Somebody Else's Sky (Something in the Way 2)

I’d turned into her instead of away. She’d radiated warmth and comfort, and having a nightmare about her had made me especially vulnerable. Maybe there was no more dangerous place for Lake than anywhere I was. I’d let myself get lost in her before, and one of those times, I’d paid a heavy price. Yet I’d still gone to pick her up, knowing we’d be alone in the car. She had a power over me that could hurt us both, and I had to be the strong one between us.

Like most mornings, I was up before Tiffany. By the time I’d showered, changed into a t-shirt and jeans, and downed half a pot of coffee, neither of the girls had gotten up. I was pulling eggs and bacon from the refrigerator when Lake shuffled out of the guest bedroom. Good thing for my sanity, she’d put a sweatshirt on. It didn’t cover as much as it should, but at least I couldn’t see her tits anymore. Those soft hills that peaked into hard little pebbles. They had to be close to a C cup, perky, perfect—and not mine to ogle or touch.

Lake rubbed her red eyes. I felt like a real piece of shit that there was even a chance she’d cried herself to sleep. “Sit,” I said. “I’m making you breakfast.”

She’d stopped in the middle of the living room, by the front door, as if she might make a break for it. “I’m not hungry.”

I ignored her. “We don’t have any fancy guest plates, but you can use my mug. It was a gift from Gary.” I showed her my coffee cup, a man in black-and-white prison scrubs asking a zebra what it’s in for. She didn’t laugh. I filled it with orange juice and set it in front of a stool at the breakfast bar.

She blinked her puffy eyelids. Had she even gone to the bathroom yet? Or just stumbled out and into my orbit? I couldn’t tell what she was thinking—probably something about Tiffany and me. If she’d had sex with Corbin last night, that’s damn well what I’d be thinking about.

“Take me back to the hotel.”

“What?”

“Take me back to Corbin.”

It made my stomach churn the same way it had when she’d said it last night. I knew in my gut she’d left because of him. He’d gotten her a hotel room for fuck’s sake. How close had they come to sleeping together? Had he pushed her? Touched her? What if I hadn’t been here, and Tiffany had refused to pick her up? That didn’t matter, because I was here, and based on the sickness developing in my gut at the thought of her being stranded, I always would be.

“What kind of eggs do you like?” I asked to distract myself.

“How do you normally make them?” Tentatively, she took a seat. “What do you drink in the mornings?”

“Scrambled, but I’ll eat them any way. Sometimes I’ll make an omelet.”

“With what?”

I continued about my routine, reminding myself when her gaze followed me around that I wasn’t nearly as interesting as she seemed to think. “Whatever’s around. Spinach, mushrooms, peppers. You sure you aren’t hungry?”

“Yes. What do you drink?” she asked again.

“Coffee.”

“I want some.”

I gave her a look. “You don’t drink coffee.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” No seventeen year olds I knew drank coffee. Not that I really knew any. I jutted my chin at the mug. “How about the orange juice?”

She took a long look at it, her expression contorting with disgust.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s what I drank last night.”

“Orange juice? At prom?”

“With rum.”

She picked it up anyway and took a sip. I wasn’t dumb enough to think there wasn’t alcohol at prom, but it hadn’t occurred to me she might’ve been drunk last night. I hadn’t smelled it on her. The eggs sizzled on the pan behind me, but I couldn’t get myself to move. “How much did you drink?”

She didn’t look at me. “By the time you picked me up, I was fine.”

“You have to be careful.”

“I was.” She raised her eyes to me. “You know I was.”

I turned away. I hated the idea of it, her, drinking in a hotel room with men. No, I couldn’t fucking stand the idea of it. Men were assholes to begin with, but they could be dangerous when they drank. Not that Corbin or any of those guys were men—they were boys, and that was worse. Drunk boys lost control. They made bad decisions. I ran a hand through my hair and pulled—fuck if I hadn’t already been on this carousel all night before she’d called. I’d been in bed, staring at the ceiling long after Tiffany had gone to sleep, running through all the awful scenarios that could go down at prom.

I pulled the pan off the burner just as I heard a noise that sounded like her stomach grumbling. She twisted back and forth on the stool, looking not a day over her age. I scraped eggs onto a plate and set them in front of her. “Here.”