Feuds and Reckless Fury

by K. Webster

Fuck. His scent floods my nostrils—lime and coconut. It’s an odd scent that has me curious. He doesn’t smell like a typical guy. He smells like pie. “Why do you smell like that?” I demand, distracted by the way his hand, stained by the clay, grips my wrist. “Like what?” His brows furl in confusion. “Clay?” “No. You smell…” “What?” “Sweet,” I growl. “Like pie or the beach or summer or some shit.”

“He’s like an asshole fairy, sprinkling his salty attitude all over the place.”

Getting caught having one of my OCD fits was not at all what I wanted to happen when I decided to come into his bedroom and snoop. Instead of me finding shit out about him, I served him a slice of imperfect me for free.

“They’re not allowed to anymore.” I bite his earlobe. “You belong to me.” “Right now, in this bed, is the only time I’ll belong to you.” A thrill shoots down my spine because though it’s an argument, he half agreed to something I didn’t realize I wanted. His complete submission.

“It was always you.” “Until it was him.”

“You’re playing with fire,” I warn. “It’s going to burn when it consumes you.”

“We were arguing,” I say lamely. “No, Canyon, that’s not at all what you two were doing. You were eye-fucking and sharing a Coke like a couple.”

“Once they saw how it really was for the other, they began to feel bad. They went from hating each other, to understanding each other, to befriending each other.” “So enemies to friends?” His chin leaves the top of my head to brush his lips against my ear. This time, I can’t contain the shudder that trembles through me. “Enemies to lovers.”

“Walk away,” Canyon murmurs, breaking the silence with his gravelly words. “Walk away before I don’t let you.” Captive to the villainous boy with a nerdy secret love for cartoons? It takes everything in my power to pull away from his magnetic presence—every single drop of my willpower. This mind-altering addiction that is Canyon Voss has the power to completely obliterate me.

I’ve been kissed lots of times, but never like this. Like I matter. Like I’m more than a means to get off. Like maybe I have answers to the mysteries of the universe.

All I can do is stare up at him in wonder. My Wonderland. The boy who’s supposed to be my enemy but just doesn’t manage to stay on his side of the line.

“This is all so fucked up,” I agree, with a low, harsh chuckle. “All of it.” “I wanted to break you, Wonderland.” “And now?” “I can’t break you. I don’t want to. I just want you.”

Lips brush against mine in a sweet, caring manner that has my knees weakening. Canyon is rough and mean and competitive. Not gentle. Not kind. Not this. My mind loses its logical reasoning to the way my heart thunders in my chest. His tongue swipes across mine, eagerly tasting me like I’m something new and forbidden that he can’t seem to get enough of.

Nothing, not sports or orchestra or art, has ever made the anxiety and uncertainty of my future fade away before. But, with Canyon, all I can think about is him. Everything else is just background noise.

“Are you taunting me, Wonderland?” “Wonderland?” Ryan asks, his gaze dancing back and forth between us. “Alis,” Canyon says, his eyes dropping to my lips. “He’s a wonder, that one.”

Canyon, though, sees right through it. He has an uncanny ability to cut into me with just one look. How he exposes me feels dangerous. Like a scalpel slicing through layers of skin to reveal a pulsating carotid artery. One tiny nick, and it could be over. That’s how I feel around Canyon. He’s a blade tearing through my life, digging so deep I’ll never recover. While he hasn’t done anything detrimental yet, it’s inevitable.

Being with Canyon may be my worst idea to date, but right now, it feels like the best one. It doesn’t feel wrong or twisted or sick. It feels reckless…but right.

Everything about Alis is too much. I feel so much with him, and sometimes it’s overwhelming. Like, I didn’t know there were all these sensations to begin with. Suddenly, I’m thrust into this life where Alis Sommers forces me to feel every damn one of them. Now that I’ve felt what I’ve been missing, there’s no way in hell I could ever go back to a dull, numb version of it.

I’m in so deep with this guy. It’s a mystery I can’t unravel—how one day I hated his guts, and now I feel as though I would do damn near anything for him.

I take his hands in mine, bring them to my lips to kiss each one, then release him. It gets more difficult each day to let go of him to hide what we’re becoming from others.

Heat floods through me, burning a trail up my spine and through my nerve endings. Anytime I think about him, I feel as though I’ll self-combust. And when I’m with him? I don’t feel as though I’ll catch fire…I do. Together we fucking burn.

“Shut the fuck up. Of course, you’re worth it. Don’t say that shit again.” When he says it, I almost believe it.

I’m cracking. I can feel it happening one tiny fissure at a time. But they’re spreading and fracturing and splintering faster than I can stop them. The pain is going to spill out. It’ll leak out everywhere, drowning those around me.

The worry over him fades as possessiveness curls around a heart that’s so full of him these days, like thorny vines or barbed wire tightening and puncturing the bloody organ.

Something I didn’t realize was wrecked and lost. It grounds me. Gives me purpose. Strengthens me. Everything is fucked up in my life. Not this. Not him. This is perfect and real and ours. Forbidden, true, but sweet as fucking pie.

“Didn’t know football players were such poets,” he teases, his voice sounding more like his own, though still slightly wobbly. “Ex-football player. And I’m a romantic now. I have a boyfriend.”

I’ve never felt so completely owned by another person. That’s exactly what Canyon does. He owns me. Hate was a familiar emotion between the two of us, but somewhere along the way, it transformed into a burning, passionate need for the other.

I’ve spent my entire life trying to belong and wanting someone to keep me—to love me. Canyon gives me hope. That he’ll want to hold onto me and not let go. Give me a home that’s not fleeting or brittle. Instead, something permanent and secure. Something to keep me rooted where I am.

