Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
HOLLIS
BEFORE…
I can’t sleep.
I’ve been staring at the unfamiliar ceiling in this unfamiliar room for hours.
I should be used to this—the unknown. Thanks to my mom, temporary seems to be the only constant in my life. Even though the Creeds have assured me I’m welcome to stay with them for as long as I want, I know this time will be no different.
But it doesn’t stop me from wanting it to be.
After my mom and her boyfriend went to Easter brunch at his parents’ house and left me behind, it became clear I no longer fit into her world or his. Despite the legal ties that bind us together, she was more than willing to pawn me off to the Creeds when they offered to let me stay here instead.
I’m not even sure if she said thank you before she hightailed it out of here. It’s been two months, and I haven’t heard a word from her. I’m starting to wonder if I ever will.
I’m trying to decide if I care.
I continue to gaze up at the ceiling. It’s a nice ceiling. One of the nicest I’ve slept under.
Not that I’m doing a lot of sleeping lately.
Tilly—that’s Hendrix’s mom—moved me in here days after the Easter debacle. I expected a simple guest room, but I should have known better.
Tilly Creed never does anything halfway.
Somehow, in just a few days, she managed to completely redecorate the room in shades of green and gray. It’s moody and modern. I like it. I just can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that it’s mine.
I roll over and check the alarm clock on the nightstand beside me. I double blink.
It’s only twelve thirty? Fuck.
Sitting up, I run a hand down my face and look around the room. My jacket is draped over the desk chair, and my backpack sits in the corner. Tilly and Lance bought me some clothes and a computer since I moved in, but, like the room, I’m still finding it hard to call those things mine.
It’s not like I did anything to deserve them.
With my focus still on the jacket, I stand up and make a quick decision. If I can’t sleep, I might as well do something else. So I grab that jacket and head out into the hallway. I make it halfway when I hear the faint sound of singing coming from Presley’s room.
I press my ear to the door and smile.
I had no idea she could sing.
I raise my hand to knock, but hesitate. Is it weird for me to do this? It’s the middle of the night, and although I’d never admit it to him, I’ve checked out Hendrix’s little sister more than once or twice.
Even after I swore to myself I wouldn’t.
Seeing her standing in Hendrix’s kitchen, I experienced a fleeting moment of joy, which was quickly replaced by crushing sadness.
It was the girl from the hallway.
And she was Hendrix’s sister.
Friendship is all we could ever be, especially now that I live down the hall. So I guess I might as well make the most of it.
With my decision made, I quietly knock on her door and wait. The singing comes to an abrupt halt, and I hear a shuffle of feet across the floor—then a curse as she trips.
I bite down on my bottom lip to stop the grin creeping up.
Suddenly, the door is pulled open, and I find a frazzled Presley on the other side. Her hair is in a messy knot on the top of her head, and she’s wearing a tiny tank top and plaid pajama shorts.
I quickly glance up. “Hey,” I say awkwardly. “Do you want to go for a walk on the beach?”
Her gaze darts toward her brother’s room, and I know what she must be thinking. Did I knock on the wrong door? But nope, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I think.
God, I hope this wasn’t a bad idea.
“Uh, sure,” she finally answers. “Let me just grab a hoodie.”
My eyes drift down her body, then quickly snap back to her face. “Good, yeah. Great idea.”
She gives me a puzzled look. Probably way too much enthusiasm for a hoodie, huh? “What?”
“It’s…cold,” I say, feeling like an absolute moron.
“Yeah, I know.” She smirks in amusement.
This is going great…
I shove my hands in my pockets as she goes into her room to retrieve a Creeds Bar hoodie. It does nothing to dampen my attraction to her.
Best friend’s little sister, I remind myself.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask in a hushed tone as she quietly closes the door behind her.
She shrugs. “I haven’t even tried. I like to stay up late.”
“All the time?”
We make our way downstairs, toward the sliding glass doors that lead out to the deck.
