The Simplicity in Chaos Page 6

  What the hell? What is he doing?

  “Porter, what’re you doing?” The sound of Max’s voice makes Porter push away from me.

  Then he shrugs. “I was just introducing myself to our new, adorable houseguest.” When he glances at Max, Max quirks an eyebrow. “What?” Porter says innocently, but the grin on his face suggests he’s anything but innocent.

  I just wish I knew why.

  These guys are odd. For reals, I feel like I’ve just moved in with the Addams Family or something.

  “Fine, I’ll back off,” Porter says through a laugh. Then he turns to me and lightly tugs on a strand of my hair. “If you want something to eat besides that shit in there, there’s another fridge in the pantry.”

  Grinning, he strolls away, lightly nudging his shoulder against Max’s as he passes. Max responds with a shake of his head and a small crack of a smile.

  Once Porter has exited the kitchen, Max focuses on me. “The fridge behind you? That’s where my mom keeps her homemade health stuff and trust me, you don’t want to eat it.”

  “Oh … Sorry I got into it.” I feel the need to apologize.

  “You don’t need to apologize. You’re welcome to anything in this house. I’d just recommend staying out of that fridge. The stuff my mom eats can be…”

  “Vomit-inducing?” I suggest.

  He chuckles. “Yeah, actually.” He assesses me briefly before signaling for me to follow him as he enters an alcove. “This is where we keep the more edible stuff.” He points at a fridge tucked into the corner. “You can get whatever you want out of it, but Charlotte will be more than happy to make you something whenever.” He slants against the fridge and crosses his arms. “She’s an excellent cook.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” I say, “but I’m not really used to people cooking for me. In fact, I’ve been cooking for myself since I was about five or six.”

  His expression plummets. “Please tell me it was all microwaveable stuff.”

  I shake my head. “But it’s not that big of a deal. My parents taught me how to use the stove before they started letting me cook with it.” The frown remains on my face, and my defenses go up. “My parents were—are good people,” I state defensively. “They just like to go out a lot, so I needed to learn how to cook for myself or I’d have ended up living off PB&J sandwiches, which are yummy and everything, but not really a good source for dinner.”

  His lips tug into an artificial smile. “Well, if you want to cook for yourself, that’s fine. But promise me you’ll at least let Charlotte cook for you one time, preferably dinner.” He smiles for real this time. “She makes some killer pesto pasta and potatoes.”

  “All right,” I say. “That sounds doable, I guess.”

  He’s all amusement again as he moves away from the fridge and opens the door. “There are some leftovers in here from dinner if you want me to heat them up. It’s spaghetti and meatballs and some garlic bread.” He pulls out a couple of Tupperware containers.

  “I can heat them up.” I take them from him.

  He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”

  I crinkle my nose. “Am I? I mean, I know my friend Nina always says I am, but she’s stubborn, too, so I can never trust her opinion.”

  “You are a little bit.” He nudges me back into the kitchen then walks over and opens a cupboard above the sink and takes out a plate. “It’s probably a good thing. Us Everettsons are known for our stubbornness, and if you were too much of a pushover, we’d probably end up walking all over you.” He sets the plate down then takes the containers with the spaghetti from me, popping open the lid. “You should probably push back the most with Foster and Easton. They’re the most likely to stomp all over you if you let them. Like with the attic thing. When they told you that was your room, you should’ve told them to go fuck themselves.”

  “I may have if they were one of my friends or maybe even my mom or dad, but …” I dither, chewing on my bottom lip. “I’m not as stubborn and pushy with people I don’t know very well.”

  “Are you saying you’re shy?”

  “I don’t know … A lot of people say I am, but personally, I just think I’m quiet.” I pause. “I’ve always kind of sucked at socializing.”

  “Any particular reason why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He opens a drawer and collects a spoon. “Sometimes when people have trouble socializing, it’s because of a bad, perhaps even traumatic, experience.” He shovels a spoonful of spaghetti onto the plate.

