The Simplicity in Chaos

by Jessica Sorensen

  “Sky, are you sure you don’t want anything for dinner?” Emaline asks over the sound of a knock.

  The strange thing is, the knock isn’t on my door.

  I start to open my mouth to reply to her when I hear Easton say, “She was acting really weird when we showed her to her room.”

  “She would barely talk to us,” Foster chimes in. “I think she might just want to be left alone.”

  “She’s probably so terrified,” Emaline mutters. “I can only imagine what the poor girl is going through.”

  “I bet she wants some time to herself,” Easton tells her. “I know I would if I was in her situation.”

  “I agree with East,” Foster says.

  A beat of silence trickles between them.

  “What did you guys do?” Emaline asks suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” Easton and Foster say simultaneously.

  Emaline heaves an exhausted sigh. “I’m going to try to find your father. Maybe he can talk Skylin into coming out of her room, if nothing else, at least to eat something.”

  Silence lingers in the air for a moment, and then an unfamiliar deep voice asks, “All right, what did you two assholes do?”

  “Nothing,” Easton says. “We did nothing at all.”

  I hear a whack and then an, “Ow, fuck, that hurt.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s going to hurt a lot worse if you don’t fess up and tell me what you did to Skylin,” the deep voice says.

  “Whatever, Max,” Easton grumbles. “We didn’t do anything to her, other than make sure she stays out of everyone’s way.”

  “Which needs to happen,” Foster emphasizes. “You know it does.”

  “Maybe,” the stranger—Max—mutters in agreement. A long pause passes between them, and then he sighs. “Look, I know this situation is complicated but, for whatever reason, Mom and Dad seem pretty set on taking this girl in. And we need to respect that and trust they’ll keep our secrets protected.”

  I slant back from the door. Secrets? What secrets?

  “Mom and Dad aren’t thinking clearly,” Easton points out. “All they care about is that they owe Skylin’s parents. They’re not considering what it’s going to be like for all of us having her live under the same roof.” He spits out the word her as if it’s vile—as if I’m vile.

  “I’m sure they considered it and figured we’re all mature enough that we can handle her being around.” A warning rings in Max’s tone.

  “Whatever,” Easton mutters.

  “Just tell me where she is,” Max says tiredly. “Because I know she’s not in the room Mom’s been knocking on.”

  Silence skips between them.

  “We may or may not have put her in the attic,” Easton admits with a surprising hint of guilt in his tone.

  “Jesus,” Max snaps, and then the doorknob in front of me begins to twist.

  I step back as the door swings open and a guy who looks a couple of years older than me appears in the doorway. Max, I’m assuming.

  From what Gabe told me earlier, Max is twenty years old and the second to oldest. He’s also not a twin, although he looks a lot like Easton, only his chin-length hair is black. And like Easton and Foster, he’s sporting all black attire, except for a grey shirt. He also has leather bands on his wrists and a couple of intricate tattoos weaving up his forearms.

  His vibrant green eyes widen when he spots me, and then he nearly trips over his feet. “Hey …” He looks me over, question marks flooding his eyes. “Okay, you so weren’t what I was expecting.” He glances at his brothers with his brow arched, not saying anything, just staring them down.

  Strangely, Easton and Foster both squirm, something I didn’t think could be possible with how arrogant they both are.

  “We told you she has eyes like lightning.” Easton shrugs as if this answers whatever silent question Max is asking.

  When Max continues to stare him down, I smile to myself as Easton gets all squirmy. When Foster notices my grin, his lips curve upward, but then they hastily falter.

  What is with this guy? And why are they so worried about me staying with them?

  I think about the detective I met in the diner and so many questions dance around in my mind, but evaporate as Max offers me a charming smile.

  “You must be Skylin.” He sticks out his hand. “I’m Max. I’m the second to oldest in the fucking litter that is my family.”

  “I know. Your dad told me who everyone was.” I eyeball his hand dubiously.

