Read Online Breaking the Bro Code by Stefanie London - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stefanie London
Ads: Link
concerned.
‘I’ve got some stuff to take care of at Dad’s place.’ He sighed, plucking the sunglasses that hung from the neckline of his T-shirt and slipping them on. ‘I need to get it done, otherwise the landlord is going to be on my case. Not that there’s anything worth salvaging in there.’
‘Need a hand?’
‘This doesn’t exactly feel like keeping it strictly business.’ Col tilted his head.
She didn’t like not being able to see his eyes; they always told her exactly how he was feeling. For a guy who’d been through what he had, he was still an open book. Anger, sadness and just about any other emotion showed itself so clearly on his face that he might as well have been a dictionary for feelings...at least where she was concerned.
She’d always liked that about him, envied it even. Elise had been raised to repress any extreme emotions. There were to be no tears, no screaming, no arguments in the Johnson household. Even hugs came at a premium. She’d never doubted that her parents loved her, but they were both hardened by their jobs in the police force and that hardness had infiltrated their home.
Falling apart in Col’s arms that night had been the closest she’d ever come to true, unadulterated emotion. To honest emotion. And look where it had landed her.
‘Besides, I thought you didn’t want to talk about the past,’ he said.
‘We don’t have to talk about it.’ She sighed, unable to articulate why she wasn’t yet ready to let him go. ‘I thought you might need a hand with packing up his things and clearing out the rubbish.’
‘I would be grateful for a hand.’ He smiled, his lips pulling back to reveal an utterly disarming grin.
She nodded, warmth blossoming in her chest...and she was sure it wasn’t from the sunshine. You’re walking on dangerous ground, Johnson. Very. Dangerous. Ground.
* * *
Col’s father’s house was just as she remembered it from the few times she’d been there growing up. He’d never liked her visiting when he still lived at home and she had always suspected he was embarrassed by the strange stale alcohol smell and chaotic mess.
The garden was non-existent; the grass was brown in patches and completely absent in others. A few flowers within the clutches of death dotted the side fence and weeds sprouted up through the cracks in the cement path to the front door. The letterbox had taken a beating at some point, and the paint had chipped off in huge flakes. One of the numbers dangled from a single screw.
‘Home sweet home,’ Col said drily as they walked up to the front door.
What must he be feeling? Being forced to come home and deal with the house he’d fled as soon as he’d been able must be tough. Elise bit down on her lip as she followed him up the steps. At least he’d been able to escape the terrors of his childhood, she supposed. With this perspective she felt some of the anger at his departure slip away. Didn’t everyone deserve the right to escape?
They walked through the front door and Elise wrinkled her nose at the smell. The stench of stale whisky hung in the air, mingling with cigarette smoke that seemed to have permeated the house’s furnishings and walls. A cardboard box overflowed with empty bottles of whisky, bourbon and beer. The room itself held little more than a couch—which had seen better days—and a coffee table strewn with newspapers, betting stubs and ash from an overflowing ashtray.
‘It looks...exactly as I remember it.’ Elise wandered around, careful not to trip on the numerous clusters of mess around the floor, a deep ache settling in her chest. This was no place for a child to have grown up.
‘Apparently my father didn’t feel the need to clean,’ Col replied, anger heavy in his voice. ‘Or adhere to basic hygiene. Old habits die hard, I guess.’
‘I guess,’ she echoed, turning to Col in time to see the mask of his composure slip for a second.
White-hot rage flashed through his features as
‘I’ve got some stuff to take care of at Dad’s place.’ He sighed, plucking the sunglasses that hung from the neckline of his T-shirt and slipping them on. ‘I need to get it done, otherwise the landlord is going to be on my case. Not that there’s anything worth salvaging in there.’
‘Need a hand?’
‘This doesn’t exactly feel like keeping it strictly business.’ Col tilted his head.
She didn’t like not being able to see his eyes; they always told her exactly how he was feeling. For a guy who’d been through what he had, he was still an open book. Anger, sadness and just about any other emotion showed itself so clearly on his face that he might as well have been a dictionary for feelings...at least where she was concerned.
She’d always liked that about him, envied it even. Elise had been raised to repress any extreme emotions. There were to be no tears, no screaming, no arguments in the Johnson household. Even hugs came at a premium. She’d never doubted that her parents loved her, but they were both hardened by their jobs in the police force and that hardness had infiltrated their home.
Falling apart in Col’s arms that night had been the closest she’d ever come to true, unadulterated emotion. To honest emotion. And look where it had landed her.
‘Besides, I thought you didn’t want to talk about the past,’ he said.
‘We don’t have to talk about it.’ She sighed, unable to articulate why she wasn’t yet ready to let him go. ‘I thought you might need a hand with packing up his things and clearing out the rubbish.’
‘I would be grateful for a hand.’ He smiled, his lips pulling back to reveal an utterly disarming grin.
She nodded, warmth blossoming in her chest...and she was sure it wasn’t from the sunshine. You’re walking on dangerous ground, Johnson. Very. Dangerous. Ground.
* * *
Col’s father’s house was just as she remembered it from the few times she’d been there growing up. He’d never liked her visiting when he still lived at home and she had always suspected he was embarrassed by the strange stale alcohol smell and chaotic mess.
The garden was non-existent; the grass was brown in patches and completely absent in others. A few flowers within the clutches of death dotted the side fence and weeds sprouted up through the cracks in the cement path to the front door. The letterbox had taken a beating at some point, and the paint had chipped off in huge flakes. One of the numbers dangled from a single screw.
‘Home sweet home,’ Col said drily as they walked up to the front door.
What must he be feeling? Being forced to come home and deal with the house he’d fled as soon as he’d been able must be tough. Elise bit down on her lip as she followed him up the steps. At least he’d been able to escape the terrors of his childhood, she supposed. With this perspective she felt some of the anger at his departure slip away. Didn’t everyone deserve the right to escape?
They walked through the front door and Elise wrinkled her nose at the smell. The stench of stale whisky hung in the air, mingling with cigarette smoke that seemed to have permeated the house’s furnishings and walls. A cardboard box overflowed with empty bottles of whisky, bourbon and beer. The room itself held little more than a couch—which had seen better days—and a coffee table strewn with newspapers, betting stubs and ash from an overflowing ashtray.
‘It looks...exactly as I remember it.’ Elise wandered around, careful not to trip on the numerous clusters of mess around the floor, a deep ache settling in her chest. This was no place for a child to have grown up.
‘Apparently my father didn’t feel the need to clean,’ Col replied, anger heavy in his voice. ‘Or adhere to basic hygiene. Old habits die hard, I guess.’
‘I guess,’ she echoed, turning to Col in time to see the mask of his composure slip for a second.
White-hot rage flashed through his features as
Similar Books
