Chapter 5
Creed
I’ve never seen Millie upright, healthy, and with her eyes open.
Now, as Hyde steps aside, revealing his little sister, the first thought I have is: she looks nothing like her brother. She’s soft, short, cheeks pink, so fucking delicate while she shrugs her sleeves lower, hiding her dainty fingers.
Hyde’s taller than a tree, though still shorter than I am. Built like a bear without having to kill himself at the gym. It’s genetic. His father’s equally broad-shouldered. It’d be comical if he were shorter, but it works on his six-foot frame.
I imagined Millie taller. I imagined hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and Hyde’s stoic demeanor, but she’s the exact opposite.
The top of her golden-blonde head ends below my collarbones.
She’s skinny, her dusty pink jumper swallowing her whole and ending mid-thighs.
She stares at me with one deep-blue eye, the other half-blue, half-hazel and fuck.
.. if that isn’t enough to floor me, her full, perfectly heart-shaped lips sure are.
“Hey, Millie,” I say.
She opens her mouth, a greeting at the tip of her tongue, maybe a question, or my name, but she says nothing instead. Pinching those pouty lips, she seals herself behind a wall of silence.
Two hands grasp my shoulders as Dash peeks out of the house. “Hell yes, Mini Ward! Good to see I’m not the only one who gets an immediate cold shoulder.”
She relaxes but doesn’t smile.
“Will you stand out here all night, or...?” he continues, extending his hand between Hyde and me.
She only hesitates a moment before taking it.
“Is tonight the night you have a drink with me, Mini?”
I follow them, my ears straining to hear her answer, but she just shakes her head.
“Oh, come on. Just one.”
Another headshake instead of a simple no, and my pulse spikes. My hands ball into fists as I rein in the frustration creeping up my spine. I knew this was a possibility. I knew she might not talk to me right off the bat.
She needs time. She just fucking met me. She just fucking got here. But the same was true when she met Noah, yet he got a hi within ten seconds according to Hyde. And she’s been talking to Dash, too, so why the sudden muteness?
We enter the kitchen where Dash makes a dash for the fridge.
“I’m starving,” he groans. “Got anything good here?”
“You ate forty minutes ago,” Noah reminds him. “You’re fucking insatiable.”
He pulls a chessboard from his backpack, calling Millie over with a look. She takes a seat opposite him, shoulders dropping an inch, only to hike back up when I sit beside Noah.
I glance at Hyde, cocking an eyebrow.
Did he tell her? Is that why she’s not speaking?
Shame and anger curdle my stomach. He fucking promised he wouldn’t. I was severely concussed that night. In pain, clutching broken ribs with a broken arm and bleeding from my broken nose. I was out of it. I wasn’t thinking straight.
Well, that’s a fucking lie. I knew exactly what I was doing. Exactly how selfish I was. The fact I hadn’t anticipated the consequences doesn’t matter. The damage was catastrophic.
Millie almost died because I couldn’t keep my shit together.
Fuck. My head’s a beehive, anger and regret battling it out until the only thing I can think of is getting drunk and dislocating a few jaws so I don’t have to feel this raw.
Hyde sits down with a grunt, tugging at her ponytail to get a reaction, but she doesn’t look away from Noah’s deft fingers setting the board.
“Boy...” Dash huffs out a laugh, slamming the fridge closed. “People sure think grief makes you hungry, don’t they? How many casseroles are in there?”
“Miriam took it upon herself to feed us this week,” I explain, my pulse spiking again when Millie’s grip tightens on her pawn.
What the fuck is happening?
“And you decided to starve?” He plucks four crystal glasses from the cabinet. “You didn’t touch them.”
“The smell alone made us lose our appetite,” Hyde pipes in. “But by all means, help yourself.”
“No, Noah’s right. I ate not long ago.” He points a finger at me. “Now. I’ve been dreaming about your father’s liquor stash since he kicked it, Creed.”
“Help yourself. You know where it is.”
“How about you ask how he’s doing before you start draining his inheritance?” Noah prompts, sliding his bishop across the board.
