Page 13 of A Little Discovery

There is a separate lounge area up there as well as a kitchenette. The bathroom is only a shower and toilet, but at least it looks like he’s short enough to be able to use the shower. I go down to the second floor because my six foot four ass has to hunch to even fit under the slanted ceiling in that glorified closet, let alone get into a position where the water will get me clean.

“I’ll help him move in whatever stuff he needs to,” I say. “Jackson dropped off his car around seven this morning. It doesn’t look like he has much.”

“He didn’t come in?” Jace asks in a sad voice. He loves his older brother to a fault, but Jackson is still trying to break Jace of the codependency they developed in the foster care system. Although not blood related, they were adopted by the same couple and given new names when they were twelve and fourteen.

“Not today, Teddy Bear,” I tell him. “He had to get to work but wanted to help us get Lucky’s car off the side of the highway and up the hill. You know Steve would have charged him.”

I watch the hurt drain out of the big man and for the millionth time curse the man who calls himself his brother. I don’t know what happened to make Jackson think he has to stay away, but our giant teddy bear deserves to have someone firmly in his corner, not this wishy-washy bullshit.

“I’ll check in with him later to make sure Lucky doesn’t get a bill,” Eli says to reassure the big man. “Now that we’ve addressed where Lucky will be sleeping starting tonight, we have to take care of the other elephant in the room. Stress levels have been a bit too high lately and we’re about to run into more responsibilities with the new semester starting soon, so who is up for a field trip to the Devil’s Club?”

Every hand raises in the room, but our attention gets pulled to the hallway by a knock against the door frame. I turn around, only to see a ghost from mere months ago.

Why is Sabrina Carlisle’s husband in our house?

“Sorry to interrupt your meeting but can someone tell me where the bathroom is again?” he asks while pointedly not looking at anyone. “I only remember about the one downstairs in the basement, but I don’t want to cut through your meeting or wander around your house looking for myself.”

While Shiloh takes our guest upstairs, I pour through my memories of the man I investigated. It was a chore to stay away from him each time I was near him. Everything about what he was doing at that motel screamed that he is a little in need of a Daddy or Mommy, but he is married. Having him here in this house is going to be a test of my self control…

I am so fucking screwed.

CHAPTER 9

LUCKY

After Shiloh took me up to the second floor to use the bathroom, I expected him to lead me back down to the room they let me sleep in last night. Instead, he grabbed my hand to lead me up to the top level of the house. He asked me to start pulling his clothes out of the closet and left me alone in his room while he ran downstairs to get something.

I am so confused, but it feels nice to not have to think and just have something to do. Helping the quiet man reorganize his clothing is something I can handle. Sabrina didn’t let me touch her clothing. Hell, she barely let me touch my own. My clothes for each day were hung on my door each morning like she thought me incapable of dressing myself, like I haven’t been doing it for most of my life. After being treated like shit for the last year, I’m happy to be allowed to just exist.

Shiloh comes back into the room with some boxes to put the clothing in, so I pull the items off the hangers and fold them neatly to go into the boxes.

“You don’t have to fold them,” he says, grabbing a shirt from the closet and just throwing it into a box, hanger and all. I can’t repress my shudder. “They’re just going downstairs to get hung up again in Toby’s room. I just don’t want to drag them and get them dirty.”

I shake my head frantically at him. “But they’ll get wrinkled ifyou just throw them in a box, even for a short trip. Then you’ll have to iron them, maybe even another wash. That’s wasting energy. That’s more money for bills. That’s less money for other things, important things, like pizza and chocolate and…”

I can feel myself hyperventilating. I haven’t had a panic attack triggered by cleaning in a while. It is usually my happy place, but after the last few days, my stress levels are too high. The thought of intentionally allowing a mess to happen. Sabrina used to do that… make a mess to force me to clean it up over and over again. The memories start to assault me. It’s too much.

I grab at my hair, but there isn’t enough there to grab. Sabrina made me cut off my hair… said it wasn’t right for a grown man to have curly hair. Without my hair to pull, I start to drag my nails up and down my arms. The sensation will eventually ground me… usually before drawing blood, but not always. Part of mewantsto bleed now. At least then, I can pass out and escape. At least then, I’m not an embarrassment who can’t handle not folding a damn shirt.

“SPENCER!”

Shiloh’s voice sounds very far away even though he’s less than two feet from me. He sounds scared. Am I scaring him?

Just great. Another thing that I’m a total fuckup at.

Strong hands grab my wrists, but I have to do something. I squirm, trying to break free, but the hands are like iron cuffs. There is no give to them.

“Shhhh, little one,” a deep voice commands me. “You need to calm down. Everything will be alright. Just settle.”

His words wash over me, but I still can’t concentrate. The shirt isstill just sitting in the box. I need to fold it before it sets. I need to fix it.

“Little one, what is it about the box that is bothering you?” the voice asks and I have to answer.

“The shirt. It’s going to be wrinkled. It can’t be wrinkled,” I tell him on a whimper. “It can’t be wrinkled. She won’t stop if it’s wrinkled. I have to get her to stop.”

I hold my breath as I watch Scott pull out the shirt to remove the hanger and fold it. He does a good enough job that my anxiety starts to calm a bit and I feel like I can at least breathe again. I watch his movements while he proceeds to finish the pile I started and takes the boxes out of the room. From the top of the stairs, I hear him say, “I’ll get the rest when you’re done talking.”

Talking? Who is talking? I look around before the tug on my wrists reminds me that I’m not alone in the room. I look up into the face of Mr. Deep Voice only to recognize the man who led me to the room in the frat house… the man who helped set me up for almost two full years of hell.

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