When I looked around the room after savouring that warmth for a long moment, I found a little black cat sleeping on the end of the bed next to a larger ginger one. It made me smile. Prescott told me Rosie had six cats.
I sat up abruptly, making both cats give me evils. Last night came flooding back to me in waves. We were at Rosie’s house because Stuart was tracking us and had sent men to find me. Prescott had viciously stabbed one of them to death right after we’d gone to watch a sex show, then he’d chased me down and fucked me. It has been the rawest and most wild sex I’d ever had with him, cementing our bond with each other so deep, I could never tear him out of me. I didn’t want to. Not even after I’d watched him kill and threaten another man to protect me.
I rubbed my face and gave the cats an apologetic look. Not like I intended to disturb them, but last night’s events were fucking crazy in good and bad ways.
Next to the cats sat a pile of clothes. Presumably, Prescott had left them for me. I hauled myself out of bed and pulled them on. They were his, so miles too big for me, but being wrapped up in his scent comforted me. I tightened the drawstrings on the shorts and snuggled into his hoodie. Clearly, Prescott kept clothes here for when he visited his mum.
I ventured out into the hallway, finding an upstairs bathroom and going about my business. Then I padded downstairs, following the sound of voices into the kitchen. It was a big space with a huge kitchen table off to one side. Prescott sat with Rosie, both with mugs of tea in their hands. They looked so alike, it was uncanny.
At Rosie’s feet sat three brown Labradors, who all looked at me as I entered. Prescott noticed me next. He immediately got up and came over to me, tucking a hand under my chin and stroking my skin.
“Sweetness, did you sleep okay?”
“Like the dead.”
I crashed out the moment my head hit the pillow last night. My hair wasn’t too worse for wear this morning, still tamed by my braid.
“I noticed.”
I wanted to wrap my arms around him, hold him tight, and tell him how much I loved him. Thank him for keeping me safe last night. However, I was conscious of the fact his mother was staring at the two of us. It made me wonder what he’d told her.
He drew me over to the table, giving his mother a tentative smile.
“Hi,” I said, trying to remain calm.
Whilst Francis’ parents had been very welcoming and accepting, I wasn’t sure what Rosie would think of me being back. Not to mention her feelings on the matter of her son being in a relationship with the same woman as his three best friends. Rosie was a free-thinking spirit, but even I understood this wasn’t the most normal of circumstances.
Rosie got up out of her chair and wrapped me up in her arms. Her patchouli scent surrounded me, reminding me of my childhood spent in and out of her flat as we lived in the same building.
“It’s so good to see you, Scarlett.”
“You too,” I murmured, unsure of what else to say.
She pulled away and gave me a bright smile.
“I’ll make you some tea. Would you like breakfast too?”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
“Oh, it’s quite all right. Please make yourself at home.”
She bustled over to the kettle, leaving me with Prescott who took me in his arms and buried his face in my braided hair.
“My lamb,” he whispered, rubbing my back in slow circles.
“I’m fine, Pres.”
It wasn’t a lie. I was fine. Last night didn’t bother me. I’d seen enough death now. And I certainly wasn’t scared of Prescott for what he’d done. If anything, I only fell deeper in love with him, if that was even possible. He protected me. It made me aware I had a seriously skewed sense of justice, right and wrong, but I no longer cared about any of those things. Not when I was with them. The loves of my life.
He let me go and pulled me over to sit down next to him at the table. His blue eyes were intent on mine as he placed a possessive hand on my thigh.
“What did you tell her?” I whispered, looking over at Rosie, who was busy preparing breakfast.
We had turned up on her doorstep, rain-drenched and muddy. It was a good thing she hadn’t seen the blood on Prescott’s polo shirt. That would have raised alarm bells and we couldn’t afford for Rosie to find out what he’d done last night.
“That you came to work for us and things happened… then you were pissed after you remembered us, but we’re all okay now. She doesn’t know about Stuart or any of the other shit we’ve done. It’s going to stay that way.”
“Did you tell her we’re all together?”
“Not yet.”
I gave him a look.
“You can’t keep it from her.”
“She knows we’re together.”
I snorted.
“Well, I think that’s pretty obvious.”
He leant closer and pressed his forehead to mine. I slid my hand along his shoulder and cupped the back of his neck.
“Is it? Should I make it even more obvious?”
“Pres—”
I couldn’t finish my sentence. He kissed me, making me sway into him. Then I pulled away, putting space between us. Rosie was watching us. I couldn’t read her expression. Was she okay with me being with her son? We’d been inseparable as kids, but we were grown up now. I didn’t know if it might be weird. It wasn’t for Eliza and Jasper, but they were different. They only wanted Francis to be happy when he’d spent so many years tortured over the fact he felt like second best. They saw the way I raised him up when we were kids and how I did the same for him now.
I could only hope Rosie would see how much I loved Prescott. How I would do anything for him. He was my entire world.
“What’s wrong?”
I looked at Prescott who was frowning at me.
“I’m just worried she will hate it,” I whispered when Rosie went back to making breakfast.
“What? You being with us?”
I nodded. He stroked my cheek, those blue eyes of his softening.
“Listen, I don’t need her approval. I love you, little lamb. I couldn’t leave you even if I tried.”
He let go of my thigh and wrapped an arm around me, drawing me against his chest. His warmth and reassurance bolstered me. We’d been in this bubble between the five of us and now reality was intruding, reminding me our relationship wasn’t something society would look upon favourably. It wasn’t normal. But I didn’t care about normal. I cared about us.
We drew apart when Rosie brought breakfast over. She’d made a full English for us, something I appreciated after all the energy I expended last night. She didn’t ask where I’d been, only querying how I was now and if I was glad to be back with my best friends. Prescott and I skirted around the issue of the real nature of our relationship until I nudged him with my foot after she asked if we were happy together.
“Mum, I feel like I need to explain something,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
“About what?”
“Me and Scar… and the others.”
Rosie raised her blonde eyebrows, eyeing the two of us with concern.
“Drake, Francis and West?”
“Yeah.”
“So tell me.”