I Just Want You

The guy I was tattooing looked like he was giving birth or something. His face was pinched, his eyes squeezed shut, and his hands were clutched in such tight fists, his knuckles were white; granted, I’d been working on his bicep for like, forty-five minutes, but I wasn’t sure he’d sucked in a breath in nearly twenty. At least he’d stopped wriggling. “You do’in okay, buddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need a break?”

“Nope.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, dragging a cloth over his arm to try and wipe away some of the black ink. He had a shitty tattoo I was trying to cover up and I was a good artist—damn good—but his arm was a mess. Some kind of weird, poorly done dragon or some shit; whatever. I was doing the best I could.

And then my cell went off.

I glanced over at the cell face. Great. My brother. “Hey, give me a minute, dude. I need a smoke and rest my back. Yeah?”

He guy exhaled possibly all the air in his lungs. “Sure. Take your time.”

I set the tattoo gun down and ripped my gloves off, tossing them in the garbage. Grabbing my phone and my cigarettes at the same time, I pressed my finger to the face of the cell. “You know I’m working, right?”

“I’m just calling to make sure we’re still on for tomorrow.”

“I paid for the god damned flight in full, we’d better still be fucking on.” I smiled charmingly at my boss, Big Murph, as I passed him. “Grabbing a smoke, dude. The kid needs a break.”

“I thought you quit smoking.”

“It’s a gradual quit.” I nudged the back door open with my hip and burst out into the sunshine, a feat which sometimes seems hard in New York. Lighting the cigarette, I took a deep drag and blew the smoke out of the side of my mouth. “My flight is in at like, ten am. Are you goin’ to be there to pick me up? That’s the bigger question, Marcus, because I’m not putting up with your shit if you’re ‘late’ again.”

Marcus laughed. “You’re my twin. I physically cannot forget you because it’d be like forgetting part of myself.”

“Hilarious.” I took another deep drag on the cigarette and studied the glowing end. “But, we both know you’re not just calling to make sure I’m flying into Missouri as planned. Because you know I’m totally stoked to use four vacation days to travel to Missouri. Missouri, Marcus.”

“Well, no, actually, that’s not the only reason I’m calling.” There was a long pause. “Are you smoking, Mackenzie?”

“Don’t change the subject. I have shit to do.”

“So, I talked to Mom. And….” There was another long pause. “She talked to Anne.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Anne Cox.”

“Marcus, let’s pretend this is a payphone and you’re rapidly wasting away your daughter’s inheritance.”

“Anne Cox. Harry’s mom.” He paused again—I wanted to reach through the phone and physically shake him. “Apparently, they’re both on Instagram or some shit. Anyway, Mom told her we were going to be at the concert and told her that Marcella was such a big fan.”

My stomach felt like it bottomed out of my abdomen. The concert? One Direction. Harry? Harry Styles. A lifetime ago, Marcus, Harry, and I had been best friends back in Holmes Chapel in England. We lived on the same street and attended the same school—in fact, we’d all sat in a neat little row: Marcus Shively, Mackenzie Shively, and then Harry Styles. We were inseparable. And then, in one instant, my entire life changed and I never saw him again. And now he was famous. I groaned. “Please tell me Anne said she doesn’t actually stay in contact with him.”

“What? No. The concert is sold out and he apparently has no control whatsoever over meet and greet tickets—I know, right? Weird—but he has some time before the meet and greet and said we could come backstage and say hello.”

“Marcus, dude. We haven’t seen him since we were twelve.”

“Okay, yeah, but we used to be best friends.”

“Ten years ago. Man, we don’t even know this guy anymore. What are we supposed to talk about?” I leaned over and rubbed my cigarette butt on the ground, then quickly lit another. “And you fucking know what that’s going to turn into: he’ll be like, so hey, why you guys disappear when we were twelve? Then we have to launch into the sob story about Mom and that bastard—“

“It’s like, ten minutes of your life, Kenz.” Marcus used his firm voice, his ‘American Army’ voice that he used when his kid tried to sass him. It never actually worked on me, but I let him think it did. “Marcella is so excited about this. She wants to meet them and I promised her we would. I’m like, the world’s best parent because I used to be friends with Harry Styles.”

