Sorrow (Cape Frost #1)

8

Hayes

I still can’t believe I’m letting her stay in my house. Aside from contractors, Boo is the only person who has ever stepped foot inside here, and he knows better than to fuck anything up. Sam, on the other hand, is the type to move all my shit just because she knows I’d lose my mind. Just having her here in my space has my chest tight.

It’s the exact feeling I knew she’d bring, the one where you’re staring at the forecast awaiting a storm — a goddamn hurricane.

Still, she has nowhere to go. I may be an asshole set in his ways, but I’m not a monster.

Not to mention, I’d lose my mind not knowing she was okay. I hate it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Somehow she’s gone from Boo’s little sister to someone buried deep under my skin, and a part of me might always resent her for it.

Maybe it’s my fault. I push and tease and rile her up because I’m bored, and we live in a piece of shit city I would have left a long time ago if... well, I don’t actually know why I’m still here.

Whatever. It’s time to make that ridiculous woman some breakfast and pretend we’re just two people hanging out instead of who we really are.

Piece of cake.

But when she comes back out and walks past me smelling like my shower products, I have this strange feeling of ownership over her that doesn’t make sense. In fact, it pisses me the fuck off. I don’t own her, I can’t. Even if it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her as a kid, I call her that anyway to remind myself who she is and why I’ll never have her. Why I can’t have these feelings of desire for her. I fucking can’t .

So I push.

“Did you just get right back in your dirty panties?” I scrunch up my nose like I’m grossed out and not at all wondering what they smell like. Yeah, this isn’t going well.

This is exactly what I didn’t want to fucking happen .

“No. I left them as a present for you on the bathroom floor and just put my pants back on like a man,” she counters.

“Like a man?” I splutter, then try to act like my brain delay is caused by her statement and not the fact that she isn’t wearing panties. “We wear underwear.” Are they really on the ground? Fuck. “You’re a menace.”

“Call me whatever you want, I need to hold onto some of my dignity.”

By going commando. Makes sense.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll make us bacon and eggs. Go sit by the furnace, Hurricane.”

I may have just started calling her that out loud, but she’s been that for a while in my head. Samuel was just easier to stick to, no explanation needed. But she knows how I view her now, and I might as well have confessed my obsession right then and there.

She still doesn’t get it, though. Her ice blue eyes look as sad as ever as she makes her way to the couch, like Hurricane is just the next in a long list of insults she doesn’t understand. I’ve never met anyone in my life who tries to hide it the way she does.

I watch her as I cook, noting the way she’s staring at my blank television even though the remote is right next to her. She’s just gone through something traumatizing, so I don’t judge the emptiness radiating off of her as I toss together a bacon and cheese omelet. I leave her alone until I’m finished buttering some sourdough toast then pull her back to reality. “Come eat. On the table, never on the couch.”

I can’t fucking stand lying on crumbs.

“You’re a riot at parties, aren’t you?” she asks flatly, but obeys nonetheless. I get another whiff of my body wash as she moves past me to sit at the small round table. “Thank you for this. I guess I forgive you for eating my breakfast that day.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know it was the last of it, but good. You should forgive me.” I’m joking, but based on her expression, it doesn’t deliver how I meant it to. Or maybe she just doesn’t find me funny no matter what I say. “Also, I don’t go to parties. I don’t like people, especially people like the ones at the quarry.”

“I can’t imagine why, they seemed like really upstanding citizens. Artists, even. The work they did on my truck is groundbreaking.”

“Your truck?” I stand up to go see for myself, my jaw tensing at what I find in my front yard. I’m so fucking sick of living in a town run by the wrong people, and how these dicks really get away with shit like this every single day. I’m no saint. I break the law all the time, but I don’t walk around like I’m untouchable.

That’s the kind of shit that enrages me.

When I go back inside, I scarf down some food before I look at her again, finding the same blank expression there. She’s struggling.

“Is Boo gone?”

“Yeah, he left about five minutes before you knocked on my door. Did you see his car out there?” I’m wondering if he caught a ride with someone. She obviously takes it as me being a smartass.

“I wasn’t looking for it. He probably had to go meet the arson investigator, huh?”

“Maybe. He’s also been working like crazy, so who knows? He’s determined to find a way to get those dicks, and I imagine that’s only going to get worse now. You know he isn’t the type to just sit around and let his feelings in. He’ll stay as busy as he can.”

We finish eating a few minutes later, and for a moment, neither of us move from the table.

“He had video surveillance, an eye witness, and physical evidence,” she says softly. “I don’t think he wants to get justice. I think he wants revenge.”

And who are we to tell him he’s wrong? “What do you want?”

“I want my brother to come out of this alive,” she says flatly. “Without him... I’m alone.”

“He will. He has his reasons for being so consumed right now, but he’ll be alright.” It feels weird trying to offer her comfort instead of my usual sorrow, but I’ve also never seen her look more defeated. “Have some faith in him.”

“Faith,” she repeats. “Right.” Samara stands like she’s going to go to her room, then remembers this isn’t her house. “I should go into town. I need... everything.”

“You plan on driving your truck around like that?” I can buff it out. The paint under it is screwed, but it’s better than driving around the way she’d have to otherwise. Not that I care. “Just give me a bit, alright? Clean the kitchen for us and chill by the furnace.”

“Funnily enough, when you have to go to the store because you no longer own a pair of clean underwear or a toothbrush, the words ‘virgin bitch’ don’t cut as deep as they might’ve otherwise. But for once in my life, I’m not in the mood to argue with you. ”

She spins, taking the dishes to the sink without a word. Her movements are slow as I rush off to take the piss I’ve been holding. I try not to think about her at all, but while I stand here letting my mind drift away, my eyes lock on the gray cotton panties balled up behind the door. In any other circumstance, I’d yell at her for being a slob, but as I finish up and continue staring down at them, anger isn’t the emotion I’m feeling. In fact, my cock hardens in my pants as soon as I shove it away and wash my hands, but it’s no use.

I can’t go out there like this.

Cursing under my breath, I make a decision I’m not proud of and pick up her panties, palming myself just at the thought of smelling her. When I do, I lose all control. In seconds my cock is back in my hand and I’m growling into the fabric with a huge inhale, then using them for friction as I jack off bracing against my sink.

Most of my focus is on keeping my noise to a minimum, but whether I like it or not, flashes of her move to the forefront of my mind. Her senior year when I realized she wasn’t a kid anymore and the skintight dress she was wearing left little to the imagination. The time I ran into her in their hallway wearing only a towel after a shower, and her soaked hair dripped down her shoulders in a way that had me stepping in closer when I should have done the opposite. The night she didn’t know I was visiting, and I swear on my life I heard her moan my name through the door. I shouldn’t allow myself to think about her like this. I shouldn’t be thinking of her at all, yet I let myself live in the moment just long enough to flood those panties with a load so huge it seeps through the fabric and drips between my fingers. I don’t even let myself regret it as I continue to stroke myself through it, but when the silent alarm goes off in my head, I vow to never speak of this moment of weakness again. I kind of hate her more for it.

She can never find these underwear. I’ll make sure of it, but if I have to live with her much longer, I might lose my sanity just as quickly as she lost her only pair of panties.

I guess it’s fitting she steals something from me, too.