Page 16

SIXTEEN

ZEKE

THERE’S NO REASON for me to be irritated with Savannah’s sister.

It’s happening anyway.

I know Sadie just wants what’s best for Savannah, but she also wants what’s best for herself. It’s human nature, and I don’t blame her. She’s already lost both her parents. It makes sense that Sadie wouldn’t want to lose her sister too.

But expecting Savannah to be what she was before is only making everything worse. It’s made her feel like a failure for not being able to do it. It’s put pressure on her. Wedged a divide between them.

And now she butted into our conversation without thinking twice. Without stopping to consider what might be best for Savannah. Not that I think I’m what’s best for her. I’m just pissed she didn’t consider it.

Since I don’t want to stand here like a fucking idiot, I turn to the food Savannah said I could dig into whenever I wanted. The lineup is substantial, and it’s clear other people have already partaken, so I don’t feel bad when I grab a plate and dig in.

Expectedly, there’s plenty of pizza, but I’ve eaten enough fast food, take out, and delivery to last me a lifetime, so I zero in on the homemade items. There’s some sort of a hot dip and I scoop some of that onto my plate along with a handful of tortilla chips. There’s also pasta salad so I add a little of that. Then I reach the tray I carried in and find it full of delicious smelling meatballs. I pile a mountain onto my plate, grab a beer from the cooler at the end, and turn around to decide where to go next.

Except I don’t get to decide, because I’m immediately accosted by a few members of Rogue. Brock, Wade, and Reed spend the next half-hour giving me shit about finally showing up to one of their get-togethers, and pressing me for information about both my trip to Nashville and the op that resulted in my injury.

As we talk, my eyes drift around, looking for dark curls and a sweet smile. I’m just making sure she’s okay, that’s all. And it’s a good thing I am, because every time I find Savannah, our eyes meet—like she was looking for me too. Probably for reassurance. The support I’m more than happy to offer.

Helping women like Savannah has been my life’s mission. A way to move forward when I thought I couldn’t. It’s gotten me through more dark days than I can count.

I always kept Mona and Bess and anyone else who needed my assistance at arm’s length. It never went beyond teaching them skills and bolstering their confidence. But that’s proving to be impossible with Savannah, and I’m not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing.

“Are you gonna play poker?” Reed gives me a sly grin. “I’d love to take some of your money.”

“Someone should.” Brock looks me up and down. “He’s sure as shit not spending it on clothes.”

“What in the hell does he need clothes for?” Wade’s grin softens the blow of his next words. “He’s always working.”

I don’t know why the comment bothers me the way it does. I’ve heard a million just like it and never once did it faze me. “I won’t be giving any of you my money tonight.” I say it harsher than I mean to and it has the men around me shifting on their feet. I reach to grab another beer, popping off the cap and chucking it in the trash. “I’m not a card player.” I tip back a little of the drink. “I’m more of a hang out with the kids type.”

I walk away, finally giving in and going exactly where I wanted to be all night. Like she said she would be, Savannah’s parked on the sofa with all the kids, playing games and watching movies and having way more fun than everyone else.

I point to the empty spot beside her. “This seat taken?”

She gives me a smirk. “I was actually saving it for you.” Her gaze drifts to the group I left behind. “You looked like you were having such a good time over there with the grown-ups.”

I sit down beside her, relaxing for the first time tonight. “Grown-ups are boring.” It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a party like this, but in the days when it used to happen, this was where I always ended up. Kids are easy. They don’t give a shit who you are. What you’ve done. As long as you let them beat you at Monopoly and listen to them talk about video games, you’ll be their new best friend.

So that’s what I do. The rest of the night, Savannah and I entertain everyone else’s kids while they play poker and socialize.

And I have more fun than I’ve had in as long as I can remember. I eat another plateful of meatballs, along with my body weight in brownies and cookies, sharing the latter with everyone else while we discuss the merits of Lilo and Stitch and argue over the rules for Chutes and Ladders.

