The Blood That Binds by Madeline Sheehan
Willow
Jim and Maria stood beneath the wedding arbor; hand carved by Joshua, intricate designs had been etched into the light oak—flowers and mandalas that ascended its thick base, reaching all the way to the top. Ivy had been wrapped loosely around the entire structure, hanging in delicate strands, the tips of which were brushing the heads of the couple beneath it. Jim held Maria’s hands in his, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His suit was one of the ones from the drama club haul; Maria’s dress was the cream-colored wedding gown Britta had found.
Betsey stood before them, reading from a small book in her weathered hands. Despite her no-nonsense demeanor, Betsey smiled at the bride. “Maria, do you take James to be your wedded husband? James, do you take Maria to be your wedded wife?”
Keeping their eyes fixed on one another, each responded, “I do.”
“Do you promise to love and cherish each other, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for as long as you both shall live?”
“We do,” they replied in unison.
Five rows from the altar, I sat mid-bench between Britta and Jordy. On my left, in a rare show of emotion, Britta was wholly absorbed in the ceremony, sniffling softly. To my right, Jordy seemed to be inching closer until our legs were practically touching.
“You really look incredible,” Jordy whispered, nudging my arm.
“Thanks,” I whispered distractedly, unable to concentrate on anything other than the feel of Logan’s calloused hand still lingering on my cheek. And the absolutely piercing look in his eyes as his thumb slid slowly toward my mouth. Of its own accord, my hand touched my mouth, my fingertips feathering over the swell of my bottom lip, the feeling causing a spike of sensation straight through my core.
I dropped my hand as if it burned me, shooting up out of my seat. As I hurried toward the doors, a cheer rose up across the room while Jim dipped Maria backward and bent to kiss her. More cheers arose as I pushed through the doors, bursting onto the porch, sucking in lungful after lungful of hot, humid air that did nothing to ease the heat already building inside me.
“Willow?” Britta and Ella pushed through the doors, coming to stand on either side of me. “What happened, sugar? You alright?”
“I don’t know,” I said, breathless. “I really don’t know.”
“Ella, hand me that flask,” Britta demanded.
“No,” Ella snapped back. “I told you, it’s mine.”
Wrapping my arms around myself, I glanced between my two friends. “I loved him,” I said, nodding vigorously even as my expression crumpled. “I did. I really, really did.”
Britta pressed the back of her hand to my forehead. “Sugar, what, or who, are we talkin’ about? You feelin’ okay?”
“Luke,” I whimpered. “I loved him.”
“Of course you did.” Britta’s brow furrowed. “What’s got into you?”
“I don’t know,” I cried softly. “Everything was fine—” I gestured frantically at the dining hall. “And then I…” I trailed off, shaking my head again. I couldn’t bear to speak what I felt out loud; to do so felt as if I were doubly betraying Lucas.
Logan’s face flashed in my thoughts—intrusive and unwelcome. His ocean-blue eyes burning into mine, looking at me in ways Lucas never had; like I was the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on, like he couldn’t take his eyes off me. Like looking at me would never be enough. Like having me would never be enough.
Flashes of images assaulted me. A fist through a wall. An anguished cry. Desperate mouths fused together while frantic hands fought for—
“Oh my god,” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with me?”
Britta shot Ella a pointed look. “Fine,” Ella muttered, reluctantly pulling the flask from her dress. Plucking the flask from Ella’s hand, Britta unscrewed the cap and took a swig. Stifling a cough, she pushed it into my hand. “Drink up,” she urged, “you’ll feel better.”
I took a tentative sip, grimacing. “Oh god, it’s gross,” I rasped.
“Yeah, but not nearly as gross as cryin’ at someone else’s weddin’.”
Ella choked on a laugh and I snorted despite myself. “Cheers to that, I guess,” I mumbled, lifting the flask to my lips, chugging what was left. My mouth aflame, I hacked through my next several breaths.
“There ya go,” Britta said, slapping me on the back. “Now it’s a party.”
“Tears and beers,” Ella agreed. Taking her flask, she tucked it back inside her dress. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a refill.”
“Bring back the whole bottle this time, you greedy heifer!” Britta yelled after her. Turning back to me, she asked, “Now what’s all this about Lucas?”