“Great, yeah, well whatever makes you better than that good for nothing tramp you got knocked up.” I held the cigarette smoke in my lungs and exhaled slowly. This was the exact reason I was still smoking. My family was simply out of control. “Fine. But, look, I got over Harry Styles years and years ago. I’m only going with you because of Marcella.”

“Are you still humping on the pot dealer?”

“No.” Well, that was a lie. Although Will and I hooked up from time to time still, we definitely were not in a relationship. I didn’t even let him stay the night at my apartment anymore, so, basically it was just a fuck buddy kind of relationship. Jesus, I hadn’t had an actual relationship in over eight months. I’d been spending my time with my job and my mom.

Ladies and gentlemen: My name is Mackenzie Mae Shively and I’m twenty-one years old. I just act like I’m eighty-four.

“Okay, good, well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Ten am.”

I exhaled loudly. “Great.”

****

The whole situation just irritated me; from the flight from New York into Kansas City and the drive from the airport to my brother’s on-base housing at Fort Leavenworth. Our lives had been one bitter adventure after another: We were British citizens and, when we were kids, our father beat our mother to the point he broke her back and severed her spinal cord, leaving her paraplegic. We moved to the United States to stay with family and just never went back to England. I kept dual citizenship but Marcus was a 100% American citizen. After high school, he joined the Army and did back to back to back tours in Afghanistan. He also got some tramp he met in a bar knocked up and, because she was a heroin addict, he got full custody of Marcella before she was even two months old. My career in America was much less red, white, and blue and far more disappointment. But, in the end, Marcus was my twin and my absolute best friend in the world. If he wanted to go spend his evening at a One Direction concert with his four-year-old, fine. Let’s have a fucking good time.

I started getting ready for the concert early, since we were going to have a nearly hour long drive to the venue. Marcella and I got ready together because, frankly, I’m Aunt Kenzie and I’m the damn coolest aunt there is. Hands down. Marcus had to work on base until basically ten minutes after we should have left, so it was up to me to get Marcella and myself ready so we could leave and make it to the show in time for what was sure to be an awkward personal meeting with our former best friend.

Marcella wanted tattoos like mine, so I sat cross-legged on her bed and set to work with blue and black Sharpie markers. As much as I wanted to give her full sleeves on each arm like mine, there wasn’t enough time for that: she settled for a black lace Minnie Mouse on her forearm. She busied herself and her free hand by twisting strands of my long, magenta dyed hair around her skinny forefinger. “Daddy says you know Harry.”

“Well, we did. When we were kids.” Damn, it was hard drawing a tattoo on the arm of a petite four-year-old. She had arms like her father. “But that was a long, long time ago. I’m sure he doesn’t remember us.”

“Who could forget you, Aunt Kenzie?” She wrinkled up her nose. “You’re light.”

I restrained a giggle. Marcella was never sure how to describe me and I didn’t blame her. She saw military people all the time. I had magenta hair, full sleeve tattoos, a pierced nose, piercings and gages in my ears, and an assortment of other tattoos on my back, my feet, my legs, my stomach, and one I did myself stretching from my hip all the way down to right above my knee. When she was two, she simply called me light. I was okay with that. “Well…you know, Cella, that Harry is very, very busy and he has been for a long time. I haven’t seen him since I was twelve.”

“Why?”

“Well…um…that’s when I moved here to America and he stayed behind in Cheshire. But that was very important because he needed to work on singing. And he did, right?”

She nodded. And, someday when she was older, I’d explain the rest of the story: how Marcus and I weren’t allowed to call or write Harry and our other friends out of concern that our father might someday find us. For all intents and purposes, we disappeared. My mother changed her name and, even though Marcus and I were given the same option when we turned eighteen, we kept our birth names. Our father was still in prison and there was no chance he’d ever see freedom again. The attack was so brutal, so heinous, that he was sentenced to no possibility of parole.

Once I had Marcella’s ‘tattoo’ and hair (fishtail French braid) done, I set to work getting myself ready. What does one wear to a One Direction concert? My knowledge of their music was only basic, mainly what Marcella insisted I listen to, and it seemed like it would benefit from cotton candy pinks, baby blues, and a big old helping of boobs and ass cheeks. In lieu of that, I wore short white shorts and a black halter top. Sexy, but not slutty. I curled my hair and piled it up on the back of my head, tying a bandana around my head like a retro pinup. I did my makeup in a similar fashion, with thick mascara and lashes. Boom. Sexy, sultry, but cool and ready for what could be a sweat-fest from pre-pubescent girls.

