master bedroom took up most of this side of the house. I looked up at the trey ceiling as my sneakers sunk into the carpet. The bed was the largest king I'd ever laid eyes on and the divan was soft. Burgundy and gold with tassels and matching curtains. A flat screen was mounted from the corner and angled to be viewed from the bed.
"Why on earth would you ever leave this house?"
Michael had disappeared into a door and came out with a pair of jeans and hoodie in his hands. "To see you."
I blushed as he tossed the clothes on the bed. I turned and saw a fireplace on the back wall. "Oh…this is just too much."
"Right? I saw that and all I could think about was cold nights, snow outside—"
"—hot chocolate and warm company." I turned and smiled at him.
And the smile he gave back was priceless.
Pictures sat in an assortment of frames on the mantel so while he changed I looked them over. One in particular caught my attention. It was a shot of Michael and another woman. They were outdoors, arm in arm, and she had his smile, and his eyes. "Who's this?" I picked up the frame and turned to face him.
He looked so good in that hoodie and was just pulling his jeans up. Commando. That would make it easy for later.
"Oh that's my sister, Melissa."
"There is a serious family resemblance, down to the same color hair."
He laughed as he joined me at the fireplace. His feet were bare and sank into the carpet just like my sneakers did. "There should be a little. We're fraternal twins." He took the picture and looked at it for a few seconds. His expression worried me a his smile slipped away and a crease appeared between his brows. "She's with a guy I can't stand. A real asshole. So I don't get to see her much." He put the picture back on the mantel. "In fact, I haven't seen her in over a year."
"Is he the reason you haven't seen each other?"
"Mostly. He's abusive and she won't see it."
"Physical?"
"No. Verbal. Passive Aggressive. I never thought of that as abuse before I saw my sister lose herself to it. But it is. I have a psychiatrist friend who told me that kind of abuse is the most common, and that's why we don't tend to see it. Where one in the relationship enjoys dominating the other by a constant barrage of complaints and well placed sentences to make the partner feel all their troubles and woes are their fault." He continued to stare at the picture. "If he ever touches her, or I find out he has, I'll kill him with my bare hands."
Getting to know Michael had it's surprising points. And this was one of them. I saw passion in his eyes, and a fierce devotion to his sister. But the fact they hadn't spoken was also a sign of how he respected her choices. "You are a complicated man, Michael Oliver."
"No." He moved that gaze to me and his expression shifted. "I'm just a brother who misses his sister. So," he said as he clapped his hands together. "You ready? I don't know what we're gonna do and I don't care as long as we're together for the day."
I thought my face would crack at the size of my grin. No one… no one had ever told me that before. Especially not my ex.
I followed him out of the bedroom and back down to the foyer. He grabbed the other set of keys. "I'm going to drive."
"Drive?" He moved back down the hall to a door and unlocked it. "I thought you said you didn't have a car." It wasn't an odd thing, not when someone lived in the area he did where MARTA had trains and busses everywhere.
"I don't." Michael pushed the door open. The smell of oil and gas, amid other garage smells I remembered from my childhood, greeted me as the lights came on.
A motorcycle took up the center of the empty garage. The chrome along its front and sides gleamed under the fluorescent light above.
"I have a bike."
"No shit. This is what you were driving to the coffee shop?"
"Yep. I drive it everywhere." He approached it and put his hand on the seat. "Harley Davison
"Why on earth would you ever leave this house?"
Michael had disappeared into a door and came out with a pair of jeans and hoodie in his hands. "To see you."
I blushed as he tossed the clothes on the bed. I turned and saw a fireplace on the back wall. "Oh…this is just too much."
"Right? I saw that and all I could think about was cold nights, snow outside—"
"—hot chocolate and warm company." I turned and smiled at him.
And the smile he gave back was priceless.
Pictures sat in an assortment of frames on the mantel so while he changed I looked them over. One in particular caught my attention. It was a shot of Michael and another woman. They were outdoors, arm in arm, and she had his smile, and his eyes. "Who's this?" I picked up the frame and turned to face him.
He looked so good in that hoodie and was just pulling his jeans up. Commando. That would make it easy for later.
"Oh that's my sister, Melissa."
"There is a serious family resemblance, down to the same color hair."
He laughed as he joined me at the fireplace. His feet were bare and sank into the carpet just like my sneakers did. "There should be a little. We're fraternal twins." He took the picture and looked at it for a few seconds. His expression worried me a his smile slipped away and a crease appeared between his brows. "She's with a guy I can't stand. A real asshole. So I don't get to see her much." He put the picture back on the mantel. "In fact, I haven't seen her in over a year."
"Is he the reason you haven't seen each other?"
"Mostly. He's abusive and she won't see it."
"Physical?"
"No. Verbal. Passive Aggressive. I never thought of that as abuse before I saw my sister lose herself to it. But it is. I have a psychiatrist friend who told me that kind of abuse is the most common, and that's why we don't tend to see it. Where one in the relationship enjoys dominating the other by a constant barrage of complaints and well placed sentences to make the partner feel all their troubles and woes are their fault." He continued to stare at the picture. "If he ever touches her, or I find out he has, I'll kill him with my bare hands."
Getting to know Michael had it's surprising points. And this was one of them. I saw passion in his eyes, and a fierce devotion to his sister. But the fact they hadn't spoken was also a sign of how he respected her choices. "You are a complicated man, Michael Oliver."
"No." He moved that gaze to me and his expression shifted. "I'm just a brother who misses his sister. So," he said as he clapped his hands together. "You ready? I don't know what we're gonna do and I don't care as long as we're together for the day."
I thought my face would crack at the size of my grin. No one… no one had ever told me that before. Especially not my ex.
I followed him out of the bedroom and back down to the foyer. He grabbed the other set of keys. "I'm going to drive."
"Drive?" He moved back down the hall to a door and unlocked it. "I thought you said you didn't have a car." It wasn't an odd thing, not when someone lived in the area he did where MARTA had trains and busses everywhere.
"I don't." Michael pushed the door open. The smell of oil and gas, amid other garage smells I remembered from my childhood, greeted me as the lights came on.
A motorcycle took up the center of the empty garage. The chrome along its front and sides gleamed under the fluorescent light above.
"I have a bike."
"No shit. This is what you were driving to the coffee shop?"
"Yep. I drive it everywhere." He approached it and put his hand on the seat. "Harley Davison
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