  After the shit that’s gone on with Easton and Foster, I’m reluctant to shake it. Perhaps he’s going to pretend to be nice only so he can push me back and lock me up in the attic. Which, from what I just overheard, I’m guessing isn’t really where I’m supposed to be staying.

  “It’s okay. I promise I don’t bite.” He holds back an amused smile as he urges me to take his hand.

  Still a bit hesitant, I slip my hand in his. “It’s nice to meet you,” I mutter.

  He smiles.” It’s nice to meet you too.” Max clears his throat. “I’m not sure what my brothers told you, but this”—he points up at the stairs behind me—“isn’t your new room.” He steps toward me, and I have to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. Good God, I’m tall, yet he makes me feel short. “I’m sorry for whatever they said or did to you. I’d like to say this isn’t how they normally act, but that’d be a huge fucking lie.”

  “Oh, shut the hell up, Max,” Easton says with an eye roll. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t ever pulled a prank on anyone before.”

  “Maybe I have, but not one this pretty,” Max says with another charming grin.

  My cheeks stupidly flush.

  Max grins, watching me with interest. “Your blushing is adorable.”

  Easton lightly smacks his shoulder and hisses, “Dude, Mom said not to hit on her.”

  He was hitting on me? I nearly snort a laugh. Yeah right.

  But when Max continues to stare at me without protesting, I wonder if maybe he is. The question is: why?

  Wait. Maybe this is a prank?

  “Yeah? So? Mom’s not here, is she?” Max says to Easton without taking his eyes off me. “And if you don’t tell her about this, then I’ll make sure not to tell her that you two jackasses told this pretty girl that the attic was her bedroom.” He glances at something above my head, then a frown forms on his face as he reaches over and flips the light switch off then on again. When not a drop of light flows around the room, his frown deepens. “Were you stuck up there with the power off?”

  “I wasn’t stuck up here. I could’ve walked out at any time,” I point out. “And the lights were on when I fell asleep, but when I woke up, they were off.” I shrug. “I just figured maybe someone turned them off.”

  “The storm probably tripped the breaker.” Max turns to Easton and Foster and smacks them on top of their heads. “Fucking hell. What is wrong with you two? Making her sit up there in that dusty piece of shit room in the dark?”

  Easton swallows audibly. “I’m sorry. But in our defense, we didn’t realize the power went off.”

  Foster yanks his fingers through his hair, his gaze flitting from me to Max. “It was just a prank, okay? We didn’t make the damn power to go off.”

  “Well, it did,” Max says in a low tone, tension flowing off him. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”

  I have to bite back a smile, getting some twisted gratification watching him chew out Easton and Foster.

  When Foster and Easton nod, Max wiggles his shoulders, clearing the tension, and turns back toward me, pointing to the shut door to the side of him. “This right here is your room. Would you like to see it? I promise it’s way better than the attic.”

  With everything that’s happened over the last handful of hours, I’m not sure if I trust him. Sure, he seems nice enough, albeit a bit intense.

  But what do I really have to lose at this point? Besides, anything’s better than sleeping in an attic, right?

  I sure hop
e so.

  I will my lips to turn upward. “Sure.”

  He smiles then offers me his hand.

  Seriously, he wants me to take his hand? Half of me really wants to, mainly for the sole reason that I’ve never held a guy’s hand, let alone a guy this gorgeous. But the other half of me worries this is all a prank.

  “Relax. I already said I’m not going to bite,” Max assures me then slips his fingers through mine and tugs me down the last step.

  Easton and Foster trade a look, and then Easton rolls his eyes.

  Max ignores them, steering me in front of the shut door, and pushes open the door.

  As I tentatively step in, my jaw nearly hits the ground. Almost everything from the walls to the bed to the chandelier is either a deep purple or a shimmering black. The room is huge, too; almost as big as my old living room and bedroom combined.

  “Wow,” I mutter as I turn in a circle, taking in the lavender curtains enclosing the bed and the ebony ceiling that shimmers like stars. “This is …” I glance at Max. “Are you sure this is where I’m supposed to be staying?”

