Chapter 41 Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
I’m exhausted after three days of having sex with Ivy.
But it’s worth the two cups of coffee I had to drink before leaving the house.
Playing hooky from work yesterday to spend the day with her was the icing on the cake. I plan to do it again soon.
But duty calls, and I can’t stay in bed any longer.
Ivy makes coffee while I start preparing breakfast. She’s too stubborn to let me do it alone and immediately starts helping.
Drew walks into the house. I hear his footsteps as he follows the smell of coffee and food into the kitchen. He stops in the doorway, eyebrows shooting up. “The two of you are making breakfast?”
I scowl at him over my shoulder, immediately becoming defensive. He starts explaining before I get a word out.
“That’s great. I’ve just never seen…this.” His eyes dart around the room. “Psycho cat isn’t around, is he?”
“Hi, Drew. Welcome home.” Ivy shoots me an amused look before looking around the kitchen. “Don’t see him.” She shrugs. “Mr. Pickles was in here.”
Drew’s shoulders relax. “Thanks.” He heads to a chair and pulls it out. Ivy grabs a mug from the cupboard, pours coffee into it, and hands it to him.
“Was it an eventful trip?” I ask, a bemused expression on my face.
“Thanks, Ivy. You’re the best.” He lifts it, about to take a sip, his eyes on me.
Before he can answer, Mr. Pickles darts into the kitchen and jumps onto Drew’s shoulder. He screams and drops the mug. Ivy’s close enough to grab it before it tips over.
“Aw. He’s welcoming you home,” she says with a smile.
Meanwhile, Drew completely loses it. He jumps up, arms flailing like he’s trying to knock a bat from his hair. Mr. Pickles has his claws dug into his button-down, holding on for dear life. He flicks his tail, clearly not happy with my brother’s antics, smacking him in the face.
“Help. Your Demon Cat’s trying to kill me,” he cries. His hand bumps Mr. Pickles, who digs in as he slides. There’s a ripping sound before the cat lets out a pissed-off meow and lands on the kitchen table.
He hisses at Drew, then stalks to me. He leaps, and I catch him, cradling him in my arms.
“He ripped my shirt!” Drew yells, eyes wide.
“I’ll buy you another one.” I scratch Mr. Pickles’s ears, and he purrs.
“He didn’t mean to. He was just trying to hang on,” Ivy says, defending our cat. “He was trying to sit on your shoulder. That means he likes you.”
“Likes me?” Drew sputters. “He spends half his time plotting my death.”
“You’re overreacting,” I calmly say. “Look at him. Does he look vicious?”
“No, cause you’re holding him,” Drew mutters. “Normally, yes. He looks at me with those demon eyes—”
“Maybe if you didn’t call him demon eyes or Satan’s spawn,” Ivy suggests helpfully.
My brother shakes his head. “I live in an insane asylum.”
“Don’t like it, move out.” My voice is calm and rational. I don’t mind Drew living here. In fact, I’ve gotten used to it. But if it’s between my cat and him, he’s not going to like the choice I make.
He blows out a breath, finally calming down. “Choosing a cat over your own brother.” He shakes his head. “What happened to family loyalty?”
“I’m very loyal.” I set Mr. Pickles on the chair so I can flip the pancakes. “He’s my family, too.” I give him a quick scratch behind the ears. “Aren’t you?” I coo.
Drew stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. I ignore him and concentrate on the pancakes.
Ivy is still giggling. “Mornings are always eventful around here.”
I smile at her before giving her a quick peck on the lips. “You know it.”
My brother pretends to gag behind me. I flip him the middle finger. “Keep it up and you won’t get any breakfast.”
He slides back into the chair, his eyes on the cat. “I’ll behave.”
Ivy and I exchange a grin.
“That’s what I thought,” I say with a grin.
I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe in systems. Cause and effect. Predictable inputs producing predictable outcomes. It’s how I’ve lived my life—controlled, contained, and manageable.
Which is why I immediately notice the porch light is on when I get home from work. At noon on a bright, sunny day.
Yeah, I left work early. But since I’ve been a workaholic for so long, no one said anything. I wouldn’t have cared if they did. It wouldn’t change the outcome.
I stare at it like it might explain itself if I give it enough time. I never leave that light on. Light draws attention. Attention invites people who think they’re welcome to knock on my door.
I stand in front of the light longer than necessary, cataloging possibilities.
Ivy could have turned it on this morning and forgotten to turn it off. She cooks, cleans, and rearranges things without realizing she’s doing it. She may have gotten distracted.
That’s the explanation I settled on.
I unlock the door and flip it off, stepping inside.
“Welcome home.” Drew looks up from where he’s perched on the couch, his laptop on his thighs.
“I want it on record that I did indeed return early this morning, so there will be no swimming in the lake naked.” He chuckles and shakes his head.
“I still can’t believe you thought I’d get back with her. ”
I shrug. “It was an eventful morning. And stranger things have happened.”
He nods at the keys in my hand. “It’s really strange that you lock every door except the patio door. Day and night.”
“Habit. I feel safer locking doors behind me.”
Drew looks at Ivy as she appears in the doorway. “There’s one exception.”
