Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
RAINE
I ’m exhausted. Like bone tired, never-want-to-open-my-eyes-again, exhausted. After restricting Drake’s access to track my location through my phone, I rested my temple against the cold passenger window and haven’t moved since. When Everett pulls up to his house, the front door is closed, and the porch light is on. People no longer litter the driveway, and the blinds are closed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it isn’t the same house.
The garage door lifts a second later, and Everett drives inside, cuts the ignition off, and turns to me in his seat. “You okay?”
“You’ve already asked me that question,” I point out.
He nods and, without another word, climbs out of the car. Honestly, it’s surprising how he isn’t forcing me to talk about something I don’t want to. If it was Drake? We would’ve gotten into a fight, and he would’ve accused me of shutting him out or hiding something, when really? I just want the quiet. The moment to process my thoughts without needing to justify them to another person. Is it so wrong? Then again, it doesn’t matter. Drake isn’t here, and if I never face him again, it’ll still be too soon. At least I don’t have to worry about walking on eggshells anymore. It has to count for something, doesn’t it?
When I realize Everett’s waiting for me by the hood, I force my body to move, climb out of the car, and keep my jacket pulled snug around me as I meet Everett by the headlights. Satisfied, he heads inside. I follow without a word.
It’s quiet. Either everyone’s asleep or hiding in their rooms, but I appreciate it. The quiet.
“Do you want to shower?” Everett murmurs.
When I don’t answer right away, he glances over his shoulder at me, and I nod. “Actually, yeah. A shower would be great.”
“Follow me.” He guides me toward the same bathroom we hid in earlier tonight on the main floor and pushes the door open. “Fresh towels are in the cabinet. I’ll leave a change of clothes on my bed in the room across the hall.”
“I can wear these,” I offer.
Road salt stains the bottom half of my jeans, and he stares at the discolored fabric. “Would you feel better if I borrowed some of my sister’s clothes for you?” he asks.
“You have a sister?”
His mouth lifts with the ghost of a smile. “Yeah. Her name’s Finley. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”
Panic sparks inside of me. “Oh, I don’t?—”
“She lives here,” he explains. “At least until the contractor finishes renovating her place next door. Pretty sure she’ll track you down herself if I don’t introduce you in the morning.”
If I had my car, I’d plan to sneak out before anyone wakes up, but since it's not an option, I guess I have no choice. Meeting Everett’s family wasn’t part of the plan when I called him. But now the ball’s already rolling, so I’m not sure what else I can do to stop it. It’s not like I can tell him no, either .
Forcing a smile, I fold my arms. “Okay, then. Uh, don’t worry about the clothes, though. Or at least, not your sister’s. I feel weird borrowing a stranger’s things.”
“Then it looks like you’re stuck with mine.” He grabs the door handle and closes the bathroom door, cutting me off from him without giving me a chance to argue. As I stare at the solid piece of wood for at least thirty seconds, the night crashes into me along with all its messy implications.
What do I do now?
Rocking back on my heels, I fold my arms and catch my reflection in the mirror. I look awful. Stringy hair. Smudged makeup. Swollen lip. Blocking out the sight, I undress and turn on the faucet, making sure the stream of water is as scalding as possible in hopes of burning away the consequences of tonight. But I’m not stupid enough to believe it’ll work.
My shower is quick because even though the hot water feels like heaven on my muscles, I’m desperate for a bed, so I barely give myself any time to enjoy it. I want nothing more than to go to bed and pretend tonight never happened.
After wrapping a towel around me, I open the door and find a neatly folded black T-shirt and black boxers waiting for me on a small side table. It most definitely wasn’t there when I entered the bathroom. Everett must’ve carried it from the family room so the clothes wouldn’t be sitting on the floor while I showered. My lips twitch at his thoughtfulness—or aversion to germs. Regardless, I pick the clothes up, dress, and wrap my wet hair in the towel. When I force myself to take one final look in the mirror, I frown. Yup. There’s definitely a cut along my bottom lip, and I’m more swollen than I expected. Leaning closer to my reflection, I gently touch the wound and wince, letting out a soft, resigned breath.
I can’t believe he hit me. Twice. Then again, maybe I can believe it. A tiger doesn’t change his stripes no matter how well he camouflages himself. And damn, he was quite the expert at camouflaging in the beginning.
