Chapter Fifteen

RUE

M y heart breaks for Ellis, and the need to comfort him rides me so hard that I thread my fingers together to keep from hugging him. My parents did their best to crush any sort of softness in me, ruthlessly exploiting every weakness.

Somehow, the guys are working their way under my guard, and it's freaking me out.

I can't afford even the smallest weakness. If my father catches a whiff of it, he'll use them against me and drag me back to that prison.

I won't go back.

I would rather die first.

"Rue?" Ellis calls, capturing my face again, and my ragged breathing catches in my throat. "That's it. Focus on me now."

He brushes his thumb against my cheek, and I shudder under the tender touch.

"That's good," he murmurs. "One more deep breath." He inhales deeply, and I automatically mimic him. "Good girl."

My insides soften at his praise, but it doesn't completely erase the jitters. I touch the wound on my arm, the pinch of pain helping to keep me grounded.

"Don't!" Ellis snaps, snatching my wrists up in an unbreakable hold. "Don't hurt yourself."

I flinch at his anger, bracing for a slap, only it doesn't come. A curious sensation fills me, and I tilt my head to the side as I study him. It takes me a second to recognize the emotion—affection.

He genuinely cares.

The knowledge is slightly uncomfortable, and I lower my eyes to avoid meeting his perceptive gaze. When he pulls away, my heart studders in my chest, and I observe him from the corner of my eye.

Ellis doesn't look at me as he fusses over the burn on my arm, gently swiping ointment on the wound. Having someone tend to my injury is such a novel experience that I'm rendered mute, not pretending to do anything but gape at him in shock. He caps the tiny tube before rummaging through the toolbox full of medical supplies next to me.

He speaks without looking up at me, as if afraid to spook me and send me running.

Smart man.

It takes all my willpower to remain seated and docile.

"Next time you feel yourself slipping, I want you to take a deep breath, hold it for five seconds, and use the time to ground yourself in the present." He picks up some tape and rips off four even strips. "Focus on what you can smell, see, and touch."

He uses his teeth to tear open a package of gauze, then he gently lifts my arm to the light. "Even the tiniest detail can help keep you centered. Pick one of your senses, focus on it, then build on it. The second you lose sight of your surroundings, it's too late, so it's important to stay centered."

He lightly presses the gauze over the small wound, but the pain doesn't even register. I'm so used to being hurt that it's just background noise. He carefully tapes down the edges, firmly pressing his thumb over the tape, then peers up at me while still holding my arm. "If you ever feel yourself drowning, think of me. Think of our kiss. Remember."

He releases me reluctantly, and I immediately feel the loss of his touch like a hollow sensation in my chest that threatens to consume me. The air cools when he steps away, and I wrap my arms around myself to stay warm. The events of the day catch up to me, and I'm suddenly desperate for time alone to decompress and process everything that has happened.

For someone who's used to spending most of their day by themselves, being around people is too much. I slip off the counter and shuffle toward the door as he cleans up the mess he created from doctoring me. "Thank you for taking care of me. I should probably go. I took up enough of your time."

Before I even finish speaking, I wrench open the door and hurry from the room. Thankfully, Hicks is nowhere in sight, and I nearly sprint straight for the exit.

"Wait!" Ellis shouts from behind me, but I pretend I don't hear as I dart out the door at a dead run…and plow right into Jaceson. I smack into him so hard that I rebound off him with a yelp. I windmill my arms wildly as I try to catch my balance, but I'm helpless to do anything as my body tips backwards.

Jaceson grunts at the impact, falling back a step, then his eyes widen in alarm when he sees me flailing to stay upright. He lunges for me, wrapping his strong arms around me. Only his quick reflexes stop me from dropping to my ass, and I'm shocked to find myself tucked close to his chest instead of sprawled across the floor.

The scent of sunshine and outdoors clings to his skin and clothes, and I greedily inhale the calming mixture. Jaceson takes one look at my expression, and a harsh mask descends over his face as he looks at the house behind me, his body tensing like he's braced for an attack.

