AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That might be your preference, but not mine.” I pick up another slice of bread. “If you want, I can slather butter all over yours.”
“Do. I like mine greasy.” He picks up the spatula to turn over the sandwiches he’s cooking.
“Okay, one heart attack coming up.” I slather a crap ton of butter all over the bread. He extends his hand to take it from me, but I move it out of his reach. “Hold on. I missed a corner.” I butter a tiny spot that I missed, making sure to get it good.
Zay stares at me, unimpressed. “Do you always take things so literally?”
“No.” I hand him the bread. “Do you always take things so seriously?”
Jax chokes on a laugh from behind us. Zay throws a look of warning at him, to which Jax just shrugs. Rolling his eyes, Zay returns to the grilled cheese while Jax trades a smile with me.
Still smiling, I turn back around and pick up another slice of bread to butter.
Zay moves the cooked sandwiches onto a plate to get ready to make another batch. “This thing with the cameras,” he says, changing the subject, “we’re all going to have to get into the house to install them. And while we do, we’re going to need someone to keep an eye on the camera that’s set up near the road to make sure no one shows up.”
“And you want me to do that?” I ask.
He nods. “I know it’s your house, but you don’t know how to set up the cameras.”
“It’s fine.” I pause. “You’re not going to set up any in my room, right?” I mean, I know he already said that, but I want to be extra certain.
“I already told you I wouldn’t.”
“What aboutnearmy room?” You know, close enough that one of them could possibly hear what’s happening during those nights my uncle sneaks in.
His gaze flits to me. “I’m not sure.” He keeps his gaze on me as he takes the slice of buttered bread I’m holding. “What are you afraid of us overhearing?”
“Oh, you know, my off-pitch voice as I sing in the shower,” I lie. “I suck at singing.”
I don’t think he’s buying my bullshit, but that’s okay. I won’t crack. The wounds and scars on my side start to throb against his intense gaze.
“Having a stare down already, huh?” Hunter steps up behind me and reaches around to grab a sandwich off the plate, standing so close that his chest touches my back.
Zay returns to cooking, not bothering to remark on what Hunter said. “Did you get the equipment?” he asks.
“Yep.” Hunter pries the butter knife out of my hand then laces his fingers through mine. “And now I’m going to go look at this beautiful girl’s phone and see if I can figure out who the hell is sending her those texts while you finish cooking.” He pulls me away from the counter and tows me with him as he heads back down the hallway. I grow nervous, knowing he’s going to read those texts.
What the heck am I going to say to him if he does ask questions?
No answer comes to me, and by the time he pulls me into the living room, I’m sweating. When he lets go of my hand, I try to discreetly wipe off my damp palms as I take in the room. It has a fireplace, two sofas and a chair and, like the wall beside the stairway, framed photos hang everywhere. I get a better look at these ones, but one in particular snags my attention. It’s of an old tree on top of a hill. The sky is shadowy, and the tree is shedding leaves that are floating around it. It’s a haunting photo, but that’s not why I’m staring at it. It’s that I feel like I’ve seen the tree before.
“Where is this?” I wonder as I walk over to get a better look at the photo.
Hunter is standing beside me, digging through a box, and while I’m not fully looking at him, I can almost feel how tense he gets, as if it’s so powerful it crackles through the air.
“It’s on my father’s land,” he explains in an odd tone. “Zay, Jax, and I used to go there to escape the shit going on in our homes when we were too young to drive. It was a place of solitude until … someone we knew died. We used to spend time with her there. Now it’s a place that reminds us of the worst day we ever had.”
That was not what I expected him to say.
I look at him then, and his expression is crammed with anguish. This guy, who has been nothing but smiles and sunshine.
I want to ask him who died there, but I know how hard it can be to talk about stuff like that. So, instead I ask, “If this tree reminds you of so much pain, then why do you keep a photo of it on your wall?”
He collects an iPad from the box. “Because, while it’s hard to look at, I don’t want to forget about her either.”
Her? Maybe it was a sister or one of the guy’s sisters.
Again, I keep those questions to myself, not wanting to force him to talk about stuff that is clearly painful for him.
