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We haven’t seen each other for fifteen years, but I still resent the way she’s been thrust back into my life, when I don’t want any reminders of my shitty teen years worming their way into the new life I’ve made for myself here.
She makes a sound that’s a cross between a squeak and a whine, and my head snaps in her direction before I can stop myself. There’s nothing left of the little girl that I remember her being the last time I saw her. She was only a kid back then, eleven or twelve, I think, although she always looked and acted a lot younger.
Fifteen years ago, she was tiny, scrawny, and pale. Now she’s a fully grown adult, but she’s still tiny and petite, like a strong wind would blow her away. Maybe it’d be easier to think of her as someone different if she wasn’t dressed like a fucking kid, in matching sweats and a hoodie, with a line of skin on show between the waist of her pants and the bottom of her top.
My dad never mentioned where she was coming from when he hassled me about letting her stay with me. I didn’t know she was going to spend twenty-six fucking hours on a bus to get here. I didn’t know she lived in Vegas, and looking at the almost translucent quality of her fair skin, I wouldn’t have guessed it either. How the fuck she’s managed to stay so pale in the heat of the Vegas sun is beyond me.
I don’t remember her being a pretty kid. She was just there—small, annoying, and mousey. Scanning my eyes over her, I take a mental picture of her in my mind. I can’t see all her curves in her sweats and hoodie, but her perky little tits are high and not too big. She’s skinny—maybe even too skinny—but it’s difficult to tell. Allowing my eyes to take in her face, I notice her big eyes and elven features. She’s fucking gorgeous, with blow job lips and eyes that would look sexy as fuck brimming with unshed tears.
The most surprising thing about her is her hair. It’s a pale pink color, similar to cotton candy, and not at all the color I’d expect from a girl who is so fucking small in both stature and presence.
My dad has spent months calling me week after week, driving me crazy talking about her staying with me, and instead of doing what had been arranged, she’d tried to blow me off so she could stay in a hotel. She’d seemed surprised to see me at the bus station, but when I loaded her stuff into my truck and strapped her into a seat, she’d barely done more than weakly protest coming home with me. Then once we started heading up the mountain, she’d been so soundless beside me it was disquieting, like she was being deliberately, almost aggravatingly silent, to make me as uncomfortable as possible.
Now she’s wrinkling her nose and acting like she has no fucking clue what I do for a living, even though I know my dad would have told her. He hates that I’m a firefighter and loathes that I’m a jumper. He’s made it known over and over that he thinks I should have followed in his footsteps and gone into insurance or real estate.
When I first started college, he offered to pay my tuition if I changed my major to business and went to work for him. I laughed so much I could barely breathe. When I told him I’d rather spend the rest of my life paying off my student loans than ever work for him, he had the gall to actually sound offended.
“Oz is one of our pilots too,” Danny tells her.
“Pilot? As in an airplane pilot?” she asks, and even her apparent shock is weak-sounding.
“Light aircraft, helicopters, fixed-wing private jets,” Danny says, listing all the things I’m qualified to fly.
“I’ll show you to your room,” I say curtly, abruptly ending the conversation they’re having. “We have work in the morning,” I remind Danny.
“Dinner?” Danny says, discretely nodding his head in Henrietta’s direction, like he’s reminding me that I’m expected to feed her.
“I have plenty of food in the refrigerator,” I say through gritted teeth, flashing my friend a warning look.
I love Danny, I really do. Apart from Buck and Nero, who are actual brothers, the rest of the team were strangers brought together from all over the country when we first moved to Rockhead Point. But the moment Danny and I met, we clicked, and now we’re bros. Usually, I find his golden retriever enthusiasm fucking hilarious, but right now I need him to get the fucking hint and leave this alone. I might be letting Henrietta stay with me for a few days, but that’s as far as this goes. I don’t want to be friends with her. I don’t want her to become part of our social group. She’s my dad’s stepdaughter, and that’s the extent of our relationship.
Finally acknowledging the pointed looks I’ve been throwing his way, Danny nods, purses his lips, and pushes his hands into his pockets. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning then, bro,” he says before turning to look down at Henrietta again. “It was really nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Danny,” she says quietly.
Grabbing the handle of her single suitcase, I turn and open my front door, lifting the surprisingly light case over the step and into the house. After a moment, Henrietta follows, cautiously taking a single step into the foyer and then stopping, like she’s worried something is going to bite her if she actually comes fully inside.
“Your room is upstairs,” I snap, holding her case in the air as I climb the stairs, not bothering to look behind me to see if she’s following.
Opening the door to the spare room that I guess I’d use as a guest room if I ever had any guests, I place her case down onto the floor beside the brand new queen bed with the brand new sheets I got from Target a few days ago. Turning to the doorway, I find it empty, but seconds later, the almost inaudible sound of her soft footsteps heralds her arrival, and she tentatively peers into the room, like she’s waiting for me to invite her in.
“Where’s the rest of your stuff?” I snarl gruffly, then internally berate myself. I hadn’t meant to ask her anything because I hadn’t planned to care, but if she has a moving van full of crap planned to turn up in the next couple of days, I need to know.
Blinking, she glances at the case, then at me. “That’s my stuff,” she says, gesturing slowly to the case at my feet. “My apartment in Vegas was furnished.”
“But what about the rest of your stuff? Your clothes and shoes and tchotchkes?”
“I have my laptop and Kindle in here.” She lifts the strap of her backpack off her shoulder, then hugs it into her chest protectively, her expression going haunted for a moment before her eyes drop to her feet. “My roommate has furniture she’s bringing from her place,” she mumbles without looking at me.
“Bullshit,” I snap. “I’ve never met a girl who can get her entire life into a single case. Don’t fucking lie to me, Henrietta, if you have more stuff coming, just tell me so I can clear some space in the garage to store it,” I snarl, watching the way she physically recoils when I snap at her.
“There’s nothing else coming. I’m not really into clothes or knickknacks.”
Her voice is so fucking small, I have to listen hard just to be able to hear her.
Inhaling sharply, I swallow down the urge to shake her and insist she look at me while we’re having a conversation. “Fine, whatever. Get unpacked. I’ll start dinner. Anything you don’t eat?”
“You don’t need?—”