Millie’s lips twitch as she reaches for her knight. It’s not a smile, not even close, but it’s a reaction I catalogue anyway. Hyde watches the chess match, eyes jumping between his sister and Noah, a muscle feathering his jaw.
That’s an obvious tell.
He doesn’t like their effortless, silent connection. Ever since she stopped talking, he’s been overprotective to his core. A bit fucking late for that, if you ask me, but better late than never.
“What’s the point? I know the answer,” Dash calls out, the sound of his boots swallowed by the area rug in my living room. “You selfish asshole! I get why you started celebrating right away, but you could’ve called me! Half the good liquor’s gone!”
Millie peers up at me, a faint eleven between her brows.
I can’t blame her. Celebrating isn’t something people do when their parent dies. She never met Jeremiah, though. And thank fuck for that or I would’ve had to kill him myself after all.
“I saved you a bottle of the finest, Dash. Top shelf.”
Hyde leans closer to his sister, gently elbowing her side. “What did you do when I was gone, sis?”
She looks at him, then at me, lips pressing into a line.
It’s definitely me. She’s not talking because of me.
I don’t look away from her, staring holes in her face as if I don’t blink, then she might say a few words.
“Dash has talked her ear off,” Noah supplies, as he moves his king to check hers. “He escorts her to every meal, then leaves her with me while he goes hunting.”
“You play for hours!” Dash complains, coming back with the bottle I set aside for him. “And you barely talk. Sue me for preferring to get laid over watching you ponder every move for fucking ever.”
Exaggeration is his superpower. Along with his ability to charm the panties off virtually any girl. He fucks a minimum of three different girls a week. While he enjoys making light of it, claiming he’s getting the most out of college before starting his mundane life, I see it for what it really is.
A coping mechanism.
A way to distract himself from his own mind, his past, the memories that never fade. His whole personality is a smoke screen. The jokes, the silliness, the grins... they’re a mask.
Everyone copes differently. Hyde and Noah are both composed. Both thrive on cold assessment and logic. Though Hyde prefers applying his skills to people. He saves them. Feeds them. Puts them back together piece by piece.
Noah controls the environment. Time, place, schedule. He moves like clockwork, disciplined and strategic.
Dash and I are the other end of the spectrum. We’re self-destructive in different ways. He’s loud. Strips his life and interactions of meaning, manufactures chaos, and when he drinks—or rather, when he drinks too much—things take a Hangover-worthy turn.
When I’m sober, I’m quiet. I don’t like theatrics, but if I start drinking, I have no intake control after the third or fourth beer, and once I’m past a certain threshold of alcohol level in my system, my brand of chaos is bloody.
I’ll fight anyone for any reason, or no reason at all. Throwing fists has been my outlet since I realized I don’t have to curl into a ball and take it.
When I met Hyde, I was well on the way to alcoholism... but giving up heavy drinking was a piece of cake compared to giving up fighting. And before Hyde, before the fight club started halfway through freshman year, fighting and drinking were symbiotic.
Now, the rage bubbling beneath my skin bleeds out in a controlled environment while there’s little to no alcohol whooshing through my body. I fight because I need to let the monster out, but I haven’t started a fight in a bar since that night.
“Checkmate,” Noah says, trapping Millie’s king.
She tilts her head, ring finger tapping the table. There’s nothing she can do now, not one move that’ll save her.
Dash lines the glasses up on the table, pouring the liquor.
“None for me,” I say.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding. You don’t wait for us to celebrate, and now you won’t have one?”
“You know it rarely stops at one.”
“Again?” Noah asks, no trace of his usual gloating.
“You mind if I play?” I ask, noting how Millie’s shoulders tense at my voice.
Noah nods, and she swallows hard, fingers flexing, hovering over the pieces she took during their match.
“You lost, so whites are mine,” I tell her, turning the board.
Dash grabs his tumbler and stands, clearing his throat. “To Jeremiah Creed’s very overdue death. May he rot in hell.”
“Hear, hear,” Noah says, taking a big sip.
Hyde raises his glass, tipping it my way before drinking and Millie glances between my friends, two wrinkles denting her forehead. Her lips part, but not a sound leaves her mouth.