Footsteps thump across the floor, and I stiffen.

Jaceson peers down at me for a second with narrowed eyes, then he immediately turns on his heel and hurries down the stairs, tugging me after him. With the urge to flee still riding me hard, I follow him without protest.

We come to a halt next to his bike, and my eyebrows shoot up when he shoves a helmet against my chest. I fumble with it for a bit, dragging it over my head, and he latches it for me, never once looking at my face as he focuses on his task. Once done, he throws his leg over the bike, pulls the machine upright, and knocks the kickstand back. When I hesitate, he looks at me over his shoulder with a single eyebrow raised in challenge.

I don't need any more prompting. I scramble to obey, my first attempt to mount a bike awkward as fuck, but he doesn't make fun of me. He grabs my arms and wraps them around his waist. When he's satisfied that I won't pull away, he starts the bike with a roar of the engine.

The machine hums beneath me like a living beast, and I tighten my hold, wondering about my sanity. I don't get more than a second of doubt before he guns the throttle, and we take off with a chirp of tires at a speed that has the world blurring around me.

After a few minutes of us not dying, I finally pry my eyes open. As the world zips past, I'm filled with wonder. It's like we're in our own bubble, where the rest of the world doesn't exist.

I sigh as my worries fall away, and I'm able to just breathe. My stranglehold on him gradually loosens, and I tip my head back as I watch the sun dapple through the leaves. For the first time since I escaped my father's clutches, I truly feel free.

I lift my arms above my head, feeling unstoppable, unchained, and unfettered by the troubles of my past.

As we travel on one twisted road after another, contentment settles in my chest, and I snuggle against Jaceson's warmth, beyond grateful for the gift he's given me. It's only when the sun hovers along the horizon that I'm aware of the passage of time, and I notice we're back on the street leading toward my house.

We pull into my driveway, and I don't move as the motor cuts out. The outside world gradually intrudes when the rumbling purr of the engine fades, and I'm strangely reluctant to pull my arms from his waist. They feel empty without him.

Jaceson tips the bike, resting it on the kickstand, before hauling his leg over the seat and dismounting. I move to do the same, only for him to grab me around the waist and swing me down. He looks at my face intently, then his expression softens, and a tiny smirk curls his lips.

He leans forward, gently pulling my fumbling fingers away as I attempt to take off the helmet. He presses a button or something and it snaps open. When he pulls it from my head, I hastily try to tame my wild hair as it springs about me in a mess of waves.

I shift out of the way as he sets the helmet on the seat, his back turned toward me, and I take the time to study him. I was led to believe that the twins are identical. Although he might look similar to Jameson, he couldn't be more different from his brother.

Their appearances have subtle discrepancies. Jameson has a boyish charm to him that makes him appear younger, while Jaceson seems to be weighed down by the world. He's just as lean as his brother, but his pale blue eyes have more shards of white in the mix. With his dark lashes, the combination is stunning.

His hair is cut at an angular fringe, leaving the edges almost long enough to hang into his eyes. It's also slightly lighter than his brother's, bleached by all the time he spends outdoors. The strands are somewhat ragged, like he continuously runs his fingers through them.

His skin is sun kissed, the tan giving him a warm look that invites a girl to touch, not that anyone would dare make that mistake. His expression is almost always severe, the fucker stingy with his smiles. I'm drawn to the raw intensity of his eyes, like he's seen darkness and might not be afraid of mine.

His clothes are more of an afterthought. The casual look suits him, giving him a bad boy edge that's irresistible. I'm not even aware I've been staring until I notice the silence, and I peer up at him from under my lashes.

Much to my mortification, he's gazing down at me with a smirk. I shuffle awkwardly for a moment, then lift my chin, deciding to own it. "Thank you for the wonderful ride. I didn't know I needed to get away until we were zipping down the road."

