Flower in the Flame (The Scattered Series - Book #1)

Chapter Four

4 | Nadia Spencer 

Cutlery clatters against plates in a way that makes me want to tuck my face into my hands or pull at my hair - maybe both. My brain is swimming in cold, thick mud and I'm sure it's losing. I'm so sure it's drowning. This is all so much, too much.

What's worse? This pie tastes like shit.

"Dad." Carter lifts his head. He has gravy on his chin, his forehead is wrinkled in what I can only assume is irritation. "Have you done anything today? Other than drink alcohol and mutter insults from the corner?" Belligerence is thick in his tone and I desperately want him to shut up.

Wipe the gravy from your chin, Carter, I don't need another reason justify my unwelcome desire for your father.

Billie looks up from his meal, blinks a few times as though thoroughly perplexed by his son's abrasive words. He drops his fork, then his knife. "You don't know what you're talking about Carter." He looks away when he pauses, a smile creeping onto his lips which he shakes off, "So, in the nicest possible way, shut up."

Silent until now, Madeline lets out a huff of irritation. Her jaw is drawn taut and she's watching Billie meticulously as he picks up his cutlery and continues to eat as though he hadn't just told his son to shut up. "Sweetie," She's speaking through gritted teeth, probably trying her best not to cuss at her lover. "Don't talk to our son like that, please." Her words are kind, but they are spoken indignantly.

"Darling," He sounds exasperated, "He's 24 years old. You don't need to fight his battles for him, he's a big boy now."

Carter is jabbing at his food with his fork. His ashen blonde hair is pushed back, and the corners of his lips are pulled down to accompany his frown. I place a hand on his knee, but he brushes me off without even looking in my direction. "So, have you?" Carter's prodding makes me cringe. He's eager for an argument.

"I helped your girlfriend get the bags out of your car, actually." Billie Joe shoves his plate away, slumps his posture and locks his hands behind his head. His white shirt is crumpled by now. The way he said 'your girlfriend' is churning the contents of my stomach, my guts twisting with longing for the man I cannot have - or want. 

He spoke as if he's bitter that I am Carter's lover, while his own wife sits beside him. 

Billie smiles at Carter, but there's no warmth behind it. Only warning. 

Madeline takes a large sip of her wine. I don't blame her.

Carter rolls his eyes. "There were barely any bags. She was fine with them. You just want to be the hero, put yourself back on the pedestal you fell off years ago." Each word is sneered with venomous purpose.

His father regards him, his shoulders lifting once in silent amusement before he gets up, runs the tap and collects the plates. He gives me a single, pointed look when he picks up my plate, nodding slightly at the food I haven't touched. I only shrug. 

"Believe me, boy, I never fell off that pedestal." The sound of his smirked arrogance is laced in his voice. "Anyway," He sounds chirpy for just a second, which pisses Carter off more.

Carter gets up to grab the back of Billie's shirt, but Billie Joe turns so quickly if I blinked then I would have missed it. He snatches his son by the wrist and twists, his own knuckles bleaching from his tight grip. "You think I haven't heard about you disappearing whenever Nadia needs help?"

Prick. 

But as mad as I want to be at Billie, for mentioning it when I explicitly told him not to, there's something unnervingly attractive about him looking out for me.

"You better switch up, son, and you better do it fast. You embarrass me with your lack of respect for your lover." The words are spat and bitter as ever and the hard roll of Billie Joe's throat causes him to pause. He's mad, really mad. "If Nadia tells you to dig a hole, you'll do it. If she then tells you to fill the hole back in, you will do it. If she tells you to jump, you ask how high and then you will God-damn do it."

Mr Armstrong's jaw is tight, the ball-like muscle in the corner standing out due to the pressure. Abruptly, he drops his son's hand and picks up his benevolent attitude again. "Right," He sounds too happy. "I'm going for a smoke." Billie makes more than a swift departure and the moment the door closes behind him, Madeline rushed to Carter's side. "Are you hurt, sweetie?" Barf.

Sleep seems much more favourable than watching Madeline coo over her son, so I speak my brief good night and go upstairs. Carter doesn't say goodnight back. Screw him.

Before drawing the curtains so I can change, I take a moment to look out the window. Billie Joe stands beside a lamppost - his shoulder leant against it. His back is to the house. His shirt pulled taught around what I can only assume is fine cords of muscle on his back. 

Quickly, I draw closed the curtains, blocking him from my sight. 

Typically, my pyjamas are at the bottom of the suitcase, so I have to toss everything out to get them. I only have myself to blame for that, considering I'd done most the packing. There was not an ounce of hesitation to change into the plaid pyjamas. I love comfy clothes. Adore them. 

The bed is fairly comfortable, which doesn't surprise me. Billie Joe is a rockstar, rolling in money, I'm sure he can afford a more than decent mattress. Tugging the duvet up over myself, I try my best to let sleep indulge me – because Benjamin Grover lives in Oakland, and he is desperate to see me.