She nods quickly. “I just need the bathroom.”
She wanders back into the living room fifteen minutes later, a small limp in her step.
“You okay?”
She nods easily. “Jabbed my thigh against the corner of the vanity.”
I watch her settle onto the couch, a small grimace of discomfort on her face. “Need an ice pack?”
She shakes her head. “What movie did you choose?”
I press play, relaxing into the couch.
“Superbad.” She smiles. “I fucking love this movie.”
Her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. Not exactly a whisper, more a hesitant murmur. It’s disconcerting. Camryn Rein throws words like daggers, aiming to maim in a poor attempt to keep people at a distance.
She’s shaking, small almost indeterminable tremors that wrack through her frame as she straightens her spine, feigning calm.
Why I feel an overwhelming need to soothe her is beyond me. We’re foes. But side-by-side on the sectional, I don’t question myself as my hand lifts to wrap itself around hers.
A sharp intake of breath, held in for a tense three seconds before she releases it.
“Just you and me in here, Cami. Fuck the monsters of your mind off, they ain’t gonna go up against me.”
Her hand twitches in mine and I ready myself for her to snatch it back. But she surprises the fuck out of me, squeezing my fingers in a silent gesture of thank you instead.
She drifts off halfway through the movie, head rested against my shoulder in slumber. I consider moving her, but decide against it. She’s calm, peaceful in this cycle of sleep and I don’t have it in me to take that away from her.
Stuffing a cushion behind my neck, I watch the rest of the movie, the credits rolling before it hits me.
The vanity in the downstairs bathroom extends the length of the wall. Meaning there are no fucking corners for her to collide with.
She’s gone by the time I stir awake hours later, the soft smell of her perfume still lingering on my shirt and my want to comfort her again both confusing and irritating to my psyche.
Chapter Eight
Rocco
My feet follow the stairwell downward, thick heavy footfalls silenced by the soft carpet under my toes.
As a kid, I created an image of what the Rein mansion would look like. Built with arrogance and decorated in the same way. I was certain of it. Wanna-be royals almost; reds and golds and shit that you weren’t allowed to touch, couches that you were forbidden from sitting on.
It annoys me that my misguided thoughts were just another bullet point to add to my expanding list of all the ways I was wrong.
It’s as homely as it fucking comes. Soft carpets, fireplaces, pictures of the Rein girls decorating the walls. Shit, the old man still has their elementary school drawings on his fridge. It’s opulent, don’t get me wrong. But in a way that doesn’t scream money. It’s tasteful.
Soft music drifts from the sitting room, the quiet melody amplified by laughter. My frown comes on almost instantaneously. The scene before me as foreign as it is uncomfortable.
Christmas decorations are spilling out of boxes. No lie, there are so many of them, the crates are bursting with thick wreathing, hand-crafted ornaments, holly, tinsel, lights. You name it. It’s here, spewed along their sitting room like Santa’s workshop all but existed here, in this very space.
Parker, dressed in a ridiculous red velvet hat with a large white pom-pom hanging off the end, holds mistletoe over a giggling Codi’s head, leaning in for a kiss.
“What the fuck are you wearin’?” I interrupt before their lips can touch.
“Rocco!” Codi exclaims excitedly, picking up another Christmas hat as she makes toward me.
“One more step with the fucking thing…” I warn.
“You’ll what?” she sasses, stupid reindeer earrings dangling from her ears.
“What’s with all this?” I ignore the way she calls me out.
“It’s Christmas,” she answers unnecessarily.
“We’re adults,” I retort.
Codi, having lost interest in trying to assault me with a Santa hat, moves toward the hideously large Christmas tree nestled in the corner of the room. “Parker was a bah-humbug too when I met him. I’ll convert you,” she promises.
I scowl at my brother, but he only shrugs, attempting to disguise the smile on his face.
His smile isn’t smug. He’d wear that like his stupid fucking hat. Unapologetically proud. But it’s not that, there’s no enjoyment at my discomfort. He’s attempting to hide his genuine happiness of a holiday we’d long since pretended never existed.
When Mom was alive, we celebrated. Much like this. Over-the-top decorations, Christmas Carols, a ridiculous and wasteful amount of gifts and food. That all died in the ass the year she was shot. Christmas was just another painful reminder of everything we’d lost. It was easier for Parker and me to shut ourselves away on a day everyone else was celebrating with family and pretend we were too cool for the fairytale of a fat man in a red velvet suit.
Mira tried. Of course, she did. But we killed her need to offer us normalcy in the same way Marcus’ bullet penetrated her skull. Brutally. Immediately.
A pain stabs me through the chest at the joy on Parker’s face. A realization I’ve chosen to ignore for too long dawns on me in another cloud of self-hatred. He wanted this. All along, he wanted, needed the overblown intricacies of Christmas.
And I kept it from him.
He played along with me, shutting it all out, when in reality, even without Mom there, this would’ve let him feel close to her.
“Rocco.” Dominic slaps me on the back, moving into the room, dressed much like Codi and Parker; too festive for my comfort. “Nice to see you moving around, son. Sit, relax.”
I cringe at the endearment. Son. I’m neither. Not familial. Not a fucking child.
Oblivious to the fire raging inside of me, he passes me the hat Codi had attempted to suffocate with me only moments ago. I take it reluctantly, fisting the material roughly.
It’s vexatious; feeling like an unwanted guest when your host insists on acting like you’re family. Especially after the things I’ve done. The damage I’ve caused. I don’t deserve the Rein’s hospitality, yet they moved straight past forgiveness and right into an acceptance I was neither expecting nor wanting.
“I’m actually pretty shattered,” I lie, dropping the hat onto the couch. “Gonna grab some more shut-eye.”
The idea alone is enough to give me hives. I’m going stir fucking crazy in that room. The walls are inching closer together with each day that passes. I’d likely saw off my left arm before torturing myself with another twenty-four hours in the prison of Camryn’s teenage years.
Reminders of her happy childhood amplify my nightmares. I’d leave if I felt healthy enough to do so. But I’ve only just started to kick the fever I was certain was gonna take my life only days ago. It makes me sick to my stomach to admit, but I’d be dead without Camryn Rein. A fact that sits like a tumor within me. Being indebted to anyone is a giant fucking red flag for me. Being indebted to a Rein. Fuck. No.
“Nonsense.” Dominic waves me off. “You’ve done nothing but sleep for days. Being out of that room will do you good. Camryn’s hanging lights along the front. You go help her.”