Audrey
It was late, nearing midnight, and I’d been sitting under the warm spray of the shower for almost an hour, not wanting to get out. The water was calming after the hellish day I’d had, which was why I preferred to shower at night when everyone else was asleep. They couldn’t witness how much water I wasted. They couldn’t witness the tears streaming down my cheeks and blending with the water if I’d had a particularly hard day, like today.
It was hell. Torture.
The stares, the whispers.
But I did it. I actually freaking did it. I walked into a store all alone and bought clothes. I even managed to speak to the young guy who worked there, though that almost made me suffer a panic attack. He was sweet and barely batted an eye in my direction, for which I was grateful. He treated me like I imagined he’d treat every other customer.
Shutting off the shower, I dried my body and applied some lotion to my skin to prevent the scars from tightening too much then carefully got dressed. It was slow going, like everything else, but at least I could dress myself now. Having a nurse or Leanne dress me while I recovered was not at all pleasant.
I made my way downstairs, one careful step at a time, and deposited my wet towel in the laundry before heading back to my room, intent on watching a movie to pass the time until I was tired enough to catch a few hours of sleep.
I opened my door and screamed before quickly covering my mouth with my hand to stifle the noise.
“Ever head of conserving water? That was the longest shower.”
“You scared me. What are you doing here?” I asked Brody, who was casually leaning against my desk in the corner, arms folded over his chest. His t-shirt pulled tight around his arms. I frowned and tilted my head. Were Brody’s arms always that…nice?
“I live here, in case you missed it.” He lowered his arms and rested his hands on the desk behind him, his mouth curved in a half smile as his eyes raked over me from head to toe, causing me to realise I was only wearing very light, loose fitting pyjamas. The shorts were short, and the camisole had thin straps. Even though I wore layers and layers of clothing during the day to hide my scars, I actually hated wearing them. They prickled at my skin and made me feel uncomfortable almost to the point of pain, so at night when everyone was asleep and I knew I wouldn’t be seen, I wore lighter summer pyjamas.
“In my room. Why are you in my room?” I brought my hands up to cover my chest and shoulders.
“Waiting for you. I came home from work, got changed, had something to eat, even cleaned up the mess you made in the kitchen from your late-night snack, all the while waiting for you to finish showering.” He pushed himself up and took a step forward.
“I would have cleaned my mess,” I said stupidly, but I suddenly couldn’t think straight.
Brody towered over me. He smelled of fabric softener and…I breathed in…beer? “Don’t do that,” he said and pulled my hands down until they were at my side again. “Don’t hide from me.”
I gulped and nodded. He’d never said anything like that before. He usually just let me be my normal insecure self.
“You cut your hair.” He touched my hair with one hand, running his fingers through my newly styled locks. My hair was funky and edgy, and I loved it. It was cut short on all sides, but I managed to keep some length on the top, creating a feminine undercut so I could flip it to the side and cover the scars on the side of my face and around my ears.
“Yeah, well, half my hair was singed, so I had to.”
“Suits you,” he said, still twisting a piece through his fingers. I let my eyes fall closed, enjoying his touch too much when I shouldn’t. “I brought you something.”
My eyes snapped open, and I fought the grin threatening to spread across my face. “You did? Why?”
“I got a text today, and it seemed like cause for celebration.”
“What are we celebrating?” I asked, winding the hem of my camisole through my fingers.
Brody didn’t speak. He studied me instead, his head angled to the left and his mouth pursed. What was he thinking, and was he feeling the weirdness in the air too? His thumb stroked the rough skin on my wrist as his gaze lifted to meet mine. They said the eyes were the window to the soul, and I’d never quite understood that meaning. But right then, I thought maybe I could decipher it if I could spend more time staring into the depths of Brody’s chocolate irises.
I needed to get better at reading people. Emotion flashed in his eyes, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Conflict, maybe. The air was thick as we continued to stand in front of one another. Brody was thoughtful as I tried to work out why my body was ever so slightly leaning toward him.
“Where is it?” I asked finally, my voice barely a whisper.
Clearing his throat, Brody stepped back and pointed to my bed. “It’s only something small.”
I rushed over and sat on the bed, pulling the box into my lap. Brody slid out the chair at my desk and sat on it backwards, so his arms were resting on the back. I peeked inside the box and laughed.
“Cupcakes!”
“Thought you might like them.”
“Thank you,” I said and pulled out a rainbow frosted cupcake. “Want one?”
“Sure.” Brody reached out and took the cupcake from me.
I bit into mine at the same time he did his own. My eyes rolled, and I might have groaned. “Chocolate and peanut butter. So good,” I mumbled through a mouthful of deliciousness.
“Harper made them.”
I coughed and then choked, rubbing a hand on my chest to ease the pain.
“You okay?” Brody shot off the chair and came to sit beside me on the bed.
“Yeah, wrong hole.” I put the cake aside. Harper made them. That thought didn’t sit well with me. Did she make the especially because Brody asked? “You saw Harper?”
Did I sound jealous? I sounded jealous. Even I could hear it in my voice, the way it hitched and caught at the end. Hopefully, Brody wouldn’t notice. There was no need for me to be jealous. I just didn’t like the way the entire Harper and Nate situation made Brody feel. It wasn’t jealousy. It was concern. Yes. That was what it was. Concern, like any friend would feel for someone they cared about.
“I went to see Jeremy and find out whether they had any of the rainbow cakes left, but they were out, so he got Harper to fix something up for you.”
