I narrow my eyes at him.
“I’ve never tried to fuckher.” The look has him confessing like he can’t hold it in.
Boone’s been in love with Kaia Keegan since he laid eyes on her. She strutted into our house like she always belonged there after only knowing Sunday for a single day. I remember when she was all pigtails and attitude. Not much has changed, not her attitude or the way Boone loves her. She was strictly Sunday’s annoying best friend for a long time. It wasn’t until later that Kaia demanded his friendship, too. Boone crossed a line that day, and we all knew he’d never come back from it.
I personally hate it. I hate seeing him sad that way, but he knows what he wants, and settling is something Boone has never been good at. So torturing himself is the only answer in his mind.
“Yeah, following her around like a kicked dog is so much better,” I grumble, and his jaw clenches tightly. “Go. I got this Hillcat. Lock the door on the way out, take the rest home.”
“If something happens to her, you’re dealing with Sunday,” Boone warns.
“She’s five foot three and weighs a hundred pounds, even full of booze,” I say, acting scared, but Boone pulls a smile to my face, and some of the tension seeps out.
“She bites,” he reminds me, pointing to the Sunday-shaped scar on his arm; it’s one of the only places not covered in tattoos. Boone says it’s a branding and deserves as much respect as the story behind it, but I think both my siblings are full of shit.
“Take her home before she starts gnawing on the furniture.” I grab a few bottles of water we keep under the bar for the staff and hand them to him before he leaves.
I inhale, rolling out my shoulders before I turn back to Rhea, her massive brown eyes on Boone as he goes. I know what an adrenaline high looks like. A lot of the guys overseas slip in and out of them like it’s second nature because over there, being on high alert will save your life. But she’s standing alone in the Hollow, nursing a bruised hand, half-cut on cheap drinks and too many shots.
I take a second to think about it before filling a bucket of ice and moving out from behind the bar. “Follow,” I say, and she snaps out of her trance, her head tracking my every step.
“Are you going to kill me?” Rhea asks. “'Cause I think I could take you…” she stops to hiccup before she finishes, “but I’m down a hand, and if I’m being honest for a whole minute, I thought Boone was standing beside you.”
“My first aid kit is upstairs,” I explain to her.
“Right.” She narrows her eyes at me, “...just Brighton here.”
“No one calls me that, it’s just Bright,” I tell her.
“Has anyone ever told you that youaren’tvery bright?” She narrows her eyes at me and snorts, “Okay, that makes you sound stupid, but Ididn’t mean it like that… I mean like…” she giggles, and the sound makes my jaw clench.Please stop.
“Spit it out,” I tell her, just trying to get her to focus.
“I meant like…” Her feet shift against the floor and echo through the empty bar. “It’s so quiet in here…” She gets distracted and looks around. “We aresuperalone, cool…” She giggles again, and the sound is surprisingly sweet and unexpected from a woman who looks like her.
Rhea Drake is all sharp curves and even stronger lines. She’s six one, maybe six two, with a body built to contest most of the guys on the men’s rugby team. She snaps her fingers at me and then hisses when the pain trickles up her arm from using them.
“And I’m the stupid one between the two of us,” I huff.
“I meant that you aren’t bright inaura,” she explains.
“Aura?” I stare at her.
“You glow really dark red, almostblack. Everyone has one. Sunday glows butter yellow, and Cosy is blue!” she says, and it’s then that I realize she’s lost the plot and there’s no coming back from her tangent. “They even change! Like human mood rings.” Her face gets sad again as she remembers something.
“Alright. Let’s go get that hand looked at, and you can tell me about this aura thing…” I say. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but it works because she follows me to the stairs. “Just be careful, they’re steep,” I tell her, and let her go first.
The last thing I need is her slipping and falling down the stairs. I keep in time with her, and as I reach the top, I tell her that it’s open. She looks back at me nervously, and I sigh, stepping up to share the narrow step, chest to chest, before I pop the door open. She’s staring at me when I turn my head back. Even in the dark, she’s bright like a star.Have you always been this warm?Too close, Brighton. Take a step back.She smells like booze, sweat, orange, and sage. It fills my nose and makes it hard to listen to myself when she’s staring at me like that. I watch her throat bob roughly as I gently nod my head toward the open door.
“In you go,” I say, swallowing the unexpected warmth.
I close the door behind us as she wanders into the apartment. It’s industrial, like most of downtown Harbor is, with exposed brick walls, metal in the high ceilings, and cold, dark flooring. I’m not much of a decorator, and the only thing in the apartment is a large rug that my daughter, Daisy, picked out when I moved into the place. I think it’s ugly, but she loves it.
“I like your rug,” Rhea says.
I close my eyes with a sigh.Of course she does.
“Sit down,” I instruct, and she sinks onto the old leather couch with a pout. I grab the first aid kit from under the sink, a bottle of water, and a towel from the cupboard, along with the ice, to bring back to her. I lower to the coffee table across from her and rest on it, holding out my hand to her. “Let’s see,” I say, and she allows me to take it. Two busted knuckles, but the hand doesn’t seem to be swelling too badly, other than that. “I’m going to clean those cuts,” I tell her, and she looks like she’s going to be sick.
