The Truths We Make (House of Poe #1)

26. Volcanic Ash

Volcanic Ash

Summer, 8 years before

T he single little pink line makes me giggle in relief. I’ve never felt so fortunate while still holding onto the sting of lost possibility. We’re too young, I remind myself again. It isn’t like this has ever been in the plans. At eighteen, especially.

As a matter of fact, I had thought little of children before. They’ve always felt distant, and I have always been careful. The families I’ve seen were never ones I wanted to live up to. Rather, they were sordid tales of what I never could do. Of who I never wanted to be as a parent. But Oliver had a way of making me forget my own expectations. He allowed me to see the messy parts of life as special. Coveted. He made me want to see the joy of hardship. Even in something like this. Making the mixture of melancholy and reprieve clustering in my clavicle, disorienting.

I’d worried about whether I should tell Oliver for days, and now I knew this would be mine alone. I couldn’t take either possibility of his reaction when I was so conflicted with my own. I toss the white plastic into the trash, making a mental note to take it out first thing in the morning so no one sees, before flopping back onto my bed.

I don’t even get comfortable before the softest tapping comes through my door, quickly followed by soft whispers .

“ Eve, it’s me. Let me in.”

I lunge off the mattress as if it’s on fire, flinging my door open enough so he can crowd inside before quietly closing it again. It’s just past eleven, too late in the evening for him to be visiting me with my mother, asleep in the room next door. By the dancing of his eyes, he doesn’t seem worried, though. He looks me up and down ravenously until his smile flattens at my faded leggings.

“You’re not ready,” Oliver says.

I scour for a modicum of what he’s talking about, but my mind goes blank. I know he can see it in my face and thankfully, he prompts me to remember.

“The party…” He smiles encouragingly, his fingers playing with a piece of hair that’s come loose from my ponytail. His closeness is distracting, but even without it, I still wouldn’t know what he’s talking about.

“Party?” I ask, confused. He sighs, letting the hair fall back to my neck.

“Paxton didn’t tell you,” he says, and I shake my head in confirmation. “Figures. Matt is having his end of summer bash. I thought we’d go. One last hurrah and all.” His smile is soft and knowing, and I imagine he’s picturing us in front of a different skyline two weeks from now.

“Did you get the apartment?” Excitement soars through me like lightning at the thought. He nods and I fling myself into his arms, almost taking us both down with the force.

“I can’t believe it. You actually got the apartment in the city. And I’ll be at NYU. We can do this,” I ramble, breathless with the need to get out all the words.

The actualization of us being real clicks into place. There’ll be questions from our family to dodge, but without the careful eyes of Madeline or Isabel or even Paxton, we can have normal days. Easy days. Together. He laughs, a deep huff, as he pulls me in closer.

“We can actually do this,” he confirms. He pushes me away from him, arms holding us apart, a serious look taking over. “But first, you need to get ready so we can go! Paxton already has the car waiting.”

“Right,” I say as I hurry to my closet to grab a coat. It’s not my best party outfit, black leggings and a faded black t-shirt that’s boxy and cropped, but it’ll do. And I know Oliver really doesn’t mind with the way he peruses my backside as I bend down to throw on my shoes. I start for the door, head already living in the future where we won’t have to sneak through closed doors and hallways anymore, when I realize my phone is still on my bedside .

“Oh!” I say as I turn to grab it, running smack into Oliver’s chest. “I need my phone.” He turns back to the room instead of letting me pass.

“I’ll get it. Where is it?” he asks.

“On the nightstand,” I say before I realize what else is by the nightstand and my whole heart bottoms out.

I watch as he grabs for my phone and the little white plastic catches his eye. All the air is sucked from the room. I imagine this is what outer space must feel like—my organs cloying for oxygen while my brain becomes fuzzy, looking for a way out. But the damage has already been done. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t move.

“Are you…” he begins.

“No,” I say, without letting him finish the question.

I watch his shoulders stiffen and release, the sag of his coat creasing even with the softness of his movements. He finally grabs my phone and comes back to me, but won’t look me in the eye, causing shame to boil in my belly. He hands me the leaden brick that I want to throw, cursing myself for thinking I needed it, then twines our fingers into loops. He kisses the back of my hand before dragging me to the kitchen door and out of the house to Paxton’s waiting form.