"Riding quiets the noise in my head." He shrugs, fiddling with the keys of the bike. "It allows me to think."

My eyes widen when I realize he's right. Not once while we were on the bike did I see one spirit. I'm giddy with the realization. Wanting to thank him, I impulsively blurt out an invitation. "I'm going to make supper if you want to join me?"

Why didn't anyone warn me that talking to boys could be so awkward? It's like they are an alien species with a whole different language as I try to navigate what's considered appropriate conversation for people my age. Granted, talking to everyone feels awkward as fuck, but it's different when talking with the guys.

They are…different.

Jaceson's expression turns unreadable, his lips slightly pursed as he scans my face, then a hint of amusement twinkles in his eyes, and he raises a questioning brow in my direction. "Can you even cook?"

Suspicion coats his tone, and I purse my own lips, contemplating if I could get away with lying. Unfortunately, the answer would be pretty obvious in a matter of minutes. "Not really," I admit without shame, then I shrug. "Nan packed the freezer full of food. I'm sure I can figure out how to run the microwave. I also have access to a stack of takeout menus if that might be more to your taste."

As I continue to ramble, his smile grows, and my breath catches when I'm subjected to the full effect.

"I'm not as talented as the others," he says, lightly pressing a hand to my lower back, and I allow myself to be led to my front door. "But I should be able to put something together."

I snort at the absurdity of him not being as good as the others. "You're being modest. I have no doubt if you put your mind to something, you could achieve anything."

Jaceson stumbles over nothing before catching himself, then he peers down at me with eyes that see too much. Feeling self-conscious, I clear my throat and fumble to locate the house key.

From his reaction, it's obvious I said something wrong.

Maybe I was too forward?

A blush heats my cheeks, but I decide not to worry about it. My whole life, I've been beaten for speaking, and soon became terrified to open my mouth.

No longer.

When I finally manage to unlock the door, I vow never to let myself be afraid to speak my mind again. Placing the keys in the dish by the door, I step toward the fridge, then wince when I see the meager supplies, the shelves embarrassingly bare.

Some fruit and vegetables, butter, eggs, milk, cheese, and about a dozen bottles of condiments.

"Um…let me grab something from the freezer." I reach for the handle, when Jaceson deftly catches me around my waist and spins me in some sort of fancy dance move. A startled laugh escapes me as I clutch him close, then I somehow find myself seated on a stool near the counter, completely breathless from the effortless way he moved.

When he pulls away, I almost reach for him, not ready to let him go. Digging a phone from his pocket, he fiddles with something on it, and then music fills the room. It's a mixture of singing and heavy bass, not like rock or hip-hop, but more dramatic. It reminds me of him, and I decide I like it.

With the fridge still open, Jaceson scans the contents, then he gathers almost everything in his arms. The way he moves around the kitchen says he's comfortable in his body, and I find his confidence sexy.

He opens two of the cupboards before he finds what he wants. Setting the bowl and carton of eggs in front of me, he gives me instructions in a no-nonsense tone that says he's used to being obeyed. "Crack six eggs into the bowl."

Without waiting to see if I listen, he turns and grabs a chopping board and knife. After washing the vegetables, he juliennes them, holding the knife like it's an extension of himself.

Nibbling on my lip, I focus on my chore. I gingerly pick up an egg. The icy shell and the light weight surprise me. I'm not an idiot, I recognize most things, but experience is another thing.

I've never held a real egg.

I roll it around in my hand, then shrug. The instructions seem pretty self-evident—crack it.

I gently tap it against the bowl, but that gets me nowhere.

Frowning in confusion, I put more effort into it, only to get the same effect.

My eyes widen in surprise then narrow in determination. Who knew eggs could be so stubborn? I will not let one little egg outsmart me.

While part of me is tempted to google the issue, I'm too far gone. Using more strength, I whack the egg against the bowl, then jolt when the shell obliterates and slime oozes between my fingers.

