Page 57 of Fearless

I let out a sigh. “Green.”

And then I scoop her into my arms, leaving my brother grinning like the Cheshire fucking Cat.

* * *

Yes, I said I would explain.

No, it didn’t feel like the right time.

And for the first time in my life I’m contemplating feeling like a piece of shit. I’ve always known I was one. Never doubted that. But right now I’m close to letting myself feel like one.

I left her there on the bed without a backward glance, and came back up the stairs to deal with Cole. He wasn’t nearly as annoying without Meisie in the room. After that was done, I didn’t have any excuse for avoiding her.

I should go down there and explain.

But instead I’m sitting in the kitchen counting toast crumbs.

She needs time, that’s my excuse. Time to think. Time to contemplate. Time to be alone. I’ve had thirty years to come to grips with the fact my mother doesn’t give a fuck. She’s had six hours.

I’ll give her some more time. That’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

I’ll let her sleep on it. I’ll sleep on it, just as soon as I’ve bored myself senseless with counting fucking crumbs.

A noise comes from behind me, giving me the fright of my life because Cole left hours ago.

But it’s not Cole. It’s a blond head and a mousey face, and it’s wearing tartan pajamas. Sarah.

“Fuck are you doing here?”

She doesn’t even glance in my direction as she crosses the kitchen. “Making supper.”

Do they think this is some kind of hotel I’m running? Twenty-four-hour all you can eat buffet and en-suite sex dungeon? “You do realize Cole has his own flat, right?”

“Have youseenCole’s flat?”

I chuckle. “I avoid Cole’s flat like the plague in case you’re in there.”

“Oh pipe down,” she says dismissively. “I’m planning your wedding, remember?”

I suppose she is.

She opens one of the high cupboards and takes a few steps back, trying to see up into the top shelf.

“You won’t find any cocaine in there, doll.”

She spins around and stares at me. “Do you always have to be such a cunt? I thought your brother was bad, but at least he’snota cunt a good twenty percent of the time.”

I allow myself a singular laugh and take a seat at the breakfast bar. “I’m sorry.”

“Sure you are,” she says, and turns back to the cupboard.

“What are you looking for?”

Letting out a huff, she turns back around to face me. “Teabags. I won’t hold out for biscuits but they wouldn’t go amiss.”

I get up from my chair and she automatically keeps the social distance as I walk around the island. After finding the teabags, and a packet of custard creams, I put them both down on the counter and go to fill up the kettle.

If she’s planning my wedding then I’ll make her a cup of tea. Peace offering, and all that. And I’ll make myself one, too, since I can’t sleep and it sounds slightly more interesting than counting toast crumbs.

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