Candy Ever After (Hot Candy 2)

Fuck. “My dad called.”

Jet’s breath is warm against my neck. “What did he want?”

“Nothing.”

“J…” Jet sighs, and I close my eyes.

Nothing.

And everything.

I don’t want to think about it. I don’t wanna remember what he said. His words are right there, under the surface of my thoughts, a thorn, a sting, a decision waiting to be acknowledged, a certainty I want to challenge, or to ignore.

So I ignore it, leaning into Jet’s body, letting him and Candy hold me, keep me together.

I’m not ready to poke that sore spot just yet.

***

As it turns out, I don’t have to poke it. Sleep does that without asking for my permission. Waking up for the second time in a cold sweat with angry words ringing in my ears and my dad’s scowling face flashing through my head, I decide, fuck it, and get up.

Noticing Jet isn’t in bed either, I make sure Candy is covered up and in a deep sleep before I slip out of the room.

I close the door behind me and shiver with the sharp shards of the dream—or perhaps a memory. Something my dad told me the last time we met. Something lurking in a corner of my mind, pouncing as I sleep.

He didn’t really say that… did he?

He did, and not for the first time, my memory helpfully informs me, and I shiver harder.

Goddammit.

Raking my hands through my hair, I stumble into the living room and find Jet sprawled on the sofa, drawing on one of his big pads with a charcoal pencil.

I lean over the backrest. He’s so absorbed in what he’s making, he only frowns harder at the design. It looks like a man holding a stick.

Or a long knife?

“Jet.”

He gasps and his pad clatters to the floor as he knocks his head back on the armrest. “The fuck?”

I wince. “Sorry.”

“Give a man a heart attack.” He sits up, blinking dazedly, his face white. “Jesus. What are you doing up?”

“Nightmare,” I tell him shortly and he throws his legs off the sofa, making me space. I shoot him a look as I sit down. “You?”

“Nah, mate,” he drawls, “I just felt like wandering the apartment in the dead of night for no reason.”

“Smartass.” I grab him in a headlock and ruffle his hair until he laughs and pushes me away.

“Asshole.”

“Whatcha drawing?” I bend over to grab his pad and he pushes me aside, sweeping the pad away and stashing it beside the sofa.

“None of your business.”

“Is it your dad?”