I jerk my chin up and wait until she’s seated at one end of the couch before sitting down on the opposite end. I probably should have taken the chair, but for some unexplainable reason I want to be closer to her.
“I can grab you something to drink if you like,” she offers. “Tea, Coke, water?”
“I’m good.”
“Okay.”
She licks her lips nervously and tucks her hands between her knees. I lean back, resting an arm along the back of the couch, letting my knees fall open. She keeps her head forward, but her eyes dart toward me every few seconds.
“Do I make you nervous or something?” It’s a dumb question. The answer is in the bounce of her knees and the stiff set of her shoulders. But I want to see if she’ll answer truthfully.
“Or something,” she mutters, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” she answers louder.
I smile, but keep my laughter in. We’re silent for a few moments, both listening to the rustling of the leafless branches with the light breeze.
“Can you blame me?” I glance over at her sudden question. “One minute you’re trying your best to make my life hell, the next you’re warning me about dangers, and now, here you are wanting to talk. You hate me.”
I blow out a long breath and run my hand over my face then the back of my head. “I don’t hate you.”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I turn so I’m facing her. “I don’t hate you, Rylee,” I state sternly. “I just don’t particularly like you.”
She lifts her head, her brows scrunched together.
“But why? I haven’t done anything to you. And I get the feeling it’s more than just Oliver hating me.”
I shrug. “People like you, people with money, are always the same. Entitled, greedy, pompous, and undeserving.”
Her lips press together into a scowl. “That’s fucking stupid.” I raise a brow at her outburst. “My mother may have money, but she’s worked her butt off for it her entire life. It’s not like it just fell into her lap, or mine for that matter. And I’m none of those things. For you to think you have the right to judge me when you know nothing about me makes you a judgmental bigoted asshole.”
“That may be true, but from my experience most rich people are.”
“What about Oliver? You’re friends with him, and he has more money at his fingertips than I do. And from my experience, he is entitled and pompous. Not to mention he’s also an asshole.”
“Oliver’s different. We were friends long before the greed of money could grip him. As far as the way he treats you, you’ll have to take that up with him.”
She’s silent for a moment before she asks quietly, “Why are you here, Zayden?”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and rake both hands through my hair. That’s the million-dollar question. Why the fuck am I here? I still don’t know the answer.
“I have some shit going on at home and I needed to get away from it for a bit,” I find myself admitting.
The couch creaks as she turns, her knee bent on the cushion as she leans back against the arm rest.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I look at her. Although her thick brown hair is drawn up into a ponytail, the ends still fall over her shoulder and reach the top of her breasts. When it’s down, it falls past the middle of her back. The porch light is behind her, so her face is partially hidden by shadows, but I can see the concern in her gaze.
Danielle’s illness isn’t a secret. I’m not ashamed of her or what she’s forced to go through every day. Even so, it’s not something I care to discuss. It’s too painful. The only people I don’t mind talking about it with is Dad, Oliver, and, Hart. But for some reason, I want to tell Rylee.
I glance away and stare off into the darkness.
“My sister has emphysema due to an Alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency. It’s classified in the severe stage. She had an episode today.”