“The fuck?”
“One of you go up there and make things right with her,” my mother complains, tossing the newspaper on the coffee table.
“We’re giving her time to cool off,” Cillian says from where he is lazily slumped on the couch. He’s been wearing the same sweatpants and shirt for three days. He looks like shit.
“You’re giving her time to plot. What do you think women do when we’re mad at men? The longer you wait to make things right, the worse off things will be.”
“Tell me, Má. What should we do?”
“First and foremost, buy the girl some clothes. She looks like some sort of low-grade whore wearing Lorcán’s donations. Then, maybe you can dig your heads out of your ass and apologize, maybe take her out to get some fresh fucking air. Why do we even have a pool and jacuzzi if none of you use it?” she rants, rolling her eyes and walking away.
“We should have hired outside help,” Cillian mumbles.
“Hard to disagree. How do you want to handle this?”
He shrugs.
He hasn’t been the same since that night at dinner when she absolutely lost her shit. It’s clear the guilt has been consuming him whole, and while I definitely understand, part of me is fed up with the whole ordeal.
“I’ll go check on her,” I tell him, and he just nods, continuing to watch the TV.
Hopefully, they get this sad sack of shite off of crutches soon because I can’t stand this pathetic version of Cillian.
“Take her this,” my má orders, handing me what looks to be like a brownie with strawberries and whipped cream. “These omegas can’t resist sweet things, and since you aren’t particularly sweet, this should work.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Always, son,” she says, going back into the kitchen.
Maybe I need to find her a new man or something, so she’ll get the hell out of this house. Meddlesome woman.
Lorc’s door is cracked, and I knock on it twice with my knuckles, making the door open wider.
Elena is on the bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets, while she watches some nerve-grating reality show on tv. She’s wearing an overly large t-shirt, with her blonde hair in a massive bun on the top of her head.
Her blue eyes roll slightly as she looks at me.
“What do you want?”
“I have dessert,” I coax stupidly, and her back gets a little straighter as she tries to peer into the bowl. “If you promise not to bite my head off, I’ll give it to you, blondie.”
She clicks her tongue and holds out her hand, and I give her the treat. She doesn’t speak, just digs into the sugary goodness.
“My má seems to have taken a liking to you.”
Crickets. So, I try again.
“Do you need anything?”
“A razor,” she replies while holding out her leg that has barely visible blonde leg hair. I give her a look like she could ask for anything else. “I’m not going to take it and run off to slit my wrists.”
“I’ll shave your legs.”
It’s the first thing I could come up with, ‘cause I truly do not feel like asking Finn or Cillian permission to give this girl a god damn razor.
She flips the spoon upside down, licking the metal in a way that shouldn’t be that seductive.
“I’d also like to have some things. I’m supposedly supposed to be cared for, but yet here I am in Lorcán’s clothes and smelling like a man from using his products.”
