“It’s Bree.”
That’s all that I say, but it’s more than enough for him to understand what I’m saying.
He raises his eyebrows.
“So, you’re having girl trouble,” he guesses, and I can feel a trace of mischief in his voice. “Is this my moment to say I told you?”
I bite my tongue, fighting against the urge to punch him. I’m pissed that he’s right. He told me that this would happen when I invited Bree over the first time. Back then, I was blind to the possibility that I may have liked her. I can now say that I dug my own grave with everything that’s going on. I’m more than sure that I’m into her. Hell, I’m so into her that it hurts.
“Fuck you.”
His lips curve into a wolfish grin.
“Oh, so it is my moment,” Ryder comments, mocking me. Then his face turns serious when I scoff. “I’m sorry, Stan.”
“Sure.”
“We all saw it was coming,” he adds.
“Sure.”
“If it makes you feel better—”
The dry noise of someone knocking on the door interrupts him. The sound is repetitive, loud, and desperate, almost seeming like the person is trying to tear down the wooden barrier.
I frown. We’re not expecting visitors, and it’s almost midnight. There’s only one person that I know that knocks like that, and that’s the same girl that has been ignoring me for the past two days. Worry settles in my stomach, and I stand up quickly, walking towards the door to confirm my theory. Part of me wants to leave her in the hall to let her know that I’m mad at her, but everything breaks down when I open the door, and I see her. Bree’s face is wet with tears, and a recent bruise is forming on her left cheekbone.
The relief shows in her face when she sees me, and she throws herself at me. Her hands surround my torso, her face buried on my chest as she sobs uncontrollably. Without knowing what else to do, I hug her back, trying to comfort her even when my mind is blank. I turn my head to look at Ryder, asking for help, but he’s just as astonished as I am.
We have no clue what’s going on. The only thing that we know for sure is that Bree is obviously upset about something.
Carefully, without separating her from me, I guide Bree to the couch, searching for a more comfortable position. Ryder quickly moves around, turns off the TV, and puts the controllers away. I help her to sit on the couch as she continues to cry on my chest. I can feel the tears wetting my shirt. That doesn’t bother me at all. I just want to know what happened to her to be this way. I’ve never seen her cry before, so this is an entirely new field for me.
“Bree,” I call her, pushing her away from me a little to examine her. I take a hand to her chin, turning her face slightly to observe the reddish bruise on her cheekbone. She winces when my fingers roam over it. “What happened?”
Bree wipes her tears with the back of her hand. Her glossy sight trails off as she purses her lips together.
“A guy came out of nowhere and mugged me,” she says, her voice trembling.
Ryder approaches with a glass of water, offering it to her. Bree accepts it but doesn’t drink from it. Her hands wrap the crystal, using it as a distraction.
“Fuck. Are you okay? Did he do something to you?” My voice sounds desperate, my eyes trying to catch if she has other physical wounds that I’m not aware of. Bree’s in one piece. The only thing that catches my attention is the future black eye that she’ll have, but other than that, she seems physically okay.
It’s her mind that I’m worried about.
“I’m fine. He just punched me, took my phone, and left. It happened so fast that I didn’t have time to react,” she mutters the explanation as her gaze gets lost for a second. Bree puts the glass of water on top of the table, and I notice her hands trembling without control. “I’m sorry. I know that I’m a mess right now, I shouldn’t have come—”
“Don’t apologize,” I cut her off abruptly before her mind wanders to a place that it shouldn’t. She gulps, biting her bottom lip. I hold her hands between mine. “You know that you’re always welcome here. How can we help?”
“Can I use your phone?” she asks in a whisper. “I need to call my parents.”
I glance at Ryder.
“Can you bring me my phone? It’s in my room,” I tell him.
I don’t want to leave her alone while she processes what happened to her.
Thankfully, he doesn’t hesitate and disappears from the room. I take advantage of the opportunity to gather the rest of the details. If she’s here, I can only assume that she didn’t call the cops, and I don’t want her to forget the details if she decides to file a complaint.
“Where did it happen?” I interrogate cautiously. I don’t want to pressure her, but I need to know what happened and why she came here first.
“A couple of blocks from here.”
“Why were you alone?”
It’s not a problem that she was alone, and I’m not blaming her either, but I know her. Bree doesn’t go out often without her friends. It’s midnight, and the city is not the safest place to be during the late hours. These things happen during the day too, but it sure didn’t help her that’s dark.
“I was doing a group project. Malcolm only left two minutes before it happened,” she mumbles her response, and her sight drops to her lap. “I got distracted for one minute, Stan. I swear, it was only a minute. I’m always careful when I’m alone in the street. It was just a minute.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and my heart drops. I hug her tightly, trying to make her feel safe while she’s in a vulnerable state, processing a horrible night. I admire her strength. I can’t even think of how I would react in that situation.
“It wasn’t your fault, Bree,” I assure her in a soft tone. “Why did your partner leave?”
I’m interested in that fact to know who was the dumbass that left her on her own in a dark street. Only an asshole wouldn’t think about the risks that women face every day in the world. It wasn’t a safe space for her, and he should’ve known better. Would it have happened anyway? Maybe, but at least that way she wouldn’t have faced it on her own.
