Chapter 4
Chapter four
Oliver
I wake up hard and pissed off, the way I have every morning for the last ten weeks.
Same dream. Same hotel suite. Same red cape on the floor, and Savannah’s back arched beneath me while she gasps my name like it’s the only word she knows. When I wake and reach for her, the sheets are cold, just like every morning.
I drag both hands over my face, roll out of bed, and head downstairs before I do something stupid like march to Savannah’s room.
The house is quiet except for the low hum of Christmas music drifting from the kitchen. Mom always bakes the day after the party. I follow the smell of butter and vanilla like a bloodhound.
I don’t bother with a shirt. It’s my parents’ house, it’s barely eight a.m., and I need coffee more than I need decency.
I round the corner and stop dead.
Savannah is perched on a stool at the island, knees drawn up, wearing an ancient Snowbridge High T-shirt that’s tight enough to make my mouth go dry and a soft gray cardigan she keeps clutching closed with one hand.
Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy knot, her cheeks flushed from the oven’s heat, and her face is bare and pale.
She looks like she slept about as well as I did.
In front of her is a steaming mug. I notice it’s not her usual peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream. I get a whiff of ginger. Maybe her stomach is still bothering her. I hope she didn’t get food poisoning last night.
She hasn’t noticed me yet. She’s staring into the mug, deep in thought, and every few seconds she pulls the cardigan tighter across her chest, fingers white-knuckled on the edges.
I clear my throat.
Her head snaps up. Those green eyes go wide, then drop straight to my bare chest and stall there. Color floods her cheeks. She yanks the cardigan closed again.
Good. Maybe I’m not the only one suffering.
“Morning,” I manage, voice gravel.
“Hi,” she whispers, then takes a frantic sip of tea and winces like it burned her tongue.
Mom bustles in from the pantry, flour on her cheek, oblivious to the fact that the kitchen just turned into a live wire.
“Oliver! Perfect timing. You can help roll dough.” She thrusts a ball of sugar-cookie dough at me, then spots Savannah. “Sweetheart, you’re pale. Sit. Drink your tea. Ginger’s good for the stomach.”
Savannah’s eyes flick to me in pure panic.
I take the dough, set it on the marble, and start rolling because it gives me something to do with my hands that isn’t reaching for her.
Ellie bounces in next, still in candy-cane pajama shorts, hair in two buns like some kind of festive gremlin.
“Coffee,” she groans, making a beeline for the espresso machine. “Why is everyone up before noon? This is inhumane.”
She hip-checks me out of the way to grab a mug, then pauses.
“Dude, we have company. Put a damn shirt on.”
“Language,” Mom sings without looking up.
Ellie ignores her and turns to Savannah. “You okay, babe? You look like death.”
“I’m fine,” Savannah says too quickly.
“You’re drinking ginger tea,” Ellie says, horrified. “You hate ginger tea. You once said it tastes like Christmas threw up in a swamp.”
Savannah’s laugh is thin. “Stomach’s off.”
I roll the dough harder than necessary—the rolling pin thunks against the marble.
Ellie pours her coffee, leans against the counter, and studies us. Her gaze bounces from me to Savannah and back again.
I feel the moment she puts it together. Her eyes narrow, then widen. A slow, evil grin spreads across her face.
“Oh my God,” she says, delighted. “This is about sex.”
“Eleanor!” Mom gasps.
Savannah chokes on her tea.
I drop the rolling pin. It clatters loud enough to make everyone jump.
“Ellie,” I warn, low.
She ignores me completely and spins to Savannah. “You and my brother. Finally. I knew it. I called this in tenth grade.”
Savannah’s face goes scarlet. “There is no—”
“Don’t even try,” Ellie cuts in, practically vibrating. “He’s shirtless and growling, and can’t take your eyes off him even though you're pretending not to stare. I’m not blind.”
I open my mouth to tell her to back off, but the words die when I realize Savannah’s eyes are on me, pleading for help. She looks one second away from bolting again.
I force my voice to be calm. “Ellie. Outside. Now.”
Ellie raises both brows. “Someone’s cranky when he’s horny—”
“Now,” I snap.
Mom finally looks up, sensing the shift. “Children, play nice.”
Ellie rolls her eyes but follows me out the back door onto the porch. The cold hits like a slap. I really do need to put a shirt on, but not as bad as I need air that isn’t saturated with ginger tea and Savannah’s scent.
The second the door shuts, Ellie whirls on me, arms crossed, grin still in place.
“Okay, talk. How long? Was it Halloween? I knew you both disappeared, but Sav told me she’d gone home.”
“Ellie.”
“—and then you were gone the next day, and this is the first time I’ve seen you together since then.”
“Ellie, stop.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I need to know how you feel about this. About Savannah and me.”
Her face softens instantly. The teasing vanishes.
“Ollie.” She steps closer, voice gentle. “She’s my best friend. She’s been in love with you since we were fifteen, and you carried her piggy-back through that blizzard because her boots broke. If you’re finally pulling your head out of your ass, I’m not going to stand in the way.”
Relief punches through me so hard my shoulders sag.
“But,” she continues, poking me in the chest, “if you hurt her, I will end you. Brother or not, Savannah is my best friend, and I will take you down. I know where you sleep.”
I nod once. “Understood.”
She studies me for a long second. “You really like her.”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. She sees it.
Ellie sighs, soft and fond. “Then go get her, dummy. But maybe put a shirt on first. Some of us are trying to eat breakfast.”
She slips back inside.
I stay on the porch a minute longer, letting the cold burn the haze from my head.
Ginger tea. Cardigan clutched like a shield. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.
Something’s wrong.
And I’m done waiting for her to tell me what it is.
I head back in, grab a T-shirt from the laundry room, and pull it on. I’m going to find out what’s going on.