  “Are you a psych major?” I question, opening the lid on the container with the garlic bread.

  He chuckles as he piles more spaghetti onto the plate. “Actually, I’m not in college. But I do get that a lot, probably because I’m a know-it-all.” He winks at me then picks up a piece of garlic bread, puts it onto the plate, and then places the plate in the microwave.

  I realize that, whether intentional or not, he just made dinner for me.

  “I could’ve heated that up myself.”

  “It was just as easy for me to do it.” He closes the microwave then pushes some buttons.

  And he says I’m stubborn. Clearly, he’s just as bad.

  Sighing, I plop down on a barstool. “So, if you’re not in college, what do you do?”

  From the other side of the island, he rests his arms on top of the counter, his eyes glistening mischievously. “What if I told you absolutely nothing? Would you think less of me?”

  “No, but I do think that sounds sort of boring.” I cross my arms on top of the counter. “But I’m guessing you’re lying to me.”

  His eyes twinkle again. “And why’s that?”

  “Because of that little twinkle in your eye.” I point at his face.

  He struggles not to grin. “What twinkle?”

  I roll my eyes. “Like you don’t already know.”

  “Maybe I don’t,” he teases. “Perhaps you’re the first person to ever point that out to me.”

  “I highly doubt that.” The lightness in my voice is a bit unfamiliar, but talking to Max is surprisingly easy. “I have a feeling you have that twinkle in your eyes a lot.”

  “And I have a feeling you’re going to be a very amusing addition to this household.” He pushes back from the counter as the microwave beeps. “For the record, though, you’re right. I don’t just sit around and do nothing.” He removes the plate from the microwave and sets it down in front of me, along with a fork. “I have a job.”

  I twirl the noodles around my fork. “What do you do?”

  “Hmm …” He leans back against the counter behind him and rubs his jawline. “I think I won’t tell you yet.”

  “Why?” A teasing grin touches my lips. “Are you, like, a secret agent or something?” I’m only kidding, but when he doesn’t answer right away, I have to wonder. “Wait. Are you?”

  He shakes his head, strands of his hair falling into his eyes. “Nah, I’m way too rebellious to work for the police. Not to mention, I’d get bored.”

  I’m about to point out that a secret agent doesn’t seem like a boring job when a loud shriek echoes across the house. Max’s body immediately stiffens.

  “Crap,” he says then hurries toward the door.

  “What was that?” I ask, clutching my fork.

  He doesn’t say anything, rushing out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

  As another shriek ripples through the air, I retrieve my phone from my pocket and tap open the group message.

  Me: Okay, shit’s getting crazy here. Now I hear screaming!

  Gage: Holy shit, dude. Maybe you should, I don’t know, like leave or something.

  Nina: Or call the effing police! What the hell?

  Me:. This family is weird. I mean, the mom and dad seem nice, and Max is okay, but Porter seemed weird, and Foster and Easton are asshats. They made me think the attic was my room!

  Nina: Jerks. I knew they were gonna be like that, though. They’re
totally Greys.

  Me: Yeah, I think so, too. Man, guys, this sucks. I already miss home, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.

  Nina: We miss you, too, and we’re really worried.

  Gage: Has the screaming stopped yet? Do you know what it was?

  I glance up, realizing the house is silent now. Eerily silent, as if no one lives here.

  Me: Yeah, it stopped. I’m still not even sure what it was, though.

  Gage: Makes me really worried.

  Nina: Gage, why would you say that! She’s already freaking out!

  Me: I’m not freaking out. I’m just … uneasy. Maybe I’m being paranoid, though.

  Nina: No fucking way. I’d have bolted by now.

  Me: Oh, trust me, I want to.

  “Hey.” Emaline pops her head into the room, smiles at me, and then walks all the way in.

  Me: Gotta go. Someone just walked in. TTYL.

  Nina: You better. Seriously, I’m worried.

