17. Oakley

Chapter 17

Oakley

S unlight filters through the curtains, waking me up slowly. I'm cocooned in the comforter, my body heavy with contentment. Turning my head, I see Jeremiah asleep beside me. His strong features are softened by slumber, and I can't help but smile. Careful not to disturb him, I slip out of bed and pad down the stairs toward the kitchen.

I'm only in the kitchen for ten minutes and I already have the familiar scents of coffee and bacon swirling around, instantly warming my heart. Cooking breakfast for the Blackwood brothers has become a comforting routine, one that makes me feel like I belong. I set about preparing their favorite dishes, humming softly under my breath. The aroma must be swirling down the halls because Penn comes stumbling through the door, his face scrunched up like he's pissed that his empty stomach woke him up.

"Pancakes are the price for waking me up this early. And don't forget the butter," Penn says cheekily, opening up the newspaper. I roll my eyes at him because out of all the Blackwood brothers he's the one who doesn't treat me any differently than he always has. Also, who still opens an actual newspaper? Penn Blackwood must be single-handedly keeping them in business. He acknowledges that I exist because he happens to like the way I make fluffy pancakes. "I see Jeremiah has you dressed up like his weird little wet dream. Vanilla ass."

"Good morning to you too, Penn," I reply, my sass sneaking into my tone. "They're just pajamas."

He chuckles and leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the paper. "No luck," he says, curiosity piquing my interest in his annoyed tone. He must notice because he adds, "I always check the obituaries to see if anyone I hate died."

"You're…kidding." I reach under the counter, looking for all the things I'll need to make the king of the manor his pancakes.

"Would I joke about that?" Penn says, his casual demeanor unnerving, so I decide to just focus on his food while he…checks his list.

The sizzle of bacon fills the kitchen, drawing me out of my thoughts as I flip it with practiced ease.

"Hey," Penn asks casually, and I turn to see him pouring enough sugar in his coffee for twelve people. "What was the deal with those creepy flowers you got in class the other day? Seems to me you've got a lot of creepy little things popping up and considering Jerry didn't fucking mention it yet…that means someone's been a naughty little bunny and hasn't told him."

My eyes widen, not expecting such a straightforward question from him. Before I can respond, Jeremiah suddenly appears in the doorway, his green eyes narrowed with curiosity and concern. They still have that bleary just woke up look and he's only in his sweatpants. It's hard to focus with his tanned abs and muscled arms on display. "What flowers are you two talking about?" he demands, his tone surprisingly sharp.

I look between Penn and Jeremiah, a flicker of anxiety crossing my features. Taking a deep breath, I decide to be honest with them. "The other day, I received a delivery of flowers in class," I explain, my voice tinged with frustration. "They were wrapped in a ribbon and accompanied by a note I couldn't understand. It was strange and embarrassing, and I honestly just want to forget about it. It was probably someone playing a prank because of you telling everyone they can't come near me."

"Embarrassing?" Jeremiah's voice is low, almost a growl, as his eyes darken. "Who the fuck were they from?" I realize he's talking to Penn, not me. "You knew about this and didn't tell me?"

"First of all, I'm an unpaid stalker and my shift is one class, so don't snap at me like you're paying my bills," Penn says, shrugging. My fingers twist the hem of my shorts, feeling uneasy under Jeremiah's intense gaze. "I didn't know she wasn't going to tell you about them."

"It creeped me out, so I threw them away and I knew you'd overreact. Which you just did," I say to Jeremiah who glowers at me like he has no idea what I'm talking about. I plate Penn's pancakes that I have half a mind to throw out for the birds to eat since he wants to tattle on me.

"Maybe they thought it was romantic," Penn suggests, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "You know, some people like that kind of shit."

"Romantic, my ass," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "It was more like a scene from a horror movie."

"Regardless," Jeremiah interjects, bringing our attention back to him. "We need to find out who sent them and why." His protective nature, though endearing, only serves to heighten my anxiety.

"I really am convinced it was just a prank. Can we just eat breakfast without something causing mayhem?"

Jeremiah's jaw clenches tight, his eyes flashing with anger. "Just who the hell would be this stupid? I made it clear that you're off-limits," he growls, pacing the kitchen like a caged animal.

"Jeremiah, I don't think it's that serious…" I try to reassure him, but his anger is infectious, and my own pulse quickens. The air feels thick with tension, making it difficult to breathe.

"Excuse you, but I love mayhem with my pancakes. Thank you. Prefer murder and mayhem with them, but if I can only get mayhem, I'll take it."

"Shut up, Penn." Jeremiah and I both say at the same time while we have a stare down with each other.

"Where are the flowers now?" he demands, his gaze piercing me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine.

"I told you, I threw them away before you picked me up from class," I admit, feeling a pang of guilt wash over me. "They unnerved me, and I didn't want them in my space anymore." As an annoyed furrow forms between his brows, I realize my mistake. "Obviously, you would have seen them if I walked out with them. I didn't want you to get in trouble for?—"

"Killing every motherfucker on this campus," Jeremiah cuts me off. He runs a hand over his hair, frustration etched across his handsome features.

"I can help, I don't have an appointment till…" Penn holds hi s wrist with the watch on it, glances down and then says, "Three this afternoon, so I'm pretty open."

"To kill an entire campus of people?" I turn the stove off and cover the food before turning back around to face the two deranged men.