“Most of the time. I like how quiet the house is. And I know they say we’re supposed to get eight hours of sleep or whatever, but I swear my body needs less, because I cannot stay in bed that long to save my life. ”
I nod in agreement. “Same.”
She flips the lock, slides the door open, and we are immediately hit with the salty smell of the ocean. The roar of the waves can be heard in the distance, never failing to surprise me.
Some people hope for decent neighbors on the other side of the fence or, at the very least, some trees to serve as a buffer.
But the Creeds have the whole damn Pacific right in their backyard.
We don’t talk as we take the stairs down to the beach. The breeze from the ocean makes the night air chilly, and I notice Pres wrap her arms tightly around herself as our feet hit the sand.
I shrug off my jacket and place it on her shoulder.
“Oh, you don’t—” She shivers mid-sentence, causing her cheeks to pinken. “Okay.”
“I’m pretty used to the cold,” I say as I watch her slip her arms into it. I try and fight a smile as it nearly swallows her slim frame whole. “I spent a few winters in the Midwest, and you adapt pretty quickly.”
Especially when your mom doesn’t pay the heating bill…
“I’m not sure I could ever live someplace that cold,” she replies. “Or someplace so far away from my family. Plus, I really like the ocean.”
We’ve made our way close to the water now. The sand is wet here, and both of us have ditched our shoes, not caring in the least that our feet will freeze.
“I’ve never lived anywhere near the ocean. Until now.”
“Do you like it?” she asks, bending down to pick up a seashell. It’s broken. Imperfect. She hands it to me. I brush off the sand and stick it in my pocket, feeling like I’ve just been given a treasure.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I think I do.”
“Where did you live before this?”
“Uh…” I hesitate. I hate talking about this. It makes me feel exposed. “Arizona. My mom met this guy at a bar when we were driving out west one night, and we ended up staying for six months.”
She looks over at me, her eyes squinted together like they’re trying to read me. Finally, she says, “Isn’t it like a million degrees there? I’ve heard the pavement literally melts?”
Relief floods me, and I grin. “Yeah, it’s really hot. Not sure about the melting pavement, though. Never witnessed it.”
“Yuck. I hate extreme heat. I’d take a cold day at the beach any day.”
I snort. “I mean, who wouldn’t?
“Right?” she sighs. “Look at that.” She points to the water, smiling, and it’s hard to turn away.
She’s stunning.
But I do, tearing my gaze away to see what she sees. The inky black water sparkles in the distance while foamy white waves crash one after another. The sound is hypnotic. Soothing.
“Yeah,” I agree. “It’s pretty epic.”
Her smile widens. “What about you? Do you like the cold, or do you prefer the heat?” She pauses for a second, probably realizing the double meaning of her question. She instantly blushes. God, she’s fucking cute.
“A few months ago, I would have said the heat,” I answer, giving her a meaningful look. “But the cold is starting to grow on me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But, Pres?”
We’ve completely stopped walking. We’re just two lone figures staring at each other on an empty beach in the middle of the night. “Hmm?”
“This is not cold. It’s mild at best.”
She laughs. “This isn’t, but go put your feet in the water. Or better yet, go spend a few hours in it and see if you change your mind.”
“You swim in that freezing ass water?” I raise a brow as I shove my hands in my pockets. I won’t lie. It does feel pretty chilly out here.
“God, no. But some swear a brisk swim in the Pacific keeps you healthy and young,” she says with a shrug. “But I do occasionally surf.”
“You can surf?” I’m learning all sorts of new things about Presley Creed tonight, and fuck, that should not be hot.
“You can’t?”
“Remember the part where I said I’ve never lived near the ocean before?”
“Yeah, but I guess I just figured Hen would have offered to teach you by now.”
“He did, but whenever he goes out, it’s always with a group and—”
She nods. “I get it. I don’t like crowds either.”
A moment of understanding passes between us.
“I’ll teach you.”
“Pres, you don’t have to—”
“I do,” she insists. “You’re not a real Californian until you wipe out on at least one wave.”
My lips quirk. “Well, prepare to be amazed, because if there’s one thing I’m bad at, it’s organized sports.”