Survivor (First to Fight #2)(2)
None of the boxes have any of my old crap in them, so Mom probably never cleaned out my old room. The hall is empty when I peer through the crack in the door. I squeeze out of the office and sneak down the hall to the last door on the right—my old room. Unlike the office, this one is shut tight.
My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob, but I shake myself. I left this place a long time ago so there’s no reason for it to bother me. Twisting firmly, I shove through, pausing for a second to let my eyes adjust to the darkness.
The scents are still the same here, too. My Japanese cherry blossom perfume hasn’t changed in ten years, either. The double bed shoved on the far side of the wall is bare, but everything else is exactly as I left it when I moved out, right down to the teeming hamper by my closet. Emotion threatens, but I swallow it back, shoving it deep inside my chest.
I move to the folding doors that house my closet and slide one open. Here I find the boxes of all of my stuff—presumably from the rest of the house, but that’s not what I’m looking for. I stretch my hand up and feel around the lip of the closet’s interior wall for the loose panel. My fingers skitter along the fake wood until a section of it moves. My fingers touch paper and relief loosens my straining muscles.
They hadn’t found them.
My momentary happiness drains away when my eyes catch the barest movement in the shadows across the room. Heart thudding viciously in my chest, my feet automatically inch toward the door to make my escape. I nearly make it to my bedroom door when I hear a lamp cord yank down, then the room floods with light. I freeze, my hand clutching the papers behind my back.
Caught.
Ten years ago, having this boy—this man—in my room would have thrilled me straight to the core. Now, I’m overcome with the urge to turn tail and run. He is perfection from the top of his just-long-enough-to-grab black hair down to the bottom of his customary black Converse sneakers. The sight of those worn out shoes makes me want to smile. He’s had them since we were kids. From the looks of it, they’ve seen better days, but I couldn’t imagine him without them. A pang shoots through my heart and the spurt of happiness fades, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.
“’Lo, Sof,” he says.
The words bubble out of my mouth before I can swallow them along with the rush of emotions. “I can explain.”
My mouth twists. “Really? Well, I’d hate to miss this.” I wave a hand. “Please. Give it your best shot.” Her mouth opens and closes a couple times and instead of the rush of anger I expect, all I feel is regret. I’m getting too old for this shit. Weariness clips my words, makes my tone short and harsh. “That’s what I thought.”
Being in this room is a clusterf*ck all on it’s own. I roll my shoulders and glance at the walls, certain they’re closing in on me. A bunker would be more comfortable than being trapped in this room with the woman who kicked me to the curb.
Forcing myself to face her, I sigh heavily. I shouldn’t have come down here to confront her when I heard the window open, followed by her muttered curse. But I’d lain in bed, in her house, surrounded by ghosts of her and given in to the need to see her face.
Because I’m a f*cking tool.
A flush darkens her neck and travels to her cheeks. I scowl at her, causing her chin to jerk up and her eyes to flash. Anger I can deal with. Anything is better than letting my dick get off on her skin-tight jeans and dangerously low-cut shirt.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the door jam and study her. She’s looking down at her feet and over my shoulder, anything to keep from looking me in the eye. Even though I know I’ll regret it later, I take in how much her hair has grown, nearly down to her ass now. It’s pulled back in a tie at her nape, but the sleek like of it winks around her shoulders.
“There were some things of mine I wanted to get before the house was ransacked by relatives.”
I raise a brow. “So you thought sneaking in through a window in the middle of the night was a good idea?”
“What’s the matter, Jack?” she spits back. “Are you upset I didn’t crawl through the window to get to your room instead?”
“No,” I respond mildly. “I’m upset you didn’t come here to see your brothers. Or your mother. But I shouldn’t be surprised. You left all of us in the dust a long time ago.”
Her face leaches of all color. For a moment her lip trembles faintly, the show of emotion so hastily covered with scorn I can’t be sure it was ever there. “My family is none of your business.”
“You’ve got that wrong.” My voice is low, lethal. “Your family has been my business for the past decade. What they aren’t…is yours. I hope you got what you were looking for because if you’re not off of this property in the next five minutes, I’ll have Logan over here in ten to escort you off.” It’s an empty threat, but she doesn’t have to know that. I learned a long time ago, the best way to goad Sofie into something is to make her think she can’t have it.
“I’ll be out in three,” she says through gritted teeth. Her eyes flash and her movements are stiff and jerky. She keeps looking back at me as she inches her way to the door.
She folds the papers in fourths, then tucks them in the pocket of her too-tight jeans. I’d have to be dead to ignore the way they mold to her firm thighs and ass, but the lust that tests the fit of my own jeans only serves to piss me off even more. Ten years and my reaction to her hasn’t dulled—on either end of the spectrum.