Marcus was running late, of course, so our drive to the arena was horrifying. Marcella slept most of the way into Kansas City, which was probably good, since I’d brought a flask and after two drinks was dropping the F bomb like it was a comma. The stadium was huge and the parking lot seemed to have no legitimate layout, but despite this, Marcus found a reasonable parking place and began prodding us towards the gates. “We have just enough time to get in there and get in line to see him.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “You remembered the tickets, right?”

“They’re in my wallet.” He shifted Marcella to his other hip. “Don’t get too excited because they’re so far back in the arena, we might actually be in a separate zip code.”

Oh goodie. That made the evening look even more promising.

“American Army” Marcus marched us at a far more rapid rate than I cared for and we made it up to the stadium surprisingly fast. He made a beeline for the Will Call box. I giggled. I didn’t even care anymore, so I giggled louder. “You’re really super excited about this, aren’t you? You miss Hazza like you’re a twelve year old girl or somethin’.”

“Don’t pee in my Cheetos, Kenz.” He smiled charmingly at the older woman in the booth. “Yes, hi, can you tell us where the meet and greet is being held?”

I stopped listening at that point and started surveying the crowd. It was chaos. Girls were everywhere. There was a surprising amount of bored looking fathers, some wearing One Direction shirts and many, many bored looks moms staring into the glow of their cellphones. I was somewhat mortified by the amount of girls wearing mini-skirts and hooker heels. Yes, I was getting tons and tons of stares because of all my tattoos, but at least I didn’t look like a slut. And my feet—in black flip flops!—were super comfy. Sweet.

Marcus maneuvered his way through the crowd and, promptly, his expertise got us to an extremely long line. I groaned. We had to wait in this line? For ten minute with a guy who probably didn’t remember us? Jesus, I needed a cigarette. “Wow this is…well, you tried, man. Cheers to that, yeah?”

“I’m not waiting in a fucking line.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of line, right up to the front. Right. Up. To. The. Front.

Girls started cussing us out which was a) bollocks and b) maddening, because my brother was carrying his kid. I resisted the urge to turn around and flip them all off.

A man with a clipboard and headset held up his hands. I was fairly sure if he had a Taser, Marcus would be writhing on the ground at this point. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you can’t just rush the front like this. This is first come, first serve. You’re going to have to wait in line, just like everyone else. Tickets secure you a spot, but your place in line decides how long you’ll be waiting.”

“Funny story, we don’t actually have meet and greet tickets.”

The man looked speechless. He glanced from me, to my brother, and back to me again.

I held up my hands like jazz hands. “Surprise!”

“I’m sorry, then, you can’t come back. These are all prize winners. You can’t buy tickets to meet the group. Now, do you need assistance to find your seats because I can call someone. Or I can call security, whichever you want.”

Well, that escalated quickly. I glanced behind me at the line of girls. Bull shit that meet and greet tickets couldn’t be bought. These were the rich kids. These were the girls who always got what they wanted.

But, in the end, I wasn’t planning on spending my evening in jail. I flashed him my most charming smile and said, “What he means is, that we are childhood friends of one of the boys and, supposedly, he’s agreed to hang out with us for a few minutes before the meet and greet starts. We haven’t seen him in, like, ten years. Soo….yeah, don’t look at me like that. I’ll be surprised if it’s legit too, but can you at least check? I mean, for the kid here. I didn’t want to come in the first place.”

He stared at me and I smiled again. “Our moms chat on Instagram.”

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” He flipped back a page on the clipboard. “Names?”

“Mackenzie Shively and Marcus Shively. Oh, and this lovely girl is Marcella Shively. His kid.”

The man looked at the clipboard and nodded slowly. “Do you two have ID on you?”

Marcus handed him his military ID and I handed him my driver’s license. The man looked them over and then handed them back to us. “Same birthday?”

“We’re twins.”

“Got it. Okay, if you’ll follow me.” He motioned for us to follow him down the hallway.

I got the feeling this man hated his job. But, whatever, we were that much closer to being done. I elbowed Marcus in the ribs. “That’s why you’re not an officer.”