  Max points at the boxes piled near the closet—my boxes. “I’m sure. Mom spent the last couple of days repainting it and putting new furniture in.”

  “She didn’t have to do that,” I say, but can’t help wondering how she managed to nail what my dream room would look like.

  “She knows that, but she wanted to do this for you,” Max explains. “I think she’s always secretly wanted a daughter.”

  I try not to frown. While I appreciate the gesture of the nice room, I don’t want to be anyone’s daughter but my mothers.

  He crosses his arms and props his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Please don’t let what happened with my brothers affect you too much. I promise my family isn’t a bunch of douchebags. We’re all pretty nice. Foster and Easton are just …” He wavers, tilting his head from side to side.

  “Assholes,” I offer.

  He laughs softly. “I was going to go with spoiled brats, but assholes works, too.” He nibbles on his lip, his eyes scanning up and down my body.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder if he was checking me out. But I do know better. I know there’s no way this gorgeous guy could be checking me out.

  “Do you want me to show you where the kitchen is?” he asks. “You’ve got to be starving.”

  I nod. “Yeah, actually. That’d be great.”

  His lips turn upward, then he nods as he retreats back into the hallway.

  Foster and Easton are no longer lurking around, something I’m grateful for.

  “I really am sorry for what my brothers did to you,” Max says as we walk down the hallway. “Give them some time, though, and I’m sure they’ll warm up to you.”

  “It’s fine if they don’t,” I say. When he gives me a perplexed look, I add, “It’s not like I’m going to be here for very long. I turn eighteen in six months.”

  His brows furrow. “And then what?”

  I lift a shoulder. “And then I move out.”

  He combs strands of his hair out of his eyes with his fingers. “But, where will you go?”

  I shrug again. “College maybe. I might do a road trip with my friends.” I scratch my arm. “I actually really need to get a job so I can save up some cash. This town looks really small, though.”

  “It is really small. And the people here are really wary about hiring out of towners,” he says. “If you want a job, you’re probably going to have to look in Star Grove.”

  “How far is that?”

  “About forty minutes from here.”

  I let out a weighted sigh. “Is there a bus that goes there?”

  He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope. The only form of transportation here is by your own car. Or, in my case, a motorcycle.”

  “Oh.” I crinkle my nose.

  “If you need a ride somewhere, I’m sure one of us can give you one.” He slows to a stop in front of a shut door and lifts his hand to knock. “Or you can just borrow one of my dad’s many, many cars.”

  Yeah right. I’m nowhere near comfortable asking to borrow a vehicle. I’m just going to have to figure out another way or beg for someone to hire me here.

  “He won’t mind,” Max insists, knocking on the door. “My dad’s a nice guy.”

  “Yeah, he seems like it,” I agree, but that still doesn’t mean I’m going to ask to borrow his car.

  Smiling, he leans closer to the door. “Hey, Mom, I got Skylin out of her room. I’m going to take her down to the kitchen to get her something to eat.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Emaline says breathlessly. I hear a couple of loud crashes, and then the door is cracked open and she peers out.

  Her hair is a wild mess, her cheeks are flushed, and her breaths are coming out in a rush.

  My mom once opened her bedroom door like that and looked the same way. I think it was because her and my dad were having sex.

  My discomfort goes from a ten to an eleven hundred.

  An ounce of relief washes over her face as she sees me. “Skylin, honey, I am so sorry for whatever happened. Rest assured, though, all my children are going to be extremely nice to you from now on.”

  I nod, even though I highly doubt that’s going to be the case. But I’m not about to protest because, for one, I’m a guest in this house; and two, I’m pretty certain she was just in the middle of having sex with Gabe and I want this conversation to end as quickly as possible.

  She smiles at me, but when her gaze glides to Max, her lips sink. “Can you do me a favor? After you show Skylin where the kitchen is, can you run out to the garage and get me the tool box.”

