Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Playing: “Chemtrails Over The Country Club” by Lana Del Rey
When Sam comes into the kitchen the next morning, I already have bagel sandwiches prepared for us and coffee in our designated mugs.
“Thank you,” he tells me as we sit down.
He has a happy smile on his face as he takes a sip from the lychee mug, and I can’t help admiring his features, how handsome he is, even this early in the day.
His hair sits perfectly, and his white button-up looks casual with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
We sit in silence, and then a text comes up on my phone.
Riley’s face shows up, his skin pink from the cold, as he waves and then shows our siblings playing in the snow.
They’re covered from head to toe, their hoods lined with fur.
I can barely make out our youngest sibling’s face from beneath the white fuzz, his toothy smile beaming as the others sled in the background.
The text comes with a single question: “Is it snowing there yet?”
“Did it snow last night?” I ask.
I start to get up to check the window, but Sam shakes his head. “Not enough to stick. I hear it might happen later this week, though.”
That makes me slightly sad, even though snow is incredibly inconvenient. Something about it reminds me of home. I sit back down, and Sam nods his head toward my phone.
“Is that your family?”
I look down and see the paused screen, a smile forming at the tip of my lips. “Yeah. This is my older brother, Riley. He lives at home with all the others.”
“It looks like a big family.”
Although it seems crazy, I can’t help the smile that blooms. “There are six of us. Adam, the youngest, just started sixth grade this past year.”
His eyes widen. “Wow, that sounds chaotic.”
“It fucking was,” I say with a laugh. “Riley likes that chaos, but I like being somewhere quieter. It’s easier to think.”
Sam nods, looking deep in thought, before he shakes it away and asks, “What do your parents do?”
I never get to talk about my family, mainly because it feels weird to bring it up.
As if my two lives are morphing into one temporarily.
Stacia and Rory know the basics, but otherwise, my memories of my family are my own.
Still, Sam’s green apple scent is so calming, so I find myself telling him everything I can.
From my parents’ ordinary jobs, to what life was like growing up, to having a bunch of siblings.
Our favorite places to eat, which park we spent most of our time at, to Riley’s and my favorite things to do together.
“It sounds like you’re all really close,” he comments, but despite his smile, there’s something sad in his tone.
“Maybe too close, to be honest. I like being away. Maybe that makes me a bad person.”
“No,” Sam immediately says. “You are a lot of things, Opal Morrissey, but a bad person is not one of them.”
“Oh.” I think I enjoyed hearing that from his lips just a little bit too much. “What am I, then?”
His eyes trail over to mine, green orbs that take my breath away a bit too easily. They peer into mine, then they look down. Is he looking at my chin?
“You’re not what I expected,” he finally says.
The sentence lingers in the air between us.
The more it lingers, the more my heart starts to thump harshly.
When the intimacy of the moment begins to feel like too much, I turn and take a sip of my own coffee, trying to let the caffeine seep into the place where I’d like another type of heat to be.
“So,” I reply after swallowing my coffee. “What’s your family like?”
If it weren’t for my mornings with him, I may not have noticed the way his face pinches with unease. He quickly cools his features, though, and continues as if the question didn’t hit any kind of nerve.
“It’s just my grandmother, actually. She raised me,” he informs me.
“Oh,” I reply, trying to shift the conversation. “Do you talk to her often?”
He nods, his lip curving up slightly. “I try to call her as much as I can, but she really hates her new phone. She prefers to see me and hasn’t quite figured out how to use FaceTime.”
I crack a smile. “Where does she live?”
“Pennsylvania.”
“That’s cool. And not too far away. What made you choose Bensen?”
His lips flatten again, the question causing our conversation to hit another bump in the road. I wish he could open up to me, but I don’t know why he would. I’m just an omega living in their spare bedroom. There’s no reason why he should spill his deepest secrets to me.
But the way his brow furrows, how the memory of something unspoken looks haunting behind his eyes, I wish we could throw all the logistics out the window. I’d like nothing more than to let him lay everything out in front of me, so that I can love him rather than just the thought of him.
I let him dismiss my question, but a sadness lingers. I go back to eating my sandwich, the silence suffocating in its wake.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, his knuckles white from the grip he has on his mug.
“No, it’s okay,” I respond, cloaking my disappointment. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just curious.”
He’s so incredibly still, his mind still locked on the thing he can’t voice. So, I give him some of my truth to cover up the sting of lost memories.
“I like being in this house,” I tell him. “My time here has been really enjoyable.”
This time, when he looks at me, there is a glow that was missing before. “We enjoy having you here, too. Kit hasn’t been this enthusiastic in months. You two really mesh well together.”
I glimpse back to yesterday, to just how well we meshed together. My face burns with a heat as I think about it, about all the sounds and movements, how I can still feel him grazing over my skin.
And how he kissed me goodbye at midnight to crawl into Sam’s bed, his lips bruised and juicy and every bit as magical as I thought they would be.
“Yeah, we do,” I finally say through a cough as I try to hide behind the bagel in my hand. “He’s great. He feels like my best friend.”
Sam gets a dopey look on his face. “Yeah. He’s easy to be around, isn’t he?”
I nod. “He’s a lunatic.”
Sam barks out a laugh that heals a part of my soul. “The absolute best kind. It really balances us out. I don’t know if you noticed, but Thatcher and I aren’t the most—”
“Lively?” I tease.
“Exactly. Too monotone. Sometimes, I fear that we pull Kit down to a more reserved level. Which is a travesty—he deserves to let his freak flag fly.”
I gasp, which actually makes Sam flinch. “What?” he asks.
“Nothing, it’s just…” I let out a chuckle. “I never thought I’d hear the Sam Langley say ‘freak flag fly.’”
He returns my amusement. “How was I supposed to say it?”
“I don’t know. Like…” I put on my best Sam impression, all serious and professional. “‘He really deserves to let his normal nerd nest lay.’”
He cracks up. “Normal nerd nest? There’s nothing normal about that.”
“Well.” I shrug. “I’m guessing Kit’s nest will be full of explicit manga and blankets with weird textures.”
“He has already picked out a few weird textures,” Sam agrees, his smile finally back to normal. “I’ll have to suggest the manga idea, though.”
“I’m sure he’s already thought about it.”
His smile is soft and content. “I sure hope so.”
The rest of breakfast is easy, and I avoid any topics that might put that sad look on his face. I make it a mission, then, to become a safe place for him. I’d like to be someone he can confide in, and maybe he can be one for me, too.