The drive to the lake house is reticent, our voices hanging in the balance of a verdict not yet read. I know something’s off, but am at a profound loss on what to say or do. Especially with the presence of another settling in between Oliver and me.

Paxton may not know what’s wrong, but he feels it just the same. He shifts his legs in his seat, desperate to find comfort between us. I know how you feel. When we arrive, both boys take off like a shot. Neither one can be persuaded to slow. I’m not sure Oliver even waits for the car to be stopped. Paxton is quick on his heels all the way through the front door.

I sit and watch from my seat, unsure of which path to take before me; the concrete walkway that stretches out in front of me or back the way we came, to a home that lies in wait. I sigh and get out of the car, thanking the driver before I do. The car saunters off and I feel my comfort and safety slip away with it.

I release the knot of worry that is sitting on my chest like a troll, taunting me with the things I fear hearing, and walk into the house to a chorus of greetings. I tip my chin in acknowledgement. Force casual smiles to say hello. They don’t know anything’s different. But I do .

I spend two songs and a non-alcoholic drink making small talk with classmates I don’t long to remember. It’s only been months, but it wouldn’t matter to me if our time apart vanished into years. There are only two here I care to pursue. Only two I have ever seen in visions of my future. And neither can be found.

By the third melodic beat and Denison’s second ‘keg stand’ cry, I’ve had enough. I begin my search for the brothers in earnest. I move from room to room until I find, through the slit in an off-limits door, two brooding figures squaring off. They’re talking in hushed, brutal whispers that from this distance I cannot hear. Oliver already has an empty shot glass in one hand and a three-quarter empty tumbler in the other. The shock of him drinking after spending the summer sober is my first confirmation that something is very, very wrong. I scoot a little closer so I can eavesdrop better.

“Oliver…” I hear Paxton rumble, a threat in the name.

“Enough. What’s done is done. There’s no changing anything now. All I can do is the right thing moving forward,” Oliver replies.

He isn’t happy, but he throws an arm up to Paxton’s shoulder in camaraderie, anyway. Both boys look drawn, but an understanding has been met that by the hopscotch rhythm of my heart says it might very well have to do with me. Maybe Oliver has told Paxton of New York. Flutters burst through the panic at the thought. If Oliver told Paxton, that would make it tangible. And it could, quite possibly, ruin everything before it even begins.

My thoughts have taken me from the room, and I’ve missed whatever else they’ve just said. Thankfully, I catch myself in time to see Oliver barreling for the door, and I move deeper into a group of people I don’t really know enough to join. They look at me with unease, confusion flittering by, like signs on a highway, in their drunken state. The ease of the party wins over judgment as they decide to make me one of their own.

“Wooooo!” one girl, who I think is named Lizzy, yells.

She wants me to echo her, but nowhere in my DNA would that be allowed. I stay silent, and I can feel the group turning on me with each Woo-less second. I’m just about to excuse myself when Oliver catches my elbow, pulling me away without time for explanations.

I swivel my head to see where we’re going and catch on to Paxton’s angry eyes following us as I’m led deeper into the house. Oliver doesn’t stop to explain. Doesn’t lay secret kisses into my hair or sneak I love yous onto unspeakable lips. He just moves as if the stars are in reach. Purposeful and destined. Before he finally finds an empty, quiet room to pull me into.

I see the evergreen tartan sheets stretched across a well-made bed and the snake that’s been coiling my muscles releases. This I can handle. Enjoy. Being with Oliver, in the solitude of each other, is easy. He just wanted you to himself, I realize. I let the softness take back my face and twist him around to see it.

He isn’t relaxed, but I won’t let the fight with Paxton hold him for long. I wrap my arms around his neck, stretching my body so my cider-soaked lips can inundate his. He fights it at only the briefest whisper of my skin, but by the time my mouth parts, he’s mine. That’s when I make my first mistake, and I smile.

I don’t know if it is the sharpness of my exposed teeth or the biting wisps of air that are relieving the warmed fog of our tongues, but Oliver abruptly stops. He’s heaving air, fighting whatever instincts tell him to continue.

“Oliver, breathe,” I try, reaching out to calm him.

