Into the Stars (USC Series Book #2)

chapter twenty-four

INTO THE STARS
———
MALACHI

The click of the balcony door echoes through the deadly-silent hallway. My body feels... my body feels. It feels for what seems like the first time in ten years. And against my greatest doubts, it is because of another individual.

Brinley has essentially made my body feel this way—feel like I am floating in a cloud of ecstasy without consuming anything harmful.

On that balcony, she made me forget who I was and just... let my thoughts out. I trusted her. All because of how those stunning blue eyes stared at me and saw me-my faults and flaws included.

And even as I sidle down the hallway, looking down at the ground, rethinking everything that has taken place this morning, I attempt to make sense of it all.

What the fuck are we?

Are we friends-with-benefits now that we voluntarily spend time together that doesn't revolve around sex? Or... are we something more?

I won't hesitate to admit the latter scares the shit out of me. Love has only ever left me alone and hurt. I accepted that fact long ago. The idea of letting myself enter a relationship, based on vulnerability and trust, scares me to no extent.

Because where the fuck has trust gotten me in the past? Fucking nowhere.

I run my hands through my hand in a frustrated manner, my feet moving down each step. That high from earlier has since worn off now that a semblance of sane thoughts has returned.

You, Malachi Creed, cannot let Brinley Jones get any closer than she already has.

Keeping my head down, staring at my feet as I enter the kitchen, I do not know who else might be in there. I hear Holden's voice muttering Brinley and me a 'good morning' and I know I shouldn't, but a strange feeling provokes inside of me when I think about how close they have gotten over the course of this trip.

I utmost groan at the notion.

I lift my head in a nod of acknowledgment to Holden. Brinley has planted herself on a barstool, so I decide to take the barstool on the farther side of the kitchen, placing some distance between us. I glance her way and find her eyes immediately.

She rolls her eyes and not playfully, but in a way that makes me realize I am scowling at her. Unintentionally, of course. A lick of remorse creeps into me and I try my best to tamp it down and dismiss it. Remorse won't take back anything you've done.

"You okay, man?" Holden asks, his brows furrowing in confusion and eyes narrowing like he is assessing me.

"Sure—"

A loud shrill erupts in the silent house, my senses on high alert just as is everyone else's in the kitchen.

A pounding of footsteps shakes the roof above us, and before I know it, Brooklynn is scrambling down the stairs. She mutters out a string of curses beneath her breath, taking a seat on a barstool to regain her breath.

At the landing of the stairs, Tyson comes into view, hands on his knees in complete hysterics.

"Fuck you, Tyson," Brooklynn hollers to Tyson.

Tyson must find that statement funny because he collapses onto the floor, dying of laughter, and I almost worry the idiot might fall down the stairs. Almost.

Once his fit of laughter subsides, he sits up and I can see a glossy coating over his eyes and streaming down his face as though he has been crying.

"I... didn't..." The laughter returns, spluttering out of his mouth randomly. "...do... it."