Page 73

Unfortunately, I’m never up to her standards.

“I did wear a patch. It didn’t work…I guess.” I thought it did. There was a lot less redness around the pimple on my forehead this morning, and it looked significantly smaller than it did before bed.

The sergeant thinks otherwise. As usual.

With his shake and a bowl, Khaos glances at me on his way to the second island, the one we’ve always called the breakfast bar. He doesn’t spend much time on my face, thankfully, but I’m pretty sure he lingers on the slice of stomach I have showing.

“They don’t help. The pajamas. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Technically, they’re not pajamas.” Silk and wide legged, the pants are comfy enough to sleep in but they’re not intended for sleeping. With a drawstring waistband that sits low on my hips, I paired them with a halter top that stops halfway between my boobs and belly button. “That’s the style right now. And I’ve been up for over an hour already.”

“What about the top? Why is it so short?”

Someone clears their throat.

“Sera, dear, what do you want in your omelet?”

While my mom’s busy answering Graham, I retreat to the pantry for my own breakfast. I don’t know what her problem is with my shirt. I’m showing less than I do on game days. She’s just never around to see what I wear to school. Or anywhere.

“Mom, were any of my clothes in with yours?” I ask on my way out, a microwaveable protein muffin in one hand and a glass bottle of water in the other.

“I doubt it.”

I put the suggested amount of water in the blueberry mix, stir it together, then set the whole cup in the microwave before pressing the button for one minute.

When I turn around to face her, my mom asks, “Why? What are you missing?”

“Um.” I glance at Khaos’s head bowed over his bowl of what looks like oatmeal loaded with granola, almond slivers, and craisins. “It’s a, um…” I mouth the word thong at her.

“A thong? I can’t remember the last time I wore underwear, let alone a thong.”

The hood on Khaos’s hoodie is stiff and pulled up to his ears but can’t hide how his head lifts ever so slowly.

“Mom.”

“I’m just saying it’d be very noticeable if a thong was put in my pile.”

“Not that. Just…” I gesture to the men in the room with us.

I’ve never wished for any part of my dreams to be real until this moment. If I could command the sea outside to well up and wash me away right this minute, I would. Why would she say that out loud after I clearly went through the trouble of mouthing it?

She’s very comfortable with Graham. That’s great. That’s how it should be between a husband and wife…I guess. She never talked openly with my father. She barely even talked to him at all. So this is a vast improvement. Good for her.

But I don’t feel comfortable with these men. I still barely know Graham. And the little I do know about Khaos is unnerving. He is unnerving. Not to mention confusing. Why does he seem to care about my well-being one minute, then act like he’d rather I die the next?

I don’t understand him. Or why I wish I did.

“What color is it?” she asks me with a sigh.

“Black.”

Khaos has been with other girls before. He knows we wear underwear. I’m sure he even wears underwear himself.

It’s not like I know what kind since he doesn’t put his dirty clothes in the basket like he’s supposed to.

I eye his head again.

But he does wash his own clothes because I’ve heard the machines in the laundry room running several times since he’s moved in, something I never heard before in this house. So he goes in there, where my dirty clothes are stored until the dry cleaners pick them up. Did he steal my thong?