Page 72 of Dark, Forbidden, & Taboo

“Give him time.”

Holden’s words always enter my mind when I think about the boy. It’s obvious to anyone that can see that we started off on the wrong foot and have stayed teetering on it.

I’d like to get to know him, to find out what makes him happy, sad, indifferent—anything that will show me a crack in his proverbial armor.

Of course, I only ever reserve the last when I feel that being kind to someone will work, and that’s when I poke the crack and watch it spiderweb into a thousand crooked, little lines which will eventually shatter.

Not yet, Greer.

I head into the kitchen, pausing momentarily by Eastin’s door and put my hand on the door handle. One thing I’ve noticed is that he’s big on his privacy and doesn’t allow either of us into the room.

But he’s not the man of this house, Holden is and as such, I’m the woman of the walls he now inhabits and have every right to open his door whenever I want to.

Walk away.

I sigh quietly as I let go of the door handle and continue on into the kitchen.

Invasion of privacy is something that I would never tolerate so I decide to leave his intact for now.

A glance at the clock on the wall tells me that it’s been eight days, seven hours, sixteen minutes, and accruing seconds since Eastin has been under our roof.

This is much longer than I’ve lasted in a situation like this before.

Chapter

Four

I’m sitting at the dining room table flipping through the morning newspaper, fully enjoying my solace in silence when the chair directly across from me makes a soft scraping sound, followed by the dull thud of a plate being carefully set on the table.

I grit my teeth but don’t look up.

He’s sitting in Holden’s chair which means he fancies himself his father’s equal but it continues to spin the idea that’s been building inside of me since last night.

“Morning,” he mumbles across the table. I sniffle and use a knuckle to rub away the itch that I feel on the edge of my nose, and flip another page of the newspaper.

“Whatever,” he mumbles again. I glance up at him momentarily and suck my teeth.

“Good morning,” I finally reply in a bland tone.

Eastin chuckles as he uses his fork to move his hash browns around his plate, cracking the yolk on his poached egg and mixing them together. When he’s satisfied with the mess he’s made, he digs up a forkful and places it in his mouth, his eyes on me again.

I hold his gaze.

Weakness would be to look away but nothing about this boy has given me pause yet so I let him do his best to break me down under the weight of his now amused stare.

“Where do you think Dad went?” he asks after he wipes his mouth with a napkin.

“Business,” I reply evenly.

Eastin smirks as he picks up another forkful, then slides it between his lips. I watch as he chews thoughtfully, turning his eyes toward the opulent bay windows of the room, a fist to his mouth.

“I bet,” he finally says when he’s swallowed his food.

I arch an eyebrow at him. Curiosity is starting to build inside of me and I know that it’s written on my face right now. I can tell by the way Eastin’s smirk widens as he raises the cup of juice to his lips. He’s held my stare as he drinks down half of his cup, then set it down next to his plate.

“So, am I supposed to call you Mom?” His tone is rich with amusement and I can tell that he’s enjoying what he assumes is my discomfort.

“Greer is fine,” I respond in a clipped tone. “If you have any dirty clothes, put them in the hamper. Today is laundry day and I’ll get to your load first.”

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