Only it steals him from me. Panic races through his eyes, but I watch him transform into the cold Poe I know. The one before secret rendezvous and midnight trysts. To the boy who locked secrets, and himself, away.

“Eve, we need to talk.” He’s business and detached, and I want to scream for him to stop.

“ Okay ,” is all I can say, the word being pulled from my throat as if I’m choking on it.

“This. This was a mistake. We never should have taken it this far. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Every word is a puncture to my heart. A nail through my limbs.

“Oliver. What happened? What are you doing?” I demand.

He can’t mean what he’s saying because if he means this, the lie would be the last three months. If a few sentences are the facts we must live by, then my whole life unravels into fiction. He can’t take back what’s already been.

“ We happened. I knew it was wrong. You knew it was wrong. We are giving into silly childhood crushes. And we can’t pretend this can or will be anything. We can’t destroy our families for… for a summer fling,” he spits the words in malice.

I want to believe he’s lying. To me and to himself. But if Oliver is anything, it’s a maker of words. He’s careful and consumed by them. Lives in a world controlled by emotional linguistics and passionate honesty. He’s never been one to hide behind silence, always quick to throw to the wind exactly what he means, regardless of who it inflicts upon. I just never thought he’d be so careless with me. That his feelings would be so fickle. The shaking of devastation floods my veins, coming to the realization of these truths.

“ Our families? Your family, you mean. You can’t bear Madeline’s disappointment and your disgrace at being with the help. At loving me. I was good enough to be a guest at your home, but never at the head of it. Is that the reminder you found in hushed words with Paxton, and the possibility of accidentally making a family with me?”

My words are the raining of hail when the worst of the storm is yet to come. I feel my bones like tectonic plates rupturing against one another in a plea to break free the skin and sink all that’s laid before it. My tears want to flood the home of our kisses and wipe the slate clean from the filth he’s succumbed us to. For when the hurricane comes, there’s no time for anguish.

“Fine. Yes. Madeline will never approve. You’ve known that. I’m only saying what we’ve both understood. I admit, I was foolish to give you hope for New York. The minute I transferred to Columbia, she would have known. She would have come for me. One way or another, I would have been made to come home, Eve. You know this. And being reminded that we’ve been careless with our feelings, and our futures, showed me just how fragile it all is. I’m only doing what needs to be done now. Before it’s too late.”

He’s resigned in his justification. A villain in his origin story. He knows this will change us. Will change everything. He’ll become the martyr of our love story, ingraining his status as a Poe for the rest of his life. The legacy he’s always dreaded and yet, could never escape.

“Coward,” I seethe.

My voice is deep, hardly recognizable. I don’t yell or cry it, but Oliver flinches at the utterance, anyway. He feels the ground splitting us apart with the word. Sees that his opportunity to turn back is fading. And I cannot do anything but hope he’ll take it.

So, when he turns and walks out of the room like he was never here at all, I become ruin.

I don’t know if it’s minutes or hours that pass. Somehow, I’ve found myself on the bed, stricken from my body and the confines of time. Nothing seems to make sense. You’re not good enough. You’ve never been good enough. The words sing on a constant loop and I can’t find the pursuit to leave or remember why I’d want to. I have nowhere to go that won’t try to make this slow death more painful. The door to the bedroom opens and I have enough sense to look up. Paxton takes one look at me before wrapping me in his arms.

“Oh, Eve. I’m sorry,” he says as my wet cheeks dampen his shoulder.

His apology is soaked in regret as if he was the one who couldn’t love me enough. As if he made me inferior. It splits a splinter of my grief into guilt that my pain is spreading like a plague. I try to rein in my tears, my questions, for Paxton’s sake, but control has escaped my abilities when I pull back to face him.

“Why, Paxton? Why would he do this? Choose this. I can be better. I can prove I’m enough if he just gives us a chance,” I mumble. His hands layout to hold my cheeks between them, letting the salt flow through his fingers.

“This isn’t your fault, Eve. You’ve done nothing wrong,” he says, and I scoff. He pinches my cheeks with enough force to stop the tears. “Hey, look at me.”

I do as he asks, eyebrows bowed in frustration.