Ivy smiles brightly at me, then hurries over, throwing her arms around my neck. I hug her to me, breathing in her vanilla sugar scent.
I lock eyes with Drew, who has a funny smile that makes me uneasy. Like I’m doing something I shouldn’t.
It hits me that he’s never seen me hug a woman until Ivy.
Mr. Pickles bats at my ankles. I laugh, releasing Ivy to pet him. He makes his odd purring sound when I scratch his ears.
“Hey, boy. Did you get in trouble today?”
Drew snorts. “That cat is nothing but trouble. He peed on my damn comforter.” He gives him a scathing glare. Mr. Pickles responds by hissing.
“You spilled his cat food,” Ivy says, hands on her hips. “You should’ve known he was going to retaliate.”
“Accident.” Drew waves his hand. “That damn cat looks for any reason to torment me.” His eyes lock with mine. “As do you, with your PDA.”
I roll my eyes, not acknowledging the PDA comment. “Are you sure you’re not related to the cat? You bicker like your siblings.”
Drew looks offended—and so does Mr. Pickles. His tail swishes from side to side before he gives me a warning strike with his paw.
“Point taken,” I say, chuckling. “I won’t insult you like that again, Mr. Pickles.”
My brother snorts. “Oh, sure. Side with that cat. I’m just chopped liver.” He stares at him. “Did you ever get him to the vet? I still don’t trust that I don’t need a rabies shot.”
“He has an appointment tomorrow.” Ivy leans down and scratches the cat’s neck. “He doesn’t have rabies. Right, Mr. Pickles?”
Drew looks doubtful. The cat gives him a smug look.
“Why did you name him that, anyway?” Drew asks.
I look over at Ivy. I’ve never asked her why she named him that. I just assumed it was an Ivy quirk. She eats pickles, so I just figured she likes them so much that she named the cat after them.
“The first time I saw him, he was gingerly licking pickle juice from an empty jar my dad left outside. You could tell he hated it, but he was so skinny…” She sighs, her face etched in pain from the memory.
“Skinnier than he is now?” Drew looks over the rim of his reading glasses. “Hell, he looks like he only weighs two pounds.”
Ivy scoops him up, pressing him against her chest. “He weighs more than two pounds. I’m slowly fattening him up. He loves cheese. That’s helping.”
“Maybe you should change his name to Mr. Cheese?”
Ivy shots Drew a dark look. “Doesn’t have the same ring as pickles.”
They bicker while I move through the living room, checking the windows out of habit more than concern. They’re locked. But the blinds are angled slightly off.
Mr. Pickles is known for getting short bursts of energy and tearing around the house, so he may have done it.
It’s nothing alarming. I’ve lived alone long enough to know houses shift. People forget small things. Ivy especially. She moves through spaces instinctively, not methodically.
As they continue trading insults over the cat, I walk into the kitchen and check the back door. The deadbolt is engaged, but the handle rattles faintly when I test it—looser than it should be.
I crouch, inspecting the latch. Old hardware. Humidity. Temperature changes. Any of those things could be affecting it.
I straighten and glance through the glass at the yard.
The hedge line is still. The trees stand motionless in the night air. No wind. No movement.
Stop looking for problems.
This is Hollow Creek. People leave doors unlocked. They wave. They gossip. They post Ring footage like it’s community theater.
I turn away from the window.
That’s when I notice the mat has shifted an inch or two.
My brows shoot up. I centered it with the doorframe when I moved in. I remember because things being off bothers me. And I always make sure it’s in its place every day.
I nudge it back into place with my shoe.
Enough nitpicking at things.
I wash my hands, dry them, and pour a glass of water.
But when Ivy and Drew come into the kitchen, Mr. Pickles follows them like he’s plotting more vengeance against my brother, and I forget all about it.
It’s late when I turn the movie off. Ivy is curled against my chest, fast asleep.
I gently scoop her up. Mr. Pickles lifts his head from the couch across from us, interest in his eyes. His sleep schedule is still erratic. He often comes to bed with us but wakes up a few hours later and begins terrorizing the house.
He follows behind me as I carry her to my bedroom, the bell on the new collar Ivy gave him jingling.
I tuck her in bed, then return to the living room to clean up.
I take one last look around, making sure everything is in its place, and then shut off the light.
My bare feet pad against the floor. The house is quiet. Drew went to bed hours ago, tired from the long drive home.
I’m in the hallway when I catch the faintest sound. I stop, cocking my head to listen.
But it’s silent.
I turn around, padding back to the patio doors. I locked them tonight, since Ivy’s here with me.
They’re still locked.
Shrugging, I head down the hallway. But the eerie feeling doesn’t leave.
The house feels… watched. Like someone standing just outside the circle of light.
I’m probably overreacting.
I stop in the doorway of my bedroom, watching Ivy sleep. Her breathing is slow and steady. Long lashes rest against her cheeks.
This is what happens when you let someone in. You start imagining threats where there are none.
I step inside, quietly closing the door.
Taking off my shirt, I toss it on the floor, followed by my pants.
I slip beneath the covers, gathering her close, breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo. She sighs and snuggles deeper into me.
But sleep doesn’t come easily.
I spend too much time staring into the darkness. The feeling that something is looming on the horizon won’t leave.