Chapter 3

3

RHODES

T he sun was way too freaking bright. I groaned and rolled over, not wanting to wake up, but knowing I would have to at least get up and close the blinds if I wanted any kind of shot at going back to sleep for a few more hours.

I definitely needed sleep.

Staying up until one in the morning, replaying the car ride home with Larkin was a special sort of self-torture. I analyzed every glance, every word from her. And that wasn’t counting the way her body swayed into mine when we stood on the side of the road.

I had almost kissed her.

The sad, defeated look in her eyes when I stepped back, killed me.

If this kept up I was going to be able to host my own talk show soon.

I got up, damn near tripping on the covers. Kicking them away, I crossed the few feet to the window and reached up to jerk the shade down, and I froze.

“Whoa.”

The forecast had called for roughly eight to ten inches of snow, but the massive blanket of white that was easily as high as the bushes on the side of Larkin’s house said the weather man had definitely misjudged. There was easily a foot and a half out there, and it was still coming down at a steady rate.

I stood at the window and watched for a second. It was peaceful, the way the snow drifted down, covering the world in a silent blanket. Everything was still and calm like one of the Christmas songs squawked about.

The sharp chime of my phone cut through that calm pretty damn quick.

Turning, I grabbed it off my desk and hit the ‘talk’ button when I saw it was the girl who consumed my thoughts.

“Lark?”

“Hey.”

My eyes snapped up to the house next door. Larkin was standing in her bedroom window, cell phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. She was wearing a matching set of pink plaid pajamas that made me smile as she waved at me.

This girl.

“Everything okay?” I asked, bracing a hand on the wall beside the window.

She nodded, her finger drawing a heart in the condensation on the window. “I was going to make pancakes. Since it looks like we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, I thought I would see if you wanted some, too?”

My stomach growled on cue. I should say no. Turn around and go back to bed.

My stomach clenched as the thought of my bed while talking to Larkin took a decidedly graphic detour.

“Sure,” I answered, wincing at my slightly strangled reply. I cleared my throat. “Let me take a shower, and I’ll be over?”

“Sounds good,” she said, ending the conversation and spinning away from the window.

I dropped my phone back onto the desk and groaned. It was definitely going to be a cold shower.

Hell, I should probably just go roll around in a snow drift. That might stand a chance at cooling me off.

T he snow was already up past my knees as I trudged through the yard between our houses. It took a while to move through it and once I made it to Larkin’s porch, I brushed off the snow as best as I could, toeing off my boots and leaving them outside so they wouldn’t track snow and ice into the foyer.

I opened the door, not surprised Larkin had left it unlocked for me.

Growing up her parents made it clear I had, what they called, open door privileges. I think they felt bad that I was pretty much on my own at home so they welcomed me into theirs. If Remy’s parents were my stand in parents, Larkin’s were my stand in aunt and uncle.

They just sucked at hiding their worry and pity a little more than the Holts.

Charles and Jane Dawes had a perfect family, a perfect daughter, and a happy life. She was a teacher, he was an accountant. Their house was always clean, warm, and smelled like some fancy candle had been burning.

Yet another reason why my train wreck of a family and Larkin’s would never mix. Even if Dad kicked the alcohol and made it through this stint in rehab, I didn’t see my dad and Larkin’s parents sitting down over dinner together.

And Larkin would definitely want family dinners.

I closed the door behind me, and grabbed the towel she had left on the small table, using it to dry off the bottoms of my jeans as best as I could before heading down the hallway that opened into a large kitchen.

Larkin stood at the stovetop, a pop song blaring from the bluetooth speaker on the counter. I watched, fascinated, as she shimmied her hips and moved her tiny feet. Her dark hair had been pulled into a messy knot on top of her head, and it bounced along with the bopping of her head as she used a spatula as a microphone she could lip-sync into.

Larkin had a ton of amazing qualities – she was a loyal friend, a genius when it came to school, an amazing photographer – but the girl had absolutely no rhythm. I also knew, from painful experience, that she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life.

Yet, she loved music in almost any form.

She attempted a slide across the kitchen floor, but misjudged the momentum. With a small shriek she started to fall, her feet slipping out from under her. I jumped forward, catching her under her arms and hauling her against me before her ass could hit the tiles.

“Crap,” she whispered, arching her neck back to look up at me. She gave me a brilliant Larkin grin, so sweet and guileless it was a solid blow to my chest.

She smelled like cinnamon and sugar, her soft hair tickling my nose. I knew I should let her go, but it felt good to hold her soft body against mine, to feel the way her curves molded around me. Her weight in my arms felt right.

It had been a long time since I was this close to her. Larkin loved to hug, and I caught on earlier this year that my body loved the way she hugged. I had taken to avoiding her hugs out of self-preservation.

Okay, dick preservation.

Only one of my heads seemed to get that Larkin was off-limits.

Clearing my throat, I made sure she was steady on her feet before letting go and taking a large step back. I leaned back against the counter across from her.

Space. We definitely needed space.

Larkin was still grinning at me, completely oblivious to the war I was fighting internally.

“Pancakes are almost done,” she said, swinging back around to the stove and picking up a spatula. “Can you grab—”

I was already pushed off the counter and moving to the fridge to pull out the orange juice I knew she would want.

Extra pulp.

I made a face as I pulled it out, also grabbing the no pulp one her parents kept on hand for me. Grabbing a couple of cups out of the overhead cabinet, I poured the drinks as she finished plating the last of the pancakes.

We met at the kitchen table and sat down in front of the large bay window that showcased the snowy backyard.

“I can’t believe it’s still coming down,” she commented, looking outside before reaching for the syrup and essentially drowning her pancakes in a river of sugar. “I checked the weather this morning. Sounds like they may upgrade it to a blizzard.”