“This is about him. Us. You know the family. You know our souls better than anyone. Don’t let our burdens crush you. Don’t let us snuff out your light. You’re better than we can ever be, Eve. You are everything. ”

I close my eyes and lean into his palms, feeling the warmth of his body as well as his words. They burn with the reminder that I’m the other, but somehow Paxton makes that feel special. As if I am beyond their reach and not the other way around. Still, it’s threaded with the fact that I’m losing them both.

It’s disorienting the way Oliver consumes every part of me, cocooning me in the opacity of love, while Paxton digs away at the shadows to exhume me from hopeless futures. Where Oliver made me feel less, Paxton could only revel me as more. It makes me drunk on emotion and reckless with my words.

“It would have been easier loving you,” I whisper, only enough to be heard, leaning into him just the same. “You don’t hide behind your expectation. You do exactly what you mean to and life others up to be equals. You’re a gift among them, Paxton Poe.”

I open my eyes to see jolts of shock and pain flutter beneath his skin. His lips and brows pulled in anguish. My words have ripped open wounds I didn’t know existed, and I fear can never be hidden again. But I can’t force the words back in or create the distance between us. We’re both alone in this family and I know what I want from Paxton isn’t real, that he isn’t the Poe, I want to hold me right now. Still, it doesn’t change that I’ll take him just the same. He must see the realization dawn on me, the urgency to do something we’ll both regret that makes his face flatten and be replaced with steel. He feels all of us slipping apart, too.

“You were never meant to love me. I know right now, the whole world is turning on its axis, but I need you to know that I was always meant to love you. We were always meant to love you. And you don’t want to do this, not really.” His last words are choked, the last gasp before drowning.

Before he can protest, I lean in, tenderly asking him to give me one last breath. To capture a single moment of a different life. Because without them, I have nothing left to lose. The salt from my eyes is briny between my teeth as I pull my lips into them. I know this is a mistake, even before I make it, but like sand between my fingers, I feel as if the entirety of myself is slipping, gliding away in the trail of the Poe’s tide. I’m desperate to hold on to whatever I can, making Paxton’s mouth an anchor I’m desperate to use.

I’ve barely felt the pressure of him against me when my nightmares are let loose.

“Get. Off. Her,” Oliver growls like a guard dog at the end of his chain.

He’s feral in a way I didn’t think his reservation allowed. The tender, patient poet turned into a monster like a Grimm tale. Paxton, for all his honor, releases our closeness immediately. His movements are stricken and confused, as if unsure how we all got here. Oliver, on the other hand, is not.

“Was this your intent? All your reminders? Your insistence. Just to end up here?” Oliver steams, pacing toward us. Paxton jumps up to stop him short, unrelenting in letting the fight come toward me.

“No. Oliver. This… it isn’t what it looks like,” Paxton pleads.

I want to scream at Oliver to listen. That this is what heartbreak breeds. That we’re torn and messy and there’s nothing real if it isn’t with him. But I know better than to step between the brothers when words aren’t what they’re looking for.

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Oliver says. “Madeline warned me you loved her. I just didn’t think you would be so bold after everything.”

Paxton’s shoulders square at the mention of their mother, the gentle apology of his manners dissipating. He snorts with derision.

“Me? Me. You’re really going to call me bold. YOU were the one who went against everything, Oliver. You . I’m just here cleaning up your messes. Just like always. ”

Oliver takes a step forward and I fear the fight might come to more than just a verbal altercation, so I shield Paxton with my body and look Oliver square in the eyes.

“It was me. I kissed Paxton. If you want someone to blame, I’m the one. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. ” I say, broken yet bold.

The Poe quote slips out like a knife from its sheath, slicing my throat to pieces but deadly to them all the same. I know I’ve marked myself eternally, that I’ve played into the course of history, and any chance of a fairytale ending has been murdered in this room. But I cannot let Oliver and Paxton destroy each other. Each needs their brother, more than they will admit, and if I cannot be the solace in their lives after tonight, at least I can grant them this.

Oliver’s face crumbles, but his backbone never bows.

“I never want to see either of you again,” he intones like a curse before stalking out of the room.

We’re encased in silence until Paxton is in motion, quick to be on his heels.

“I’ll fix this,” he tells me.

But I know my world has been smashed to pieces and there’s no chance it’ll ever be whole again.