33. Kelly
Chapter 33
W e wake snuggled together. Steve still wears his long sleeve sleep shirts and pants, and I wonder briefly how that’s gonna work when it gets hot in the summer. His eyes open, and shock flits briefly across his features before he settles. He yawns until his jaw cracks. “So, you think they’ll be back this evening?”
I hate to dash his hopes, but one of us should be practical. “Probably not…I mean, it’s somewhere around twenty-eight hours to drive, even if they’re speeding, they’ll still need to stop for food and fuel, so probably closer to thirty. Without stopping at all they’d be home at ten tonight…but it’ll probably be some time tomorrow depending on if Garret or Teddy are comfortable driving the truck, and if Sam’ll let ’em. ”
He nods along, like he was expecting this. “I don’t like it, but it’s just as well. We can start getting the nesting stuff washed now, unpacking all his boxes. I overnighted the new mattress…do you think he’ll like it? Shit, should we have waited? I just wanted to get everything ready, so he’d be able to relax when he got here.”
Steve looks nervously around the room, and I’m torn on the response. With anyone else, I’d offer them a hug, other than last night we have a pretty solid no touching rule that works for both of us. “Um…Vee.” His eyes twitch, and I’m not sure if I’m using Teddy’s nickname to get a rise out of him or just as camaraderie at this point. “How did you order a big ol’ mattress overnight shipping, wasn’t that like crazy expensive?”
His eyes light with mischievous glee, and he smirks at me. “Yeah, it was.” His grin is from ear to ear now. “Good thing I used Dad’s credit card that was in my online wallet. Plus, since I put a rush on it, hopefully he won’t realize it until it’s already here.” His face has taken on an almost maniacal expression now, and I draw back as he keeps going. “It serves the old fucker right, it’s not like he can’t fucking afford it anyway. Asshole.”
I stretch after I scramble off the side of the bed, and he marches into the bathroom, ready to use up all the danged hot water…again. We gotta talk to Sam about this, try to figure out a solution before I kill Steve. I’m puttering around in the closet trying to find something comfortable to wear. I know Jake needs to go outside, but my knees still sting this morning, and I don’t feel quite up to facing the stairs .
Ok, I’ll admit it—I’m delaying so that Steve has to do it, so I can then sit on my butt and scoot down the stairs slowly, without Jake jumping on me, or having to bend my stupid legs. Eventually I pick out an older Inuyasha shirt that’s badly faded, and a pair of cutoffs. If we’re just gonna be working around the house today, there’s no point in wasting nice clothes.
Steve’s still in the bathroom, so I step out of the closet and pull my pajama top over my head so I can shimmy into a bra. It’s easier with more arm room that I don’t have in the closet. I get my top swapped out and shuck my sleep pants while sitting on the steps Sam built me, then I pull my shorts on.
Steam billows as the bathroom door opens, and I’m about to ask Steve to turn on the vent fan when he steps out in just a towel. I haven’t seen Steve topless yet. He always stays covered, even that time when I was super distracted by Garret, I thought it was strange he was between Teddy and Sam and still wearing a top that looked like long underwear.
He looks even more emaciated without clothes on, his hipbones jutting prominently and his ribs stark against his skin. But that’s all secondary to the tattoos, all black, loops and swirls completely cover from his collarbones down into the top of his towel. I don’t see any specific images, just black ink spinning and twisting across every inch of his skin, all the way down his arms and onto the backs of each finger. With his alabaster skin, he almost looks like some sort of tribal zebra.
Then I see it, one small dot of color. I would have missed it if I wasn’t staring so intently—I can’t help it, the design, or lack thereof is beautiful and chaotic. But one small spot, just over his heart there’s a black teddy-bear with a red heart on it.
It’s not until I’m stepping in for a better look that I realize Steve’s frozen, staring at me with a look of shock and horror. He blinks slowly and then scrambles into the closet and slams the door. There’s a loud thump—sounds like he’s thrown himself against the door. Not that I planned on invading his space. I’m pretty sure we surprised the heck out of each other.
I try waiting for a few minutes so he can come out, but it isn’t long before Jake starts whining at the door. Giving up on my brilliant plan to not injure my knees, I head out into the hallway where my cuddle buddy bounces up and down like he has built in pogo sticks. I take a death grip on the handrail and gingerly lower myself one step at a time until I get to the living room. Jake has run up and back down the stairs at least three times but at least we’re both still standing.
Treating my legs gently, I step into the kitchen and let him out the back door. He bounces past me, giving me a doggy smirk, and I wonder briefly if he couldn’t hold it earlier and made a mess somewhere in the house. We’ll find it soon enough if he did, but Jake is a good boy. So, I think he was just feeling saucy this morning.
Digging out a scoop of dog food for his bowl, I pour it in before grabbing the peanut butter puff cereal out of the pantry—heaving a sigh of relief that Steve hasn’t opened it yet, let alone eaten most of it. Jake scrambles at the back door right as I’m pulling down a couple of bowls, and I squeak, almost dropping the stupid things.
I feel lighter after our talk last night, but also on edge for some unknown reason. Maybe just missing my guys, maybe it was the look Steve threw me after his shower. I can ask when he gets downstairs. For now, I settle with running the coffee grinder, getting the pot set up, and pouring myself a bowl of breakfast. Jake watches me eat my cereal while I lean against the kitchen counter.
