40. Resa

Chapter 40

Resa

I stare into space as hot water sluices over me.

Vaughn carried me up to my room, left after a kiss, and said nothing about his erection, which I could not help but feel as he carried me up in his arms.

He just adjusted the front of his pants and walked away like it was no big deal, leaving me with the same thoughts that chased me into the shower after I wasted an hour staring out of the window.

How the hell am I supposed to look Garrison in the eye after today?

I don't regret what happened between me and Vaughn. But I should. I should be grieving Henry. Instead, I let Vaughn eat me out on his drum kit while Garrison listened on the phone.

I lean my hot face against the marble. "What were you thinking, Resa? What happened to staying focused on finding Dexter Pieter and just going home ?"

My rumbling belly reminds me it's been a while since I ate. Guilt reminds me I'm not doing a thing to find Jerome Walker. I rest my hand on my rounded stomach, a visible reminder I need to be doing all I can to make this world a better one for my baby.

I flick the faucet off and get out of the shower. I've wasted more than enough time today.

My clothes have multiplied again.

I dig through my dresser, realize there's a closet I never bothered opening, and get another shock of my life. More clothes. A whole closet full. Brand new, probably ridiculously expensive, and I didn't ask for any of it.

I pull on a loose navy linen pants and a soft, cream angora sweater, brushing my hair before I head downstairs, on a mission to silence my growling belly before I get to work figuring out what message to send to Dexter Pieter.

Who is responsible for adding to my wardrobe on a near-daily basis? Lex, undoubtedly. But is he doing it, or is someone telling him to? Someone like Garrison Brewster who heard me climax down the phone and who I can never, ever look in the eye again.

So naturally, the only person in the kitchen is the man I want to see least of all.

Garrison sits at the dining table, a newspaper open in front of him, and a mug of something steaming beside him. Coffee. Because of the cold shower Vaughn told me he would need to have after listening to me?—

Hazel eyes snap up and my cheeks burn as I wrench my thoughts away from…

Things .

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"What for?"

Clearly, my mind is entrenched deep, deep in the gutter.

Food. Resa. The guy means food.

"Uh, sure," I mumble belatedly.

A flicker of amusement is there and gone again so quickly I almost believe I imagined it. "It's probably too late for lunch and too early for dinner, but I can throw together a sandwich."

I'm not hungry anymore. I nod anyway, so he will stop looking at me.

He closes his newspaper and returns it to the table with a suspiciously heavy thump before rising.

When I find myself noticing his shoulders, his scent, and the way he rolled his shirtsleeves up to reveal strong, tanned forearms, I order myself to get a grip on myself.

As he crosses over to the refrigerator, I look at the newspaper and the book I think it contains. The pregnancy book. One with Post-it tabs.

Why is he reading it? And why is he hiding it from me?

Would it make sense to just ask? Sure. But this feels like a game, playful rather than harmful and cruel. It's a game I don't mind playing, if only to find out how far they're willing to go to hide the book from me.

"Have you thought about the trial?" he asks.

I rip my eyes from the newspaper and take my usual seat at the kitchen island, my designated safe place. At least it was until the last time I came in here looking for Blaine. I smiled as I pulled up a chair at the dining table with two alphas and no knife in my hand like it was nothing.

Wait.

Why am I just thinking of that now?

"Resa?" Garrison studies me across a slab of granite as he waits for a response to his trial question.

"Uh. A bit." In reality, I haven't spent nearly enough time thinking about what I want to say.

I'd write a speech, but I was never bookish or smart, and I hated almost every day of school. If any assignment involved public speaking, I failed it. I hated not knowing what to say, the stares, and the follow-up questions I never had an answer for.

So I stammered or spoke too fast and missed entire lines in the script I'd write up. I'd hurry through it as fast as I could and plant my ass in my seat as soon as fucking possible, telling myself that next time, I'd work just a little harder to convince my mom I was truly on my death-bed sick and avoid public speaking assignments forever. I sucked at them.

It's why I opted out of college and settled for a quiet, unsatisfying real estate assistant job that was a little more boring than I wanted to admit to myself.

Now I have to speak in a trial and make people believe what I say is the truth, even though I don't have a lick of evidence to back up my words.

"We have a small window for you to speak." He looks at me. "Tomorrow mid-morning."

I wish the ground would open up, swallowing me whole so I never have to take one step in that courtroom.

But alphas need to pay, so I gulp instead of running out of the room and diving into my nest to spend the next ten years hiding. "Will there be reporters there?" I ask.

"There will." He pulls sliced meat and cheese from the refrigerator. "Sloane is the first alpha going on trial for his role in the free heat clinic abuses. There will be more, but this is unprecedented."

What is unprecedented is for a wealthy alpha to actually face the consequences of his actions. He has fancy attorneys, and according to the news reports, he's fighting charges he won't win.

Surprisingly, Sloane is not naming any other alphas, though I suspect cops might have offered him a deal to talk and maybe not die in prison. So he's the proverbial rat determined to go down alone with a sinking ship. But I know the names of more than a handful of those rats, and they're going down too. Even if I have to drag them onto the ship myself.

Only, that's going to involve speaking in front of a judge, reporters, and other trial observers. In short, a lot of fucking people and my history of public speaking is not great.

If that's what has to happen, it will happen.

"Do you have a notebook I could have?" I ask.

"Give me a minute." Garrison walks out and returns moments later brandishing a notebook and a pen. "Here."