“You like it?” His voice is a deep rumble that vibrates all the way through my nerve endings. “I thought it’d make your room feel more like home.” I freeze at his words. This is more than just a poster of the show we’ve been watching. It’s an effort to root me into this life I feel I could be plucked from at any moment. “Canyon,” I rasp out, my throat tight with an emotion I can’t quite put my finger on. “That was—” “Wonderful, Wonderland.” He lifts his chin in a cocky, smug fashion that has me rolling my eyes.

Sometimes reality is a bitch.

Taking his hand, I guide him up the stairs and into his room. I would have taken him into my shower, but I want him to smell like himself—limes and sweetness—not whatever the fuck I smell like. I need him to wash away the horror of the day and bathe in normalcy.

We remain quiet as I lead him under the hot spray. His arms wrap around my middle, and he rests his cheek on my chest. An overwhelming sense of relief washes over me, cleansing away the stress and worry from the day. Having him safe in my grip settles something deep inside me. It’s fucked up. The whole situation.

It makes me want to shove Alis into the passenger seat of my Challenger, fill the tank up, and drive north until we’re somewhere people don’t know us. Where there are no expectations or anyone to disappoint. We could just be two guys who once hated each other but now simply don’t. He’s my Chibi. My opponent. My challenger. My counterpart. My conscience. My everything.

Naomi was there for me, and I loved her and cared for her. But I never saw more with her. Not a future…just a present. With Alis, I dream. A lot. Of possibilities. Fantasies I want to come true. A life beyond the now. I think of sharing a space with him. Making his brown eyes sparkle to life as I gift him pieces of himself and of me to prove to him home is where he makes it. I dream of us. Not boyfriends. Not stepbrothers. Not even friends. More.

After living months and months filled with pure anger, stewing over the dissolving of my family, I’d finally found something that brought me joy. Him. And then it felt fragile and temporary.

Cradling his jaw with one hand while my grip is still on his hair, I slant my mouth over his, desperate to taste the realness of his lips—to feel proof of his existence. To taste the reality that he’s mine. He whimpers as my tongue dominates his, eager to kiss away all the bullshit we’ve dealt with today and replace it with something that feels good.

Bad people don’t need a reason. They’re monsters. Enemies. But I won’t let it happen again. I won’t. Not sure how I’ll make good on that promise, but I swear to fuck I’ll die trying.

This thing between us is anything but uncertain. It’s a real, breathing beast of passion that aches to be released.

Dark, mahogany eyes bore into me like I have all of life’s answers stored deep within me. Words that have no business leaving my lips nearly escape. I chase them back by kissing him with enough force and eagerness that I’m surprised he doesn’t crack his head on the tile wall behind him. The things I feel for Alister Sommers are too intense. Too fast. Too reckless and wild. All today managed to do was turn a slow-burning ember into a full-on forest fire. We’re an inferno now, and there’s no putting us out.

Every time I see a couple taking for granted that they can publicly display their affection, it pisses me off.

“You’re okay,” a deep voice croons in my ear. “I got you. He’s gone.” I blink open my eyes, noting the wetness of my lashes and cheeks. Dad stands in front of me with Ryan to his side and Canyon at my back. For a brief moment, I allow myself to be cocooned in their safety. But, because reality is a bitch, it slips inside, eager to shred my insides with worry over what my future holds.

As soon as we’re out of sight, halfway up the stairs, Canyon threads his fingers with mine, tethering me to him in a way only he can. This is my home.

A thousand questions sit on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow each and every one down. The last thing Alis needs is for me to demand answers from him. No, he just needs me. Alis is a lot of things—aggravating, competitive, mouthy. He’s not weak.

He wraps his arm and leg over my body, clinging to me in a manner that makes my chest hurt. It’s as though he thinks if he glues himself to me, he’ll never have to let go.

“You’re staying here.” “But if Dad ever—” “With me,” I reiterate. “You’re staying with me.” “And if they find out about this?” His hot breath against my lips makes me achingly hard. “What will we do then?” “Whatever it is, we do it together.” “Come on, Canyon. Be real.” A grunt of frustration rumbles through me. “I’m being serious.”

Despite the challenge in his voice, I hear the crack of vulnerability. He wants me to choose him. To make promises. Lay out a plan that includes him. Alister Sommers needs to be tethered to this world, or else he feels like he’ll float away,

He sighs as though he likes that idea. “Sculpting makes me happy.” “Happier than running track or playing violin.” “I like transforming something pliable and soft, making it into something better than it was before. Changing it into something permanent and beautiful.” Permanent. I’d teased him about looking as though he was ready to move out at any second. But it’s exactly the truth. Alis is afraid to plant roots in case he gets plucked up. Planting roots and then being ripped away would hurt too much. I can understand that. “So, we’ll go do that.” I shrug. “Go let you do your art shit.”

The bed rumbles with his laughter. “You have it all figured out, huh? You’re going to run away with your barely boyfriend, who’ll soon be your stepbrother?” “Not run away,” I explain, kissing his supple lips. “Travel and learn.”

“In your imagined scenario, we’re already dead. Stepbrother fucking and all got us kicked out. Disowned. Whatever. It earns us freedom.” I kiss a path along his jaw and to his throat. “In my scenario, we’ll do what we want because we can.”

“Just reminding myself that I’m better at being gay than you.” “That’s not a thing, man.” “I just made it a thing.” “There aren’t levels of gayness. You don’t get to beat certain levels and win gold coins or some shit.” “But if you could, I’d be at least three levels above you, and you’d be begging to borrow some of my coins.” “I’m not arguing about this with you because it’s fucking dumb.” “You’re not arguing because it’s no contest.” “You’ll never be at my level anyway,” he argues, because let’s face it, he has to win when it comes to the things we do together. “You’re bi. I beat you by fifty percent—”