Crimson Bound (Blood Oath #7)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

I haven’t had such a restless night since they found Mom’s cancer.

I tossed and turned until ultimately giving up and flicking on the lamp beside my bed, figuring I might as well lose myself in a book if I wasn't going to get any sleep. As my eyes start to scan the lines, my eyes slowly begin to open and close lazily…

The next time I open my eyes, sunlight is bleeding through the curtains covering my window. I rub the sleep from my lashes and yawn, adjusting the pillow under my head as I roll onto my side and reach for my phone to check the time. Somehow it's past noon, so I force myself upright and open a new message to Azra.

She had texted me earlier this morning asking how things were going, and that simple question sends me into a spiral of confusion and grief that has me covering my face with a pillow to yell at nothing until my throat hurts. Finally, I toss the pillow aside and answer her text.

I slept like shit and feel weird about dinner last night.

She responds a minute later.

What do you mean?

I chew the inside of my cheek.

I don't know what's going on but I can't help seeing them through a different lens now. I know it’s not right but I also can’t make it stop.

Okay, well your emotions are bound to be all over the place right now, Eden. Meet me at our spot in half an hour, and we can talk about everything. I don't want you keeping this bottled up. Your mom wouldn’t either.

I huff out a sigh, knowing she's right, but I still really don’t want to get out of bed.

A minute later, another message comes through.

I'm serious, Eden. You better be there, or I'm coming to the house and dragging you out by your hair.

Fineeee.

I shove the blankets off and swing my legs over the side of the bed, inhaling deeply before forcing myself to stand, then shuffle to the bathroom across the hall. I slept the entire morning, but my muscles are still heavy and my brain is foggy, as if I haven’t gotten any rest.

I turn the shower on and peel off my pajamas before stepping under the hot cascade of water. Tipping my head back, I let it wash over my face in hopes of it making me feel like I'm not stuck in this in-between state of sleep and consciousness.

Closer to forty-five minutes later, I walk into our favorite coffee shop. The gold bell above the door chimes to announce my entrance, and I immediately spot Azra at the table near the back of the room.

It unofficially became our table after we came here consistently for two years. I guess it's more official, considering the owner put a RESERVED sign on it months ago, making sure it stayed empty for us whenever we visit.

“Hey, babe,” Azra says, standing as I approach. She wraps me in a warm hug and kisses the side of my head. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” I murmur, hugging her back. Since Azra and I became friends, I always felt like she was my safe space. We never judge one another, and she brings me a sense of ease, which I need more than ever right now. Giving her one final squeeze, I let go.

We sit down, and I pretend to peruse the menu as the sound of the espresso machine behind the counter fills the silence between us with the soft hiss of the milk steamer.

“Did you see them this morning?” she asks in a soft tone.

I glance at her over the top of my menu and shake my head. “I managed to sneak out without running into any of them.” Thank god. I was not prepared for a run-in with anyone this morning. This afternoon. Whatever .

“So, what? Are you just going to avoid them until graduation? I don't see how that's going to work.”

I drag a hand through my hair, still damp from my shower, and exhale. “I have no idea, Az. It's just…I don't know if it has to do with missing my mom or what, but I can't ignore this weird tension that seems to hang in the air whenever I'm around them. I mean, it’s not new. This started before Mom died, but the absence of her makes it harder to ignore.”

She frowns, pressing her lips together for a moment before she says, “Are you sure it's such a good idea for you to stay there? What you're describing doesn't sound like something that, left unchecked, is just going to go away.”

I set my menu down and shrug. “I don't really have much of a choice. Maverick is offering me a place to stay for free while I finish school and has assured me I'll be taken care of. I feel like it would be stupid of me not to accept the help. Once I get my degree, it’ll be a different story. I can get a job and my own place, but for now…” I trail off, tapping my fingers against the table between us, because I don't know what else there is to say. I'm not in a good place but I also realize things could be a lot worse. Maverick could have kicked me out, but instead, he's chosen to take care of me. The weird fluttering sensation in my stomach at the thought of that makes me cringe inwardly. I grasp how wildly inappropriate it is. But it's there just the same. Besides all that, the thought of being able to finish school, being able to focus on my studies without worrying about money or a roof over my head, is too enticing to pass up. Especially when I won't have access to the trust Mom set up for me until I'm twenty-five and already done school.

“It's temporary,” I insist. “Just until graduation.”

Azra still doesn't look convinced. “You know if anything changes I'm only a call away. We can rent a truck. I’ll help you pack up your shit and get you out of there.”

I laugh, though it lacks any real humor. “You make it sound like I'm stuck in a prison. You've seen their house.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don't care how nice the house is, Eden. Prisons can take many forms.”

I blow out a breath, picking up the menu again. “Okay, I need to eat. This conversation is getting way too deep for the week I've had.”

She offers me a thoughtful smile. “Fair enough. Order whatever you want, my treat.”

A couple of hours later, I pull into the driveway at the house. A spark of nerves or maybe excitement ignites in my chest when I see the driveway is full.

Looks like I won't be able to avoid them coming home.

I get out of the car, clicking the lock, and shoulder my bag as I walk inside. Pausing in the entryway, I frown faintly at the buzzing in the air.