  Max’s brows knit. “What for?”

  “Because I may have just broke the bed,” she says. “Or well, a couple of screws came loose.”

  I cringe.

  Max looks equally as uncomfortable as I am. “Yeah, give me a second.”

  “Thanks.” Emaline smiles at him then shuts the door.

  Sighing, Max turns and heads down the hallway, motioning for me to follow.

  Neither one of us say anything as we hurry down the stairway and step into a dark room. Max then flips the light on, revealing a spacious kitchen with marble countertops and stainless-steel appliances.

  “Wait right here, okay?” he says to me. “I’ll get my mom’s toll box then have Charlotte come in and make you something to eat.”

  “I can fix something myself …” My words fade as he walks out of the room.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I make my way across the kitchen, heading for the fridge. I feel weird just going through their food, but I feel even weirder about the idea of someone cooking something just for me.

  When I open the fridge, though, I immediately regret my decision.

  “What on earth …?” I frown at the glass jars covering the shelves, each filled with oddly textured substances, like glittering purple liquid, oozing green cream.

  Curious, I take out a jar, twist the lid off, and sniff it. Then I almost puke on the floor.

  “God, that smells like rotten eggs.” I quickly put the lid back on and put the jar back into the fridge.

  Then I dig my phone out of my pocket and send Nina and Gage a group text.

  Me: So, is there any reason in particular why someone would keep jars full of stinky goo in their fridge?

  Nina: Let me guess? Your new parentals have a bunch of jars of goo in their fridge.

  Me: Yep and the stuff inside stinks like rotten eggs.

  Nina: Maybe they’re into homemade remedies or something.

  Gage: Or maybe they eat the stuff.

  Me: Gross.

  Gage: It’s gross, for sure, but in some people, particularly heath nuts, eat some gross smelling stuff.

  Me: Well, I hope they don’t try to feed it to me.

  Crap. What if they don’t have normal food?

  “What’re you doing?” a low voice asks from behind me.

  “Fucking hell.”
I reel around, startled, and press my hand to my chest.

  The instant my eyes find the owner of the voice, my pulse speeds up. I’m not even positive why my heart rate spikes, other than I’m startled and this guy is shockingly pretty in a way that I thought only existed in fairy tales or some shit like that.

  Short, blond hair; full, pierced lips; and lavender eyes a similar shade to Emaline’s. He’s also tall and lean, and his skin is heavily inked with similar tattoos as Max’s.

  Good Lord, are all the Everettsons gorgeous?

  He cocks his head to the side as his gaze sweeps up my body. Then his lips spread into a grin that I can’t tell for sure if it’s friendly or malicious.

  “You must be Skylin.”

  I nod, shifting my weight. “Yeah.”

  His grin magnifies. “I’m Porter.”

  “Oh.” I relax a smidgeon. “You’re the oldest, right?”

  He nods then studies me for a thunder boom of a second before gracefully rounding the island and coming to a stop in front of me. “So, what exactly were you doing in there?” He nods at the fridge without taking his eyes off me.

  “Um …” I’m finding it really hard to concentrate. “I was just going to make myself something to eat.”

  “But something grossed you out, right?”

  I bob my head up and down. “Yeah, there wasn’t any food in there. Just some weird looking goo.”

  He chuckles. “It’s not goo. I promise.”

  “So what is it then?”

  Wetting his lips with his tongue, he reaches for me—or, at least I think he’s reaching for me—but then he places his hand against the shut door of the fridge so his arm’s resting right beside my head.

  “What would you say if I told you that it was food?” he asks amusedly. “That we eat that stuff in there?”

  “Um, I’d say … cool?” It comes out more of a question.

  He studies me intently with his head tilted to the side, then a chuckle slips from his lips. “Cool, huh? That’s the only reaction I get?”

  “What do you want me to do?” I wonder, my heart thumping in my chest for some crazy-ass reason.

  He bites down on his bottom lip hard. “That, honey, is a very dangerous question.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.