space. She pulls out a small photo book that she shows me with the peculiar eagerness and refreshing lack of embarrassment that’s the sole propriety of the newly unaware adult.

I flip through snapshots of Ithaca, smiling, her face completely, gorgeously distorted in happiness. Her cheek is close to and her arm wrapped possessively around a young man with a smile that reveals just how smitten he is.

“This is Andre.” She trails a fingertip over his image. “He joined the army.”

I nod, though I have no reason to. I don’t understand this at all. “I’m sure you miss him,” I attempt.

“I do.” Her voice, absent of its usual fury, is shockingly, simply sweet. “He’s in the army because my family found out we were dating. They attempted to pay him off if he agreed not to see me again, and when he turned their money down, they told him he’d never be good enough
to take care of me. So he gave up an art scholarship...he’s an amazing artist.” Her eyes well up with tears, but she doesn’t seem to notice. From the raw state they’re in, I’d assume she’s cried over this many times before and recently. “He gave it up to join the military, because a military man can support a wife and an artist can’t.”

“So you’re engaged then?” I ask, and her reaction embarrasses me, because I forget for a moment how young she is and how out of reach something as simple as engagement can be, emotionally, culturally, monetarily.

Her blush is fierce. “No. I mean, he promised. He did. But...the army can change you, you know? I didn’t know if he’d make it. Secretly?” She looks at me to check that I can keep a secret, and I hope my look communicates that, in fact, I am excellent at keeping secrets. “Secretly,” she continues, “I kept hoping he’d get kicked out. He was never really all that good with authority. But I guess he...changed. He changed. He had to, I guess. I guess that’s how you survive combat.” She pinches her lips together.

“I would say that’s a fair assumption,” I offer quietly. She nods. “Have you heard from Andre lately?”

She shakes her head and tears plop onto the plastic covering over their picture.

I’m monumentally crappy at this type of thing, but I put a cautious hand out and pat her on the shoulder. “Ithaca?” She looks up, her eyes faraway and sad. “I can’t pretend to know what Andre is going through, but soldiers sometimes have to keep their minds controlled in war. They sometimes have to lock out what they love the most in order to survive. That doesn’t mean they stop feeling or thinking or...loving. You’re obviously a very caring person, and I wouldn’t encourage you to be upset by the fact that he hasn’t been able to give that back right now.”

She puts one hand, fingers splayed, on her chest. “You think he still loves me?” Her eyes shine and her voice rises with hope.

“I...um...” I’ve walked into a trap of my own making. I search for a possible exit, and decide on cowardice. “I think...any man would be a fool to fall out of love with you. I think he owes you his side of the story, and you should listen with an open mind when he’s ready to tell you.”

She nods, the movement of her head so cautious, I’m shocked by the fact that she’s crushed in my arms with an unbelievable quickness, hugging me so tight, I’m banking on rib fractures. She rips herself away as quickly as she grabbed on and offers me a crooked smile.

“I’m so sorry. That was...that was weird of me. No one,” she begins and stops. She tries again. “Not one person in my family, not one of my friends has said anything that made me feel better about Andre. Don’t look all worried. I know he might not really love me. I know he might not come back for me. But I feel...I don’t know. I feel so calm. I feel so good about this. Thank you.
For that.” She pats my arm awkwardly. “Benelli’s lucky. She should keep you around.”

I smile at my brash soon-to-be sister-in-law. “That’s the plan. And Andre’s lucky himself. I hope he realizes just how lucky.”

We smile, a shaky, strange peace exchange, and I hightail it out of the hall before I destroy the tremulous friendship we’ve woven.

When
Benelli comes home a few hours later, I meet her at the car and drag in the boxes and bags full of mysterious wedding needs while I try to find a way to tell her that Lala is drunk and passed out in the spare room.

Luckily and unluckily, I don’t have to report, because Mrs. Youngblood bursts into the space where
Lala was enjoying her drunken slumber and screams. Lala screams, too, and Benelli and I rush to the scene of the upset.

“
Lala!” Mrs. Youngblood swats her on the behind like she’s a young child. “I could have had a heart-attack. What are you doing in bed at this hour? How did you get here?”

“Mama,”
Benelli interrupts, pulling her mother by the shoulders. “I don’t think Lala feels well. Let me get things settled.”