“People are nice to you because you because you’re attractive.”

“Considering we’re not identical twins, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

We walked past two very large men (I assumed they were security) and the man with the clipboard led us through a door and into what was probably some kind of stadium conference room or something. It was reasonably quiet in the room, except for male laughter, and was basically empty except for a table, some chairs, and a large black, neon lettered backdrop. On The Road Again Tour. Gotcha.

Four guys seemed to be aimlessly wandering around the room. Marcella seemed to be looking the same place I was—at them—since she suddenly buried her face against my brother’s shoulder. Great. Well, at least she wasn’t crying. Yet.

And then I saw him.

His hair was long, but still curly just like when we were kids. He’d grown up, but there were those adorable dimples and knee weakening smile. Jesus, he’d been cute when he was twelve but now, he was bloody gorgeous.

His jaw dropped slightly and then he smiled again. “Oh my god, the Shively twins. I’d know you two anywhere!”

Marcus shoved his way in front of me and stuck his hand out to Harry. He gave him an awkward-ish bro-hug, abbreviated because Marcella was still clinging to him. “Haz, bro, it is so good to see you! Thank you so much for this, Marcella is such a big fan. Say hi to Harry, Cella.”

I didn’t hear a response, but Harry peered around Marcus’s neck to see her. “Hey lovely. Marcus, I can’t believe you have a kid. How are we old enough for you to have kids—weren’t we just little ourselves?”

“Kenz is still little.”

Harry laughed and smiled at me, his green eyes sparkling. He opened up his arms. “Hey, Little One.”

I had always been the shortest and I still was. I had to stand on my tip-toes to get my arms around his shoulders. “Oh my god, you are so tall now Hazza. But look at all this! I am so proud of you. Not surprised, of course, but utterly proud.”

“Do’ya remember our fascination with performing Alice in Wonderland? It was on our reading list in fourth grade.” His breath was hot in my ear. I adored his voice. It was so deep and raspy, it reminded me of home.

I laughed, reluctantly letting him go. He even smelled sexy. “Of course I do! You called me Mad Mackenzie and you were my Cheshire Cat. Marcus, weren’t you Alice?”

“No I was not.”

I laughed again and then reached around Marcus, guiding Marcella’s arm out. “Cella, tell Harry about your tattoo.”

She smiled shyly, peeking at him from under her bangs. “Aunt Kenzie gave me a sharpie tattoo. I wanted one like yours and hers. She’s light, you know.”

Harry’s eyebrows cocked upwards. “Light?”

Marcella nodded seriously. “She’s light. Look at her.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Harry smiled broadly at me and then turned his attention to Marcella’s arm. “This is beautiful, actually.”

I felt myself blush. “Thank you.”

“You know the other lads, right Marcella?” She nodded, but he pointed at each man as he said their names, no doubt more for me and Marcus than for her. “There’s Liam, and Niall eating a piece of pizza, and Louis. He has loads of tattoos, too.”

“I like yours.”

I stifled a giggle. So did I—I just wasn’t going to say it.

“Your aunt and daddy and I used to get into massive trouble when we were kids.” Harry laughed, glancing over his shoulder at the other boys. Liam waved at Marcella, Louis’s eyes were locked on me. “We all sat in a row at school. Kenzie and Marcus Shively, and then Harry Styles in the back.”

Marcella studied him. “My Uncle Matt said that you’re the reason there’s a lock on the bell tower at his church.”

“There is, too, last time we were at home, I made sure to check.” Marcus shook his head. “Uncle Matt just wants to spread malicious lies about our childhood adventures. He tries to say we were walking on the rafters. We weren’t.”

“No, we were too busy climbing that ladder to the roof.” I laughed, poking my brother in the shoulder with my index finger. “OMG, I was so afraid of heights back then. How did I get up that ladder in the first place—and not one, but two?”

“Because you’re so awesome with ladders now, right? What, was it two weeks ago you flipped out on a step ladder?” Marcus rolled his eyes dramatically. “Haz, don’t let her tattoos and pink hair—“

“It’s magenta, spaz. Please.”

“Yeah, whatever, in my opinion if it’s not red or purple, it’s pink.” Marcus playfully shoved me. “Hair color aside, she’s just as awkward as she was when we were kids. Wait, why are you blushing, Kenz?”

