Mom inhales sharply and falls silent for a few seconds. I peer over my shoulder at her and my heart aches all over again. I still don’t understand why she stays with him. I keep hoping that one day she will pack up and leave, taking me and my sisters with her.
Her gaze drops to the floor and I know she’s shoving those words inside the little box that has my father’s name on it. The box where all the yelling, snarling and insults live. The only place she can store them in order to keep our family together. There’s one thing I’ve learned in my seventeen years on this earth: the hand that feeds you can quickly turn to be the one that destroys you. Sticks and stones may break bones, but words have the power to crush a person’s spirit.
Mom clears her throat and forces a cheery smile, hiding her broken spirit behind a bright facade.
“How are you?” she asks the two boys in a lower tone.
Blue Eyes tucks the ball under his left arm and gestures with his hands toward Stormy Eyes. His hands move in fluid movements, and I realize he’s saying something. With his hands. They are using ASL to communicate with each other. Blue Eyes tosses the ball on their lawn and the boys make their way toward us. Stormy Eyes hangs back a little when they stop in front of us.
“These are my daughters, Elon, Elise and Eleanor,” my mom says, smiling wide. “I’m Caroline and that is my husband Stephen.”
I wiggle my fingers in a wave and mumble unintelligibly, “Nor.” They stare at me blankly and I realize they probably didn’t understand what I said. Gah! Why do I get nervous when I meet new people? I huff a breath of frustration and clear my throat. “You can call me Nor.”
My dad’s gaze moves between the two boys before settling on Stormy Eyes. He narrows his eyes and his lips tighten as if he’s irritated. How can he be put out by someone he met only five seconds ago?
Blue Eyes clears his throat and says, “It’s great to meet you all. Welcome to the neighborhood.” He smiles nervously, obviously shaken by my dad’s stern perusal, even though it mostly wasn’t directed at him.
He’s hot, especially with the dark locks of hair falling on his forehead like that. “I’m Josh Holloway and that’s my brother, Cole,” he says while signing at the same time in Cole’s direction. Then he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the boy sitting on their porch surrounded by toy cars and says, “and that’s our younger brother, Nick.” Nick waves at us, but my attention is once again stolen by Stormy Eyes.
Cole.
Cole.
Cole.
The name suits him. It’s mysterious just like its owner.
Cole is staring at me again with those eyes that seem to say nothing and everything at the same time. He’s touching me without even being close to me. Sounds silly, right? I can’t even believe that thought passed through my head because admitting it actually means a couple of physics laws are being broken right this second. But then, I’ve never experienced such a strong pull towards another person before.
His gaze darts to my chest and I look down. Heat floods my face.
Crap.
The first three buttons of my dress have popped open, revealing my white bra and too much boob and skin. My fingers fly up and fasten the damn things and then I peek at Cole. He coughs, his cheeks and ears flushing, and averts his eyes.
“Need help taking the boxes inside?” Josh asks, his gaze moving between my mom and dad and the truck full of boxes. “My brother and I would be happy to help.”
“That would be lovely,” Mom says, at the same time my dad turns around, ignoring Josh’s words. He grabs a box from the truck and stalks toward the front door.
Josh faces his brother and signs. Cole glances at the truck, then the house and nods. He exhales long and hard, as though he has been holding his breath for ages, grabs a box from Josh’s hands and strides toward my new home.
I take deep breaths to ease the giddiness infecting my brain. My stomach tightens and my boobs do this tingling thing. I can totally empathize with my girls. Cole’s focus on them is the most attention they’ve gotten since. . .well, ever. Unless you count my hands, body wash and my washing sponge. I had a boyfriend a while back. Our relationship lasted a month. His stare wasn’t anywhere close to being as potent as Cole’s.
“Drool-alert. You need to wipe your mouth, sis,” my fourteen-year-old sister, Elise, whispers beside me with a giggle before she walks toward the house.
I laugh and follow her, carrying two small boxes, and almost topple over when Josh bounds out of the house.
“It’s great to have a redhead in our neighborhood.” Josh flashes me a bright smile and winks, then walks back out to the moving truck.
I set the boxes on the porch and wait for Cole to come out. I want to get a good look at his butt. It’s cute in those cargo shorts he’s wearing. It’s not saggy at all, just tight, grabable. Just because I’m keeping my distance doesn’t mean I can’t look.
The thought of seeing him makes my heart beat irregularly and my palms clammy. Definitely not attractive.