Page 13 of Little Bird
I’m also hungry.
I glance at my phone and see that it’s nearly 10. I’ve been here for about an hour, then, and haven’t eaten since last night. No wonder I’m hungry.
I wonder if anyone else is here.
And whether they’re hungry as well.
I know this was once my home, but it isn’t anymore, and I have a sudden urge to do something while I’m around. Earn my keep. Be useful. I’m grateful that Gunner went out of his way to come save me, even if he seemed to regret it immediately afterward, and if I can do something to repay him, I will.
Besides, I don’t do well sitting still. I like to take life by the horns and tell it what to do. When I got to the city and decided my escape route was getting into a good university, I had to face the fact that I’d changed schools—a lot—and my first high school had been the one-room school house in Hawke’s Wood. The answer was simple: I’d worked three times as hard as anyone else to make sure my resume was good enough for a top-tier university.
And that’s just one example. The facts are the facts. I don’t sit still, and now that I’m here, I’ll just have to look around and figure out what I can do that will help Gunner and Gabe.
For as long as I’m going to stay.
The kitchen is exactly as I remember it, and I start piling things on the counter, getting ready to cook. Eggs, check. Flour, check. Vanilla and baking soda. Baking powder. Milk. Butter. Syrup. Perfect. I’m in the midst of mixing everything together and warming the griddle for pancakes when the door to the kitchen opens and slams shut, and a storm blows in.
Gunner has been outside, I can see that much, and it must be cold out there because the temperature in the kitchen drops several degrees when he stops to stare at me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks.
I look at him, lift one eyebrow, and look pointedly at the ingredients in front of me. “Building a snowman out of flour. Isn’t it obvious?”
He doesn’t laugh.
He doesn’t even smile.
And within seconds, a woman comes up behind him and winds her arms around his waist. She’s beautiful in a sun-drenched, wind-tossed sort of way, her skin sporting the kind of tan you get from being outside most of your life. Her hair is long and tangled in a way that makes her look sexy, and from the way she touches him, she’s used to getting her way around here.
Her eyes are hard and glittering, though, and when she looks at me, I can see she’s already decided that I don’t belong.
This must be the infamous Gabby. Either that or Gunner has taken to dating multiple women at the same time.
“I don’t have time for snowmen. Or whatever it is you’re actually doing,” Gunner says, pushing past me. “We run a tight ship these days, Taryn. There’s not a lot of time for fooling around. If you’re going to stay here, I suggest you learn our schedule and stick to it.”
And with that he’s pounding up the stairs, Gabby hot on his heels.
This time, he doesn’t look back at me.
I scowl at his retreating form, gripping the wooden spoon so hard it snaps in two, and wonder for the second time today if I’ve made a colossal mistake calling him. I remember him as larger than life, all smiles and laughter, and though I haven’t seen him in years, I knew in my heart he would come for me if I needed him.
But this man isn’t the one I left behind. I can’t even see my former stepfather in that guy. There’s no laughter or sunshine, and there sure as hell isn’t any generosity. The Gunner I’m experiencing now is cold. Hard. Bitter.
I pour out the first pancakes, my eyes still on the stairs as I try to sort through my options. I can’t go home, not if I want to stay free of my mother. And I can’t go to Stella or Arden’s houses, for the reasons I already figured out. Too dangerous. The entire city is too dangerous. Unfortunately, I don’t have anywhere else to go. My father’s family is all dead or I’d run for them, and my mother’s family...
I’ve never known them. I don’t even know if they exist. She never talks about them, and I’ve never seen pictures or an address. So no matter where they are, they’re out.
Which leaves Hawke’s Wood. And Gunner.
I look down and realize I’ve burned one of the pancakes during my daydreaming. “Shit,” I mutter. I scoop it up and turn to put it directly into the trashcan, but pause when I see that someone else has entered the kitchen.
And it’s not Gunner.
He’s the same height, but everything about him is different. He’s broader, to start with, and darker. Hair such a deep brown that it reminds me of chocolate, and eyes that verge on indigo. They’re wider than his father’s, and larger. They used to know how to laugh more quickly.
The world around me stills and my body lights up like someone has just connected me to an electric plug. I want to scream and shout—or maybe faint, I can’t tell. My heart starts hammering against my ribs, and my skin goes hot.
Because I know that face better than I know my own.
