Hollow Back Girl Page 8

  “Aww,” Owen cooed, sliding my shirt up. His brows lifted as he looked over the welts along the right side of my ribs. Gently, he ran his fingers over the bruises there, before leaning in and kissing me gently. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. I’m the idiot that walked straight into it.”

  He kissed me again, a little higher this time. His hands stayed tucked under the edges of my shirt, his lips remaining just as gentle as the first time they’d touched my bruised ribcage. But the atmosphere changed in an instant. As he moved his mouth up for another kiss, he rolled his gaze up to meet my eyes. Lust flooded my body, filling me up and making my insides tingle.

  I decided I didn’t need to hear about Madeline’s mother right then.

  Pushing my fingers further back into his hair, I watched him as he kissed me again, his nose brushing the underside of my breast. After a moment, he pulled back enough to shove my shirt up. I let him pull it off, drop it to the floor.

  “Now you,” I murmured, unzipping his coat. He held his arms out to the sides like I would pat him down for weapons and I grinned. After I tugged his jacket off, I took a step back.

  “Problem?” he asked. I waved a hand around in the air, gesturing to all of him.

  “I know better than to assume you’re not packing heat, Reid. Come on, disarm.”

  He gave a little chuckle and a nod. “Fair enough.”

  He held up a finger to indicate he’d be quick and got to his feet, stepping around me. I turned to watch him go to a suitcase laid out on a little stand by the bathroom door. He draped his jacket on one side, then lifted his ankle to pull a gun and holster out of his pant leg. All in all, he took off two knives, two guns, and a slim leather pack from under his shirt that I couldn’t figure the point of. It looked too thin to hold anything useful, but he laid it out gingerly, before turning to face me again.

  As he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on top of the suitcase, I heard his phone beep from his pocket.

  “Son of a bitch,” I growled, knowing exactly what that meant.

  Chapter Nine

  “Hey,” Chloe said from the easy chair by the fireplace. “I figured you’d be gone all night.”

  “Gwen!” mom cried from the kitchen as she noticed me. I winced at the tone and turned to smile innocently at her. “Where have you been? Chloe said you went to meet a friend, that it was an emergency. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” I said, eyes darting between her and Chloe. I caught the curious look on Chloe’s face before I gave a minute shake of my head. Pity rolled out of her and I sighed, turning back to my mom. I’d taken the coward’s way out and half-assedly mentioned to my brother that I was going out instead of telling mom anything directly. Apparently I was going to pay for my secrecy.

  “I was just helping a friend with something.”

  “A friend from school?”

  “N—yes,” I amended, giving one small nod.

  “But everything’s okay?”

  “Yeah. What’s for dinner?” I asked, changing the subject. I heard a yowl from the living room and peered through the kitchen and dining room to see what was going on. It looked the same as it always did, so I turned my attention back to my mother and her array of food. My mood fell instantly as my brain caught up to what was going on. “Augh, are you making vegetables again?”

  “You are your father’s daughter,” my mother mused. Chloe snorted from the doorway, leaning against the jamb.

  “I’m your daughter, too,” I said. When my mom just lifted a cynical brow, I rolled my eyes. “More yours, in fact. He didn’t bake me for nine months.”

  “Speaking of baking, what do you want for your birthday?”

  “Cake. Pie. Cookies.”

  “Pick one.”

  “Um,” I said, scanning the food my mom had laid out; I noted there wasn’t a single piece of meat in sight. “Can you bake a pie into a cake and put cookies on top? I’ve seen it on the internet. It’s a thing.”

  “No,” my mom said, simply. Chloe laughed, stepped forward to rub a hand on my back.

  “I have a present coming for you, so don’t choose cake.”

  “You bought me a cake?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Chloe said. My mother went back to chopping.

  “So what do you want to do on Friday?”

  “Ah, whatever. I don’t really care.”

  “Do you want to go out?”

  “No. I mean, if you don’t want to cook we can, but I don’t care either way.”

  “You are impossible,” Robin said, entering the kitchen behind Chloe. Stella yawned an adorable baby yawn in her arms and I made a happy sound in my throat.

