Chapter 9
nine
. . .
SUTTON
A loud bang sounded from somewhere in the house, dragging me from sleep and sending me bolting upright in bed.
Where the hell was I?
A deep male voice hummed through the door, sounding irritated, growing fainter as its owner moved away, and it all came rushing back.
The break-in.
My escape.
Running straight to Lane.
His refusal to let me leave.
Okay, no problem. Boots and I were safe, which, if the light visible on the ceiling around the blackout curtains was any indication, allowed me an impressive stretch of uninterrupted and dreamless sleep. It was, in fact, the best night’s sleep I’d had in a long time.
I refused to examine why. Surely, it was just a really great bed? Maybe I could ask Lane the brand name so I could get one for myself.
It had nothing to do with the man who owned this house. The man—not the place—I’d run to when I was scared and needed help.
Right? Right.
Boots was curled up on the pillow next to where my head had been, snuffling softly, still lost in dreamland.
I reached out, brushing my palm over the soft fur on his spine, and he stirred, blinking his eyes open.
“Morning, bud,” I cooed. “Ready to go home?”
Boots sighed roughly through his nose as if to say, No, Mom. I am quite content here.
I’d never admit that I agreed with him.
But for the sake of my own sanity, I needed to get out of Lane’s house.
Carefully, I shifted out of bed and padded to the chair in the corner where I’d discarded the bulk of my layers the night before. I dressed quickly, scooped up Boots—who yowled unappreciatively—and exited the room.
In the hall, I was greeted by the scent of coffee and the hiss and pop of what could only be bacon cooking. My stomach growled, and I willed it to shut up before I faced Lane.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner into the kitchen, Birdie saw me first and smiled widely.
“Morning, Sutton. How are you feeling?”
I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t expected…company. My face heated instantly, hoping Birdie didn’t think I’d spent last night in her son’s bed.
But she seemed at ease, not looking at me in any type of way as she moved around Lane’s kitchen like it was her own.
“I’m okay,” I admitted. Most of the uneasiness of the night before had dissipated with sleep, but I knew it’d be a long time before I was once again comfortable in my home.
That was the thing about having your personal space and boundaries violated: it stuck with you for a long time.
Still, I’d have to face it today regardless, if only to pack some things before heading up to Sean’s for the foreseeable future.
The thought was depressing. I loved my brother, sister-in-law, and nephews, but the chaos of their home when I was so used to my solitude would be an adjustment.
“Would you like breakfast?” Birdie asked.
Yes. “Oh, no, that’s okay. I really should get home. Would you be able to give me a ride?”
“Sit down, Sutton.”
I hadn’t yet looked at Lane. I told myself it was because he was on my shit list after the ridiculous display of toxic masculinity he’d put on last night.
However, that would be a lie.
Ever since the first time I saw him when we were kids, I’d had a thing for Lane Lawless. I’d crushed on him for years before we ever got together. Looking at him now was a gut punch, a reminder that he was something I wanted for myself, craved on a soul-deep level, but could never have again.
Funny how everything had changed over the years and yet that remained.
“I need to go home, Lane.”
“Why? As far as I’m concerned, your house is a crime scene. Access is restricted to law enforcement.”
“You can’t bar me from my own house!” I protested. “I need clothes. Boots’ food. My uniform.”
Fuck, work. I hadn’t thought about my next shift since the day before. Thankfully, I didn’t have to go back until tomorrow.
“Then you’ll be escorted inside to gather what you need.”
His tone brooked no room for argument but, damnit, I wanted to argue. I was straight up spoiling for a fight.
Birdie, as if sensing the rising tension in the air, slid a plate of food toward me.
“Please eat, Sutton. Then you two can continue this…discussion.”
I had to admit, the omelet she’d plated up looked amazing, fragrant with mushrooms, bacon, peppers, and cheese. My stomach emitted another embarrassing growl and, unable to refuse, I took my plate to the table with heated cheeks, back to the room, needing to be as far away from Lane as possible.
“Thanks for this, Mama,” Lane murmured to Birdie as he dug into his own meal.
“Thank you, Birdie,” I dutifully parroted.
We ate in tense silence, the only sounds the clinking of our silverware and Birdie’s movements as she cleaned up the kitchen.
When she finished, she wasted no time leaving, but not without taking a parting shot at her son—spoken lowly, but not so low that I couldn’t hear every word—that had me grinning into my food.
“Stop being an asshole, Lane. She just went through something traumatic.”
Lane merely grumbled in response. Birdie passed by me, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly before disappearing.
Too late I realized I should’ve gone with her.
“Fuck,” I breathed. “Guess I better call someone for a ride.” I shifted so I could look over my shoulder at Lane, who had angled his head enough to glare at me in his periphery. “Unless you want to give me one.”
A smirk danced on his lips. “Sure.”
I flipped him a middle finger. “You know what I mean.”
His mouth flattened, and he asked, “Do you have somewhere you can go?”
“I told you last night, I’ll go stay with Sean until this all gets sorted.”
Lane raised a brow. “You’re going to commute from Boise?”
The uneasiness in his gaze was warranted, as much as I hated to admit it.
I’d been in a terrifying car accident shortly before my twenty-first birthday, when I’d lost control in a blizzard and rolled into a ditch.
Luckily, the extent of my injuries included a dislocated shoulder and concussion, but ever since, I’d been wary of winter driving.
Twenty had been a rough year for me.
“It won’t be that long,” I said flippantly, trying not to give credence to his concern. “I should be back in my house before the snow flies, right?” Lane didn’t respond immediately, which had me rotating to face him fully. “Right?”
“I can’t make any guarantees, Sutton. You’re the fourth house this guy has targeted.”
“So sweep the place for evidence like you did the other three and let me back in.”
“I’m just saying, it’s going to take time. And that time may be longer than you’re planning on. The department is going to need to keep it sealed until this perpetrator is caught.”
“It’s fine, Lane,” I assured him, surprised by the steadiness of my voice. “He’s the only family I’ve got.”
Not true, actually, but again, he knew that.
Once Sean and I had fully entered adulthood and were on our feet—including the major setback I’d experienced after my rape—my parents became snowbirds, spending about eight months of the year in Arizona and returning only for the summers. They’d left a few weeks ago.
After studying me for a long time, searching for something in my expression, Lane finally relented with a jerky nod.
“Let me go call Johns to make sure it’s okay we go in, then I’ll take you.”
“Thank you.”
His only response was a gruff rumble from the back of his throat before he left the room.