I shoot to my feet, my eyes wide in alarm, a grimace twisting my features as everything just sort of seeps through my fingers and plops into the bowl. I'm unaware Jaceson stopped cutting to watch me until his warm chuckle fills the room.

"Never cracked an egg before, princess?"

Too stunned to speak, I blink up at him. I'm not even mad at him for calling me a princess when it sounds more like an endearment than him actually mocking me. I nibble my bottom lip, then shake my head. "I wasn't allowed into the kitchen."

I peer down at the mess in the bowl, the slime still coating my hand, and wrinkle my nose. "Are eggs supposed to be so disgusting?"

Chuckling, he peers down at the bowl with a bemused expression. I've never seen him so relaxed.

I'm so busy staring that I almost miss his words.

"Not exactly," he muses. "We don't usually include the shells."

He effortlessly fishes them out, grabs one of the eggs from the carton, then places it in my palm. Before I can try again, he steps behind me and slips his arms around me. My stomach goes weightless as he guides my hand toward the bowl. I'm so distracted by the scent of sunshine and man that I'm barely aware of his actions.

He cracks the egg against the bowl with a practiced move, fracturing just a small part of the shell instead of shattering it. He brings his other arm around me and uses both hands to pull the two halves of the egg apart.

Being wrapped in his muscular arms from behind should send panic ricocheting through me. The only time I've been near men was when they hurt me. It's different with him, and I have this weird urge to snuggle into his embrace. His nearness is almost comforting.

It's such an odd feeling that I shiver but make no move to leave.

It takes all my concentration to rip my attention off him and focus on the strong hands just inches in front of me. They are thick and rough, the skin nicked with scars, the nails blunt.

They are hands that could do harm, yet they have been nothing but gentle with me.

Imagining his hands on my body has my breath shuddering out of me, and I'm not sure if the idea is terrifying or tempting. I'm distracted from my thoughts when the slimy insides of the egg plop into the bowl without leaving a mess behind. I purse my lips, my face scrunched up in concentration as I mentally go over the steps again.

Jaceson, oblivious to my inner turmoil, grabs another egg and holds it out to me. "Your turn."

I shiver at his husky tone, my skin electrified by his nearness. I swallow hard and reach for the egg, my breath hitching when he runs a finger lightly over the center of my palm.

Before I can even really register the touch, the cool egg is pressed into my hand, and I reflexively grab it. I shake my head to clear my fanciful thoughts. Since I've never really been around many men, much less touched one, I'm positive that I'm blowing things out of proportion.

With grim determination, I concentrate on my job—cracking the fucking egg, not obsessing over a boy.

I almost feel bad for scoffing at romance books when the girl would lose her head over a boy. Now I'm starting to understand how easy it is to get distracted.

Gritting my teeth, I whack the egg against the bowl.

It disintegrates under my touch, and Jaceson quickly guides my hands over the bowl. He plucks out the shells with a chuckle, then dumps the scrambled mess into the bowl.

"Better," he says with a smile in his voice. He places another egg in my hand and nudges me forward. "Now try again, just with a little less force."

With a determined nod, I accept the egg and concentrate on my task. I crack it once but only succeed in denting the damn thing.

"Again," Jaceson orders, his voice firm.

Without hesitation, I obey, smacking the egg in the same spot. When it cracks open, my eyes widen, and I hastily copy Jaceson and pull the two edges apart. I'm not as neat as him, and my fingers end up covered in slime once again, but no shells land in the bowl.

"I did it!" I jump and whirl with a big smile, ridiculously proud of such a minor accomplishment. I'm still within the circle of his arms, which means I'm practically plastered against his chest. I instinctively back up, only to halt when the counter hits my lower back.

Then I realize I don't want to go anywhere else.

Amusement twinkles in his eyes as he stares down at me, his lips almost quirking into a smile. His face softens, and my heart skips a beat at having that look directed at me.

