AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Not really,” he said, not taking my bait in the least. “But if you do anything that pisses me off, I can just hand you over to Lorien.” His smile was cold, and while the words would have freaked me out weeks ago, now I only laughed in response. I knew better than to believe him.
Hayden came into the living room, a plastic caddy in his hands. “We don’t have any of that wood spray, but this is what I found.” He set the caddy down beside me, filled with cleaning supplies of every type. He hadn’t wanted me to clean either, but I guessed he was good at realizing when people needed an outlet for the thoughts and feelings they wanted to ignore.
Some people ate mindlessly when stressed, others drank too much, but for me? I liked to clean.
“Thanks.” I grabbed the lemon-scented cleaner and squeezed the trigger so it sprayed on the microfiber cloth. I knew that those chemicals weren’t great for me, but the thought of them killing all the bad germs never failed to make me smile.
The front door opened, and for a moment, I thought it was Vance. I hadn’t seen him since the night before—I wasn’t even sure he’d come in at all. Maybe he’d gone somewhere else for the night? Or maybe he’d drunk himself into a stupor yet again.
Maybe the asshole choked on his own vomit last night.
The moment that thought hit me, a wave of guilt arrived on its heels. I didn’t want that, of course.
Instead of Vance, however, Tor walked in with a box in his hands. His gaze found me, and he nodded to indicate it was for me.
“Were you expecting something?” Hayden intercepted the box, taking it from Tor and peering at the labels. “It went to the school, and it says it’s from Colton Horhiser?”
“Oh, give here!” I set down the cloth and cleaners and hopped to my feet, then rushed over.
Hayden narrowed his eyes but kept it out of reach. “What is it?”
“Booze and dirty magazines,” I said with a sweet smile. “Now, can I have it?”
He sighed but handed the box over, clearly realizing that I knew about it. I slipped my finger beneath the edge on one side and pulled, tearing the tape that kept it closed. After opening the top, I set it on the table.
A letter sat on bubble wrap, and I picked it up first. It was short and sweet—at least half of that fitting the man who had written it.
Kenz,
Be careful and never forget where you come from.
I smiled and set the note on the table, not caring whether the men saw it. That was the nice thing about all my secrets having come out—I didn’t have to worry about hiding things anymore.
The bubble wrap came off easily, and in my hands rested a black leather photo album as thick as any dictionary. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said it was big.
“What’s that?” Char asked.
“I asked Colton to send me some old photos, so he said he’d send me a scrapbook my mother started.” I gave a chiding smile to Hayden. “And I had him send it to the school so he wouldn’t have this address.”
Though I bet he already does, the nosy bastard.
I sat on the couch, right in the middle, and put the book in my lap.
No one else moved at first, a tension like they weren’t sure they were welcome. It made me laugh, and I patted the spot beside me. “Come on, sit down. You can all ohh and ahh over my baby pictures then laugh at the awkward stage I went through when I thought wearing cat ears all the time was a good idea.”
To my surprise, Tor sat first. He took the spot to my left, and Hayden sat to my right, both of them close enough to press against me. Then again, we were all looking at the same book—we had to be close.
Char went around, behind the couch, and rested his hip on back. It let him peer over my shoulder. It also truly pinned me in between them all, which was something I hadn’t felt in a while.
I’d grown so used to dealing with these men that at times I forgot just how large they were, how intimidating they could be.
And there my body goes again.Clearly I couldn’t keep ignoring the lust inside me, especially around them. If they caught sight of it—and they would—they’d just lecture me again.
I opened the cover, trying to ignore any of those thoughts, distracting me with the photos.
“This was my mother, Caroline.” I went through the first pictures, pointing out my mother and my father. No one spoke as I did so, as I smiled and stroked my fingers over the baby pictures of Nem. “She went by the name Kelsey Williams back then.”
I’d never seen this album before, and what shocked me the most was the attention to detail in each photo. My mother had selected pictures that mattered to her, had placed them so lovingly in the scrapbook, along with paper that matched the tone and color scheme.
