Page 28 of Shadowed With Fear

She didn’t even lock the goddamn door.

Carefully, I slip my shoes off, tiptoeing through the house to the kitchen. I get a glass of water and walk to the living room.

The wind blows outside the house, the subtle rustling of the bush against the bay window the only noise I can hear.

I know that she can’t hear me over the hum of her fan. She’s never gone a night without sleeping with it on high.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Brahm: You good?

Me: Yeah. She’s in bed. I’m downstairs. She didn’t lock the door.

Brahm: Okay. I’ll be home in the morning. Head out around six.

I turn my phone off, picking up the TV remote. Flipping through the rentals I had got last night; I found the one she was watching earlier. Then my mind races back to what I had seen.

Her sitting here in this very spot, face flushed, chest heaving, hand caressing her thick thighs. My mouth begins to water.

The look in her eye when she spotted me. It was pure lust. I had never seen her like that before, and I never thought I would. Something inside me twisted. Tightened.

I hit play, grabbing the fluffy blanket, throwing it over my lap. It smells like her. Sweet, spicy. I bring it close to my nose, inhaling deeply. A groan vibrates through me. God, she smells so fucking good. And she looked so fucking good. And what I would give if I could wrap my hands around her, having her look up at me with that fiery heat in her eyes.

My cock hardens, but I ignore it. I can’t. I’m supposed to protect her. Watch over her. Keep her safe. The things I want to do to her go against all of that in so many fucking ways.

So, I just sit back, watch the movie, and pretend I don’t think about what could happen if I sneak up to her bedroom.

When the credits roll, I stand up, stretch, and check the time. It’s five forty-eight.

Through the bay window I can see the pinkish hue of the sun beginning to crest in the valleys. I have a little while before the cover of night is gone.

My steps are light into the kitchen opening the fridge. Sitting on the first shelf are the left-over slices of Browniezillas. I snag one, biting into the sickly-sweet goodness. And it’s then I remember. I didn’t wish her Happy Birthday. The first time in her entire life, I didn’t say happy birthday to her.

A hollow feeling settles in my chest. Nineteen years and I never missed one, until yesterday.

Shit.

Laying on the counter is a few of Brahms notebooks and files. I grab a piece of paper and a pen and began to scribble a note to her. I’ll leave it on the counter for her.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAHLIA.

I HOPE THIS YEAR BRINGS YOU ALL THE HAPPINESS AND ADVENTURE YOU MISSED OUT ON LAST YEAR.

YOU’RE A STRONG, FEARLESS WOMAN.

DON’T FORGET WHO YOU ARE.

-GRAYS

* * *

“You ready, man?” Alex stands in front of me, his broad frame illuminated by the shading bulb above us. The “locker room” is cold, but I know the moment we step out of the doors, a wall of heat will rush over me from the crowded building.

I can hear the rumble of people cheering through the cinder block walls.

The room is dirty, rundown, which is expected of the old packing factory by the sipping yard.

It’s my first night off of Dahlia watch in a few days. B had a trip he had to take to the city, so I was babysitting.