Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,98

and he gives me this look with those green-gold eyes of his.

“It's occupied,” he says, narrowing his gaze even further. “We hide the weed in there.”

“The weed?” I ask, imagining, like, a small baggy full of the green stuff.

“Yeah,” Aaron says, sounding tired. “We have some people that grow for us, and then they pass it over for drying. I don't want the girls to know what we do, so we hide it in there and keep the door locked.”

“Oh.” My fingers stay curled around the edge of the shower curtain. “That makes sense in a strange, Havoc sort of way …”

“It pays the bills,” Aaron says, watching me carefully as water drips down my face and sluices between my gently parted lips. “I don't exactly have dental or health insurance for the girls.”

“You don't have to justify yourself to me,” I say when I realize that he's getting defensive. That'd be Aaron for you. I think he always got off on being the nice guy. Now he can never be the nice guy again. It pisses him off, I think.

My gaze scans his body automatically, taking note of how much he's changed since we were together. His muscles are hard, covered in ink. His sweatpants hang too low, showing off that enticing 'V' on his hips that he never had before. While his personality may have downgraded, his body sure has upgraded.

I lift my eyes to his.

“I want to know everything that happened with Kali,” I tell him, and his jaw tightens. “I deserve that much at least, don't you think?”

“I …” Aaron trails off, and he doesn't look so badass for a moment there, but like the boy who held my hand in a rainy graveyard. “Yeah, you do.” He turns toward the door, and something catches in my throat. I think it's the need to call out to him, to ask him to come back, to look him in the eye and see if he still cares about me.

“For the record, I could never go to Nantucket,” I say, and he pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “My grandma can't take Heather in; they're not related. Nona's my dad's mother, remember? And I can't leave Heather with the Thing. You know what happened to Penelope.”

I can see Aaron's breath slow before he finally turns the knob.

“I'll make pancakes,” he says, and then he slips out and leaves me alone to slide down the shower wall.

For the first time in almost two years, I cry.

And it feels fucking great.

Dressed in cut-off shorts, and a dark pink halter that mimics the color of my hair, I head downstairs and find all five guys in the kitchen, sitting on counters, slouching against walls, all of them with breakfast plates in their hands.

I walk in barefoot and all eyes fall on me, making me shiver. It makes me feel both powerful and terrified at the same time; I can't explain it.

“You look so pretty today!” Kara exclaims which stops me dead in my tracks. I'm not wearing a lick of makeup, and my hair is wet and slightly disheveled. I glance over at her beaming face, but now all three girls are staring at me, and I realize the weight of their stares is a hundred times more powerful than those of the guys.

Men have selfish motivation, want, and desire tainting their vision; little girls have dreams, ambition, and honesty turning theirs crystal clear.

My cheeks flush and the terror fades away.

“Thanks,” I say, tucking some hair behind my ear and grabbing a plate. To look at us all, you wouldn't know we humiliated a grown man, beat him up, and set his house on fire last night. I guess that's the point though, isn't it? “What's the plan for today?”

“The girls have been invited to a birthday party,” Aaron says, using tongs to put hot bacon on the edge of my plate. “A princess-themed birthday party.” That's when I notice he's wearing a crown on the top of his head. Looks weird as hell, considering the tattoos and all. I almost smile. Almost, but not quite.

“That sounds like fun,” I say, hugging Heather from behind, her smell calming my nerves. She always smells like soap and the cucumber-melon body spray she borrows from my side of the bathroom vanity. “Are you going to dress up?”

“I'm too old for princesses,” she says, wiggling out of my grip. “I'm going as Deadpool.”

“Like … Ryan Reynolds, superhero Deadpool?” I ask, raising a brow