Reining Devotion: A Chaotic Rein novel Page 6

  Seconds pass before the realization of our position hits us both. Plastered against one another, there’s little for our imagination. She can feel every inch of me, in the same way, I feel every soft curve of hers.

  Another beat and then she moves, shifting quickly out of my space and the warmth my body was offering hers.

  I stand, watching her cautiously. “Gonna get you some water.”

  She refuses me eye contact, grabbing at the nearest cushion to pull it tightly against her chest. Her knuckles are white with the pressure of her hold on the cotton, taut muscles spasming in an uncontrollable form of shock.

  I’m no stranger to nightmares. To the memories that haunt my dreams and rob me of the peace I so desperately crave. It’s taken me years, almost twenty to be exact, but I’ve taught myself how to overcome that oppressive panic that seizes you. That forces you to believe you’re close to dying.

  The way Camryn feels right now.

  I can see her from the kitchen entryway, frozen in place. The quick sharp movements of her shoulders dancing with every harsh breath her body pulls in.

  Moving back toward her, her big blue eyes look up at me through wet lashes, her hand reaching for the glass stretched toward her.

  Her hand shakes the glass involuntarily as mine pulls away, but her free hand steadies the tremor, clutching on to pull it to her lips. Her throat moves in quick succession to swallow the entire contents in seconds and I watch on in silence.

  She hands the glass back without a word. Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she removes the droplets that escaped in her haste to rehydrate herself.

  “Why are you helping me?” she bites out.

  Generalizations are the assholes of the world. Attached to everyone you see, nothing but an avenue to pour shit on the world. Most people look at me and decide I’m a selfish motherfucker who would step on my own mother to get what I wanted. They look at the cold glint in my eyes and decide that I’m unfeeling.

  “I’m no stranger to being woken by past experiences that feel the need to haunt me in sleep,” I reply. “And as much as you don’t want to believe it, I do have a fucking heart.”

  “I know that,” she rushes out gently.

  I raise an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corner of my lips.

  “I’m a nurse. Everyone has a heart.” She looks embarrassed. “Even the people on the planet who don’t deserve to breathe.”

  I dip my chin in agreement, not entirely confident that comment was directed at me, but also, not entirely confident it wasn’t either.

  “Hearts don’t determine if you’re a good person or not. It’s your soul.”

  My head moves back slightly in shock. “You work in the medical field and you believe we have a soul?”

  She nods. “I have to. Otherwise, I have to contemplate that we’re just vessels, all capable of evil.”

  “You don’t think you’re capable of hurting someone?”

  I watch the line of her throat swallow thickly. “I know I am,” she whispers. “And it scares me more than anything else in this world.”

  I let my eyes drift over her face in the span of three blinks. My mind trying to understand this highly complex woman.

  “Let’s watch a movie,” I offer, unsure what else to say. “It always helps me relax back into sleep.”

  She nods quickly. “I just need the bathroom.”

  She wanders back into the living room fifteen minutes later, a small limp in her step.

  “You okay?”

  She nods easily. “Jabbed my thigh against the corner of the vanity.”

  I watch her settle onto the couch, a small grimace of discomfort on her face. “Need an ice pack?”

  She shakes her head. “What movie did you choose?”

  I press play, relaxing into the couch.

  “Superbad.” She smiles. “I fucking love this movie.”

  Her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. Not exactly a whisper, more a hesitant murmur. It’s disconcerting. Camryn Rein throws words like daggers, aiming to maim in a poor attempt to keep people at a distance.

  She’s shaking, small almost indeterminable tremors that wrack through her frame as she straightens her spine, feigning calm.

  Why I feel an overwhelming need to soothe her is beyond me. We’re foes. But side-by-side on the sectional, I don’t question myself as my hand lifts to wrap itself around hers.

  A sharp intake of breath, held in for a tense three seconds before she releases it.

  “Just you and me in here, Cami. Fuck the monsters of your mind off, they ain’t gonna go up against me.”

  Her hand twitches in mine and I ready myself for her to snatch it back. But she surprises the fuck out of me, squeezing my fingers in a silent gesture of thank you instead.

