Chapter 3
Blake
Disney music floats from the living room when I return home to the townhouse I share with Everett after an extra strength and conditioning session at the gym.
I scrub a tired hand over my face before poking my head around the corner of the open-plan living area to grin at Everett’s little sister.
She’s sitting in the middle of our couch with her bunny fixed in her little hand, staring mesmerised at the screen.
Her brother is in the kitchen, preparing dinner.
He catches sight of me and nods in greeting.
“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen.”
“Sweet. Thanks.” I glance back at his sister. “Hey there, Sprout. What are you watching?”
Her green eyes flick to me before snapping straight back to the movie. “The Little Mermaid.”
Tinsley has been coming over once or twice a week since Everett and I moved in.
He hasn’t said much about his stepmum, just that she separated from his dad when Tinsley was three.
I’ve never met her, but her daughter is cute as a button.
Everett dotes on her, and I don’t mind having her around now and then, although she’s yet to warm up to me.
I leave her to the movie and head upstairs to my ensuite bathroom to shower.
The moment I’m alone in my room, my mind snaps back to the earth-shattering kiss that has been playing on repeat since last Friday night.
I’ve tried to stay busy, to forget, but nothing works.
This woman has thrown my life off-kilter.
I ran a brutal ten-kilometre loop up Eagle Peak on Saturday morning, which was painful with how hard I was.
Hell, I even let Everett drag me to the Beckford U bar, Carter’s, on Saturday night, hoping a meaningless hook-up might do the trick.
It didn’t. Not a single girl held my attention, despite several Banshees vying for it, and I went home alone and fucked my fist to the memory of crystal green eyes and puffy lips.
Sunday, I switched tactics, heading to the campus library to make sure I’m prepared for my third-year paramedic classes, which start tomorrow. I didn’t absorb a single fucking word, and when I got home, I had yet another long shower.
Yesterday, Coach Johnson worked us to the bone at our last preseason fitness session, and despite being dead tired with every muscle in my body screaming, there was one that was still harder than granite when I closed my eyes and pictured her.
I step under the water, already rock-hard. Knowing I don’t have long, I soap up my body then close my eyes, conjuring up the image of my pixie that’s seared in my brain as I grip my cock and give it a firm squeeze.
A muttered curse slips free, and I bite down so hard I taste blood—I won’t last long.
My hand slicks up and down my pierced shaft as I recall her soft mouth pressed to my lips and the sweet taste of her tongue as it tangled with mine.
I work myself over, picturing the way her mesmerising eyes glazed over with lust when we finally pulled apart.
She was just as affected by our kiss as I was.
My forehead drops to the slick tiles as my balls draw up, letting me know I’m close. Pleasure coils in the base of my spine, and I grunt as my dick jerks, spraying the wall and my abs with my release.
A humourless laugh escapes, and I shake my head as I clean up my mess and finish my shower. This is pathetic. I don’t even know who this woman is. Not to mention, I have no way of finding out either. She truly is the mythical creature I’ve nicknamed her.
After stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around my waist, I stare into the mirror at my expression—cheeks flushed, pupils blown, a small cut on my bottom lip. This mysterious stranger has fucked with my head, and all we did was kiss.
It’s for the best that I have no way of contacting her. She doesn’t need my level of fucked up in her life.
My eyes trail down to the ink scattered over my chest and arms. Every mark on my body tells a story of my dark past, even the ones I wish I could forget.
I twist to see the phoenix rising from the flames on my right bicep, my gaze drifting down to the lifelike hand reaching for the skeletal one on my forearm.
As much as I try to move on from the skeletons in my closet, there’s no changing what I’ve done and the ripple effect it caused.
As if summoning my past with my self-loathing and dark thoughts, my phone lights up with an incoming call from Tori.
“Yo, Logan,” Everett shouts up the stairs. “Dinner’s ready.”
With a sigh, I ignore the call and rush to get dressed in sweatpants and a Beckford U singlet before jogging downstairs, where Everett and Tinsley are sitting at the small dining table that separates the living room from the kitchen.
I tousle her blonde curls as I pass, and swipe a bread roll off the plate in the middle of the table, shoving it into my mouth.
It’s denser than normal bread, heavier in my mouth, and I chew a few times, clearing my throat before reaching for a glass of water to wash it down.
“I think the bread might be stale,” I say.
Everett snorts. “It’s gluten-free. Pipsqueak is allergic to dairy and gluten.”
My brows shoot up. “Yet you made pasta?”
