Page 8 of Beneath the Scars
I pull into the driveway, my muscles exhausted and begging me not to make them move anymore. My childhood home is a gorgeous Victorian with a huge porch and a turretthat stretches up to the roof. I loved to sit in the window seat on the second floor and pretend to be a princess locked in the castle.
I only ever imagined one Prince Charming coming to save me. I still remember the moments when I was sitting there and Michael would walk by, his gaze already aimed at my window. I always wondered if he’d been looking for me the same way I was watching for him.
Leaving my boots on the porch, I walk through the front door. Laughter filters down the hallway and brings a smile to my face. Growing up, I knew I was so lucky to come home to that sound.
Most days, Michael would come home from school with us, and he’d just absorb the joy radiating from our house. It was like he didn’t want to miss a moment of it, so he’d take the time to soak it in.
In the kitchen, Mom is at the sink, a basket of garden veggies next to her.
Dad’s leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, while he grins at her. “Hey, sweetheart. Settle this argument for us. I want to build Mom a greenhouse so she can grow more flowers, but she doesn’t think I can hold myself back from building her an enormous one.”
I snort. “’Cause you can’t.”
Dad gasps. “The faith you two have in me. Jeez.”
He starts to open his mouth to defend himself, but I interrupt. “And if you build her a huge greenhouse, Mom won’t be able to help herself from filling it to the brim.”
“Hey,” Mom softly defends. “I could too.”
“I think she’s got us pegged, sweetheart.” Dad smirks. His light brown hair has started to get overrun with grey, but his hazel eyes haven’t lost that teasing twinkle he always seems to have. “How was your day at the clinic?”
“Long, but good. Am I fending for myself tonight?” I made sure Mom knew she didn’t have to make dinner for me after I moved home, but I’m always going to eat her meals over whatever I can scrounge together when it’s an option.
Mom answers, “Yes. We’re going out with Quinn and Cooper tonight.”
“Ooh. Is there more of that pasta you made the other day?” I walk around the island to search the fridge.
“Get your dirty paws off my pasta,” Dad protests.
“You snooze, you lose. Should’ve taken it in your lunch today.”
“Dammit,” he grouses while I giggle at his plight. He comes over to kiss the side of my head. “We’ll see you later, Addie Bean. Be good.”
“I’m always good,” I counter. Mom gives me a hug while Dad barks out an incredulous laugh.
The house falls silent as I warm up my dinner and empty my lunchbox back into the fridge. Vivi is probably hanging out with her friends, so I’ll have the whole house to myself. Normally, that would be a luxury I’d revel in. Instead, I’m feeling overwhelmed with the thoughts swirling in my head.
It’s too early to go to bed, even if I’m exhausted. But I have no idea what else I can do to stop the Tilt-A-Whirl that is my brain.
Once I’m finished eating, I fall into the reading nook in my bedroom. My giant fuzzy beanbag chair is surrounded by gauzy curtains and multiple bookshelves packed with books. My collection of paperbacks has grown exponentially over the years. It’s mostly made up of romance books filled with masked men and dark desires I’ve never told anyone about.
I can’t imagine anyone knowing I get turned on by the idea of someone chasing me through the woods and consensually forcing me to have sex with them. In all fairness, I’m notexperienced enough to know if I truly want to do that, and I’m not certain I’ll ever meet a man who’d be willing to explore those darker kinks with me.
My phone ringing pulls me from my musing.
Relief swamps me as I answer Caroline’s video call. “Dude, you have no idea how much I needed to see your face.”
She laughs. “I’ve got a sense about these things.” Her brown hair is a mess of waves around her shoulders, while her blue eyes sparkle with humor. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure you’ll even believe me when I tell you.” I start with the drunk call and proceed to share every detail of that night with Michael. Being my best friend, Caro knows all about my obsession with the broody bastard.
By the end, Caroline’s jaw is practically on the floor. “Holy fucking shit. I…” She shakes her head. “I have no idea what to say.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve felt like that for the past week.”
“How have you functioned normally?”
“I’m not sure I have.”
