Chapter Thirty Three
By the time I sleep off the rest of my hangover and the pleasurable assault Clay did to my body, the man in question is nowhere to be seen.
Rhys is in the kitchen, a hand towel thrown over his bare shoulder.
He’s topless otherwise, an inked god moving around the appliances like it’s the first time he’s seeing them.
I slide into a stool at the island, content to watch the flex of his muscles, the way his veins pop along the length of his arms. Even the lower V running into his gray sweatpants appears to be extra delectable today.
“Keep staring at me like that, I’ll bend you over this counter and rebrand every inch that fucker dared to touch,” Rhys lifts a spatula and points it at my face. I bite back a smile and openly ogle him again, just to see what he’ll do.
Rhys groans, returning to his task of transferring eggs from a frying pan to two plates.
My keen sense of smell picks up on the burnt underside without me needing to see it, and the toast that pops from the toaster is equally as black.
If Rhys notices, he doesn’t show it. At least the coffee he slides my way looks and smells heavenly, due to the machine that crafted it.
Rhys throws the pan and utensils into the basin, the view beyond the window obscured by a downfall of rain.
The sky above is dark, making it difficult to judge what time of day it is.
I’d guess around early afternoon. I could ask Rhys, or better yet, ask if he knows where I’ve left my phone.
It’s probably tucked between the sofa cushions and completely dead.
I’ve become detached to the device since all forms of technology started being used to spy on me.
It’s rather freeing actually, but at some point, I should probably check if Aunt Marg has been trying to contact me.
“Where is Clay anyway?” I ask instead, taking a sip of my coffee.
“He ran away, said he’s never coming back so you should just give yourself over to me,” Rhys replies, joining my side with our ultra-late breakfasts in hand. I roll my eyes at him, before looking at the plate before me. Oh nutsacks, I’m really going to have to eat this.
Cradling my cup, I wait for Rhys to try his food first, watching the way his face pinches. His fork is thrown down with a clutter, making my receivers ring slightly.
“This tastes like horseshit,” he growls, his shoulders going rigid. I laugh behind my hand, sliding my plate away to join his discarded one.
“I can’t say I’m a connoisseur for animal feces, but I’ll take your word for it.” At Rhys’ resentful snarl, I laugh harder, leaning into his side. It really is the thought that counts. “Leave the cooking to me next time.” This changes his own demeanor in an instant.
“So there’s going to be a next time,” he grins.
It takes everything in me to not let my smile slip.
Thanks to Rhys’ father, every little notion I give either of the guys about a possible future is like scattering breadcrumbs.
What was something we were simply enjoying, coasting by on what felt right at the time, has now become an impending sentence.
Both Rhys and Clay have claimed a piece of my heart.
To lose one now would sever the connection and cause half of the muscle to wilt away.
Jarring me from what was due to be a long, awkward silence, the front door bangs open, followed by a yell.
“Harper Addams!” Addy screams, stomping through the house like a woman on a mission. I frown, turning on the stool to watch her approach. The stiffness of her spine doesn’t match the playfulness of her purple dungarees and rainbow embellished high top sneakers. “Where the hell have you been?!”
“Um…here,” I gesture to Rhys’ house as if it’s obvious. It’s not as if she’s not staying in one of the spare rooms upstairs whenever her busy schedule allows it.
“I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour! Have you heard the news yet?” I withhold a joke there, asking if she’s mocking me, since her face is the image of seriousness. It doesn’t sit right beneath her perfectly contoured make-up and artful cat eye.
Rhys, who had been clearing away the plates, steps behind Addy and effectively cages her in.
His eyes are narrowed on her back, the tic in his jaw beating.
He’s still convinced my roommate had something to do with everything that’s been happening to us.
In my heart, I know there’s no way. She was my first real friend and has no reason to want to harm me.
Oblivious to his lingering, Addy continues in a flurry of panic.
“The police have made an arrest. They know who started the fire.”
My eyes widen, the room around me falling still. As if I’ve switched off my implants, the sound of rain pelting the window suddenly stops. My eyebrow hitches, as does my breath, while Addy’s nervousness increases.
“But?” I encourage, sensing there is more she wants to say. Addy’s features clench with sympathy as if she’s about to deliver bad news.