Say something, Millie. Anything.
“So, how did old Jeremiah die, Creed?” Dash asks.
“Slowly.” I move my pawn. “Looked painful, too.”
Noah smirks. “There’s some justice in the world after all. What time’s the funeral? No honors, I assume?”
Hyde chuckles. “None. Rita won’t like it. The funeral home director didn’t like either. You should’ve seen his face when Creed picked out the casket.”
“A garbage bag would be too generous,” Dash chuckles.
“That wasn’t an option.” I move my bishop, taking Millie’s pawn. “Neither was a cardboard box. Trust me, I checked. Pine was the cheapest they had.”
“I can’t wait to see Greta’s face tomorrow when she sees her beloved, decorated brother in a fucking pine box,” Noah says.
“At an empty graveyard,” I add. “It’ll just be her and us. Maybe a few neighbors.”
Millie listens, lips pursed, eyes on the board but flicking between us every so often.
“I thought you’d cremate him,” Noah says.
“It crossed my mind, but then I imagined bugs crawling over his rotting corpse and I like that better.”
Millie shudders, sending Dash a sideways glance.
“Drink?” he guesses, grinning at her. “Coming up, Mini Ward. Whiskey or wine?”
“Get her a beer,” Hyde supplies, draping an arm over her shoulders. “I know it sounds barbaric, sis, but trust me, Jeremiah deserved far worse than he got.”
I wonder what’s going through her head. Whether it’s difficult to swallow her curiosity instead of asking questions. I wonder if her silence feels comfortable around others, or whether she’d rather be alone.
She curls her index finger around her queen but doesn’t make a move, scanning the board, a faint eleven between her brows. I’ve taken out a few of her pawns, her bishop, and both knights, but I think she’s finally noticed what I’ve been doing.
Her pretty eyes snap to mine, sharp and alive in a way they haven’t been all evening. Fuck, she’s gorgeous... and smart. She’s noticed I’ve positioned myself to lose. My king is exposed and she can take it down three different ways.
“I must be out of practice,” I say, leaning back in my chair, eyes boring into her hazel-blues.
Noah downs the last of his drink. “You’re never this bad.”
Millie bites her cheek, perfectly aware she must check my king... and thus speak. She blushes a pretty pink that spills down her neck as Dash hands her a Corona, those plump lips of hers closing around the neck as she slowly sips.
I’ve been in a state of quiet obsession with this girl for almost a whole year, but now she’s here, it feels like I haven’t even scratched the surface of whatever had me thinking about her late into every night.
I cross my arms, waiting, watching her scramble for a different move, one that’ll turn the game around so she can lose on purpose like she did with Noah, but I made sure she was trapped in her win.
“You’re making her uncomfortable,” Hyde grits out, fingers suffocating his glass.
“I know.” That’s the point.
I can’t fucking stand her silence. I spent days, sometimes whole weeks being punished with it by my father and it’s the worst form of torture I ever endured. I’d rather bleed.
“Then why are you doing it?” he clips as his little sister meets my gaze.
“Just paying back the favor.”
“She makes you uncomfortable?”
Worse. She makes me feel like I’m six again, sitting on the living room floor, feeling invisible while tugging Jeremiah’s trousers and begging him to look at me, to say something.
I stare as that beautiful blush deepens and Millie’s striking eyes narrow, breath coming out faster. She’s angry. Good. I’ll take anger over indifference any day.
Or so I think, because the next thing I know, she lays her king down and her chair scrapes against tile, not far from toppling over. She’s not looking at me, making a show of standing abruptly and marching out of the house, the door clicking behind her with a soft click. I thought she’d slam them.
“Good job,” Hyde sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s not a box you can crack open with a hammer, Creed. You promised you wouldn’t fucking push.”
“And you promised you wouldn’t fucking tell her.”
“I didn’t,” he insists, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why she’s mute around you, but it’s got nothing to do with that.” He pushes away from the table, following his sister.
“Fuck,” I snap, turning my glass the right way up when Dash grabs a bottle to refill his drink. “Hit me.”