Dragging my hands down the side of my face, I could only shake my head. “Oh god, I don’t even know, I just—”
Whatever I’d been about to say vanished the second I saw him.
Hands shoved deep into his pants pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, Logan was following the path headed toward the dining hall. Wearing the clothing I’d picked out especially for him; black suit pants and a crisp white shirt he’d left untucked. The top two buttons had been left open and his hair hung loose around his shoulders, while his beard and cheeks had been trimmed neat. Seeing him, my heart skipped a beat. A literal fucking beat, like it had tripped over its own feet.
“Hey,” Logan said, jogging up the stairs.
“Hey there, yourself,” Britta greeted Logan with an appraising look and sly smile. “Thought you weren’t comin’?”
Logan looked at me, right at me. Straight through to my damn soul, it felt like. Clearing his throat, he gruffly replied, “I thought Willow might need someone to show her how to do the funky chicken.”
His words, his stupid words. His stupid face. His stupid eyes. His stupid hand on my stupid cheek and my stupid overblown reaction to it. I exploded into giggles, entirely unintentional, that were rapidly becoming hysterical.
Logan stared at me. “Are you okay?” he asked. When I only continued to laugh, he looked at Britta. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
Britta hooked her arm through mine, tugging me close. “She’s good,” she said, giving me a squeeze. “Weddin’ just got us a little choked up is all.”
More nervous laughter erupted from me. I slapped my hand over my mouth to try and stem it, my eyes watering with effort. Just then the dining hall doors flung open and several people stepped onto the porch, Jordy among them.
“Mate, I’ve been looking for you. They brought the food out—we’re eating good tonight.” Jordy jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “EJ’s grabbing us a table if everyone’s ready?”
“Perfect,” Britta replied, tugging me toward the doors. “I don’t know ‘bout y’all, but I’m starvin’.”
We filed back inside the hall, currently abuzz with activity. Jugs brimming with plum-colored liquid along with various food dishes had been set out along the tables—baked potatoes covered in chives, deviled eggs, homemade coleslaw, and rabbit stew—the smell alone enough to make your mouth water. There didn’t appear to be any sort of assigned seating; guests were either seated or milling around with plates of food in their hands, talking with one another. Loud music played from a small stereo system and a few people were already dancing.
“Over here.” EJ waved us over with both arms. “Over here, Brit.”
“Lawd,” Britta murmured in my ear. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about that silly boy—ignorin’ him hasn’t been workin’. An’ if I take him to bed, you know he’s only gonna get twice as riled up—probably try to get me down an aisle or some crazy shit.”
I glanced sideways at her. “And that’s a bad thing?”
Britta snorted. “Yes and no. EJ’s sweet alright, but he don’t make me feel that crazy feelin’ real low in your belly, like. You know, where you just want ‘em so bad that your whole body lights up an’ lets ya know it?”
I sucked in a heady breath. Unfortunately, I’d become well acquainted with that very feeling recently. “Have you had that before?” I asked tentatively.
Britta paused before answering; she’d yet to answer me when we’d reached the table. Sliding onto the bench beside her, I asked, “Britta? Are you okay?”
She took an audible breath. “Yeah, I had that once, with ma’ husband.” Another pause and a shake of her head and then she was snatching the jug of wine from the center of the table and pouring us both heaping glassfuls. “Cheers to love, sugar,” she said, holding up her glass. “And all the crazy and painful shit that follows.”
“Have you been drinking?” Logan dropped down onto the bench beside me before I could respond to Britta, sitting close enough that I could smell the soap in his hair, and the downright provocative scent that was pure him. Jordy had joined us as well, taking the seat directly across from me.
“Barely.” Thanks to Ella, I was very nicely buzzed, but not even half as buzzed as I suddenly wished I was.
Logan’s frown deepened. “Maybe you should eat something.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I muttered, lifting my glass and drinking deeply.
The sound of clinking glass drew everyone’s attention to the head table where Leisel had risen from her seat, tapping her wineglass with a spoon. All over the dining hall, others began doing the same until the entire room was filled with the discordant clanking of metal against glass. Seated at the same table as Leisel, Jim and Maria were grinning at each other and laughing as they pressed their lips together. In response to their kiss, cheers and jeers rose up among the crowd.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“It’s an idiotic thing you do at weddings,” Ella replied, dramatically flouncing down on the bench between Jordy and EJ. “When you want the bride and groom to kiss.”