“I told him to leave. I thought I would be okay,” Bree replies, and I’m shocked by the fact that she’s defending him.
He shouldn’t have left her alone. I would’ve stayed with her until I knew that she was safe.
“I’m still going to kick his ass,” I inform her.
That makes her laugh between tears.
“You’re the best, Stan.”
I shake my head, putting away a few strands of her hair that are getting in the way.
“I’m glad that you’re okay,” I say, keeping her close to me.
Bree doesn’t pull away. Her body stays close to mine, being comfortable with my presence. Slowly she stops shaking, letting me know that she feels safe here.
Ryder enters the living room, holding my phone and hands it to me. I unlock it, suspecting that he took longer than necessary to give us some privacy to talk. It doesn’t take five minutes to find a phone when it was literally on my bed. However, I’m grateful that he decided to do it because it gave me time to speak with her.
I give her my phone.
“Call whoever you want.”
I stand up from the couch to give her some privacy to make her call. I don’t think this is going to be something that her parents are going to take lightly. After all, they’re going to receive the notice that their daughter got mugged. I don’t go away that far. Instead, I take a position in the kitchen where I can still see her and hear what she’s saying, but not what her parents are saying.
“I have a question. What are we going to do if Carter comes back and sees her?” Ryder asks in a whisper.
“Carter can go fuck himself,” I reply bitterly. “Bree is more important than him.”
“I know that, but Bree has made it very clear that she doesn’t want to stumble upon him,” he reminds me.
As if I could forget about it.
He’s the reason why we’re this close. Whatever Bree did was the trigger for this whole situation between us. Everything is intertwined, and I’m not entirely ignorant. I also know that it’s been a while since then, and I doubt that Carter will even remember her.
“She’s the priority now,” I emphasize. “I don’t care about him.”
Ryder nods, accepting my decision. Besides, what am I supposed to do? Tell her to leave because my roommate might see her? Nope, I won’t do that. I prefer to stab myself before I even disrespect her in that way.
“Dad, no.” Bree’s firm tone catches my attention. “It’s not worth it. It’s been half an hour, and I didn’t see the guy… Fine. Can we do it tomorrow?” There’s a long pause. “No, I don’t have hopes to recover my phone. Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hangs up and sighs. Ryder approaches her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Sweetheart, I know that you’ve been through hell tonight,” he starts to say in a sweet voice. “But we need to know what you want to do. We can take you to your apartment, or you can stay here. We just want you to be comfortable and safe.”
Bree thinks about her options for a minute. There’s a frown in her forehead, her teeth biting her bottom lip.
“I don’t know if I want to go back out there right now,” Bree speaks in an undertone.
A knot forms in my stomach, knowing what it means. Bree will stay over, and I need to prepare my mind to spend a long night on the couch.
“Okay,” Ryder concedes quickly. “Do you want to take a bath? We’re here for you, Bree.”
She nods.
“Thanks, Ry.”
He offers her a smile, showing her his dimples.
“We’re your boys, remember?” He tries to lighten the mood, and it works because Bree smirks. “I’ll go prepare a bath for you.”
Ryder abandons the room, and I focus my attention on the girl that’s sitting on the couch with swollen eyes and quivering lips. Extending a hand, I help her stand up from the couch, guiding her to my room. I need to find clothes for her.
When we cross the door, her eyes glow with curiosity as they roam over the room. She has never been here, so I don’t doubt that she wants to know how I live.
Luckily for me, my room isn’t a total mess. There are some shirts on the desk chair and books out of the shelves. I have two lacrosse sticks in the bottom bracket and new gloves that I got for next season. I don’t have decorations on the walls, just a photo of my family that my mother gave me when I moved here. Three pairs of shoes are out of the closet, but I don’t bother to shove them back in.
The bedsheets are gray, and they’re tangled because I took a nap earlier. I think that my copy of the Sherlock Holmes Collection is under one of the pillows.
“You have a lot of books,” she notices, her fingers trailing the spines of the books in one of the shelves.
“I’m a bookworm, okay?” I confess dramatically, and she giggles.
I look for a black shirt in my drawer and a pair of sweatpants that are probably too big for her, considering her small height, but it’s better than her current clothes. Sleeping in jeans is not the definition of comfort.
“I didn’t expect you to have so many books.”
“Yeah, well, people shouldn’t leave me alone in a place where I can buy books,” I let her know.
“We should go to a bookstore one day,” Bree suggests, catching me unguarded.
I notice that she wants to have a conversation that distracts her from what happened tonight.
“Only if you let me pick one for you.”
“Fine,” she accepts without hesitating. I think she’s intrigued by it. “I’m curious to see how you would act in that environment.”
I smirk. “I fit in just fine.”
“Better than in the lacrosse team?” Bree questions, tilting her head.
I roll my eyes.
“For your information, most of the guys in the team don’t even study something related to sports or whatever your stereotype for us is.”
“In my mind, you all study something related to business administration,” she mentions with a casual shrug.
