Page 42 of Creed

She shrugs one shoulder, the robe falling away and exposing the smooth, pale, freckled skin there. “Maybe.”

I narrow my eyes at her playfully, pursing my lips in thought. I run a hand through my already messy hair, trying to think of a list of names. “Well, you don’t look like a Tiffany, or a Stephanie, or a Heather…or any typical girly-ass name…No,” I shake my head. “You look like you’ve got a name that’s uniquely you.”

Her eyes widen at my statement, telling me that I’m right. But before I can guess any more names, a loud bang comes from the floor above us. Both of our eyes travel up to the sound and it happens again. I look back to Not-Tiffany and I see nothing but concern on her face.

I clear my throat, bringing her attention back to me. I nod my head to the accordion doors next to the refrigerator. “That’s the pantry, there’s a shit-ton of food and snacks in there and in the fridge. Help yourself to anything you want.” I push off the island and circle around to the entryway that leads to the rest of the house. “I’ll go see what Creed’s up to and we’ll figure this out. Okay?”

She nods, falling quiet again. I don’t like the uncertainty and sadness now rolling off of her, so I add, “Prepare yourself. I’m going to throw names at you until I get it right. You’ll be sick of me by the end of the night.” I throw a wink at her before leaving the room. The quiet tinkling sound of her laugh leaves me feeling a little better as I look for my dumbass housemate.

I take the stairs two at a time when I hear the same thumping sound again. I don’t bother knocking before pushing the door open. I don’t see him immediately but I notice the light to his closet is on and the door is wide open.

I hear a low curse, followed by another thump. I walk into the closet and pause at the sight before me. Creed sits with this back against the dresser with a shoebox sitting in his lap that’s full of colorful pieces of paper. The most painful part of seeing him like this are the unshed tears clinging to Creed’s red-rimmed bright blue eyes when he lifts his crestfallen gaze to mine.

“Creed?” I take a step toward him in the closet, confused as fuck, but also worried because I’ve never seen him so disheveled. “What’s going on?”

He shakes his head vehemently. “I can’t. I won’t do it again, Ri.”

“Won’t do what again?”

“Leave her.” His voice sounds so pained and it threatens to cleave my heart in two.

He’s finally broken.

As much as it hurts to shatter, I think Creed needed this so he can work on putting himself back together, and I’ll be right here, helping him through it just like he’s helped to pick up my own broken pieces from the moment he met me.

Creed heaves a sharp exhale as he looks down at all the papers in the box. I look down, too, noticing various forms of feminine handwriting scribbled across them.

My eyes catch on an envelope sitting on top. In big blocky kid-like letters with hearts drawn around the name I see; To: Creed St. James, along with an old California address scribbled beneath his name. The upper right corner has a stamp with that familiar red lightning bolt, and in the left corner, a name scrawled—Collins Weston.

Pieces start to click together in my brain as I look back to Creed’s face. When his eyes meet mine again, I know I’m right. “The girl downstairs…is this her?” I gesture to the letters in his lap that he’s clinging to tightly.

I’ve seen him reading these letters throughout the year, but I honestly just assumed he was really dedicated to reading fan mail or something. Now I see they were all from the same person.

He nods wordlessly. “Okay,” I exhale. “Well, the last hour of my life makes a fuck-ton more sense. Jesus, Creed, I thought my best friend was going to serve time for kidnapping some random exotic dancer from a club.” I tease, and by the twitch of his lips, I think it’s helped yank him out of his funk. A little, at least.

“Look, she’s currently downstairs feeling as confused as I am.” I push to stand and offer him my hand. He takes it and turns to set the box on top of the dresser behind him. “I’m sure we’ve all got about a thousand questions for each other, so why don’t you change into clothes that don’t stink like the club and I’ll grab something more comfortable for her than her current…outfit, and we’ll figure this shit out while stuffing our faces because I’m fucking starving.”

“Okay, yeah,” he nods, running a tattooed hand over his face, his expression looking more tired than usual. “I’ll meet you down there.”

I leave him to it and go to my room, changing into joggers and a tee in record time, before grabbing a similar set for her—Collins—from the bottom of my closet where I kept a pair of sweats that shrank in the wash. They’ll probably still be huge on her, but they’ll fit better than anything else Creed or I have.

I walk back into the kitchen to see Collins now sitting on the counter next to the fridge, one leg folded beneath the other that hangs down over the edge, eating my favorite bunny tracks ice cream straight out of the tub with a giant spoon. Her eyes lock onto mine and she slowly pulls the spoon from her full lips. I’m heavily regretting my decision to put on these sweats because that small action has my dick threatening to out me for finding her eating ice cream a sexy task.

We just stare at each other for a long moment, probably longer than what’s socially acceptable, but she just takes another unintentionally seductive bite and I swallow, my throat bobbing at the sight.

Oh, fuck. Why is that so fucking hot?

She raises an eyebrow at me in question because, shit, I’m just standing here staring at her. I look away quickly, swiping my water bottle from earlier and taking a swig. Now that my mouth doesn’t feel so damn dry, I clear my throat and step around the island to hold out the stack of clothes I brought down to her. “Here, I grabbed these for you. Figured you might want clothes that are more, um, comfortable.” I feel my face heat when I remember exactly what she’s wearing beneath that silky robe of hers. “Creed should be down any minute, so if you want to go change and clean up before then, the spare bathroom is just through that entryway, first door on the right down the hall.”

She sets the ice cream down and takes the clothes from me. “Thank you.” She sighs. “This outfit is well on its way to cutting off circulation in places I didn’t even think were possible.” She says as she hops off the counter. I’d been too worked up and stressed out earlier to notice just how short she is. The top of her head barely reaches my shoulder.

She leaves the kitchen without another word and I stand there in silence, watching the sway of her hips as she disappears through the doorway. I mentally slap myself and start rummaging through the pantry, loading my arms with all kinds of snacks when I hear the heavier footsteps of Creed enter the kitchen. I turn to see he’s showered and wearing black joggers with a t-shirt slung over his shoulder.

“I’m fucking starving. You hungry for anything in particular, Ri?”

“Anything easy because we have a lot to talk about and I’m too tired to cook for your ass.” I answer.

He chuckles then nods in agreement as he makes his way to the fridge, pulling pizza rolls out of the freezer and dumping nearly the entire bag into the air fryer. He gets it started and turns around, throwing his shirt over his head, covering himself.

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