Page 27 of Secret Obsession
But part of me wants to test that the copies of the keys that girl made for me actually work. And a quick phone check tells me that Willow’s been off it for the last hour. When I turn her mic on, all it gives me is deep breathing.
She’s sleeping.
Anticipation licks through me.
How many times have I wanted to know what she looks like sleeping peacefully? How many times have I wished that she chosemeto wake up next to, instead of Knox? How many times have I watched her toss and turn in my brother’s bed, knowing the consequences of getting caught?
Too many times. Lingering on the fringes of my brother’s room after he’s had his way with her, burning with anger that she was sleeping with his cum between her legs or on her lips. The noises she made while he fucked her, filtering through the wall separating our rooms, torment me even now.
But she’s not off-limits anymore.
She’s mine for the taking—and I don’t want the noises embedded in my head. I want to make her scream, or I want her silent. I want more than my brother ever asked of her.
So I change direction and head to her apartment instead of the hockey house. I unlock the first door and trot up the steps. I stop outside of Willow’s apartment and listen, but there’s no sounds. Just as I heard on her phone.
The key slides easily into the lock, and the deadbolt turns. I enter slowly, setting my bag just inside the door. It smells fresher in here. One of her windows in the living room is open a crack, letting in the crisp winter wind. The curtains in front of it flutter out, brushing the plants.
She must’ve hated the scent of bleach. There’s a candle on her stove, not lit, but the smell of fresh apples emanates from it. The wax is still warm and soft. She cares about how her apartment looks and feels, even if it’s a carbon copy of some interior designer’s Pinterest board.
I brush past it, rolling the bit of wax off my finger, and head for her bedroom. The door is open, and I automatically stop at the threshold.
She’s asleep, under the covers, with one hand curled under her chin. Her mouth is open slightly, her short hair fanned out on the pillow. There’s an empty glass on her nightstand.
This isn’t like before, I assure myself.
But it doesn’t help that I’m practically sucker-punched with a memory. One sharper than I’d like. And I have no choice but to relive it.
She’s crying.
Her mascara is streaked down her face, her eyes closed and her breathing heavy. Too many tears shed over my brother. She cries over him too much, and every time I’m left… watching.
Unable to move toward her or away.
Stuck in some limbo that feels a lot like Hell.
A text lights up my phone screen, on silent, and I cast a quick glance at it. My brother is telling me to meet them at Haven. But my feet don’t move, and I stuff my cell back in my pocket.
Going out drinking now would only result in a fight.
Not with my brother. Never with him. But inevitably, someone would say something stupid, and I’d have had one or five too many drinks, and I’d wake up with bloodied knuckles and a black eye.
Knox just… left her here. Put her to bed like a child and slipped out while she slept.
Willow shifts, rolling onto her back. Her eyes are closed, but the light from the street seems to make the tear tracks on her cheeks glisten. She’s on his pillow, between his sheets, and she’s crying in her sleep.
Maybe she knows he left her to go to a bar, and that’s why she’s upset. Even asleep, she’s aware of his fuck-ups.
Fuck this.
I grit my teeth and cross my arms, then wait until she eventually stills. Her breathing evens out, and she slips deeper into sleep. It’s only then that I move toward the bed. I stop a good five feet away. We’re not going to discuss why I’m watching her like a sick pervert—hell, maybe I am sick in the head. Twisted enough to seek her out when I know I shouldn’t.
She’s gorgeous even when she’s tortured. And lately, it seems like she’s always in pain.
“Knox?” she murmurs, shifting toward me. She reaches out.
And I hate, I hate that I go toward her. It’s like I can’t even help myself. Something about her just drags me in, and that unsurety disappears the moment her fingers close around my wrist.
Her eyes don’t open, but she pulls me down onto the bed. I sit beside her, her hold on me firm enough that I have an excuse to not pull away. The mattress dips under my weight, and her body shifts toward me.