  “Stella!” I squeaked, stepping forward. Without hesitation, Robin handed her over, turned to mom to look at what she was making.

  “Pasta?”

  “Yeah, Chloe’s got a vegan sauce for me to make.”

  “Oh!” Robin said, turning to Chloe. “That reminds me! I wanted to get that recipe from you.”

  “What recipe?” I asked, eying Chloe suspiciously. Stella kicked me in the ribs, making me grunt. Luckily my sister was already heading toward her old room.

  “You sister wanted some vegan recipes,” Chloe said. I glanced back toward the living room.

  “Does Jake know?”

  “I don’t know,” Chloe said with a shrug. Another shout and the sound of mouth-made gunfire came from the living room.

  “What is happening over there?”

  “Izzy and the kids set up forts,” mom explained. “He’s been great, keeping them busy all day.”

  “You should check the living room out, it looks really cool,” Chloe said.

  “Dad doesn’t mind?” I asked. Mom’s amusement burbled out and I took that as a no before she even spoke.

  “He’s been out in the shed for a few hours. I think Izzy is a little much for him to handle.” After a moment, she turned to me, lifted a brow. “How do you deal with him?”

  “Uh,” I said, wondering if we were headed down a path that could enlighten me on my father in a way I wasn’t ready to deal with. “Dunno.”

  Turning on my heel, I carried Stella toward the living room, stepping to the edge of the ugly dining room tile and looking out over the thick carpet at a sea of tiny pillow forts, blanket tents, and shirt flags among the two real tents set up for the family. J.J. shot out from under one of the blankets draped between the back of the couch and three dining room chairs. Stumbling in a run, he turned and shouted something I couldn’t understand in a voice that was trying its prepubescent best to approximate a pirate’s growl.

  Natalie popped out of another tent further back, tried to call her brother over. Suddenly, Izzy swung out of the fort J.J. had vacated, hopped onto the back of one of the dining chairs and pointed at him with both index fingers, making laser sounds. J.J. let out a long, high-pitched death scream and flopped onto his back dramatically.

  “Wow,” I said. Baby Stella squealed, blew a raspberry, and grasped the air toward Izzy.

  “You won’t get away with this!” Natalie yelled from the corner, ducking back into a pillow fort. Izzy crossed the backs of the chairs—how he didn’t tip them right over, I have no idea—and hopped onto the seat of another chair near J.J. He snatched the shirt pinned to the side of the bar, held it up into the air.

  “Victory!” he yelled.

  “But I’m a zombie now!” J.J. announced with a long growl. Izzy yelped, genuine surprise wiggling around in his psyche, and tumbled off the side of the chair. He landed hard on his bony ass and watched as J.J. made childish groaning sounds and pretended to claw his way out of the earth.

  “This is about the sixth time he’s been a zombie and Izzy acts surprised every time,” Thomas said from next to me. I turned to glance him over.

  “Why aren’t you playing?”

  “I did, but Natalie kept overthrowing my kingdom and J.J. shot me into space.” I blinked at him and he shrugged. “I�
��m lucky, but I’ve got nothing on a zombie astronaut pirate.”

  “Well, who does?” I asked, turning back to the action to find J.J. had clawed his way to Izzy, trying to bite his bare foot. Izzy squealed and dove for the fort he’d erstwhile evacuated. Jake growled again and got to his feet, pulling his arms in close. Natalie pointed at him with a sparkly wand that matched the princess hat threatening to slide off the side of her head.

  “He’s a zombie dinosaur! Save the princess!”

  “Is she the princess?” I asked Thomas through the side of the mouth.

  He shook his head. “No, Izzy is.”

  “No, yeah, I get that,” I admitted.

  When Stella burbled out another saliva-drenched squeal and reached toward her brother, I stepped into the room, set her down on the carpet. She rocked spastically on her hands and knees twice before shooting off at a cheetah’s pace. J.J. gaped down at her when she grabbed for his foot and then hoisted her up around the belly, carrying her awkwardly toward Izzy’s fort.

  “I have a machine gun!” he announced, aiming Stella at the dining chairs. As Izzy demanded he not shoot, I turned to leave.