  Gage: Please be careful …

  “Are you talking to your friends?” she asks as she makes her way into the kitchen.

  I nod, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “Yeah. I was just telling them I got here safely.” A lie, but I’m not about to confess what I was really talking about.

  “They must be good friends if they’re worried about your safety.” She walks up to me and folds her arms. “I just want you to know that, while there’s a lot of chaos in this house, you’re still safe with us. And if you have any questions at all, please ask. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” She places her hand on mine. “I’ve always wanted a daughter, and while I know I can never replace your mom, I’d like us to be friends.”

  “Okay … I do have one question.” Well, one that I’m daring to ask. “What was that shrieking I heard earlier?”

  At first, she appears clueless, but then recognition lights up her eyes, and she chuckles. “That was Easton.”

  “Is he okay?”

  She gives my hand a squeeze. “While my boys love to pull pranks on people, they don’t handle it well when they’re on the receiving end.” A wary look crosses her face. “Do me a favor? Lock your bedroom door tonight, okay? While I’d like to believe my boys won’t try to prank you, there’s always a tiny chance they’ll try.”

  “Okay.” I eye her over, questioning if she’s being serious.

  She sure looks like she is, and that makes my worry skyrocket.

  So, I have to lock the door when I’m sleeping. Yeah, if I wasn’t already uneasy about living here, I sure as hell am now.

  Eleven

  That night, after I change into my pajamas, I slip into bed with the door locked. My belly is full of yummy spaghetti and garlic bread, and the mattress is more comfortable than any I’ve ever slept on.

  Even though I had a pretty long nap today, my eyelids feel extremely heavy. I’m so close to dozing off when I hear voices just outside my window.

  Confused, I climb out of bed, pad over to the window nook, and peer outside. The view from my bedroom is directly into the backyard, which is acres and acres of land that stretches toward a thick forest. And hurrying across the land toward the trees are three figures, one significantly taller than the other two, although all appear on the taller side. And all are wearing hoods pulled over their heads, as if they’re trying to keep their identities concealed.

  I start to back away, worried they’re thieves or something, when one of the figures comes to a stop and turns to look at me, the moonlight hitting their face.

  Foster?

  What the hell?

  Staring at me for a moment, he takes off and disappears into the night.

  Have you ever woken up feeling as though you have a hangover, yet you never drank the night before? Well, that’s about how I feel the next morning when my eyes blink open.

  It takes me a second to get my bearings, to remember that I moved in with the Everettsons. Then, a second later, my head begins to throb.

  “God, I feel like shit,” I mumble, rolling onto my side and retrieving my phone off the nightstand. When I note the time, I wonder if I somehow did get drunk last night and just don’t remember.

  “Two thirty in the fucking afternoon? How did I sleep so late?” I rub my eyes and blink a couple of times.

  It takes a couple of minutes before I have a clear enough head to get out of bed. Then I grab a pair of black pants and a grey tank top before heading toward the bathroom to take a shower.

  Emaline showed me which bathroom was mine last night. And I mean mine in the literal sense. Apparently, there are enough bathrooms in this house to go around, so I get my very own. I’ve never had my own bathroom, so it’s a bit weird, but I’m pretty grateful I don’t have to share with any of the Everettson brothers.

  After I shower, get dressed, and comb my hair, I make my way downstairs to get some breakfast. By the time I make it to the main floor, I begin to wonder if perhaps no one is home. When I push into the kitchen, I realize my assumption is correct.

  Taped on the front of the fridge is a note:

  Hey Sky!

  Just wanted to let you know that we’ll be gone for most of the morning for a baseball tournament (I think Gabe mentioned it yesterday). Help yourself to whatever you need, and if you’d like Charlotte to make you some lunch, just push the buzzer near the fridge. You can also wander around and get familiar with the house. Just steer clear of the basement because we’re having issues with mice. There’s a pool out back in the garden room if you’d like to go for a swim.