  She drifts off halfway through the movie, head rested against my shoulder in slumber. I consider moving her, but decide against it. She’s calm, peaceful in this cycle of sleep and I don’t have it in me to take that away from her.

  Stuffing a cushion behind my neck, I watch the rest of the movie, the credits rolling before it hits me.

  The vanity in the downstairs bathroom extends the length of the wall. Meaning there are no fucking corners for her to collide with.

  She’s gone by the time I stir awake hours later, the soft smell of her perfume still lingering on my shirt and my want to comfort her again both confusing and irritating to my psyche.

  Chapter Eight

  Rocco

  My feet follow the stairwell downward, thick heavy footfalls silenced by the soft carpet under my toes.

  As a kid, I created an image of what the Rein mansion would look like. Built with arrogance and decorated in the same way. I was certain of it. Wanna-be royals almost; reds and golds and shit that you weren’t allowed to touch, couches that you were forbidden from sitting on.

  It annoys me that my misguided thoughts were just another bullet point to add to my expanding list of all the ways I was wrong.

  It’s as homely as it fucking comes. Soft carpets, fireplaces, pictures of the Rein girls decorating the walls. Shit, the old man still has their elementary school drawings on his fridge. It’s opulent, don’t get me wrong. But in a way that doesn’t scream money. It’s tasteful.

  Soft music drifts from the sitting room, the quiet melody amplified by laughter. My frown comes on almost instantaneously. The scene before me as foreign as it is uncomfortable.

  Christmas decorations are spilling out of boxes. No lie, there are so many of them, the crates are bursting with thick wreathing, hand-crafted ornaments, holly, tinsel, lights. You name it. It’s here, spewed along their sitting room like Santa’s workshop all but existed here, in this very space.

  Parker, dressed in a ridiculous red velvet hat with a large white pom-pom hanging off the end, holds mistletoe over a giggling Codi’s head, leaning in for a kiss.

  “What the fuck are you wearin’?” I interrupt before their lips can touch.

  “Rocco!” Codi exclaims excitedly, picking up another Christmas hat as she makes toward me.

  “One more step with the fucking thing…” I warn.

  “You’ll what?” she sasses, stupid reindeer earrings dangling from her ears.

  “What’s with all this?” I ignore the way she calls me out.

  “It’s Christmas,” she answers unnecessarily.

  “We’re adults,” I retort.

  Codi, having lost interest in trying to assault me with a Santa hat, moves toward the hideously large Christmas tree nestled in the corner of the room. “Parker was a bah-humbug too when I met him. I’ll convert you,” she promises.

  I scowl at my brother, but he only shrugs, attempting to disguise the smile on his face.

  His smile isn’t smug. He’d wear that like his stupid fucking hat. Unapologetically proud. But it’s not that, there’s no enjoyment at my discomfort. He’s attempting to hide his genuine happiness of a holiday we’d long since pretended never existed.

&n
bsp; When Mom was alive, we celebrated. Much like this. Over-the-top decorations, Christmas Carols, a ridiculous and wasteful amount of gifts and food. That all died in the ass the year she was shot. Christmas was just another painful reminder of everything we’d lost. It was easier for Parker and me to shut ourselves away on a day everyone else was celebrating with family and pretend we were too cool for the fairytale of a fat man in a red velvet suit.

  Mira tried. Of course, she did. But we killed her need to offer us normalcy in the same way Marcus’ bullet penetrated her skull. Brutally. Immediately.

  A pain stabs me through the chest at the joy on Parker’s face. A realization I’ve chosen to ignore for too long dawns on me in another cloud of self-hatred. He wanted this. All along, he wanted, needed the overblown intricacies of Christmas.

  And I kept it from him.

  He played along with me, shutting it all out, when in reality, even without Mom there, this would’ve let him feel close to her.

  “Rocco.” Dominic slaps me on the back, moving into the room, dressed much like Codi and Parker; too festive for my comfort. “Nice to see you moving around, son. Sit, relax.”

  I cringe at the endearment. Son. I’m neither. Not familial. Not a fucking child.

