Chapter Thirty-two

RUE

I t takes all my willpower to climb out of bed the next morning. Unease burns in my gut as I remember my confession last night. For the first time in my life, I told another person about my abilities.

While they looked like they believed me, it's still a risk.

If they tell the wrong people, my life will be over.

At best, I would be locked away until they cured me, but that's if I was lucky. Worst-case scenario, I would be returned to my father's loving care and locked away for my natural—or unnatural—life.

I refuse to believe the guys would ever do that, but I can't get over the niggle of worry that I changed my fate by telling them the truth.

Not that I had much of a choice.

Danger stalks my every step, and I refuse to put them at risk without them knowing the consequences. I just hope my trust doesn't come back to bite me on the ass later.

I take longer in the shower, not wanting to face the day. What if the guys took the night to think over my crazy claim and decided that I was insane or too much trouble?

Just the thought of the guys distancing themselves from me has my chest burning, and I absently rub the spot as I dress. Not even the new clothes I purchased can cheer up my gloomy thoughts.

Needing comfort, I pull on a pair of black skinny jeans, then I pick the fluffiest sweater in my closet. The pink furry monstrosity almost hits my knees. I fell in love with it the instant I laid eyes on it.

Wiping the tiredness from my eyes, I make my way downstairs, my mind on the journals that I stayed up reading last night almost until dawn. I scoured every page of the nearly thirty-something journals, searching for any mention of contacting spirits. Unfortunately, it appears only one ancestor had the same gift as me.

Her journal was sparse, the pages brittle and yellow with age. The ink faded over time, the penmanship nothing more than scribbles. The old French dialect was also a struggle to decipher.

After reading it from front to back, it only left me with more questions.

And worry.

Apparently, the young girl was barely twenty years old when they dragged her out of her home and burned her at the stake nearly two hundred years ago.

On the very same day I was born.

That doesn't bode well for my future.

I don't believe in coincidences, and I fear if I don't learn from her mistakes, the same fate might befall me.

My heart ached for the girl's struggles and her silent battle as her mind slowly unraveled. She kept her gift to herself, found a good man to marry, and raised a couple of kids. Unfortunately, our gifts turn into curses when they are denied.

With only weak wards to protect her, the girl's sanity slowly unraveled, the spirits refusing to be silenced. Most of her journals consisted of mad rantings. Each entry she created showed her rapid deterioration, the last few pages nothing but nonsensical ramblings that either made no sense or were undecipherable.

Lost in my head, I shuffle into the kitchen, desperate for a mug of tea, and almost bump into Gunner, who's standing sentinel in front of the stove, calmly cooking food. My distraction vanishes, and my eyes widen in shock. I curl my hands into fists to keep from reaching for him to confirm that he's not a figment of my imagination.

"Here," Jace murmurs, pressing a warm cup into my hands.

I automatically take a sip, then I sigh in bliss when a nice chai blend spills over my tongue. The shot of caffeine helps clear out the cobwebs enough that I barely even flinch when a shout comes from across the room.

"Pookie!"

I hardly have time to turn before Jameson is sprinting toward me. Jace rescues the cup from my hands seconds before impact, a wry grin on his face, not even bothering to try and protect me from his brother.

Jameson sweeps me up in his arms and spins, sending my feet flying out from underneath me. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I lean into his light, floral scent, secretly glad to be in his arms.

They came back.

Part of me didn't believe they would.

Someone clears their throat, and I realize that I've been cradled against Jameson's chest for some time, neither of us moving.

"Let the poor girl go before the food gets cold," Gunner mutters, nudging Jameson away, then he guides me toward the table that almost bends under the weight of the food piled on it. I stare in shock, and Gunner sheepishly rubs the back of his head, avoiding my gaze. "I wasn't sure what you liked."

Charmed by the slight blush darkening his cheeks, I rise up on my tiptoes and brush my lips against his jaw—the only place I could reach. "Thank you. It looks amazing."

Jameson leaps forward, dragging out a chair before bowing elaborately in my direction. "For you, mademoiselle ."

