"Did you, by any chance, see that black bra with the blue gemstones? I’ve been looking for that for a while now. Oh! And that eyeshadow palette I?—"
"Jesus Christ, Jules. Get the hell out of here." At that, I push her off me slightly, but I can’t deny that I’d love to have her back here with me. "Do you want me to drive you? It’s getting late."
Jules shakes her head while rolling her eyes. "It’s not even a mile. You don’t have to watch me anymore. I’m a big girl now, you know?"
I pull at her ponytail, and she swats my hand away, but can’t hide her smile.
"You’ll forever be my little Jules, always getting into trouble and needing a babysitter."
The evil look I receive in response makes me laugh.
"See you tomorrow." She stands on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my cheek before disappearing.
Even though Jules moved out a month ago, it’s still weird not having her around at all times anymore. So yeah, Idofucking miss her. And yes, even her mess. But I couldn’t stop her from renting her own place after she found a job at a hair salon. And since I’m not her boyfriend, her brother, or—heaven forbid—her dad, there wasn’t much I could say about it. I can only ask her to send a text each evening in which she has to assure me that she’s fine. Today, too, she’ll send me another one. I need that last spark of control. She’s like a little sister to me, and I just have to know that she’s safe and sound.
When I re-enter the upper floor and look toward the bed, Sophie’s still lying there, quietly asleep. I decide to honor Jules’s request and limit myself to just one more glass of whiskey before bed. The alcohol tastes bittersweet on my tongue and calms me down a little. After putting down the tumbler, I walk over to the bed. It’s a king-sized one because Jules used to climb in next to me whenever she couldn’t sleep. Sophie’s tiny frame looks almost lost in it. I reach for the blanket and carefully pull it over her body.
As my phone announces Jules’s text with a quietbing, Sophie snuggles even deeper in my pillow and sighs softly while I stare at her like a fool.
Goddamn. The resemblance to Milena is so strong, it almost hurts to look at her.
Just as I’m about to turn away, I hear a murmur and freeze.
"Cole?"
"Yeah?"
"There’s no such thing as magic lemonade, is there?"
I have no fucking clue what she’s talking about. Maybe she doesn’t even know that herself because she doesn’t really seem awake. "No, darling. There’s not."
When she doesn’t say anything else, I turn away, go to the couch, and pull the Desert Eagle out of my waistband to put it down on the side table. Then I take my cigarettes out of my pocket, light one, and stare aimlessly into the nothingness.
Maybe I should’ve just handed Sophie over to the authorities. What was I even thinking by taking her with me? I’m pretty much the last person who should be looking after her. Still, I just can’t stop feeling responsible for her.
Without me being able to control it, my gaze has slid back to her again. In the dim light of the streetlamp shining through the old windows, I can make out the contours of her body under the blanket. In my helplessness, I want to down the rest of the fucking bottle of Jack, but I stop myself for Jules’s sake. And because I need a clear mind tomorrow when Sophie wakes up. I need to know why she wanted to get away from her mother so badly, and then figure out what to do with her.
With a sigh, I stub out the cigarette and rub my hands over my face one last time before lying down on the couch to try to get some sleep.
EIGHT
SOPHIE
I’m awakened by warm rays of sunlight and frown because my window faces north and the sun never shines into my room. But then I realize that this is not my room at all. I’m not even in our house. Because I ran away. Because I got into a vehicle and?—
Cole.
He took me with him after he stopped Mike and his friends from doing something to me, and we almost got caught by the police. Like a tidal wave, the memories wash over me, and my heart stutters in my chest.
Blinking, I open my eyes and realize that I’m lying in a huge bed. As I take a deep breath, the scent of leather, tobacco, and campfire hits my nose. It’s a nice, warming mixture, and I wonder if this is Cole’s bed and if he smells like that. Closing my eyes again, I breathe in deliberately, as if I could keep the scent inside me forever that way. Then I lift my eyelids again and continue to look around.
The bed stands in an insanely large room with unusually high ceilings and bare brick walls. My view is of an open kitchen with black cabinets and countertops, and a massive wooden dining table. The windows extend from floor to ceiling and are so old that the glass is dull. Pipes run just below the ceiling, and Iwonder why they're exposed and not hidden in the walls like they are in our house, when I hear a door open.
Sitting up, I turn my head as Cole steps through a door across the room, holding a towel in one hand and a T-shirt in the other. He’s wearing jeans that sit so low on his hips that I can see the waistband of his underwear, while his upper body is bare. Spellbound, I stare at the countless images that cover his skin and move as he lifts his arm.
My question from the previous day is thus answered. The tattoos areeverywhere.
His shoulder tenses while the cords of muscles on his forearm dance under his inked skin as he rubs the towel over his jet-black hair. On his abdomen, I count six clearly defined ridges and discover a V of muscles that disappears under the fabric of his underwear.
