Page 78 of Overcast

Her brows furrow. “Leave?”

“Wade and I spoke about it this morning. You’re going to Italy.” I force my lips to lift and display a smile. “You’ve always wanted to go.”

“Um, no,” she protests with a straight-laced face. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Damn, Tsarina, I paid for it and everything.”

Her expression hardens then. “I don’t give a flying shit if you bought me a whole year of vacations, Marty, I’m not going to—”

"Gotta think of Huck," I state, using my ace of spades because she can't deny the fact that they are all at danger. That her son can be collateral damage, and we've passed a point of no return.

“You can’t expect me to leave you,” she says flatly. “We can do this together and—”

“Wade would have my ass if I even enlisted your help to Google a morsel of information. I have B723, Tsarina, no offense, but I don’t need the backup.”

“What about the girl? What are you going to do to her?”

I rub her arms gently. “I’m not going to hurt her, I promise.”

“Marty...please don’t put her through anything else. She looks like she’s already been through enough.”

The cuts, the stab wounds, the broken hope written all over her face...yeah, I know.

“I won’t do anything else.”

“Promise?”

I pull her into my arms and hug her. “Promise.”

* * *

Stormi looks like she wants to take the knife that she stuck me with and do it all over again but multiple times. She trailed sullenly behind me when I took her to my actual house instead of the bomb shelter, acting as though I was about to prance her ass out in front of a firing squad.

I'm trying, though.

I want to make her feel more comfortable in a difficult situation, but it falls short.

She doesn’t move from the foyer of my house, glued to the hardwood floors as I make a mental note of getting her some clothes, essentials, take note of what kind of food she likes or any allergies she may have. I could probably grab some books or puzzles, I don't know what she does.

“I’ll show you up to your room,” I tell her over my shoulder, climbing the stairs. I make it halfway when I don’t hear her padding across the floor. “I’d be more than happy to carry you up them, sweetheart. Just say the fucking word, or don’t, your silence obviously speaks wonders.”

Hearing her finally move, I turn left at the top of the staircase, striding towards the bedroom next to mine. I want her relaxed, yes, but I also want to be able to sleep without wondering if she's making a run for it. In a perfect world, I'd padlock her door, but I'm trying to be respectful.

Still doesn't yank the idea from my head, though.

Opening up the bedroom door, I step aside and let her walk in on her own. The room is basic, nothing much decorates the walls other than the plants that Reagan put on a shelf that hovers over the bed. Three of the walls are painted in white, and the fourth is a mauve behind the bed frame. The bedding is plain white as well but clean, only Huck has slept over at my place and Reagan when we were too drunk to walk her back.

“Make yourself at home,” I mumble, extending my hand and feeling out of place with her here—again.

Stormi hesitantly moves inside, eyes studying the space, and I stay put outside the door frame where it's safe—for me and her.

I don’t want to hover, make her feel more nervous.

I've already started us out on the wrong foot, so the least I can do is not be up her ass and protect her.

“There are towels in the bathroom,” I advise. “Which is past the stairs on the right. I’ll stock the fridge so there is food in there for you to eat, but we might have to make a run into—”

“I’m not going into town with you,” she chides, harshly. “I’m going to stay locked up in this room until I can leave freely.” Turning on her heel, she flicks her gaze up to me, blue eyes blazing with annoyance and hatred. “I’d say thanks but—” She takes a step and places her hand on the edge of the door, slamming it right in my face.

Who the fuck was that?

Stepping away, I rub the stubble on my chin. I always wanted a fucking roommate in my safe haven—said me never.

---