Sleep , I remind myself. Everything will look better in the morning. It has to.
Tearing my attention from the mirror, I square my shoulders and flick the light off. The floor creaks softly beneath my feet as I tiptoe to the room across the hall and push the bedroom door open. A gray pillowcase is in Everett's hands, and he slips it over the bare pillow on the twin bed.
“I changed the sheets.” He glances at me again and frowns as he sets the pillow on the newly made bed. Rounding the edge of the mattress, he grabs something from his nightstand, offers it to me. When I don’t take the ointment, he untwists the cap and moves closer. Gently, he lifts my head, giving him a better look at my split lip. An undercurrent of frustration heats his icy blue gaze.
“Gonna fuckin’ kill him,” he says under his breath. Squirting a small dab of the ointment on his pointer finger, he spreads it along my cut. As he dabs at my lip, a hiss slips through my clenched teeth.
“Shit. Sorry,” he apologizes.
Sorry.
Up until this point, I was starting to wonder if apologies were even possible coming from the opposite sex. Guess I stand corrected.
I stay quiet and stare at the LAU logo above Everett’s heart on his T-shirt. I can feel his breath against my forehead. Peeking up at him, I confirm my assumption. Yup. He’s close. Really close. Standing over me. Looking sexy as sin with a furrowed brow as he stares at the damage from Drake’s hand.
It’s…strange. Instead of feeling trapped by being so close to him, I feel…protected. Safe, almost. And honestly? I can’t deci de whether or not I’m all right with it. With us being this close. With him looking at me like this. With pity, sure, but curiosity, too. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want to imagine it. What it would be like to have someone care. Not that he does. He doesn’t know me. He knows nothing about me. In his eyes, I’m nothing but a victim.
I should remember that.
I let his icy gaze hold mine for one more heartbeat. I clear my throat and drop my chin an inch. It isn’t much, but it’s enough. Enough to remind him he’s still touching me despite having already dabbed on whatever magic medicine he had hiding in his nightstand. As if only now realizing the same thing, he lets me go and steps back.
“Didn’t, uh, didn’t peg you for a twin bed kind of guy,” I note, anxious to change the subject.
He barely looks at the two beds on opposite sides of the room. “I share the room with Griff.”
“Oh.” I frown, confirming both beds are as empty as I initially assumed. “Where’s Griff sleeping?”
“On the couch.”
“I could?—”
“I know,” Everett interrupts. “And Griff knows, too. He doesn’t mind, though. After your phone call, he assumed I’d bring you back here to crash for the night, and I wouldn't want to let you out of my sight.”
I tilt my head in question as I register his comment, convinced I misheard him. “Y-you don’t want to let me out of your sight?”
His attention drops to my lips. “You should get some rest. Do you mind if I sleep in Griff’s bed?”
“This one’s yours?” I point to the bed closer to the window. The one he recently finished remaking.
He nods.
“Did you change Griffin’s sheets, too? ”
He nods again.
“You know, you could’ve saved yourself some time and only changed Griff’s.” I pause. “Actually, I should probably still sleep in his bed, and you should sleep in yours. Then you’ll only have to change one set of sheets tomorrow.”
“Just get in the bed,” he orders gruffly.
I don’t move. “Why?”
Squeezing the back of his neck, his frustration palpable, he grumbles, “So you’ll sleep in a stranger’s bed, but you don’t want to borrow their clothes?”
I open my mouth to argue but close it quickly. He makes a good point.
“Just…get some sleep.” He climbs into Griffin’s bed, turns on his side, and gives me his back while my feet stay planted on the ground. I can’t help it. I’m speechless. And confused.
What the hell?
“‘Night, Raine,” Everett mumbles.
It’s a hint. A nudge. A gentle push telling me I should get moving and go to bed. Then again, he’s right. I should. I’m absolutely exhausted. So much so, I may or may not be hallucinating since the last five minutes make almost zero sense, and so does Everett’s surliness.
Flicking the light off, I head to his bed and slip beneath the crisp sheets. It smells like detergent. I don’t know why I’m disappointed, but a small part of me is. I’m not sure what else I expected.
His cologne. That’s what I was expecting.
Biting back my groan, I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. “Goodnight, Everett.”