Page 9 of Disorder (Elite of Elmwood 2)

“Stay,” I whispered.

His gaze held mine as he nodded and got up to turn off the lights. The room was suffused in darkness, followed by the rustling sounds of clothes being shed. I clutched the edge of the blanket, forcing my mind to go blank, refusing to let my thoughts go to Brock nearly naked. The bed dipped with his weight on the other side.

He wasn’t naked, was he?

I wasn’t about to find out.

“Before you harp at me, Fynn called Mads,” he said, settling into the bed.

A tiny ache in my chest eased. Tons of pressure still clamped down on me, but it was one less thing to worry about. “I never harp at you for information.”

“Uh-huh.” I felt him shift, tucking an arm behind his head on the pillow. “And because I know how your brain works, you can stay with me for as long as you need.”

His body brought warmth to the bed. “I don’t have any clothes.” Gah. Why did I mention clothes? It was as if my brain couldn’t stop dwelling on the fact that neither Brock nor I was wearing much. On the plus side, I wasn’t thinking about Carter.

His head turned to the side, and I could feel his stare at me through the darkness. “That’s what you’re worried about? What you’re going to wear? It’s not a big deal. I’ll buy you new clothes.”

“Not the point. And I’m not taking your money.” No matter how much the Taylors might have. “I’m not a charity case, Brock.” First a phone, now clothes.

“Who said you were?” he murmured, his voice closer than it had been a minute ago.

I sighed, exhaustion slamming into me now that I lay in bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what Grayson, Mads, and I planned. It wasn’t to cause drama.”

“The drama started long before you showed up. As pissed as I am at your choices tonight, Grayson too, this isn’t your fault. It’s mine.”

Yawning, I muttered, “Did I just hear you own up to your shit?” The sheets were cool against my skin, and his scent clung to them. I told myself not to sniff them, that I hated the way he smelled.

Big. Fat. Lies.

I did the unthinkable. I pressed my nose into the pillow and inhaled.

Dear fucking God. Why did he smell so damn good? A ribbon of lust bolted between my legs, and I groaned silently in frustration into the pillow.

His fingers tucked a loose, damp strand of pink hair behind my ear. “I’ll deny it. No one will believe you,” he replied softly with a touch of seriousness, because honestly, it was the truth. No one would question Brock.

“I’m still mad at you too,” I mumbled into the pillow.

Sometime during my incessant babble, I fell asleep. Brock kept the nightmares at bay, banishing the noise, and maybe the bourbon helped a teensy bit. The point was, I made it through the night, but the night was the easy part. It was facing the day that scared the shit out of me. All my problems waited for me when the sun came.

But was I ready for them?

* * *

Brock was gone when I woke. A stream of sunlight beamed through the tall windows, blinding me. Groaning, I rolled over, and my hand landed on a piece of paper.

A note lay on Brock’s pillow.

I flipped over my hand and lifted it, squinting to read. Two simple words.

I snorted and crumpled the note into a ball. Staring at the ceiling, I chewed on my lip, knowing I should do as the note said: stay here. Not specifically in Brock’s bed but in his house. Except… I had shit to sort out, including clean clothes for school on Monday.

Not to mention my mother—correction, my kidnapper. Until I turned eighteen, I technically was still a minor and had to live by Angie’s rules, which meant I stayed in the Pattersons’ house, despite it being like living in Hell. I had promised Brock to not say anything, to give Grayson a bit of time, and truthfully, I needed that time as well.

Which meant Angie could still reign over me as my legal guardian.

Not even Brock could go up against the courts.

Could he?

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