I suppress a smile at his atrocious accent, curtsying to him. " Merci beaucoup, monsieur ."

His head snaps up at my reply, and my stomach swoops in excitement at the heated gleam I see in his gaze that promises naughty things. Just as he takes a step toward me, Jaceson knocks him aside and places my drink on the table. "Eat first."

After the amount of takeout food I inhaled last night, I shouldn't be hungry. To my surprise, my mouth actually waters at the delicious aromas. As I sit, I swear that Jameson mutters, "Miserable cockblocker," under his breath. I smother my smile, watching as the guys take their places around the table. Jameson doesn't wait and begins piling food on his plate, easily dodging Gunner when he reaches out to slap his hands away.

"Rue goes first," he rumbles.

Jameson freezes, a waffle hanging out of his mouth when he turns to look at me, his voice muffled by food. "Sorry."

I snort at the image of him with his cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk squirreling away food.

He yanks the waffle from his mouth, chews, then swallows a large lump of food with a grimace. "I forgot to eat last night."

I wince, knowing that it was my fault. He was so busy feeding me, that he completely ignored his own meal. The reminder of last night is sobering, and I look down at my plate, not sure I'm ready to discuss anything with them yet. "That's okay. You don't have to wait for me."

Thankfully, the guys take me at my word and fill their plates. Happy for the reprieve, I do the same, moaning as the delicious food plays with my taste buds. To avoid the inevitable discussion, I end up eating way more than normal, my stomach stretching until I feel like I'm ready to burst.

I sit back and sip my tea, watching in awe as the three guys absolutely devour the mountain of food without once pausing for breath. I wouldn't have believed it without seeing it myself. Boys are fascinating creatures, and I'm enthralled as I watch the strong column of Jaceson's throat as he swallows his black coffee or the way Gunner's arm flexes as he eats.

Jameson nudges my arm, his eyebrows wiggling up and down suggestively. "Forearm porn, am I right?"

I nearly choke on the sip of tea I just took.

His brows instantly furrow with concern, and he pats me on the back until I wave him away. "I'm okay."

Avoiding their gazes, I grab my cup and bring it to the sink, focusing on the mundane task of rising it out. The silence behind me is nearly deafening, and my shoulders rise to my ears as I do my best to pretend I'm invisible. Mortification keeps me glued to the spot, afraid if I move, they might notice me.

Jameson leans over the counter, his head next to mine as he peers down into the sink with a furrow between his brows. "I think the cup might be clean."

I stop scrubbing the poor cup, my shoulders wilting, and I reluctantly turn off the water. "You might be right."

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you or made you uncomfortable," Jameson says quietly as he uses his fingernail to trace the lines in the grout on the tiled counter. "If it helps, the guys and I like the way you look at us."

Warmth fills my face, and I find the courage to gaze at him. "And how do I look at you?"

His pale blue eyes darken when he looks up at me, his gaze steady. "Like we're the most fascinating creatures in the world and you crave us as much as we crave you."

My heart aches at the way his confidence wavers, his gaze dropping to the tiles once more before he shrugs. "At least that's what I hope."

I lower the cup into the sink, then gently touch his shoulder, my fingertips tingling at the contact. I have no fucking clue what to say, my emotions still raw from last night. "I'm not used to getting any attention, much less attention from boys. Usually, if anyone notices me, that means I'm in some sort of trouble. I was taught to be quiet or something bad would happen."

My throat tightens when his expression turns thunderous, but I force myself to continue. "I'm not used to being seen and noticed. It's both wonderful and uncomfortable at the same time. Part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop, half expecting my happiness to be ripped away at a moment's notice. While I love the attention, I'm not sure how to react half the time."

Jameson sighs heavily, his body melting against the counter until his head rests on his arm, and he stares up at me with stormy blue eyes. "I wish I could help you, but I'm not like the others. I don't have that little voice in my head that tells people the right way to act or how to be polite or show respect. I tried learning it, but I can't seem to catch all the nuances that come naturally to others. I also don't seem to have that brain-to-mouth filter the guys are always talking about."

