AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Shepp's shoulders hunch when he hears me moving about, inching closer to him. I want to suss him out and interrogate him about last night. Why did he speak? And why doesn't he now?
But I have to play this coolly. If he's already avoiding eye contact, then he's spooked from speaking to me. Or it's something else.
“So, these donuts were pretty delicious. Do you make them often?” I ask, putting my plate into the sink.
Smooth. I want to smack myself in the forehead. Make them often? I sound like I'm trying to pick him up at the bar. What I really want to know is why he’s making the exact donuts I’ve eaten every morning for years now. I’m not an idiot.
I turn on my heels, leaning against the counter to watch him.
He peeks over his shoulder, his ocean eyes examining me with a hitch in his breath. He shrugs, ignoring me.
Something desperate rears inside me. I want to dismantle him and expose his mysteries.
Out of all the guys, I feel like I know him the least. Not that I know the others. Like at all. Their psycho tendencies have shown themselves more often, outshining Shepp's silent exterior.
So, I go for the slow approach. Small talk. My least favorite activity.
“Well, thank you for making them. So, what's your favorite thing to cook?” I ask, slowly meandering closer.
He watches me with caution, digging in his pocket and pulling out a notebook. He nibbles his bottom lip for a few seconds, deep in contemplation, before scribbling down a few words and handing it to me.
Lasagna and donuts. French toast.
I blink several times. Those are all my favorites. Foods I often found in my refrigerator after waking up. And the donuts? They tasted heavenly. But very familiar. Too familiar for my brain not to jump to conclusions.
Of course, Arrow was the one watching me while I slept and taking photos. So, what would stop Shepp from being the one to bring me food every morning? It wouldn’t. If they’ve been watching me for years from the shadows, then those are the types of things I would expect from them.
“Like the lasagna you left me last night?”
I consumed every damn bite. Then, I ran it off in the woods while these psychos chased me. What a thrilling time to be alive.
A pinkish color appears on his cheeks, and he nods.
“Well, it was really good. It reminded me of something my mom made when I was little.”
My brows furrow when the confession rolls out of me with ease. But I remember the delicious spices on my tongue, transporting me back to a time when I was a kid, and my mom was a mom.
There's something so peaceful and trusting about Shepp. The way his eyes slice right through me, unraveling the walls I've erected. Maybe it's because he doesn't talk back and listens to my past rolling off my tongue.
“Before my mom turned to drugs, she used to get up early and make me breakfast. French toast was her specialty. Then, she'd make this delicious lasagna, too. She was a good mom…” I trail off, not wanting to utter the word.
She was a good mom before she completely changed. She looked the same but acted differently. A darkness took over her eyes. An evil, hellbent on giving me a hellish childhood. The breakfasts stopped. Love ceased to exist. She spiraled into the abyss of drugs, losing her humanity.
Fingers gently rub my cheek, wiping away the moisture dripping there. My brows furrow as tears burn the backs of my eyes, flowing down my cheeks. My gaze snaps forward, connecting with his, and my breath stalls. His brows furrow, concern lacing every inch of his expression.
I apparently miss my mom more than I realized. The old her, of course. The woman who tucked me in and brought me to work with her as she cleaned houses.
It's like mourning someone who's dead. Only she's still breathing. Merely existing in this world. I can see her every day. And yet, my heart breaks for her. Because she died the moment she shoved drugs into her veins and became the woman she is today. The mom she isn't.
I miss her.
Maybe it's the combination of what happened last night. When I let myself go and uttered the words I never thought I would. Or maybe it's my impending period hovering in the background, waiting to strike.
Whatever it is. My emotions release.
Shepp doesn't hesitate, pulling me into his solid chest. A scent of cinnamon and syrup wafts from his shirt. The remnants of the donuts we had. He's sugary sweet. Yet, rough around the edges.
His outer appearance hints at the damage done to him. The scar on his cheek. The missing tongue in his mouth. Someone damaged him. Ruined him completely.