“He says he’ll only speak to you.”
My gut drops, nothing but air beneath my feet as I struggle to stay upright on the bar stool.
A wave of nausea sweeps over me, a reality I hadn’t dared to hope for starting to fabricate around me.
Rhys has gone a paler shade, his nostrils flared and fists clenching at his sides.
I don’t want to dig any deeper into Addy’s revelation, hesitant to shatter the comfort I’d found here.
With Clay and Rhys both staying under this roof, with my phone shut off from the outside world, it felt safe. It felt like home.
Swallowing thickly, Rhys asks the burning question for me.
“Who is it?”
“You don’t have to do this.” Rhys’ hand clamps down on my thigh in an attempt to keep me in his car. I stare out at the looming building beyond the passenger window, its stone facade streaked dark from the recent rain. A heavy sigh drags through me.
“Yeah, I really do,” I nod. I still can’t quite grasp what Addy told me.
I need to see it with my own eyes, and I need answers.
It doesn’t make any sense. I should say goodbye to Rhys, but I already know he has no intention of letting me walk into that station alone.
Officers drift down the wide steps, their badges catching the damp evening light as a few slow, clocking the Porsche parked amongst their police cars.
Visitors parking is over the road, but Rhys doesn’t care for convention.
Exiting, I press my back against the car and steady my breathing.
The building is so tall, I have to crane my neck back to see the top of it.
The last of a passing downpour sprinkles my cheeks, but that’s not the reason I wrap my arms around myself.
Not even my thickest, purple sweater can eradicate the chill seeping bone deep and stemming from fear.
Beyond those double doors, held in an interrogation room, is the man they say tried to kill me.
Rhys’ arm wraps around me and I instinctively reach for Clay’s hand, before remembering he didn’t come with us.
I have left him several messages, telling him where we’ll be should he go back to the frat house, but something tells me Clay needs some space.
I’m used to his to and fro, hot and cold demeanor, but it still hurts.
Before I allow Rhys to talk me out of it, I stride up the stone steps, a female officer holding the door open for us on her way out.
I instantly regret wearing my receivers.
The lobby buzzes with noise and movement, phones ringing, boots skidding on tile, the faint hiss of a coffee machine somewhere in the distance.
I spot a desk through the bustle and weave toward it.
A sheet of clear Perspex separates me from a hulking man on the other side, his huge shoulders crammed into a navy shirt and the wealth of facial hair covering the bottom half of his face reminding me of a bear.
His pen looks tiny in his claw-like hand as he scrawls across forms. I toy with the edge of my cuff nervously, waiting for his attention before muttering the name of the person I’m here to see.
“Take a seat,” he grumbles, pointing to a row of chairs with his pen.
I link my fingers with Rhys’ and lead him over.
As soon as his butt touches the seat, I cuddle into his side.
God, why am I so anxious? I’m finally going to get the answers I wanted.
I’m just worried I won’t like what I hear.
Usually this is the point I would turn my hearing off and act ignorant, but I doubt that’ll work this time.
Rhys’ fingers draw patterns across my back while we wait, his other hand tapping a rhythm on my thigh.
I doubt he realizes how effortlessly he’s comforting me, something that would have been so unnatural to him a few months ago.
As it stands, he’s lost to his own thoughts and I spiral back into mine.
We’re ignored for the most part, except for a few curious glances from officers.
Granted, with his tattoos and scowl, Rhys looks like he’s on the wrong side of the cells they have here, but there’s so much more to him than the facade he prefers the world to see.
My head slumps against his shoulder and I worry the bear-ceptionist has forgotten we’re here until the main door bursts open.
Blond waves and muscled frame fills the doorway, relief crashing through my body and revealing a weight I didn’t know was settled there. Clay spots me, sweeping me up into his arms as if we haven’t seen each other for weeks. We’re worlds away from where we were this morning.
“I’m sorry, Beautiful. Kenneth was freaking out, trashing our dorm.
I had to talk him down from the ledge.” Clay sits me back down with a kiss to my forehead.
As we sit, Rhys stands, putting distance between us that feels like a void.
I watch him head over to the main desk, wiping away my frown to focus on Clay.