Page 20 of Fight Or Flight

Brooklyn

Have you ever been so exhausted that you can’t sleep? Your body goes limp against the mattress, but your mind never shuts down. Today was a rough one. My mom was discharged from the hospital and in the twenty-four hours since I had last seen her, she appeared to have aged twenty years. Her skin was paler than usual and teetered on the edge of gray. She didn’t appear to have much strength either and the woman who once was self-conscious about losing her hair made no attempt to cover her bald head.

Terminal cancer had a face, and it belonged to my mom.

She was talking, so at least there was that. But other than the smoothie Lauren made her, she barely kept any food down. I didn’t get to spend much time with her either. She slept a lot and when she was awake, she summoned Riggs into her room to discuss their guardianship over me. I felt like I should’ve been present, it was my life they were talking about.

But when the lawyer came and the door to her room closed, it became clear I wasn’t getting a say in anything. It’s not that I didn’t like Riggs and Lauren, or that I wasn’t grateful for everything they were doing. I just wanted to be able to look at them while they revised my mom’s will. I wanted to take in their facial expressions and hopefully find some assurance that I wouldn’t be a burden to them.

They had four kids of their own, and one of them was currently avoiding me like the plague. I shouldn’t be harping on that, Eric was entitled to dislike me. I had blazed through his home like a friggin tornado and upended his happy little life.

But it bothers me, and I can’t help that.

I throw the blankets off me and slide out of bed. Unlike last night, I don’t feel like I’m dying. I’m not hot and I can breathe just fine. Still, I creep out of Eric’s bedroom and make my way down the stairs.

Without thinking my actions through, I start for the door leading to the basement. A warning bell sounds in my head, informing me I’m about to make a mistake. No one likes their privacy invaded, and I’ve clearly already colonized his bedroom.

I reach the door, but before I can open it, I hear someone moving around in the kitchen. Tiptoeing away from the basement door, I pad to the kitchen and pause when I spot Eric standing in front of the refrigerator, slurping a juice box. His eyes widen at the sight of me and he freezes with his lips around the straw like I caught him with his hand in the cookie jar or something.

So I’ve made him uncomfortable again.

Great.

My gaze wanders from the juice box to his bare chest. Doesn’t this guy own a shirt? How am I ever going to break the ice between us when he parades around half naked all the time? It’s distracting as all hell. The sound of his fist crushing the juice box forces my eyes back to his face.

“Sorry,” I mutter. Although, I’m not entirely sure if I’m apologizing for walking in on him or everything else. Tearing his eyes from me, he walks to the garbage pail and chucks the crushed juice box in the trash.

His silence drives me mad and something snaps inside of me.

“So, is it just me that you don’t want to talk to?” I ask. His eyes slice back to me and slightly narrow.

Screw it.

I came down here to clear the air, and that’s what I’m going to do. I huff out a breath. This would be so much easier if he had a damn shirt on, but whatever. I look at the fridge and speak my piece. “Last night, you said you liked to talk but every time you and I are in the same room you don’t speak. I mean, I get it, I stormed into your life like a hurricane and flipped your perfect home upside down. You gave up your bedroom, and you did it without receiving so much as a thank you in return. I wouldn’t want to talk much to the girl who took my bed either.”

“Brooklyn.”

My gaze snaps back to him. The rambling stops and my eyes widen because he’s no longer standing by the garbage pail. Note to self: staring at kitchen appliances will result in a sneak attack and you will find yourself standing a foot apart from the guy you were trying to avoid.

One foot.

Twelve inches.

So close.

Close enough to get lost in those blue eyes and forget my life is falling apart.

Too close.

“You rang?” I croak.

“My bed sucks.”

“What?”

He shrugs a shoulder.

“I don’t know if it’s the mattress or the pillows, but it takes me like an hour just to get comfortable.” He pauses for a beat, cocking his head as he clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I prefer the pull-out I’m on now.”

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