"Since when do you have ‘appointments'?" Jeremiah uses air quotes and rolls his eyes like Penn having an appointment is the most ridiculous thing he's heard today.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright?" I finally say, matching Jeremiah's confrontational tone. "It was creepy and invasive, and I just wanted it gone. I'm trying to destress my life and adding a stalker to the equation is not really on my list of things to do right now."

The room falls silent for a moment. Jeremiah's chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, his eyes still locked on mine. I can practically feel the heat radiating from him, fueling the fire within me.

"Mhm," he finally says, his voice low and controlled. "Whoever sent those flowers obviously has some twisted intentions, and I'm going to find the dumb fuck one way or another. Even if the most minute thing happens, I need to know about it."

The alarm on my phone going off snaps me back to reality, and I suddenly realize I'm running late for my shift at the library. "Crap, I need to get going," I say, mentally calculating how long it will take me to walk back onto campus and make it to the building.

"I'll give you a ride," Jeremiah interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. I'd argue with him, but to be truthful, I don't want to. I secretly like when Jeremiah escorts me everywhere.

"Alright," I agree, touched by his concern and unable to resist another opportunity to be close to him. "Let me get changed."

Outside, the crisp air nips at my cheeks as Jeremiah guides me to the Audi sitting in the driveway. Our bodies are close enough that I can feel his warmth emanating from him, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. I turn away, ready to climb into the car, but he pulls me back gently, his strong fingers wrapping around my wrist.

"Jeremiah, what—" My words are cut off as his lips meet mine in a surprising kiss. The world seems to stand still as every nerve in my body comes alive, the intensity of our connection sending shivers down my spine.

My cheeks flush with embarrassment as I become aware of people passing by, stealing glances at our intimate moment, but Jeremiah simply smirks and murmurs against my lips, "You look so pretty when you blush, bunny."

My heart is pounding in my chest. But the truth is, I don't want him to stop—not now, and maybe not ever. This is starting to feel real to me though, not just like lessons.

As we pull apart, the lingering sensation of his lips on mine sends a delicious ache through me, adding a layer of urgency to my thoughts. Jeremiah opens the car door for me like a true gentleman, and I slide into the seat, my mind racing with unanswered questions. "I thought this was just supposed to be…"

"I'll kiss you wherever and whenever I want. Let's get you to work," he says with a knowing grin, and I can't help but wonder if he's reading my thoughts, or if he's just as affected by our kiss as I am. As we drive away, the world outside blurs into a mixture of colors and shapes, but all I can focus on is the man in front of me—the man who has both broken my heart and has become the only one who can put it back together.

It's two hours into my shift and the library lobby is a sanctuary, quiet and peaceful as I walk around looking for misplaced books. The scent of aged paper and polished wood fills my senses, providing a much-needed respite from the chaos that's recently invaded my life.

"Oakley." My co-worker, Cindy, comes out from behind the front desk and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, giving me a forced smile. "A delivery guy was here earlier. He left this envelope for you."

With trembling hands, I take the envelope and find a secluded corner to open it. As the contents slide into view, my heart lurches in my chest—disturbing pictures of women in bondage, their eyes pleading for mercy, then pictures of me. Me on campus, here in the library, and even in my dorm. There's a chilling note expressing anticipation of seeing me in that state.

Can't wait to see you like this

The scrawl reads, and bile rises in my throat. It's the same handwriting as the note that came with the flowers.

Panic courses through me as I clutch the envelope tightly in my hands. Without a moment's hesitation, I dial Jeremiah's number, because I need him with me. No one else will do. The click of the call being answered screams in my ear .

"Jeremiah," I choke out, my voice barely a whisper. "Someone sent me...pictures. And a note." My words tumble out incoherently, but he seems to understand the gravity of the situation.

As I stand in the library, surrounded by the familiar scent of books and the hushed whispers of my fellow students, I can't help but feel exposed—vulnerable in a way I've never experienced before. Instead of feeling at ease, fear gnaws at me, consuming my thoughts with the disturbing images from the envelope. Is the person who sent me these disturbing images watching me even now? Are they waiting for the perfect moment to strike, to turn their twisted fantasies into reality? I grip my phone tightly, my knuckles white as I listen to Jeremiah's voice.

"Oakley, just stay put, alright? I'm on my way and I'll take care of this shit." His tone is firm, yet gentle, a balm for my frayed nerves. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"Thank you, Jeremiah," I breathe out, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"Hey, none of that," he chides playfully, his warm laughter a stark contrast to the cold terror still gripping me. "I want you to go sit at the front desk where you have a clear view of who is near you. I'll be there in two minutes."

My heart swells with gratitude at his words, and I try to focus on the soothing cadence of his voice instead of the sickening dread threatening to swallow me whole. Reluctantly, I hang up the call and tuck my phone into my pocket, attempting to regain some semblance of normalcy.

As I make my way to the front desk, I look around to see if anyone is watching me. I don't see anyone out of place. No one seems to even notice that I'm here. I take a seat and try to fix my face to a more neutral and less horrified expression so not to alert Cindy of the situation. She's the type who would try to get me fired for receiving hate mail.

When she's busy dealing with someone who lost the book they checked out, I look through the contents of the envelope. Even though I know what's in it, nothing can prepare me for these vile pictures and the sinister note that accompanied them. The images haunt me, making my skin crawl and stomach churn.

Shaking my head to dispel the lingering fear, I have to trust that Jeremiah will handle it.

As if I made him appear, there he is shoving a student out of his way and stomping through the doors, his eyes locked in on me.

Oh, he looks mad as hell.