You're to Blame(12)

In the lone chair outside Jacob’s room, Duke sits with his head bent between his bouncing knees, and his hands steepled like he’s in the middle of a prayer.

“What are you still doing here?” My hands rest on my hips. My attempt at being authoritative probably looks more like the chicken dance. How embarrassing. “I figured you’d be off with your second platinum blonde of the day.”

Duke pulls himself to his feet. No smile. No frown. No nothing.

“Can we talk?” His voice is thick and unsteady. A gleam of sweat shines on his brow. He’s nervous.

This can’t be good.





Chapter Four





Duke


My hand wraps around Stacey’s forearm. She jerks away, and anger ripples off her.

“What exactly are you doing here?” I demand.

Her attention shifts down the hallway to Charlotte. She’s too curious not to be here. Her eyes beg for answers, but her face remains neutral and unaffected.

“Don’t bother her. She’s already been through enough,” I warn, turning back to Stacey.

“And I haven’t?” she snaps, hugging her arms around her waist.

“I don’t have time for this today.” I rub the stress from my eyes. “Do yourself a favor and stay away.” I place my hand on her arm, turning her to the elevator, and shockingly, she follows without a fight.

“I just... I didn’t mean for...” she begins to explain.

For the first time, I notice her puffy, red eyes.

“I know you didn’t, but you need to back off for a little bit,” I offer in hopes to ease some of her pain. She’s not a bad person. She’s just mixed up in a mess. “Things are tense, and it’s better for you to back off.”

The elevator doors shut with Stacey safely tucked inside, and I return to the chair outside of Jacob’s room.

What I wouldn’t give not to have a care in the world, but instead, here I sit, stuck in the goddamn middle like I’m in high school. Jacob may be my brother, but even that doesn’t compel me to want to hang around a place like this.

One thing compels me right now.

Her.

And I have no idea why. A part of me is sorry for her, maybe, but a sliver of me knows that’s not the whole truth. There’s always been a pull towards her, unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I’ve been attracted to plenty of women. The attraction part is easy. It’s the internal need to be around and to protect Charlotte which has me on a loop.

Charlotte speaks softly, as she rattles on and on about how rude she’s been to me. Her words have my stomach flipping inside out. Eavesdropping may be wrong, but it isn’t illegal. Guilt doesn’t settle in until I hear the remorseful tone in which she speaks of me. No one ever feels guilty for assuming the worst of me. It’s a humbling feeling.

My whole life, my mother and father have searched for ways to make me feel inadequate. I don’t dress the right way. I don’t speak as eloquently as they would like. I choose the wrong hobbies. Nothing I’ve ever done has satisfied them. Charlotte seems like the kind of girl who doesn’t give up on a person, and maybe a sick part of me yearns for that kind of dedication from someone.

The hand on my watch click, click, clicks every second I wait for Charlotte. An hour later, and countless strange stares from nurses as they pass, she finally steps into the hallway.

Where I sit, my head hung, I go unnoticed. I see her though. In my peripherals, she stretches out the kinks in her long, lean neck. Stress, exhaustion, and fear mar her face. Why do I feel compelled to ease every inch of her soul?

“What are you still doing here?” Charlotte asks when she finally notices me.

“Can we talk?” Anything else would’ve worked, but this is what I go with because I’m an idiot. I stand from the chair and step in front of her. My heart beats erratically, a strange, new occurrence.

“Sure.” She takes a deep breath. “I could go for some coffee. Walk with me?” She nods her head down the hallway, and I follow behind her.

My eyes naturally land on her ass as she sways from side to side. God, I’m such an asshole.

“Coffee sounds great.” I force myself to step up beside her, ensuring my eyes stay where they belong. We get onto the elevator at the same time. The doors brush against us, closing faster than either of us expect. Her giggle echoes off the metal and causes my own to erupt.

I don’t laugh often. When I was young, I was told to laugh more, but nothing was funny to me. It’s strange to feel appreciation for something most deem as normal.

She pushes the button to the basement. “That was a close one.” Her voice is dangerously soft.

Our ride is cursed with silence, making my skin crawl. Charlotte rocks back and forth on her heels, clearly unsure of what we, of all people, are doing together. The doors open with a ding, and we step out. The smell of fries and fresh brewed coffee invade my senses. My stomach growls in response.

“One coffee, black, and she’ll have...” I order and hand over a ten.

“I’ll have decaf, black.” She reaches past me to grab two stir straws, close enough for her perfume to hit me.

The attendant stares at Charlotte’s chest as he hands me my change. I drop the coins in the tip jar and laugh when he jumps at the rattle. Charlotte’s face softens.