“Weird,” I murmured. Lifting my glass to my lips and finding it empty, I reached for the jug, only to have Logan snatch it away and set it out of reach.
“Hey!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing?”
He gave me a hard look. “What are you doing?”
“I’m having a good time,” I said through my teeth. “You should try it.”
Logan’s features pulled taut; a muscle began to tic in his jaw. “You’re being irresponsible. And after what happened last week—”
“That’s not fair,” I whispered angrily. “It’s two totally different situations. Now give it back.”
“No,” he growled, nostrils flaring. “You’ve had enough.”
“Cassie’s wine is usually pretty weak, mate,” Jordy addressed Logan. “It’s only aged a few weeks so—”
“Fuck off,” Logan bit out, his angry gaze snapping to Jordy. “No one fucking asked you, mate.”
I blinked, startled by the malice in Logan’s tone and the horrible way he was looking at Jordy. I realized, with a note of surprise, that this wasn’t the first time he’d looked at Jordy like this. I’d always attributed it to Logan’s dislike for anyone that wasn’t like him—an uptight stickler with an endless list of rules—but looking at Logan now, I knew his dislike for Jordy went much deeper.
Jordy’s gaze flicked rapidly between me and Logan, as if it couldn’t decide where to land. “Okay,” he said slowly. “My bad.”
“Well, well, well.” Ella’s smile was downright snakelike. “What an interesting development.”
A palpable silence followed. A quick look around the quiet table showed all eyes on Logan and me, expressions ranging from curious to outright amused. Mortification flooded my neck and chest, flashing hotly in my cheeks.
“Well, shit—is it dancin’ time already?” Britta made a big show of checking her naked wrist as if she were wearing a watch. “I think it is!” Slapping her hands down on the tabletop, she shoved up out of her seat. “You hear that, Willow? The DJ is playin’ our song!” Grabbing my arm, Britta hauled me off the bench and hurried me from the table.
“Lord knows I like gossip as much as the next,” she whispered. “But you and Eddie just gave everyone within earshot enough fodder to last ‘em the whole dang winter.”
Panic thudded through me, my throat painfully bobbing. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear it isn’t.”
“Oh, it most definitely is what it looks like,” she retorted. “That whole nutty scene you made out there on the porch makes a heck of a lot more sense now—but I’ll spare ya the embarrassment of tellin’ ya whatcha already know.”
Britta paused to scoop a pitcher of wine off a nearby table, along with two empty wineglasses. “Mighty kind of you to share,” she said, nodding at the table’s startled occupants. Filling our glasses, she tapped her glass to mine, causing purple liquid to slosh over the rims and spill on the floor. “Time to dance!”
Chugging half her glass, Britta sashayed onto the dance floor where the overhead lights had been dimmed, and the fairy lights strung over the rafters caused a reflective glimmer similar to a disco ball. Though the stereo still played, a band was in the process of setting up—a handful of Silver Lake residents with an eclectic collection of instruments—a brown and battered upright piano, two colorfully hand-painted ukuleles, and a drum set consisting of a snare, a floor tom, and a cymbal. While Xavier fiddled with a ukulele, Cassie stood beside him, tapping a tambourine in her hand. She waved when she saw me, pulling her long, flowing dress into a curtsy. Love it, she mouthed, pointing at the embroidered skirt—another drama club find.
“Come on, Willow, dance with me.” Britta beckoned, shimmying to the beat of the song.
Sipping on my wine, I slid a surreptitious glance back the way we’d come. Only Logan and Ella remained at our table—Ella drinking from her flask while Logan stared daggers at me, his gaze full of all the irritation and displeasure of a disapproving parent.
Mortification clashed with anger, anger clashed with obstinance and obstinance clashed with… longing. Again, the ghost of Logan’s touch whispered across my cheek. Feeling sick, I spun around and hastily threw back my drink. With wine dribbling down my chin, I hurried to join Britta on the dance floor.