Moving on from the main level, I check upstairs, the bedrooms and bathrooms appear untouched. One guest room is being used as a closet—overflowing with clothes—and the other an office. I try not to let my mind wander into inappropriate places when I get to her bedroom, where her bed sits in the middle, sheets crumpled from where she was curled up before all hell broke loose.I can’t help put look at the smooth spot next to it, where someone else would be if she shared her bed—where I would be if I was lucky enough to sleep next to her. The idea feels as farfetched as it could possibly be. And now, more than ever, I can’t afford to let myself get distracted by my feelings for her—not with so much at stake.
After checking every closet, and any space someone could slip into and appear undetected, I’m satisfied no one was in the home or is hiding in it now, and head back downstairs to the living room.
Through the front window I can see Ellie is right where I left her—seated in the passenger seat of my cruiser, wearing a stoney expression.
When I reach the cruiser, and open up the passenger door for her to step out, she doesn’t acknowledge me. Her body moves as if it’s going through the motions. She’s so deep in her head I’m not sure she knows it’s me who’s guiding her to the front porch.
I prop open the door for her to pass through. “All clear,” I tell her as I toss a wave to the deputies, indicating they can leave.
She passes, not once looking my way.
I close the door behind me, latching it at the same time, and watch her move through her home. Tossing her purse on the entry table, she walks to the kitchen, where she opens a cabinet and pulls out a wine glass.
There’s a half-finished wine bottle on the counter. She yanks off the rubber stopper and pours a generous glass-full.
I twist my wrist, checking the time. It’s six in the morning.
“Kind of early for wine, don’t you think, Ellie girl?”
The glare she aims my way could light a fire. It’s also the most emotion I’ve seen her show since she broke down hours ago.
She raises the glass as if to cheers me. “My house. My wine. My coping mechanism. You’re welcome to leave.”
My head shakes as I approach her. I risk my pride and stand closer than I should. Now that I’ve had her in my arms, I’m nothing if not a fiend, seeking my next fix of her. She keeps her feet planted, not moving, and trying like hell to not lookaffected.
“You’re going to have to pry this glass from my cold, dead hands.” Once she’s done speaking, her eyes close with a wince, like she’s regretting her poorly worded phrase. “You know what I mean.”
I wrap my hand around the stem of the glass, covering hers. “Never joke about your death. You’re not dying. You’re not allowed to.”
Our eyes lock and her chest rises with a big inhale. “There you go again, trying to tell me what to do.”
Even though I know now isn’t the tine, my body leans closer, brushing up against hers as I dip my head to hover above her ear. “You used to like it,” I whisper.
She visibly shivers, causing my chest to swell. I want her reactions. Ineedher reactions. Anything besides her blank stare.
But as quickly as it dropped, her blank expression is back, and she breaks eye contact, putting distance between us as she pulls her hand away from mine. The pang of loss is immediate.
Setting down the wine glass, she begins rifling through a junk drawer, haphazardly tossing things on the floor, looking for something.
“Where are they?” she hisses under her breath.
“What are you looking for?”
“Cigarettes,” she grumbles while continuing to search the overflowing drawer.
My head rears back. There’s no way I heard that correctly. Right?
“Since when do you smoke?”
Ellie never smoked. Not even weed, let alone a cigarette. I can’t even picture it, the image is so far removed from the girl I knew.
She shrugs, not bothering to look at me. “Only sometimes. Like when I’m drinking or stressed.” Her gaze darts to the wine glass. “In this case, it’s both.”
After tearing apart the drawer and still coming up empty, she lets out a frustrated groan, slams it shut, and swipes the wine glass up.
“Definitely wasn’t expecting that,” I say more to myself than to her.
Her lips crest the rim of the glass before she tips her head back and takes a big gulp, swallowing the wine like it’s water. “That’s the nice thing about getting older, you change.”