  “I don’t know if I can handle this much excitement.”

  “This is why dad’s outside,” Thomas said. “So, what did you want for your birthday?”

  “You already flew me out here, you don’t have to get me anything.”

  “I know,” he said. “But everyone else will be giving you presents; I don’t want to be the only jerk who doesn’t.”

  “Buy me a box of fruit snacks and call it a day.”

  “Easy to wrap,” he said. I nodded.

  “Exactly.”

  “You screwed up getting laid again?” Chloe said as I shut the door to Thom’s room. I threw her an annoyed glance and shook my head. She took a seat at Thom’s rickety desk and crossed her legs.

  “I didn’t screw anything up. I was raring to go, bruises and all, and he got called away again. Something about a police contact or blah blah. I don’t know.”

  “Aww,” Chloe said as I took a seat on the bed. “How’re your bruises?”

  “The same. We checked out the forest some, where we came across something and then we went to a bar.”

  “Didn’t you say he doesn’t drink?”

  “He doesn’t, but he said he wanted to listen to crazy stories and get me liquored up.”

  “You seem completely sober, so I’m guessing it didn’t quite work out?”

  “No, he ran into an ex or something.”

  Shock blew out of Chloe in a prickly cloud. “Really?”

  “Not ex-girlfriend, as far as I can tell, but ex-something.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Just the way they—well, and they admitted they’d slept together. Though, it came about like she was trying to get me riled up, jealous maybe.”

  “But you’re not?”

  “Nah, I know what’s up with me and Owen. Plus, I couldn’t blame him for being into her. She was cute, though the mohawk did nothing for her.”

  “She had a mohawk?” Chloe asked, as a sinister sort of disgust burbled through her, like it had been her ex who had shown up to taunt Owen and not a stranger. She was quiet for a bit, her expression unreadable before her lips tugged and her disgust shifted toward joy. “And you said they didn’t like each other?”

  “Yeah, they acted that way, sniping in that super cool way badasses do. I probably wouldn’t have known anything was going on if I couldn’t read them both like billboards.”

  “So, no drinking and no sex? Poor baby.”

  “You know what would cheer me up? Cake.”

  “I’m not baking you a cake. Just wait until your birthday,” she ordered. Then, excitedly, “the big Three-Oh, eh? You nervous?”

  “Not really. Same as all the other birthdays. Maybe Mel will send me more of Sarah’s cupcakes. Like, more than he did last time.”

  “I’m gonna have a big blow-out for mine. I’ve got a few years to plan, but I think we’ll hit Vegas or Venice or something.”

  “Venice and Vegas aren’t exactly close,” I said. Chloe shrugged a shoulder.

  “No big.”

  “The cost is a bit different, I think.” Again, Chloe shrugged as if it wasn’t an issue. I rolled my eyes at her and leaned back on the bed. Pressing a hand to my sore side, I rubbed a bit.

  “My life is weird,” I decided aloud. Amused again, Chloe got up, came to stretch out next to me.

  “How so?”

  “What do you mean, ‘how so?’” I asked, turning to her. She tucked an arm under her head and watched me as I explained what shouldn’t have needed any clarification. “Vampires, werewolves, spiders, fairies, Izzy. All weird stuff.”

  “Zombies,” she added, like it was just another thing to add to a grocery list.

  “Yeah exactly. It’s all weird and it all happens to me. I don’t know what’s up with that. I mean, why’d Laurel and Hardy come to me instead of … absolutely anyone else?”

  “Right place, wrong time, maybe?” Chloe asked, patting my thigh. She rocked up to her feet and turned to face me. “You and Owen got any further plans tonight, or are you just staying here?”

  “No plans. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be busy, so he said he’d call tomorrow.”

  “Well, Izzy and I were thinking of going to the movies later, smuggling in copious amounts of candy, sharing a giant soda. You in?”

  “You said the word candy and I lost track after that.”

  “Perfect, then I get to choose the movie.”

  “Nothing with subtitles.”

  “Spoil-sport.”