  Oblivious to the fire raging inside of me, he passes me the hat Codi had attempted to suffocate with me only moments ago. I take it reluctantly, fisting the material roughly.

  It’s vexatious; feeling like an unwanted guest when your host insists on acting like you’re family. Especially after the things I’ve done. The damage I’ve caused. I don’t deserve the Rein’s hospitality, yet they moved straight past forgiveness and right into an acceptance I was neither expecting nor wanting.

  “I’m actually pretty shattered,” I lie, dropping the hat onto the couch. “Gonna grab some more shut-eye.”

  The idea alone is enough to give me hives. I’m going stir fucking crazy in that room. The walls are inching closer together with each day that passes. I’d likely saw off my left arm before torturing myself with another twenty-four hours in the prison of Camryn’s teenage years.

  Reminders of her happy childhood amplify my nightmares. I’d leave if I felt healthy enough to do so. But I’ve only just started to kick the fever I was certain was gonna take my life only days ago. It makes me sick to my stomach to admit, but I’d be dead without Camryn Rein. A fact that sits like a tumor within me. Being indebted to anyone is a giant fucking red flag for me. Being indebted to a Rein. Fuck. No.

  “Nonsense.” Dominic waves me off. “You’ve done nothing but sleep for days. Being out of that room will do you good. Camryn’s hanging lights along the front. You go help her.”

  He turns around without waiting for me to respond and I feel chided. I just got told what to do by a crime boss in a Santa hat. I blink back the irritation bristling between my shoulders, coughing out a disinterested grunt before turning on my feet.

  I move out of the room without delay, needing to rest my eardrums from the bleeding lyrics of some tool singing about jingling bells. A hand grasped along the banister, I pause at the first step, eyes falling on the front door. Without second-guessing myself, I move toward it. Not because Dominic told me to, I assure myself; but because I wanna see the Rein’s very own angry elf stringing lights.

  Much to my disappointment, she’s not struggling. She’s also not excelling. Her ass is planted along the curb, eyes closed, head tipped back to let the wind whip along her face.

  “Most people avoid the wind.”

  I struggle to sit, the curb low enough to make my side scream in protest as I maneuver down beside her.

  She startles at my voice. “I’m not most people.”

  I don’t argue.

  She’s been avoiding me for days. Ever since I witnessed a vulnerable moment she’d offer a limb to have kept hidden. She makes Dominic bring me my meds and when she has no choice but to check my wound, she refuses to speak or look me in the eye.

  I’m not offended. Fuck, I’m grateful. Her cold-shoulder is the greatest gift this prison has to offer.

  I half expect her to stand once I’ve settled, run off to avoid having to converse with me.

  “I wish it snowed more in December,” she speaks instead. “Seattle has the shittiest weather across the country, yet, we rarely get a white freaking Christmas.”

  “Tragic,” I gripe sarcastically. “Thought you were hanging lights.”

  She raises a dark brow. “We have this agreement, Dad and I. He tells me to hang the lights, which is a way to let me escape Codi and her elf-steroided-self. I sit here on the curb, doing nothing and then he does the lights himself.”

  I pick up a stone, skipping it across the road, watching it bounce over the asphalt. “Not a fan of Christmas?”

  She watches me candidly for a beat. Quiet seconds of retrospect muddled by confusion. An attempt to see inside my head, to dissect my heart. She had me pinned, or so she thought. My existence in her life has rattled her more than she cares for. Yet, she’s too focused on her own negative feelings to work out why.

  Eventually, she shakes her head. “I love Christmas. Codi is just another form of extra when it comes to decorating. For someone who shines rainbows and I’m certain believes in unicorns, she’s fucking scary when it comes to hanging ornaments.”

  I laugh, earning a sly smile.

  “How’s the injury?”

  I touch my side subconsciously. “Feels good. I’m still a bit stiff, but I don’t feel like I’m going to up and die anymore.”

  “I should say I’m glad.”

  “I’m more for honesty.”

  “Well then it sucks that I’m so good at what I do.”

  I bark out a rough laugh.