"So you did," he says indulgently. "Now do it again."

Refusing to feel flustered by his nearness, I nod once and turn back to my task. When he steps toward his station, I frown, suddenly cold now that he's no longer close. Pushing aside my annoyance to study later, I grab the next egg.

I manage to get the egg into the bowl with minimal shells.

Well, most of it, anyway.

"Good job." Jaceson doesn't even look up from his task. "Now go wash your hands."

Once done, I lean my hip against the counter and watch in awe as he wields the knife like he's some ninja. "I would so be missing a finger if I tried that."

Jaceson quirks a single brow at me as he quickly cuts the last pepper. When he sets his knife down, he glances at me with a furrow between his eyes. "I'll show you how to cut vegetables properly next time."

My insides turn to goo at the thought of spending more time with him, and I smile in appreciation. "I'd like that."

He clears his throat, looking away from me, and my shoulders droop when he yanks open a drawer and fumbles with the forks. I lower my eyes, wondering if I did something wrong. Before I can second-guess myself, he thrusts the utensil at me, handle first, and points toward the bowl. "Mix them up."

Though his voice is gruff, I don't sense that he's angry, but it's not the first time I've been tricked.

When no retaliation comes, I gingerly accept the fork, then stir the eggs…and scowl when the fuckers evade my attempts. "What the fuck?" I mutter to myself, stirring the eggs faster. To no avail.

A snort from across the room catches me by surprise, and I jerk my head up. Jaceson is bent over, wheezing with laughter. Instead of being offended, I smile at seeing him so relaxed and carefree.

With one last chuckle, he straightens and smiles at me with a genuine grin that freezes me in place. Thankfully, he's oblivious to my reaction. "No, not like that. Whisk them."

He grabs the bowl in one hand, the fork in the other, then mixes them together so fast that the eggs froth. He stops, then hands the bowl over, and I accept it without protest. I nibble my lip nervously, afraid to admit I'd been admiring the strong flex of his arms more than I'd been watching his technique. It takes me three tries before I get the hang of it, and Jaceson nods in satisfaction.

After the eggs are thoroughly mixed, Jaceson nudges me back to my seat, and I'm content to watch as he locates a pan and sets it on the stove. He turns on the heat and adds a healthy dollop of butter to the skillet. It's not long before it melts and a yummy smell fills the room.

He adds some salt, pepper, and other spices to the eggs, then he pours the concoction into the hot pan. As I watch him cook, I find my attention drifting to his strong shoulders and slim hips again and again. The more time we spend together, the more comfortable I feel around him, and it's an odd sensation.

Less than ten minutes later, a delicious omelet covered in cheese oozes over two plates. He sprinkles more spices and chives across the top, then he digs into the drawer and hands me two forks.

By the time I look up, he's carrying both plates. "Let's head into the living room."

I nod and follow, unsure if I'm high on the smell of delicious food or him. He sets the plates on the coffee table and takes a seat on the small couch. I sit next to him, only inches separating us, but he doesn't notice as he turns on the television and starts a movie.

He grabs the forks from me, places one on each plate, then hands me one of the dishes. Taking the last plate for himself, he leans back against the couch, props his feet on the coffee table, and digs into the omelet with a big bite.

Never having eaten anywhere but at a table or a desk in my room, I mimic his posture. I'm surprised to find that it's both awkward and comfortable at the same time.

When I bite into the omelet, my eyes widen in wonder as flavors explode across my tongue. I moan as I chew, barely paying attention to the movie as I inhale my food. I'm so used to the basics of bread and water and bland noodles that I didn't realize such simple foods could taste so good.

By the time I scrape the last bit of cheesy goodness off my plate, I'm stuffed. It's only then that I notice the silence. I peer at Jaceson from the corner of my eye, barely holding back a grimace when I find him staring at me with an expression I can't quite name. If I didn't know better, I would almost say it's hunger, but a man like him could have any woman. No way would he be interested in a mess like me.