I take both. "You're not even going to ask why?"

"I assume you'll tell me if you want me to know." He lifts two packages. "Turkey or roast beef?"

My stomach lets out a happy rumble. "Would it be wrong to say both?"

"Not wrong. I can throw in a bit of chicken as well?"

"Sold," I say, so quickly there's no missing his smile.

His mouth is a little fuller on the bottom than the top. Sexy lips. And I should not be paying them as much attention as I am.

I watch him for a bit, my eyes naturally settling on his long, strong fingers as he makes me a sandwich on a heavy looking wooden chopping board he sets on the granite island in front of me. It looks like it'll be a good sandwich.

Turkey, chicken, roast beef, sliced cheese, mayo, mustard, tomato, and lettuce on a sub. He even seasons the sliced tomato. That level of detail alone is impressive.

"I was taking a walk outside earlier," Garrison says as he builds my sandwich.

I should have offered to make it myself. It's not like I don't know how to put a sandwich together, but truth be told, I think I'm starting to enjoy being spoiled. So I sit, my mouth watering, as I wait for my sandwich.

"So?"

"And I found a broken cell phone." He turns around to grab a jar of pickles from the refrigerator, so he misses my wince.

Shit, I'd forgotten about the phone I flung out of my window. Probably a very expensive, top of the line cell phone that did not have a screen protector or even a case.

I squirm in my seat, embarrassed at what now seems like a childish and stupid thing to do. Maybe it's the thread of gray in Garrison's bent head that makes me aware of just how childish that act was. "About that?—"

"I had Lex replace it with a new one. Our numbers are in it, including Isaura and Sadie." He places two big pickles on the side of my cut-up sandwich and slides the plate toward me. "It's charging in the computer room, so if you need it, you know where to find it."

I stop squirming.

He doesn't notice because he's back at the refrigerator, pulling a container from a side shelf. There are five identical containers just like it. Fancy apple juice. He fills a large glass full of liquid ambrosia which he places in my grabby paws.

I'm pregnant. It is not my fault I'm addicted to the stuff.

This sitting and having people do things for me that I can easily do for myself could easily become my new addiction.

"And the person who tossed an expensive phone out into the garden? Surely you have something to say about that?" I take a long gulp from my juice and place the glass on the table.

"They have good aim." The chip bag he pulls out of the cupboard rustles, almost drowning out his voice. He empties a good serving on the other side of my sandwich. "One more foot and it would have wound up in the pool. Not a bad throw to make from the house. More chips?"

I take in the small pile of chips. It's plenty, more than enough.

"Yes, please." Greedy is what I'm becoming these days. For food, apple juice, and attention from the men in this house. I should be embarrassed. I'm not.

Garrison deposits another handful of chips to my plate and says, "It's not my best work."

I think it looks like the best sandwich ever.

"Anything newsworthy lately?" I nod at his newspaper and pick up one half of my sandwich.

His expression is inscrutable as he watches me lift my sandwich to my mouth. "Some illuminating things I hope will make me into a better, more educated man."

It would be the easiest thing in the world to walk over there and shake that pregnancy book right out of the newspaper. But I like Garrison Brewster's answers to questions, and I want to hear more of them.

I hide my smile. "A paper can do all that, huh?"

He opens the refrigerator again, this time pulling out a bottle of water that he places on the kitchen counter. "Here."

"I'm okay with juice."

He slides it closer toward me, saying, "I read somewhere that it's important for a pregnant woman to stay hydrated."

I recall the Post-it note highlighting how common constipation is and how important it is to drink plenty of fluids.

So, maybe the blue tabs are Garrison's. Yellow tabs are Vaughn's. None for Blaine, so maybe he's not the type to leave Post-it notes.

"Thanks."

Garrison watches me take the first bite. Savory and delicious flavors explode in my mouth. When I nearly bite my tongue chewing too fast and immediately go back for another, he nods, as if pleased, before he walks back to the dining table.

I'm only half-aware of him finishing his coffee and scooping up his newspaper. My attention is laser focused on this incredible sandwich that seemed too big when I watched Garrison make it. Now I'm demolishing it, it doesn't seem nearly big enough.

Garrison stops at the doorway. "And that phone call…"

I swallow instead of choke, but it's a near thing. Tears fill my eyes, and I blink rapidly as I clear my throat to force my half-chewed food down.

I thought he wouldn't bring it up. I hoped he wouldn't bring it up. But he's doing it.

Not brave enough to look him in the eye, I study his shaven chin instead. "Yeah?"

"I trust Vaughn took care of all your needs."

My eyes fly to his and immediately dart away again as I put down my sandwich. There's no way I'm eating during this conversation.

"Yes," I say desperately, hoping he will stop there and not go any further. There's no mirror in here, but I have to be glow in the dark bright red.

"Excellent. I'll leave you to your sandwich." Amusement creeps into his voice. "I had a very distracting afternoon and got no work done."

He walks out whistling with his newspaper tucked under one arm and his hand stuffed in his pocket.

I bite my tongue so I don't call him back and ask how. How did he distract himself? What exactly did he do?

I turn around and pick up my sandwich. Then I put it back down again.

Lex walks in and glances at me on his way to the refrigerator. "Oh, hey. Did you know you're bright red?"

"Yes," I confirm, "I did know that." And before Lex can ask why, I cram my sandwich in my mouth.