“Chocolate and peanut butter?”
“She made them for Bailey.”
I pushed the box away and winced. I didn’t want to eat Bailey’s cupcakes. As little time as I spent around the wolf pack, I knew she had terrible pregnancy cravings. She was homicidal when she didn’t get what she wanted.
Brody laughed. “Yeah, my response was the same.”
We both stared at the box, and then I shrugged. “They’re too good to waste,” I said and picked up my cake again.
“Want to tell me about today?”
I froze mid-chew. “What about today?”
“You left the house.”
“You already knew I was going shopping with Indie and Kenzie.” I didn’t want to tell him I went shopping alone because that would only encourage him to take me out of the house more. Today was enough. School in a few days would be more than I could handle as it was.
“I know.” Brody shifted until he was sitting with his back against the wall and legs stretched across the mattress. “And I also know you went by yourself.”
“That was the photo you received, wasn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Look, it’s no big deal. People were staring because girls who look like Kenzie and Indie draw attention, and it made me uncomfortable, so I left.”
“That’s a huge deal, cupcake.” Brody reached across and squeezed my hand. “How did you feel?”
“Terrified. I thought I was going to pass out at one point, but then…” I trailed off.
“What?”
Did I want to tell him about the guy in the shop? The ridiculously good-looking guy was like a combination of Ryder and Linc. He had the tattoos, a nose ring, the golden hair that was long enough to tie in a small bun, and the whole surfer look about him. He should have looked straight through me or asked inappropriately what was wrong with me, but he didn’t.
“The guy who works in the shop was nice and made me feel at ease.”
“Really?” Brody clacked his tongue, his voice scratchy. I got the feeling he wanted to say more but chose to keep quiet instead.
“He was really nice and helped me pick out a few things that would be comfortable and, you know, hide the scars without looking like I was going to commit an armed robbery. He didn’t stare, Brody. At all. For the first time ever, someone didn’t look at me with pity in their eyes or ask questions. He treated me like I was normal.”
Brody frowned. “I don’t stare or pity you. I think you’re pretty exceptional. You were dealt a really, really bad hand, but I know you’ll come out on top. Don’t I treat you normal?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Of course, you do. But you’re the only one. Everyone else walks on eggshells around me.”
“Well, maybe they wouldn’t if you interacted with them more.”
I scoffed. “You can talk. You avoid any social situation Harper and Nate are involved in. He’s your cousin and best friend.”
Brody swallowed. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“Is this going to affect my birthday deal we already made?”
“No. If you start going to Sunday night dinners,” he paused and squeezed his eyes shut, “then so will I.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting. Was I ready to commit to dinner every Sunday night? No. But I did think Brody should spend more time with his friends than hiding with me. Neither of us was doing the other any favours because we continually used each other as an excuse. Brody used me to get out of things because it made me uncomfortable. I used him to get out of things because he was the only one I was genuinely comfortable around, and if he wasn’t doing something, then neither was I.
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just thinking how unhealthy our friendship is. We don’t involve anyone else, and always use each other as an excuse.”
“That’s about to change, isn’t it? Sunday night. Dinner.”
“Fine. You win. But only if there’s cake.”
“I’ll bake it myself if I have to.”
“Please don’t.” I groaned and held my stomach as though I was in pain. Honestly, I’d never tried Brody’s cooking, so I didn’t know if he could or not, but sometimes I just liked to tease him.
“I’ll have you know I am excellent in the kitchen.” He nudged me with his elbow.
I snorted. “Yeah, at washing the dishes.”
“Hey.” He reached across and tickled my side, the dimple in his cheek flashing as he grinned. “That’s not nice. I can do more than wash.”
“I know. You’re quite handy with a tea towel too.” I laughed.
He lunged for me and tickled my ribs harder, careful to stick to the side that wasn’t scarred and still tender. I tried to wriggle away, but it was no use. He was bigger and stronger than I was, and his legs had me pinned to the bed. How we got in that position, I didn’t know, but he was suddenly hovering above me, knees on either side of my legs and one hand beside my head supporting his weight as the other continued its assault on my sides. His warmth and smell were intoxicating and comforting at the same time.
“Brody.” I giggled and tried to catch my breath. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much. Or had so much fun. Instead of trying to stop him from tickling me, I decided the best form of defence was retaliation.
I struggled against his weight one more time, and when that failed to stop him, I stretched my hand out and ran my fingers along his side, laughing harder when he flinched from my touch. I scratched my nails over his ribs and down his abs, my fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, skirting across his hip, and causing him to jerk away and startling me. My laughter died in an instant.
He sat back on his heels and ran his hands through his dark hair with a groan. “Maybe we should watch a movie.”
“Brody, I—” What? Was sorry for tickling him? Touching him? Liking it? Oh, god. I liked it. I liked having him close and feeling his smooth skin and firm muscles flexing under my touch.
Crap.
Crap.
Crap.
“Movie, cupcake.”
Had I made him uncomfortable? Did he not want me to touch him? Of course not. Why would he? Why would someone like him entertain the idea of being close to someone like me? He was gorgeous. Beautiful. Handsome. Funny. Kind. I could go on and on listing all his qualities. And me? I was damaged beyond repair. With short hair and scarred skin. I was so screwed up, and he was perfect. Of course, he didn’t want me touching him.
“I’m tired. I want to go to sleep,” I said and climbed off the bed to pull back the covers. “You can go now.”