I stiffen, but he only shoves another forkful of eggs into his mouth, clearing his plate. Even before he finishes chewing, he grabs my dish from my hand, stacks it on his own plate, then sets them aside.

Without looking at me, he settles back against the cushions. "Have you seen this movie yet?"

His voice is deceptively calm—something I trained myself to listen for when dealing with my father. I swallow hard, then I focus on the screen and shake my head. "No, my father thought if I had time to watch this crap, then my studies must not be hard enough."

It's Jaceson's turn to stiffen, but I purposely don't look at him, watching some superheroes fighting on the screen. To my surprise, it's not long before I'm completely engrossed in the movie. I'm not aware of time passing until Jaceson shifts, then slumps toward me with a soft snore. Maybe I should be offended, but I find his presence soothing. I ease over to make more room for him, but I miscalculate and the cushion below me shifts under my weight.

Jaceson's head somehow finds its way into my lap. My breath catches at having him so close, his warmth seeping into me. The movie is completely forgotten as I watch the smooth rise and fall of his chest.

After a moment's pause, I hesitantly reach forward and smooth the hair out of his face. He turns into my touch, and I almost jerk away when I think he's about to wake. Instead, he settles back into my lap. Unable to help myself, I run my fingers across his scalp.

The gesture seems to soothe him. He snuggles closer, and one of his hands wraps possessively over my knee as if to make sure I won't escape. His touch feels so intimate that I barely resist the urge to squirm, only stopping myself for fear that I'll disturb him. I stare blindly at the television, more content than I have ever been in my life…because of him.

It's both amazing and utterly terrifying, and I desperately crave more of him.

More of all of them, if I'm truthful.

One movie turns into two, then three. It's after midnight when he stirs, inhaling a deep breath, and I freeze, suddenly panicked by what he might think if he woke with my hand in his hair.

I gently untangle my fingers but freeze when he grabs my wrist. Before I can make excuses, he rolls to lie on his back and places my hand over his chest. He gently drags the tips of his fingers over the back of my hand, then he plays with the many rings on my fingers.

"It's been years since I've slept more than a few hours at a time and never so peacefully. I'm not sure if I should apologize for falling asleep on you or beg you never to move." His voice is gruff, the emotions thick, and I rip my attention away from our hands to look at him.

When I see the scorching heat in his eyes, I stiffen, but it has nothing to do with the need to get away. My lips tingle with the urge to lean down and brush my mouth against his, hungry for a taste of him. Before I can follow through with the impulse, he threads our fingers together and snuggles closer.

His attention drops to my rings, and I stiffen when his fingers lightly trace the runes etched along the side of the metal. "What does this mean?"

I chew on my bottom lip, wondering what I should tell him, desperate not to have him think I'm a freak, but I refuse to lie to him either.

With a heavy sigh, I recall what happened last night, the way the spirits spoke to him, and his casual comment that riding helps clear his head of noise. Taking a chance, I untangle our fingers and pull off the biggest ring to show him the engravings. "You know my nan tells people's fortunes, right? She does it by reading cards and palms."

I pretend that we're having a normal conversation, completely ignoring the way my heart threatens to burst out of my chest. My father's voice rings in my head, taunting me with the knowledge that if anyone discovers my secret, they will think I'm insane.

Jaceson, possibly sensing my unease, nods and focuses on the ring.

As much as I want to put that life behind me, it's obviously not an option when I have no control over my abilities. Maybe it's better to come clean now. I'm already getting too attached to the men, and it's only going to get worse. If they run, it's better to know now rather than later.

I have very few pieces of myself remaining.

If they steal my heart, I'm not sure there will be enough left for me to survive.

"I'm like my grandmother, only my abilities are stronger." I take a deep breath, my chest so tight that it feels like a spirit has sunk their hand into it and wrapped their fist around my heart. "I speak to the dead."