For the first time, he seems embarrassed. He looks away, unable to meet my gaze, like he thinks I might find him lacking. He practically oozes misery, and my heart threatens to crack at his despair. I hate seeing his joy for life dimmed for even a second.

"Look at me," I demand, waiting for him to obey. When I have his attention, I lean forward and flick him on the forehead with a loud thwack.

"Hey!" He lurches back with a scowl, rubbing the spot as he stands. He looks at me warily, like I'm a wild animal that might attack him at any moment. "What was that for?"

"That's for being an idiot." I place my hands on my hips to keep from reaching out and whacking him upside the head. He must have read my intent because he hastily backs up a step and holds his hands out placatingly.

"Have the guys ever tried to beat manners into you? Or lock you in your closet so you wouldn't go out in public and embarrass them? Starve you until you learned your lesson?" With each question, I stalk toward him, not stopping until his back hits the wall with a thud, and I poke him hard in the chest. "Have they ever looked ashamed to call you brother or friend? Have they ever refused to step up and defend you when you got yourself into trouble?"

He shakes his head mutely, his throat bobbing when he swallows hard, his wide eyes locked on my own.

"Then you have no reason to be ashamed." I poke him in the chest again for emphasis, not feeling the least bit bad when he winces. "I never want to hear you talk down about yourself again. You're not any less intelligent than the others. Different isn't bad. Your family doesn't find you lacking, so who the fuck cares what other people think? The guys love you the way you are, quirkiness and all."

Jameson tilts his head, his eyes sharpening. He pushes away from the wall, stalking toward me slowly, and I suddenly feel nervous. Just as I take a step back, he lunges forward and wraps his arms around my waist.

I blink up at him in confusion, flustered to find myself plastered against his front, his cock hard and insistent against my stomach. It's all I can do not to squirm. Honestly, I'm not sure if I would try to get away or move closer.

"Admit it," he says huskily, nuzzling his face against mine. He nips my ear, causing me to jump, and I barely bite back a groan as sparks ignite through my body. He pulls away just enough to whisper in my ear, his tone smug. "You like me."

I release a shuddering breath, my cheeks heating, and I suddenly find the front of his shirt fascinating. I purse my lips and shrug nonchalantly. "Maybe."

Jameson leans forward, brushing his lips lightly over mine before pressing his forehead against mine. "That's good, because I like you too."

"Really?" I can't stop the bright smile that crosses my face, joy sparking in my chest at his confession, only for it to dim a second later. I nibble on my bottom lip and peer up at him from under my lashes. "Even after what you learned last night?"

He stares down at me, unflinching. "Nothing you can say or do would ever change the way I feel about you. You're my pookie, now and forever."

Dishes clatter in the sink, and I jerk away, embarrassed to have completely forgotten that we aren't alone. Heat floods my cheeks, and I glance at Jaceson and Gunner from the corner of my eye.

"Hicks is hosting his annual end of the summer bash tonight." Jaceson leans against the counter, completely unperturbed at catching me in his brother's arms. If anything, interest sharpens his pale blue eyes. "It's such short notice, we thought we'd take you on a small shopping spree."

If he wanted to distract me, he succeeded.

I shoot a quick glance at Gunner, as if seeking his reassurance, but he keeps his back to me, busying himself by washing the breakfast dishes. I miss his warm, comforting presence and barely keep from going to him.

My gaze slides to the door, and I swallow hard, unconsciously backing away. "Are you sure it's wise to take me out in public again? Aren't you worried about another—" I swallow hard, wringing my fingers together as I try to keep my anxiety from exploding out of me. "Incident?"

Jaceson pushes away from the counter, not stopping until he's in my space and breathing my air. He tips my face up, his expression not the least bit disturbed. "No, princess, I'm not worried at all. You shouldn't be either."

He pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear, a tiny smile curling his lips. "Just like you told my brother, you can't be afraid of yourself just because you're different. Being different is what makes you special."