“Um, yeah, let’s talk about my cheek. I still have my scar.”

Harry burst out laughing. “Ah, Little One, I still feel bad about that. It’s been fourteen years since that happened!”

“Okay.” Liam held up his hands as if in submission. “I’m done innocently watching from the sidelines. Scar?”

“Jesus, we were, what, eleven? It was at that big house down on Old Brown Jug Road, the big, old colonial house.” Harry ran his hand through his long hair—even that was attractive.

I nodded. “It’s been for sale for like, two years now. But, anyway, go on.”

“Marcus…you were throwing rocks mud puddles because you were a destructive child. Kenzie was standing in the lane, watching me, and I had a broken tree branch. I reached back and swung it like a baseball bat against a tree, which was fine, but the projectile that broke free hit her in the face.”

“There was blood everywhere.” I ran my fingers over my cheek.

Harry leaned into me and tilted my chin upward with one hand and trailed his index finger across my cheekbone. Running his index finger over the small, crescent shaped scar, his jaw dropped down a little. “I scarred you for life!”

“Oh stop. I think I had about four stitches, maybe three.” His eyes were amazing. It was like looking back in time and into a memory I’d long hidden away. “I’ve done far worse to myself since then.”

Marcella tugged on my arm and I squatted down next to her. She leaned over and whispered, “I want to hug Niall.”

I nodded seriously. “I think he’ll let you.”

She threw herself and Marcus and tugged on his arm. When he leaned down next to her, she no doubt told him the same thing; he rolled his eyes dramatically and led her over to….hopefully the guy that was Niall.

Harry was still smiling shyly at me. “Do you still dance?”

“Not in ages.” I shook my head, resting my hand on my hip and then, freaking out it was too casual, straightened and awkwardly shoved them in my back pockets. Oh, a cell phone. And a lighter. Great. “I joined a ballet company when we…ah, moved here, but I really didn’t care about it anymore. I danced until I was, probably, sixteen. My boobs got too big anyway, it’s not like my balance was any good anymore.”

Ehhhhh. Well, I’d said that out loud. That was interesting.

“What do you do now?”

“I’m a tattoo artist at a shop in Manhattan.” I ran my hands down my sleeve tattoos. “I apprenticed there before I dropped out of college and, once I was sure I could make my living tattooing, I ditched school and just went to work. I was going for an art degree but, seriously, what was I going to do with that? Teach? No, no thank you. I remember the shit we pulled when we were in school. There’s no way I’m setting myself up for that kind of thing.”

He smiled at me. There was something about the way that he looked at me that made me want to set myself on fire. There was an intensity to his gaze; it made me feel like I was the only person in his universe. As children, he’d always been attentive. When I’d tutored him in maths, he’d watched and listened like he was memorizing my every move. Now it seemed different. Now he was…well, he was fucking gorgeous. “I’ll be honest, Kenzie. I missed you when you left.”

I tore my gaze from his, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Yeah. I’d mourned leaving my best friend more than the fact my mother had been beaten to a pulp. I wanted to call him. I wanted to run back to Holmes Chapel and sit under the trees with him, so he could drape his arm over my shoulders and hold me like he’d done a few times. Only a few, not nearly as much as I’d wanted. Like just about every girl in our grade, I’d had a crush on him. He was so sweet and kind and gentle, always trying to make me laugh. Who wouldn’t fall in love with that? “I missed you too, Hazza. I wanted to call you or write you or anything, but we weren’t allowed.”

“I know.” He ran his hand down my arm and then pulled me into another tight hug. I practically melted in his arms. He was so tall and strong…Jesus. It was like I was twelve all over again. Keep it together.

After a moment, he pulled away and smiled at me. “Oh, Kenz, there’s, like, a million stories that come to mind when I see you and Marcus. The fun we had? The trouble we caused?”

“That time we paid him a quid to eat that pickled baloney?”

“I’ve never seen anyone empty the contents of their stomach with such force.” He burst out laughing, his eyes twinkling. “Do you remember that time we were outside in that rainstorm, jumping in muddy puddles, and you got scared we were going to get hit by lightening? So we literally broke into my house through my bedroom window?”

