the water, on the falling leaves. The breeze picked up, and I realized she smelled faintly of apples.
“Your brother is on drugs,” she said abruptly.
I recognized a change of subject when I heard one. My fists tightened at my sides.
“What makes you think that?” I asked her.
She glanced at me. “His mood, and the way his hands tremble.”
I started. “His hands?”
The compassion in her gaze was stark. “You haven’t noticed?” she asked. “I saw them in the cabin. His hands tremble when they aren’t fisted.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I was hoping he wasn’t on anything strong.”
Her hand was suddenly resting on my arm. I looked down at it, and she snatched it away.
“You did right bringing him here,” she said. “Sometimes it takes stepping away from everything to see the things that are wrong.”
My eyes narrowed. “It sounds like you speak from experience.”
Again, she didn’t answer, and when she brushed by me, her feet taking her to the cabin, I didn’t follow.
I stared at the water below. My mother had named me for a river. When she was alive, she’d told me I often reminded her of the calm, strong waters of a river; sometimes churning angrily and overflowing its banks, but always steady, always flowing and constant. Roman, she’d said, had been like a tiny soldier from the day he was born, the kind of child she was afraid would be mighty but would fall as quickly as he rose in success. It was why she’d named him Roman, like he was a miniature gladiator.
But I, she’d said, was the river, a river that would catch people in its current, a river that would forge its own way.
Chapter 11
Haven
River Brayden had too much presence. His over six foot frame and broad shoulders took up entirely too much space, making me feel much smaller than I actually was. And his questions ... I wasn’t the type to answer questions. I’d spent my whole life avoiding them.
“Tired of it all already?” a voice sneered.
I didn’t look at Roman as I passed by him on the couch, but I saw his hands, my gaze on the way he clenched and unclenched his fists.
I paused, my back to him. “What are you on?”
There was silence and a distinct scraping noise as he stood too fast, his legs pushing the couch against the wall. I flinched, but held my ground.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roman growled.
My eyes went to the floor. “They’re going to get worse, you know. The withdrawal is going to be a beast.”
Silence again, a long silence filled with questions I knew he was leaving unasked.
“What did you take?” he finally asked, his voice quiet.
I turned to look at him, my eyes going to his face. There was desolation in his expression, a depression that had part to do with whatever he was on and part with something I didn’t know about. Roman was a year younger than I. At seventeen, he was closer to my age than River was, but there was something extremely unapproachable about Roman, as if getting close to him would be like walking into the center of a tornado.
“I was addicted to diet pills once,” I confessed. It wasn’t something I revealed often.
Roman laughed, disgust filling his gaze. “Diet pills. Are you fucking kidding me?”
I shrugged. “Laugh at it if you want. Go ahead. I know it seems strange. The pills weren’t supposed to be addictive, but I’m a recovering bulimic and the company who manufactured the drug didn’t realize that it was habit forming. I was taking fourteen pills a day before the drug was recalled and removed from the market. The withdrawals ...” I looked down at his shaking hands. “They were a bitch,” I finished.
Roman didn’t say anything. He simply stared at me a moment, his gaze searching my face before he brushed past me, moving to one of the bedrooms just off the livingroom. The door slammed, and I jumped.
There was a shadow on the hardwood floor, and my gaze followed it to the open front
“Your brother is on drugs,” she said abruptly.
I recognized a change of subject when I heard one. My fists tightened at my sides.
“What makes you think that?” I asked her.
She glanced at me. “His mood, and the way his hands tremble.”
I started. “His hands?”
The compassion in her gaze was stark. “You haven’t noticed?” she asked. “I saw them in the cabin. His hands tremble when they aren’t fisted.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I was hoping he wasn’t on anything strong.”
Her hand was suddenly resting on my arm. I looked down at it, and she snatched it away.
“You did right bringing him here,” she said. “Sometimes it takes stepping away from everything to see the things that are wrong.”
My eyes narrowed. “It sounds like you speak from experience.”
Again, she didn’t answer, and when she brushed by me, her feet taking her to the cabin, I didn’t follow.
I stared at the water below. My mother had named me for a river. When she was alive, she’d told me I often reminded her of the calm, strong waters of a river; sometimes churning angrily and overflowing its banks, but always steady, always flowing and constant. Roman, she’d said, had been like a tiny soldier from the day he was born, the kind of child she was afraid would be mighty but would fall as quickly as he rose in success. It was why she’d named him Roman, like he was a miniature gladiator.
But I, she’d said, was the river, a river that would catch people in its current, a river that would forge its own way.
Chapter 11
Haven
River Brayden had too much presence. His over six foot frame and broad shoulders took up entirely too much space, making me feel much smaller than I actually was. And his questions ... I wasn’t the type to answer questions. I’d spent my whole life avoiding them.
“Tired of it all already?” a voice sneered.
I didn’t look at Roman as I passed by him on the couch, but I saw his hands, my gaze on the way he clenched and unclenched his fists.
I paused, my back to him. “What are you on?”
There was silence and a distinct scraping noise as he stood too fast, his legs pushing the couch against the wall. I flinched, but held my ground.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roman growled.
My eyes went to the floor. “They’re going to get worse, you know. The withdrawal is going to be a beast.”
Silence again, a long silence filled with questions I knew he was leaving unasked.
“What did you take?” he finally asked, his voice quiet.
I turned to look at him, my eyes going to his face. There was desolation in his expression, a depression that had part to do with whatever he was on and part with something I didn’t know about. Roman was a year younger than I. At seventeen, he was closer to my age than River was, but there was something extremely unapproachable about Roman, as if getting close to him would be like walking into the center of a tornado.
“I was addicted to diet pills once,” I confessed. It wasn’t something I revealed often.
Roman laughed, disgust filling his gaze. “Diet pills. Are you fucking kidding me?”
I shrugged. “Laugh at it if you want. Go ahead. I know it seems strange. The pills weren’t supposed to be addictive, but I’m a recovering bulimic and the company who manufactured the drug didn’t realize that it was habit forming. I was taking fourteen pills a day before the drug was recalled and removed from the market. The withdrawals ...” I looked down at his shaking hands. “They were a bitch,” I finished.
Roman didn’t say anything. He simply stared at me a moment, his gaze searching my face before he brushed past me, moving to one of the bedrooms just off the livingroom. The door slammed, and I jumped.
There was a shadow on the hardwood floor, and my gaze followed it to the open front
Similar Books