By the time the evening winds down, my stomach is full and my soul is light.

Savannah collects our coats from the closet, and I help her into hers before ushering her out the front door, keeping her latched to my arm as we descend the stairs.

When we reach the sidewalk she turns to me, rubbing her lips together. Her eyes dart to Sadie and Jamison’s door as she asks, “Do you want to come see what I accomplished today?”

I know she’s worried about her sister seeing us together, so I answer quickly. “Yes, I do.” It’s an easy decision. I’m not quite ready to give this evening up yet. I want to milk it for all I can.

Moving quickly, we hustle to her house, managing to get in the front door just as someone exits her sister’s.

Savannah turns to me as she closes the door, cheeks pink from the cold. “I’m not ashamed to be seen with you.”

“I know that.” Never once did I think Savannah was hiding me. “Sometimes life is just easier when you don’t have to answer questions.”

Her shoulders drop as a loud sigh rushes free. “Exactly.” Savannah’s shoulders slump a little more. “Especially when people don’t like the answers you give them.”

I can help her with many things, but the relationship she has with her sister isn’t one of them. I’ve had one meaningful relationship in my life and it nearly broke me. My ability to offer any sort of advice in this situation is nonexistent. But I can’t stand not being able to help her, so I say, “Sometimes people don’t know how to act around you after you’ve gone through something like you have.” I stick to very general observations. Ones I have firsthand knowledge of. “It can make them feel nervous and uncomfortable and helpless. People don’t like feeling that way, so they figure out how to get around it.”

Frequently, the direction they take is to try to fix it. To pretend they have some sort of control over what’s happened to you and the emotions it’s brought out in them. They don’t, and all they end up doing is making you shut down.

Savannah’s mouth curves into a barely there smile. “I know. No one has really known how to act around me since I was rescued.” All trace of the earlier smile leaves her face. “Maybe that’s why I don’t really feel at home here. I can never get comfortable because of the way people look at me.”

Again, I understand what she’s saying. Completely and totally. And again, I have no advice, because my solution may not be the best solution for her.

The hint of a smile she had earlier returns, but this time it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I guess that makes it extra good I spent most of the day working here. Hopefully at some point I’ll feel like this is my home.”

“I hope so. You deserve to feel comfortable and safe.”

The warmth of her smile spreads, lighting her eyes. “Thank you.” She reaches out, taking my hand in hers and tugging me toward the stairs. “Come see what I did.” She peeks my way. “I’m sure you have other things to do, and I don’t want to take up your whole evening.”

I should let her assumptions be what they are, but Savannah is always so open with me, and apparently it makes me want to be open with her. “I don’t have any plans.” I pause because I know I should stop, but then I say, “Ever.”

Savannah’s small hand tightens around mine and she looks my way again. “I know the feeling.”

We reach the top of the steps, and she brings me into the spare bedroom. I’m shocked to find it finished. The bed we brought up last night is now covered in a feminine floral blanket and has a pile of unique but coordinating pillows stacked at the top. The stained glass lamp we moved first sits on the nightstand, bathing the room in a soft glow. The dresser is now polished and sports a flat screen television and a neat row of scented candles on a tray. The air smells sweet and soft, and I think this might be the most inviting room I’ve ever seen.

“It looks great.” I step in a little more, so I can see the rest of the space.

An upholstered chair and matching ottoman are angled into the corner, a fluffy blanket folded and artfully draped across the back. Another collection of pillows is tucked against the arm, adding an additional layer of softness.

That’s what it is about this room. It’s soft. Warm and sweet. So different from anywhere I’ve ever lived.

“I still have to put the curtains up, but I need to dig my step stool out of the other side of the garage, because I’m not quite tall enough to hang the rods.” Savannah explains what still needs done.

And I don’t want her to have to wait. I want her to have one place that’s exactly the way she wants it. “I can help.”

Her brows lift. “Really? You don’t mind?”

“No plans, remember?”