“What the hell?” I mutter as I walk toward the sound. Stopping dead in the doorway separating the hallway and the formal living room, I find Rhys, sprawled out on the couch with his leg extended as he presses a tattoo gun to his upper thigh.

He’s an enigma.

When I moved in, I thought he was maybe just introverted and hesitant about having a stranger around, one he barely spent any time with since our parents' brief marriage. But as the months went on, I realized he wasn’t introverted—he was just an asshole.

There was a point where I was trying so hard to get him to like me. I thought the tattooed bad boy persona that he gave off was a facade.

It wasn’t.

I remember the day I sat beside him on the very couch he’s on now while he was watching TV. I thought it would be a good time to get to know him. I specifically remember him telling me to fuck off when I asked about his day.

Since then, our relationship—if you can even call it that—has been strained, and I usually end up in a sour mood after interacting with him.

When I step into the room, he still hasn’t noticed my presence. Or at least hasn’t acknowledged it.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask before I can clamp my mouth shut.

Rhys doesn't take his eyes off what he's doing. “Baking cookies,” he says gruffly. “What the fuck do you think?”

My eyes widen as I stare at him incredulously. Without another word, I spin around and hurry away, annoyed at the uptick of my pulse as I climb the stairs to shut myself in my bedroom. I should’ve known better than to try talking to him.

I spend the rest of the day with my nose stuck in a textbook, hoping if I pretend to study for long enough, maybe I'll actually find the motivation to retain some of the information I'm reading. School has always been something I enjoyed, but now, feeling like I need to use it as a distraction from my life, I'm not sure it's the best idea. I should’ve brought my textbooks and stayed at the café to study, because all I can think about as I sit at my desk overlooking the sprawling green backyard is the three men in this house I should not be thinking about.

I huff out an agitated breath, slamming my textbook shut, and lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to alleviate the dull burn there. I can't help but replay the scene in the living room with Rhys. He's always been a bit of an asshole to me, but I guess I thought he'd show some kindness right now. Evidently, that’s too much to ask.

I skip dinner, pretending to be asleep when someone knocks on my door a few hours later, despite the grumbling in my stomach. I just don't think I have it in me for another weird family dinner. Instead I munch on a protein bar and scroll through old photos of me and Mom on my phone as I lay in bed and fight the urge to cry.

I grew up without a dad and I don't think I really felt that loss because Mom always made up for it. Having her there was enough. But now she's gone?—

I quickly swipe at the tears that roll down my cheeks, sniffling as I toss my phone onto the bed beside me and debate crawling under the covers and trying to sleep. It's just after nine, and I’m exhausted physically and emotionally, but I’m not going to be able to fall asleep with the hunger pangs in my gut.

I press my lips together and consider sneaking down to the kitchen for something to eat. I tiptoe to the window and notice Rhys's car is gone from the driveway; he does a lot of work at night at the tattoo studio.

I pad across my bedroom and open the door, slowly poking my head out and listening for anything. The house is silent, so I hurry downstairs into the kitchen and turn the kettle on to make some tea.

While the water boils, I open the fridge and grab a handful of blueberries, shoving them in my mouth before opening the pantry and swiping a sleeve of soft baked chocolate chip cookies. They’re nowhere near as good as the homemade ones Mom used to make, but they'll have to do.

I wander around the quiet main floor, waiting for the kettle to whistle and munching on the chocolaty goodness. I pause in the hallway and frown at the light under Maverick’s office door. It's not uncommon for him to come home from the office and continue working—he always seems to be working.

Returning to the kitchen, I switch off the burner and grab the kettle to fill my mug. Without letting myself overthink it, I find another mug, drop in a tea bag, and fill it with water. I leave mine behind as I carry the second toward the office, hesitating outside the door as my pulse thrums beneath my skin. I shake my head. This is ridiculous.

His voice is muffled on the other side of the door, so instead of knocking, I slip inside silently and slowly approach his desk, stopping at the corner and setting the mug in front of him.

His eyes connect with mine, and my throat goes dry. The hard, focused lines of his face soften as he glances from me to the cup of tea, then back. “No, I’m here,” he says into the phone, keeping his eyes on me.

I bite the inside of my cheek, offering a small smile as I turn to leave. Before I make it so much as a step away from his desk, Maverick moves, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. The contact sends my heart racing, and I freeze, turning back to face him.

The look in his eyes, the indecision there, as if he’s fighting… himself leaves me unable to form words. My pulse is in my throat, and when he pulls me closer, my lips part in a soft gasp.

Maverick pauses, holding my gaze an eternity longer before shaking his head, as if to himself, and lets me go. A muscle ticks in his jaw as he turns away from me. “Tell them we’ll discuss further next week.”

I swallow hard and hurry out of his office, my head spinning and my heart pounding like the wings of a hummingbird.

Did Maverick feel the same buzz I did when he touched me?

I’ve spent so much time trying to convince myself what I felt wasn’t real. That there wasn’t a world where Maverick could possibly feel something for me. But when he grabbed my wrist and held me in place, something…shifted between us.

As I rush into my bedroom and close the door, I lean back against it and thump my head back against the wood.

Fuck. Me.