Mercedes
I WORKED THE next four days straight at the coffee shop, learning the ropes and the million different beverages they offered. I was grateful for the extra shifts Alec had offered me. I needed a distraction from the house and everyone in it. Working at Madame Jory’s gave me a much-needed break.
I had the day off work on Friday and I planned to spend it in my room, locked away from the bullshit family I’d been dragged into. Mom and Gabe had left early this morning with Amelia in tow. Mom had popped her head in my door first thing to let me know they were going shopping and I zoned out. I wasn’t interested in shopping and didn’t care enough to pretend to listen.
I couldn’t seem to look at my mother these days without feeling acutely annoyed. And hanging around the house just to end up being on the receiving end of Rourke’s angry glares wasn’t exactly appealing either. I always gave as good as I got when it came to Rourke Owens, but I’d be a liar if I said he didn’t make me feel nervous. He looked at me like I was a threat; like my mere presence was causing him tremendous distress.
It didn’t make sense and I resented my mother for bringing me into his house. It was her fault I was the sole focus of this angry, fucked up, beautiful man-child.
Rourke wasn’t eighteen yet, but calling him a boy sounded absurd, especially considering I’d seen him shirtless and there was nothing boyish about his ripped stomach and bulging biceps.
By lunchtime, I reluctantly gave into my stomach’s noisy protests and fell out of my bed. Trudging downstairs, I headed straight for the kitchen, ignoring the sound of the television blaring coming from the living room.
Of course, since it was my one day off this week, Rourke would have to be hanging around the house.
Biting down on my lip in frustration, I walked over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk and then grabbed the container of cereal on the counter. Fetching a bowl and spoon from the dishwasher, I sank down on a stool at the breakfast bar and fixed myself a huge ass bowl of cereal. I wasn’t familiar with this particular brand, but I wasn’t fussy either. The honey glazed, bean-shaped cereal tasted delicious and I scarfed them down.
“Christ, you eat like a pig,” Rourke commented dryly, walking into the kitchen.
Not bothering to answer his snarky jibe, I merely flipped him the bird and continued to ‘eat like a pig’ as he had so kindly phrased it. I didn’t give two shits what Rourke Owens thought about me or my eating habits.
Unlike him, I hadn’t been raised with a silver spoon in my mouth and caviar on my side plate. He was probably one of those people that cut their burger into bite sized pieces before eating it. Me? I was a blue-collar kind of girl with the basic knowledge of a fork, knife, and spoon and not a lot else. Stuck up prick.
“I was joking,” Rourke shot back in an amused tone.
“Don’t care,” I muttered between bites, eyes focused on the half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of me. “Did you want something?”
“Not from you,” he shot back cruelly.
“Then what do you want?” I slammed my spoon down on the counter and glared at him. Rourke’s brows rose in surprise. I didn’t care if I had shocked or surprised him. I didn’t care if I was being rude, either. “This is my only day off all week. Forgive me if I don’t want to spend it swapping shitty comments back and forth with you.”
Rourke narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck’s gotten into you?”
You, I wanted to scream.
I didn’t.
“Nothing,” I snapped, refocusing on my late breakfast. “Nothing at all.”
“Then what’s with the tone?”
Tone? Was he serious? I inhaled several deep breaths before attempting to answer him. “You don’t like me,” I finally said. “You’ve made that perfectly clear over the past two and half weeks. But news flash, Rourke. I don’t particularly like you either.” Glaring, I added, “My tone obviously mirrors my feelings of disgust and possible hatred, though that I’m still undetermined of.”
Rourke smiled at me.
Why the hell was he smiling at me?
“You don’t hate me,” he replied with a grin.
“Are you asking me if I hate you, or are you just adding to the already laden down list of reasons why I should?”
His smile widened. The deep dimples in his cheeks that appeared when he smiled were beautiful. I was instantly angry with him because of it. Why did he have to be so nice to look at? Ugh.
“You’re a strange one, Six,” he finally said. “I’ll give you that.”
“I’m a strange one?” I shot back, but Rourke didn’t answer me. He was already half way out of the room.
Rourke
I DEDICATED THE whole weekend to football. Working out with Daryl, going through drills and plays with the guys; basically running myself into the ground.
When I finally walked my stinking ass into the house late Sunday evening, I was met with the sound of my sister crying in her bedroom.
“Amelia?” Immediately my hackles rose, and I was on the war path. Storming down the hallway to her bedroom, I shoved the door inwards and stalked inside, ready to kill the motherfucker that had made her cry. “Mills? You okay?”
When I walked into her bedroom and my eyes landed on her empty bed, confusion swept through me. I could have sworn I heard crying. Stilling my body, I listened carefully, straining to hear the sound again.
And I did.
I fucking heard it again.
Except it wasn’t coming from Amelia’s room like I had thought.
Confused and feeling edgy, I trailed back down the hallway to the main foyer.
More crying filled my ears.
Louder this time.
Goddammit.
Swinging around, I barreled towards the living room door and pushed it open. Immediately, my gaze locked on Six who was sprawled out on the couch and crying like a freaking baby.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded, feeling oddly worried.
She looked away from the television screen she’d been glued to. Big grey eyes full of tears met mine. “Oh m-my g-god,” she cried, wailing uncontrollably. Tears were pouring down her cheeks as she heaved uncontrollably.
“What?” I looked around frantically. “What the fuck happened?”
“They killed him,” she screamed, pointing back to the TV. “They fucking killed him, Rourke!”
I tore my attention from her face and looked at the television screen. Immediately I recognized the program Six was watching as an episode from that fantasy TV show everyone seemed to love so much – myself included. Instantly, the penny dropped.
“Are you fucking serious?” I demanded, shaken up. “You’re crying over a goddamn TV show?”
“You don’t understand,” Six wailed, still crying. “I’ve invested all this time into…and they…they just…omigod, I can’t! I can’t cope with this.”
“I thought you were hurt in here!” I growled. “Goddammit.”
“Turn it off,” she squeezed out, tone pleading. “Please, Rourke. My heart can’t take it.”
I gaped at her. “Are you serious?”
She nodded frantically, still crying.
Shaking my head, I muttered a curse and walked over to the TV set before switching it off. “Happy now?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again,” she whispered, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “If this is what mourning someone’s death feels like, I don’t want to form another relationship for the rest of my life.”
“Christ,” I muttered dryly. She was such a drama queen. “You do realize that it’s just a TV show, right?”
Six leapt off the couch, still clutching her chest. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” she half growled, half sobbed as she hurried out of the room.
What the fuck was I living with?
And why the hell was she making me smile?