Chapter 37
Millie
I spot Noah smoking outside the cafeteria, and my stomach does a weird nervous flip. Not because he lied on my behalf, though I still hadn’t thanked him for it, but mainly because we haven’t been alone once since I cried my eyes out in his arms.
For a second, I consider ducking around the corner, but his head lifts and his eyes find me before I can.
He doesn’t smile, but that’s nothing new. Noah rarely smiles. Dropping his cigarette, he grinds it out with his boot and pushes off the wall, waiting for me to come closer.
“Hey,” I say, adjusting my book bag.
“Hey, beautiful.”
My face warms, head full of dreams that still plague me despite the almost daily orgasms Creed wrings out of me. It warms more when I recall how I tilted my head and tried kissing Noah, all teary-eyed and snotty.
“Thank you for not ratting me out to Hyde the other day,” I say, easing myself into the conversation.
“You’re welcome. Next time, try less stuttering.”
I smile but it’s hollow and I stutter again while blurting out, “Should we... I mean, should we talk? You know, about... about me trying to kiss you?”
“We don’t have to talk,” he cuts in, catching on before I spell it out. “You were upset, Millie. I get it.”
“I don’t want things to be weird.”
He focuses on something in the distance, then quickly steps closer, hooking a finger under my chin.
“It’s not weird.” He tilts my face up same way Creed does, the control in his gesture more grounded, though.
“You chose him and I respect that. I respect you both. He’s a good man, Millie, even if he doesn’t believe that, but if he upsets you again, accidentally or not, you come straight to me, understood? ”
I nod automatically, goosebumps dotting the back of my neck when his thumb brushes my jaw. His eyes flick over my shoulder then back to me.
“I don’t want you alone in your room wondering about sleeping pills,” he continues, much quieter. “I’ll hold you while you cry. I just won’t let you fuck me as a displacement technique.”
“Oh, I... that’s not—”
I almost jump out of my skin when my brother’s big hands fall on my shoulders.
“It’s just me,” he chuckles, tucking me under his arm. “You good? What are you guys talking about?”
“I’m making sure Millie sticks with me at Creed’s fight this weekend,” Noah says, making my brow furrow.
Hyde’s grip tightens, but he says nothing, pulling me into the cafeteria. By the time we’ve grabbed some food, Creed’s already at our table, and once again, my stomach does a tiny nervous flip. Though this time it’s a good kind of nervous.
I smile before I can stop myself.
“What have you got there?” Noah asks, nudging me with his shoulder as we sit down.
I follow his line of sight. One strap of my book bag has slipped off my shoulder, revealing my sketchbook. The cover’s turned out, the drawing I was working on during my morning class there for all to see. I swallow hard, dropping into my seat.
“It’s nothing,” I say, placing my tray down.
“What’s nothing, sis?” Hyde asks, settling in beside Creed.
I pinch my lips, shrugging the sleeves of my sweater until only my charcoal-stained fingertips poke out. My brother clocks that immediately, his eyes softening.
“You’re sketching again?”
Creed looks up, both elbows on the table, pasta dangling from his fork. “She never really stopped.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You’re always drawing.” Creed mimics the doodling I habitually do over my hip, thigh, or—most recently—his chest or ribs. “Invisible art.”
“How do you know?” Hyde asks, tension bleeding into his voice. “I’ve never seen her do that.”
“I noticed back in Seattle when we played chess.”
“So?” Noah prompts over the rim of his coffee cup, inching closer. “Can we see?”
“No,” Hyde clips, his hand covering mine. “It’s okay, sis. You don’t have to show us anything.” He squeezes my fingers. “I’m glad you’re drawing. Let me know if you need supplies.”
Anger claws up my throat, his patronizing tone heating my blood. It reminds me of Evan and his patronizing tone when he belittled my art.
She genuinely thinks she’s good.
Everything she paints is more dramatic than she is, and that’s fucking saying something.
I pull the sketchbook out, passing it to Noah. I don’t want Evan’s words crushing me forever. Maybe reclaiming a sense of pride in what I love is the way to keep that weight above my head.
My pulse kicks up when Noah stares at the close study of my lips, sewn together with dark thread, a pair of small scissors cutting through the stitches.
It feels more personal than handing him my journal.
“It’s... fuck, beautiful, I wasn’t expecting it to be this good,” Noah huffs, looking at me sideways. “You’re really talented.”
“She takes after her brother,” Hyde pipes in, stuffing his mouth with a BLT.
“You can’t draw a straight line,” Creed says, holding his hand out to Noah, who passes the sketchbook over.
My stomach does a little pirouette when his eyes move over the page, taking in every detail, brows set in deep concentration. He turns the pages backward, scrutinizing every sketch until he reaches the girl clawing her way out of the paper at the front.
He leans back in his chair, those dark eyes boring into mine, a myriad of things he doesn’t say clear in the way he watches me.
It’s the same look he gives me when he strips me of my clothes, and that burning gaze takes a moment to eat me.
“Can you draw something for me?” he asks.
“Um... maybe? What kind of something?”
He drops his right arm on the table, tapping a patch of unmarked skin. “Something that’d fit here.”
“You want me to design a tattoo?”
“Yeah...” he pauses, his eyes implying the unspoken baby. “Can you?”
“I think so, but what do you want?”
“Dealer’s choice.”
“No,” Hyde clips, setting his sandwich down. “Not her choice. It’s your body and tattoos are for life. Millie’s talented but she doesn’t fucking know you.”
“I asked her to draw it, not ink me, Hyde. I can say no if she picks a pony.”
Noah chuckles, turning my way. “Please make it a pony. Better yet, a pink unicorn.” He looks at Hyde. “Creed’s arms and chest are littered with random shit. It’s not that deep.”
My brother snaps his head toward him. “Four years and you really don’t know him, do you? Every tattoo means something, reminds him of a memory, an event, a person, or a lesson he learned.” His eyes cut back to Creed. “So yeah, it is that deep.”
They look at each other, a nonverbal conversation passing between them. It’s intense. I know they’re best friends. Noah, Dash, Hyde, Creed... they’re tight-knit, but my brother and Creed’s connection runs deeper.
Hyde turns to me with a serious expression. “If you’re designing his ink, make sure it fits him. Not your mood, sis.”
I grit my teeth before I tell him just how intimately I know Creed, but I refrain, shrugging my sleeves even lower.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can come up with.”
The truth is, I already have an idea.