  “Fine, if you buy me my own box of Cookie Dough Bites and my own pretzel you can have your filthy subtitles.”

  “I never said I was paying.”

  The movie was ridiculous, the candy options a perfect mix of chocolate, tart, and gummy, and I got my pretzel. Chloe and Izzy dropped me off at home before heading back to their hotel to, undoubtedly, have sex loud enough to disturb the neighboring rooms and possibly all the neighboring businesses.

  I woke up early the next morning, though I don’t know why. One minute I was dreaming about explosions and zombie princesses, the next I was staring at the dull green glow of my brother’s bedside clock.

  Deciding to blame my bladder, I got to my feet, padded down the hall toward the bathroom. I caught sight of Jake and Robin snoozing in their room, glared at Dorian as he snoozed in mine.

  Hoping the flushing toilet and hand washing didn’t wake anyone up, I grabbed my phone from my room, tucked it into the only pocket my pajama pants offered and headed downstairs, aiming to smuggle some chocolate milk down my throat before my mother woke up and made me drink carrot juice or eat some plain oatmeal.

  I don’t know how my empathy missed the fact that my father was sitting alone at the dining table with a cup of chocolate milk of his own, but I slammed to a halt when I saw him. For a merciful few seconds, the only emotion I felt was my own shock. Then, as he glanced up at me, his surprise joined mine, followed quickly by a rumble of unhappy irritation.

  We stared at each other, unsure what to do.

  He was already sitting comfortably reading the paper and drinking in peace; getting up and leaving would be downright rude. I had come into the kitchen with a purpose and turning to pretend I forgot something would be just as bad. It was possible we were going to actually have to talk to each other.

  Ignoring the crackling of nervous unhappiness between us, I cleared my throat, tried to give him my best politely distant smile.

  “Morning,” I said, moving to pull open the fridge door and poke around inside for the milk. I didn’t even have the luxury of taking my time; he’d left the glass bottle right there at the forefront. With a sigh, I pulled it out, carried it to the counter under the cabinet of mugs and poked around for one big enough to sate me.

  “Can’t sleep?” dad asked. I glanced over at him, tried not to snarl at the accusation I swo
re I could feel stabbing me in the spine.

  “Slept fine. I’m just up, is all,” I said, unable to keep the petulance out of my tone. My dad grunted once in response and went back to reading his paper. I grabbed a squat, fat mug from the back of the cabinet and dumped milk into it hard enough that a bit sloshed over the side. I opened my mouth to growl out a swear word and felt my father’s eyes on me.

  Instead of cursing, I took an annoyed breath, pressed my lips shut, and turned to take my mug to the microwave. As I waited for it to warm up, I heard my father grunt as if trying to get my attention. I turned to him sharply and he pointed at the milk.

  “Don’t leave that out.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” I insisted, though I had actually forgotten about it. Grabbing the milk and shoving it back in the fridge, I hopped the two large steps to the microwave, jerking the door open before it could scream out a beep. I burned my hand a bit on the mug but the smell of chocolate powder as I yanked the top off the plastic container made it worth it.

  After dumping way too many spoonfuls into the cup, leaving chunks of powder at the top for a special, gooey treat, I twisted back to face my dad at the table. Now came the big decision: did I stay and continue the awkward stalemate, or did I go hide in my room until everyone else woke up?

  “Come sit,” dad said, surprising me. When I just stood and stared, he kicked his foot into the chair next to him, knocking it back. “Now.”

  “Jeez,” I hissed, stomping toward him as hard as I could without risking my cocoa. To spite him, I took a seat across the table, ignoring the chair he’d kicked out for me. He watched me for a moment before I felt amusement burble around us both. I couldn’t help but smile and he did the same. Closing the paper, he jerked a chin at my drink.

  “Your mom buys that in bulk and we still run out.”

  “Well, don’t eat so much sugar,” I said, fully aware of the irony of my statement. Anger snapped back and forth between us, and my father’s brow furrowed.

  “Don’t be smart.”

  I bit my tongue, choosing to take a sip of my scalding treat instead of making a remark I would probably regret. After a moment, he jerked his stubbly chin at me.