Chapter 2 #2
Nova nods and eagerly hands her a sugarcoated red ribbon. “I’m addicted. My brother rags on me for all the sugar and chemical dyes or whatever. I don’t give a shit. They’re so gooooood.”
My lips twitch as she tears off a bite, also tipsy as hell, but somehow I think she’d act this way with or without the alcohol.
“So good,” Willa agrees, mouth full.
“Take as many as you want. I’ve got a whole box full under my bed.”
“You’re my new favorite person,” Willa slurs, partially from the sticky candy and partially from the liquor.
“Obviously.”
“Come on.” Willa gestures at me, then wrinkles her nose, as if just now noticing the puddle slowly spreading around my feet. “Well, maybe change first? But hurry. I’ve got just the thing to cheer you up. Come on. Come on!”
I swallow the brush-off on my lips back down.
Accepting help isn’t a natural inclination for me.
Maybe because Mabel never offered it. Maybe because all I’ve done for the past year is try to convince everyone around me that I’m okay, as if that could erase the worry in their eyes.
I’m used to being the cautious one. The caretaker.
The one who cleans up the mess—until I became the mess myself.
Their kindness loosens the knot in my chest. I allow myself to unravel, just a little, just enough to change my clothes and nestle in.
We’re a mess of limbs on the small twin bed.
Willa’s in the middle, holding her phone up, with me and Nova spooning her from opposite sides.
There’s a comfort there I’m not entirely sure how we’ve managed to secure in such a short amount of time.
Part of me whispers that it’s just the alcohol speaking for them. By morning, we’ll be strangers again.
I sink into it anyway.
“No one can be sad watching adorable puppy videos,” Willa explains as she scrolls.
And she’s right.
We start with videos of her golden retriever, Brigitte, pronounced bree-jeet, in the French way, because Willa had just started taking French classes in middle school when they got her and thought everything related to France was superior in every way.
According to Willa, she’s the most sophisticated good girl in all of Philadelphia and is the sole reason Willa decided to become a vet at the ripe old age of twelve—to keep her alive forever.
Eventually, we switch to reels.
I don’t realize the two of them have passed out until Willa’s phone plops against her chest. Luckily, I’m on the side open to the room, so it doesn’t take much for me to slip free and roll off the bed.
Nova’s got half a sour straw hanging from her lips.
With a chuckle, I gently pull it free and toss it in the trash.
My gaze catches on the cochlear implant stuck to the side of Willa’s head.
I was too afraid to ask about it before, but Nova’s got a frank personality, and maybe that’s better.
She didn’t ask what it was in a mean way, just in a curious one, and Willa was happy to tell us more.
The outer device works like a magnet, attaching to a piece surgically placed under her skin.
The battery is supposed to charge overnight, but I’m not entirely sure how.
Maybe one day, I’ll be close enough to her to understand the way it all works.
For now, I leave it be, too afraid to overstep.
Instead, I grab a throw blanket off my bed and drape it over them before heading to my side of the room.
The night is so perfectly crisp, I can’t help but crack open my window.
A soft breeze rattles the plastic blinds.
Nova and I agreed to keep them closed at all times to limit exposure to her brother, but my wayward hand apparently forgot the message.
Before I can stop them, my fingers create a little gap in the divide.
Holy muscles.
They’re all I can see, rippling tan planes across a broad bare back.
I don’t think I even knew the human body had so many muscles.
His does. Corded triceps lead to sculpted shoulders, not overly bulky, but lean and defined.
I trace the deep groove of his spine, down, down, down his long torso.
I’ve never thought much about a guy’s ass before, but the tops of his cheeks peek out above his low-slung dark sweats.
My throat suddenly goes dry, because even those are made of muscle.
Right as I’m licking my thirsty, thirsty lips, a white T-shirt drops over my view, like a curtain slamming down.
He spins, as if sensing I’m there.
I flinch back, but not fast enough. My eyes collide with brilliant green for a split second before the blinds snap shut.
Shit.
I groan and fall back on my bed. He caught me ogling him. I know he did. Worse, he knows I know he did.
It won’t happen again. I should’ve listened to Nova the first time.
Those blinds are staying closed. I don’t care if it’s snowing.
I don’t care if a unicorn flies down on a freaking rainbow.
I am not looking out my window again for the rest of the year.
I am putting him and his stupid all-seeing eyes out of my head forever.
That resolve lasts about six hours.
But it’s not my fault. I swear.