My eyes burn, and I'm afraid to blink, doing my best to keep tears from spilling down my cheeks. I've been called many things in my life, but never special. No one has ever worried about me before I came to live with nan or expressed their concern when I was sick or offered help when my body was broken and bleeding.

I don't know how to process their kindness and hate that I'm suddenly suspicious of their motives. Taking a shuddering breath, I do my best to squelch my unease and bring the topic away from me. "You want to take me shopping?"

"No," Gunner says as he finishes rinsing the last dish. He grabs a towel from the counter and dries his hands, his eyes immediately latching onto me when he turns. "We want to take you out on a date."

"A date?" I echo back at him like a dumbass, sure that I must have misunderstood him. I shift awkwardly and clear my throat. "With all three of you?"

The guys gather around me, each of them nodding. Jameson wears a bright smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Jace doesn't move his gaze from mine, patiently waiting for my answer like a predator waiting for his prey to fall into his trap. Gunner has a twinkle in his eye, obviously loving my predicament.

For the life of me, I can't come up with one reason why this is such a bad idea, not when I so desperately want to spend time with them. My gaze jumps from one man to the next, nervous excitement making my pulse jump. Feeling giddy, I fuss with the hem of my sweater and decide that leaving the house is an acceptable risk if it means I get to spend more time with them.

"I would love to go out with you." I smile, then wince when the bruises around my eye twinge. I self-consciously touch the area, then my shoulders slump, disappointment weighing heavily on me. "I'm a bit of a mess. Are you sure you want to be seen out in public with me?"

I don't really care if I attend the party or not, but it's harder to dismiss the yearning to spend more time with the guys. I've been alone so long that even the smallest taste of friendship is addicting. I can barely keep my disappointment in check, my shoulders slumping as I brace for their excuses.

Gunner's scarred hand is warm as he cups my chin, forcing my head up. "Baby, your wounds are badges of honor. It would be a privilege to be seen in public with you."

He kisses the tip of my nose, making my insides squirm, and my body warms at his nearness. The masculine scent of grease and body wash has me swaying closer to him, and my mouth waters with the need to taste him and see if he's as delicious as he looks.

Even as I sway toward him, Jameson gasps, gazing at Gunner with wide eyes. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have never believed it." He clutches his chest dramatically. "Gunner has game!"

A growl rumbles in Gunner's chest, his eyes narrowing dangerously, and he takes a menacing step toward Jameson, who squeals then chuckles manically before he dodges behind me and spins me this way and that, keeping me between the two men whenever Gunner tries to reach for him.

This only infuriates Gunner more. "Don't hide behind her like a child. Take your punishment like a man."

"Rue," Jameson whines with barely suppressed laughter in his voice as he drags me across the kitchen in his attempt to escape. "Big daddy is trying to spank me. Save me!"

Laughter spills out of me, a fit of giggles that I can't contain, and Gunner's expression softens. Before I have a chance to catch my breath, Jameson spins me around, then tosses me over his shoulder. If I had air left in me, I would have squealed. Even as Gunner lunges for me, Jameson darts toward the stairs, yelling over his shoulder as he pounds up the steps. "We'll be down in a minute!"

Without breaking stride, Jameson deposits me on the bathroom counter and immediately begins searching through the drawers. When he finds the mostly unopened cosmetics, he clutches the items to his chest and straightens with a grin that has me leaning back warily. He isn't the least bit bothered by my retreat, just winking at me flirtatiously, until his gaze lands on the bruises on my face.

His humor vanishes in an instant, a muscle jumping along his jaw. He touches the area so lightly that I barely feel it. "By the time I'm done, the bruises will just be a memory."

I'm not sure if he wants to cover the bruises for my sake or his own. Every time he looks at me, it's like he can't see anything else, as if he thinks he's failed me in some way. That couldn't be further from the truth. I don't blame him, but no amount of reassurance will convince him.

I don't complain, sitting completely still as he lightly brushes my face with makeup. If this is what he needs to feel better, then I will let him do whatever he wants.