“You too.”
After hearing Micah’s door close, I padded into my room and showered.
After drying myself and pulling on joggers without bothering with underwear, I stood shirtless by my window and checked my phone.
I had messages from Tate, one from Storm, but nothing from Molly. Disappointment swelled in my chest. Her words from earlier still stung after I’d tried to explain that I was only joking.
“I’m not. Not anymore anyway. And not with you.” What did that even mean?
Why would she message you when you’ve been such a prick towards her?
Shoving my phone into my pocket, I tugged on a black hoodie, opened my window, and climbed down the old oak tree at the side of our house. In the early days during my first week there, I’d attempted to run away twice using this route. Ma had the branches taken off, but new ones had grown. So, I used this route when I needed to jog, another method of calming myself down.
Anxiety pumped through my veins as I thought about visiting the prison where my father had been incarcerated for so many years. I needed to up my meds before I went, anything to allow me to keep calm during what would be a triggering experience.
As I ran towards Molly’s house, I glanced into the distance. The light in her bedroom was on. I quickly checked my phone. It was almost midnight. I had expected nice girls like her to be asleep by now. The fact that she wasn’t made my blood pump.
I spied the side of her house. It wasn’t so different to Ma’s, but there was no convenient tree to give me access to her room.
As I got to the driveway, I kicked into stealth mode and crept down the side of her house. If her father saw me, I’d be toast.
Shaking my head and dashing a hand across my face, I tried to sober the fuck up.
And then I did something stupid.
I took a deep breath, placed my sneakered foot onto the lattice against the side of the house, and started to climb (mindful of the roses attached to it).
It wasn’t until I got to the roof that I realized there was no turning back. Molly’s window was a large dormer set against the tiles. The rose bush, unfortunately, was also curling partway up the roof.
And with a determination fuelled by tequila and balls of steel, I powered through.
MOLLY
THUNK!
“Goddamnit!” A muffled voice erupted from who knew where. Turning the water off, I glanced across at Roger. He was sitting between the bathroom and bedroom door. I knew he’d heard the noise. Our cat was on high alert. His back was arched, and his tail wagged, a sure sign he was agitated.
Another crash followed. “Motherfucker!”
I dashed over with my toothbrush hanging out of my mouth as I went to see what the ruckus was.
As I listened, I heard a scraping noise. It was coming from outside my window. Mybedroomwindow.
Slowly approaching the glass, I strained to see outside. The light from my room made it difficult to see into the cloaked night air, and I saw more of my reflection than anything else.
Knuckles knocked on my window, making me hedge back, and Roger jumped onto my dressing table, upending the desk tidy with all my pens in it.
Shit.
My heart thumped against my ribcage. “What the hell?” I whispered-shouted as I saw Hudson’s half-shadowed face. He wore a pained expression, and fear of him being injured or falling off our roof forced me to act.
Pulling my toothbrush from my mouth, I threw it next to the mess the cat had caused and lunged forward to unlatch the window.
And sure enough, Hudson half slid, half fell through it and into my room in a large, muscled heap. He was a mass of tangled limbs. There was little finesse to his entry. He caught his leg on my dressing table before lifting it over
I felt giddy with relief that he was inside and safe.
“Hudson?” I squeaked, staring at him with my mouth wide open. My heart yoyoed between excitement andthis is not a good idea.
