Page 18 of Vicious Titan

“I was just about to head out. Are the boys on their way?”

“Yes ma’am. Pizza run.” I leave out that it’s only Elliot, purposely letting her assume that my brother is also heading here. I’ve done the same each of the few times we’ve crossed paths since I’ve been here without Asher.

“Them boys have an appetite for sure, so let them know there’s supper in the fridge if anyone wants it.”

“Sure will.” I smile as she pats my shoulder. Susan has been in the Bass household for as long as I can recall, and I believe she truly cares about Elliot. There’s no way she would allow Richard to hurt Elliot, or Olivia for that matter. Then again, I never thought Richard would be capable of such a thing either.

Pulling her purse on her shoulder, Susan tells me goodbye, then leaves me alone in the quiet kitchen. The house hasn’t been the same without Olivia, her music, or some noise playing throughout the house.

Before I realize where I’m at, I push open the door to her art room. It’s the first time I’ve entered it since she’s been in the treatment facility, and it looks exactly the same—she’s the only thing missing. Walking over to a spiral sketchbook sitting on the desk, my fingertips brush across the cold metal wires, unable to peek inside because it feels like an invasion of her privacy even though she’d shown me plenty of her drawings in the past.

“Victoria.”

Jumping, I knock over a container of pencils, and they scatter on the floor. I spot Elliot in the doorway, a pained look on his face. “I’m sorry. I was just—”

“It’s okay.” His voice is strained and he doesn’t move from the doorway.

Dropping to my knees, I hastily grab the pencils strewn across the floor, trying to return them to their rightful place, but a few slip out of my hand, hitting the ground once more. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be in here.”

Elliot steps into the room, crouching beside me as I frantically collect the pencils. “Victoria.”

My hands freeze as I keep my eyes on the floor. He reaches over and gently takes the pencils from my hands, dropping them back on the floor. Hooking a finger under my chin, he lifts my eyes to meet his. A tender swipe of his thumb rubs across my cheek, wiping a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.

“It’s okay.”

I almost don’t comprehend his words, expecting him to be angry with me for being in this room, the one Olivia cherished the most. And it makes me feel guilty. She’s his mom, but all I can think is I want to see her back in this room again. “I miss her so much.”

“Me too,” he whispers, gently cupping my cheek in his palm as my eyes close, his warm touch reassuring me, but it should be the other way around. “Come on. Let’s go eat some pizza. I’ll pick this up later.”

Nodding, I stand, and he leads me out of the room, shutting the door behind us. “I thought you were going to be mad that I was in there.”

Elliot lifts my hand to his mouth, feathering a light kiss on my wrist. “I’m not mad. I’m so thankful that you’re here, even if you’re making a mess,” he teases, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Me too,” I reply as we step into the kitchen. The delicious scent of pizza is tempting but my stomach is still in knots, just like my heart and head. I’m all tangled up, for very different reasons, yet all are tied to the arrogant, enticing smile aimed my way. “Thanks for the sketchbooks, by the way.”

“Eh. I needed to clear out my trunk,” he snickers. Cupping my ass in his hands, he lifts me up, sets me on the counter, then moves forward between my thighs. Tenderly, he brushes a kiss over my lips. Just as usual, he’s sweet and sour, all in the same moment.

“You’re such an ass. You really did go around town buying all of them.”

“Sure did. And I have one more to return to you.” Leaning to the side, he grabs an identical book to the ones I’ve been given all day via messenger. This one, he places directly in my hands.

Keeping my eyes on him, my fingers nervously flip the cover open, wondering if this is a sweet or sour moment as his smile gets tighter. Looking to the paper, I read the inscription. Sweet. It’s absolutely a sweet moment, yet it also brings questions to the surface and pulls the knot in my heart even tighter.

Love.

E

Looking to him, I see a nervous smile on his face as my mouth falls open. I’m unable to say anything because all my thoughts jumble together. He isn’t telling me he loves me, is he?

Leaning forward, he tenderly kisses me, caressing his hand down my back. “If it’s not, I don’t know what is.”

Yes, he is. That’s what he’s saying. Before I can respond—although I doubt I could have gathered enough thoughts to speak—he covers my mouth with his, and I drop the sketchbook on the counter beside me. Everything about the moment seems perfect, too good to be true. Even as I cling to his solid shoulders, I remind myself to enjoy the moment because after the sweetness comes the bitter awakening. Whether at his hand or another’s, it’s only a matter of time. Until then, I’ll relish in the feel of him. And I do just that, though I wonder … if I said the word back, would it change anything? Would we continue to hide away from the world, no different than we are now? Or would my reciprocation persuade him to tell my brother how he feels about me? Love. I want to believe it’s what I feel too. But would I be this hesitant to say the words if it were entirely true? Love is supposed to conquer all, but so far, all those loving-type feelings have done is lead to chaos and devastation. If that’s what love is, I don’t want anything to do with it. Although, the further I’m pulled into Bassland, the less I care about what it’s called and the more I want to enjoy the ride … however short of a time it may last.