“Oh my god, Hazza, your mom was mad for weeks because we got mud all over your bedroom floor. It did not help that she walked in when you were taking your jumper off and I was sitting on your bed.” I tried to hold back my laughter, but it eeeped out awkwardly in horrible, ridiculous giggles. So much for being cool. “The look on your face was this perfect mixture of horror, embarrassment, and pride.”

He smiled wider. I wanted to poke my finger into his dimples like I did when we were kids. “You were Kenzie Shively, erm, the cutest girl in fourth grade.”

“Well, you were Harry Styles. You were my best friend.”

His eyes were locked on mine which, in one respect, was nothing completely out of the norm—or, at least, it wasn’t ten years ago. The smile was still playing on his lips and I knew he was thinking. He had that look; that sweet, but mischievous look I remembered so well. “What?”

He stared at me a few more moments, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

Before either of us could say anything, the man with the clipboard was back. He looked like he had things he didn’t want to say; things someone wanted him to say and was his job to say; but he knew nobody was going to like it. “Lads, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s only a few minutes until the meet and greet is scheduled to start. If you want pictures with your friends, now is the time to do it.”

Harry pouted. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and shoved it into one of the other guy’s—Liam?—hand. Marcus and I did the same. “Pictures? Yes. We need pictures. Just the three of us first.” He slid his arm around my waist and casually draped his arm over Marcus.

Marcus reached behind him and poked me. “I wonder how many pictures like this are out there?”

“We kind of always deferred back to the same pose, it’s true. My favorite will always be the one where Gemma and I did your makeup and put that wig on you. Maybe I’ll make that my Christmas card this year.” I giggled and stepped closer to Harry. “Though, honestly, I don’t remember feeling this small next to you.”

“I remember when you were taller than me.” Harry chuckled and gently tugged on a strand of my magenta hair, then leaned closer to me. “You were taller than me AND Marcus.”

“Yeah. You two called me ‘Circus Freak’ as I recall. It was awesome.”

Marcus burst out laughing. “It was a term of endearment, Kenz. I swear.”

“Do you lot not know the concept of taking pictures?” Liam lowered the phone. “Stop talking and smile!”

Harry leaned closer to me. My pulse surged—stop it, Mackenzie—and I slid my arm around his narrow waist, smiling at picture, after picture, after picture.

Liam lowered the camera. “And other poses that you want? A fun walk down memory lane, perhaps?”

“See no evil, of course.” Marcus burst out.

Harry and I started laughing. Of course. As children, the last day of every school year, Harry’s mom took a picture of us at the end of the drive, Marcus with his hand over his eyes as see no evil, me with my hand over my mouth as speak no evil, and Harry with his hands over his ears as hear no evil. We stood in a neat little line, each doing our former poses. For a quick beat, tears pricked the back of my eyes. It took me a long time to realize it, but my childhood was shit. The bright spots? They were all Harry.

The phones were then passed to the man with the clipboard and the security guards. We all got in a weird little group—Marcella in the middle—and smiled for picture after picture. We did goofy poses, normal poses, whatever. Harry kept his arm at my waist or over my shoulders. We’d been a huggy pair as kids, but this was different.

I checked myself. No, no it wasn’t. He wasn’t my Hazza anymore. He was just being nice to an old friend and taking nice pictures. He probably did this all the time.

“Okay, one more.” Louis (or was that one Liam?? I was so confused) was laughing at something I’d missed completely. He leaned over and nudged Marcella with his elbow. “What kind of picture do you want, Miss?”

She tapped her index finger against her chin. “Hmm…I want Niall to carry me like a princess.”

I snickered. That’s my girl.

Harry suddenly scooped me up in his arms, cradling me against his body. His smile was so broad and he looked so happy that I absolutely forgot what in the hell was going on, and pressed my fingertip into his dimple.

He chuckled. “I first held you like this in a swimming pool, Little One. Remember?”

“I do.” I giggled and wrapped my arm around his shoulder. “You said ‘nice legs’ and dropped me in the water.”

“I was foolish when I was ten.”

“You’re much better at this now, it’s true.”

His gaze was intense again, his smile somewhat secretive but very, very happy. Harry had always had the most adorable lips. They were full and a soft pink; though he’d never kissed me, I always wondered what they’d feel like against mine. What his mouth tasted like when we kissed.

I had to stop this shit. He was being nice. Harry was always nice and, he seemed legitimately happy to see me. But that’s as far as it went. Our time together was spent in the past.

