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A painful pang sinks through my chest. I remember her humming the same tune a lot back in the group home. She used to tell me that one of the best ways to feel happy was to act happy. I would catch her singing stereotypically upbeat pop music whenever she felt scared or stressed or sad.
I shoulder into my bedroom, moving slowly and carefully so I don’t scare her. Only, she isn’t anywhere I can see. My bed—God, don’t look at it too long while she’s in here, or you’ll rut her into next year—is empty. So is the leather club chair shoved against the bookshelves.
The balcony doors are shut. My bathroom looks just like I left it.
Which means my butterfly must be in my closet.
“Rems?” I rasp, tapping on the door with two knuckles before I pry it open. “You in here?”
Her singing stutters to a stop just before I see her, curled into a ball and sandwiched between my shoe rack and a few spare pillows. The walk-in is the smallest one in the house, but it’s still big enough for me to step inside and turn around. Even so, she’s picked the most cramped corner to hunker down in.
I can’t really see her face without the light on, but when I move to flick the switch, she whines. My hand falls back to my side.
She begins to apologize, her voice tight. “Cass! I—I’m sorry. I—I was?—”
When I sink down to my knees, I can finally lean close enough to see her face. Without her usual makeup, her eyes look tired and her skin seems too thin. Almost translucent.
But, God, is she beautiful.
I reach over and smooth a thumb across her cheekbone, feeling her trembles. “It’s okay, butterfly,” I murmur, moving closer. “Did you need a dark, cozy spot? Is something wrong with your nest?”
She hesitates, biting her lip before she finally nods. “I’m sorry. I tried to use the bathtub in my room, but there’s only a shower stall in there and?—”
A cold sort of fury grips my lungs. “Your bathtub? Why? The omega suite has a full nest in it.”
Her teeth sink down harder, leaving her pink lip nearly white. “Smith didn’t want me in there. He gave me a guest room, which is great! But, um, I think you guys must have been using it for storage because the closet is full of filing cabinets and storage bins. I couldn’t fit in it.”
What. The. Fuck?
Am I going to have to kill my own brother?
My teeth grind together. “He locked you out of the Omega Suite?”
Remi’s shoulders bounce on a shrug, shifting the fit of her enormously oversized hoodie. “I didn’t check the lock.”
But I did.
That motherfucking asshole.
Remi senses my rising aggression and makes herself smaller, swallowing a whine that I barely catch the end of. Forcing myself to focus on her, I shake my head and drop down beside her, somehow wedging myself between her side and the wall. “My closet is the smallest one, huh?”
She nods again, gazing up at me without one speck of guile. “And it smells like you,” she whispers, “I… Your scent makes me feel the safest.”
Jesus.
Fucking stab me in the heart. It’ll be quicker.
The next thing I know, I’m stripping off my shirt and pulling her into my naked skin. “Come here.”
She instantly scrambles closer, whining some more while she rubs her cheek into my pecs, my throat, the underside of my chin. I groan, relishing the way her scent sends electricity through my veins.
My hands clench fistfuls of her sweatshirt. It’s black, just like the one I gave her back in the group home. Actually, it’s about the same size, too. And it has the same bleach stain on the shoulder.
“Rems,” I mumble into her hair. “Did you keep my hoodie all this time?”
She whimpers as her scent darkens in shame. “Yes.”
I hug her harder, concentrating on not crushing her. It’s hard to focus when I feel breathless. “Why?”
