Sassy watches me from the dresser, her tail flicking with that familiar attitude. In the mirror, her judging little face stares me down.
“Don't judge me, Sassy Pants,” I mutter, dabbing the last bit of concealer under my tired eyes. “If you had her as a mother, you'd understand.”
A deep voice cuts through the room. “Who are you talking to?”
I yelp so loudly it could have woken the dead. I spin too fast, lose my balance, and crash onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and humiliation.
“Shit,” I groan, the world tilting for a second.
Footsteps thunder toward me, and two worn brown boots stop right in front of my hands. I look up slowly—reluctantly, already aware of who it would be— and find Elijah standing over me.
Elijah Reed Lawson.
The way he's watching me is unexpected, less like he wants me out of his house and more like he might actually be concerned.
That throws me more than the fall.
All I know of him now is through River—pictures shoved in my face every time he talks about his dad like he hangs the moon. He seems like someone who could hang the moon if he wanted to. The resemblance to River is uncanny. It's as though someone went copy and paste. The only difference is that this man is older, and his eyes are a vibrant blue, whereas River got our mum's eyes.
His hair is such a deep shade of brown that it appears almost black. While it's a bit tousled on top, he manages to make it work effortlessly. A well-groomed stubble adds to his charm, somehow looking polished instead of unkempt. His skin still carries a sun-kissed warmth from the recent holiday he took with her. And then there are his eyes.
Those stupidly bright blue eyes that look like the ocean.
They're beautiful.
Nope. Absolutely not. We do not think that. We hate him. We have always hated him, and we will continue to do so.
I blink hard, just as he crouches slightly and extends a hand toward me—big, calloused, steady.
“Let me help you up,” he rumbles, voice low and warm, that faint Irish lilt curling through the words. I’d almost forgotten he was originally from Ireland before moving to England as a teen.
I stare at his outstretched hand for a beat, my brain lagging behind everything that's happening. Stubbornness suddenly kicks in, and I scramble to my feet on my own, brushing invisible dust from my shorts. My brain is finally catching up to what is happening. Elijah steps back to give me space. Only when I’m upright do I realise just how tall he is. I barely make it to his chest, which is annoyingly broad beneath a deep green t-shirt that fits him just a little too well.
“Willow.” He's looking down at me, brows pulled together, tattooed arms hanging loose at his sides like he's trying not to crowd me. “Are you okay?”
I nod way too fast. “Fine.” It comes out rushed—an obvious lie. I just need distance. From him. From this house. From all of it. I can feel the panic starting to build inside my chest. When things got too much back home, I’d go to the beach, and everything seemed to ease me. Newquay always made space for me. Not too many people, unlike here.
There's nowhere to escape, just buildings and a lot of loud, obnoxious people.
He doesn't push, but I feel his eyes on me. “Where's your mum?”
“Rose,” I correct automatically. My voice is flat. That earns the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he's not surprised. As though he knew I would correct him.
His gaze drifts around my room. There's nothing to look at—bare walls, plain bedding, not a single thing that makes this space feel like mine. I didn't want to decorate. Decorating meansstaying, and I am definitely not doing that, no matter how much River begs me.
“Does Rose know about her?” he points at Sassy, who was still perched on the dresser like a tiny furry judge.
He steps toward her, and I almost warn him not to, because Sassy hates everyone but me and my dad. She occasionally scratches or attacks ankles. Before I can speak, my face is in complete shock as the traitor leans into his hand, eyes fluttering shut, purring away.
Now my cat likes him, and she's only just met him.
“Seeing as you both got back today, what do you think?” I sass back, narrowing my eyes at Sassy, who blinks at me slowly.
Traitor.
“She's allergic to cats,” he replies.
I bite back a laugh. “What a shame,” I drawl, tilting my head toward the sunlight spilling across the floor. The warmth hits my skin, but it doesn't touch the tight knot in my chest.