“I’ll help you if there are more bags,” I offer, but Mrs. Youngblood insists she’s fine, then pinches my hip and declares I need a hot plate of something.

It would be stupid of me to argue with a gorgeous woman who’s offering to feed me. So I don’t and promise to come out and eat soon.

“Drunk again,”
Benelli snaps when her mother’s out of earshot.

Lala
stretches lazily and throws Benelli a triumphant smile. “So drunk I barely remember making out with your
fiancé
,” she coos.

I feel all the blood drain from my face when Ithaca’s door opens across the hall. “What are you all yelling about?” she demands.

Benelli is looking at Lala, her face gray. “Get out. Get out of my house. Now!”

“You’ve known him, what?
A month and a half? You’ve known me since we were kids, Beni. And you don’t even doubt him?” It’s meant to be some kind of aggressive strike, but she loses it, completely loses it over the last few syllables.

I back out of the room, nodding at Ithaca to let her know that I’d appreciate if she could talk to
Benelli about what happened. She nods back, and I...don’t know what to do, where to go. Mrs. Youngblood catches me wandering through the kitchen and sits me down, puts a steaming plate of food in front of me and settles down to sip her mug of coffee across the table.

“Is
Lala causing trouble again?” she asks, her voice even and unsurprised.

“It would appear that way.” Mrs. Youngblood’s cooking is award-deserving, but I’m having a hard time managing to work up an appetite.

“Let the girls figure it out, Cormac.” She cups the mug in her hands. “It’s strange. When my children were born, I held my sons in my arms and thought, ‘All will be fine with the family now. I am holding the end of our troubles in my arms.’ And, after two rambunctious little boys, I cannot express how happy I was when I finally had a beautiful little girl.” She stares down into the creamy drink and smiles. “But it’s Benelli who’s going to make this family fine, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” I ask, not certain what, exactly, needs healing in this clan.
I know all isn’t well, but Benelli doesn’t share much when it comes to her family.

“If not, I don’t think there’s any hope.” She says the words with as much cautious cheer as she told her story
about Benelli’s birth, but implications are jarring.

She gets up and clucks around me, cleaning my plate, encouraging me to go out and meet with the Youngblood men and Evan, who are target shooting. But I’m in no mood for overbearing in-laws and guns. I want...quiet.

I head on a back path behind the town, hike through the forest, and wade out to our rock where I lie back, falling asleep in the muted sun. When I wake up, Benelli is next to me, and clouds have covered the sunshine.

I search her face for any signs of anger or upset, but she looks calm as a Buddha. Eerily calm, maybe.

“About Lala,” I begin, and she tries to stop me, but I hold a hand up to quiet her. “I realize you gathered the fact that she was drunk, and I assumed she texted you first and me out of desperation. I have never cheated and never will cheat. Ever. I want you to know that, right now.” Saying the words makes me feel like an immense anvil has been lifted from my chest.

“I know that.”
Benelli’s smile is forced. “I do. I’m more worried about Lala, that she’d be willing to do that. Because, no offense, babe; you’re super hot and all, but that kiss was about hurting me. Why?”

“Jealousy,” I offer, still burning over the fact that
Benelli’s charming friend would put everything that means anything to me into precarious jeopardy with such careless disregard.

“Jealous?”
Benelli leans her head back and looks at the clouds speckling the sky. “Of what? She never neglects to tell me how batshit crazy she thinks my family is. She’s gorgeous. So Winchester didn’t want to be with her. So what? She could snap her fingers and fifty guys would come running.”

I belt my arms around her
. “You’re happy. There’s no single thing that brings on more jealousy than pure happiness, and you’re swimming in it. We are. And Lala wants that. I’m just sorry she thinks the key to getting it is ripping what we have apart.”

Benelli
wraps her arms around me like a snare. “It was Ithaca who told me. She hasn’t looked me in the eye and talked to me since everything that happened with Andre, but she defended you.” She puts a hand up to my face and her voice goes low, her eyes dark and hungry. “You’re amazing, you know that? You heal things. You make things better even when it seems like they’re impossibly bad.”

When I kiss her, I can taste her worry melt like a
sugarcube, leaving the sweet tinge of regret that no amount of kissing will wash away. “Nothing is impossibly bad, Benelli. And
we’re
pretty damn amazing. There’s not a problem we’ll come up against we can’t solve together.”