Chapter 18

It's warm,and the pillow beneath my head is so soft, I don't want to wake up. I lay there for a few minutes, eyes closed, willing myself to go back to sleep. When it's clear that's not happening, I blink open my eyes.

I'm on my side, gripping the pillow. It's still dark, but the sun is just rising, little tendrils of light creeping through the curtainless window to my left. I know where I am, but I remember that I fell asleep before Roman came home, and I wonder if he ever wandered in from wherever he went. The bed is huge, so he could have snuck in without me even realizing.

Flip over and look. Just do it.

I don't know why I'm so nervous about looking to see if he's in bed with me. Maybe it's because actually sleeping together is a whole new level of intimacy that I'm not sure I can handle right now.

But I can't lie here all day, either, so I'd better just get it over with.

Holding my breath, I gently roll over onto my back, trying to be as quiet as possible, just in case he is here, and he's asleep. Once I"m on my back, I turn my head, and…his spot is empty.

Both relief and disappointment hit me at once.

I release the breath I'd been holding, and sit up, glancing around the rest of the room, just in case he's in the bathroom, or sitting at the desk. But I'm completely alone.

I get up, and take care of all my bathroom stuff, then look at the clock. It's super early. Did he come back to the house at all? Probably not. But then…where is he? I shouldn't care. I should just be happy he's not here. But a heavy feeling knots in my stomach.

Is he with someone else?

The second that question surfaces, I push it away. Roman and I aren't together, not really. He can do whatever the fuck he wants.

My stomach growls, so I head downstairs to grab some cereal, which seems to have magically appeared overnight. Jackson is sitting at the little breakfast nook, devouring a bagel. I'm shocked that he's up so early, but his hair is wet, and he's wearing swim trunks and nothing else. I wonder if he just got back from surfing.

"Are there more bagels?" I ask, bleary-eyed. Someone brewed coffee, so I grab a mug and fill it up. There's no milk, or half and half, so I just gulp the coffee down black, wincing at the bitterness.

He lifts his chin to indicate a half-full bag of bagels on the counter. I grab one and shove it into the toaster. While I'm waiting, I lean against the counter and watch Jackson as he chews, looking down at his phone.

"Did Roman come back last night?" I don't even know why I'm asking, but I want to know. Maybe he came home, but slept downstairs in the living room or something.

Jackson glances up at me, and looks like he's considering whether or not to answer. Finally, he says, "Yeah, he went surfing this morning, though. He's down at the beach."

"Oh." Relief washes over me. "What beach?"

He gestures to the southside of the house. "Our beach."

My gaze flicks over his bare chest. "Did you already go?"

His brows pinch together, like he's annoyed that I'm asking so many questions. "Yeah, but I have class, so I had to dip out early," he answers gruffly.

"Ah." The toaster pops, and I snag the tub of cream cheese off the table, spreading a generous amount on each half of the bagel.

With my plate, I mumble "bye" to Jackson, and head back upstairs. Roman surfing. Hm. I don't have class for a couple of hours, and it might be interesting to see him out on the water.

I take a couple bites of bagel and throw on one of Roman's hoodies, a pair of my flip flops, then head back downstairs and out the door, bagel in hand. The beach is just down the dirt path, below the house, and I head down there.

Let's see how well the devil surfs.

As soon as I get to the private beach, I see him in the distance. Well, I'm assuming it's him. The person is too far away to see much detail. But he's wearing a wetsuit, sitting atop a surfboard, waiting patiently for the next wave to come.

I find a spot on the sand, and watch while I eat my bagel. Icy wind whips around me, and I shiver a little. My feet are freezing, and I suddenly regret not wearing actual shoes.

After a bit, a wave curls up from the horizon, and I see Roman perk up. As the wave approaches, he paddles out to it, turning his board to face the beach, just as the wave catches him. He pops up onto his feet, and rides the wave like it's nothing. But I've been out there myself, and I know how hard it is. He moves gracefully through the water, the surfboard rocking under his feet. Roman and the water are one fluid entity, completely cohesive.

When he's ridden out the wave, he hops off the board, and starts heading toward the shore. Oh, fuck. He must have seen me, and now he's going to demand to know why I'm here.

As soon as he's out of the water, he unzips the top-half of his wetsuit, exposing his tanned, muscled torso. Yikes. Then he tucks his shortboard under his arm, and jogs up to me on the sand. His hair is wet, and when he rakes a hand through it, something inside me purrs like a kitten.

Dayum.

Do I have a thing for surfers now?

I hadn't considered it before, but he looks so fucking hot in that wet suit, a surfboard under his arm, water beaded on his beautiful face…

"What are you doing here?" he asks once he's close enough to be heard over the crashing waves.

Yup. Knew it.

I shrug, chewing a bite of bagel. "Jackson said you'd be out here. I wanted to see you surf. Is that not allowed?"

He pulls the leash off his ankle, and sits down next to me.

"Wanna bite?" I ask, offering him the last half of my bagel. He takes it and devours the whole thing in one swallow. "Hey! I said a bite, not the entire thing," I squeak, swatting him.

"Sorry, not sorry," he says with a cheeky smile, reaching over to wipe something off the corner of my mouth with his thumb. It's a bit of cream cheese, and he licks it off his own thumb, eyeing me as he does it.

