Home > Filthy Dark(7)

Filthy Dark(7)
Author: Serena Akeroyd

What had just happened?

Why had he looked at Deirdre like he hated her, then looked at me as if he didn’t?

Feeling overheated and sweaty—neither of which was pleasant in my polyester uniform—I forced my lungs to calm, my heart to slow down. Then he approached my table, and all hell broke loose.

I thought I was going to burn to a pile of ash on the seat, especially when he put his hand on the table and leaned on it.

His body was beside me, his heat so close that the ash thing could still happen, and his scent? Sweet baby Jesus. I’d never smelled anything like it.

It was like heat and man and musk and mint and citrus.

Who smelled like that when they were a teenager? Shouldn’t he reek of Axe?

I licked my lips, well aware that, though he was beside me, he didn’t look at me again. His focus was on Deirdre, and his voice? Unpleasant.

Oh, not his actual voice. That was deep and husky. Again, making me wonder if he’d had to stay back a grade or something because he was so old. He felt so much more mature than anyone else.

Aware I was sweating like I’d been in P.E. all morning, I hunched my shoulders as I recognized that the inherent dislike I’d seen on his face when he’d looked at Deirdre was totally present in his tone too.

She didn’t notice. Her cheeks turned bright pink, her eyes glittered, and she stared at him like he was a trophy she coveted.

Maybe he was.

She liked to think of herself as the leader of our little gang, so being tied to Declan upped her position not only among her friends, but in the entirety of the Points.

If she could keep hold of him, tight and fast, and get him to an altar… that would change her whole future.

The thought left me shaken for some stupid reason. I had no idea why the thought of Deirdre marrying Declan like he was some kind of cash cow put me on edge, but it did.

It was done in our world all the time.

Advantageous matches were the norm.

I bit my lip as I reached for my Diet Coke, but unfortunately for me, my movement came at the same time Declan snapped, “You need to stop fucking around, Deirdre. Either you can go, or you can’t—”

While I was used to Dad huffing and puffing, the hatred in Declan’s voice had me stunned. I knocked over my can, and immediately went to right it, but his hand was there, catching it.

His fingers brushed mine.

And it was like something from a book.

The sparks shot through me, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I gulped as he gritted out, “You should be more careful.” But his tone was different.

Softer.

Peeping up at him, I shot him a shy and apologetic glance. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His eyes lingered on mine, and I felt the laser-like brand as if I’d just had LASIK.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Deirdre puff up like a pissed off peacock and immediately ducked my head and stared at my tray.

Conversation started up again, and his deep, rumbly voice carried on, but even though everything just muddled on its way, nothing was the same.

Nothing at all.

And I had no idea why.

 

 

Three

 

 

Aela

 

 

Now

 

 

When Seamus’s head popped up at the door opening, I grinned at him.

He’d just turned fourteen, and while he was a precocious pain in my ass because he was a teenager, and he’d been overridden with hormones that made him a jerk, he was mine.

I was proud of him.

I mean, I’d known that before this whole shitstorm, but to be honest, I felt it even more so now.

I’d done this.

On my own.

I’d not only helped give birth to this wonderful kid with zero support system, but he was smart, well-rounded, and a good boy. He worked hard, was conscientious, and he gave a fuck.

Yeah, that was probably what mattered the most to me.

He gave a fuck about things that a lot of kids his age might not have cared about.

He was the one who sorted out our recycling, for Christ’s sake. He was the one who was planning on joining a walk next month to protest some Congress ruling that was rolling back ocean conservation.

I’d made this boy what he was, and I had to have faith that his father wouldn’t ruin fourteen years of tutelage.

“Mom!” he declared, his face lighting up with happiness now that I was home.

Of course, it was quashed a second later when he realized he was fourteen and he shouldn’t be happy to see his mom—it wasn’t cool.

But I’d take that one second of joy.

We were close, Shay and me. Even if testosterone was putting a wall between us that I wouldn’t be able to breach until he was back to being normal.

After the last few days I’d had, I needed a hug from my main man, so with him on his feet, I didn’t even give a shit that he backed away from me like I had pus-ridden sores on my face, like I was a frickin’ zombie. I just grabbed him, tackled him into a bear hug, and when he let me, when the struggle wasn’t too bad, I smiled into his hair, because he wanted this too.

“Missed you, butt face.”

I felt him snicker. “I inherited the butt face from you.”

I grinned. “That’s why you’re so purty.”

He scoffed at that, and I let him, just enjoying the hug, enjoying the way his arms were so tight around me—

Fuck.

Was this going to ruin our relationship?

I’d never hidden who his father was from him. What was the point? Along the way, he’d ask, he’d find out, so I’d been candid with him. Just like I was about everything.

He wanted to know about sex at nine, so I told him. Not graphic things, nothing like that. I just explained it, and I did so in a way that wasn’t embarrassing because I wanted him to know that he could come to me about anything.

He was a curious kid, and he’d asked questions, just like he did about everything. I fostered that need to grow, and we were solid as a result. Sure, he was getting more secretive and his bedroom door remained glued shut for reasons I thought were penis related, but what went down with him and his sock and hand were his own issues.

So long as I didn’t have to clean the socks.

Still, even though he was a little gross, and smelled a bit sweaty after a day at school, he was my boy.

Mine.

Not Declan’s.

Even though he was a teeny-weeny bit.

When he started to wriggle in my arms, I grinned and let him go, only after I’d kissed his temple and told him, “You need a shower, stinky.”

He wrinkled his nose. “This is the smell of honest, hard-earned sweat.”

I arched a brow at him. “What did you do?”

He raised his arm and did a bicep curl. He was still pretty small, but he’d been working out to try to get onto the football team. So far, he was on the squad, just not in the position he wanted to be in.

Something to do with him being too light to be a linebacker, or some crap like that.

I knew the basics of football for his sake, but the minutiae? Not even motherly love could make me embrace that particular game.

My son was a conservationist jock.

I’d done that.

I’d created the next hybrid.

Lips twitching at the thought, I listened in as he explained, “I worked in the garden.”

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