  “Surprised you haven’t attempted to escape again,” she mocks me. “Obviously we’re holding you hostage, torturing you by nursing you back to health.”

  “You tellin’ me if you were stuck in a bed in my loft, you’d stay there without an argument?”

  She looks positively traumatized by the thought.

  “Exactly,” I sigh.

  Quiet settles between us and I sigh uncomfortably.

  “Thank you,” I murmur. “Know coming to my rescue ain’t exactly high up on your Christmas list.”

  I watch the line of her throat bob with a thick swallow. “Didn’t do it for you,” she offers unapologetically. “Seeing you suffer was just an added bonus.”

  “Well then, you’re welcome.”

  We sit in contented silence as the sky turns from its murky grey to the beginnings of twilight. Stars now visible in the sky, the temperature dropping dramatically in the blink of an eye.

  “I don’t get it,” I test. “Your dad. He should want me dead, but he’s working his damnedest to make me feel like family. I know you owe me nothin’ but any idea if he plans on taking my life when he’s good and ready?”

  Pulling her arms around her body, shielding herself against the cold, she turns her neck, looking me over.

  “That’s not Dominic’s M.O., if he’s acting like you’re forgiven, you’re forgiven. If you forever let your past cloud your present, how can you possibly expect to move forward, in search of your future?”

  “Poetic,” I muse.

  “Dad,” she explains. “He’s preached it all our lives. He lives by the law that you settle grievances in the moment. Hate and anger only fester, likely exaggerating a reaction that never should’ve been. Holding onto resentment does nothing but stop you from achieving what you’re destined for.”

  “Smart guy.”

  She hugs her knees. “To Codi and my father, you are family. No matter your past sins. In this family, we don’t hold your mistakes against you. Blood is blood and that means something here.”

  “Even for you?”

  Her eyes close, a soft flutter of her dark lashes against the ruddiness of her cheeks. “This is a hard one for me. They’ve welcomed in a predator who was aiming to place a bullet hole in the very back I’m supposed to
protect.”

  It makes perfect sense. I’m the very threat they stand united against. And yet, here I stand. In amongst them. Not a wolf hiding among the sheep. A wolf, bared, and not entirely in different attire. It’s important not to forget that regardless of how hospitable Dominic Rein has been, continues to be… he’s feared for a reason.

  “No arguments here, beauty,” I grumble. “It’s whacked out to me, too.”

  “Ryn,” Codi interrupts. “You do this every year. Now Dad is going to have to do the front lights. You are such a freaking Grinch.”

  She storms on a huff before Camryn can respond, her stride purposely pissed off.

  We watch her retreat in amusement, smiles on both our faces.

  “What about you?” she asks quietly after Codi has disappeared from view. “Christmas; a lover or hater?”

  I scratch my beard in discomfort. “It’s just another day.”

  I feel her stare. The burning attention of her eyes on my profile.

  “We used to celebrate,” I confide when she doesn’t speak. “Lila was like Codi.”

  I watch her blink in sadness and I appreciate the lack of commiseration in the gesture. She’s saddened by the situation, and that’s where it ends. No pity or bleeding compassion.

  “When she died, there wasn’t too much we cared about celebrating.” I take a breath, unsure why I feel the need to add the next part. “Starting to realize maybe Parker was just goin’ along with my rejection of everything we shared with her.” Maybe it’s to offer her even footing again. She involuntarily showed her vulnerability, and it made her uneasy. This small sliver of me offering it back brings us back to an even playing field. It’s the least I can do, her saving my ass and all.

  “I wouldn’t want to celebrate if Dad had been stolen from us.”

  I watch her for a beat, a level of understanding passing between us.

  “Somethin’ tells me you would’ve anyway.” I pause. “For Codi.”

  She doesn’t argue. It’s the truth. Camryn Rein may be as jilted by the world as I am, but she hides it in her generosity, in helping others.

  I prefer to use it as my most powerful weapon. I choose to bask in the way I disappoint everyone close to me. That way it’s obvious that I’m not someone they can rely on. It’s best they are comfortable in the knowledge that in the end, I’ll only fail them anyway.