I put up the milk but leave the cereal and bowl out for Steve before I grab a table knife and go start opening boxes in the room down the hall. We can make a plan from there, if he wants to take ’em to the laundromat to wash all at once or just do several loads at home. My first thought was to get them all done quick, but with how sensitive omegas’ noses are, using a public washer and dryer would probably be a terrible idea. And it’s not sunny enough outside to hang everything out to dry.
I’ve grabbed all the still bagged up sheets and blankets in Teddy’s room and started making piles in the not-a-nest. Heck, I’m just gonna call this an office. Sam said there was one down here, and it’s too big to be a bedroom. Sheets go in one pile, blankets in another, and pillows in an ever increasing third. We can’t put those in the washer very easily, so I’ll have to ask Steve how to get ’em cleaned…and maybe make him roll around on them like they did all my shirts.
Five boxes in, and no end in sight. Four of them were pillows, though, so at least they weren’t heavy. This one, however, weighs a lot, and when I get it open, it’s full of additional sheets and mattress protectors, all tightly packed and sealed in together. Each item is tossed into its corresponding pile then the box is broken down and left by the door. Good thing I’m wearing an old shirt. It’s already covered in dust and cardboard flakes.
I’m not quite halfway through the stack when Steve walks in. He’s carrying his bowl of cereal and looking sheepishly at me, wearing one of his own shirts, with the same overshirt he’s worn since I met him. He looks around the room briefly before going to sit on the pile of pillows, but I cast a death glare his way right before his butt touches down.
“Are you seriously gonna be eating a bowl of cereal, with milk, all over these stupidly hard to clean pillows?” He looks from me to the pile before shuffling sideways and plopping himself on the floor, and I fight not to grumble any more as he shoves another spoonful in his mouth.
Ripping through the tape on the next three boxes while his spoon clinks in the bowl is kind of cathartic but doesn’t stop me from wanting to throw something at his head when he starts talking. “Um, Kelly, I…I’m sorry.” That draws me up short. “Just…people don’t see me without a shirt on, and it took me by surprise. I know it’s not…it’s not attractive. I kind of panicked and didn’t know how to react.”
He taps the spoon against the stoneware a few times, making a ‘tink, tink, tink’ sound before he speaks again. “I thought about saying something shitty about how I don’t care what you think of me, but I know I’d just be lashing out, and I’m trying really hard not to do that anymore.”
I stab my dull knife through a piece of packing tape and turn to look at the big alpha. “I wasn’t tryin’ to make you self-conscious, Steve. My legs still hurt, and while my cramps are mostly done, I was just kinda killin’ time in hopes that you’d go let Jake out and save me the risk of hurtin’ myself again today.”
His reply is a low, mumbled, “Sorry.”
At least he seems to be trying, and while we have a long way to go, I’m glad he’s making the effort. “I don’t know what you’re talking ’bout, anyway. Sure, you’re kinda skinny, but your tattoos are beautiful. Sorry if I got too much into your personal space tryin’ to look at ’em.”
He doesn’t say anything, and when I turn back towards him his ears and cheeks are red. His eyes flip up to mine, and he smiles at me. “Thanks Kelly, um…I got the one for Bear, but the others are mostly coverups. I don’t like people to see my skin, so tattoos were the easiest option.”
This is probably a terrible idea, but I stand up and walk over to the alpha, he starts shivering when my hand reaches out to take his bowl. He whines deep in the back of his throat and it sets my teeth on edge. But he still doesn’t stop me when I lift up the front of his shirt. All I can see are swirling patterns of tattoos.
I place my fingers on his stomach, tracing over a spiral pattern, and I can feel where the skin is rough and there’s a cratered area under the ink, it’s almost perfectly circular—about the size as a pencil eraser. My touch skates over his abdomen and there are several others hidden beneath the black cover—a few long lines that are raised and puckered, more of the small round ones, one larger area that feels almost slippery, like there aren’t any pores on the surface.
My mind rebels at what I’m feeling, and my eyes look up to meet his. His whole torso is covered in scars. I gently nudge him away from the wall and pull his shirt up in the back. There are more of them here, lots of the long lines, but some of the circles too, and the first thought in my mind is that there’s no way he could have reached to do these himself.
His throat makes a dry clicking sound, and he shudders again, as my fingers run down his arm, confirming the abuse someone must have inflicted on his entire torso. Before I’ve had a chance to figure out what I’m touching his whole body shivers and he bolts, holding his shirt down as he stares at me from across the room.
His eyes roll, and he looks ready to flee at any moment, so I take the only option left to me at this point. I don’t ask. It’s his trauma, and while I’d like for him to feel safe enough to share it with me one day, for now, he can keep it. “So, you wanna help me with boxes, or opening sheets up to get those started washing?"
All the air seems to rush out of him in a gust, and he gives me a shaky smile. “Let’s open some of the sheets in dark green, that way we can get those started washing while we finish with the boxes. ”
It’s sound logic, and so that’s what we do. The rest of the day is spent opening boxes, washing nesting stuff, avoiding talking about sensitive subjects, and waiting for a mattress delivery that doesn’t arrive until it’s almost dark outside.