Page 37 of A Little Jaded
Her head pops above the kitchen counter and she follows my gaze. Her nose wrinkles. “You can leave it.”
“Not a fan of yellow?” I ask.
“It was a…” Her lips purse. “Gift.”
“Got it.” I leave the bra where it is and get back to work, trying to create order in a sea of chaos.
It’s strange. Being here. In her space. Being given a glimpse of who Raine is outside of what she’s told me, which, now that I think about it, is basically nothing. And maybe I should keep it that way. Keep the distance. The walls. After the shit she’s been through, she’s smart to have them. But being here. Seeing the damage and the little things making up the girl I barely know only piques my curiosity.
Like a busy little bee, she buzzes around the room, then disappears down the hall, returning with a well-used Grove University Grizzlies duffle bag. I doubt everything will fit, but it’s a start. Silently, I help her fill it until the zipper threatens to give out if I dare shove anything else inside.
“Is this everything?” I ask.
She lifts a shoulder and scans the apartment. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.”
“You don’t own any of the furniture?” I prod.
“He can keep it. The sooner I get out of here, the better.”
With a nod, I hook the strap of her duffle bag over my shoulder, pressing my hand to her lower back, ready to get the hell out of dodge.
“I can carry it,” she argues.
“I think you’ve carried enough shit on your own, don’t you think?” I push her toward the door, and by some miracle, she lets me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RAINE
When Everett called his parents’ home a cabin, I assumed he meant the term figuratively. And maybe he did, but one thing’s for sure. Wherever Everett’s taking me, he wasn’t kidding about the thirty-minute drive or the fact it’s far from civilization. We already stopped at the grocery store, and now the back of Everett’s truck is packed with food, my duffle bag, and Everett’s suitcase. Icy water clings to the pine trees lining the winding road as we drive up the mountain. It’s colder up here than in the valley, but the pavement is still clear.
“You know, I’m pretty sure my car can make it up here,” I murmur.
“Pretty sure you’ve never been in a snowstorm up here,” he counters.
“I’ve been in a snowstorm.”
“Uphere,” he repeats, emphasizing the word as he pulls off the main road and onto a muddied dirt one.
“And what makes snowstorms up here so special?”
“When I was a kid, Fin and I would play outside all the time. When a storm hit, the snow would come down so fast Icouldn’t even see my hand in front of me. So, yeah. Storms up here are something else.”
I peek over at him, surprised. By the softness in his voice. The glimpse into his childhood. The lack of gruffness I’ve grown accustomed to.
“You came up here a lot when you were kids?” I ask.
“We lived up here.”
“In the woods?”
“My parents like the quiet.”
My mouth twitches. “I’m sorry. Have they met your little sister?”
He laughs dryly. “Yeah, she’s somethin’ else, but I think my parents blame my half-sisters for it.”
“Half-sisters?” I shouldn’t pry, but I can’t help it. This is the most we’ve spoken…ever, and even if I have a feeling he’s only opening up to distract me from my shitty day, I want to take advantage. Besides, I could use the distraction. A moment out of the spotlight for once.