Consumed » Kai Parker

Forty Two

Kai's POV

"Oh, my God."

The words are barely whispered into the phone but I notice the abrupt change in Charlie's demeanor. It's clear that her sister called to be the bearer of bad news and though I know it likely has nothing to do with me, I can feel my brows pulling together, forehead creasing in worry. I start to sit up from the bed, eyes trained on her bare back carefully, as if she'll break down if I look away for a second.

"Caroline must be–" her voice cracks and my frown deepens. "She must be devastated. Oh, God."

She lifts her free hand and presses it to her mouth. A tremor runs through her small frame and my nails practically dig into the edge of the mattress, where I'm sitting. It's all I can do not to rush toward her and take the phone away, like ending the bad-news phone call will erase the memory of whatever she had heard that was causing such a reaction.

More in an attempt to occupy my hands so I don't do just that than anything else, I pick my boxers up from where they'd been thrown on the floor the night before and pull them on, getting to my feet. My eyes don't stray from Charlie.

"It's okay. I get it. Okay, I–I'll be right there." Her voice is so soft, the broken way one usually sounds before they start to cry.

I watch her set the phone back onto the dresser as I tug my sweatpants over my hips but she doesn't turn around. Doesn't move. She just stands there, frozen, her hand still pressed to her mouth. She's trembling rapidly now and I'm on my feet in a second, but cautious with each step I take to get to her.

"Charlie?" I say her name uncertainly, not knowing what this is or how to handle it. Like a sudden movement could set her off completely.

Ignoring me, she lifts a shaky hand to open her top drawer and shuts it after grabbing a bra and underwear.

"Charlie," I repeat, more insistent this time. She pulls a plain black sweater and jeans out next, slowly turning away from the dresser. The clothing slips from her shaky fingertips and she curses, slamming the drawer shut in frustration.

"Hey, hey." I grab her forearm, tugging her towards me. She doesn't meet my unrelenting stare, instead trying in vain to wrench her arm out of my hold.

"Kai," she says through gritted teeth. "I need to shower."

"Okay. You can shower. After you tell me what's going on. What was that phone call about?"

The question causes her to stop struggling but I still don't get an answer. I search her face–the half of it that I can see anyway, since she has her head stubbornly turned to the side–and spot her bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. Her eyes are squeezed shut as if to hold back a flood of oncoming tears.

"Charlie," I urge, fighting to keep my tone soft as it pathetically nears desperation. "What happened?"

"Caroline's mom," she whispers in a barely audible voice, I have to strain to make the words out. "She–she–last night, she–" The rest of the sentence hangs in the air, unfinished, and I decide to pick it up.

"Last night, she...what?" But I'm starting to get a pretty good idea of what exactly happened to Caroline's mom last night–well, not good, not good at all, really, if my suspicions are correct.

"Passed away," Charlie finally lets out, confirming the inkling I had. "And I wasn't there. Caroline was at the hospital all night, dealing with it alone." Her head whips around suddenly, tear-filled brown eyes locking in on my gaze. "How could I do that to her?"

Before I can even answer with a don't be ridiculous, Charlie, she's going on, swiping the back of her palm over her eyes. "I could've been there with her at the hospital, I should've been there last night, God, I should've, but instead I was here with..." She lets the sentence trail off, hanging between us, her eyes shuttering.