Page 64 of Unleashed

For some reason, that makes me smile. Mostly because Maren has no clue what’s coming if she’s expecting my house to look like my mother’s. “You’re in for a surprise then.”

I push Zara inside, but after that I’m at a loss. From my vantage point under the tree, I could never really see what happens on the interior of the van. Stepping back, I watch intently as Maren goes to work strapping the chair securely to the floor. I do my best to commit the process to memory so I’ll be able to accomplish it on my own, but I’m not completely confident I’ll remember every step. Not after just observing once.

Maren gets behind the wheel and I take the passenger seat, managing to buckle in just as she flings her bag in my direction.

I catch it, angling a brow at her.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She starts the engine. “You’re the one who insisted on sitting in my bag holding seat, so you’re going to have to deal with the consequences.”

I don’t know what all Maren has in this thing, but it’s heavy enough it probably does deserve its own seat. “I didn’t complain.”

“Whatever.” She backs out of her tiny driveway and begins the journey to my home.

A strange tightness curls through my guts as we close in on my family’s estate. It’s not nervousness. I don’t normally experience that. It’s not dread either, though that is one I’m familiar with. I think it might be excitement. Anticipation. I’ve never had anyone but family in my home, and I’m genuinely looking forward to it. Not because I want to show off, but because having Maren and Zara inside seems like it will de-sterilize the space. Cut through the museum feel it has and turn it into something more… Palatable.

Plus, I know neither of them will hold back on what they think about it. And I can’t wait to hear what they have to say.

20

Maren

“This is your house?” Zara sounds just as awed as I expected as she stares out the windshield at Trevor’s home. “How many people live here?”

“Just me.” Trevor looks at his house, brows pinching together. “Kinda dumb, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Zara’s honest answer is unhesitating.

So is Trevor’s laugh. A smile splits his face and the deep, rich sound of his amusement fills the van. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

I’ve met a lot of men who don’t appreciate honest women. Guys who don’t like hearing the truth in any capacity. Maybe they find it intimidating. More likely, they don’t like hearing they aren’t the best fucking thing ever.

Not Trevor. For some reason, he seems to find it fantastic. Looking back, the meaner I was to him, the more often our paths crossed. And now I’m wondering if that was by design. The more shit I dished out, the more he showed up to take.

Which is real fucking confusing considering he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who takes shit from anyone.

I park in his driveway, leaving the engine running. I fully intend to stay out here waiting for him. Going inside his home feels like crossing a bridge I’ll never be able to get back over.

But instead of letting me stay in my tiny remaining bubble of emotional safety, the jerk reaches across the console and shuts off the engine himself before punching the button to open Zara’s door. Obviously he was also paying attention while I buckled her in, because he goes straight to where she sits and begins unhooking her chair. Now I either have to sit out here on my own, or follow my sister into the mansion staring back at me.

Fucking hell.

I snap my belt free a little more aggressively than necessary before sliding out, crossing both arms over my chest while he frees my sister and pushes her down the ramp. It takes me a second to figure out why he suddenly stops, staring at the face of his home.

“How in the hell are we going to get you inside?” Trevor tips his head so he can see Zara’s face. “You want a piggyback?”

My sister hates to be carried. Has from the minute she was big enough to scoot around on her own. I know her determination to be independent is likely why she’s doing as well as she is and has come as far as she has, but sometimes it makes things more difficult. To be honest, it would be so much easier to pick her up and carry her to bed instead of slowly following her down the hall. And I am determined not to take that freedom away from her. But letting Zara try to scale the set of stairs leading to Trevor’s front door is an entirely different story. It just isn’t an option. Sure, they’re wide and sturdy, definitely well-built and solid. But there’s no easily accessible handrail, and if she falls, the hard edges will do way more than cause bruising.

I hold my breath, hoping she rejects his plan. Then we can load right back up into the van and wait while he gets ready.

To my dismay, my sister seems thrilled over Trevor piggybacking her, and she laughs hysterically as he crouches in front of her, pretending she’s choking him as she wraps both arms around his neck.

His hold on her is careful but secure as he keeps her safely in place while I collapse her chair and trudge behind them. He turns to me as I reach the bottom of the steps, tipping his head at the wheelchair. “Leave that. I’ll come get it once we get her inside.”

I consider ignoring his command, but the chair is pretty fucking heavy and I don’t necessarily want to fall down the stairs either. So, I leave it behind, watching as he finishes scaling the steps and punches a code into the keypad on the door.

“I saw the numbers you pushed.” Zara grips a little tighter as he shifts his hold so he can push the door open. “It was four, two, one, seven.”

“Sounds like you’re planning to come over and steal all my stuff.” Trevor pauses in the foyer, looking from side to side. “You want to watch TV while I get ready?”