I wish that was the only reason I offered to help. In truth, after seeing this room, going back to my place holds absolutely no appeal. Not when it’s the exact opposite of what’s surrounding me now.

Savannah rocks onto her toes, beaming up at me. “I really appreciate it.” She spins for the door. “Hang on. I’ll go get my toolkit and I’ll be right back.” She darts from the room and hurries down the stairs, leaving me alone in the space.

I can’t seem to stop myself from moving toward the bed, running a hand along the soft fabric covering it before picking up one of the plush pillows. The rough calluses of my hand snag against the velvety surface as I test its texture and give.

How long has it been since I’ve had something soft in my life? More than a decade. Over ten years of hard edges and empty spaces. And it’s been fine. The best I expected it would ever be. I’ve had a job I’ve enjoyed, a roof over my head, and money in the bank. Somehow I thought I would find a way for all that to be enough.

But maybe I’ve been fooling myself.

“I’m back.” Savannah breezes into the room, her warmth illuminating the space even more than the lamp. “I think it should be pretty simple, but I guess it depends on what we drill into.”

“I’m pretty sure we can handle whatever comes our way.”

I take the small cordless drill from her hand then follow her directions as she tells me where to hang the brackets that will support the thick wooden rod. As I work, she threads a pair of long curtains onto the dowel. When the brackets are secure, I hang the drapes into place, standing back to look over our work. “They look good.”

Savannah gives me half a smile, one brow angled as if she doesn’t believe me. “I didn’t expect florals to be your taste.”

Neither did I, but there’s something about this room that calms me. Makes me feel settled. Relaxed. “Surprise, surprise.”

Savannah’s half smile blooms into a wide grin. “It’s a good surprise too.” She hands over the next set of brackets. “Most guys don’t love my taste.”

I frown. “Most guys?”

Savannah continues on, oblivious to the sudden turn in my mood. “You know, guys I dated before. When they came to my house, they all thought it was too much.” She begins threading the next set of curtains onto their rod. “They said my place was too girly for them to be comfortable in.” Her eyes flick to the bed. “And they hated all my pillows.”

My frown deepens, because how could anyone not love her pillows? They’re pretty and soft and comfortable looking. Makes me think those guys didn’t appreciate Savannah the way they should have since she’s also pretty and sweet and soft.

She finishes putting the curtains onto the dowel and shrugs. “But screw them, right?”

I’d agree but I’m too busy scowling. Assholes telling Savannah they didn’t like her home. I’d love the opportunity to put my fist through their faces. Show them exactly what I think of their dumbass opinions.

I continue to stew over the men in Savannah’s past as I hang the next set of brackets and put the curtains in place. While I do that, she brings in some sort of little machine and starts waving a little hand-held portion over the other set of curtains. I watch for a few seconds, before finally asking, “What is that?”

“A steamer.” Savannah runs it down the length of the curtain. “It might be one of my favorite inventions ever.” She finishes with one panel and moves on to the next, using the moist heat to work out the wrinkles pressed in from being packed up for a year.

“I love wearing dresses, but they aren’t super easy to iron, and a lot of my favorite fabrics get really wrinkly.” Her brows pinch together, lips pursing as she continues working on the curtain. “A lot of guys didn’t like that I always wear dresses either. They didn’t understand why I wouldn’t just wear jeans and a T-shirt sometimes.” She sighs. “Some people don’t understand what we wear is reflective of who we are.”

I look over Savannah’s dress. It’s colorful and pretty. Soft and feminine. Definitely reflective of who she is, providing some weight to her theory.

But if that’s really the case, I’m not sure what I wear says anything flattering about me.

Savannah must be thinking the same thing, because her lips quirk as she looks me over, reaching out to smooth a hand down the center of my chest. “But I don’t think that’s true in your case.”

She turns away, and I lift a hand to press against the spot where she touched me, the point of contact still warm. “I think a lot of people would argue with you.”

Savannah peeks at me before facing the curtains again as she says, “That’s because they don’t look beyond what you give them.”