The Boy with the Blind Eyes

SIXTEEN

Tamsin shivered as the wind glided over her skin. She couldn't feel her fingers anymore, despite the warm, blue gloves encasing her fingers. She rubbed her hands together and blew into her fists, trying to thaw them out. Brett glanced at her and slung his arm across her shoulders, as he always seemed to be doing lately. But she didn't protest. There was something comforting about the thought of his arm over her. He sometimes felt like her shield, her protector from the world.

'Cold?' He asked, rubbing his hand up and down shoulder.

She blew a sigh into the air and watched as it formed in front of her, mingling with the chilled night air. Tamsin willed her legs to continue walking—even though they felt non-existent, like her sore fingers; numb from the cold. 'Nope,' she lied, fighting away a shiver.

A corner of Brett's mouth lifted, and he cocked a disbelieving brow at her. 'I can feel you shivering.'

'T-then why ask the question?' She was half-amused, half-annoyed at being in central park at this hour. They approached a large crowd cheering along to an indie rock band and she felt her spirits rise instantly. At least they were here now, and they could leave soon. Frowning thoughtfully at the older men rocking their way across the stage, she had to ask: 'Do you know them or something?'

Brett grinned. 'That obvious?'

'Well, no offense or anything, but they look a little old.'

He scoffed and laughed at the same time. 'How is that not offensive?'

They approached the front of the stage, where the band was just finishing up their last song. Somewhat thankful that their meal had come out late causing them to miss the last half of the show, Tamsin smiled at Brett. As the audience began to disperse, he clapped the hand of a man onstage; who was distinctly opposite from Brett: dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin.

The man pulled Brett onto the stage, laughing and clapping his shoulder. 'What'd you think of the show?'

'I'm sure it was great, dad, but Tamsin and I missed it,' Brett replied, extending a hand down to help Tamsin onto the stage. Brett smiled at his father, holding Tamsin close to his side. He was always doing that, always touching her and keeping her close to him. 'Dad, this is Tamsin Gilbert. Tamsin, this is my father, Ricardo.'

Tamsin smiled at the short, balding man, who was bravely sporting a leather jacket with the band's logo on the back. 'It's a pleasure, sir.'

'Please, darling, call me Ricardo,' he smiled back at her warmly. 'Brett didn't mention he had a girlfriend back at school.'

Brett coughed exaggeratedly, his face turning red with embarrassment. 'It's recent, dad,' he muttered quickly. 'Where's mom?'

'Behind the curtain,' Ricardo jerked his thumb to the large, purple curtain draping against the back of the stage. 'Delia!' He yelled, poking his head behind the fabric impatiently. 'Delia, Brett and his girlfriend are here. Come meet her, darling.'

A plump, yet tallish lady appeared out of the curtain, making her way up the stairs, Ricardo holding her hand. She had rosy cheeks, incredible blue eyes like her son's, and the lightest blonde hair Tamsin had ever seen. Brett was so much like his mother, it startled her.

She smiled at Tamsin happily, dimples appearing in her cheeks. 'Hello, my dear,' she swept Tamsin into a huge hug. It was like hugging her mother. Delia was round and plump, which made her hugs all the better. Tamsin relaxed instantly, completely at ease with the woman. Pulling away, Delia took Tamsin's hand, shaking it a few times. 'I'm Delia, sweetie. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

'Tamsin,' she replied. She felt her lips pull up at the sight of Delia's pleasant face. She was the kind of woman who had an infectious persona. 'The pleasure is all mine, really.'