  If you need to get ahold of any of us, there’s a list of all our numbers in the note section on the iPad on the counter, along with the passcode to the house alarm in case you need to set it. If you wouldn’t mind adding your phone number to the list, that’d be fantastic. That way, we can get ahold of you, too.

  We won’t be home until late this afternoon. I also wanted to tell you that we’ll be leaving for school around seven thirty tomorrow morning. I’ll drive you tomorrow so we can talk to the principal and whatnot. After that, you can ride with Easton and Foster, who have assured me that they’ll show you the ropes of Farealee Land Academy.

  And if you need anything at all, just let me know! That’s what I’m here for!

  — Emaline

  Crap, somewhere between the madness and moving, I completely forgot that I’ll be attending a new school. And an academy at that. Not that I’m even sure what the difference is between one and a public school. But still, it makes me nervous.

  “Please say you’re here for me,” a succulent voice sails over my shoulder, startling me so badly I nearly jolt out of my skin.

  Whirling around, I find a tall, lean guy with short brown hair standing near the door. He’s wearing a long-sleeved, grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black pants, thick boots, and his intense golden eyes are meticulously skimming over me.

  “Um …” I shift my weight, scratching at my arm.

  The edges of his lips kick up into a grin. “You might be the best present I’ve gotten yet.”

  I blink. “Huh?”

  He grins, his lips parting. “I think I—”

  The door behind him swings open and in walks a guy who looks like the other guy’s doppelganger. The only visible difference I can see is their outfits; the guy who entered sporting a navy blue, long-sleeved shirt instead of a grey one, and he has on jeans and Converse sneakers.

  So, these are the identical twins.

  “Hey, Hunter, what do you think about …?” He trails off as his gaze finds mine. “What is this?” he asks, deliberately scanning me over in confusion.

  “I think Max got us an early birthday present,” the other guy—Hunter—sucks his lip between his teeth. “He did good this year. Way better than last year.”

  Holden’s brows dip and I notice the scar Gabe was talking about. “Are you sure that’s what she is?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m Skylin.”

  Holden’s lips form an
O.

  “My, my, when Mom and Dad told us they’d be taking in someone as a favor to an old friend, I didn’t expect this,” Hunter says with a grin.

  “Careful, Hunt.” A warning seeps into Holden’s tone as he throws a sharp look at his brother. After staring down a grinning Hunter for the most awkwardly silent minute ever, Holden sighs then focuses on me. “Hey.” He steps toward me with his hand outstretched. “I’m Holden, and this”—he nods at the other guy—“is Hunter. I’m sorry for being weird. We were just a little bit confused … We thought you weren’t going to be here until tomorrow.”

  I guess that sort of explains their confusion, but I still don’t understand why they thought I was a present for them.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I shake his hand.

  A smile graces Holden’s lips. “I know the circumstance of you having to stay with us isn’t great, but I just want you to know that we’re glad to have you here.”

  Thank God. He’s actually nice.

  “Thanks.”

  A bit of relief douses over me until Hunter steps forward, snatches my hand from Holden, and kisses my knuckles.

  “Tu mi, sint satis est splendidis stellis.”

  “Oh, for the love of god,” Holden groans. “Sky, just ignore him.”

  “Since I have no clue what he said, that’s pretty doable,” I say, eliciting a chuckle from them both.

  “She’s cute,” Hunter says to Holden. “Can I keep her?”

  Cute? No guy has ever called me cute. Well, except for Gage, but he doesn’t count.

  My cheeks flood with heat.

  Shit. Am I blushing?

  Hunter grins. “Yeah, I’m definitely keeping her.”

  Holden heaves a sigh then looks at me. “Sorry, he doesn’t come with a filter. You get used to it, though. Or, well, you learn to just ignore it.”

  I nod, my skin warming even more.

  A phone buzzes from somewhere, but Hunter’s eyes never waver from me, even when he sticks his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Holden does the same thing, and I let a gradual breath ease past my lips as they both focus on their phones.