Page 18 of Quiet Rage (Wicked Falls Elite #5)
Mumbling my thanks, I climb out from the backseat.
The crisp night air helps clear my head a little, and I take deep breaths on my way up the front walk.
It’s not a bad house, though it’s maybe a third of the size of mine.
Nicer than anything else on the block, from the looks of it, but that’s not saying much.
I hear the doorbell ringing inside the house, leaving my thumb pressed against the button until I see the shadow of somebody walking toward me on the other side, through a curtain over the glass. A small body. Tamson?
Not Tamson, but this woman could be her in another thirty years or so.
If she decides to make drinking her hobby, anyway.
I know I’m not the person to judge somebody for that right now—I might be drunk, but my brain is still working, slowly.
She might have been pretty once, but now she’s ruined, with pasty skin and dark-circled eyes that peer at me, wary.
“Who are you? What do you want?” she asks before looking over her shoulder at a big clock on the wall. “Do you know what time it is?”
Did I ask? “I’m here to see Tamson. Is she home?”
I know she is. Where else would she be?
“Who’s asking?”
Fuck this. “I don’t have time to play games with you, lady.” She has no choice but to let me into the house when I push the door open fully. She’s as small as her daughter, and as weak. “Which room is hers? I just want to see her.”
“Upstairs,” she tells me, more than a little sour. At least she doesn’t threaten to call the cops. “Second door on the right.”
She didn’t even need to say that, since the only door on the left is a bathroom. There’s a light coming from underneath the second door, and I hear what sounds like a TV show playing on the other side. Canned laughter rings out before I knock, then try the knob. It’s unlocked.
The first thing I see when I open the door and look around is the girl in striped pajamas curled up on the bed, lying on her side in front of her laptop, where the show is playing.
The second thing I notice is the ice pack she’s holding to her face.
She sits up with a gasp, eyes bulging, mouth falling open. “What are you doing here?”
She needs ice for what he did. And I’m breathing faster, harder, the longer I stare at her. “What the fuck did he do?” I mutter.
“Oh, that’s why you’re here? You think you can apologize for what happened?” Slowly, she lowers the ice, giving me a look at what’s turning into an ugly bruise running along the right side of her face.
And I’m torn. On one hand, I want to kill the fucker for doing this to her. He had no right. He marred her perfect beauty, and for what? To intimidate Frank? To punish her for getting in the way? Or just so he could feel like a big man?
On the other hand, I need to go to her. That’s the side that wins out as I stumble across the room, barely stopping to kick off my shoes. “What are you doing?” she asks, surprised and maybe annoyed when I drop to the bed. It’s nice—firm, soft.
“What’s it look like? I’m fucking exhausted,” I explain.
“And drunk. That’s what you are.”
“Yeah, that, too.”
“So, what?” she whispers fiercely after turning down the volume on her show. “You think you can just show up here drunk and I’m supposed to be fine with it? You need to go, Kellen.”
It’s a shame I love the sound of her saying my name. “What are you watching?”
“Why do you care? What is this? Are you trying to lead me into another prank?” She makes finger quotes around the word.
“I came here to check on you,” I admit, turning my head to watch her face shift from anger to confusion. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
“I wish I could believe that. I really do. But…” Chewing her lip, she looks down at the keyboard, tracing the keys with one finger.
My eyelids are so heavy, I can barely keep them open. Now that I’m lying on my back and so comfortable, it’s a struggle to stay awake. “That’s why I came. I needed to see you and make sure you’re all right. That’s all.”
She wants to believe me. I can tell from the way she still chews her lip. “Thanks, I guess,” she whispers.
“Do you need anything? Aspirin or something?”
Her eyebrows draw together when she hits me with a funny look. “Seriously? You’re the one who needs aspirin—or you will once you sleep it off a little bit. How much did you drink tonight? I can smell it on you.”
“I lost count,” I admit.
“Were you out with your friends?”
Is that jealousy I hear? I really don’t know. Maybe it is, or maybe I’m so drunk I can’t tell the difference between that and curiosity.
“No. I wasn’t in the mood to be around them.”
“So, you came here instead? To take up more than half my bed?” Now I know she’s not totally serious. She’s trying not to grin.
“I just thought maybe…” I work my way further back until my head rests against one of the pillows stacked up against the headboard.
They smell nice, like her shampoo. Nothing around here is expensive, but it’s comfortable and welcoming, and that’s what I need now.
“I thought maybe you could use company. I know I could.”
She sits with her back against the pillows, close to me but not touching me.
That’s fine. Things are nice the way they are.
She accepts what I said without asking any more questions or giving me any shit.
Neither of us has to say another word. And for the first time in a long time, I feel understood.
I guess that’s what makes it so easy to fall asleep when she starts the show up again. The sound of canned laughter echoes in my ears as my eyes close and sleep takes over.
Once again, she’s brought me peace.
She owes me after the hell she’s putting me through.