I didn’t want to think about the two of them in bed or what they did all night besides sleep.
His eyes traced over me once, taking in my appearance with an assessment that came from years of being brothers. “Why areyoushirtless?” he asked. “I just woke up. What’s your excuse? It’s not that hot outside, and I sure as hell know you didn’t run from the house to campus.”
He had me there. I wasn’t a runner, but Kreed was. I never understood the urge to intentionally run for fun or fitness. It wasn’t my kind of grind. I glanced down at myself and grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t. I don’t want to know where you spent the night. It could have been the street for all I care.”
I grinned. “Liar. You care, and that’s your biggest problem. You care too much while pretending not to give a shit about anything.”
“How much do I owe you for the therapy session? Better yet, bill Dad.”
“You going to invite me in or make me loiter in your hall like a homeless person?”
“What the hell are you doing here so goddamn early?” He stepped back, pulling the door wider to let me in. “And where’s Mason?”
“For some of us,” I said, stepping past him into the apartment, my shoulder brushing his as I moved through the narrow entryway, “this isn’t early. Not all of us get to sleep in and show up to class at noon. And Mason’s probably at school.”
He snorted, shutting the door behind me. “Shouldn’t you be there?”
“I’ll get there eventually.” I moved into the main living area and noticed little touches of Kaylor everywhere. Candles. Hair clips. Her shoes. More throw pillows than Kreed knew what to do with.
I shoved the ache out of my chest, facing Kreed. “I need a favor.”
His posture shifted, shoulders squaring, sleep falling away from his features like a mask being removed. He sauntered into the kitchen area to the coffeepot. “What kind of favor?” he asked as he put grounds into the machine.
I reached down into my sock, fingers closing around the handle of the knife I’d tucked there before leaving Hales’s and dropped it onto the kitchen island between us.
He stared at it. “What am I supposed to do with that?” he asked flatly.
“I need any info you can find out about it. Where it was bought. Who bought it.”
His steely eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s so special about this knife?”
“Oh, and I texted you a plate number,” I added, pulling my phone from my pocket and checking to make sure the messagewas sent. “Run it. I need to know who owns the car and their address. Anything you can find on this guy.”
The coffee started percolating behind him, dripping into the glass carafe. “What’s going on?”
“Just some shit at school,” I said, forcing the words to come out unconcerned. “Nothing you need to worry about. I’m handling it.” The lie tasted bitter.
Kreed’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “That’s what’s making me nervous. Youhandling it.” He picked up the knife, turning it slowly under the light. His fingers moved over the blade, checking the edge and the hilt. His expression shifted subtly, almost imperceptibly, but I’d known him long enough to read it. “I’ll let you know what I find out,” he said finally, setting the blade back on the counter. “But when I do, you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
“Fine. The sooner, the better.” I was fucking pressed for time. I needed a name before this asshole decided to strike again. The state of his escalation made me nervous.
He nodded, moving to the coffeepot, too impatient to wait for it to fully brew, and poured a mugful. “Does Dad know you’re here?”
I snorted. “No. And he better not. Don’t give me that responsible adult bullshit.”
“What’s got up your ass?” He watched me over the brim of his Peaked In High School mug. Obviously, a gift from Kaylor.
I dragged a hand through my hair. “When does this shit get easier?” I muttered.
He pushed the cup of coffee across the counter. “You need this more than me.”
“Thanks.” I shoved off the wall and strode to the steaming mug.
“You’re a Raven. It doesn’t,” he said simply. “This life doesn’t get easier. It doesn’t get less complicated. That’s the price.”
I pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw stars. A headache was on the horizon. “Fuck me. I’m starting to get why you want out,” I admitted, the confession quiet but honest.
