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

Chapter Fourteen

14 | Nadia Spencer

Sat outside on the wall before the Armstrong's house, I watch the sun make its sluggish journey to midday. My head is pounding from yesterday, I feel like a complete idiot. But that was a minor hiccup, and it won't happen again. I won't dull my senses like that again.

Unlike some, my memory of intoxication isn't poor. In fact, with the right attention I can tug in every detail. And the memories that make my blood boil are the ones of Carter's disrespect.

I pull out my phone, stare at the home screen for a moment. The picture is of my old dog, Ralph. He was a mutt, a big dog that me and my mother adopted when I was 12. He only lived a few years with us before he passed – he was an old boy, but we loved him for every second he was ours.

Punching in my password, I open my messages, press Carter's name.

Me:
Come over at 1. Your dad is fine with it. We need to talk x

He's typing almost immediately after I've sent it. Pathetic.

Carter:
OK. I love you xx

God, I want to tell him to choke. I don't reply, I cannot bring myself to lie that much.

The sun dapples the grass in gold. Moments like these make me wish time could be paused, that the world would just stop it's spinning for a while and let people appreciate it's beauty. Instead, the world is selfish, it keeps the beauty for itself and cherishes it alone.

"Nadia." I didn't even hear the front door open. Looking over, Billie is there, in the doorway. He's got a mug in his hand and his brows are drawn together with concern. "Come and eat." One thing I've learnt is that the man is stubborn, and won't leave me alone until I oblige.

He lounges against the frame of the door, looking utterly beautiful in lame plaid pyjamas and a plain white t-shirt. Nobody should look that good in such boring clothes, but he does. The corner of his lip quirks in a smirk, "do I need to come and carry you in?" He nudges, as I haven't yet moved.

Something in the air has changed between us, I feel a new comfort in him, like I could tell him anything.

Smiling a genuine smile which flashes my teeth and creases the corners of my eyes, I shrug at him. He narrows his eyes, scowling. "Oh? Is that how it is?" He angles his head and waves of raven slide across his forehead. I can only giggle in response, the sound completely stupid but also completely happy. I feel happy.

Billie places down his mug on the oak table just inside, pushes off the doorframe, and makes slow steps towards me. The sun catches his face and dances in the jade of his eyes, and he's smiling. Always smiling, whether it's the tiniest curve of his lips or a full blown, totally idiotic grin.

Standing, I kick at the dirt for a moment. He pauses, scrunches his nose. "I'll make pancakes."

"I'm more of a waffles kinda gal."

He's trying not to chuckle as he watches me. There's a playful aura between us, one that dispels any tension I feel and replaces it with giddy, reckless joy.

He fakes a grumble, "Fine, waffles."

"With syrup." I add.

Billie Joe takes a step towards me, and I counter it with a step back. He shakes his head once in silent but jocular disapproval. "Don't have any syrup."

I don't think I've ever grinned this way in months, like nothing else in the world matters other than my happiness. I want my cheeks to always hurt from this kind of smile, the kind of smile that rids of all my problems while its plastered on my face. "Then you better get your punk-ass to the store and get some syrup."