Page 24 of Quiet Obsession
I choose the latter. I’m not sure how she takes her coffee and it’s not like she’ll tell me, but I fill a cup anyway. Fetching milk from the fridge, I set it on the table.
She freezes in the kitchen doorway, wide eyes landing on me, headphones around her neck now. I have half a mind to grab them and check what she listens to.
Her lips part but words remain stuck somewhere down her throat.She’s deliciously flushed, a thin sheen of sweat glistening at her hairline and down her neck. She’s wearing a pair of obscenely tight-fitting leggings and a sports bra beneath her hoodie, unzipped halfway. The milky skin of her collarbones is peppered with freckles and the hastening rise and fall of her scarcely covered tits redirects my blood south.
Damn it. My head pulses with an incoming headache.
She’s Hyde’slittle sister. He’s my fucking brother by choice. He made it explicitly clear that she’s off limits... but my cock didn’t get the message.
Neither did my head, if I’m honest.
I spent months worrying about her well-being, asking Hyde for updates, wondering if she’d ever fully recover, thinking about her day in and day out.
I’m the reason she’s like this... almost mute, hiding away, making herself small to stay invisible. That and many more reasons say I shouldnotsport a hard-on over Millie Ward under any circumstances. I’d never deserve to touch her, anyway, but my body doesn’t care and my cock’s stirring like she’s already mine.
As if I’d ever be good enough for her.
She’s perfectly decent, dressed the same way most girls dress for the gym, but Hyde would have a hissy fit if he came down now. He’d be furious, and not ather.
No, he’d blame me.
He’d expect me to tape my eyes shut, pluck them straight out of their sockets, or lock myself in my bedroom until his sister was covering more skin.
“I didn’t peg you for a runner,” I say, pulling my head out of my ass as I grab a Gatorade from the fridge, tossing it for her to catch. “Drink.”
Given her thinly veiled defiance last night when she laid her king down, I don’t expect her to obey, but she uncaps the bottle, holding my gaze as she drains the contents.
“Good. Now go grab a shower.”
And shedoes.
Turning on her heel, she rushes up the stairs, her golden-blonde braid swinging softly between her shoulder blades.
Deep lines dent my forehead. Looks like exercise does wonders for her mood. She didn’t frown or scowl once.
I’d say that’s progress.
The water pipes groan when the shower starts. I grab a pan and crack a few eggs, seasoning and whisking fast. Hyde went shopping yesterday, stocking my fridge to the brim like he’s planning on spending another week here. Among other things, he bought natural yogurt, which neither of us eats, so I assume it’s for Millie.
I check the wall clock, my neck prickling. Greta will be here soon. It’s a miracle she didn’t come over the moment I informed her about Jeremiah’s overdue passing. Instead of being sad, she was furious thatI’d waited so long to give her the news.
She should be thankful I called at all.
For a twin who spent her life loudly proclaiming how much she adored her brother, Greta’s reaction was surprisingly calm, once she’d talked herself down, muttering under her breath how veryshockedanddevastatedI must be. How very grief-stricken that calling her sooner didn’t cross my mind.
I let her think she was right. Maybe she’ll swallow the upcoming insults easier if she believes I’ve spent the last few days bawling my eyes out instead of celebrating and bagging his shit. It’s all in the garage, ready for a bonfire later today.
While I’m far from mourning Jeremiah, I can’t explain what’s been curling my stomach since his eyes lost their sparkle. It’snotgrief, but not elation either, more like a slow, festering dread.
The same one I felt when my marks were just shy of perfect and I knew he’d have a field day over it. I couldn’t be mediocre. I had to be top of the class and if I wasn’t, Jeremiah used his fists to remind me that excellence wasn’t a choice, but a condition.
The click of doors upstairs pulls my attention away from the past and back to the present. Millie’s footsteps are hesitant as she joins me, her wet hair framing her delicate face. Every inch of previously exposed, soft, delicate skin is hidden under another baggy jumper and a pair of tight-fitting jeans.
A blush paints her cheeks, and I wonder if shyness isthe reason she doesn’t speak around me.
I finish preparing our breakfast and set two servings of scrambled eggs and avocado toast down on the table, along with the natural yoghurt she immediately scrunches her nose at.
“Eat,” I say.