Marcus had picked up Louis (who, I had to admit, was extremely attractive) and Liam was sitting on the ground in front of his, his arms out dramatically to either side. I started laughing and idly ran my fingers down Harry’s cross necklace. “I can honestly say I have no idea what’s going on.”

“No, but it’s amazing.” He squeezed me.

For a moment, I lost myself in his eyes; they were so familiar and so, horrifically different at the same time. My awkward, goofy Hazza had grown up into this sexy, confident, rock star and here I was, magenta haired, tattooed Mackenzie. I stared into his green irises, completely aware how intensely he was staring back. I had wonder: what would have happened if Marcus and I had never left Holmes Chapel. If my father hadn’t nearly killed my mother in a fit of rage over, what? Over the fact he was drunk and his dinner—dinner he was late for—was cold? Would Harry and I have ever been more than friends? Would we have ever—

Fuck. Nope, gotta stop thinking about that. It was too depressing.

“Everybody smile!”

I tore my gaze from Harry’s long enough to smile for the picture. The guy with the clipboard took a picture of each with of the phones and then looked apologetic. “Okay, lads, we’re down to three minute before the meet and greet starts. Prepare yourself, it’s a pretty lively bunch out there.”

Harry gently set me down. “You haven’t changed at all, Little One. You’re just as beautiful and funny, and charming as I remember.”

“You’re just the same too, Hazza,” I poked his dimple again; his smiled broadened, “except you’re taller and your hair is loads longer. I’d know my Cheshire Cat anywhere; with your sweet dimples and that smile. Jesus.”

He chuckled, tucking a loose strand of my hair over my ear. “Ten minutes with you isn’t nearly enough.”

My breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond but, as I stood there like an opened mouthed fool, Louis (Louis?) waved him over. “Harry, we need you to sign her shirt and her pictures. Cella, love, tell Harry to stop flirting with your lovely Aunt Kenzie, and come be polite.”

“I am polite!” Harry draped his arm over my shoulder and guided me forward to the table with everyone else. “So, what do we have here? Shirts and hats and loads of official One Direction merchandise?”

“We’re spoiling her.” Liam tossed a pen to Harry. “Why? Because we can. And you deserve it, don’t you Cella?”

She giggled.

“I like you, Liam.”

“I like you too, love.”

Harry signed the hat, shirt, bag, and three posters for Marcella. I’d never seen her smile so much before, not because she wasn’t a happy child, but because her life was hard sometimes. Marcus worked a lot or was deployed. Her mother was a crack whore and she was with a babysitter most of the time. These guys were treating her like a princess and it was so, so kind of them. There was no way I could thank them enough. They had no way of knowing about our lives but, in general, just seemed like truly nice guys.

But then I saw the guy with the clipboard. Again. Jesus, somebody needed to grab that guy and shove him in a closet or something. “Boys, the first group is ready to come in.”

My heart plummeted in my chest. Fuck.

I tried to smile at Harry. “I seriously cannot thank you enough for this, Hazza. Marcella has been so excited for tonight, just to be in the same stadium as you. But this? This has been the pinnacle of her entire four years of life.”

He laughed and pulled me into his arms. He hugged me tightly, cradling the back of my head with one hand. His other hand held me close to him. “Mmmm…Kenzie, this has quite literally been the best ten minutes of my year. Maybe the last few years.”

“Oh, Hazza.” I looked up him, resting my chin on his chest. “I am so proud of you, of all this. I knew you could—and of all the people I know, you deserve this the most.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite bring himself to form the words. His arms felt amazing around me. I didn’t want the moment to end, his eyes locked on mine; his body pressed against mine. This was the kind of moment that should change everything, right? Like in a movie: the sexy guy grabs the girl and says, ‘You complete me.’

But of course that didn’t happen. Instead, another male voice—this time, firmer and with the audible expectation of being listened to—spoke up from the doorway. “Harry. We really need to get this started.”

His brows creased and this strange, frustrated look knitted his forehead into a tense frown. “I’m so sorry, Kenzie.”

I touched my fingertips to his lips. “Hazza, it’s okay. Really. I understand.”

He sighed and pulled me into another tight hug. “Thank you for coming tonight, Kenz. I…um…it was so wonderful to see you again. You’re…you’re so beautiful now. All grown up.”