My gaze flicked to the window where the larger flakes from earlier had been replaced by a finer, but blinding, snow. “There’s almost two feet out there. I think they’re a bit late on that call.”

Larkin’s eyes went wide a second before she took a big bite. “I haven’t seen any snow plows out yet.”

“They’re probably sticking to the mountain and town,” I replied, taking a drink. What limited snow plows Blackwater had typically made sure the roads around the Alpha house were clear in case Gabe was needed for anything.

“What are you going to do today?” she asked suddenly.

The question caught me off guard. “I don’t know. Maybe work on my bike.” I had been slowly rebuilding a 1990 Harley Fat Boy for the last year whenever I was home. I had always loved engines and mechanics, but this was definitely the biggest project I had taken on. It was currently in a few hundred pieces around the floor of the garage.

“Can I help?”

I looked up, and my fork froze in midair at her small voice.

Larkin shifted on her seat, looking down. “I mean, unless I’ll be in the way.”

She wouldn’t be.

Larkin was a pretty damn amazing assistant. She had helped me with more oil changes and brake replacements than I could count. My house had become a secondary garage in Blackwater, and a lot of people asked me to do routine maintenance on their vehicles because I would do it for a lot cheaper than the local garage.

I had been doing it since I was thirteen. Larkin was usually there, oil and grease smeared on her cheeks, working alongside me. Most girls wouldn’t be caught dead with motor oil under their nails.

Larkin wasn’t most girls.

She would have spent all her time in the garage with me if I had let her. This past summer, I had stopped inviting her to help all to maintain that damn distance between us.

I lifted the bite of food to my mouth and started chewing, swallowing before I answered. “Sure. If you want.”

Her shoulders visibly relaxed, another smile blossoming on her lips.

She had expected me to say no.

The food in my stomach turned into a solid mass I couldn’t get rid of. I pushed my plate away and finished my drink.

I should have said no. I should have gone back to my house and left her alone here.

“Have you heard from your dad yet?”

My back went rigid, my shoulders stiff. “No,” I replied, my tone clipped. There was a message waiting on my cell that had appeared when I was in the shower, but I hadn’t even considered listening to it.

She pressed her lips together in a thin line. “Is it weird? Him not being home?”

I sighed. “It’s different.” I looked up and grinned at her. “Definitely cleaner.”

She sadly shook her head, not buying my act for a damn second. She knew me too well. “You don’t have to do that, Rhodes.”

Her nostrils flared delicately. Jesus, even her nostrils were cute. Attached to an adorable button nose that wrinkled whenever she was laughing or worried or over-thinking.

I needed to get a hold of my emotions and lock them down fast.

“Do what?” I replied blankly, grinding my molars together.

She huffed, pushing her plate away. “I know, okay? You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“Who’s pretending?” I snapped, spreading my arms wide. Irritation flashed through me at being so transparent. “I’m fine , Lark. It’s just another day.”

“But your dad is trying to get better,” she argued, her dark eyes flashing. “I know that has to mean something to you.”

“It doesn’t mean shit to me!” I exploded, getting up so fast the chair damn near toppled over. “I’ve heard the ‘I’m going to get better, son’ speech eleven times. Eleven times. You know how many times it stuck?”

She stayed quiet, watching me as all the emotions I had buried and shoved down came up and out like the force of a volcanic explosion.

“I’m done waiting for him to be a father. I’ve lived the last fourteen years without a parent, and he wants to pick now as the time to step up? I’m supposed to believe this is different from every other single time?” I paced away from the table, my fists clenched.

“I know he’s not going to change,” I ranted, stomping across the room and bracing my hands on the counter. I dropped my chin, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to get control of myself. “It’s stupid and pointless to think he will.”

“You mean, it’s stupid and pointless to get your hopes up?” Larkin countered softly.

I spun around to see she was right behind me. I hadn’t even heard her get up.

I opened my mouth, ready to tell her how wrong she was, but the look in her eyes stopped me.

Not pity. Not sadness. Her dark eyes were filled with kindness and hope.

The two things that Larkin was to the very core.

Two things I fucking loved about her.

I swallowed thickly as I looked down at her. She was less than a foot away. It wouldn’t take much effort to reach out and haul her small body against mine. To cross that last line that separated us.

“There’s nothing to hope for,” I admitted, my voice cold and hard even to my own ears. “It’s stupid to want something that can never happen.”

Something changed in her expression, a fleeting glimpse of a deeper emotion she quickly hid away from me. Damn, I wished I had the right to demand she tell me what was on her mind. I wanted to know every thought that went through her beautiful mind.

“Hope is never stupid, Rhodes,” she told me softly, reaching out and touching my wrist.

Jesus, her hands were so tiny compared to mine. So delicate and soft. Mine were rough and hard from years of working in the garage.

I blinked slowly, working to put my feelings back into the bottle they belonged in. “It is when you know the outcome will never change.”

She shifted forward, barely half a step, but it was enough that I caught the scent of cinnamon and sugar that clung to her. I could see the way each dark lash framed her eyes, eyes that held a ring of liquid gold around the pupils. I could make out the tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“Things change all the time,” she said, her voice gentle and soothing. A freaking balm on the jagged, brittle edges of my heart that was making it harder to remember I was supposed to be the good guy and let her move on.

I closed my eyes. “Lark—”

Her hand left me, and I felt the air rush between us as she moved back. “Let’s get this cleaned up and you can show me what you’ve done to the motorcycle.”

She turned and started clearing our dishes off the table before I could respond.

Not that I would have even known what to say if I could find my voice.

I was quickly realizing we were running out of words to say to keep up this distant charade.