Has it suddenly gotten really hot out here?

"Thanks," I say awkwardly, and then we just kind of lapse into silence, each looking out over the water, listening to the waves.

After a few minutes, he finally speaks. "I come out here when I need to think. Figure things out," he says in a rare moment of candor.

"Ah," I say nodding, glancing out at the churning ocean. "And here I thought you had life all figured out already," I say. "What could you possibly need to think about?"

Dare I hope he feels guilty about stealing all my stuff and forcing me to live with him? Is that asking too much?

He shakes his head, and glances down, arms braced on his knees. "What happened with Nicole last night?" he asks.

I swallow. I should have known someone would tell him about my little outburst with Nicole and the Ramen. I purse my lips. "She pissed me off, and…" I shrug. "I handled it."

He laughs, and glances at me, his gaze colliding with mine. "What happened?" he asks again, but there's no anger in his voice.

I sigh. "She was running her mouth, called me trash or something, so I told her to leave."

"She called you trash?" He looks pissed. Infuriated, even.

"Yeah, you know, this might surprise you, but the girls in your circle are all rich and beautiful, and I don't think they like the fact that someone like me could snag someone like you."

"So you kicked her out," he says, clarifying.

"Some other stuff happened first, but yeah, that's the gist of it."

Honestly, I don't even know why he's asking me about this. I'm sure the Debs have already filled him in on every gory detail of what happened.

I wait for him to lecture me about how to treat the other members of the circle, but he just shrugs. "You're the queen of the castle," he says easily. "And occasionally the members need to be put in their places."

"You're not going to tell me how out of line I was?"

He laughs a little, like he's genuinely amused by my question. Then he leans in, and I can smell the ocean on his skin. "You're dating the king, baby. You can do whatever the fuck you want." He pauses. "At least, when it comes to them. The only people you're beholden to are me and the boys. Beyond that, I don't give a fuck."

"Beholden," I repeat in disbelief. "Well, that's a word."

His gaze drops to my lips. "All power has a price."

I narrow my gaze at him. "And what's the price you pay?"

As far as I can tell, life is all beer and skittles for him. No one to challenge him. No one to hold him or the other Sacred Sons accountable. They call the shots, and they set the rules.

When he glances back up, our gazes collide, and he stares into me with such deep intensity, the breath slowly leaks from my lungs. "It may look like I have everything, Little Rabbit, but my childhood was–" He pauses, and looks away briefly, like he's trying to find the right word. "–challenging."

"Challenging," I repeat, trying to read his inflection. But the word itself is impossibly vague. "That could mean a million different things."

My thoughts are cast back to what Ash told me about the abuse Roman and his brother suffered when they were kids. But Roman stops just short of saying that, and I get the feeling he's trying to tell me without saying the actual words. It's almost like speaking them would bring everything back up to the surface or something.

"The home I grew up in was violent," he says in a rush. "And by the age of seven I could sense it, like a gathering storm. I knew I needed to keep myself out of sight, or I would become the target of my dad's violence."

I gulp, listening to the pain in Roman's voice. I can tell those early years wounded him deeply. "God," I breathe. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, like it doesn't matter, like he's shaking off the pain. "We made it through somehow."

His use of the word "we" piques my interest. This must be the infamous brother. "Someone said you have a brother," I say. "Was it just the two of you?"

"Yup. He's older by one year, a product of one of my mom's previous relationships. My brother didn't see his dad much, a little in the summer." He shakes his head, remembering. "That was hell, when we were separated. Without my brother there, there was no one to protect me, no one to share the misery." He shrugs. "Maybe that makes me selfish."

Pain radiates from my chest. Pain for that little seven year old boy, who was put through absolute hell. "What about your mom?" I ask.

He laughs, but it"s completely devoid of humor. "If she wasn't passed out on the couch, she was out looking for more pills."

"Wow," is all I can say. "That's shitty."

He shrugs again, and glances ahead at the turbulent ocean. "She was just trying to cope, I guess."

I watch as a drop of ocean water rolls down his straight nose, all the way down to the tip, where it's suspended for a second. When he turns his head to look at me, it drops.

"What caused your dad to be so violent? I mean, did he drink, or—"

"It might be easier if I could blame it on that, but, uh, yeah, he was just a controlling asshole. Brilliant at making money, but shitty at being a father. I actually think he enjoyed inflicting pain."

I purse my lips. "So when did your mom finally leave?"

"She didn't," he says, bitterness dripping from his tone. "She's threatened to divorce him about a million times, and he finally took some anger management classes. Now, he's on some fucking redemption tour; taking my mom on luxury trips, buying me cars, all that kind of shit. But no amount of money can erase the terror he inflicted on me as a kid. I can't just forget that."

I swallow back the emotion bubbling up in my chest. I hate that anyone had to go through that, especially a kid. It makes me see Roman in a whole new light. Here, I thought he was just some spoiled rich kid, and maybe that's true, but there's a whole other layer to him that I hadn't even thought about.

"But you know what terrifies me the most?" he asks, his gaze burning into mine.

I shake my head. What could possibly terrify Roman Rush, the untouchable campus god? "What?"

He leans in, and whispers, "I'm exactly like him. I guess what they say is true—the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And if that tree is rotting and mutated, what does that make the apple?"