“Okay. Good-bye,” I announced, tugging the blanket as I moved from the couch to the hall. “I’m out when you start telling my boyfriend baby stories.”
“You want some clothes?” Calvin offered.
He was grinning when I turned and took the bag that Quinn had brought over last night. When I got to the bathroom, I heard Pop start storytelling again and Calvin chuckle quietly.
Dropping the blanket, I hurried in and shut the door, went to the mirror, and grimaced. I was not winning any points for being an attractive man at that moment. I looked tired and had bags under my eyes. My hair was a mess, and some of it was still crusty with dried blood. I had a nice cut and bruise on my forehead, and I smelled like smoke, sweat, and sadness.
I looked at the counter. Quinn had picked me up solution and a container for my contacts, and that was so sweet. Calvin must have told her I wore them. And my new toothbrush still sat there from last night. I wish I could say that wasn’t what tipped me over the edge, but I picked it up and stared at it and the tears started to well up.
Because this wasn’tmytoothbrush.
And this wasn’tmyhome.
I sat on the edge of the tub, holding the brush and letting my head drop down as I tried to get a grip on myself. But it was hard. Because the toothbrush made me think of my bathroom, and the stupid shower curtain I bought when I first moved into the apartment. I had just graduated college, I was broke, had debts, and a shower that sprayed water everywhere without a curtain. First apartment purchase.
And that made me think of everything else.
Of the bed that Calvin and I lay in together, with the birds that chirped from the tall tree outside the window. Of the kitchen that Calvin enjoyed cooking in. The antique baking tools I had offered to keep from a recent estate sale, because he thought they were cool and wanted to use them. All of my books. My entire mystery collection—worn and loved with age and religious rereading. I thought of all the antiques that littered the place because I always figured,I’ll bring them to the Emporium tomorrow.
Now there was no tomorrow.
I had lost all the stories behind those precious pieces of history.
I thought of my neighbor. Was Sally okay? What about the kids who lived above me? Had they been home, or were they at school when the explosion happened? The folks below me?
It hadn’t just been me. There were eight apartments in the building. And they were all gone. It was such a good neighborhood. Who’d have done such a monstrous thing?
I knew it wasn’t a gas explosion. I knew it from the bottom of my heart. The destruction had originated either in my apartment or the one upstairs, because when I went to find Sally, I could remember the cold air. I was starting to recall those frantic, terrifying seconds once more. I hadn’t seen the night sky—wasn’t looking for it—but the air was vivid in my mind. My apartment had ceased to exist.
If that had been gas, I would have smelled it. So this meant… it had been intentional.
Had…?Jesus…. Someone had tried to kill me.
And not just pull a gun and be done with it.
They brought a building down on me. Talk about theatrics.
There was a gentle knock on the bathroom door. “Sweetie?” Calvin’s muffled voice asked.
I looked up, sniffing and taking a breath. “Yeah,” I called. “Sorry. I need to shower. I’ll be out in a minute.”
I hastily brushed my teeth, cleaned off under scalding-hot water, and popped in my contacts. After getting dressed in a pair of ratty Levi’s and a likely white T-shirt from the bag, I wandered out of the steamy bathroom. “Pop,” I called, entering the main room. “You don’t still have that old electric razor somewhere, do you? Quinn got a manual for me, but I’m not drunk and confident enough to try it.”
“Sorry, kiddo,” Pop said. “We’ll buy you one today.”
Calvin came toward me then, nodding his chin at the bathroom. He’d already showered and dressed before I woke up. “I’ll help.”
“Help shave my face?”
“Sure.”
“That seems weird.”
“Barbers don’t think so.” He put his hands on my shoulders, turned me around, and walked me back. “Sit,” he said, motioning to the toilet lid.
I sat and watched as Calvin grabbed a washcloth and warmed it under the hot water. He came over and pressed it against my face. “This is weird,” I mumbled again.
Calvin didn’t say anything. He smiled slightly and leaned over to press his lips to my forehead. Neither of us spoke. I stared at his face—all the freckles, his pretty hair. Those startling bright, gray eyes. Calvin’s eyes betrayed his silence at times. In moments like this, when guards were down and there was a vulnerability between us, he let me see a lot of what was inside that didn’t always make it out in words.