“Gluten-free pasta,” he says, like I’m stupid.
I glance down at the bowl in front of me, wondering if it’s too late to order take away.
“Eat your dinner, Blake,” he emphasises, nodding at Tinsley when I look up. She’s watching me with a curious look on her little face. “It’s not as bad as the bread.”
I hesitate a moment before picking up my fork and twirling pasta around it. Tinsley picks up hers, copying me, and a grin tugs at my lips. I shovel the food into my mouth, and surprisingly, it’s not as bad as I was expecting.
“Does she have anaphylaxis?” I ask, recalling what I’ve learnt in class about life-threatening allergies. “Dairy is a pretty complex allergy. There’re traces of it in a lot of things.”
Everett nods. “Her EpiPen is in her backpack.”
“Good to know.”
I’ve seen quite a few cases of anaphylaxis in children during my clinical placements. It’s pretty scary to see kids so listless and gasping for breath.
“What’s new with you, Sprout?” I ask Tinsley.
She crinkles her brow at me.
“What did you do today?”
“Rett picked me up from preschool and we went to the park,” she says, beaming at her big brother. “I went down the big slide four hundred times.”
“Four hundred?” I say in exaggerated amazement, matching her enthusiasm. “No way. That’s so cool.”
She nods vigorously. “Yep, and then Rett pushed me on the swings for hours. He’s the best brother.”
I smile. “You’re pretty lucky.”
“Eat up, pipsqueak,” Everett says with a chuckle. “I’ve got some gelato in the fridge for dessert, then I’ll take you home.”
The smile remains fixed to my lips as I watch Everett dote on his little sister, but I can’t ignore the tightening in my chest as I remember how easy my relationship with my sister used to be.
Tori was more than just my big sister. She was my whole world.
It kills me that I ruined that. Visiting her over Christmas made me realise things will never be the same between us.
Seeing my only living relative scared of me? That fucking broke me.
After Tinsley finishes her pasta, I help her carry her dishes to the sink while Everett scoops some gelato into bowls.
“Here you go, pipsqueak,” he says, placing one in front of her. “Your favourite. Mango.”
“Thanks, Rett.” She beams up at him before digging in.
I’m rinsing a plate in the sink when she coughs and says, “My mouth feels funny.”
My stomach drops, and I glance over my shoulder. “Funny how?”
She shrugs, licking her lips. “Tingly.”
I race over, crouching down by her chair. There’s already a faint redness creeping up her neck.
“Are you itchy?”
She nods, scratching at her chest now. “And my throat feels weird.”
I don’t hesitate. “Everett, where’s the tub?”
He blinks at me. “What?”
“The tub of gelato. Grab it for me.”
He rushes to the freezer to pull out the tub, his eyes scanning the label.
“No, no, no, no,” he mutters, panic clear when he lifts his eyes to me. “This one has skim milk powder in it.”
“Get her EpiPen,” I say, trying to keep my tone calm so I don’t scare Tinsley.
She coughs again, and I turn my attention back to her.
“Hey, Sprout, can you take a deep breath for me?”
She tries. It comes out tight, followed by a small wheeze.
“I can’t breathe properly,” she whimpers.
Her lips are swelling. Hives spread across her arms.
“Everett,” I grit out. “I need that EpiPen. Now.”
His face is pale as he searches through her bag.
I lower Tinsley to the floor, keeping her flat. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Everett thrusts the EpiPen into my hand.
“Call triple zero,” I say, removing the cap. “Tell them we have a four-year-old, anaphylaxis, adrenaline administered.”
I hold the EpiPen against her outer thigh, pressing down until I hear the click.
She cries out.
“Good girl,” I soothe. “You’re going to be okay.”
Everett’s voice breaks as he talks to the operator.
I keep my eyes locked on Tinsley’s chest, listening to her breathing.
After a long minute, the wheeze eases slightly and her colour shifts from grey back to pink.
“The adrenaline is working,” I say, “but she’ll still need to go to hospital for observation.”
Everett sinks to the floor opposite us, hands in his hair. “I’ve given her mango gelato before,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting from me to his sister. “They didn’t have the brand I usually buy. I just assumed a different one would be the same.”
“She’ll be okay,” I reassure him.
“Thanks to you.”
Less than eight minutes later, the ambulance arrives, and Everett goes with her to the hospital. Once they’re gone, I busy myself cleaning up the kitchen, the high of adrenaline seeping out of my body and leaving me drained.