Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

He does, and I can see his eyes are red.

“Did you smoke?” Maybe that’s it. I discard that almost as quickly as I think of it. He’s not high. He’s upset. Something. “What happened?” He rests his gaze on mine, then slowly tugs it away. He’s looking over at my painting on the wall: Thomas.

I open my mouth to ask if I did something wrong, but I have a gut feeling it’s not that.

I reach up and frame his face with my hands, tilting his head down gently. His eyes fall to my chin, to my throat. “Talk to me—please.”

I watch his jaw clench. I watch his lips as they move uncertainly around whatever they will say.

I don’t know what happened, but I can feel him wrestling with something.

I stroke up and down his back and press my cheek against his warm, hard chest. It rises with a long breath. His chin comes down atop my head, settling there slowly, like he isn’t sure, he doesn’t want to... but he does. He wraps his arms around me too and we are intertwined.

I can feel his heart beat—fast.

“There was a wreck... My Uncle Pace.” He draws away from me, and finally, he gives me his gaze. I can see the pain in it. My throat knots.

“I’ve gotta go to Atlanta,” he says thickly. “It’s going to be a big thing... for my family.”

Questions rise in me like bubbles, simmering and popping. I push them down and stroke his arm. “What happened? Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.” He stares at something over my shoulder. He looks anesthetized.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” His voice sounds ragged. His skin is so, so pale.

I wrap my arms around him. “Kellan, I’m not going home. For one, I can’t. Remember? I’m sort of banned from the Tri Gam house for now. I want to drive up with you. Please let me.” I look up at him. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

His eyes find mine. “You can’t. I can’t...” He shakes his head. “My family.”

“I’ll wait in the car. I’ve got homework I can do. I just want to ride with you—so you don’t have to be by yourself. Pretty please?”

He nods, the movement so subtle I almost miss it. “Okay.” I stroke his hair. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “What can I do to help get ready?”

“Just get dressed,” he says.

He’s off the bed and out the door without another glance at me. I quickly check my phone: 3:38 AM.

I find him in the kitchen twenty minutes later, looking red-eyed, looking pale, and mostly looking lost.

I pack some food for us as he leans on the counter, hovering over his phone. I take his hand, and we walk to the door. When Truman pitches a dog fit, I look at Kellan and he nods. “Whatever.”

He lets go of my hand to lock the door, and after that, he props an arm against the outside wall.

“Are you okay?”

“Worried,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side so he can see me. His mouth is vulnerable and soft. I think of kissing it, but decide he may not want that, so I just take his hand in mine again.

He unlocks the Escalade and opens my door. After I’ve climbed into the passenger’s seat, I look down at him and see his eyes are closed.

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nbsp; “What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Nothing.” His eyes open to slits.

I slide down and take the keys from his pocket.