“Go.” I swat her ass as she turns to leave, disappearing down the hall.
The bathroom door clicks shut, and the cabin settles around me, all the memories. I scrub my hands over my face, suddenly aware of how bad I stink.
But instead of following her, like I so badly want to do, I give her the space she needs and head for the kitchen to see if there’s anything in these dusty cabinets that’s edible.
There’sa rhythm to cracking open a can, rinsing a bowl, and heating water on the stove. It’s mindless and grounding. But it keeps my hands busy and gives my brain something to do besides thinking about Ivory naked in the next room. That tight little body of hers all wet and slick, covered in suds. The dish I’m holding slips out of my hand, clattering to the floor.
“Shit!”
“Hudson? Are you okay? What was that?” I hear Ivory yell from the shower.
“All good. Just dropped something.”
Motherfucker.I bend down to pick up the broken pieces.
This place is old as hell and was never meant to be comfortable. My old man built half the furniture himself, resulting in crooked chairs and a table that wobbles if you lean on it too hard. There's been a dent in the fridge door from the time my brother Hardin threw a beer bottle at me when we were kids. Thankfully, he missed, but my dad spent the next hour lecturing us while bitching about “cheap appliances.” The memories sting more than I want to admit.
I line up a couple of cans on the counter. There’s soup, beans, and…well, that’s pretty much it. The kind of survival food thatlasts forever. My mind starts to wander back to Ivory, picturing her under the hot spray, water running over her bare skin, when the floorboard creaks. I turn and nearly drop something else.
The dress is gone. Instead, she’s wearing an old college sweatshirt; navy blue with a faded logo, the sleeves going down past her fingertips, paired with a pair of leggings that might’ve once fit someone taller. Her dark hair is damp, curling at the edges, and her face is scrubbed clean of makeup. She looks like the Ivory I know, not the made-up Barbie doll her mother turned her into for the gala. She seems steadier, too.
I guess that’s what a hot shower and almost being abducted will do to you.
She tugs the hem of the sweatshirt, glancing down. “I, um, found this in the closet. I hope that’s okay? I didn’t want to put that ridiculous dress back on.”
I shake my head, not able to keep myself from smiling. “It’s okay. That was my sister’s. Han went through a phase where she stole all my sweatshirts. This place is full of her junk.”
Ivory relaxes, and a real smile spreads across her face. “Is Han short for Hannah?”
I nod, surprised and a little thrown. “Yeah. Han. She’s… She’s my kid sister. Three years younger. Wild as hell.” I gesture to the table. “Sit. Food will be ready in a minute.”
She slides onto one of the chairs, tucking her legs under her, sleeves bunched at her wrists. For a few minutes, the only sounds are the hiss of the stove and the scrape of my spoon against the pot. I set a bowl in front of her, another for myself, and we eat in silence.
After a few bites, she asks, “Do you come here a lot? I’m assuming this is your family’s place.”
I shrug, stirring my food. “I used to. When I was a kid, we would spend summers here. My parents thought getting us out of Halo, out of the city, would make us decent people. Joke’son them, I guess.” I force a smile, not quite convincing. “After my dad died, I would come up on my own for a while. Han too, sometimes. It’s the only place that’s ever felt, I don’t know… honest.”
She nods, watching me with those big green eyes, way too observant for her own good. “Tell me about her...your sister. What’s she like?”
I grin. “Han’s a pain in my ass. Loud. Smart mouth. Stubborn. Never shuts up. She does photography in her free time, but her job with the FBI is what pays the bills. We used to fight a lot. But she’s got a good heart.”
Ivory smiles. “She sounds brave. Free-spirited.”
I snort. “Yeah. She’s not scared of anything. Not like me.”
She looks surprised. “What? Mr. Bodyguard, scared? You’re lying.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “That’s what people think. Truth is, I’m scared of a lot of things. I’m scared Han’s going to get herself killed one day. I’m scared I’ll end up like my old man: mean, broken, and only good at hurting people. I’m scared I’ll never be more than someone who runs from his shit instead of facing it.”
She looks down, tracing a finger along the rim of her bowl. “I know what that feels like. Being scared of becoming someone you hate.”
I want to reach across the table and take her hand, but I don’t.
She tilts her head, studying me. “You said your dad built this place. What was he like?”
I lean back, the old chair creaking. “A tough bastard. Worked with his hands and didn’t talk much unless he was angry or drunk. Sometimes he’d just…explode. He built this place with the idea that we would always have somewhere to come back to, you know? But sometimes things don’t work out that simple.”
I stare at my bowl, jaw tight. “After high school, I joined the Marines. Got out, and…let’s just say I didn’t come back the man they hoped I would. Things happened. Bad things.” My voice goes flat. “I was dishonorably discharged. It was my fuckup. Civilians got hurt, some died. I blame myself every damn day. My old man never forgave me for it. He said I ruined the family name.”
