“I tidied up the place and took a shower,” he says matter-of-factly. “Tried to think of shit to do to give you some time to yourself. But then I got worried about you being on your own, so here I am.”
“Hi.”
“Hey.” He tosses the key I’d given him yesterday in the air and catches it in his hand. “I think I’m going to hang on to this.”
“Oh.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No.”
I’ve never given a significant other a key. The timing never seemed right with Ryan. Something which just might have saved my life. But the thought of Noah being a part of my world, of him able to come and go as he likes, is strangely pleasing. None of the everyday normal anxiety rears its ugly head at the idea.
“You’d tell me if he called again, right?” he asks.
“Ryan? Yes. Though I doubt he will. I’m really not that important to him. He just likes to mess with me now and then. Being in prison must get boring.”
Noah makes a noncommittal sound. “What are you up to?”
“Guess I should try to get some work done.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t want to, but they sent over some files earlier for a rush job. The pressure is officially on.”
He nods. Then he yawns. “I’m going to crash. Come get me if you need me. If you hear a noise outside you want investigated or you want some company or anything, okay?”
I give him two thumbs up. Like an idiot. Check out my smooth moves.
The edge of his mouth kicks up in amusement and he heads for the stairs. Noah is staying the night and sleeping in my bed.Again. This has not been a good day, but life doesn’t entirely suck.
It’s about two in the morning when he wanders outside. I’m lying on an old picnic blanket in the backyard. The perfect position for staring at the stars and thinking deep thoughts. Or nothing at all. With all of the trees standing guard along the fence line, you can almost believe you were out in the wild. Untouched by trouble and nowhere near civilization. Some nights it’s a really calming idea.
He stretches out beside me with a sigh. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just had a bad dream.”
His voice is rough and low from sleep. “What was it?”
“The usual. Hands around my throat, and I can’t breathe.”
He frowns. A pair of jeans are all he wears. Lean muscle and messy hair are a delight in the moonlight. The cut of his jaw and the concern in his eyes. “Wake me next time.”
“One of us should get us some sleep.”
“Wake me next time,” he repeats.
“Okay.”
He grunts.
“The problem is the nightmare wakes me up, and then my brain gets busy thinking about things, and then I can’t get back to sleep.”
“What sort of things?”
“Anything really.”
“You’re an overthinker,” he says.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
He looks me over, taking in the sleep shorts and tank. Then he rises on one elbow and checks out our surroundings. Auggie is asleep inside on his dog bed like a good boy. And the neighborhood is quiet as can be. All of the sensible sorts are fast asleep in their beds. Even the media are missing fornow. Though knowing my luck they’ll return tomorrow for more fuckery. This time of night is reserved for nocturnal creatures in this corner of the world.
