Page 29 of Puck My Life

I drive back to their house, absolutely furious with them. When I getthere, the front door is locked, so I climb in through the window. I just get in when I get hit with a plastic sucker dart from one of Deacon’s stupid toy guns. I’m hit a further six times before he runs out of ammo.

“You’re trespassing.”

“You’re being an absolute idiot, Deacon!” I shout, finally losing my temper. “Do you want to play hockey?”

Deacon simply shrugs.

I know this mode. This is I’m-hurting-already-so-I’m-going-to-sabotage-everything-and-burn-it-all-to-the-ground mode.

I reach up, untie my hair, and redo it in a loose bun on my head. Deacon doesn’t take his eyes off me.

“Out of my house, Hook.”

I snarl and stalk inside, searching for the more logical alpha among the three of them.

I find Malcom in the kitchen. It actually takes me a minute to recognise what I’m seeing.

“What the hell happened?” I screech. “It’s been three fucking days!”

Mal jumps and whirls around, dropping a frying pan full of eggs on the floor. “Fuck, Vae. I was hungry.”

I stare at the mess in shock. There is food on the walls. The kitchen table is full of cans and empty bottles of booze, chip packets, dirty plates, and bowls.

They’ve obviously resorted to eating junk when they ran out of easily accessible food. Guilt seizes me hard by the throat and shoves me up against the wall. I did this.

I turn and walk out. I get to Deacon’s bedroom and find all his clothes everywhere. It’s not as bad as I’d expected, though. I check Mal’s room. All his sleeping stuff is gone. There’s just an empty mattress. Where is Mal sleeping?

Raynor glares at me, but I shove past him and open his door. His room is pitch black, and when I turn on the light, I find that he’s hung up even more of his black sheets, blocking out light and enclosing him in a cocoonof darkness.

FUCK!

I turn and stomp back the way I came, on impulse, opening my bedroom door. On the floor are all of Mal’s bedding and pillows. The sight of it breaks my heart.

The rest of the house looks like a bomb hit it. I pull out my phone and send a message to the cleaning company I like to hire sometimes. Requesting urgent aid and a miracle because we’re going to need one.

In a daze, I return to Mal, who is swearing as his eggs turn black and start smoking. I rush to help him, but he struggles, trying to get away from me.

The pan touches my hand, taking a second before my skin ignites in pain. I yelp. My hand throbs from the burn. It’s not a big one, but it stings.

“Damn it, Vae. I had it!”

Mal throws the eggs in the sink and picks me up like I weigh nothing. He carries me through the house to the bathroom and turns on the cold tap. He sets me down, locks me against the basin while he holds my hand under the water.

I stand there, frozen, as his huge hand holds mine.

I would give anything to have him hold me like this forever. For a moment, I’m tempted to just tell him everything, to let them know what is going on. Mal sighs and drops his forehead to rest on my shoulder. One of his arms circles my waist, and I think, no, I know he’s crying.

It takes everything I have in me to ignore it. But my throat aches, and my lower lip trembles.

How can I tell them that I don’t sleep well on my own? That this hotel room is too big, and it sounds and smells wrong. That I dream of them every night and miss them with every fiber of my being. How can I tell him that living without them seems impossible?

“Come home, Vae.”

If anyone could convince me to change my mind, it would be Mal.

“I can’t, Mal. I, there are reasons, but I can’t. This is the way it’s got to be, but I’m going to help you.”

He lets go of my hand, wrapping it around me, holding me tighter. I bring my throbbing hand up and hold his arm.