My cheeks heated up as I blushed. “Take care of yourself, Hazza.” I tried to smile cheerfully at him, but I could feel my lips quiver. God damn it. Ten minutes after ten years? I felt like my heart was breaking all over again. Keep it together. “All my favorite memories of Holmes Chapel are of you.”

“Oh, Little One…” He slowly let me go, brushing his hair back from his face. “I hope you enjoy the show, Kenzie love.”

“I will, Hazza.” I smiled at him again, awkwardly letting his hand slide through mine as we parted. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I could feel tears pricking the backs of my eyes and I quickly turned, taking the longest strides as I could to catch up with Marcus and Marcella. She was beaming ear to ear, clutching the t-shirt to her chest. Marcus gave me a funny look. “Are you okay, Kenz?”

“Swell.”

He stared at me and I knew, without a doubt, he didn’t believe me. We had that so called twin connection: we didn’t have to always say what we were thinking, we just knew. And he knew that my feelings for Harry had somehow slid past “childhood friends” in less than ten minutes together.

Despite what he may have thought—or known for that matter—he pulled the printed tickets out of his pocket and glanced at them. “I hope you brought your walking shoes, Kenz, because we’re sitting up with the lighting guy I think.”

“Well, good, in the time it’ll take us to exit the stadium, there’ll be slim to no traffic left and getting home will be a breeze.” I was forcing myself to stare at the top of Marcella’s head. I didn’t want to look back at Harry and see him treating some random meet and greet chick like he’d treated me. I wanted to leave with the assumption that his affection was real.

“Kenzie!”

I stopped in my tracks. It was Harry.

This time I turned and looked; he was running over to me. I took a quick moment to appreciate his skin tight black jeans and a loose fitting grey t-shirt. That body…Jesus, he was muscular in all the right places. I had to stop staring—we were friends. You don’t stare gratuitously at the kid you learned about both frog dissection and sex ed with; we’d made cookies together and played video games and went swimming and jumped rope together and all that shit. He was my best friend. But damn, he had a perfect V shape: his waist was trim and tight, while his arms and chest were crazy muscular and strong.

He ran his hand through his hair again. “Hey, I was just thinking…I mean, you don’t have to, but I was thinking maybe you could hang out after the show? I mean, maybe we could all go out for a drink or something afterwards. Catch up, I mean…it’s just…” his cheeks reddened. “I’ve lost you for ten years, I don’t want to lose you again after only a few minutes.”

“Oh, Hazza.” I smiled at him, again feeling my bottom lip quiver. “Marcus is my ride. He has to get Cella home before midnight.”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah, she turns into a pumpkin if we get home late. But if Kenz wants to stay, I can either come back and pick her up, or whatever. Whatever works for everyone, I don’t care dude. I trust you. Her, not so much. But you, Haz? Sure.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to be a hassle.”

“You’re not.” Harry handed me his cell phone. “Put your number in so I can text you after we’re done. You can ride with me. We’ll just have to find a place to meet.”

I took his cell phone and keyed in my number. He’d already keyed in my name. “I’ll blend with exiting concert goers until you text…or I get escorted out of the stadium, whichever comes first.”

He chuckled. “Give me your phone, too. Where are you guys sitting?”

I handed him my phone and then glanced over my shoulder at Marcus. “With the lighting guy, right Cheapy McCheapster?”

“Hey, by the time I could get the night off all the good seats were purchased. And, no matter how far back our friendship goes, Haz, I’m not spending six hundred American dollars—per ticket—to get floor seats. I’m sorry, but no.”

Harry keyed his number into my phone and then looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “I’ll see what I can do. Text me when you get to your seats, okay? It might take me some time, but….I want to see Miss Marcella when I’m singing. What’s your favorite song, sweetheart?”

Cella smiled at him, she didn’t even hesitate. “What Makes You Beautiful.”

“Well, you are beautiful Miss Marcella.” He leaned over to me, sliding my phone into my back pocket and hugging me again. “And so are you, Kenzie.”

My breath caught in my throat again but I managed to smile at him, nudging him with my elbow. “Text me.”

“I will, Kenz. Don’t you worry about that.”

Notes

Hey guys!! Trying a new storyline out. Let me know what you think!