“You’d be surprised to know the rest of their majors. I mean, yeah, Kaleb does study administration, but most of us have different majors,” I let the information drop gently.
It’s not a lie. I can count on one hand the members of the team that study something related to what she has in mind, and I’d have fingers left. We’re a little more complexed than what she wants to admit.
“So, Ryder doesn’t study administration.”
I shake my head. He’s way far from that. I think he would prefer to jump from a bridge than ending up in a career that would trap him in an office for the rest of his life.
“Nope.”
“That’s a shocker,” she says, dragging the words. “Can I guess it?”
I chuckle.
“Make that bet with him.” I offer her my clothes, and she grabs them.
Ryder pops his head from the corner of the doorframe and glances at Bree.
“Everything’s ready.”
She nods and follows him down the hall.
Making use of the time, I shove the shoes inside the closet, put the Sherlock book back on the shelf, and throw the shirts to the dirty pile. I organize the sheets a little, checking if there are any more books. I need to know that nothing will disturb her stay over.
I can barely make peace with the fact that Bree’s going to be sleeping in my bed tonight. Turning around, I spot her at the door, looking sheepish for the first time. She’s wearing the black shirt that reaches half of her thigh. The sweatpants are on her right hand.
“These are longer than me. Why did you have to be a giant?” Bree asks, throwing them at me.
“No one told you to be a dwarf,” I spit back, catching the pants and putting them back in the drawer. I look for an extra bedsheet in my closet.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes follow me walking around the room.
“Making sure that I have everything to sleep on the couch,” I reply shortly.
She points at the bed.
“Your bed is right there.”
“You’re sleeping there,” I refute.
Bree seems to connect the dots because she rolls her eyes.
“Oh, my God, Stanley. How old are we? Twelve? We’re perfectly capable of sharing a bed for one night.”
My muscles tense up, but not because I hate the idea, but because I’m not sure if she genuinely means it. However, her glare tells me that she’s okay with it. I know that I shouldn’t because I don’t know where I stand with her, but I’m a masochist. Even when I’m conscious that she wouldn’t have spoken to me unless this awful situation happened, I still can’t reject her proposal.
Is it wrong that part of me wants this? My whole skin screams for her, and I know that this will be more difficult than sleeping on the couch, but somehow I still want it. I want her close. My feelings are all over the place.
“Lie down.”
“You’re bossy in the bedroom,” she mumbles as she climbs on the bed, crawling until she’s on the side that’s close to the wall. I turn the lights off, leaving only the one that’s on my nightstand on. I lie down next to her. “Are you planning on sleeping now?”
I shake my head.
“I’m not sleepy,” I say honestly.
Bree bites her lip.
“Me neither. I think that I could be awake forever.”
“Me too.”
I’m sure that I won’t be able to sleep either. I’m hyperconscious of her body, the heat that emanates from it, making it difficult for me to concentrate on anything else. She turns on the bed, looking directly at me, and I can feel her warm breath hitting me.
“Why did you turn the lights off then?” she interrogates, wanting a sincere answer.
“I was hoping that the darkness would inspire you to sleep.”
A laugh escapes from h
er mouth.
“I’m not a baby, Stan.”
“I realize that.”
I’m well aware of it.
“Plus, it’s not like we’re completely in the dark. That lamp is as bright as the sun.” Bree pauses for a second and arches a brow. “Are you scared of the dark, and that’s the reason why you have that huge lamp?”
I groan because she has a tremendous ability to get into my nerves. She indeed learned it from being a younger sibling, or maybe it’s on her genes. The smaller she is, the more energy she will have to mess with people. Sometimes I wonder how we managed to get along.
“Bree, you’re annoying,” I tell her. An innocent smile draws on her face. It’s everything but real because she’s undoubtedly messing with me on purpose. I reach for the lamp and turn it off, leaving the room in complete darkness. My eyes adjust quickly, and I’m able to see her face in the shadows. “Happy?”
She hums.
“I dunno. I can’t see your eyes.”
I frown.
“For what reason do you want to see my eyes? Is that an inner fetish?” I give her a taste of her own medicine.
Her chuckle shatters the intense mood that is installed in the room when we laid down in the same bed. The truth is that it’s hard for us to take anything seriously. It’s our way to relieve nervousness and anxiety.
“Don’t be silly. I like… I like to look at people in their eyes when we talk,” she explains briefly in a secretive tone. “This feels intimate.”
I agree with her statement.
“Do you want me to go?”
Bree shakes her head, and her hand finds its way to my arm, lightly caressing the skin. I gulp as a lump forms in my throat.
“I didn’t say that, Stan. I just said that this feels intimate.”
“Maybe it is.”
“We’re going to end up having a deep conversation, aren’t we?”
Even when she says it as a joke, it’s the type that carries some truth. It’s midnight, and we’re in my bed with the lights off, our faces separated by a few inches. It’s almost mandatory for us to have an in-depth conversation in which we’ll say stuff that we’ll regret. We’re probably going to express more than we would during the day when all of our barriers are up and guarded.
Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1) Page 16